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Swallowing hard at the intensity of his stare, I broke away, catching sight of a shadow crossing the moon. Drakmir.
Standing, I stepped toward the stone balustrade and pulled his cloak tighter, wondering at the sensation of pleasure as I inhaled deeply, surrounded by his scent. I heard him move, then his heat was behind me.
A light breeze rustled through the silvery leaves under the moonlight, catching my attention. The leaves were just beginning to fall, the weather growing colder.
“We don’t have trees with leaves of that color in Issos.”
“As far as I know, esher trees only grow in this part of Northgall.” He was so close but not touching. It felt more intimate than if we were.
“There’s an old legend about how the eshers got their blue leaves.” His voice was a silky rumble.
“Really?” I asked, hypnotized by this attentive, genteel side of King Goll.
From the start and specifically since we’d left Valla Lokkyr, he’d seemed either angry, indifferent, or mocking towards me. I wondered if his gentler manners were because he was now returned home, crowned and victorious. No matter the reason, I craved this side of him.
“Tell me,” I beckoned.
He was quiet a moment then he said, “The story says that the first wraith king fell into deep mourning when his mizrah died in childbirth with their second child. He refused to burn her on a pyre as was tradition. Instead, he carried her alone into the woods behind Näkt Mir.” He paused then continued. “His grief was so great that he sat beneath the oldest tree in the woods, slit his wrists with his dagger, and died with his mizrah in his arms. His blue blood mingled with hers and seeped into the ground, into the very roots of the forest. Thereafter, eshers bloomed blue leaves, stained from the blood and grief and love of the first wraith king and his mizrah.”
Another wind gusted through the trees, more slender leaves pinwheeling down onto the forest floor as if in tribute to the story.
“It’s a lovely but sad story,” I said softly, “but did the wraith king truly kill himself over his mizrah? In real life, Imean.” I couldn’t imagine a wraith king grieving so much over a concubine.
Goll finally shifted to stand beside me, a furrowed vee between his brow. “Why would he not?”
Confused, since Goll himself had told me that a mizrah’s purpose was nothing more than to bear the king’s heir and would be one of many lovers to the king, I turned away. I couldn’t maintain that intense stare of his, which seemed to try to glean all of my thoughts.
Instead of answering, I watched Drakmir circle lower, then spread his wings wide, soaring and landing in an open space between the palace garden and the esher woodland. The gray esher leaves on the ground curled into the air as he beat his wings on the landing.
The dragon tilted his nose up toward us, scenting the air, then he chirped in that guttural way. It sounded pleasant. I huffed a small laugh.
“What is it?” Goll was close to my left side.
“It’s almost like he’s saying hello.”
“He is. Would you like to go down and see him?”
I looked over my shoulder, meeting Goll’s questioning gaze. I thought that strange to ask. His cold mask was in place again, not the watchful hunter I saw just a moment ago across the table. Even so, there was a wariness in his expression. A vulnerability. He wanted me to get to know his dragon?
“Yes,” I finally answered.
He blinked and dipped his gaze, a quirk lifting one side of his wide mouth. “This way, my mizrah.”
Yet again, I winced inwardly at that moniker. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to being called the title that essentially equaled “servant.” A sexual servant.
Setting it aside, for what good was it to bemoan my new reality, I followed him through his bedchamber, wanting to slowdown and marvel at the decor. From the ceiling down, the large room was draped in black and gold except the mantel, which was white marble like mine. There were intricate designs and figures carved into it, but he urged me to follow quickly.
I hesitated when he disappeared behind his dressing screen. He stepped back out of the shadows, smiling wide enough to flash his fangs.
“Frightened, Una?”
My wings flinched under the cloak. I tipped my chin up. “Of course not. Whatever harm you might’ve wanted to do me, you could have done at any time.”
“This is true, Mizrah.” His voice was low and intimate. “Come.” He nodded his head for me to follow and turned away.
Behind his dressing screen, there was nothing more than a wardrobe to one side and a wall. He flattened his palm and pressed, then a door unlatched and opened inward to a dark, stone stairwell. A gust of cool air wafted into the room.
“Oh.” I stepped up beside him and smiled. “Clever.”
