Page 180 of Nine-Tenths

"A cheeky what?"

But we're already rolling down the tree-lined avenue, headed for town. The car stops fifteen minutes later opposite what the signage proclaims is Cardiff Castle. Or, from what I can see through the arched gateway, the ruins of it. I wonder if this one is a real Castle, or just another grandly named fake. How long ago did it fall? What happened to the dragons that ruled from that seat? Looking at the Welsh flag flying proudly from a pole in the stone courtyard, I have a pretty good guess.

Owain hustles me in the opposite direction, down a narrow cobbled street so old it has carriage tracks worn into the stone, and into a black-and-white half-timbered building. The sign above the door proclaims itThe Goat Major, and our driver circles away silently as Owain holds the door to the pub open for me. We're greeted by a cheerful "Waheeey!" from the sparse spattering of patrons. The atmosphere is inviting—allhunter green leather, shiny brass fixtures, and low golden lamps. The walls are filled with military memorabilia and photos or paintings of goats alongside men in uniforms (whom I assume all hold the rank of major).

"Free by the fire, your Earl-ship," the bartender says, nodding us toward a little cozy, his tone mocking in a friendly way.

"Come here often?" I ask as we settle ourselves in a set of club chairs. My butt's barely finished making a dent in the leather when two fresh pints of some sort of deeply red beer are deposited on our table.

"Since the day it opened."

"So, a couple of centuries?"

"Aye.Yachi da," Owain says, holding up his glass.

I repeat the toast. We spend the next few minutes correcting my pronunciation, and then lapse into contented silence.

"This is nice," I say at length.

"Mmm," Owain agrees, and, shit, yeah, this is the first time the two of us have been alone all week.

"Thanks."

"Hmmmm."

"It must have been hard for Dav to leave here."

"Oh, no, lad," Owain says. "He was rarin' for the adventure. Spoke of nothing but coming back in glory." There's a touch of sadness in his words.

"And then he stayed?" I prompt gently.

"Aye, well." Owain sniffs. "That's all done now. When he told us he was trying to repatriate the territory to his friend, you know, we hoped… but he's got you, and a vineyard he's proud of. Sends us cases every year. We're just happy he's happy."

I set down my beer, nerves suddenly pricking. "You didn't drag me here to give me a shovel talk, did you? Because I promise you, his staff beat you to it."

Owain cracks one of his unguarded, jovial smirks at me, and the world tilts a little. It's weird to see a man who looksso muchlike my lover wearing an expression that I don't think I've ever seen on Dav.

"I'm not worried about you breaking my boy's heart," Owain says. "Nor am I worried he'll break yours."

"Oh." I force my fingers to stop twisting along the edge of my jumper. Dav had dug it out of a cedar chest for me, because the Welsh damp can sneak in and settle in your bones. The cabling is complicated, the ruby-coloured wool soft, and smells like a forest. "Thank you. So, why are we here then?"

"Oh, few reasons," Owain allows, finishing his pint and signaling the barkeep for another. "First, because the tension in that house was like to make me scratch my skin off. You'll learn that the more agitated the wyrms get, the more it makesusuncomfortable. One of the downsides to The Gift. We're meant to go soothe them, but I'm telling you now there's no soothing a Tudor when the bit's between their teeth. Best to just give 'em space."

"Going to a pub seems like overkill."

Owain thanks the waitress who drops off a fresh round for us, and we toast again, my pronunciation just barely improved.

"That's the second part of it," Owain says. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Is there a third?"

Owain reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring box.

"I'm flattered," I laugh. "But I think Dav would be peeved if I married you."

Owain chortles and sets it on the table. "This belonged to Paulette's father's Favorite. It never suited me—" he shows off a broad blacksmith’s hand. "But you've got them delicate fingers."

The ring is slender, but not girlish. The signet is stamped into a band of gold, the flower and the flames picked out in rubies.It's subtler than I had expected it to be when Dav had been musing about rings. And, unlike then, slipping it on doesn't send me into a panic spiral.