The sun burst through the canopy in several more places when Martin stumbled after Iyan, making the forest so beautiful that Martin again doubted his place here. But Iyan stopped to show him a patch of wild geraniums along a stream, and kissed him when Martin took a handful and, blushing, stuck them in Iyan’s hair. This kiss was sweet and slow, and by the end of it, Martin’s legs were weak. He wound up in Iyan’s arms, which made Iyan flush and which gave Martin his turn to tease.
Perhaps this was not for everyone. But it was for Martin, and the elk, and Alyce and Joseph, in their way, and Iyan, and even the hungry doe. The creatures who lived in these woods chose to be here, as they chose to be happy, Martin decided. He did not think he could ever call it wrong again.
He could choose to be happy, too.
A Lord for the Bear-Prince
ARTHUR DROPPED the armful of sticks he’d managed to gather into the remnants of the firepit just as the rain began. He turned toward the mouth of the cave to consider the gray twilight sky through the sheets of falling water, then sighed and stood up.
He’d been grateful to spot this cave after he’d seen the approaching black clouds of a storm, but he was not looking forward to another night of damp and cold. His fire would not last long. He had little food and… Arthur was trying not to dwell on his misfortunes, but he was surrounded by them.
He should have been near a village, one of the centers for the farmers and the lords under the Duke’s command to meet and trade and share news. He should have been able to spend his remaining coin on a room, or at least on something to eat. But he had lingered in the last village because of another storm, and listened with worry to the villagers’ stories about the dragon at the heart of this weather.
Arthur had not known the beasts had power over rain, but they flew among the clouds, so perhaps he should have guessed. The villagers had called this sort of rain Dragon’s Tears, and debated whether the Duke had failed to please one of the great creatures, and what it meant for their honorable lord if a dragon was unhappy.
In the province of Arthur’s birth, there were no dragons. They had fled or been slain, so it was said, ages ago, at the time when the King had left the Baron and his descendants to govern.
The villagers of this province had offered no solutions to their dragon problem, if itwasa problem; only clucked their tongues and spoken of marriages, and the harvest, and other things farmers had on their minds. Arthur had been told the Duke’s people were suffering, that the dragons, and the great dragon in the mountains in particular, terrorized them, but, by this point, he was no longer surprised to find this was not true.
His lord had lied to him, or had bad information, but Arthur was inclined to think the first, and not only because his mood was bleak.
Nonetheless, Arthur made himself go back out into the rain, using the last of the daylight to gather still more sticks, which he left by the firepit when he returned to the cave, hoping that they might dry in time to be useful. He lit a fire with the flint from his bag and blew on it to bring it to life, his eyes darting up to the dark walls of the cave, which occasionally seemed to glitter. Many minerals could shine in the light, so he tried not to think of those lights as eyes.
There was no one in the cave with him. If there were, they’d had plenty of time to hear Arthur and make themselves known.
Yet Arthur hesitated before removing his helmet. The bronze had been cast with tortoises, which flickered and moved in the light of the flames. Arthur was getting fanciful, and blamed the sparkles in the cave wall and his rising despair. He took off his coat next, and spread it out to help it dry, so he might use it as a blanket. He laid out his small bedroll before unlacing his breastplate and the rest of his armor, leaving him in his long shirt, sash, and trousers. He put the knife in his belt down next to him, and sat on one of the larger rocks that someone had dragged to the firepit and arranged in a circle around it.
The entrance to this cave was high into the foothills, requiring a steep climb, but visible from the road. Arthur assumed many travelers must have used it for shelter over the years.
Arthur’s helmet had kept his hair dry, but he unwound his hair from its knot and combed it before securing it once again at the back of his head. Then he reached for his bag and the dried fruit that was all he had remaining for food.
His hands shook as he unwrapped the cloth around the fruit, which he set down without eating. He was cold, tired, and wet. He might have been lost. He had little food or coin left. Going on seemed futile.
Maybe he could run away. Abandon all honor and become a bandit. He could not return home, not like this. He could press on, find the Duke and beg his forgiveness—or be killed on the spot. Even if Arthur got the great lord to listen to him, the Duke would likely not believe him. Arthur’s chariot was broken and abandoned. He had sent his horses home. His clothes were travel-stained and dirty. He hardly looked like the son of a lord, even a younger son of a third and foreign wife.
Giving in to his despair, Arthur slumped forward to put his face in his hands.
The sound of a footstep came from the depths of the shadows.
Arthur was instantly on his feet, his axe-dagger in his hand as he tried to peer into the darkness. He saw motion first, heard another footstep, soft on the stone, and then, at the edge of the small circle of light, glimpsed the shape of a man.
A tall man, or at least, taller than Arthur. His clothing was dark except for the glimmers of golden and silver threads in the embroidery at the cuffs of his long sleeves and the white sash that separated his top from the folds of his skirt. His black hair was in a neat bundle at the top of his head, uncovered, but held in place with several decorative pins.
He was not formally dressed but did not look disheveled, although Arthur could not make out much at this distance.
“Were you trapped by the rain as well?” Arthur asked. His accent would mark him as a stranger to this province but he could not hide it.
The man tipped his head to the side curiously and came closer. The colors of the thread in his garments indicated he was wealthy, very wealthy, although he had to be as chilled as Arthur. His eyes were dark but gleaming in his handsome face.
Arthur quickly looked away before he could be caught staring, but the man, who was at least a decade older than him, perhaps older, had beautiful warm gold skin and a mouth to make Arthur dizzy.
A man like that was probably used to receiving stares. Nonetheless, he kept his eyes on Arthur as if fascinated. “How did you come to be in here?”
His elegant, cultured voice made Arthur shiver.
“I saw the clouds beginning to darken and looked around for shelter,” Arthur answered, hoping he seemed composed. “Is that not why you are here?”
At that, the man blinked lazily, then looked beyond Arthur to the cave entrance, and the rain, before focusing again on Arthur. He gestured gracefully. “This is only the first in a series of deep caves. People often visit this one, which is why there is a place for your fire. But, oh dear, I see it is in danger of going out. Excuse me.”
