Free The Dragons' Chosen by Gwen Dandridge

fascination. I had never before felt myself to be in the prey category. But now that my status had moved from princess to entree, I had a new empathy for them. Chris poked her foot at me.
    “Look, we don’t have much time. We have to talk.”
    I listened for over an hour as she explained the dynamics of scapegoats throughout the history of her land. It didn’t make much sense to me, but then not much about Chris did.
    The terrain closed in once we passed the Daine River. Trees loomed, forming dense woods, and little rivulets crossed and re-crossed our way.
    We rode side by side, weaving various theories of dragons and schemes into a patchwork of solutions. Not that any would work, but it was comforting to pretend, to indulge Chris’s faith. She was still displeased with my decision and she railed against my continuing on this journey.
    “My professor of Women’s Studies says this kind of thing happened all the time. It’s cultural, men sending women off to their deaths. In Hawaii, women were dropped into the mouth of the volcano to appease the Goddess Pele; in India, they were placed on their husbands’ funeral pyres and burned; the Inuit deposited their unwanted women on icebergs when they tired of them. Your people ship them off to dragons.”
    Chris swatted at a biting fly on her horse’s withers and Janis jogged a step or two in response. Chris was so focused on her diatribe that she forgot to clutch at Janis’s mane as she continued talking. “You need to stop this madness. Take a stand! I still say we dress the pig up in your clothes and tether it. The dragons may be very happy with pork, happier even. It isn’t like they are kosher or anything.”
    I frowned at her odd language but refused to respond. We’d been over this four times just that day.
    “Even if they notice, maybe they’ll think of it as an hors d’oeuvre. We could slather the pig with rat poison. Arsenic? I know, dragon’s bane! Do you have any of that? I bet that would mess with a dragon’s digestion.”
    I had heard this before also. In fact, I was becoming quite an expert at the tribal practices of her land and on her various proposals of how to kill dragons.
    I answered her again as I had these past days. “It is my duty.” I watched her mouth curl into a sneer.
    I looked away, and she erupted. “They’re using you, and you’re letting them.”
    “So tell me,” I shot back, my voice now heated. “Would you abandon your people, your family and lands to war and destruction to save one life, your life? If it meant the death of thousands, would you?” I looked at her, then whispered, “I can’t.”
    Chris was still and finally spoke, “Ok, I see your point. Maybe I wouldn’t. But I would want to be absolutely positive that it was necessary. That there was a valid need.”
    I forced myself to speak normally. “Let’s go back to thinking of solutions. Ones that don’t involve my running away and losing my honor.”
    “Oh, for frigging sake, you are so holier-than-thou.”
    I looked at her, startled. “I’m not particularly religious, no more than most.”
    Chris rolled her eyes. “Do you always have to be so literal? It’s just an expression.”
    I resigned myself to being forever confused when with Chris. She was my only confidante, but there was no understanding the woman.

 
    Chapter 12
     

     
    At night we stopped, camping out under the stars. Lucinda’s ankle was slowly healing but still I insisted she rest. Chris, while obviously not a horsewoman, eagerly helped around the camp once she recovered from her saddle stiffness.
    With Lucinda injured, Ethan took over the cooking. I was checking Winter’s legs for burrs when I witnessed a small tussle between Chris and Douglas about a bucket of water and an axe.
    Water sloshed as Chris and Douglas vied for ownership. Chris’s brows lowered into a frown. “Let go. I can do this myself.”
    Douglas tugged on the bucket, ineffectually trying to pry it from her hand.