Dragon's Oath

The sound terrified her like nothing before.

Pure fear pulsed through her. Anastasia stared wildly up at Bryan. “Something terrible is coming!” she gasped.

The change that came over him was instant. He went from dreamy-eyed, gentle fledgling to a Warrior-sword drawn and body tense.

“Stay here, next to the boulder and behind me.” This time he didn’t shove her off her feet. Instead he led her quickly into a defensive position and then turned to face whatever was lurking in the predawn.

Heart pounding, Anastasia crouched behind him, peering out at the grayish gloaming. Filled with foreboding, she waited for it to attack.

Nothing moved.

No malevolent creature of nightmare fell down upon them. No marauders swarmed. Nothing bad happened at all. All around them was only the meadow and the distant scent of the river.

She saw his broad shoulders begin to relax and readied herself for his discounting comment. When he turned to her, Anastasia saw only an alert concern in his expression.

“Do you know what it was?” he asked.

“No.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “But I give you my word I wasn’t pretending.”

“I know that,” he said. “A Sword Master is not just good with a blade. He’s good with reading bodies and judging reactions. You were fearful.” He reached out, took her hand, and helped her to her feet. Their hands lingered together for a moment. He squeezed hers before he let it go, and then Bryan reached for the chalice that sat full and ready in the middle of the altar. “Drink this and eat some of the food. It’ll help. Plus, you should ground yourself after such a powerful spell.”

As she sipped the fortifying wine and nibbled on the bread and cheese, Bryan disassembled the altar quickly, while he kept watch around them.

“Did you feel it? The cold?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did you hear the wings?”

“No.” He met her gaze. “But I believe you felt it and heard it.”

“Some Indian tribes believe birds carry bad omens. Especially black birds,” she said.

“I like to believe Nyx wants us to make our own omens,” he said. Then he smiled and pointed at a clump of wildflowers not far from them and the brilliant blue bird with a splash of orange on its chest that fluttered there. “That is definitely not a bad omen.”

Anastasia found her smile again. “No, it’s a beautiful bird.”

“And it’s on those enormous yellow flowers. That has to be good, too.”

“They’re sunflowers. My favorite flowers actually,” she said, giving them a fond look that for some reason had Dragon scowling.

“Aren’t they like weeds?”

She shook her head in obvious disdain for his floral ignorance. “They aren’t weeds. They’re associated with love and passion. They’re strong and brilliant and fruitful-their seeds feed everything from birds to people.”

“So, you’d say they’re a good omen, too.”

“I would,” she said.

“And on that second good omen, let’s leave. We’re too exposed out here, and it is almost dawn.”

She nodded and, still sipping the wine, the two of them left the meadow. Bryan carried her basket in one hand and held his sword in the other.

“Thank you for believing me,” she said after they’d walked in companionable silence for a little while.

“You are welcome,” he said.

She glanced at him. “You’re not what I expected.”

He met her gaze and smiled. “I’m shorter, right?”

Anastasia smiled back at him. “Yes. You’re definitely shorter.”

After a few moments Bryan asked, “Do you like shorter?”

She just kept smiling.

“I think you don’t dislike me,” he said.

She raised a brow at him. “I already told you that.”

“Yes, but the spell proved it.”

“And how did it do that?” she said.

“It’s supposed to reveal the truth of me, and all of my,” he paused, thinking, then continued, “and all of my arrogant misdeeds.”

She felt her face get warm and she looked away from him.

“So, if I was really like that-all arrogant and full of myself and not caring about others-you’d see the truth of that and you’d dislike me.”

She did look at him then. “No, you’re wrong. Just because the truth of you is revealed, it doesn’t mean the person seeing it will automatically dislike you-even if you are arrogant and full of yourself.”

He laughed. “I think what you just said was nice, even though it didn’t sound like it.”

“And I think you’re better at spells and rituals than you let on,” she countered with.

“I think you’ll have to look up my records to see.”

“I’ll do that,” she said.

“You might be surprised by what you find,” he said.

She met his gaze. “Yes. I might be.”

The sun was just beginning to lift through the bluffs in the east when they reached the door that led to the professors’ quarters in the main house. Bryan handed her the basket.

“Thank you,” she said. “I-well-I suppose I will see you in class.”

“Not this semester. I took Spells and Rituals last semester. But you will see me.”

Anastasia drew a long breath and then said, “Dragon, about the kiss-”

He held up a hand to stop her words. “No,” he said quickly. “Do not tell me it was a mistake.”

“You’re a fledgling. I’m a professor.”

“Is that it? Is that the only problem you have with me?”

“That’s enough,” she said firmly.

Instead of being dissuaded, she watched a long, slow, triumphant smile tilt his lips. “Good, because that is only a temporary problem.” He took her hand, lifted it, and kissed her palm. Then, still smiling, he fisted a hand over his heart and with perfect respect bowed to her and said, “Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again, Professor Anastasia.”

Before she could respond, he smacked her cheek with a quick kiss, turned, and strode away, whistling happily.

Dragon had been right-she was surprised when she looked up his records. “He’s practically a perfect student,” she muttered to herself as she thumbed through the files. She was also surprised by how the fledglings treated him, especially the ones who had come to her for love spells.

They didn’t dislike him.

Granted, none of them hung on him or fawned over him or flirted overtly with him. Well, none of the fledglings who had come to her for love spells flirted overtly with him. Others… yes.

Anastasia tried not to notice or care.

She couldn’t help noticing, though, that in general the fledglings looked up to him. He was popular with everyone, and that included his professors. And Dragon, in turn, was charming and arrogant, witty and mischievous. And kind.

He was kind.

Anastasia couldn’t even try not to care about that.

Whenever their paths crossed during the next several days, which they did frequently, his eyes found hers. His gaze lingered on her. Her gaze lingered on him.

And every morning she found a fresh sunflower in a crystal vase on her desk.