of death. The black of a different kind of life. The green leaves turned pale silver. They still had the shape of rose leaves, but now were much larger and thicker, sized to take in all the pale winter sunlight they could, and protect their fragile blossoms from the snow and ice.
The roses that had bloomed large and deep red a moment before fell from the twining vines in a shower of silken petals, replaced by tiny perfect white blossoms the size of Jermayan’s thumbnail. They covered the now- dense vines like tiny stars.
Jermayan staggered back, leaning into Ancaladar as the spell ran its course. The jewel shapes faded from his mind, and the rapid growth of the ice roses slowed.
“See?” the dragon said. “Roses in winter. When the weather warms they will die back, but in the cold season they will bloom again. You have shaped a new thing. Proper magic for a dragon and his Bondmate.”
They were beautiful. They were harmless. There was nothing threatening about them.
He didn’t know why they disturbed him so.
“You’ll have to wear some sort of harness when you carry the children,” he said aloud. “We don’t want them to fall off.”
Ancaladar blew out a long gusty breath.
“Now call fire,” he said, not answering directly. “It’s important, and useful, and you need more practice. A lot more practice.”
Chapter Twelve
IT TOOK A fortnight to make a proper set of harness for Ancaladar. The dragon grumbled quite a bit about it, but seemed, in the end, actually pleased with the results.
Then again, it was Elven workmanship, which was never less than spectacular. He did not look like a “pack mule” as he claimed; as a matter of fact, he looked as if he had been fitted for a splendid costume of black leather and shining, sapphire-enameled metal. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the dragon was inordinately pleased with his appearance.
Idalia left the House of Healing after only a few days more, but she went to Jermayan’s house to live, not back to the home she’d shared with Kellen. It was as if Jermayan’s Bond with Ancaladar had eased some unshareable burden she’d been carrying—or perhaps it was only that having come so close to death, she now realized that there were things in life that should not be delayed.
Her departure left Kellen alone in the house they’d shared, but not for long. Within a day of Idalia’s departure, Kellen discovered he had mysteriously acquired an assistant, one Vertai, whose business it seemed to be to keep Kellen’s wardrobe in order, the larder stocked, simple meals available, and everything generally as tidy—or even more so—than when Kellen had shared the place with Idalia. Where this fellow had come from, Kellen had no idea; he was certainly more efficient and a lot more pleasant than any of the Tavadon servants had ever been.
In part, this might have been because Kellen rarely saw Vertai. Once he’d granted the man permission to come and go as he pleased—after consulting Jermayan, who seemed to think it was a good idea—Vertai seemed to do all his work while Kellen was at the House of Sword and Shield. It was like having a completely invisible servant, and one who managed to anticipate everything Kellen could have thought of.
Kellen had thrown himself back into his interrupted training with a vengeance. He knew that all around him important things were happening—Jermayan was learning magic, Idalia was creating weapons for the upcoming campaign against the Shadowed Elves, Andoreniel was calling up his allies and gathering the Elven army for the assault on the first of the enclaves of the Shadowed Elves—but nobody was telling him about them directly, or even asking him what he thought about them. He’d just been shunted aside, as if his opinion wasn’t worth anything.
Was it arrogant of him to think otherwise? Should he
But still…
