Page 70 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Twenty-Six

We left Cosdam just after dawn, racing north. The air grew increasingly cold, so that by the time I saw the faint ridges of mountains in the distance, snow was falling from the slate gray sky.

Aben and Britaxia were both swathed in thick furs we had picked up before leaving the city. Their far away outlines atop their dragons were little more than fuzzy smudges.

My dragon flew as the point of the little triangle formation we made, her small size and lack of a rider making her faster and more agile than the larger dragons.

Warm in Io's shield, my furs were lashed to the back of Veles' saddle. I found myself leaning more and more into the hard wall of dragon mage at my back as we flew, taking full advantage of the fact that he simply could not move away.

Perhaps it was fighting dirty, and I should be ashamed of myself, but I was not. I cared less for the faceless king whose name was on my betrothal document than I did for the honor of my word.

Time was fleeting. We inched closer and closer to the marriage vow that I knew I could not break—the one that I would give in earnestness and keep in good faith.

Not just because a vow made before the gods was sacred, but because breaking a vow made to a king was dangerous—just as likely to have you losing your head as your kingdom.

But a betrothal was just a contract, and I cared little and less for the sanctity of that parchment when weighed against the last dying gasps of my battered heart.

I had already decided I would wring what little happiness I could from my shattered life. Now that I knew that broken piece of me—the piece of me that wanted him more than air—had only been slightly bent out of shape, I needed him.

He, of course, was the obstacle then. I might have thrown my honor to the dogs, but he had not. He had not touched me in any but the most chaste and innocent way since he put his name on that betrothal document as proxy for his brother.

Guilt crashed through me at the thoughts swirling in my head. Could I really be considering a path to corrupt him—to lead him to throw away his honor as I had done mine, when the act had already cost me so much of my own self-respect?

The answer was no, I would not do that to him.

..right up until the moment the city of Cold Garden came into view on the snow-covered horizon.

My mind went immediately to the prospect of being alone with him, and the guilt at what I was considering flew right past me, fading away behind me like the heavy, fat snowflakes falling from the leaden sky.

By the time we reached the river and the city, the snow was thick. It lay on the ground in deep drifts that concealed and weighed down the godsgrass I knew still grew on this side of the Dyskala River.

Cold Garden, or more accurately, the river itself, marked the end of the godsgrass plains.

As we circled the city, Veles banking and lowering to the ground, we momentarily crossed the river. I noted that it was the first time I had ever been in the world outside the godsgrass.

But then we crossed the river again, and I laughed, sharing the thought with Io that my journey outside the plains had been brief.

"I'm not sure whether I should be sad that you've never seen the world, or excited for you that you're about to see more of it than you'll know what to do with," he said.

"Both," I replied, the prospect of adventure momentarily making me forget where that journey was ultimately leading.

The wind was only slightly less intense on the ground than it had been in the air. It stung my face with icy pellets and whipped my hair around my head.

We donned our furs for the trek to the city. A hood made from gray and black-flecked snow bear fur surrounded my face in a circle. It made it even harder to see around me in the winter storm that was in full force.

"Will the dragons be okay out here?" I shouted over the wind.

Io smiled and nodded towards them. I followed his gaze. My dragon had joined Veles, and they were playing. I couldn’t see Melor and Iaxis, but I knew they were out there somewhere in the driving snow since I’d watched Aben and Britaxia land.

Veles looked like nothing so much as a big dog as he lowered himself and pushed his snout through the snow, huffing and blowing as he rooted around. He came up, head covered in white, looking comical.

I laughed as he shook himself, sending the snow flying off in all directions.

My dragon was, by turns, bouncing through the drifts and flapping above them. When she dove down into the white, her small, pale body was swallowed up entirely by the snow.

“They love it,” I said, wonderingly.

"They are made for the cold mountains," Aben put in, striding up with Britaxia at his side, appearing like magic from within the swirling storm.

Aben’s words brought to mind something I’d once read in an old text in Albiyn. Dragons do not manufacture fire, they are made of it. Their bodies, merely the vessel that contains the inferno.

