“No?” He arched a brow. “Should I fetch Steffon, then?”
“Ugh! You’re impossible.” I paced back and forth, the rising fury burning my cheeks. “Honestly, Ragnar Whatever-Your-Surname-Is, you’re the most infuriating man I’ve met in a very long time, and that’s saying something. I’ve met some real arseholes.”
He sketched a bow. “I aim to please.”
Without another word, he hefted a keg from the back of my wagon and perched it on one of his shoulders, like it held nothing more than feathers. And then he strode back down the path, taking my precious ale with him.
* * *
“Reykur!” I called out in a hoarse whisper, trudging through the dense woods. The oaks had shed their leaves weeks ago, and a carpet of orange and red crunched with my every step. An owl hooted from somewhere nearby. I’d been searching for the past hour—at the very least. I was starting to think Emil had been imagining things. Reykur would be in the mountains, like he always was, or soaring through the distant skies. He’d never, not once in six years, come this close to Riverwold. And all these dried leaves were like kindling.
‘Course, I’d noticed him spreading his wings a bit more these past couple of years. Ever since Daella had bonded with one of his sisters, he’d spent a lot of time flying the skies above Wyndale, and he’d seemed to crave my company more than usual. Had he thrown all caution to the wind, abandoning his lair, hoping he might be welcomed here at last? Was he that desperate for friendship? I heaved a sigh. Perhaps it had been selfish to ask him to journey with me this winter.
Perhaps he needed more than I could give him.
Just as I was about to give up the search and return to camp, a burnt patch of leaves caught my eye. The unmistakable scent of sulphur and smoke drifted on the wind. Heat throbbed toward me. I pulled out a loaf of Emil’s bread and waved it in the air.
“Who wants a treat?” I called out.
A storm of wings scattered leaves and twigs into my face. I held up my arm to block the onslaught, bracing myself against his unrelenting heat. Reykur shoved through the brush and landed so close I had to stumble back. His long, scaly snout inched toward me.
“Careful,” I warned him, wincing when pain flared in my cheek. “You’ll burn me if you come any closer.”
Suddenly, the flaming heat disappeared. Reykur huffed through his snout, then leaned closer, lowering his head so that it was only an inch away. Awed, I gazed into his face, struck by the beauty of his shimmering scales and the bright gleam of his eyes. I’d never seen him so close. His scales flared from emerald to red to orange and back again, as if he were lit from within.
I reached out a hand, then paused, waiting for the pain. And still, our close proximity didn’t burn. Sucking in a breath, I erased the distance between us and gently lowered my fingers to his snout. His scales were warm and slick beneath my palm.
“How?” I whispered, too awed to speak any louder than that. “Dragons burn anyone who isn’t an orc. I…”
The dead leaves beneath his powerful talons crunched. They weren’t catching fire, either. But I didn’t understand. This went against everything I’d always been taught about dragons—everything I’d seen with my own two eyes.
And yet, here I was, touching Reykur for the first time in my life. Tears of happiness filled my eyes.
He nuzzled my hand, leaning his impressive weight against it. Laughing in delight, I slid my other hand up the side of his snout and hugged him to my chest. I didn’t know how it was possible, but that hardly mattered. His touch didn’t burn, and the woods weren’t aflame. If there was any way to convince the people of the Isles to accept him, it was this. They had no reason to fear him now.
“We’re going to be all right, you and I.” Smiling, I pulled back and tossed him the bread. He caught it in his sword-like teeth and chewed. Crumbs peppered his snout. “I’ll be back soon with more food. Then we’ll try to introduce you to a couple merchants. Once they realize you won’t burn them, word will spread. And maybe, if we’re lucky, you can attend your first Yule. Wouldn’t that be grand?”
I swore my dragon smiled.
* * *
Winding through the festival grounds with a bounce in my step, I whistled a tune. I purposefully avoided Ragnar’s brewhouse—I refused to call it a Traveling Tavern—even though it meant going the long way around. The last few merchants had arrived and were pouring into the meadow now, filling up the back rows. I passed a woman with a wagon packed to the brim with second-hand books, and another who already had a sign hanging on the front advertising her palm-reading abilities. A lie, of course, but a harmless one. Our elemental Galdur magic couldn’t predict the future, least of all by reading the lines on someone’s palm.
No matter. She’d still get plenty of business. People liked to hear what the future might bring, even if deep down they knew it was nothing more than a dream. Dreams tasted of hope.
By the time I made it back to the Ship’s Anchor, the sun had crept higher into the sky, chasing away the frost. My stomach cramped as I pushed inside. I’d only had a small bite of Emil’s bread all day, and the savory scent of beans and potatoes swirling through the inn dragged me forward by the nose.
By the time I reached the counter where Nilsa was busy filling tankards with water, I was practically drooling. But then she took one look at me, and her eyebrows darted up. “Where in fate’s name have you been? What is that on your cheek?”
She hopped up on her stool, leaned over the counter, and picked a leaf off my face. Then she snatched a twig from my tangled hair.
“Lilia,” she said as a wide smile spread across her face. “Where did you spend the night? And why are you just now returning to the inn? It’s near midday.”
I gave her a look. “It’s a long story. And no, it’s not what you think.”
“How unfortunate.” She reached for the jug, filling another tankard. “Wait here. I want to hear all about it when I get back.”
“Do you have any more of that bean strew?” I called out as she bustled over to the tables.
