Deven and the Dragon - Eliot Grayson Page 0,9

a nice bottle of wine,” Holling put in, his tone conciliatory. “To make you more welcome.”

Deven stared, fighting the urge to rip out his own hair with both hands. A hysterical burst of laughter welled up.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he choked. “Are you completely barking mad? You’re going to send me to be possibly eaten by a fucking dragon, and you’re including a wine pairing?”

“It’s not a wine pairing, for God’s sake, and mind your language,” put in Mrs. Drucker. “And anyway, Stephen, I did tell you the wine was a stupid idea.” She sighed. “Forget the wine, please, and try to focus! Young Peter’s life is at stake, and it is traditional to send — would you be more comfortable being described as an envoy?”

“It’s better than ‘afternoon snack’!”

She rolled her eyes. “We’ll call you an envoy. ‘Sacrifice’ is the traditional word, or ‘tribute,’ but that’s simply left over from a less civilized age. We need someone to meet the dragon and assess his intentions anyway. His presence could be bad for trade if Knightsbridge merchants think he might be a threat. A friendly dragon might draw more travelers hoping to gawk at him, but an unfriendly one could mean the end of Ridley as a center of commerce, even if he doesn’t eat anyone.”

“And I’m your canary in the coal mine. And also, not to put too fine a point on it, the town slut. Is that about it?”

“Well, that’s not precisely how I’d put it, but essentially —”

George let out a sound like a whistling teakettle and then began to shout about how his nephew was never going to do anything so stupid, Mrs. Drucker shot back, and Deven left them to it, leaning back in his chair and running his hands over his face. What the sodding fuck was wrong with him? Because far from agreeing with uncle George, he — well, he was bloody well going to go.

There. He’d admitted it to himself, at least. Wine pairing or no wine pairing, he was going to end up doing this, wasn’t he? Peter’s small smiling face hovered before him, chirping about whether the horses would prefer apples or carrots as a treat. What the fuck was he supposed to do, shrug and walk away? Besides, the dragon’s servants came down into town on the regular, buying hams and onions and butter just like any other wealthy household’s staff. Presumably at least some of the hams were for the dragon, in place of human flesh. And the servants all seemed perfectly happy. How dreadful could the beast be, really?

And besides…this was an adventure. Excitement at the thought of something different, something magical, was taking root in his mind and blossoming by the moment. He’d wanted to see the dragon for himself. The prospect of whitewashing stable walls for the rest of his life didn’t fill his heart with joy. He didn’t really need to seduce the dragon, only make friends with him, didn’t he? And when he returned, safe and sound, every pretty woman and handsome man in Ridley would be chasing him down to hear about it…

“I’ll do it,” he said, the words disappearing under the avalanche of argument crashing down around him. “Hey! I said I’d do it!”

He was utterly ignored. George had turned the color of an eggplant and was leaning precariously over the tea table, shaking his finger in Barclay’s face, while Mrs. Drucker shouted at them both indiscriminately.

George would do anything for him, and so would Phina, and Deven swallowed a twinge of guilt at the worry his decision would cause them. His parents had buggered off to join some idiotic religious order out in the woods when Deven was only a little boy, and George and Phina had raised him at the inn ever since, trying to mold him into someone who’d follow in their own respectable footsteps. They’d tolerated his philandering, and loved him, and supported him always — and now he’d cause them grief, on top of disappointing them.

But it was his life, and his choice. He glanced at Holling, who sat still and silent amidst the din. Would Holling ever know a moment’s peace or joy again, if Deven failed and his grandson died? Deven wasn’t sure he could live with himself, either.

On the bright side, the dragon might eat him and spare him brooding over it.

Since no one in the room seemed inclined to pay attention, Deven simply rose and left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Sam