Dragon by Midnight, page 14
“Thank you,” she said.
She poked the poached egg with her fork and let the golden yolk seep into the toast.
“You were right,” Sikandar said.
Crunching into the toast, she raised her eyebrows. “Hmm?”
“About bed and breakfasts. I see the appeal.”
She polished off the egg and toast. When she picked up a strawberry, her nails stabbed the red fruit.
Not nails.
Claws.
They slid from her fingertips like those of a cat. Unlike a cat’s claws, they lengthened into wicked crystal talons. She snatched a napkin to hide her hands.
“Your eyes.” Sikandar spoke in an urgent murmur. “They have gone from hazel to gold.”
“Potion?” she whispered.
“No. Not yet.” He clasped her hand and tugged her to her feet. “We have to go. Quickly.”
They fled from the Hotel Edelweiss.
Plunged into the cold, she hugged herself. God, she was still barefoot in the snow. Her teeth began to chatter. He tossed his shawl around her shoulders.
Burning prickled her arms. Blue scales cracked her skin.
“This way,” Sikandar said.
He placed his hand on her back, a gesture that felt protective, and guided her ahead. They hurried through the streets of Scaldwell, avoiding passersby.
A cramp bent her double. She staggered against him.
He held her until the pain faded. “Keep going.”
“I can’t,” she gasped.
“You can. See? There’s the forest.”
Her hair tumbled in her face. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
His words granted her the strength to keep going. She followed him into the snowy trees, where at last she could let the dragon out. She hugged herself, her hands pressed against her arms, losing the softness of her skin to armor.
“Turn around,” she said.
He did as she asked, and she stripped her borrowed clothes from her body. Shuddering, she fell to her hands and knees, fighting the inevitable transformation.
Had she lost her one chance to kiss him?
If only she had been braver.
Her hands clenched fistfuls of snow as her spine arched. Wings burst from her shoulder blades. She groaned through clenched fangs and closed her eyes. The curse unfurled through her body like a poisonous flower in bloom.
She opened her eyes. A dragon again.
“It’s over,” she said. “Back to hideous beast.”
Sikandar’s exhalation clouded the air. “You’re beautiful.”
“I don’t believe you.” She flattened her wings against her spine. “Besides, it doesn’t matter if you think I’m beautiful or not. I’m the one who has to be a dragon.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“So I won’t roast you like a marshmallow?”
A sad smile bent his mouth. “That feels like so long ago.”
“It does.”
“And now it’s time to say goodbye.”
~
Darkness fell as they flew from Scaldwell to Knockingham. Few lights winked in the velvet blackness beneath them. On the outskirts of the city, Cinderella landed and drank the second dose of the potion. This time, she craved the midnight bitterness and the hard rush of transformation.
Shivering, she dressed quickly in the cold night. Sikandar waited with his back turned.
“Ready,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she would ever be.
He met her gaze. His face looked gray in the shadows. He hadn’t complained the whole flight here, but he still cradled his wounded arm against his chest.
“Remember,” he said, “we both need to tell the same story.”
“I know.”
“Otherwise, this will all be for nothing.”
She hugged herself tight. “I’m no good at lying.”
“Tell fragments of the truth. You’re a girl again, aren’t you?”
She twisted her mouth. “Momentarily.”
“Let’s go.”
Knockingham slumbered behind an old wall, built for bygone days, though the city still closed its gates after nightfall. They stopped at the gatehouse.
One of the guards slouched behind a barred window, lanternlight flickering over his face. “State your name and business.” He sounded supremely bored.
“Sikandar Zerian of Azurum. I’m here on royal business.”
The guard yawned. “Sure you are.”
Another guard clattered down from the ramparts and lifted a lantern to their faces. “That’s the sorcerer, you idiot. Captain of the guard told us to keep a lookout.”
The first guard straightened with a jerk. “If he’s the sorcerer, where’s the dragon?”
Cinderella stepped into the light. “Here.”
“You?”
“I’m the girl who turned into a dragon at the stroke of midnight. He broke the curse.”
Both guards shared a glance.
“His Majesty will deal with you,” said the second guard.
The gate rattled open.
The guards marched them through the streets. On the cliff, Knightsend loomed over the city like a gargoyle in its aerie. They climbed the road to the castle.
Candles guttered as wind gusted inside the castle’s entrance hall. The guards escorted them into a gloomy library that smelled of sleek leather and cigars.
King Archibald sat behind a desk designed to be imposing. Bejeweled rings glinted on his meaty knuckles, which he rapped against the desk’s polished wood.
“Bring them here,” he said.
A guard shoved Sikandar between his shoulder blades. He stumbled into a perfunctory bow. Before anyone could touch Cinderella, she dipped into a curtsy.
“Your Majesty,” she said.
“As promised, I broke the curse,” Sikandar said. “Cinderella is no longer a dragon.”
“I’m not bloody well blind,” King Archibald grumbled.
“As payment, you promised me the Jewel of Oblivion.”
“Queen Eira did. But they tell me you burglarized an alchemist’s shop in Scaldwell.”
