Page 46 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)
Aurelia
S ilence is my companion once more as I follow Rowan back to my bedchamber. Again, we pass the portrait on the wall. Again, his steps quicken.
Out of the corner of my eye, I now see the painting clearly for what it is and understand why he does not wish to linger over it. It is a portrait of the last King and Queen of the Flora Vale—him and my mother. No doubt the sight of it brings him nothing but misery. They looked so happy then.
Wonder washes over me again.
My father . Rowan is my father.
There are so many things I wish to ask him, but I dare not. Now is not the time. If he wanted me to know his secret, he would have told me himself when we first met.
Breathing deep, I vow to keep his secret for now. There will be time for our reunion later.
The Great Weaver willing.
“Hurry!” Ghoul shouts when he spots us coming, his bulging eyes darting frantically here and there. “You’re late! Very late.”
The sudden realization that if Rowan is my father, that makes Ghoul my uncle slams home. I can’t stop myself—I laugh at the very thought. To think that he wished to make a meal of me!
It would seem Drakara is awash in terrible uncles.
At the sound of my laughter, both goblins turn to stare at me, clearly confused.
But when Ghoul notices my lack of chains, his confusion shifts to naked fear. “Where did chains go? King Malice will be angry. Very angry.”
Rowan answers for me. “ Therya’fey no longer wished to wear her chains, so she no longer wears them.”
Primly, I add, “ Therya’fey has no reason to flee, therefore there is no need for the chains.”
With a twitch of my fingers, I open the double doors for myself with a simple weave of Air, leaving Ghoul gawking. Taking some small pleasure in his shock, I breeze past and wander into my dreadfully crowded room.
I have much to do and precious little time to do it.
“I will be ready soon enough,” I declare. With a wave of my hand, I slam shut the doors behind me.
Immediately, I drop to a crouch, hunting for Bene’s crumpled letter amongst the many boxes.
But even as I do, I reach out with a gossamer-thin strand of Spirit, hunting for one individual in particular here in the castle.
For a single, heart-rending moment, I almost fear that I am too late. That she is no longer among the living.
But then I find her. I sense her heartbeat weakly thrumming alongside my own.
A relieved sigh escapes me as I send out a delicate weave of Mind next. I strive to keep my mental touch feather-light—merely imploring rather than demanding—so I do not accidentally startle her. “Velda?”
Despite my best efforts, surprise mingled with a dash of fear radiates along the link. “ Therya’kai ?” Her voice sounds so frail within my mind. “Is that you?”
“It is.” For a few moments, I simply bask in the happiness I feel from the little pixie. It is a happiness shared. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Of course,” she weaves back, sounding stronger by the moment. “But when?”
Finally, I find the letter. Guilt pricks me as I right myself with the ball of paper in hand. I never should have crumpled it in the first place.
“Right now.”
“Now?” she echoes, her confusion fluttering through my mind. “But how?”
Delicately, I smooth out the letter, setting it to right as best I can. Still, it is water-stained. Still, it is ruined beyond repair. But Bene’s closing and signature remain.
Faithfully Yours, Bene.
“Let me worry about the how, Velda. What I need from you right now is…” I swallow hard, my eyes closing. Desperately, I think back, trying to remember the words Bene uttered that night in Spindleton. When he tried to force me from his back with gusts of Air.
“Yes?”
“A translation,” I whisper into the other woman’s thoughts. “What does the phrase, ‘ Na velar sha. Tir’anor,’ mean in Common?”
I can almost hear Velda thinking.
“ Na velar sha is easy enough to translate. It is how one says, ‘I love you,’ in Draconic. But tir’anor is a bit more difficult.
Oh, Glorana would enjoy this question. Most scholars would translate that phrase as, ‘Now and always,’ but it’s more complicated than that.
The true answer is that there is no good translation for it.
But I can explain the context in which it is usually used, if that helps? ”
My pulse skips. My hands tremble. “Yes.” It is all I can manage to weave now.
“ Tir’anor is only ever used when uttering the most solemn of oaths. Among dragons, it is considered the most binding pact. It is exclusively reserved for pledges such as a dragon swearing himself to the service of his liege or… pledging himself to his drakira .”
My eyes flutter closed. Clasping Bene’s ruined letter against my heart, I try to remember how to breathe. Bene loves me. Now and always. And not because of my gift. If he merely wanted my gift, he would not keep trying to push me away.
If he merely wanted my gift, he would not have exiled himself to another world simply to protect me. He would not have left me alone in Briarhold for the past twelve years.
Yes, he kept the full truth from me. Yes, he lied by omission. But I already knew that back in Spindleton. I already forgave him for that.
I can forgive him for this business of him nearly destroying the Door to protect me further, too, now that I understand his why.
Happy tears bead in my eyelashes while my mind flits between all my favorite memories of our childhood flights, all of my favorite letters he ever wrote to me, searching for any glimpse of when his love for me first began.
He loves me. Bene loves me.
“Was that helpful, Therya’kai ?” Velda asks, sounding uncertain.
“Yes,” I weave back. “Yes, thank you.”
I fight the urge to twirl about the room. Though my heart threatens to wing straight from my chest at any moment, I cannot let myself float away just yet.
Bene is still dying. He still needs me.
“I’m coming for you,” I promise, pressing a kiss to the water-stained parchment in my hands. Carefully folding it, I tuck it inside my mother’s wedding dress—the very gown I must now figure out how I am going to don without a maid here to help me.
“ Tir’anor .”