Of course they would be fine in a blizzard. The falling snow was not even collecting on Veles' back. The flakes melted on contact with his heated scales.

Io reached out and took my hand. I was grateful for the warmth that bled into me on contact. It spread throughout my body as he warmed me through the simple touch.

I squeezed his hand in thanks as we trudged through the blizzard. He pulled me along at his side, and I hoped he could see where he was going. All I saw was swirling white in every direction. Even the tall forms of Aben and Britaxia, just behind us, were mostly obscured by the driving snow.

As we walked, I kept my head down watching my feet since they were the only thing I could see in the swirling mass of white. I was counting on Io to keep me from running headlong into any obstacles.

But then one step felt different than the others as my feet landed on more solid ground. I looked up to see the faint outlines of buildings on either side of what I presumed to be a road. It was empty, of course, since only true idiots would be out in a snowstorm of that magnitude.

Io led us closer to the buildings as he searched for an inn.

We found one after no more than ten minutes, but as soon as the warmth of the lobby began to seep through my clothes, the innkeeper informed us that they were full.

"Storm brings 'em all in," the man said apologetically. "You can try the Snowshoe down on Cotter Way."

We left, trudging back through the snow. Io still held my hand, so that even my toes were reasonably warm in the thin-soled boots.

The Snowshoe Inn had the same bad news for us. "We fill up fast before a storm like this," the innkeeper said. "Those that live rough in the mountains and such always crawl down the hills and be lookin' for warm."

Three more inns had the same bad news, so we ended up in a little mercantile that catered mostly to tourists who came to trek up the mountains to see the glaciers.

We drank warm cups of chocolate with heavy dollops of cream.

It was so rich and thick that I couldn't finish mine.

Aben took my cup, and happily downed the last half, wiping his mouth on the back of his large hand.

We left the little shop, intent on taking shelter with the dragons, but just as we began the long trek back through the snow, the shopkeeper poked her head out the door. "Try the Beaver Trap!" she shouted, pointing across the street where a tall gray building sat collecting snow drifts.

We thanked her and crossed the street. As we neared the building, Io halted, shaking his head. He had a rueful smile on his face.

Aben barked a laugh and hurried his footsteps across the road as Britaxia gave him a dark look of warning.

"What’s wrong?" I shouted over the wind that had once again picked up speed, whipping my hair in my face so hard it stung.

"It's a brothel," Io shouted.

I burst out laughing. Of course it was a brothel, because the fates had a fucking sense of humor. They would funnel the lust swirling around in my chest straight to the place where it had all started.

I held tightly to Io’s hand and pulled him through the snow for a change. By the time we reached the steps up onto the little porch, the smile had faded from his face entirely.

There was music and laughter coming from inside.

It sounded so much like the Mouse's Ear that I felt my heart contract painfully.

The memory of what that time had been like was a physical ache in my chest that nearly stole my breath away.

I wanted to go back. I would have given anything to go back to Albiyn to see my friends again—to play cards with Arkadian, Petta, and Rhychulson—or to sit at the bar and talk politics with Anetta.

I swallowed the knot of grief as we stepped through the door. The inside of the Beaver Trap was nothing like the Mouse's Ear. Where the brothel in Albiyn had an air of sophistication and catered to a certain elite group of people, the Beaver Trap was well...a beaver trap.

Rough looking men sat at tables with their bearded faces buried in the bosoms of bare-chested women. Or at least one of them did since I averted my eyes at first glance and stopped looking around after I saw the big man dip his coarse, whiskered face for a nibble of pale white flesh.

The laughter was raucous, and the room smelled like stale body sweat and smoke mixed with the faint aroma of cheap alcohol.

Aben and Britaxia were already in the taproom, the big man leaning across the bar in conversation with a slim man holding a bottle of liquor and looking wide-eyed at the seven-foot-tall giant who had appeared before him.

A colorfully dressed older woman met us in the lobby by sliding a hand down Io's chest. She leaned in close to breathe a whiff of stale garlic in my face. "You lot looking for a third? I can make you a good deal," she purred.