Dragon Bound - The Saga of Flames and Frost

Chapter 10

Illara blinked her eyes awake. Dawn eased in through thick black curtains, sending ribbons of golden light across the room. She was lying in a canopied bed across from a fireplace. The door was closed.

She wriggled up to sitting, her mind slowly drawing together the pieces from the past two days. Nicodemus had been seriously injured by Sir Wytehall – but he had found a way to come and save her from Thor's lecherous grasp.

Where had he brought her? Why had he then left?

She closed her eyes and tried to seek him with her mind. She tried to feel his warmth.

Nothing.

There was a noise, and her eyes flew open.

It was the elderly woman who had helped her down from the roof. The woman backed her way into the room carrying a large, wooden tray with a tankard and bowl on it. Steam rose from the bowl and Illara's stomach grumbled.

The woman smiled, her eyes shining. "There you are - you're up. I figured you might be." She made her way over to the bed and laid the tray across Illara's lap. "I thought you might be hungry."

Illara's stomach rumbled again and she blushed. "I guess I am!" She ran a hand through her unruly hair. "My name is Illara, by the way."

The woman took a seat in the chair by the bed. "And I am Mary. The cook just made this fresh, so I hope you like it."

Illara took up a spoonful. The broth featured a fragrant mix of spices that she found it hard to name, and the vegetables were delicious. She nodded and began eating.

Mary smiled. "You've apparently had quite a few days, young woman. When you are fed we'll get you bathed and dressed. So you can feel more like yourself."

She glanced over. "And then perhaps we can talk about taking you home."

Illara's breath caught. She forced herself to keep eating as if nothing were wrong. "I have no intention of going home. My place now is here, in the mountains."

Mary held her gaze. "Oh? In Sir Wytehall's keep?"

Illara's cheeks blazed in heat at the thought and she fought to draw in control over her emotions. "No," she growled.

Mary nodded. "I see."

Illara knew she had to resettle herself and find out what she could. She took a long drink of the wine. It was absolutely stunning, with a smoky heat to it, and she drew in a long breath, her shoulders easing. "Thor had said that Nicodemus was currently residing with Carthian. If Nicodemus brought me here, can I assume that both are nearby?"

Was it her imagination, or was there the slightest flicker to Mary's gaze?

Mary nodded. "Yes. Both Nicodemus and Carthian are near."

Illara leaned forward. "Can I see Nicodemus soon? I need to explain about the plateau. It went wrong. It went horribly wrong."

Mary held her eyes. "I am sure, when he is ready, that he would be greatly interested in what you have to say."

"He has to," insisted Illara, "because –"

She closed her eyes, searching ... searching ...

Nothing.

Mary's voice came as if from far away. "My dear, are you all right?"

Illara blinked her eyes open again. "I will be, once I can see Nicodemus."

Mary's gaze remained on her. "We will see." She stood. "I'll go get the bath ready for you. I imagine you will want one when you're done eating."

Illara leaned back against her pillow. "Thank you, Mary, I would. I appreciate it."

A nod, and Illara was alone.

She forced herself to eat slowly, to give her system time to digest. There was no good to come of rushing. Apparently the household wished to handle this at its own pace and pushing them would only brand her as a troublemaker.

She smiled her thanks as a trio of young boys first brought up the large half-barrel and then filled it with warm water. Once they were gone, she barred the door and removed the tatters of the tapestry dress. She shook her head, looking down at the fabric. Somehow she'd destroyed two dresses in as many days. She hoped the coming day would go more smoothly.

She eased herself into the water.

Bliss.

She took her time. She knew she had to be ready for whatever came at her going forward. She went inch by inch over her wounds, cleaning them, easing out the bits of rock or stick which had gotten wedged in. Slowly, slowly, her aches eased away.

At long last she emerged from the cooling bath. She gently toweled herself off. Then she sat by the fire and slowly brushed out her long hair.

A trio of dresses hung in the wardrobe, and she looked between them. One was a delicate creation of silver with beautiful lace along the neckline. The second was elegantly blue with golden trim on the sleeves and waist. The last was black, embroidered from head to toe in swirls of smoke.

She put on the black one.

Then she turned to the door.

She had come this far. She was close to Nicodemus's lair.

She would do everything in her power to reach Nicodemus – and to convince him to finish the ceremony.

For any other solution would spell despair for all she held dear.