Page 10 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon
Chapter Ten
I ’m no blushing virgin, and in my experience, something as simple as a kiss has never been anything to incite much passion.
But Welkin’s eternal goddess, the feel of Jaromir’s lips on mine has heat pooling in my gut and a tingle along the base of my spine. I open beneath his kiss immediately, and he sweeps in, groaning into my mouth. A low hum leaves my throat at the sensation, and my eyes flutter closed. He tastes intoxicatingly sweet, and I want to write a damn sonnet to this moment. I want to write romantic, filthy verses and find out if he tastes this good everywhere. I want to relive this feeling over and over until it’s all I know, and time ceases to exist. My hands slide from his broad leather-clad shoulders up into his hair, fisting possessively. He presses me against the tree, his hand cradling the back of my head, and it feels perfectly natural to slide into his lap and wrap myself around his waist. He stands, lifting me into his arms, as he fills the space between my legs perfectly. Blazing heat erupts across my skin and… other parts.
“Fuck.” His voice is rough as he places harsh kisses down my neck, his beard scratching against delicate skin. I’m trapped between the tree and his firm body, and I don’t think there’s anywhere I’d rather be. I might pitch a marker and claim this spot as my eternal resting place. His hardness presses against me, and I squirm, seeking friction. His hips move, and he groans into my ear. Stars burst across my vision. I’m quite certain I’ll go mad, perhaps even die, if I can’t get his hands beneath my clothes.
I grab the back of his neck, and his skin is hot. I’ve never felt this needy desperation, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying. Claiming his mouth, I gently scrape my teeth along his bottom lip, coaxing another sound of need and distress from his chest. It’s a heady thing, this power. I want to see how far it extends.
Somewhere in the lust-addled recesses of my foggy mind, a whisper of logic takes root. We shouldn’t do this. If it bothered me to see him with another when we were nothing more than travel companions, how much will this complicate things? I only goaded him to make him back off, not to volunteer myself as his personal sheath. That’s what started this, isn’t it? I essentially asked him to use me for the physical needs he experiences.
What is wrong with me?
I let my legs fall, and my feet hit the ground with a finality. Jaromir presses his lips to my forehead, his hands running down my sides. His thorough gaze searches my face, and the hint of a smile curves against his mouth. He presses another kiss to my lips, softer this time, before he follows the trail of his kiss with the pad of his thumb. I shiver and lean into his touch, but unfortunately, I’m stronger than my impulse.
“We can’t do this.”
Jaromir’s brows pinch, and he visibly swallows.
“I shouldn’t do this.” I loathe my words. Part of me screams, yes you should! But I came here with a job to do, and I can’t afford the distraction this entanglement would cause. If my mind is turned to thoughts of him, of possible regret and pain, how can I hope to write Aeron’s ballad? How can I hope to make a name for myself?
No distraction is worth the cost of my future success. Of assuring my life here was worth everything it cost to get me this far. I will be more than that scared little elf starving in the gutter. I will matter, and no one will have the power to take my renown from me.
For once… Jaromir looks unsure. He nods almost to himself, running a hand through his dark hair that’s come loose from its knot. My hands are already itching to dive back in again.
Why couldn’t I have had my epiphany ten, no, fifteen minutes later?
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and the twisted part of me hopes he’s savoring my taste. I want to catch his mouth with mine and show him how much the instinctive part of me wants this.
Instead, I watch him back away, and the distance between us only grows.
“Three silvers says I make this shot.” Cadoc closes one eye as he aims at the empty mug on the bar top. He’s finally found a suitable distraction from the fact we’re remaining in town until Aeron heals. I’ve never known a fellow so averse to sitting still, but Neith says he’s always been this way.
The air is thick and heavy. The tavern is crowded, but not as rowdy as it was last night. First Fruits Day has come and gone, leaving a sea of hangovers in its wake. I can’t say I’m faring much better with the way my stomach dips each time Jaromir moves, blinks, or breathes.
I didn’t even bring my lute tonight.
From across the room, the beautiful red-haired woman clears tables, occasionally glancing over at Jaromir. He never meets her stare, and although it’s awful of me all things considered, I’m glad for it.
“Ye haven’t got any coin left,” Neith says, elbowing Cadoc and throwing him off balance.
“I won’t need it if I make this shot. My winnings will fund my drinks the rest of the night.”
Neith snorts as she sips from her tankard, and it creates a metallic echo. “I won’t take advantage of a drunken fool.” Ignoring his grunt of displeasure, she turns to me. “Aeron was in a jovial mood.”
I trace the knots in the table, glancing anywhere but at Jaromir, though his presence is hard to ignore. The memory of our kiss burns against my lips, and it takes every shred of control not to touch them. I turn my attention to the half-melted candle atop our table. The wax has bubbled and spilled down the side as the flame dances.
