Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (4 page)

Natiya nodded, knowing his words were truth and not flattery, but feeling flattered nevertheless.

"I am a businessman saddled with a poet for a son whom I must support for the rest of his days. What value does he present except in the woman he attracts for a mate?"

"You underestimate Pentold." She said the words reflexively, without thought, because they were polite, not because she believed them.

"Perhaps. But you, you I do not underestimate. You are smart, capable, and you dance like the dragon fire, mesmerizing enough to rob a man of his reason."

Natiya shook her head, finally understanding what he wanted, but not why. "Uncle," she said with asperity, "you are the richest merchant in Ragona. Even with the Emperor's taxes, you find a way to survive. What need have you of a distraction to your customers? You are a fearsome negotiator without a dancer to fog their minds. And even if you were not, why would you embark upon such a path now?" She took a deep breath. "Uncle, you are growing old. How much more gold must you amass before you take a well-deserved rest?"

He stared at her, then burst into laughter. The booming sound filled the room, warming Natiya even as it confused her. "Child, I am not that ancient! And resting is for those who dislike what they do." Once again, he reached out and took her hands, clasping them as warm and firm as his bearlike embrace. "I amass gold because I enjoy it. I negotiate because that is exciting. But more than that, I trade because it is my life's blood."

Natiya sighed. "Very well, but it is not mine."

He grinned. "Perhaps not. But then, perhaps it will be, if you were to try it."

"Uncle..." she began, her voice low.

He waved away her protest. "Dabu'ut is changing. Have you heard news of the new governor?"

Natiya nodded. He was the Emperor's dragon-hunter. Young and handsome, but with a dark scar in a hidden place, and an even darker heart.

Her uncle grinned, as if reading her thoughts. "Do not believe everything you hear. He is a smart man, intent on changing this land, changing how life is lived within all of Ragona." He leaned forward, his voice low. "They say he wants to end martial law, take away the curfew, pull back on the military's power."

"Will he cut taxes?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well," her uncle hedged. "As long as Racho has someone to fight—"

"There will always be taxes to support the military." She shook her head. "The governor is doomed to fail. Nothing will change as long as Dag Racho's Copper dragon flies."

"Perhaps and perhaps not. Either way, I intend to master this newer, freer lifestyle. But to do so, I must accomplish two things." He leaned forward, and his eyes appeared to dance in the firelight. "I must bring to my side every advantage I have." He pulled her hand to his lips, kissing it with courtly formality. "And that means you."

She nodded, accepting the compliment for what it was. "And the second?" she prompted.

He sighed, letting her hand drop to his lap. "I must find a way to occupy Pentold. He pesters me to distraction with one nonsensical idea after another." He looked at the fire and sighed in frustration. "Do you know that he wants me to finance a playhouse? With him as playwright!"

Natiya cringed. A playhouse was something that romantic men would finance, that poets dreamed of and actors worked at. Her uncle was none of those things. Worse, the government would never allow anything so uncontrollable. The last playhouse had been burned by troops more than a quarter century before.

"A new wife will occupy him nicely," Rened said.

"And you believe I will steer him from his wilder thoughts and into more productive channels."

Her uncle grinned. "That is my fondest hope."

Natiya couldn't help but return the smile. "Uncle, I have no wish to be Pentold's nursemaid."

Rened pushed the wine into her hand. "Come now, Natiya. It is not such a bad bargain. A lifetime of security. A husband who adores you. A father-in-law who recognizes your value. Some would say it is an excellent bargain."

"Some would say it is better than I deserve," she returned quickly. "But I am not some people."

"But you are considering it, yes? I see that light in your eyes, and I know you see the wisdom of this." He leaned back, his face alight.

Once again, Natiya had no ready response. She could not tell him that her secret made his suggestion impossible. And also, she wanted it: the security, the peace, the settled life. How she longed for such simple things.

You are worth more than he offers.

The voice came unbidden, as it always did, but Natiya appreciated it nonetheless. It always spoke with reason. "I am worth more than this," she repeated out loud, not realizing how her uncle would interpret it.

He exploded upward, his face darkening as she had not seen in a long time. Not since the shameful waste of her family, her home and their library in dragon fire. "Natiya!" he bellowed. "You forget yourself!"

She looked up, cringing inside, straight-backed and steady on the outside. But for all that, she did not know what to say. She did not know what she wanted.

You are worth much more than he offers.

She closed her eyes. The voice was correct, but she could not tell her uncle that. He did not know. Then a sudden noise in the hallway distracted her, saving her from answering her uncle. The noise was the sound of heavy, rushing feet, a quick knock, and an even more hurried push as the door to the side room burst open and—just as quickly—was pulled shut.

It was Talned, looking as frazzled and excited as she had ever seen him.

"Natiya! Quick!" he gasped. "You must dance."

Natiya groaned, feeling herself slip into the familiar pattern again. "You promised, Talned. Not today."

The bald man rushed forward, shoving aside furniture in his haste to chastise his employee. "You will dance today. Now!"

She could only look at him in confusion. Something momentous had happened. And something momentous in Dabu'ut usually meant soldiers, danger and dragon fire. "Talned ..." she began, only to be cut off by a furious slash of his hand through the air.

"Now!" His face twisted in fear, not anger.

Natiya bit back a sigh. She knew she would not win this argument. "Fine."

"Dress! Go! Dance!"

"I said, fine." But she looked in worry to her uncle. What could have happened to send the usually unflappable innkeeper into a terrified tizzy?

