Ice and Smoke

Prologue-3

“Speaking of chewing,” I poked a finger at the rough, dark bread, “this food will not do.”

He blinked. “What ails the food?”

“It’s well enough for peasants, I suppose. And I can’t expect royal feasting here. But even peasants don’t eat the very same thing each day—do we have anything here but bread and cheese? Fruits and vegetables exist in the world, along with better breads and better cheeses. With the sea so close to hand, we can surely get fish, and do not tell me you can’t hunt a deer.”

“And if I hunt, will you clean it?” he said dryly.

I swallowed. “I…am not accustomed to such work, I admit.

You would have to teach me.”

“Dragons are more accustomed to cooking our prey with a breath and eating it whole. But I am sure we can arrange something satisfactory to us both. As for plant-eating, I know very little of that, but there is enough land within the circle for you to have a garden. I can bring you seeds.”

“A garden. I would like that.” Though my chest tightened to think of being in this place long enough to pull in a crop. “It would also be nice if the tower walls could be repaired, and all the rooms made usable.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “More than he can chew, indeed,” he muttered, and tucked me deeper into the blankets.

****

Rindargeth would have had me swim in my shift, or even without clothing at all, but this I would not abide. Instead I took a green tunic—men’s clothing that I had no use for; Rindargeth had only brought it by mistake—and sewed the bottom into trouser-legs of a sort, and used that for my swimming lessons.

“Your shift would be lighter,” Rindargeth frowned.

“Yes, and it would cling to my body once wet, doing as little to preserve my modesty as a glass window! That will not do when I am in the company of a man.”

“Man?” Rindargeth snorted. “I am no man, Ariana, but a dragon. I am no more capable of having improper thoughts for a human—a human child, at that—than for a horse or hound. I may wear the shape of a man as needed, but believe me, my heart belongs to my own kind.”

Nevertheless, I insisted upon the swimming garb, and lessons commenced. Rindargeth taught me to handle myself in the sea, moving with it since I would never be strong enough to stand against it. Steam rose wherever water touched him, because of the dragon’s-fire within him, but he assured me it did him no harm. Within a few days we were swimming together easily, splashing each other to provoke outrage and laughter.

We made the tower habitable, rebuilt the kitchen, and began a garden, hoping for some small crop before winter. Rindargeth procured more or less whatever I asked for, though he would not tell me how or where he got them. I always took the opportunity of his absence to search for any flaw in the circle that would let me escape. I did not find one.

“I am sorry, lass,” Rindargeth said, the day he returned and caught me slogging out of the water, after finding out for myself that the invisible wall persisted all the way back around to the beach. “You will find no escape. None who come inside the circle can leave it again, except myself, and the circle will remain as long as I live, unless my—” His voice cut off, and he looked startled, as if expecting to hear himself continue.

“Your master,” I realized. “Unless your master releases you.” His voice resumed. “If there were such a man.”

I tried to keep myself too busy for homesickness and too tired for dreams. Once my requirements for new items were mostly satisfied, Rindargeth spent less time away from the tower, and we fell into a habit of working together in the garden in the mornings, and in the afternoons turning to the sea for relief from the heat of an unseasonably sunny autumn. Slowly, clumsily, I began teaching myself to cook, and Rindargeth to read, sitting together by the fire after dark.

We were swimming on the afternoon, six weeks after my arrival, that the first knight came.

“We really do need some livestock, Rindargeth,” I was insisting, as we bounced casually over a wave. “A milk-cow, some chickens, perhaps a cat…Are you listening to me?”

He had his head c****d in a very odd fashion, as if he’d heard something I hadn’t, and his yellow eyes were unfocused.

“Rindargeth?”

Abruptly his focus returned, and he spoke, his voice rough. “Get to the tower, child, and stay there. And remember…please remember that I never wanted this.”

He ran from the water, and the moment his feet touched dry ground the swirling smoke began. Within three steps he was a dragon again, half as tall as the tower itself and the color of drying blood, shaking the sky with a brassy roar.

