Shaking her head, Valenna smiled at him smugly. He was clever with dragons, but what does a woodcutter’s son from the plains know of wars?If he was a woodcutter’s son, which she doubted. She sometimes wondered if he had been a mercenary before he came to Allagesh.
“It will take more than that to stop a two-decades-long blood feud,” Valenna said, her old fatalism at her elbow like a bad conscience.
“So, if we can’t stop the war, we might as well line our pockets with it?” Evander asked darkly.
“And how will you convince the queen regent of this?”
Evander looked evasive. “I have … spoken with the crown prince.”
“You’ve spoken with Prince Asherton?” Valenna scoffed. “Very likely.”
Evander looked almost a little smug. “He comes of age at the end of the summer, and when he does, he’ll take the throne. He’s not as sympathetic as his mother to the dragon trade.”
Valenna cast him a cutting look. “If you stop providing dragons to Ashkendor and Sennalaith, they’ll just find another way to fight one another.”
“Yes, one that doesn’t involve slaughtering innocent animals.”
“Where is Haldir?” Valenna said, with forced brightness. “I need to meet him in order to decide …”
A small commotion broke out to their left, and the crowd parted as one of the Cobblepine trainees went sailing throughthe air, his arms and legs wind-milling, and belly flopped onto a table. It collapsed beneath him, flowers and fizzlewine flutes scattering.
A tall, muscular man stepped into the gap, laughing. Samara and the big trainee braced as the other two girls helped the dizzy boy from the broken table.
Evander looked tired.
“That’ll teach you to speak to me like that, Giles,” the big man boomed.
Samara looked helplessly at Evander, her cheeks burning, but he only shrugged. Valenna had hoped he would step in and intercede for the trainees, but Evander clearly wasn’t in a charitable humor.
The Evander she knew in Largotia would have helped.
She missed him.
“Come and sit, Haldir, and leave them alone,” Thomasina said to the big man.
So this was Haldir. Valenna grimaced. Not a perfect candidate for dragon master.
He was tall—taller than Evander—with shoulder-length black hair, glacier-blue eyes under a heavy brow, and a white smile sharp enough to cut diamonds. He was so perfect, from the sole of his boots to the crown of his head, Valenna almost believed he’d been sculpted from marble.
Valenna stared at him in awe, her lips parted. He wasn’t beautiful like Evander, who was all graceful lines and warm contrasts. He was beautiful like a mountain—powerful, bulky, sharp-edged.
Ignoring the cluster of furious trainees, Haldir stalked to the table and dropped into the chair beside Valenna, flashing her a breathtaking smile. “My name is Haldir Bournemuth,” he said, taking Valenna’s hand and kissing it.
Across the table, Evander’s expression darkened.
“Valenna Castanaia,” Valenna stammered, her mouth dry. This was stupid. She’d met handsome men before—Evander was certainly above average—but Haldir was ridiculous. Like some legendary god.
“Ah, so you’re the woman who decides our fate? I submit myself to your capable hands …” He raked hungry eyes down her body, lingering on places she wasn’t sure she wanted them to linger. “… in any way you like.”
Evander looked like a tightly wound spring. Shoulders rigid, jaw tight, he leveled a murderous glare at Haldir.
Haldir’s gaze devoured her again, and her cheeks warmed. She pulled her hand away, so he snatched the other.“Let this poor mortal bestow one more kiss,” he said.
Evander snorted.
Haldir was a bit much.
And then Haldir laid his hand on her thigh. Valenna lurched away from him, bumping the table and upsetting two wine glasses. They spilled, splashing blood-red across the silver tablecloth.
