Page 40 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

“Fine,” the blonde one said. “Drop the knife on the ground, and we’ll take you in.”

The barracks stank.

I'd forgotten what olfactory horrors the presence of so many men could produce, and there was nothing here to indicate the presence of a woman with a nose, nor a single patron of the Scentlands.

Worse, for a place inhabited by Sightlanders, it was an eyesore.

Everything about it suggested impermanence, from the poorly dug sewer trench to the roughly hewn wood of the fences and buildings, unsanded and unvarnished.

It was a place they clearly intended to leave to decay when they were done.

There was no joy in its craftsmanship nor an eye to anything more than functionality.

Two different men led me through the encampment, glancing back often.

The two from before had passed on the message, and they eyed my tied coat with suspicion.

They did not restrain me, an action I determined to be naive, yet I understood its simple effectiveness.

For the place's manifold faults, it only had one exit, and everyone here needed only the smallest encouragement to cut me down where I stood.

With my hardy, patched clothing and braided hair, I looked Euphon.

As we moved across the wooden walkway, a necessity to keep off the worst of the churned-up mud, I caught the anger and heat in their eyes.

To them, I was a member of the tribes responsible for the camp's injuries, and some of their deaths.

The traps were always designed to be lethal, though the Sightlanders had been better than most at spotting them.

It was unsurprising, given their society's prioritisation of the sense, and it meant they were sometimes able to avoid the worst of the trap’s intent.

Though whether it was kinder to survive their traps was a debate I didn't want to think about.

I kept my dragon hidden as we stepped up to a door.

Here, finally, they decided it was prudent to pat me down.

I was grateful for my dragon’s position against my chest, for he prevented more than a brief and unobtrusive search.

They wore their gloves, and so even their grip on my bare arms didn’t elicit my own particular brand of intrusion, but I didn’t need my power to feel the resentment coming off them in waves.

For a population starved of the woman’s touch for so long, I was glad they seemed to have no idea how to touch a woman, as opposed to any eagerness.

They pushed open the door to a small entrance room filled with mud-caked boots and three well-trimmed heavy coats. The fur was not of these parts, likely taken from somewhere where the Domins of Gossamir were more legend than truth .

I stepped inside as a man pushed open the opposing door.

I recognised him as the man who had shot me in the leg.

Now, with no coat, I could see him properly.

Behind his bushy red beard and wide shoulders, I noted he was probably a wyvern rider, from the sharp amber colour of his eyes.

He was intimidating, with a bulkiness to him and roughly drawn hand tattoos which gave him more of a wild look than most other Sightlanders I’d seen.

He stopped dead, regarding me at first with something approaching appreciation. Then, when he took in the strange coat-sling and the way I held my leg out before me, his wyvern-eyes widened.

“You,” he said. “The wolf girl. You’re alive.”

I blinked. “It seems that way.”

He groaned. “You’ve just lost me a bet.”

I only raised an eyebrow.

He pushed the door behind him open and called through it. “Lang. We have a visitor.”

My heart skipped a beat. This was really happening.

I had really walked headfirst into the Dragon Prince’s lair.

I was struck then with a complete sense of idiocy.

This was incredibly risky, and yet, I still knew if I had my time over, I would make the same decision.

Though, I reasoned with myself, that didn’t make it any less stupid. It just meant I was a committed idiot.

The bearded man walked through the door and held it open before turning to me, his arm creating a walkway. “You coming in, or not?”

I swallowed and hobbled forwards, holding my precious burden close as I ducked under his arm and into the room.

It was simple enough: no thrones or suits of glittering armour.

The only displays of wealth were a thick golden tapestry woven with a red wing—the inverse of the Sightlands’ flag—that hung from the far wall and the handful of plush cushions nestled around the low table.

And there, with no fanfare or ceremony, was the Dragon Prince.

Langnathin wasn’t looking at me when I walked in. His eyes were on the floor as he stood up from one of the cushions to receive us. He dusted something I could not see off his trouser leg, and straightened.

The glimpse of him in the forest wasn’t enough to measure all the changes over the last span, and so I studied him now, marking them like it was a Knowledge test. His mouth looked more severe, curving downwards just like his shoulders.

His eyes were as tired as the Euphons’ but still as blood-red.

His complexion was somehow paler than before, the passing Domin making him as pallid as most of Amune’s tribesmen.

Despite it all, though, his cleanliness gave him away.

With his shining dark hair and a carefully shaven face, he was still every inch the prince.

I had thought of this moment for years. Remembered every word he had spoken to me and how he had looked at me as the men melted on the ground before Chaethor. I thought I would have to hold myself back from the sheer anger of it all.

But instead, as his eyes met mine, I only felt nervous. I couldn’t let him hurt the bundle in my arms.

The Dragon Prince blinked rapidly as he took me in, and I met his eyes as boldly as I would dare.

For a second, he looked almost stunned, shock rippling across his features.

He couldn’t recognise me. My hair was brown, my eyes blue.

It had been a full span since he had seen me last, and even then, he had only seen half my face, concealed behind beads.

Besides, I was older, and my features had changed.

“The wolf girl lived, sir,” the man said from behind me, making me jump. “I’m glad you refused the wager, I’m broke enough as it is. Tell me, lady, how is the leg? ”

I glanced at the man, and he stood just behind me, watching me warily. “Painful.”

The man snorted. “Good.”

When I returned my eyes to the Dragon Prince, his face was blank. He folded his arms. “Why are you here?”

“I am Vorska of Gossamir,” I said, using the name of a young tribeswoman Yvon had once mentioned. “My people have cast me out, and I come to you for shelter.”

Langnathin touched his fingers to his lips. “And why would a Euphon ever want the help of a cacof? Most of you would rather die than ally with us.”