“Will he be ready for travel?” I’m almost impressed by how casual I sound.
“Gods, I hope so,” Cadoc says with a groan before attempting another throw. “We’ve tarried long enough.”
Neith nods. “He seems t’think he will be. A sudden affliction o’ blind optimism has taken hold.”
Jaromir rolls his neck, and I fight a losing battle with the heat creeping up my cheeks.
“He’s like that, isn’t he?” Bright and larger than life, like his ridiculous armor. Even lying in a bed, recovering from an arrow wound of his own stupidity, he shines with the force of his hope.
“Aye, though he seemed down last night, didnae he, Cadoc?”
Cadoc looks up from where he’s been aiming his collection of acorns at the lone tankard across the way. “I don’t recall.”
“Yes, ye do. There was even talk o’ abandoning his quest. But he changed his mind. Said summat about Syl’s performance.”
Jaromir openly studies me now. It’s unavoidable, I must meet his gaze, and I find a perfectly formed puzzle meant to elude my best guess at its meaning.
“He even wanted to send a raven t’his brother asking t’come home.”
This pulls me back to Neith’s conversation.
“He what?”
Neith takes a slow sip of her ale, watching me carefully over the rim of her mug before lowering it to the table with a thud. “He asked me t’pen it for him. O’ course, this mornin’ Aeron asked me t’rip it up and write another, boastin’ of our new bard.”
My head spins at her words. But I'm still latched on to the initial revelation. “He needs permission to return home?”
“He didnae tell ye? Oh, why would he when ye’re meant t’write of his heroics? His father cast ‘im off their lands years ago, and he wasn't even permitted t’return for th’man’s funeral rites when he passed.”
His father is dead? I really don't know a damn thing about Aeron. Here I thought he was nothing more than a sweet though ultimately misguided fool, seeking glory and even more wealth. I had no idea the hurts he’s suffered.
“He's hoping his eldest brother will give ‘im leave t’return if he makes a name for himself.”
This changes nothing, I was always going to help him and by proxy help me. But how dare his brother keep him from returning home? I don't care what he's done to lose their favor, he deserved a chance to say goodbye or grieve or whatever he needed to do.
I snatch up Neith's ale and take a deep drink. It's thick and bitter, but it blooms something warm in my belly.
Tonight, I begin writing the most epic tale in Aeron's name, muse be damned.
It takes three more days for Aeron to recover enough to travel. Three days of Cadoc grumbling his boredom at being trapped in this town. Of Neith testing the balance and weight of each blade with the weaponsmith. Three days of finding crushed buttercups I don’t remember picking in the bottom of my satchel and pressing them between the pages of my book for safekeeping. Three days of writing by daylight, and strumming my lute when night claims the sky, and both drink and coin flow freely. Of singing to Aeron’s good name, his honor, his gods, and his heart… without mentioning a certain someone.
It makes no difference. Jaromir barely acknowledges my existence. Though blessedly, he hasn’t taken up with any partners in front of me. That’s a courtesy I hadn’t expected.
I visit Aeron each day and night. Each time, his smile is damn near searing to look upon. Earnest glee crinkles his eyes, and I find myself grinning back. It’s an easy thing, this friendship. He’s sheer warmth, and I still can’t reconcile what Neith shared about his life with the man before me.
He gets stronger each day, and on the third day he even ventures to the tavern with us for dinner. No drinks for him since it doesn’t sit well with the medicinal herbs Henry has him on, but he dutifully holds his tankard and watches me sing with a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
Jaromir is actually friendly. With Aeron, that is. He smiles and nods along with his jokes all the while ignoring me. The only indicator that he can hear me is how he tightens his grip on his drink when I start to sing… not that I’m watching or anything.
With daybreak comes the continuation of our journey. Cadoc’s smiles come easier, a spring to his step now that we’re moving on. Neith carries the weapon she selected for me until we can begin training. Bags are packed, horses are watered and loaded, and we’re off.
Jaromir slides into place at my back. I haven’t felt his warmth since that day in the woods when we exchanged breathless kisses punctuated by painstaking distance. Every nerve in my body reacts, flaring to life at his proximity, and I bite back a sigh. Aeron gives me an apologetic shrug, as if he detects my discomfort.
If only he knew my discomfort is from the way my skin sings at Jaromir’s touch and the reckless wish for more.
I turn in the saddle, glancing over Jaromir’s shoulder to watch the town of Astervale disappear from the dusty road, until the cover of trees and over-filled branches blanket the sky.
New verses to Aeron’s ballad come to me, and I don’t have the energy to fight for my notebook to jot them down.
Farewell is not farewell, in the end
But a promise to meet once more
For where stories end, they begin anew
So instead of farewell, I’ll say to you
Until we meet again.