The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

The Dragon’s ribs formed a spacious cave big enough even for the horses. They’d just dragged the carpet inside when the clouds broke. The bushes and trees that had covered the skeleton over centuries were so dense that the cave stayed perfectly dry.

Brunel was obviously fascinated by the skeleton. He soon began to explore it in more detail. When Jacob explained that the more valuable parts had probably found new owners already, Brunel just smiled enigmatically.

“I may have hunted treasure with my children,” he said, “but my real interests are purely scientific.”

Fox followed Brunel. A Dragon could, even after centuries, pose some serious dangers: Poisonous barbs, fire bones. Fox would know when to warn Albion’s famous engineer. She was fascinated by Dragons, and she, like Jacob, dreamed of someday finding a Dragon’s egg that still contained a spark of life.

Orlando’s eyes followed her—Jacob wondered if his own face showed his desire for her as clearly.

“Why are we still not flying westward?”

So, the Barsoi’s head was not only full of Fox.

“You saw the clouds.”

Orlando smiled, but his eyes were alert. “Stop it. Where are we flying?”

“Not westward.”

“Good. I assume this is about treasure? You think that can make the Tzar forget you freed his prisoners? Not likely, if you ask me.”

“This has nothing to do with treasure.”

Jacob didn’t want to talk to him, just as he didn’t want the Windhound staring at Fox or holding her hand. If only Alma were here. She knew some excellent recipes against jealousy.

“You do realize we’ll all end up in the ice dungeons of Sakha when they catch us?”

“I never volunteered to be part of your rescue commando. You let yourself be caught like an amateur, and I got you out of there only for Fox. I warned you about the knife-wire, but you knew better, and then I had to risk my neck for you.”

“Did she ask you to?”

“No.”

The rain pummeled the old Dragon bones as though to provide the rhythm to the song of their mortality, but death was not what they had on their minds—or wasn’t love sometimes called the small death?

“We have to take Brunel to safety!”

Of course. Politics. Always a much safer topic.

“The reward you’ll get from Albion will be worth more than any treasure.”

“I seriously doubt that. Don’t explain my business to me. But as I said, this is not about treasure.”

Ridiculous how argumentative Orlando’s mere presence made him. Love made him foolish.

“Then what is it about? Is it so important you’d risk even Fox’s safety?”

“She’s used to it. Has been for years.” Heavens! Just listen to yourself, Jacob!

“I assume appealing to your patriotic duty would also be in vain.”

“I’m not even from Albion. That was a lie.”

Orlando was about to reply, but he stopped himself when Brunel appeared from behind the bones. His hair and clothes were soaked with rain.

“She shifted,” he said. “I’m to let you know she’ll be back soon.”

The vixen didn’t mind the rain. She loved feeling it on her fur, and the scents it coaxed from the earth.