Deven and the Dragon - Eliot Grayson Page 0,36

much I was enjoying your library, and mentioned my own small collection. It’s nothing like yours, obviously, just a trunk of old volumes I’ve managed to buy here and there for a few pennies at a time. But it was conversation, nothing more.”

“Of course,” Fiora spat. “No doubt. I’m sure you’ve been honest about everything, haven’t you?”

Deven flinched, his face going white, but an instant later he smiled, the expression totally friendly and open. “I try to be,” he said — easily? Casually, at least. “Lying’s not usually worth the trouble.” He shrugged. “When I was a kid, I’d own up to my mischief at once, and take whatever the punishment was. It seemed easier than trying to put it off or worry about keeping my story straight.”

Fiora could picture that, a little Deven stating his misdeeds, taking his whipping, and sauntering off glad to be done with the inconvenience. He shook his head. No, he was not going to be distracted by a liar’s lies. Although…Deven had recovered so quickly from his reaction that Fiora almost doubted his own senses. The lingering sunset had completely faded, and the only light was the still-rising moon. That made everyone look pale. Had he imagined it?

This was ridiculous. He couldn’t do this will-he-won’t-he nonsense. If he could prove Deven was truthful about something, at least, then maybe he could…what? Continue to torture himself by wishing for what he couldn’t have?

Oh, bother. No. He was going to prove Deven wasn’t lying about absolutely everything so that Deven could continue as Fiora’s houseguest, which would make his relationship with his neighbors in Ridley easier, which would make Fiora less likely to receive angry letters from his father.

If it also let Fiora believe that maybe Deven wasn’t lying when he said Fiora’s blue skin wasn’t ugly, well, then…well.

“Fine,” Fiora said. He quickly moved his hands off his hips, because when he stood like that he looked like a small, angry copy of his mother, and then he didn’t know what to do with them. “Fine. We are going to go down to my study, and you can eat that cake if you want. Half the cake,” he corrected himself quickly.

“To be fair, we really ought to divide it up by relative size —”

Fiora’s ears burned, and his hands flew back to his hips. Damn it, he hated being teased about his height. “Don’t go down that road, or I’ll transform into a dragon and then we’ll see how much cake you get!”

Deven blinked at him. “Well played, Lord Fiora. The cake gets divided in half.”

“You’re damn right it does, and you’re lucky I’m sharing it at all. And then you’re going to write a note to your aunt, that I’m going to dictate to you, telling her to send your books up to the castle. And you’re going to stay where someone can keep an eye on you until after they arrive, so I know you’re not sending any secret messages.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across Deven’s face. “Secret messages? You really do have an inflated idea of how enterprising I am, Lord Fiora. And who’s going to be keeping an eye on me, hmm? You?”

“No, of course not,” Fiora snapped. Definitely not. Absolutely not. The books might not arrive for hours, hours of a warm, lazy night spent doing nothing but…keeping an eye on Deven.

“Well, then I won’t write the note.” Deven folded his arms across his chest and looked horribly smug. “You keep an eye on me, or no one does. I’m sure as hell not sitting with Andrei for the next two or three hours.”

Fiora sniffed, grumbled, bowed to the inevitable, and headed for the stairs, Deven following along with a low laugh that sent shivers down Fiora’s spine.

Once in Fiora’s study, Deven paused by the table and eyed the cake with longing. “The note first, and then cake,” Fiora said. “You need motivation.”

Fiora lit the candles on the sideboard and the table, and moved one candelabrum from the sideboard to his desk. Deven took up a pen off Fiora’s desk, snagged a sheet of paper, and said, “Well? What am I writing to my aunt?”

“My most beloved aunt,” Fiora began. “My best wishes for your continued health and well-being. I most humbly beg you to perform a small favor for me, for which I will be eternally grateful. My apologies for any inconvenience that may —”

“Nope, that’s not going to do at all,” Deven said. “Look, that may be how you