Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts) by Holly Lisle

no more.
    When that song was finished, the unseen singer paused for a moment, then launched into another one, equally mournful.
    “Sad songs,” Kait said, not wanting to listen to any more wistful, yearning ballads.
    “If he knows another sort, he’s never shown it.”
    “I’ve never heard that one before.”
    “You won’t have heard any of them before. He only plays the songs he writes himself. A hundred variations on the theme of grief.”
    Kait had no wish to discuss love, or longing, or grief. She said nothing, and the stilted conversation died there, and the two of them were left looking at each other.
    The silence was becoming unbearable when Ry said, “I have some things for you—I picked them up when we took on supplies in the Fire Islands.” He unlatched the doors of the armoire and pulled them open. Opulent, gauzy silks and fine linens in rainbow colors hung on the rack to the left and lay folded on the shelves to the right. She caught a glimpse of tabards and blouses and skirts and dresses, soft robes and dressing gowns, nightshirts, leg wrappings, and stockings . . . even delicate underthings. The people of the Fire Islands were famous for their fine fabrics and remarkable stitchery—and it appeared that Ry had picked only the finest of what the island markets offered.
    Kait felt her face grow hot. She could not imagine allowing herself to wear any of those things—to let the silk undergarments that he’d picked out for her touch her skin, or to pull on one of those filmy nightshirts before climbing into her bunk for the night. “No,” she said. “I have my own clothes.”
    Ry arched an eyebrow. “You have hardly anything. You’re wearing a sailor’s work clothes. A woman of your birth should wear fine silk dresses, not cotton shirts and roughspun breeches.” He smiled, and she shivered. He was too close to her, and too near Shift; from across the room his body heat was a pressure against her skin, simultaneously drawing the Karnee part of her forward and pushing the human part of her toward the door and flight and the dubious safety of the deck.
    “I have enough.” Her voice sounded husky in her own ears. She was responding to him even though she didn’t want to.
    Shield, she thought. Magic drawn close and held in place will make a wall between us. Magic will give me control.
    She offered her own energy and strength to Vodor Imrish, and with the power she gained from that quick, bloodless offering, drew the shield around herself. Instantly she could breathe easier. Although his scent remained seductive in her nostrils and his heat still touched her skin, a calm silence blanketed her racing thoughts.
    He was staring at her, astonishment evident in his eyes. “What did you do?” he asked.
    She shrugged. For the moment—for as long as her strength fed the shield, anyway—she would have peace. “Doesn’t matter. I want to sleep. Which bunk will be mine?”
    “The top one.” He moved toward her. “You seem . . . gone . . .” he whispered. “Don’t do that. Come back to me.”
    With her courage supported by the shield, she was able to say, “We are going to be nothing but roommates, Ry. Not friends. Certainly not lovers. I’ll obey the conditions of my agreement with the captain, but . . . that’s all.”
    “I came so far to find you. I gave up so much. . . .”
    She nodded. “And for the rescue, I thank you. Truly, I’m grateful. My Family will certainly reward you. But I cannot forget—and neither can you—that I am Galweigh and you are Sabir. We have our duties.”
    His face twisted with bitterness, and for the first time since she’d used herself as bait to allow Ian and Hasmal to take him prisoner, she saw both pain and anger slip across his face. “Ah, duty. The cage of cowards afraid to live. You may have your duty—I have already taken a different road.”
    He moved past her, still angry, and left the room. When he was gone she sagged against the wall and