Rhiannon stared at him. Her mouth fell open. Slowly, she shook her head from side to side. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I must insist that you don’t spin this tale further. I need to meet with the dragon of the Peak for the sake of my kingdom.”
“I’m not spinning a tale,” he asserted, not lifting his head from his deep bow. “My full title is the Bard Warlock Taliesin, dragon of the Storm Bearer’s Peak, son of Dragon Witch Gertrude and Spinel of the Dragon Cauldron—”
“You’re human!” she interrupted. Tears stung her eyes, and the quaking in her legs worsened. “Taliesin, you are human. I’ve seen glamoured dragons in the past. They don’t look the least bit human. Even the best glamours can’t hide their true nature.”
Taliesin pushed his bangs back with a sigh. “I am only half dragon, so there’s less to hide,” he explained, “and my magic is stronger than the typical dragon, so it’s easier to do so.”
She shook her head. “Taliesin—”
“Your Highness.” He dropped to one knee before her. “Please trust me. I would never lie to you. I am the dragon of these mountains.”
She wanted to believe him. A nobody bard, even one skilled in magic like Taliesin, was far less terrifying than the dragon that had loomed over her all her life. And then there were all the hints: Tabitha’s teasing, his comfort in performing for the Fae as easily as he did humans...
How had she missed it?
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, voice hoarse.
For so long she thought she would be eaten on her wedding night. The idea—the relief—that Taliesin had been what awaited her left Rhiannon lightheaded. Taliesin rushed to steady her before she collapsed. “I’m sorry. I think I’m in shock.”
Taliesin gave her a comforting squeeze. “I should have told you my identity a long time ago. Will you trust me regardless?”
“I...” She licked dry lips. “I want to believe you. I really do, but...”
She stepped away. Already she missed Taliesin’s heat. She hugged her arms close to keep from going back. He’d kept the truth from her, and because of that omission, she had suffered so much anguish. Her heart had ached at the thought of leaving him. Her stomach had twisted itself into knots in apprehension of the end of her journey. If he had just told her...
But would she have believed him?
He held her gaze. “I’m sorry. Had I known your true mission, I would have told you at the start. I didn’t mean to cause you so much anguish.”
Taliesin was more than he seemed, that much was certain. Still, it was too difficult to fathom. Resigning herself to becoming a dragon’s bride had been hard enough. The idea that a human, even of the witchy variety, had born a dragon’s child proved impossible for her to grasp.
He sighed. “If you can’t believe me, then could you trust me long enough to escort you to the peak?”
This she could handle. Rhiannon nodded her assent.
Taliesin dug in his satchel until he found a pair of goggles. “Had I known where you intended to go,” he said, adjusting the straps quickly, “I would have brought you here directly. Flying is much faster than horseback, even with my limits. Here, put these on.”
Rhiannon did so. The glass was clear, obviously made by magic for flight. Just another surprise from the bard. “But if I wear them, what will you use?”
“I can manage for a short flight like this,” he replied. “It dries my eyes, nothing more. Ah, though...” Taliesin belatedly remembered the pony he’d been leading. “We’ll have to do something about our noble steed.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose Garret’s still about. He should be able to handle you until I can return you.”
“Garret?” Rhiannon repeated.
“A caretaker for an abandoned stable not too far from here. It’s... Well, he’s a ghost, but he does good work. It’ll be fine so long as he hasn’t moved on yet.”
Shock entirely consumed her. She couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “First, you claim to be a dragon, and now you know a ghost?” Would the surprises never cease?
“Doesn’t everyone know a ghost or two?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
Rhiannon found she couldn’t return the expression. Instead, she took a steadying breath. Images swirled in her head of what a ghost could possibly look like. “Lead the way.”
Taliesin helped her back on their rented pony and mounted behind her. The creature whinnied a complaint at the added weight but trotted obediently ahead at the clucking sound Taliesin made regardless. The pair rode in silence, previous friendly chatter gone.
When they reached the stables, Rhiannon thought Taliesin had made a mistake. The burnt-out ruins went beyond simply being ‘abandoned.’ The thatch roof had caved in, and what walls existed were blackened by fire and mold. The wall near the intact barn door had fallen over. However, Taliesin still went to the trouble of shoving it open to enter.
Within the stables was a different story entirely. Here, Rhiannon found no damage. Rather, there seemed to be no sign even of aging in the spotless stable. Invisible horses whinnied and snorted from freshly bedded stalls. A large stack of golden hay bales filled one corner. When Taliesin gestured for Rhiannon to join him on the ground, an invisible hand took the reins from his grip.
“I’ll be back tomorrow for this one,” Taliesin promised the force leading the pony to a stall. Shortly after, the saddle floated away to a nearby tack rack, and a curry comb drifted back to their borrowed steed. Taliesin smiled and asked, “Will you be able to care for him until then?”
The comb dropped onto the edge of the stall. Rhiannon heard footsteps. Stray pieces of hay scrunched under unseen boots. A book opened on the table, accompanied by a quill pen and bottle of ink. Taliesin wrote in his looping hand his name as well as his intent to board the horse overnight.
“Thank you, Garret. You’re a lifesaver like always.”
The book snapped shut, the comb floated off, and the invisible caretaker went back to caring for his charge. While she couldn’t see it, Rhiannon had the impression of someone tipping their hat to her before they walked out into the darkening evening. She glanced behind her. The stable had returned to its burnt husk.