Chapter 4
“Drink this.” The monk’s voice was soft, gentle.
Ellieth took a sip and choked as the liquor burned its way down her throat. It was some sort of mead, she thought— sweet and fiery. And about twice as strong as anything she’d tasted before.
“I thought you were monks!”
The monk laughed. His blue skin was tinged with green, and his hair was as pale as Ellieth’s own, a color matched by his white robes. He gestured to her to keep drinking, and his smile was kind.
“Elven monks do not renounce all worldly pleasures,” he explained. Another monk carried a tray of food into the room, bowing deeply to Ellieth, and then padded out. “For instance,” the monk said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at the Princess, “we recently convinced the King’s cook to join our order. Our motives were… mostly altruistic. I suggest the kabobs.”
“Thank you.” Ellieth took the offered tray and sniffed at the food. “Oh, that smells amazing.”
She paused, hand reaching for a spoon.
“What is it?” The monk asked her.
“It… seems unreal.” In her mind’s eye, she could still see Savin leaping into the air, his blue skin having given way to black scales and his wings blotting out the light of the stars.
“I can only imagine.” The monk raised his eyebrows. “All things in life, however, are better after a good meal and a strong drink.”
“If this is the sort of help you give pilgrims,” Ellieth observed tartly, “I can see why E’lessiell is so popular. Our monks are not so… hospitable.”
“Indeed.” He stood and paced the room as she ate. “You have many questions, I expect.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ellieth tried not to speak with her mouth full.
“Normally, I would have said nothing to you. We are honor-bound to help those who come to us in secrecy— it is why Savin chose us, I am sure. But you have seen the truth now. I can hardly deny it.”
“That he’s a dragon,” Ellieth said flatly.
“A were-dragon,” the monk corrected. “Like a werewolf, although far more dangerous. And far less common.” His brow furrowed. “Indeed, we have never seen anything like it. And not only have we not…our inquiries to the other monasteries have given us no further information.”
“But what is a were-dragon?” Ellieth whispered. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that he transforms, and that the transformation is not yet a thing he can control.”
“Yet?”
“We can only hope that he will learn to control it someday,” the man told her. His face was grave. “And be thankful, in the meantime, that dragons are intelligent creatures. Where a wolf is no more than a killing machine, a dragon may choose its target. As you noticed when Savin did not kill you on sight.”
“And so he hides away here,” Ellieth said softly.
“He was seeking our help before the wedding brought him back to Elfhame,” the monk told her.
“And so he returned.” Ellieth looked down at her plate, miserable. When her husband had needed her understanding, she had followed him into the one place he could be safe.
“Yes. Now, we have seen that the curse is at its worst when he is in the grip of emotion,” the monk said softly. “Anger, fear…” His eyes met hers wryly. “… or desire.”
It was the last piece of the puzzle. Everything fell into place, and Ellieth felt her mouth open in a little O of surprise. Savin had begged her to go, not because she disgusted him… but precisely for the opposite reason.
“I have to find him,” Ellieth whispered. “Or… no, that’s a horrible idea. Is it? I have to apologize.”
“I think he would understand that your intentions were not to hurt him,” the monk opined. “He will be back soon enough.”
“When, do you think?”
“It may be some time. But I think it would be wise for you to remain here. After all, it does no harm to the court to think that you are spending quiet time with your husband. And it would do you some good, I think.”
His grasp of the court system was surprisingly astute, and Ellieth raised an eyebrow. Her curiosity, however, was not assuaged.
“Why will it be so long?”
“That, I am not at liberty to say.”
He looked away, toward the distant mountains that rose beyond the borders of the Elven kingdom, dwarfing even the snow-capped peaks on which E’lessiell sat.
“Please know that I wish only what is best for His Highness,” Ellieth said tentatively. “If we are to spend the rest of our lives together…” Her voice trailed away. “Please, tell me that he will not be harmed by this curse.”
“No, although he must be careful not to be harmed by his own people.”
“He’s the dragon that’s been seen in the valley,” Ellieth breathed.
“And the war, previously beginning to wind down, came once again to the forefront of everyone’s mind… while the heir to the throne withdrew from peace talks and neglected his duties.” The monk’s voice was soft. Too soft.
“What are you suggesting?” Ellieth asked him slowly.
“I am suggesting that this is a condition unlike any we have seen before. The intelligent races do not often shape shift, and those conditions have almost always become the stuff of legend. If this is natural, then why does it strike only now? Why does it strike between two races at war, and why at the crown Prince of one of them?” He looked over at her. “It is a great deal too convenient for my tastes.”
“Do you think that the dragonkin seek to destabilize Elfhame?” Ellieth frowned at him.
“What do the dragonkin have to gain from this?”
“A weakened enemy, and…”
“By one warrior? In a war they themselves sued to end?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Ellieth looked down at her lap. She was just taking another bite of food when the answer hit her. “Dorel?”
“A quick study, I see.”
“No, it can’t be Dorel,” Ellieth told him. “Dorel is kind; he’s sweet, he’s…”
“The sort of person who could pull this off without anyone suspecting what he had done. Which is precisely what he needs if he’s to take power. He knows his father is honorable to a fault. He’d never inherit if there were… suspicions.”
“So, what, he’s planning for his brother to be shot down, and…”
“And he knew what Savin would do if he could reach the dragon court,” the monk murmured. “After all these years… true negotiations at last.”
“Savin’s gone to the dragon court.” Ellieth’s mouth dropped open. “He has, hasn’t he? He’s going to ask for peace.”
“Which of course, by a recent order, I would bet anything Dorel endorsed… would be treason to Elfhame.”
“Oh, my God.” Ellieth stood, running her hands through her hair.
“I have to warn him.”
“My lady, the court of the dragons cannot be reached without wings.”
“They’re expecting an army, aren’t they? They’ll see one rider and wonder— enough, maybe, to grant me an audience if Savin is there.”
“Or they might kill you outright.” His face was unreadable. “Or you might be convicted of treason yourself.”
“What does it matter?” Ellieth asked impatiently. She stopped, took a deep breath. “I know it matters,” she said finally. “But he’s… he’s alone. And if I let him die, and let Dorel do this; I’ll never forgive myself.”
“So you, also, believe it was the younger son?”
“It’s too perfect not to be him. He wanted me to stay at Elfhame,” Ellieth said furiously. “He was so understanding, and he seemed like he was so kind, so helpful— but every word he spoke only made me more ashamed.” She paused, then added grudgingly, “It was very well done. I suppose I should congratulate him.”
“Your Highness, the Prince asked that we keep you safe. Away from him.”
“You told me yourself, he’s no danger.” Ellieth considered. “And he wants to stop the war now. I should help. It’s my duty to help. That, of all the things I can do, will help us gain the loyalty of the Elves.” Her cheeks flushed as the Elven man looked at her, but eventually he nodded.
“I see.”
And so it was that Ellieth set out, the midnight air cloaking her as she rode out of the Elven lands on a dark horse, her hair covered and her face bent to hide it from any Elven patrols that might guard the borders. The monk’s whispered blessing rang in her ears, chilling her: Your Highness, it would be remiss of me to pretend that I believe this can succeed. But may any and all deities watch over you, and may luck guide your footsteps.