I blinked at him. “You stole back the food Ivar took? The bits he sold to the sailors? You shouldn’t have done that. They—”
Reykur suddenly lowered his head and nuzzled my arm, and the rush of love pushed away any lingering exasperation. Sighing, I leaned into him and stroked his snout.
“Why’d you take my ale, eh? I’m not mad. I just want to understand,” I said quietly.
He nudged me again, this time at my heart. Then his lifted his eyes to mine and blinked. Even though we didn’t speak the same language, our bond allowed me to understand. He’d seen me lonely on the road all these years. And then he’d seen me with Ragnar. Stealing the ale meant nudging us closer together. It was a ridiculous plot, but ithadworked.
If those kegs hadn’t gone missing, I might never have opened myself up to Ragnar the way I had.
Sighing, I perched on a stone beside the fire and gazed out at the raging storm beyond the cave. “You wanted to see me find happiness. Even if you went about it in a very strange way, I appreciate you trying. It might have worked, too, if Ragnar hadn’t left to return to the mainland.”
It was the only explanation that made sense. I refused to believe he’d caused the fire. So for whatever reason, he must have left after we’d gotten separated in the courtyard. Perhaps I’d pushed too hard about sharing the coin from the brew. Perhaps he thought it’d be too difficult to say goodbye. I understood that at least. I’d vanished, too.
Reykur gave a sage nod, agreeing with me. He wore sadness in his eyes. I supposed he wished Ragnar would have stuck around, too, and not just for me. Even if he was no longer a dragon himself, he understood what it was like. And Reykur didn’t have many others in his life who did.
For a long while, Reykur and I sat beside each other, watching the storm. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy and sleep took me back in its embrace. I dreamt of dragon-shaped clouds, elven men with crimson hair and piercing orange eyes, and a painted blue wagon tugged down the road by a gaggle of happy children.
But that wasn’t my life, and it never would be. And when I woke again, I was cold.
The fire had died, and my dragon had fled the cave. Once again, I was all alone. Not even the thought of seeing Wyndale again could cut through the gloom. With a heavy sigh, I pulled my cloak around my shoulders, and I headed for the road.
31
RAGNAR
Icrept through the woods. Ivar was quick on his feet, but I was faster. A heavy drizzle thickened the air, but my keen eyesight cut through the gloam. I’d been following him for at least five hours after spotting him creeping around the courtyard. He’d started off at a run, clearly hoping to evade anyone’s notice. As the day progressed, he’d begun to slow, but he hadn’t stopped once.
What had caught my attention more than his presence was the lute tucked under his arm. I’d recognized the sleek, gleaming wood painted with decorative dragons the second I’d laid eyes on it. He’d stolen it from the bard who played at Nilsa’s inn. I had a feeling there was more where that came from, too. Lilia and I never had found the missing ale.
As the day darkened to night, the chase continued through the thinning trees. Eventually, the woods gave way for the foothills that rolled westward toward the mountain peaks. Ivar slowed, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder, but I was too hidden in the brush for him to spot me.
A rumbling shook through the skies. Ivar tensed and looked up. The clouds parted, pushed aside by the powerful beat of dragon wings. Reykur tore through the sky and bellowed fire. It streaked through the night like a trail of vicious red, leaving behind plumes of billowing smoke.
My heart pounded, hearing the pain and sadness in that call. Hands tensing, I glanced behind me at the woods that led back to town. Had something happened to Lilia?
I should have said something before rushing off, but my long-buried dragon senses had taken over the moment I’d set eyes on Ivar. He was my prey. When my instincts came alive like that, it was nigh impossible to tamp them down.
Up ahead, the dragon swooped low, hurtling toward Ivar. The human screamed and flattened himself against the ground.
I shoved through the brush and approach him from behind.
“Ivar,” I called out to him. “Looks like the dragon wants you to give back the lute and whatever else you stole from Riverwold.”
He rolled onto his back and tossed the lute across the field, where it fell into the mud with a squelch. “I don’t want it, and I didn’t steal anything else. I swear! Just take it and leave me alone!”
“I saw you running away with it.”
He wet his lips as I strode closer. “You’re right. I did steal the lute. But I don’t want it, not really. Just take it back. All I wanted was to cause a little kerfluffle and nothing more. Please don’t burn me!”
I slowed to a stop, only inches away from where he cowered in the mud. “Calm down. No one is going to hurt you.”
He pointed a shaky finger at the dragon in the sky. “He’ll eat me. Like he ate all those pies.”
“The pies you made from the food you stole,” I said, arching a brow.
“I’ll stop stealing things, I swear.” His lower lip trembled like a leaf caught in the wind.
Sighing, I extended my hand. His eyes widened as he looked from the dragon to my face to my hand and back again, like he thought this was some kind of trick or a test. But after several long moments passed, he firmly grasped my hand.