Across the hills, I could just see a figure on horseback, armor winking in the sun.

My breath stopped. Awkwardly, all my swimming lessons forgotten, I fought my way to shore. My instinct was to stay there and watch, despite Rindargeth’s instruction, but would I be safe there? Who knew where this battle would range? Besides, I decided, I would have a better view from the parapet.

By the time I reached the top of the tower, wet and barefoot in nothing but my shift, my heart was pounding harder than the flights of spiral stair could justify. I didn’t know what to fear, or what to hope for. If the knight won, I would be rescued. I could go home to my family.

But there was only one way for the knight to win.

“I am Sir Frederick of Lorcan!” the knight cried, far below. “I come to liberate Ariana, Princess of Caibryn, whom you hold captive! Turn aside, beast, and you may live. Otherwise, prepare to do battle!”

Rindargeth’s voice was a roll of thunder shaped into words. “I may not turn aside, sir knight. Set down your sword or die.”

“So be it!”

The battle was…brief. Sir Frederick may have had fine armor, a sharp sword, great skill as a warrior—but it was hard to tell, because none of these things could protect him from dragon fire. Rindargeth knocked him from his horse, blew a single gout of flame, and the battle was over.

I leaned against the parapet, tear-streaked and shuddering, with no intention of coming down—until I saw Rindargeth pounce upon the horse.

I was halfway down the stairs before I knew it, and hit the door of the tower hard enough to bruise my shoulder. Surprised, Rindargeth had just enough time to sweep the knight’s blackened body out of my sight with his tail. The horse was pinned and struggling; I ran to him and began tugging and slapping at Rindargeth’s claws.

“Do not hurt him! Let him go!”

Rindargeth looked utterly confused, but he released the horse—a beautiful chestnut gelding, who kicked his way to his feet and danced away in fear. His armor seemed to have spared him any significant injury.

“Easy, lad, easy,” I cooed, holding out my hands and approaching him slowly. “Do not fear, I will not let you come to any harm.”

Rindargeth grumbled above me, a resigned sound. “You aim to make a pet of him, then? I thought he would save me a hunting trip.”

“You are not to eat the horse,” I said hotly, “nor any other horse that comes here! Please,” I added, my voice breaking unexpectedly.

The horse had approached me, and was hesitantly bumping his nose into my chest; he let me wrap my arms around his head. I missed my own horse, my own home, my own friends. This poor nervous fellow could be my new friend. “I am very fond of horses,” I said, as casually as I could manage, though my voice would not stay even.

“Very well, you may have your pet,” Rindargeth said. “We must make our stable inhabitable.”

“I will find a place to tie him for now,” I said, and led the horse away.

When I returned from making my new friend comfortable, his armor removed and his bridle tied to a makeshift stake in the grass, I walked toward Rindargeth’s massive shape on the hillside. Only when I was very close did I realize what he was about—digging a grave for Sir Frederick.

I had managed to avoid seeing him in any detail. I could not avoid it now. I stared, unable to look away, for several seconds before Rindargeth noticed my presence. “Oh, heavens, child, you should not be here. Go back to the tower.”

I turned away, but fell to my knees retching before I could take a step. I began to cry, helpless racking sobs that were part sorrow, part shock, and part anger—deep throbbing anger toward the man whose unknown purpose had done this, the master who had caused this awful horror to be visited on all three of us, dragon and princess and knight.

Rindargeth, changed to human form now, scooped me up and carried me back to the tower and up to my bed. He sat by my bedside and stroked my hair, humming softly and singing a line or two, now and then, in a language I didn’t know.

“In the future, I will try to spare the horses,” he murmured, “and you may keep as many as you like.”

I would be grateful for that indulgence later, but that night I didn’t want to think about horses, I didn’t want to think about anything. Least of all Sir Frederick of Lorcan, the first knight to die in my service.

But not the last.

PART TWO