P. C. Cast - Dragon's Oath

“No, you said I’m an arrogant misdeeder.”

“I don’t think misdeeder is a word,” she said.

“I just made it up,” he said. “I’m good with words.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Boasting. Again.”

He laughed again. “You looked up my records, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“You did. And you found out I’m almost as talented at schoolwork as I am at sword work.”

“Arrogant…” She breathed a long sigh and looked away from him so he couldn’t see her smile.

“How is it arrogant if it’s the truth?”

“It’s arrogant if you boast, whether it’s the truth or not,” she said.

“Sometimes a vampyre has to do some boasting to get a priestess to notice him,” he said.

Still not looking at him, Anastasia gave a little snort. “You aren’t a vampyre.”

“Not yet I’m not.”

“And you have lots of females who notice you.”

“I don’t want lots of females,” he said, all teasing gone from his voice. “I want you.”

She did look at him then. His brown eyes were honest and unwavering. This night his hair wasn’t tied back and it framed his face, making his firm jaw seem more pronounced. He was dressed in a simple, unadorned black shirt and pants. She knew the color was supposed to blend with the darkness around them, but to her it made him look older, stronger, and as mysterious as the limitless night.

“I wish you’d say something,” he said.

Her gaze went from his broad chest quickly up to his eyes. “I–I’m not sure what to say.”

“You could tell me I have a chance with you.”

“Am I just a conquest? Something for you to win, like the title of Sword Master?”

He pulled the buggy up short and turned to face Anastasia. “That’s a load of bullocks! Why would you say that?”

“You’re competitive,” she countered. “You have a predator’s skills. You chase. You catch. You conquer. I’m probably the only female in quite some time who hasn’t fallen at your feet to worship you. So you want me because I’m a challenge.”

“I want you because you’re beautiful and smart, and beautiful and talented, and beautiful and kindhearted. Or at least I thought you were kindhearted.” He blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Anastasia, the spell we cast was supposed to draw the truth about me. So, I’ll admit to being arrogant.” He shrugged. “I think with my skills a bit of arrogance is warranted. But I want you to understand that me wanting you has nothing to do with conquest or predatory skills.”

His brown eyes captured hers and she saw hurt, not anger, in their depths. Slowly, she reached across the space between them and touched his arm. “You’re right. You don’t deserve that from me. I’m sorry. Bryan.” She sighed and shook her head, correcting herself, “I mean Dragon. I’m a little confused about what I feel for you.”

He covered her hand with his. “You can call me Bryan. I like it when you say my name.”

“Bryan,” she said softly, and felt him tremble under her hand. “I didn’t expect someone like you in my life.”

“It’s because I’m a Sword Master, and going to be a Warrior, isn’t it?”

She nodded silently.

“Why does that bother you?”

“You’re going to think it’s foolish,” she said.

He took her hand from his arm and laced his fingers with hers. “No, I won’t. I give you my promise. Tell me.”

“I was raised a Quaker. Do you know what that means?”

“Not really. I’ve heard of them. Aren’t they religious fanatics?”

“Some are. My family wasn’t as bad as the rest of our community. They—they loved me,” she said hesitantly, remembering. “Even though the community made them shun me after I was Marked and then Changed. But I still get letters from my mother. She sends them secretly. She still loves me. I know I’ll always love her.”

“That doesn’t seem foolish. That seems loyal and faithful and kind,” he said.

She smiled. “That’s not the foolish part. What’s foolish is that there are still pieces of me that are very much Quaker. I don’t think that will ever change.”

“You mean you don’t worship Nyx?”

“No, Nyx is my Goddess. For as long as I can remember I’ve felt connected to the earth in a special way, a different way than my family. I think that’s how I found my path to the Goddess, though my love of the earth.” Anastasia brushed the hair back from her face and continued, “What I’m trying to tell you is that when I was human I was a pacifist. I’m still a pacifist. I think I always will be.”

She saw him blink in surprise, but he didn’t release her hand. “I can’t change the fact that I’m a Sword Master. And I wouldn’t if I could.”

“I know! I don’t mean–”

“Wait, I want to finish. I don’t think me being a Sword Master and you being a pacifist is a bad thing.”

“Even when I tell you I think mercy is stronger than your sword?”

“So is love. So is hate. There are lots of things stronger than my sword.”

“I don’t like violence, Bryan.”

“You think I do?” He shook his head and answered himself before she could. “I don’t! The reason I first picked up a sword was because I hate violence.” His shoulders slumped and he continued with an honesty so raw it was almost painful to hear. “I’m short. I used to be very short. Little, actually. So little I got picked on. I was the butt of jokes. I was ‘the Earl’s middle son who was wee and soft and blond like a lass.’” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t like to fight. I didn’t want to fight. But that didn’t matter. The violence came to me whether I wanted it or not. If I’d given up, given in to it—to them—I would have been broken and hurt and abused. You see, my father was not well liked, and his smallest son was thought to be his weakest link.” He paused and Anastasia could see it was hard for him to talk about this part of his past—hard for him to go back there. “Instead of being broken, I grew strong. I learned how to use a sword to stop the violence done against me. Yes, I was good at it. Yes, I got arrogant and have probably used my sword when I didn’t have to, especially before I was Marked. But the truth is that I prefer to stop violence rather than start it.” His sword-roughened palm was calloused and hard against her smoother one, and she felt that rough touch all through her body. “A Warrior is a protector, not a predator.”

“You live by violence,” she said, but even to her own ears her words sounded weak. “You become something else when you fight. You’ve said it; others have said it. You’re even named after it.”

“I am a dragon only when I have to be and I will always protect my own,” he said. “Try to believe that. Try to believe in me. Give us a chance, Anastasia.”

Her stomach butterflied as she recognized his words. The older version of him, that vampyre Warrior she’d known she could love, had said the very same thing to her—and he had called her “my own.”

“I will give us a chance,” she said slowly, “if you promise to remember that mercy is stronger than your sword.”

“I promise,” he said.

And then Anastasia surprised herself by leaning forward and kissing him on his lips. When she and Bryan parted they looked into each other’s eyes for a very long time, until he said, “After you cast the spell tonight, would you walk with me by the river, back to the meadow?”

“If you’ll protect me,” she said softly.

“I’ll always protect my own,” he repeated. Smiling, he tucked her arm through his and then clucked for the horses to get up and go.

Her arm was still tucked into his as they walked along the cobblestone-lined levee. Anastasia would usually have gazed at the steamboats, which were lined up, one after another, stretching all the way up and down this part of the river. As with some of the luxuries found at the House of Night, she wondered if she’d ever get used to the majesty of the steam-engine boats. They were such a drastic contrast to the city, which was dark and quiet at this late hour. The steamboats truly were floating palaces, still humming with activity, their gay chandeliers glowing, sounds of dancing girls and gamblers drifting over the water like magickal music. Usually her attention would have been occupied with peeking inside the mullioned windows.