Naturally, Ronan wanted to do it right away. Say the words, perform the ritual, whatever, and get back to finding Moria and Tyrus. That had offended Edwyn, and Ashyn couldn't blame him. He'd brought them here to awaken the most legendary of legendary creatures, and Ronan acted as if he'd asked Ashyn to remove a sliver from his foot. An inconvenient interruption at a very busy time.
Edwyn said that preparations had to be made. They would not even begin the ritual for another day at least. Ronan hadn't been thrilled with that, but he'd kept quiet--for now.
The festival began as soon as they emerged from the dragon's den. More people had arrived, strangers to her, and white tents were going up, and everyone was laughing and chattering. Ashyn was the center of attention, until finally Edwyn shooed them off and took her into one of the tents for a nap. Ashyn argued that she wasn't tired, but Edwyn insisted. It would be a long and glorious night, and she needed to rest for that. So she did.
It was indeed a festival, as elaborate as any Ashyn had enjoyed in Edgewood. A massive white tent was erected. Fresh goat was roasted, songs were sung. Music was played. Tales were told. Wine was drunk. Too much wine. By the time the moon passed its zenith, Ashyn was curled up at the fire with Tova at her side and Ronan at her back, his arm hooked around her waist, pulling her to lean back against him, as she ignored the whispered speculations and enjoyed the buzz of the wine and the warmth of the fire and the stories of the bard.
Stories of dragons. That's what they got that night. Especially tales of the one that slept beneath them. There were four types of dragons: sand, snow, timber, and rock, corresponding to the major areas of the empire. This one was, like the skeleton in the cave, a snow dragon. Her name was Isobo, and she was, like the other, a long way from her home. But after the Age of Ice, when the snow receded to the North, not all the snow dragons moved with it. Their iridescent scales meant they could reflect any terrain and blend with it. And there were few dragons in the steppes, with its lack of mountain caves. That must have been what appealed to Isobo, a young female seeking her place in the world. She'd found that odd hill and made it her home. Then she'd begun amassing her wealth, taking it from travelers, easily spotted on this open plain. The problem, however, was that the open plain also meant she was easily spotted. Soon tales from the survivors reached the dragon seekers of the North.
That was what Edwyn's people--Ashyn's people--had been. Seekers and keepers of another kind. Their lives had been spent hunting dragons and using magics and skills to tame them. Young dragons were required. No one dared attempt such a thing on the ancient bulls that darkened the skies and set entire villages aflame. While Isobo was an adult, her youth and isolation made her a possibility. Even better, as they'd been bringing food and treasure and wooing her, she'd left temporarily and returned to lay her eggs. Two eggs. Two successful births. Two baby dragons who could easily be tamed: a female they named Zuri and a male they called Ponto. Isobo seemed a gift from the goddess herself.
But they never got the chance to do more than accustom Isobo's young to the smell and sight of humans. The Age of Fire came and there was no time for war and no reason to train dragons. In fact, as the volcanos erupted across the land, dragons took advantage of the chaos and rained down terror, and the
people--unable to control the volcanos--turned their rage on the threat they could tackle.
Edwyn's ancestors tried to stop the dragon slayers, but they would not listen. One by one, the dragons fell. Three great bulls. Seven younger bulls and females. Soon, the only known survivor was Isobo, safe in her isolation, busy caring for her young. The decision was made to protect her by putting the three into a magical sleep. The opening she'd used had been sealed, to be blasted open when the time was right for them to wake. When the empire needed them. As it did now.
TWENTY-FOUR
The festivities continued into the night. So did the wine. By the time Ronan tried to sneak Ashyn off behind the tent, she was intoxicated enough to think . . . well, to think that perhaps he was intoxicated enough to do more than hold her hand. There was part of her mind still sober enough to panic at the thought. She'd had enough of this dance with Ronan--friends and then perhaps more, and then . . . no, sorry, just friends.
As much as she might want more, she wouldn't be the foolish girl who tried to woo a boy who balked like a skittish colt. She had too much dignity and, yes, pride, for that.
Yet, that night, with the wine swirling through her head, she couldn't help but think What could a few stolen kisses hurt? She could take those kisses and enjoy them for what they were. Moria would. But Ashyn was not her sister, and she would be unable to avoid hoping for more; and even if she somehow did avoid it, come dawn she'd have to endure Ronan's apologies and the humiliating insistence that he'd meant nothing by it.
So when he tried to pull her behind the tent, she dug in her heels and said, "Where are we going?"
"Someplace where they won't find us." He tossed her a drunken grin. "Where we can be alone. I'm tired of being responsible, Ash. I want to have some fun."
She could imagine her expression at that, because he laughed and threw his arms around her neck.
"Not like that, my lady," he said, a teasing lilt on the title. "Your honor is perfectly safe with me tonight. I simply want to be with you."
"All right . . ." she said carefully.
"Don't give me that look, Ash." His hands entwined in her hair, pulling her face beneath his. "Ash, my Ash, my beautiful, brilliant Seeker." He kissed her forehead and pulled her into a tight embrace before moving back and taking her hand. "Come with me."
She followed him, half stumbling and blaming the darkness rather than the wine. Tova sighed but trudged along, resigned. As they passed a lantern, Ronan grabbed it. When he snuffed out the flame, she said, "Umm? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?" but he only grinned and said, "We don't want anyone tracking our escape, do we?"
When she saw where they were going, she slowed, but Ronan tugged her hand, and said, "Don't you want to see it again? Without him? Just us?" and she did.
There were no guards posted at the hillside. She supposed everyone in the group could be trusted not to pilfer from the piles within.
They went inside, and Ronan lit the lantern. When they got to the den, he set the lantern down. Then he pounced, making Tova let out a startled bark as Ronan scooped Ashyn up and tossed her onto a pile of gold and jewels. Treasure tinkled all around her, spilling over her as she laughed.
"Exactly how much honey wine did you drink?" she said.
"Enough that I don't care," he said, plunking onto another pile and letting it rain onto the earthen floor. "I don't care about being responsible tonight. I don't care to be anything other than what I am, and I don't care what anyone thinks of that."
"I think that's perfectly fine," she said, sobering as she looked at him. "I would not want you to be anything else."
"I know, and that's why I--" He cut himself off with a rueful smile and a shake of his head. "None of that. Not tonight. Tonight . . ." He dug his hands into the pile. "Tonight I'm going to find you a gift."
"Not to deny your good intentions, but this isn't a marketplace."
"It is for me. I'm a thief, Ash. I take what's not mine. What can never be . . ." He looked at her and went quiet, then yanked his gaze away and scooped up handfuls of treasure. "My gift is not in the purchase. It is in finding exactly the right piece for you."
He dug through the piles, pulling up necklaces and armbands and other jewelry. He'd hold up a piece and say, "No, too gaudy," or "No, not your style," and keep sifting. She let him. He was happier than she'd seen him in many days, and she'd do nothing to spoil his game.