Silas’s heart clenched once again with the fear that his brother was not only paranoid, but delusional. But if Petras was imagining the dragon, then where had the poisoned ring come from?
Petras stalked toward him. “You shouldn’t have gone there. You might have frightened him off!”
“He’s a fire-breathing dragon. Why would he frighten so easily?”
“He—he was injured by one of our ancestors. He’s afraid to trust us!” Petras scrubbed a hand over his face. “How could you do that? He might be the only way we can get rid of the curse!”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.”
Petras frowned at him, then finally nodded. “All right. We’re agreed, then. You’ll leave Fafnir to me.” He hurried through the door to his wife’s bedchamber.
Silas took a deep breath. There was no way he was leaving his brother to deal with Fafnir. Whoever the hell this bastard was, he was poisoning the queen and trying to destroy their country with hopelessly suicidal wars.
* * *
The next morning, while Gwennore was putting on a clean shift in her dressing room, she realized she might have to wear one of the fancy gowns that Margosha had lent her. The breeches she’d worn yesterday had gotten dirty during their afternoon tromp through the forest to collect medicinal plants. “Did you wash the breeches?”
“Yes, my lady, but they’re not quite dry.” Nissa pointed to a green brocade gown. “Perhaps you should wear this one since it’s Emeralday.”
Gwennore sighed. It seemed silly to wear such an elaborate court dress when she was going to spend the entire day in the workroom. “What I need is some work clothes. Do you have anything I could borrow?
Nissa gasped. “My lady, you can’t wear a servant’s clothes. Not when you’re…” She ducked her head, blushing.
“What?”
With a shy smile, Nissa pointed at the door to Silas’s dressing room. “I’m so happy for you, my lady.”
Gwennore glanced at his door. She could hear running water. Silas must be washing up. “Why are you happy?”
With a grin, Nissa clasped her hands together. “You’re back together with His Highness.”
“What? No!”
“You were seen, my lady.” Nissa lowered her voice to a whisper. “The two of you left his bedchamber yesterday, and he was still getting dressed.” She turned away, her face blushing.
“That doesn’t mean we…” Oh dear goddesses. Gwennore grabbed the green brocade gown and slipped it over her head. At least she could stay in the workroom all day, far away from the ridiculous gossip. “Could you do the laces, please?”
“Of course.” Nissa stepped behind her. “Everyone’s talking about it. Some people are saying you’ve bewitched the general.”
Gwennore snorted. “So now they think I’m a witch.”
“I told them you’re not.” Nissa tugged at the laces. “Others are saying the general has succumbed to madness like the queen.”
Gwennore closed her eyes briefly. That was even worse. How could Silas inherit the throne if everyone thought he was insane?
“At least no one is saying you want to kill him anymore.”
Gwennore scoffed. “Well, that’s nice of them.”
Nissa tied off the laces. “They’re saying you want him alive, so you can marry him and become the next queen.”
Gwennore turned to face her maid. “That’s not true. I’m leaving in a few days.” Perhaps. She wasn’t so sure anymore. Her heart was being torn in two.
“How can you leave?” Nissa’s eyes widened. “Don’t you care for the general?”
Goddesses, yes. She more than cared for him. “I care enough not to cause him any trouble.” She recalled the scornful glares outside the queen’s bedchamber. “There are too many people here who hate me.”
“Oh, you must have heard.” Nissa grimaced.
“Heard what?” When her maid ducked her head, Gwennore touched her shoulder. “Tell me.”
Nissa grabbed hold of the gold-painted bead that hung from a leather cord around her neck. “Some people are saying it’s not the curse that’s killing the queen. They think it’s you.”
Gwennore gasped. Dammit. She was so damned tired of being misjudged and reviled. Why should she stay here and help these ungrateful people?
“I told them they were wrong!” Nissa insisted. “I know how hard you’re working to get rid of the curse.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Please don’t leave us. We need you. The general needs you.”
Tears burned Gwennore’s eyes when she imagined Nissa all alone, trying to defend her. “I’ll stay awhile longer.”
“Thank you.” Nissa wiped her cheeks dry.
Gwennore pulled her into a hug. “No, thank you for reminding me that I have true friends here.”
Nissa gave her a tremulous smile. “Let me know if you need anything.” She ran from the room.
Gwennore let out a groan as she dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Wherever she went, it was always the same. People gossiped about her in Eberon and Tourin, too. If she truly wanted to escape prejudice, she would have to spend the rest of her life in the convent on the Isle of Moon.
No. She would not be chased off the mainland. She had to be stronger than that. After splashing some cold water on her face, she dried herself with a towel and glanced at the door to Silas’s dressing room. Was he aware of the rumors circulating in the castle?
The quickest way to set everyone straight would be for him to denounce their relationship. She pressed an ear to the door. The water had stopped some time ago. He should have had time to dress.
She tossed her towel onto the dressing table, then cracked the door open. “Hello?”
“Ah! Dammit!”
She gasped as the door swung open. Silas was standing in front of a mirror, wearing only a towel around his hips while he shaved. A trickle of blood ran down his jawline, mingling with the white lather.
She stepped toward him. “You cut yourself!”
“You surprised me.” He turned to face her as he pressed a handkerchief against the cut.
“I-I’m sorry.” She backed toward the door. “I thought you would be dressed.”
“Don’t leave now.” He gave her a wry look. “Or I will have been wounded in vain.”
She lowered her
