On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [58]
She would not start crying again. She bit her lip hard and willed her eyes to stop stinging, willed the lump in her throat to dissolve. She would have to hide the rags until such time as she could dispose of them.
She would also have to hide the water with which she scrubbed her thighs and sulim in a futile effort to clean herself. As she stretched out to try to get some sleep, Kevla thought that if Yeshi ever wanted to see her wretched and miserable, all she needed to do was poke her head in at this moment, and the great lady would be mightily pleased.
She slept, and again the Great Dragon appeared in her dreams, with its accusatory cry, “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”
The next day, the flow was still strong, but Kevla felt less pain. But she could not forget what was going on, nor the dreadful dreams that seemed so real. She had dreamed before; everyone dreamed. But never anything like this.
This time, when she retreated to her room, she staved off sleep as long as she could, frightened of the Dragon and his censure, but eventually her eyes closed of their own accord.
Again, Kevla stood in the center of a wall of fire. She was as terrified as she had been previously, familiarity with the scene making it no less horrific. Again, the Dragon reared up and spouted flame; again, it pressed its face close to hers. But this time, it reached out with a huge, scaly foreleg. Claws clamped on her shoulder and it shook her.
“Kevla!” it cried. “Kevla, wake up, you’re dreaming—”
She bolted awake with a vengeance, squirming and clawing against the foreleg that grabbed her shoulder, that clamped down on her mouth to stifle her screams—
“Kevla, hush, it’s me, Jashemi!”
She sagged in relief, and his hand left her mouth and he moved away slightly. It was then she remembered the Dragon’s accusation. Remembered the blood still flowing from her body.
With a soft cry, she buried her face in her hands.
“Kevla, what is it? I can’t bear to see you so unhappy. What can I do?”
Her heart swelled with affection and gratitude. Whatever had happened to her, she knew she had been blessed in having his friendship for as long as she had.
“I have to go,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.
She heard a swift intake of breath. “You…you are going to leave?”
“She will send me away. The blood and the Dragon have ordained it so.” She risked a look at him.
His face was lit by moonlight, and he looked utterly confused. “I don’t understand.”
“It cannot be coincidence,” she said thickly. “The Dragon has come to me in dreams and—”
“Dreams?” The word exploded from him. “Tell me.”
So she did. He listened silently, attentively. The image of the beggar who had burned in the market came back to her. He had had dreams of the Dragon, too; he had been cursed by the kulis. And he had died horribly because of it.
Finally, when she was done, Jashemi said gently, “Your so-called fall from grace was not due to anything you did. It was because my mother is an angry, unhappy, and jealous woman. When you fully believe that, I think the dreams will stop.”
She gazed deeply into his eyes, black pools of compassion in the dim light. I love him, she thought. I could not love him more if he were my brother, my own blood.
Blood.
She stared down at their clasped hands. “There is more. I am bleeding,” she whispered. “I am an adult woman now, and Yeshi will send me away to be married. The Dragon wants us all to remember our place, and I have forgotten. Even now, with you here, I am forgetting my place. He wants me to leave.”
“I refuse to believe that,” Jashemi said, his voice low and intense. “I refuse to believe that the Dragon would be so cruel. You have always performed your duties well, Kevla. And I know that Father will not permit you to