By the time she could see straight, the villagers were fleeing, screaming in terror, Una and the old witch both lost in the panic. Just as Alys got up onto her hands and knees, a blast of wind flattened her again. Her forearms were seized and she was lifted up, up into the air.
But then Selendrile swooped low, so that she could see Gower staggering groggily, too confused to look up. Selendrile dipped so low that Alys's dangling legs almost dragged on the ground. The rush of air from his wings caused Gower to lose his footing again. He fell, sitting, and Selendrile circled again, close enough that Alys could see in Gower's eyes the moment he realized what was happening, could see him brace himself for the death he was sure was coming.
Which didn't come.
Once again Selendrile took to the air, circling the village, demonstrating to the villagers that there was no hope of outrunning him, no matter which direction they chose. Then again he swooped in close, his wings pulled in tight so that he hurtled between their houses, Alys's feet just barely clearing the street.
He roared, sending flames shooting down the street, licking at the heels of the fleeing villagers. Closer. Closer. Then at the last moment, up and above their heads.
Again he returned to the stake, fallen and abandoned. This time he roared directly at it, and the brittle wood burst into flame whose heat Alys could feel on her legs as they passed over.
Gower had almost reached the edge of the village when Selendrile caught up. He breathed a crescent of flame to block the wheelwright's way, close enough that Gower's eyebrows were probably singed. Gower turned.
Then, with Gower watching, Selendrile breathed fire. Not at Gower, but at the tin shop Gower had fought so hard to possess. For a moment, Alys felt an overwhelming sense of loss for her childhood home.
But only for a moment.
She had seen last night that it was no longer hers. She felt nothing as Selendrile shot over Gower's head and carried her into the darkness of the surrounding night.
AFTER FLYING LONG enough that Alys's arms were beginning to ache, Selendrile let her drop.
She landed flat on her back on ground that was prickly but bouncy. A haystack, she realized, probably the same one he'd dropped her into that first night. She'd given up trying to keep track of how often she'd been knocked down or fallen over in the past day—she probably couldn't count that high anyway.
Selendrile skidded to a stop beside her, transforming to human shape even before the shower of hay settled. He grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to sit up, looking intently at her as though searching for something in her face. She saw that his right wrist was almost entirely healed; the left had no mark of the shackle at all. She remembered how he had referred to human bodies as being fragile, and considered, once again, that dragons lived for hundreds of years. It wasn't fair of her to wish he was human just because she was.
"Thank you for rescuing me," she said.
Eventually he let go of her shoulders. Eventually he said, "You're welcome."
The moonlight glinted on his golden hair, long and loose. "So," he said in a voice that gave no clue to his thoughts, "does this mean no more revenge?"
"No more revenge."
He continued to look at her without saying anything.
"I didn't like it," she said. "I felt worse after than before. And I'm very, very sorry Atherton died."
No reaction at all.
"I assume it works out better for you," she asked, "when you get revenge on those who hurt you?"
His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. But he was the one who looked away first. He sighed, shaking his head, probably more at her than in answer to her statement. "Do you want to go back?" he asked.
She thought about it. But then she said, "No. They'll never be able to forgive me."
He looked amused at the thought that she could be concerned with forgiveness. "Then," he said, "is there some other place you'd like me to take you?"
Now Alys sighed. "There were several kind people in Griswold who were willing to take me on. I may go back there." She sighed again. "Or, I could find a new place entirely. I don't think that's as impossible as I used to think it was."
"Ah," he said in that knowing way of his.
Alys rested her head against her knees.
"Or," Selendrile said, not quite looking at her, "you could stay with me."
Startled, she tried to gauge his sincerity from his bland expression. Aware of a hundred reasons why it wouldn't work, she asked, "Do you mean it?"
Selendrile paused to consider. "Perhaps," he said.
"I see," Alys answered.
The dragon-youth took a deep breath. "Yes." He said it quickly and decisively. "Yes, I mean it."
"Well, then," she said, "in that case, I will."
Table of Contents
Title Page
Front
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Vivian Vande Velde, Dragon's Bait
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