Chapter 11: Murtagh Sleeps Well

As the cold of the autumn night crept in through the turret shutters, Murtagh threw another log on the fire. He sat in his comfy chair, staring at the flames, sorting his thoughts.

Nana was at Castle Togair when the dragon arrived. Damn, she had the perfect disguise. He shook his head. I never asked her how she rescued Julianna.

The fire crackled; sparks burst from a log.

Nana sent for me. She wanted me to claim to be a seer. Of course. If one dragon had sniffed her out, another might as well. I was meant to be a diversion. If a second dragon had shown up, the castle folk, thinking me magic, would have tossed me to the beast. In the confusion, she would have made her escape.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Then slowly nodding, he spoke his thoughts, “She's probably dead—eaten.”

With a smile curling up the corners of his mouth, Murtagh changed into his nightshirt. He thrust his sleeping cap down over his chilled ears and pushed his bed nearer the fire. When he had tucked the blankets around his feet, he stared into the flames, watching them dance.

“I won't miss her.”

For the first time since arriving at Castle Togair, he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes without a thought of dragons.

 

 

 

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