A City of Flame and Scales

3

Chapter Three

Astraia dreamed.

She dreamt of golden hair and sharp green eyes; she dreamt of a beautiful female snapping her wings wide as if to protect someone; she dreamt of an even more beautiful male crying silently as he knelt over two patches of churned up dirt, each marked by a single bloom of purple flowers; she dreamt of a slumbering creature, it scales glittering like gems as it slept; she dreamt of a woman with golden hair surrounded by a halo of flame, and an ice prince carried on a frozen wind.

It did nothing to relieve her exhaustion, and she was trembling with fatigue when she blinked open her eyes...or perhaps that was the hunger, finally taking its toll as it scraped claws down the sides of her stomach and howled in protest.

It was that sensation that made her notice the food before the male perched on the end of her bed. Sitting next to her, untouched by her small body in the mass of the mattress, sat a heaping plate of...meat. Chicken and duck, lamb and pork. From the smell alone, she knew they had been fantastically spiced—even better than the tender, saffron-coated lamb that Rhys had brought back from the Dawn Court once.

She had to fight back a tiny shriek of delight as she realized there were no vegetables—whoever these males were, they clearly did not have a mother, because Astraia knew that she had never had a meal without some incorporation of greens. And no amount of complaining had made her mother relent.

"Apologies," rumbled Aither from where he was sitting at the end of her bed. "It was short notice. Our food stores were...limited."

There was something he wasn't telling her, but Astraia didn't particularly care as she lunged for the fork resting next to the plate. She dug into the chicken first, her mouth singing at the buttery, pleasant taste. "Get off of my bed," she said around a huge mouthful of bird.

Aither raised an eyebrow. "This is my bed. You're just being permitted to use it."

"You sleep here? Personally? It is the bed that you sleep in each night?"

"No," he admitted. "But I own—"

"Doesn't matter," she said, polishing off the chicken and moving on to the lamb. "You put me here. I'm your guest. You can't give something to someone and then claim possession of it."

Aither seemed astonished—and incredulous, if that scrunching of his nose meant anything. "You're a brat," he said finally, tone utterly neutral.

"You're a poor host."

"I saved your life."

"Nobody asked you to do that." Never mind that she'd still died—technically he hadn't saved her from anything. Only prevented another death...maybe. She was still having trouble wrapping her mind around it.

"Would you rather I have left you in the woods to be eaten by the nidhogg?"

Astraia chewed thoughtfully on the pork, savoring the way the food slid into her empty belly. "Can you really bring me home to my world?"

Ire flashed across Aither's face, shimmering like the candlelight against his silver hair. "You're not going to answer my question?"

"I'm not very good at answering your questions," she pointed out. "You still don't know my name."

"Ah, yes." Aither smirked. "That little matter of business—it ought to be rectified, don't you think?"

"Take me home, and I'll tell you."

"I already told you, I cannot bring you home at this time. In any case, do you know any Fae who can simply cross worlds? And what makes you think you are in another world?"