I swallowed, swapping my arms to hold my bundle with the other arm.

He caught the movement and stared at the pouch of coat at my front with something akin to hunger.

I shifted my weight. “It is true that my tribe hates you. But to allow myself to die alone in the woods would be a greater crime. For in doing so, I might kill one of our most sacred beings.”

Langnathin stared. “What do you hold?”

I reached into the coat, slowly again, knowing the man at my back was big enough to fell me with one good punch. Especially now, when I was struggling to stand as it was.

Carefully, I cradled the sleeping warm flesh and pulled him up to my shoulder. He made a noise at losing his cocoon of warmth, but otherwise did not stir.

The man behind me sucked in a breath, but my eyes did not leave the prince. He was not surprised. For a few seconds he stared at the beast, and then he moved in a slow circle around me. I shuddered under the weight of his red stare, assessing the baby at my neck with unerring focus.

Then, as he reached his starting position, his eyes flicked back up to mine. “Your eyes are unnaturally blue, even for a Soundlander. You are already bonded.”

“We are,” I replied, though it was not a question.

“How did you do it?” he pressed. “It takes my riders in the Vidarium weeks. It took me…”

Langnathin trailed off, running his fingers through his hair.

“It is a Euphon secret,” I lied.

His jaw tensed. “One you will share with us.”

“In time, when I know I am safe.”

“Safe?” he echoed. “Why would you think yourself safe here?”

My chest tightened, and I stroked a hand down the child’s back, more for my own comfort than his.

“I will join you. I broke the rules when I helped Vellintris, and my people have cast me aside. I am injured, as your partner ensured. Alone, unable to hunt or forage, I will die. At your side, we could thrive. Me, and my dragon.”

The prince paused. “You come out of need, then. Not choice.”

“I am choosing not to die,” I said. “That is still a choice.”

“That is a little-won loyalty, one that is born from a desire not to die. Why would I trust you?”

I narrowed my eyes. “And if I had claimed some deep patriotism to your Sightlands, you would have believed that?”

Langnathin snorted. “No, I suppose not.” The moment hung in the air. Then he sighed. “I should kill you right now. Both of you.”

I rubbed the baby dragon’s head, my finger shaking. I did not think it appropriate to beg him for my life, not when he sought to make out my character.

“I am trying to imagine what my father would say,” the Dragon Prince muttered, pacing around me once more. “Would he call for your deaths? ‘Better a dead dragon than one in the hands of a savage?’”

I flinched as his spat question moved my hair .

“Or would he condemn me for the action,” he continued. “You offer yourself as an ally, you and your dragon as tools for our use, in exchange for something so simple as security. It would seem a shame to let you both go to waste.”

He stopped before me, and I breathed in and out as steadily as I could, but my heart was beating out of my chest.

He narrowed his red eyes. “You have not met my father, the good King Braxthorn, but humour me. What do you think he would say?”

I blinked a couple of times. Suddenly, it felt like I was back in the Fate Ceremony. Only there was only one question, and only one option. Live, or die.

I had to show him I was more than what he thought of me. An equal, someone who could match him. Not a simpering princess. If he decided to trust me enough to take me back to the kingdom, the king had to think me strong. Strong enough to be a bride for his son.

If I were Braxthorn… What argument could I make to keep myself alive?

I looked straight ahead, my eyes on the golden tapestry as I gathered my thoughts. “Vellintris is dead,” I said. “You have spent years here, in this forest, and all you have to show for it are her materials. Valuable, yes, but not justifying the cost of your siege here.”

The Dragon Prince huffed out a breath.

But I was not finished. “The age of dragons is already coming to a close. Of the great dragons left in the skies, there are only three now. Yes, Kallamont is in his prime, and Chaethor is finally an adult. You have two of the three. You will control the skies for decades more. But then what? A new dragon is a new legacy. It is an heir of your line, continuing your strength for one hundred years to come. And its price is easy. The loyalty of one woman. Win her, and you win the last blue dragon to your cause. ”

I slid my gaze over to Langnathin as he stared at me.

His face was entirely impassive, any emotion cloaked behind a wall of stone.

I smiled at him. “I think if I were Braxthorn, I would ask you this. Are you so uncertain of your own charms that you would kill a kingdom’s greatest weapon, instead of attempting to win its keeper?”

The silence was so deadly, I forgot for a moment I was in a room with two cacofs. We stood, the three of us, preternaturally still. It was only my little one’s steady breathing that indicated any time had passed.

I had spoken boldly, and even rudely. I had insulted his judgement, his abilities.

He could cut me down in an instant. And yet, I knew my words were true.

They needed this to justify this entire war.

How many resources had the Sightlanders lost to this forest?

How many years? How many were dead to traps?

To come back from such a journey, with nothing but the corpse of a dragon…

A laugh burst out from behind me.

The noise was so loud, so raucous, that I flinched. I hadn’t heard laughter like that in several years. The moments of humour I’d experienced over the last span had been so flickering, or so lonesome, that I hadn’t done more than exhaled from joy in all that time.

The thought made me sad. I’d grown so used to the quiet that laughter felt like an assault. It used to be my favourite thing, when I caught onto a laugh with Seth and found myself unable to stop.

The burly man stopped laughing and held his hands up. “Sorry, Lang. But she nailed that. I could feel his spirit in the room. ”

The Dragon Prince was still stony-faced. “We fly south in six days, on the first day of Tanmer.” His eyes to my leg. “You will rest here until then.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he clapped his hands three times and cut off any thought I had as two guards pushed into the room in answer.

“The girl is staying as our guest. Find her a room. No one speaks to her.”

The two men nodded, and one of them gasped as he saw the creature attached to me. I limped out of the room, not looking back even as I felt his gaze bearing into the back of my skull.