in here."
"Yes, my lord. Very well, my lord."
She filled a plate and placed it before him, along with a mug of black tea, then went to stand by the stove while he ate.
"Here now," he said gruffly. "Why are ye not eating?"
"I... I'll eat later."
"Cease this foolishness. Come, sit with me."
"My lord?"
"I wish yer company."
"But..."
"Do not argue with me, lass."
Biting down on her lower lip, she filled a plate for herself, walked carefully to the table, and sat down. She felt terribly self-conscious, sitting there, eating in front of him. It was one thing to eat with her parents. There were times, however few and far between, when she spilled a cup of milk or dropped food on the floor. At home, such incidents were of little consequence, but here...
Trying to be extra careful only made her clumsy and uncertain. To her horror, she misjudged the placement of her cup and knocked it over. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she heard it hit the floor.
"I'm sorry, my lord," she said hastily. "I am not usually so clumsy."
She had started to stand up when she felt his hand on her arm, staying her.
" 'Tis nothing to fret over, Channa Leigh; 'tis only a bit of a spill." Rising, he took a clean mug from the shelf and poured her another cup of tea. Then, very gently, he placed the cup in her hand.
"Thank you, my lord," she said.
He shrugged; then, realizing she could not see him, he sat down, muttering, "Yer welcome."
It was the longest meal of her life. Once, he complimented her on her cooking. She murmured her thanks, pleased and embarrassed by his praise. She would have to take his word for the quality of the meal; she might have been eating dirt for all the notice she took of the food, so disconcerted was she by his nearness.
"Did ye sleep well?" he asked.
Channa Leigh nodded." 'Tis a very fine chamber, my lord. The painting on the ceiling is - " As soon as she realized what she'd said, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She was blind. How could she explain that she had seen the ceiling?
"Go on," he said quietly. "Tell me about the ceiling."
"I..."
"Yes?"
Her fingers worried a fold in her skirt. What should she say? If she told him about the wolf, would he believe her? She could scarcely believe it herself.
"I know about the wolf," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
"Do you? But how?"
"I am Darkfest," he said, a touch of arrogance in his tone. "I know all."
" 'Tis most amazing, my lord," Channa Leigh said, her excitement momentarily chasing away her awe at being in his presence. "When I touch him, I can see. Oh, my lord, 'tis a miracle."
"Aye," he agreed. "A miracle." And knew in that moment that he would not rest until he had found a way to cure Channa Leigh's blindness.
Later, alone in his workshop, he pored through his books, looking for a spell that would restore Channa Leigh's sight. Her lack of vision was not a sickness that he could absorb into himself or heal with a bit of magic, but the result of an accident sustained in childhood.
He spent hours searching through every book, every manuscript, every scroll, and then, at last, he found it:
From dark to light,
The trail is trod,
With faith, hope, and courage
And a dark dragon's blood.
He stood up, stretching. A dark dragon's blood. There were no dragons in the mountains of Krendall and few in the lands beyond. Their numbers grew less with each passing century, for they were solitary beasts who had been hunted to near extinction. But he knew of one. Far to the north, in an enchanted valley, lived an ancient dragon known as Blackencrill. He was rumored to be a fearsome beast, friend to none and enemy to all. A powerful beast, it was said he was subject to no magic but his own. All who dared enter his valley did so at their own peril.
Going to the room's single window, Darkfest stared at the gardens beyond. Tonight, at dinner, he would tell Channa Leigh of his discovery. The decision, of course, must be hers.
"Magic? You think you can restore my sight through magic?" Hope exploded through Channa Leigh's heart. To see again. It was a dream come true, an answered prayer. "How soon can we leave?"
He glanced out the window. There were only a few weeks of winter left. "Soon. There are preparations I must make."
"Thank you, my