“What? No, absolutely not.”
Petras gave him a stern look. “You work for me, Silas. Don’t forget that.”
Silas walked away a few steps with his mind reeling. A war on two different fronts? Three fronts, most probably, because the minute he attacked Tourin, Eberon would enter the war as Tourin’s ally. This would be disastrous for Norveshka. A terrible suspicion crept into his thoughts. What if this dragon, whoever he might be, was using the king to destroy the country?
“I’ll get rid of the curse,” Petras insisted. “And then Freya will get well, and we’ll have more children. Our fellow countrymen will be able to have more children. Norveshka will be healed once and for all.”
“I want that, too, but—”
“Then don’t argue with me. When Fafnir tells us what to do, we must do as he says. And then he will lift the curse that the Ancient Ones put on us.”
Silas swallowed hard. He and Gwennore would have to work quickly to prove the curse wasn’t real. He also needed to see if people were disappearing like Gwennore had said. And he needed to investigate this dragon who was giving orders to the king. “Before I agree to follow orders from Fafnir, I must speak to him.”
“Impossible. He will talk only to me.”
The sliver of apprehension slithered down Silas’s spine once again. “Are you the only one who has seen Fafnir?”
When Petras nodded, Silas hissed in a shaky breath. He only had his brother’s word that this Fafnir was real. What were the chances that an Ancient One had survived five hundred years in secret?
Silas glanced at the king and silently cringed at the wild, unfocused gleam in his eyes.
Dammit to hell. Was Petras going mad, too?
* * *
Gwennore winced. Now her rump was as sore as her back. And her arms were tired from supporting Eviana.
It was the next morning and they’d been traveling for about half an hour on horseback, following the Norva River. She had learned how to ride during her stay at Ebton Palace, but she wasn’t accustomed to trips as long as this.
The night before had been difficult. Eviana had missed her mother so much that she’d started crying. Gwennore had let the little girl share her bed in the nanny’s room, but they’d only slept about an hour before Nissa had arrived before dawn to help them get ready to leave. The servant had laundered their clothes from the day before and given them a pillowcase to store the three dolls Eviana had selected as her birthday present.
When they had arrived in the courtyard, the general had offered to carry Eviana on his horse, but Gwennore had thought it best to keep the girl with her. After all, the Norva River was close by, so it should be a short ride to the boat.
“The river here is too rocky and shallow for a boat,” the general had explained. “We’ll have to ride for a while.” When he reached for Eviana, the little girl had latched onto Gwennore, refusing to let go.
“She’s a little grumpy from lack of sleep,” Gwennore had admitted. “I had better hold her for a while.”
General Dravenko had frowned. “Fine. But when you get tired, let me know.”
Before they had even finished passing through the small hamlet of Dreshka, Eviana had fallen fast asleep. At first, Gwennore had thoroughly enjoyed the journey, for she’d never seen a Norveshki village close up before. And once they had journeyed into the nearby countryside, a glorious sunrise had revealed some of the most beautiful scenery she’d ever seen. Forested hillsides and rocky cliffs flanked the winding river, and the air was cool and scented with the crisp fragrance of evergreens.
For a moment she thought she heard the whisper of voices in the distance. Puff? She glanced up at the sky but couldn’t spot any dragons.
It was a shame Puff couldn’t return her and Eviana. Flying with him was certainly more pleasant than riding a long distance on horseback. Now that they were half an hour into the trip, her rump was starting to ache, along with her arms that were supporting the weight of the girl’s drooping body.
To take her mind off her discomfort, she decided to study General Dravenko, who was riding in front of her. He was wearing a different uniform today. It was still green and brown, but his breeches were made of cool linen instead of leather. A definite improvement, she thought, recalling the reading she’d taken on him the day before. The man had trouble with too much heat. Good goddesses, don’t think about his groin.
She lifted her gaze to his head. His shoulder-length black hair stirred in the breeze that wafted through the valley. It was thick and wavy, the ends curling. Would it be as soft as it looked? Don’t think about touching him.
There was a sheathed sword on his back. It looked long and heavy, and she wondered if its weight ever bothered him. Probably not. His shoulders were so broad. His back so strong. He was a man accustomed to carrying the burden of leadership. Intelligent, strong, and too handsome for his own good. Don’t think about that.
How was she going to work with him? Especially when the scoundrel was going to let everyone think they were lovers.
He turned his head to the side, and she stifled a sigh at the sight of his gorgeous profile. Stop thinking about him.
Unfortunately, without him to distract her, all she could think about was her aching arms. How could a three-year-old be so heavy?
He moved his horse to the edge of the path and halted. Glancing back, he motioned for her to approach.
She reined her horse to a stop beside him. “Is something wrong?” She raised her voice over the sound of the rushing river.
He maneuvered his horse closer till his leg brushed against hers.
Her heart pounded as he edged even closer, his thigh now pressed against hers. “What are you doing?”
“Shh. You’ll wake her up.” His voice was so low,
