A flash of humor in his eyes as he looks back at me. “I make sure the plumbing stays maintained. You can wash off.”
And somehow he has both lowered the stakes and given me exactly the right incentive to get me through the door.
Chapter 3
Thecottageisdusty,but not as dusty as I am.
Then Zan turns on the lights, and the whole tableau changes. I blink in surprise.
“The lights here are set up to be powered by the magic of my scales, rather than spells, given the proximity to the temple,” Zan explains.
That is not what surprised me—I had not actually spared much thought to how lights worked in my time, I am embarrassed to admit, and what this implies to the level of destruction I brought about—but this explanation is surprising in its own right.
For one, that dragon scales can power spells the way priests can—I never would have guessed our magic was so compatible.
But also the notion of a dragon, known for hoarding the power that they inherit from birth, giving up scales freely for the benefit of others.
Zan has a guest room here, so I suppose he does benefit.
Still.
What surprised me first, though, was how much cozier the cottage feels bathed in light.
We’re in an open space, with a sitting area at the front and a kitchen behind, a round table with four chairs marking the line between them.
In the light, everything looks soft, almost faintly glowing.
The couch is worn but plush. The chairs have cushions. Light streams through windows all around. A fireplace is ready to warm; pots and pans hang on the wall ready to nourish.
This cottage looks like it was designed for comfort in a way that I don’t know how to reconcile.
I want it, I think. But I don’t know what to do with it.
Zan cuts into my thoughts. “Let me show you the washroom.”
Damn. I was quiet too long, and he probably thinks I don’t like it. But if I insist otherwise now he won’t believe me, and in any case my feelings are too jumbled to make that convincing, so I just follow him to one of the doors on either side of the room.
The washroom startles me all over again with the size of the tub.Twopeople could fit in there.
Zan tests the sink faucet first, which comes to life with a gurgle and then a steady stream.
“I can show you how to use the tub, so you can soak—”
I shake my head abruptly. Too much, too fast. “The sink is enough for now.”
Zan pauses; looks at me. “You don’t want to take a bath?”
I try to respond lightly. “I wouldn’t say no to a dip in the lake—”
Zan’s eyes brighten for a moment, then dim.
“—but I think I’m... not ready for a bath,” I finish.
Not ready to wash away my past.
Not ready to accept the warmth.
“Understood,” Zan says softly. “Let me find a towel for you.”
