Free Dragonlove by Marc Secchia Page A

his twin. “Enough of this nonsensical dragonet-chatter.”
    “If you don’t put me down, I’ll make you blush.”
    “Blush?” chorused the giant twins.
    “Like simpering Fra’aniorian maidens on their first appearance in Court,” Lia clarified.
    “Bah,” snorted Rallon. “Just you try.”
    “Bah,” Hallon imitated his brother. “We’ve learned a great deal about you since the day you first pulled the proverbial ralti wool over our–” his voice rose an octave “–what’re you doing?”
    “Ooh, you’re so muscly ,” Hualiama cooed. “I was just playing.”
    “Stop that!”
    She curled her fingers around his muscular bicep. “But it’s just so … yummy.”
    Rallon laughed uproariously as his brother’s ears heated up to a fine, flaming pink. He said, “We should unhand the Princess at once.”
    “Indeed,” said Hualiama, whirling upon Rallon with a gleam in her eye that caused the monk to backpedal, but not fast enough. Laying her hand flat against his stomach, she teased, “My, what girl would not want to hike over boulders like these?”
    Rallon’s blush emulated the roseate dawn breaking over the monastery. Even Lia gasped at her own impudence. Truth from a dragonet’s mouth, was the Isles saying.
    “Apprentice Hualiama!”
    She jumped, and then clucked crossly. “Ja’al! Don’t sneak–”
    “Aggravating my monks again, I see?” he cut in, grinning broadly. “Just like the Lia of old.”
    Had she forgotten more than she imagined? Hualiama’s light-hearted mood–a fleeting distraction from the soul-ache over the loss of a dear friend, she realised now–faded into puzzlement. Should she take this for a flash of insight, or merely a chance comment? Either way, this new grief had punctured her heart like a single, clean thrust of a whetted blade.
    Turning to the twins, Ja’al rapped, “Don’t you have duties?” They rushed away. The monk-leader’s voice softened. “Are you alright, Lia? We heard a commotion …”
    “Amaryllion died.”
    She would not cry. Lia defied her tears, but though she lowered her eyes, the gentleness she sensed in Ja’al’s regard introduced an uncontrollable tremor to her lower lip. The warmth of his arms encircling her shoulders made the sobs tear loose from a place so deep, they seemed to gash open fresh wounds on their way out. Suddenly, she was a Cloudlands squall breaking above an Island. Ja’al could only pat her back and murmur soft words that reverberated against her cheek, nestled into his chest.
    “Islands’ sakes!” she sniffled, drawing back at last. “I’m a royal mess.”
    “Never.”
    Hualiama made to find a scrap of cloth to wipe her face, when she was arrested by Ja’al’s strong, lean fingers pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger and raising her head. He considered her so long and so searchingly, that Lia feared she might succumb to another madcap desire to kiss the monk. Oh, great Islands! Why did Ja’al have to be so volcanically gorgeous, and so forbidden by vow and by faith?
    Aye, the day Grandion battled Razzior the Orange Dragon and Yulgaz the Brown, and had been buried in a cave beneath a landslide for his trouble–the pain of that memory seared her afresh. To evade the Dragons’ scrutiny, Ja’al had kissed her with devastating sweetness and passion, and then promptly turned about-face and declared he was therefore convinced he must take his vows! Callous fiend. Rotten, uncaring, inviolable monk-monster–she chastised herself. He was a good man.
    Thus, their paths had diverged. Ja’al had pursued his faith, and Hualiama found the Tourmaline Dragon beneath the mountain, only to be burned by him in his unthinking, feral state.
    Still, Ja’al’s fingers gripped her chin.
    “What?” she protested. “What have I done?”
    “You’ve changed.” He shook his head slowly. “You’ve … there’s something about your eyes. I can’t fathom it. Something’s changed.”
    “I’ve grown