“They failed to notice the money I left on the counter.” Sikandar shrugged. “Your Majesty.”
“Impertinence won’t do you any favors, boy.”
Sikandar clenched his jaw, one of the muscles ticking.
“Your Majesty.” Cinderella kept her gaze downcast. “It was my idea to take ingredients from the alchemist’s shop and leave coins on the counter. We never meant to rob anyone of anything, and Sikandar was only trying to help me.”
King Archibald grimaced. “To hell with the alchemist.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Theft is the least of my worries. What do you want?”
“Once again, the Jewel of Oblivion,” Sikandar said.
“Not you,” said King Archibald. “Her.”
Sweat dampened under her arms. “I… I had hoped to speak with Prince Benedict Charming.”
“Why?”
Fragments of the truth. She could do that. “When he invited me to the ball, I thought it a dream come true. The curse turned my dream into a nightmare.”
“And you into a nightmarish beast.”
She met His Majesty’s gaze. “I’m not a beast! Not now. I’m a girl, with a girl’s feelings.”
“What are these feelings?”
“I want a second chance at happily ever after.”
The king’s chair creaked beneath his bulk as he leaned back. “With my son?”
She knew what she must say. “Yes.”
The word left a sour taste in her mouth.
The king waved imperiously. “Summon my son at once. I grow weary of this whole debacle.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” One of the guards hurried out.
As she waited for Prince Benedict, her stomach clenched. Shame? Anticipation? She wasn’t sure. She glanced at Sikandar, but he was avoiding her gaze.
“Your Majesty,” Sikandar said. “The dragon is gone.”
The king stared him down for a long moment, as if the sorcerer might change his mind. “And you will be paid.” He snapped his fingers at the remaining guard. “Bring the sorcerer to the treasury. Give him the Jewel of Oblivion.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Sikandar strode to the door, but halted on the threshold. When he glanced back at Cinderella, she shivered. God, she couldn’t fathom the depths in his dark eyes. If she embraced him goodbye, would he hold her tight, the rest of them be damned?
Would he kiss her?
“Amanita mirabilis,” he said.
And then he left her without another word.
King Archibald spoke. “What the devil did he say?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue,” she lied.
But he had reminded her of the temporary nature of her humanity.
The sorcerer was gone.
Tears blurred her eyes. She blinked fast to hide them, but couldn’t hold them back any longer when Prince Benedict arrived. She stifled ugly sobs against her knuckles.
Benedict stared at her in dismay. “Cinderella?”
“I’m sorry.” She hid her face in her hands. “May I—may I have a handkerchief?”
Silently, the prince offered her one made of fine linen.
She dabbed at her eyes before she surrendered niceties and blew her running nose. Dressed in borrowed clothes, her hair dirty, she was surely hideous.
The king growled out a sigh. “Benedict, the curse is broken. She’s yours now.”
Yours. A chill shivered down her spine. What did that mean?
“Take her out of here. Find her a bedroom.”
“Yes, Father.”
Benedict offered his arm to her. When she rested her hand on the crook of his elbow, his muscles tensed beneath her touch, but he managed to smile at her.
“Cheer up,” he said. “No need to cry.”
She swallowed back a sob. Did he know the dragon curse had been meant for him?
Benedict navigated the shadowed corridors of Knightsend. Servants bowed or curtseyed as they passed, but she could feel their stares drilling into her back.
They stopped at an oak door.
“Here you are,” Benedict said. “The Rose Room.”
With a slight smirk and a flourish of his hand, he flung open the door. She pressed her fingers to her lips. Illuminated by candlelight, a bedchamber glistened in pink silk and crystal, like a rose bejeweled with dew. Her bare feet sank into the plush rug when she stepped inside. It was impossible to resist wriggling her toes in the luxury underfoot.
A princess belonged here.
She folded the handkerchief into smaller and smaller squares, hiding the tearstains on the prince’s monogram. When she offered it to him, he shook his head.
“Keep it,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Benedict kept blinking whenever he looked at her. “Why did you come back?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking of that night at the ball.”
Which was completely true. She pressed her lips together and pretended to be demure.
He inspected her face as if the dragon still lingered. “The curse is truly broken?”
“Yes,” she lied, but her blood turned to ice in her veins.
The potion.
Sikandar had taken the last dose with him, along with the rest of the Miraculous Deathcaps.
“What is it?” Benedict said. “You’re as white as snow.”
“The sorcerer. He has something of mine.”
Benedict’s nostrils flared. “He stole it?” He reached for his waist as if expecting a sword.
“No.” She stopped him with a hand on his chest. “He’s not a thief! He must have forgotten. But I have to find him.”
“Where did he go?”
“The treasury.”
“Follow me.”
They spiraled down a tower staircase, footsteps echoing off stone, and ducked through a door. Mildew tainted the grandeur of a wood-carved hallway. At the end of the hallway, brass monsters snarled on a door that had to be the treasury. Two guards protected the riches within.
“Where’s the sorcerer?” Benedict said.
“Gone, Your Highness,” said the guard. “Escorted him out of the castle moments ago.”
