Dog and Dragon-ARC Read Online Free

away,” said the man called Medraut. “I ask you again, stranger. Who are you, dressed like that, in my outer chamber? How did you get here?”
    Meb shrugged. The bleakness of despair was settling over her again. She’d assumed the magic would send her back to the place where she’d been drawn to Tasmarin from. She’d assumed that it would be a place she somehow recognized as home. In truth she hadn’t cared. She’d simply known it would mean banishment from all she knew and loved. However, innate caution instilled by dragonkind’s hatred of human magic stopped her going too far with explaining. It might be different here. But it might not. “I don’t know. I was in Arcady and then I was here. But I’ll go away if you don’t want me to be here. I think I just stopped you from being murdered in your sleep.” She gestured toward the prisoner being dragged from the room.
    “It is almost as if she was sent to save you, Prince Medraut,” said one of the guards, wonderingly. “The door wardens are dead, the door unlocked…and had this stranger not given the alarm, Earl Alois would have killed you. Alois nearly killed her.”
    Prince Medraut blinked. “You…you are the Defender?” and part of the tone said: Why me? But there was hope there too.
    Meb wasn’t sure who “the Defender” was. But she was pretty sure that it wasn’t her, anyway.
    “I don’t think so,” she said, exhaustion, doubt and misery warring in her breast. “I am just someone who is hungry and tired, and going to jump out of this window, if you try anything with that sword.”
    The prince suddenly realized that he was holding a naked sword…and that she was on a window sill. He looked faintly embarrassed. “Your pardon, lady.”
    How did he know she was a woman? With a cropped head, boy’s clothes and tight breastband, she’d passed for a boy for months and months. Well, said her inner voice—the sensible pragmatic voice that overrode village thought, and overrode daydreams too: maybe the name Anghared is a clue. That and the fact that, somehow, her hair seemed to have grown to waist length in the transition here. The clothes remained, of course.
    The prince put the sword down, on the floor, as that was the only surface available to him. “We will have chambers and food prepared for you immediately. We are deeply honored by your presence and pray we have not caused you any offense.”
    She’d trusted him more when he’d been pointing a sword at her. It must have showed in her face. But the soldiers sheathed their swords, and they at least appeared to believe him. “I swear by the House of Lyon that we mean you no harm, lady.”
    Reluctantly Meb came down from the stone sill. She hadn’t liked falling last time, and it looked as if the rocks would get her before a merrow could. Besides, she might as well die well fed. What worse could happen to her than certain death?
    She knew some answers to that one, too. But she allowed the guards to respectfully escort her away to a small withdrawing room, where a generous fire burned in the grate and the hangings were rich and old. There was a riven-oak table that must have weighed as much as ten stacks of stockfish, painstakingly smoothed and polished. It was set with two branches of good beeswax candles, with a chair that was more like a throne than the three-legged stool she’d have considered luxury a twelvemonth ago. The guards bowed. “The old queen would dine here, Lady Anghared. They will bring you food and wine, very soon,” said a grizzled captain, very respectfully.
    If there was one thing that was really intimidating, Meb thought, it was all this respect. But she was hungry, as well as miserable and a little confused. Just where exactly was she? Somewhere called Dun Tagoll? A castle hanging above the sea. The place where she had come from as a baby, presumably, before being magically snatched away to Tasmarin, to a world that had become her own, that she’d loved and had