Taniel (The Taverner's Daughter I)

30: Taniel- How, Why?

After examining my forehead in the mirror, I freshened up at the washstand in the corner of my room. Despite the fuss Erin had made, it was only a slight cut. I brushed my mop into some semblance of order, exchanging a worried stare with myself.

I tapped the reflected nose in the mirror. "If Jarryd does not come back before morning, then that's over. He is out of the plan."

I laughed.

What plan? Aunt Rita might take the wizards' side. She was a stickler for rules so why would she find my predicament any different.

Damnation, I wished I could settle on what to do.

Turning my back on the mirror, I flung the hairbrush across the room. It slammed into the wall with a satisfying crack, crashed to the floor and skittered under the chest of drawers.

I slumped on the bed with my head hanging; hands flopped in my lap. "Why me?" I whined. Unbidden, I recalled that first meeting with Jarryd.

It was all his fault for giving me false hope. If not for him, I might have settled for Peter. Riding Rufus had changed everything. Speaking to the dragon was beyond my wildest dreams.

"How?" I whispered.

Why could I suddenly dragonspeak just because I lost the bracelet.

Stunned, I realised that it never occurred to me to dwell on the why and how before, sidetracked as I was by meeting Jarryd and discovering my talent. Then that terrifying, thrilling, first dragon-flight followed by the betrothal to Jarryd. Until the terror in my head, at the cave, the waiting was full of delicious anticipation for his return. Always present was the strain of hugged secrets. No thought of the how.

"How?" I repeated, rising from the bed and pacing around the bedroom in thought.

Father was no dragonrider, and I knew nothing about any other kin of his besides Aunt Rita and the almost mythical great-great grandfather who built the tavern, but I knew Mother came from an old Eighalh family.

"Eighalh."

My hand clapped over my mouth. No? Did I get it from Mother's father? Could he be a dragonrider? That was impossible, unless they lied to me. My pulse pounded in my ears.

During my childhood, nothing less than becoming a dragonrider had seemed a reasonable outcome to growing up. I had constantly questioned the possibility of dragonrider ancestry. They always - always - denied such a heritage.

I heard Father in the sitting room and was reminded work waited. While I climbed into a fresh skirt, I thought of the new questions I would ask Aunt Rita. I wanted to dash off to the Herrick's house but, instead, I finished dressing. I checked my shoulder graze and was pleased to see it scabbed over and unlikely to spot a clean blouse.

I tidied my hair with my fingers.

I slumped back on the bed, my eyes prickling. I was fooling myself. If I truly had the nerve to quit Skerby, I would be gone already.

If only Jarryd... I sighed and tried talking to the dragon again.

Naught.

***

13 March 2017 - replaced with revised scene  (I took out a few things which were going nowhere)  21 March 2017 - fixed a punctuation error

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