Cold rushed over her skin. “Excuse me.”
She dashed down the hallway and whirled up the spiral staircase, around and around. Dizzy, she retraced her steps to the entrance hall. She shoved through the groaning doors of the castle and stumbled into the night.
She ran down the drive, the stones cold under her bare feet.
“Sikandar!”
He waited for her on the road. “Cinderella?”
Hope shone in his eyes, bright in the moonlight, and stopped her in her tracks. She clutched the stitch in her ribs, unable to speak, not sure what to say.
“Amanita mirabilis,” he repeated. “You forgot the potion.”
“Oh.” The word escaped her as a puff of air.
He had meant to remind her.
Sikandar rummaged in his pack. “Keep this safe. It’s the last dose.” He held out a bottle, the quicksilver potion shimmering within.
Her hands trembling, she looked for a place to hide the bottle in her borrowed clothes. She glanced back at the castle, praying the darkness hid them.
Praying Prince Benedict hadn’t cared enough to follow.
“You have pockets in the trousers,” Sikandar said. “There.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated. “I should go. Before anyone sees us.”
“Will you take the Jewel of Oblivion and return to Azurum? Will I never see you again?”
He averted his gaze. “I don’t know.”
A knot in her chest tugged tighter and tighter, her longing turned into agony.
“Good night,” he said, as if this wasn’t also goodbye.
“Sikandar, wait. Please. Just—”
“Cinderella.” Pain roughened his voice. He looked away.
“May I kiss you?”
“Gods.” He turned back, his face half in shadow. “Yes.”
They collided in a crooked kiss. She touched her hand to his cheek and nudged him straight. He tasted sweet, like chai. He exhaled against her lips before kissing her back deeply, his fingers tangled in her long hair. Trembling, she clung to his neck with one hand. Her other hand rested against his cheekbone, the rasp of stubble so thrilling and strange.
They broke apart.
His mouth looked so soft and vulnerable. She pressed her hand above her heart, which hammered against the cage of her ribs. The world contracted to a pinpoint.
“Say something,” she whispered.
Sixteen
Sikandar
She looked at him so expectantly, but all words had fled his mind. The kiss left him thunderstruck, his skin still tingling with lightning. He touched her silky hair, the color of apricots in the moonlight, and tucked it behind her ear.
Finally, his brain caught up with his body.
“Cinderella…” He sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat. “You know it’s too late.”
A shuddering sigh escaped her. “It’s never too late.”
“I can’t stay.”
“Wait for me,” she said. “Let me come with you.”
“I can’t give you what you deserve.”
“Why?”
“I’m Sikandar Zerian of Azurum.”
“That’s exactly who I wanted to kiss.” Her eyes glimmered. “I’ve never been allowed to want anything before. I’ve never even kissed another boy before you.”
“I was your first kiss?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flattered,” he said, and he meant it. “But I can’t be your happily ever after.”
“I refuse to believe that.” She touched her fingertips to his cheek, tentative at first, and then with more certainty. “Kiss me again,” she murmured.
How could he say no?
This time when he kissed her, she leaned against the length of his body, and the shape of her fit him like a puzzle piece. An involuntary groan escaped him. She hooked both hands behind his neck and dragged him even closer.
It hurt too much to pretend.
He retreated from her embrace. “Goodbye, Cinderella.” His voice snagged on her name. “I have a long road ahead of me before I’m home.”
~
Abandoning Knightsend, Sikandar walked to Knockingham and wandered the streets. Pea-soup fog clung to the city and dulled the sharp edges of bricks and iron. He found an inn, the Marmalade Cat, and paid for a room.
He locked the door, tossed his pack on the bed, and slumped beside it on the floor. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he pressed his hands to his gritty eyes.
He ignored the ache where his heart had once been.
When Cinderella burst from the castle, her hair streaming behind her in the night, for one stupid moment he had been tempted to ask her to run away with him. But he couldn’t do that to her. Couldn’t drag her into his own failures. Especially not after the right kiss at the wrong time.
He unpacked the reason he had come to Viridia.
The Jewel of Oblivion.
Cradled in his hand, as big as a goose egg, the gemstone glittered the deep, dark purple of twilight. The jewel’s power slumbered next to his skin.
It wasn’t time for them to forget. Not yet.
He hadn’t yet worked out how much magic this would cost him, especially while wounded. He stripped off his shirt and inspected the bandage. Blood seeped through the cotton, enough to make him woozy. Better to leave it alone, so it would stop bleeding. He supposed he needed stitches. When he clenched his left hand, he could barely make a fist.
What damage had been done?
Part of him wanted to just sell the damn Jewel of Oblivion and pay for a healer. But he needed the jewel. He dropped onto the bed.
Mercifully, he slipped into a dreamless sleep. He woke around dawn, when the fog glowed gray with tentative light. Downstairs, nobody else had risen yet.
Sikandar chose an unobtrusive corner table in the Marmalade Cat. He ordered coffee, toast, and sausages from the bleary-eyed barmaid. She didn’t look much older than Cinderella, though her hair was red instead of blonde.
