The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 23
“You aren’t a great dancer, I’ve noticed,” Marcella said after a few moments of silence.
He snorted. “Says the girl who can’t match a rhythm to save her life.”
She threw her head back and laughed. It was a sound he lived for.
“So, what shall I call you now?” she asked. “Sir Vane?”
Dorrick cringed. “Eh, I think my father goes by that. Wouldn’t want to confuse us.”
Another laugh. “I don’t think anyone is going to confuse you two. No need to worry about that, little Vane.”
“You wound me, my lady.”
“I speak only the truth.”
They shared a chuckle. Truth be told, if they were speaking truths, he didn’t want to be confused for his father. He craved Vanter Vane’s love and attention and his pride in him, but his father was cold and ruthless and shrewd. All things needed for a good commander, but that wasn’t something Dorrick wanted to be. Being his father wasn’t his goal. He just wanted his approval.
When they stopped laughing, Dorrick subtly pulled Marcella closer against him. “Sir Dorrick sounds fine to me.”
She noticed. Her arms tightened around his neck and she rested her face on his shoulder. “I like the sound of that. So official.”
“What about you?” he said, licking his lips. He was sure she could feel how fast and hard his heart was beating. “Dame Marcella feels like too much of a mouthful.”
She snorted. “Good. If someone’s addressing me as Dame Marcella, they either want something or want to yell at me, so they should use all those syllables.” They both laughed at that. “But no, I’ll probably go by Dame Bather. It is my name, after all.”
They danced in silence for a few minutes after that, the ballad ending and going into another slow one. They were content to just enjoy each other’s presence. They’d both almost died on their mission, and as knights, they’d go on many more where their lives would be in peril. These moments together… They’d be precious.
Marcella brought her hands to his cheeks and made him look at her. “You were very brave out there. That spirit could have killed us all, but you beat it.”
“I did what I had to do, what any knight would have done,” he said, shrugging off the praise. He wasn’t used to praise and compliments, even when they were warranted. It made his skin itch.
“Maybe, but you still did it. Thank you, Dorrick.”
She leaned up and brushed her lips against his.
A tingle shot down his spine as gooseflesh suddenly ran along his limbs and made all the hairs stand straight up in the best way. He had not expected this.
It wasn’t against the rules to become romantically involved with other knights, though it was frowned upon. They always preached that the heart and soul should be to the cause, in helping people and defending their great city. Having a romance could be a distraction. Or so they were taught. Still, it wasn’t against the rules. His father wouldn’t approve, which was hypocritical since he had sired Dorrick after all. He’d loved once too.
Those things went through his head as Marcella kissed him and pulled back, but he didn’t care about any of them.
Her cheeks blazed red. “Oh… Oh, I shouldn’t have done that. I— Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
Before she could say anymore, Dorrick kissed her himself, which felt as good as he thought it would. He felt her stiffen then subsequently melt in his arms. Her lips tasted of the honey mead that they’d both been drinking.
When he pulled away from her, he leaned his forehead against hers. She let out a breath. “Oh.”
“No need to apologize,” he whispered.
“I can see that,” she whispered back with a shy smile.
The song ended. People clapped for the troupe. Then they started another song, this one a fast-paced ode to battle that got everyone whooping and hollering. Knights and squires streamed back into the middle of the room, ready to sing the melody, but Dorrick didn’t join them. Marcella grabbed him by the arm and pulled him from the Great Hall.
They ran giggling down the halls, in the direction of the woman’s dormitories, but they hardly made it halfway there before Marcella grew impatient and pulled him into a shady alcove and kissed him again. And again, and again, and again.
Until their whole night was kisses and laughter and joy.
Dorrick was happy. And he didn’t want any of this to end.
8
Bishta
The portal sent her to a place where Bishta the Black had not expected, but nonetheless worked out in her favor: Ragvarral, or as it was usually translated, Land of the Scales. Also known as Land of Dragons.
The most beautiful and most terrifying place in the world. Bishta loved it.
Dragons came in all shapes and sizes, all backgrounds. Some were no bigger than a wolf, but the largest could blot out the sun and were bigger than even the greatest ships that sailed the seas. Dragons, as a species, were incredibly intelligent. Some would say that they were the most intelligent species. And they spoke of course.
Heck, deep within Bishta’s sage memories, she could see what she would only describe as a philosophy lesson being taught in an amphitheater by a large brown dragon with golden dorsal spikes and red whiskers.
She always loved to converse with the ones who could speak, which was a great deal of them.
Of course, the human stories about dragons hoarding gold and killing and burning everything they saw weren’t totally untrue. Dragons, thankfully, lacked the raw greed and ambitions that humans had. They were content to stay mostly to their island, but many roamed the wilds to the south, raining terror from above. Bishta had long ago heard that dragons who stayed in the Spirit Wilds would revert to a mindless, bestial