Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (7 page)

In short, like the woman, the room was compact, efficient, and gave absolutely nothing away. He narrowed his eyes, looking deeper into the shadows beneath her bed. Were those books? By the Father, there were dozens of books secreted away under her bed! How he itched to know what she read. He couldn't see the titles from here.

He turned his attention back to her, watching her finish off the pokoti with amazing speed. Then he watched her flush with embarrassment as she suddenly stopped licking the sauce from her fingers before slowly lowering her hands.

"I apologize," she said, her words somewhat stilted, as if she were forcing herself to act more politely than usual. "My manners are hideous. I... I did not eat last night. And after dancing..." She let her voice trail away even as she crossed to her washstand, carefully turning her back to him as she dropped her coin purse someplace he could not see.

"Surely Talned knows he must feed his dancers," Kiril commented, not from any desire to know, merely a wish to keep her talking. "Does he not tell the kitchens to—"

She released a sharp bark of laughter as she poured water into the bowl. "Talned knows we will eat all his profits if he is not careful. I do not fault him for his stinginess." She carefully wet a cloth to clean her face and hands. "Monik and I still manage to take a little here and there. Only last night..." Her words trailed away and he watched her bite her lip, no doubt startled that she was talking to him so easily.

But then, that was exactly why he was being so charming: so she would talk easily with him. With that thought in mind, he leaned back against the door, purposely appearing as nonthreatening as possible.

"Only last night," he finished for her, "you had not intended to dance. But you did. For me. And because of that you did not get any dinner."

She did not deny his words, but focused on her toilette, each movement slow and careful. He knew she was thinking, but could not begin to guess what choices she pondered. So he continued babbling, trying to distract her from her wariness.

"I am pleased, then, to repay my debt to you this morning. Or perhaps that wasn't enough. Are you still hungry? We could go out for more ..."

She set aside her towel, still remaining tightly controlled as she shook her head. "You should go now," she said, her voice a low warning. "I thank you for the breakfast, but I cannot give you what you want. I will be no man's mistress, least of all yours."

He pushed off of the door, but did not approach her. He had expected as much, and yet, still the thought irritated him. Did she think him so single-minded? "What if I told you I did not come here to make you my mistress?"

She did not retreat but stood her ground, arching a single eyebrow at him to emphasize her disdain. "I would tell you that there is a scent a belly-horned man exudes, a kind of perfume that proclaims to all with noses exactly what interests him."

He straightened, flushing slightly as she called his bluff. Yes, he was belly-horned, as she so crudely put it, but she could not truly know that beneath his heavy clothing. "You have a discerning sense of smell if you can detect a man's scent over that lot." He waved his hand toward the nearest dock where boat after boat was just beginning to off-load the morning catch.

He meant to challenge her, wondering if she would back down. She merely arched a single well-sculpted brow at him, managing to maintain her dignity while refusing to banter with him. And he found himself admiring her ability to remain immune to his usual tricks to get a woman to talk.

Clearly, he needed a new approach as his usual flirtation games were not working. So he decided on honesty.

"All right, then, I do not deny that my body hungers for you. That much was obvious last night." He still felt the burn of embarrassment at how easily his flesh had betrayed him. "I assure you that was highly unusual for me. And even despite my"—he swallowed—"my lust, I am not ruled by my appetites, and you have value beyond your dancing skills."

He watched her grow still at his words, like an animal freezing in fear, waiting and watching for the predator's next move. He took his time, knowing that his next words would strike terror in the heart of any sane man.

"You have knowledge that the Emperor wants."

She gasped, flinching backward, her hand automatically covering her belly. He frowned, his gaze focusing on the movement. She couldn't be pregnant, could she? He replayed the movements of her dance last night. No, her belly was as flat as the bread she had just devoured. Flatter and stronger. But couldn't a well-toned woman be pregnant for months before any man became aware of it?

He decided to keep a closer eye on her body, watch for further signs of a child. Meanwhile, she curled her hand into a fist and slowly drew it away from her abdomen.

"I have nothing the Emperor wants," she hissed.

Well, no love lost there, he thought to himself. The little dancer was clearly no fan of her ruler. But then, that was not a surprise.

"But you do," he countered sweetly. "Or more importantly, he thinks you do."

She shook her head, and he could feel the panic within her for all that she fought to contain it. "He cannot," she whispered. "I know nothing."

Kiril felt guilt cut a tiny fissure in his control. She was just a dancer, after all, a woman struggling to survive as best she could. She was not up to the usual court games. Besides, hadn't the girl already suffered enough?

Unfortunately, he couldn't allow himself to feel tenderness toward her. He had come to the province especially to find her. Had gone to Talned's specifically to hear word of her. That she had appeared before him, and as a dancer no less, had simply been dragon's luck.

So he continued to play her, allowing his expression to slide into one of rueful neglect. "I told him you know nothing. Those were my very words," he lied. Truthfully, Dag Racho knew nothing of the girl's relevance to his plans. "But you are Natiya Draeva, aren't you? The only surviving child of Samuel and Amaya Draeva..." He drew out his next words as the damning evidence it was. "The dragon scholars."

She didn't respond, but he could tell by the way she paled that she was indeed the woman he sought. So he stepped forward, dropping his tone and his demeanor into the threat it was.