Rened merely shrugged, his expression unreadable. "As long as you work for him, you will always be at his beck and call."

Natiya didn't respond. She could tell by his flat expression that she had offended her uncle deeply. Perhaps even irreparably. But there was nothing she could do about it now. And no chance she could accept Pentold as a life mate. Not with her secret.

So she turned away, feeling more lost and alone than ever.

"Go! Go!" Talned was waving her on, actually pushing her when she moved too slowly. In fact, she would have stumbled if her uncle had not distracted the innkeeper.

Tugging backward on Talned's arm, Rened asked the one question that Natiya hadn't dared ask, not with the innkeeper in such an agitated state: "Whom does she dance for?"

The answer came quickly, and with a tremor of excitement or fear, she couldn't tell which.

"The new governor."

* * *

Natiya tugged at a loose string of beads on her dancing costume. She would have to repair it tonight before it came apart. In fact, she thought, looking sourly at the entire bodice, there were quite a few places that needed repair.

Someday she would be able to afford all the beads and jewelry she wanted. And a seamstress to sew them into her clothing. But for now, she needed to take more care with her two costumes.

"Ooh," crooned Monik, coming around the corner beside her. "What a lovely red jewel," she said, pointing to the ornament in Natiya's navel. "It would go perfect with my costume. And I have a gold piece that would complement that dress so much better."

Natiya's hand covered her abdomen reflexively, not needing to look down to remember the brilliant, shimmering red stone that flashed there. Then, realizing what she had done, she slowly lowered her hand. "That's a good idea," she said slowly, "but I just glued this one in. It'll have to stay for a bit. But we'll discuss a trade later."

Monik's expression turned sour. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You don't share."

"That's not true," began Natiya, but Monik had already flounced off.

She doesn't matter
, came the voice, and Natiya nodded in confirmation. It was true. Monik didn't matter. She was an average dancer with less intelligence than the dock workers she serviced. Still, Natiya thought with a sigh, it would have been nice to have a friend.

I'm your friend. The only one you need.

Before Natiya could respond, Talned came scurrying over. "Are you ready? He's right over there."

Natiya peered through the curtain, not needing the innkeeper's extended finger to spot him. It was not that the new governor was so very handsome. Dark hair, tall stature, hauntingly clear blue gaze—those were mere physical attributes that would tempt a lesser woman. His shoulders were wide, his clothing immaculate, and his hands steady. Very nice, but she focused on his hands and her breath caught in her chest. His fingers were long and tapered. Elegant. Almost refined. And more importantly, they were quick and sure as they gestured whenever he spoke. That was it. That was what made her heart beat faster and her eyes linger on the sight of him.

Confidence.

She supposed someone who killed dragons had the right to be secure. His every movement, even the way he breathed, was flush with assurance. And from the way everyone in the room deferred to him, they felt it, too. This was a man who would be obeyed.

Then he looked up. He had been drinking ale, and she had been fascinated by the splay of his long, tanned fingers about the tankard, noting the calluses typical of a man who used a sword. Until he set down his drink, his gaze wandering almost casually about the room. Until it landed on her.

Instinctively she drew backward, deeper into the shadows, making sure she was hidden by the curtain. It did not change a thing. Though he could not see her, she could feel his gaze on her, steady, heavy, seeing too much. Yet she knew it was impossible.

Nothing is impossible in a land of magic.

Natiya winced at the oft-heard admonition, but did not respond.

Why do you look just at him ? See everything.

Obediently, Natiya scanned the room, taking in the drunken revelers scattered about, Talned and Monik in hurried conversation in the back, the covetous glances of men and women alike as they gazed at the new governor.

Everything.

Natiya sighed, knowing what the voice wanted and slowly shifting her gaze to see. The governor had a companion. A woman. Brown hair, dumpy, well-manicured, and dressed too beautifully for a common tavern.

The men watch her.

Yes, Natiya thought sourly. They watched her too-ample curves accented by her tight-bodiced gown. Lord, she jiggled every time she breathed. And now she was leaning toward the governor, touching his arm with casual intimacy and speaking to him in an undertone.

Don't turn your head away, Natiya ordered the woman silently, and happily, the woman didn't. Narrowing her gaze, Natiya watched the woman's lips, reading the words as easily as if she'd heard them whispered into her own ear:

"I'll never understand your... plebeian tastes," the woman said.

Natiya stiffened, feeling the insult even though she had to search her memory for the meaning of the word. Plebeian. Peasantlike. Lower-class.

Far from being insulted on his people's behalf, the governor merely smiled. His words were equally silent, but also easily read from his lips. "You know why I am here."

"I never know," returned his companion. "Nor do I care to learn."

Neither do I, Natiya thought as she turned away, focusing on readjusting her clothing. So the governor had another purpose for being here? No doubt to find a prettier whore to grace his bed. Well, it wouldn't be her.

You are angry. Why?

"Because I don't want to dance. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not for the likes of him."

She muttered the words aloud, using the sound to reinforce her ill humor.

You are lying. You always want to dance.

"I'm tired." This time her words were a peevish complaint.

What are you hiding from me?

Natiya sighed. She hated it when the voice got this demanding. There was never any judgment in its tone, merely a steady and insatiable curiosity. It wanted to know. It wanted to understand. And Natiya struggled to answer honestly.

"That woman," she whispered silently. "She is rich."

You will be rich one day.

"She is dark-haired and curvy. Voluptuous."

The physical is not important.

Natiya grimaced, knowing the voice would not be still until it had a label, a name to put to the unaccustomed emotions flowing through her.