Deven and the Dragon - Eliot Grayson Page 0,32
with his hands and slumping against the battlement. He began to tremble, his shoulders shaking, and soft little sounds came from behind his hands.
“Lord Fiora? Lord Fiora!” Deven knew he was unwelcome; why else would he have had to go to such lengths to get Lord Fiora alone? But was Lord Fiora weeping? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Deven drew near enough to touch, to lay a hand on one of those slim shoulders, but he restrained himself. “Are you — God, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please. Don’t — oh, please don’t.”
Lord Fiora lowered his hands, just enough to peek over the tips of his fingers. His golden eyes were bright, and the slits of his pupils were wide and dark.
“God damn you for making me laugh,” Lord Fiora whispered. “You bastard. It’s not — it’s not funny! Buggering — rabbits — fucking each other over a cabbage, and I —”
Lord Fiora dissolved into what Deven now realized were helpless giggles.
Deven’s chest heaved, and then he snickered, and then he too collapsed into laughter, his belly shaking with it. Lord Fiora slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his hands still over his face. Tentatively, Deven turned and joined him, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his legs. He’d left a few inches between them, but he could feel the heat and presence of Lord Fiora’s body, like a beacon to his right. The left side of his body felt chilled by comparison, even though the evening air was as soft and warm as a finely woven blanket.
At last they were both quiet, their laughter faded away. Lord Fiora sighed, but he didn’t speak. The silence between them was — well, not comfortable, but not hostile, either. It was peaceful there, for a few moments, with the stars starting to pinprick the twilight above them. One by one, as if they were waiting their turns. Deven hated to disturb that fragile peace, but Lord Fiora could come to his senses and run away at any moment.
“I’m sorry,” Deven said. And he was, although he didn’t regret barging in on Lord Fiora and he’d do it again if necessary. It didn’t mean he didn’t feel like an ass. “You seemed determined to avoid me. This was all I could think of.”
“You have quite the imagination, then — or no imagination at all, I’m not sure which. You didn’t think of simply telling Andrei you wanted an audience?”
Deven shrugged, even though Lord Fiora wasn’t looking at him. At least, he thought not. Deven was carefully keeping his own eyes fixed on the sky. Lord Fiora didn’t want to be looked at, which was odd, considering what an unusual and charming sight he was — but Deven wanted to put him at his ease, not spook him. Even though Deven was itching to examine Lord Fiora at his leisure.
“I asked Andrei if you were going to join us for dessert,” he offered. “That was my way of getting around to the subject. He grunted at me.”
A soft little noise suggested that Lord Fiora had laughed again, but it didn’t sound merry this time. “Andrei’s protective of me. Of my privacy, I mean, of course. He doesn’t need to protect me. I’m a dragon, and I’m universally feared. Obviously.” Lord Fiora cleared his throat. “Anyway. He would have arranged something if you needed to see me. You are a guest here, after all.”
Deven hesitated, weighing his options, feeling as if he stood with his toes hanging over a precipice. If he stepped off, and chose to use everything in his arsenal to gain his ends, he lost his integrity. If he stepped back, well — Peter would die. He wouldn’t hurt Lord Fiora. He swore it to himself, by everything he held dear. He would lie, and present a false façade of straightforward and trustworthy cheer, and other than that one betrayal, he’d treat Lord Fiora well. He swore it.
Deven stepped off the cliff. “Lord Fiora, come on,” he said, his voice pitched to a wry, intimate tone that he knew from long experience made him sound like anyone’s best friend. Damn Mrs. Drucker to hell for being right about him. “You know I’m not a guest. We both know the stupid town council foisted me on you, and you wish I’d go jump in the river and leave you to eat in your own dining room in peace.”
“Oh,” said Lord Fiora, sounding choked.
Deven dared to turn his head a fraction