"Dag Racho thinks you hide something from him."

Chapter 4

Why are you afraid? He has said nothing but the truth. We do hide from the Emperor. Everyone hides from him.

Natiya closed her eyes, shutting out the world, wishing she could shut out the egg's voice as easily. But it was always there, always questioning. It didn't understand that they hid a bit more than unreported taxes or a son who was unfit for soldiering. If anyone discovered she incubated a dragon egg, they both would be killed immediately and very probably by the man who stood in her room being so charming. Damn the man for having the Emperor's ear. Damn him, too, for being their new governor. And damn him most of all for being ruled by his belly-horn just like every other stupid man.

Because she had no doubt that was the real reason for his presence here. Dag Racho had no reason to fear her. If he had wanted her dead, he would have killed her years ago when his dragon unceremoniously ate the rest of her family before firing their home. That she did indeed possess secret dragon knowledge had been carefully hidden. That she even now plotted the Emperor's downfall: mere coincidence

The simple truth was that the governor wanted to bed her, so he had asked a few questions, somehow stumbled upon her true ancestry, and was now trying to use it to frighten her. Hell, a child could see through the ploy.

But that didn't make the situation any less dangerous. Any focused attention—and from the land's greatest dragon-hunter, no less—could expose her secret. But how to remove him?

She briefly toyed with the idea of giving him what he wanted. She could bed him, she supposed. Monik told her it was a simple matter of spreading one's legs and moaning a lot; no more, no worse. It couldn't be that bad. Indeed, she thought as she glared at her adversary, there could be worse men to initiate her into coupling. He was handsome, powerful, and—most important—clean. And lately she admitted to a curiosity, perhaps even an interest, in the things that Monik participated in so freely. Best of all, she doubted that the governor's attention would remain on her for long. Once she gave him what he wanted, that was.

But her stomach twisted at the thought. Any type of intimacy was too great a risk. She carried a dragon egg, possibly the greatest dragon egg found in the last century or more. There were ways, her father had warned her, ways to tell who incubated an egg and who did not. But he had died before she learned what they were. There was no way to tell if she could keep her secret during such intimacy. Which was the reason she refused every possible friendship, every possible intimacy since she'd begun dancing. The risk of discovery was too great.

So she shook her head, finding her strength with the movement. "Dag Racho doesn't want me. He doesn't even know about me," she stated flatly. "You are merely trying to frighten me so I will bed you." Then she lifted her head, allowing him to see the tears that shimmered in her eyes. That had been the first thing she learned from watching Monik: some men are more

easily manipulated by tears than curses. And from the way the governor shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, he was one of them.

"Can't you bed someone else?" she asked, the question an honest one. "Why focus on me?"

She watched him swallow, his movements shaky as he abruptly pulled out his sword. She tensed, prepared to jump for the window and from there into the street. But before she could do more than gasp, he held the sword before him, pommel first. "I swear by the only thing I hold dear, I swear to you that this is not a ploy to get you into bed. We think you know something—about dragons—and neither I nor Dag Racho can afford to leave you be."

She frowned at him, seeing earnestness in his expression and his rock-solid stance as he held his sword before him. He truly meant what he said, and that thought threw her into an even greater panic. What did they think she knew?

She had no answer, and so she stalled for time, reaching for the first question that came to mind. "What thing?"

He stared at her, clearly frustrated. "A dragon thing. That you hide."

She shook her head. "No. What thing do you swear by? What do you hold most dear?"

He frowned, pulling his weapon closer to his chest. "My sword, of course. What else would a warrior treasure?"

She could think of a thousand things. A belly-horn, for example, as rutting seemed to dominate most men's minds—certainly every soldier she'd ever met. But he appeared so genuinely confused that she couldn't stop her smile. "Of course. I didn't understand."

"It's a family heirloom. My great-grandfather had it made, and it has been passed down through generations to me."

"I see."

"It's got jewels in the hilt, loga filigree throughout, and it cuts through bones like butter. It's an exquisite blade."

"I believe you."

He abruptly sheathed his sword, clearly insulted. "Warriors always swear by their swords. What else would we swear by?" Then he paused, readjusting his clothing so that it hid his scabbard as much as possible. "What do you swear by? What do you hold most dear?"

Knowledge. Ask him to teach us something.

She mentally silenced the voice inside. Its thirst for information was insatiable. Meanwhile, she decided to answer the governor with a partial truth, and one that he could have guessed anyway. Let him think their sudden accord had relaxed her guard. "My legs," she said. "Without them, I can't dance."

"And without my sword—"

"You would still be the greatest dragon-hunter in the land, and still our new governor. And Ragona is filled with swords you could use."

He smiled. "True." Then he remained where he was, standing tall and proud in her tiny room, like a huge statue to Dag Racho's evil, oppressive government, for all that he smiled, trying to make himself appear harmless. "Natiya, I wasn't lying. We need to know what you know, what you have learned from your parents about the dragons."

"If Dag Racho had wanted information on dragons, he should not have killed all the dragon scholars." She turned her back on him, letting him see her anger in her rigid stance and clipped words. "I have nothing for you or my parents' murderer."