Reyr the Gold (Dragonwall Series # 2)

Chapter 19 - Reyr's Past

Kastali Dun

Reyr hesitated at Claire's chamber door. It was mid-afternoon, and he had just come from Fort Kastali. His muscles were still tense. It had been another day of drills, and yet another reminder of how unprepared the fort was for an aerial attack. He knocked and then entered without waiting.

"I'm beginning to think you're doing that on purpose. What's the point of knocking?" Claire asked, eyeing him from the sofa.

The fireplace beside her was empty, so he went to the grate and threw several logs in before starting a fire. Then he collected himself and turned to her, taking note of her mussed up hair and drowsy expression. "Have you been napping again?" he teased. "You certainly sleep a lot these days."

She snorted. "We both know why."

"Your magic is still troubling you? Has there been no improvement?"

She sighed. "Improvement, yes. It isn't as bad as it was, but I still feel tired. It's not the tiredness that bothers me though."

He already knew the argument that was coming. "The magic feels wrong," he said, repeating her favorite complaint. She confirmed this by nodding. "I still do not understand what feels wrong about it. You simply speak the words and command what you will." He could think of no reason, so he shrugged and added, "Perhaps you have not grown accustomed to the language yet." He took a seat opposite her and leaned back, casually laying his right arm over the top of the sofa.

"I'm not so sure." She shook her head. "It's hard to explain. I wouldn't expect you to understand. You're old. You've been using the language for a long time."

He laughed, allowing the rumble of his voice to emanate deep in his chest. His laugh sounded more dragon than man. She had a good point. "I will have you know," he said, "that I am young by common Drengr standards."

"And how old would that be?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Hm. I seem to have forgotten. Perhaps I lost count..." The corner of his mouth twitched in betrayal as he tried to keep a straight face. "Oh, all right," he said after earning another glare. "I'm three hundred and seventy-nine years old. Four years younger than King Talon, if you must know."

Her jaw dropped, which brought him a measure of satisfaction. "Is this the same way you reacted when Cyrus told you his true age?"

"Pretty much." She shut her mouth. It was then that he realized his eyes had fixated on her lips for far too long. He looked away and silence fell between them.

As he gazed about her quarters, he noticed that she had made several changes. The space was more her own. The furniture had been rearranged to better suit the room. There were also several gowns draped on the backs of chairs. He almost chuckled when he saw this. Most women in her position had handmaidens or ladies in waiting to clean up after them. Perhaps he ought to speak to the king about getting her some help.

When the silence became too great, he said, "Aside from your lessons, how are you faring with all else?"

She shrugged.

"Well, are you adjusting well? Are you happy?"

"I suppose I am, or as happy as I can be in this kind of a situation."

He regarded her, trying to read beyond her words. She merely gazed back. "What about your relationship with King Talon? Any luck on that front?" He already knew the answer but thought to ask anyway. When she snorted, he said, "I shall take that as a no."

"Every time we speak, which is rare, mind you, we argue." Her nostrils flared. The mere topic seemed to get her flustered.

"I have heard of your most recent argument. Have you not spoken since?"