just give you his gold. He doesn’t understand why our people can be, as he likes to put it, ‘so bloody violent all the time.’ Eventually even he had to admit that being an Elder was not for him.”
Ailean began to relax, realizing he wouldn’t leave her this night. She seemed to need him, although her puppy was just fine. Besides, he enjoyed her company more than he could say. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“I’ve heard it told you intend to be an Elder one day.”
“Intend and will are two different things. I’ve a far way to go before I hope even to be considered.”
“But it’s not what you want, is it?”
And the way her entire body jerked at his question, causing her puppy to whine in annoyance before snuggling back to sleep, he knew he was right.
“Why would you ever think that?”
“Because I see no excitement in your eyes when you talk about it.”
Excitement? In her eyes? Was that even physically possible? “What?”
With a yawn, Ailean leaned back on the bed and Shalin felt a little guilty for not letting him go back to his room. But between her sick puppy and the fact she liked having Ailean around—especially when all he had on was that fur covering around his hips, giving her a delicious view of that chest—she had no intention of sending him away.
Could she do it, she wondered. Could she lure Ailean to her bed? True, she had him in her bed, but could she make him want her? Even she had to admit she’d never been known for her seduction tactics. And she couldn’t bring up the courage to simply pounce.
“When you talk about a library or being alone, your eyes light up. Or when you were telling that story to everyone downstairs. There was excitement in your face and your voice that wasn’t quite there when you discussed becoming an Elder one day. Looked more like you were going to the gallows.”
“That’s not true. I…I’m just tired. I’m not very enthusiastic about anything when I’m tired.”
Although Ailean was a bit correct. The thought of becoming an Elder almost made her queasy. All the politics. All the centaur shit. She’d rather bury herself in a library than face that life on a daily basis. But she’d promised.
Because she didn’t want to think of it any more, Shalin asked, “And what about your father?”
Ailean stared at her while he put one arm behind his head and Shalin immediately became fascinated with the way his muscles bulged from the action. Gods, he makes a beautiful human. “You know my father, Shalin.”
“I know of your father. Can’t say as I met him. Afton the Hermit.”
“He’s had other names. In the past.”
If a dragon lived past his first hundred winters, he or she would start to gather many names over time. It was nothing to be ashamed of, yet Ailean appeared…troubled. “Like?” she prompted.
“Afton the Cruel. Afton the Murderer.”
“Oh.” Shalin pushed her hair behind her ear and she briefly noticed Ailean’s eyes followed her hand while she did it. “Your father is that Afton? I always thought the Hermit and the…uh…Cruel were two different dragons.”
“No. Just one.” Ailean’s gaze moved to the ceiling. “He wasn’t always like that, you know. He didn’t earn either of those names until after my mother died.”
Now, that she understood. More than most, she was sure. “My father was lost after my mother died. Inconsolable for a while, and completely lost. She was equally brilliant, you see, and understood him so well, but much less befuddled. She kept everything organized and logical. Now when I go to visit, I find him under desks, behind desks, searching through piles of gold that turn out to be nothing more than brass coins merely painted gold.” She shrugged at Ailean’s smirk. “He can never tell the real from the fake. And I don’t think he bothers to try.”
“How did she die?”
“As only one of my parents can. She went out for a snack and picked up a bull instead of a cow. Its horn lodged in the roof of her mouth, piercing it. Nothing any healer did could fix it, and eventually she caught a brutal fever and died.”
“How old were you?”
Shalin thought a moment. “Barely thirty winters. Young.” With the puppy asleep, she rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists, focusing on Ailean. “And you?”
“Eleven winters.”
“Och. You were a babe, Ailean. I’m so sorry.”
Ailean stared hard at the ceiling. “It was my fault, you know.”
“Your fault? How could it be?”
“Because I didn’t stay put. My father took my brothers hunting and I wanted to go with them. So I followed.”
“At eleven winters? Could you even fly?”
“Barely. So of course my father told me to go back home. I did, but I was so low to the ground—unable to get any real height—soldiers spotted me and they thought I’d be fun to hunt.” He suddenly closed his eyes. “They had me, too. Cornered. About half a battalion’s worth.”
“For a hatchling?” Sometimes humans truly disgusted her.
“And then she came. A battle dragon like all the other females of her line. She decimated them, but one of them…one of them had good aim. He wounded her, and though she saved me and destroyed them all, she couldn’t save herself.”
“And your father went on to become Afton the Cruel.”
“Aye.”
“Did any humans survive?”
To her surprise, Ailean opened his eyes and smiled. Truly, the most beautiful thing about him had to be that smile. “Some. You see, my father was gone for days, but three human females found me. All sisters. One a healer, one a barmaid, and the other a servant in the duke’s castle. For three days they stayed with me. The healer, a witch, she tried to help my mother, but there was nothing to be done. So they made sure I ate and soothed me when I cried. Then my father came home. When he didn’t find us in the cave, he tracked us down. He almost killed the women until I stopped him, told him what happened. He left the villagers alone after that. They’d suffered enough, you see. The Duke, his men, they took the villagers’ food and used their women, sometimes even the young ones barely old enough to breed themselves. They left untold numbers of babes of their own lying around but they never claimed them. But that duke and his soldiers—they didn’t survive my father’s wrath.”
“So that’s how your father got his name.”
“Actually…no. No one thought he was cruel then—just angry. Then word spread that the duke was dead and others came to claim the land as their own. But my father always met them first, and he’d kill them all. He was still angry, you see. If it moved, he killed it. Eventually they all stopped coming and my father went into
