3
" Shanks snickered with delight. “It’s the end result that matters, doll. Only the victor walks away with his head intact. Every soldier on this ship knows that as well.”
Eena glared hard at the smirking giant. “Oh, and one more thing. Kira really hates you.”
Shanks broke out in such a fit of laughter that even Kode found it contagious. Niki smacked her boyfriend on the back of the head for being insensitive.
(Kira did not say that,) Ian groaned critically.
(So what? It’s true,) Eena grumbled. (I hate him too.)
(I don’t know why you let the guy get under your skin. Who cares what he thinks? You have nothing to prove to him.)
Eena glared harder at the laughing Viidun as she thought about what bothered her most. It was the way Shanks acted, as if he considered himself superior to everyone. The thug was always bossing people around, snubbing their opinions, surpassing others at even the most trivial accomplishments. But the worst thing was that he honestly saw himself as invincible.
(The guy is full of himself, so what? Just let it roll off your back.)
If only simple advice were as simple to carry out. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Companionship of the Dragon's Soul (The Harrowbethian Saga #6)
5
" What secrets?” Eena blurted out.
Kira answered the question by defensively listing them out on her fingers. “How about the fact that Derian was coming for you in a few short days, or the fact that Gemdorin was forcing you to search for some magic gem we were all unaware existed. How about the knowledge of your unusual powers that you stupidly used to infect the Ghengats, which was also a secret you kept to yourself until it was discovered by Gemdorin, making it too late for us to do anything about preventing you from being beaten half to death! You hide things as if you think your abilities are so superior to what the rest of us can possibly contribute!”
Eena shook her head adamantly. “That’s not what I think…”
“It’s how you behave. It’s how you come across to everyone. Your selfish actions speak a helluva lot louder than your hollow words or your foolish intentions.”
The young queen felt a rise of tears burn her eyes. “My intentions are not foolish. All I ever meant to do was protect those around me.”
“By keeping us in the dark? That’s not protection, girl. That’s neglect.”
Eena sniffled as fresh waterworks ran down her cheeks. Her face twisted up, confused. “People get hurt when they’re involved in my problems.”
“In our problems.”
“No! My problems!” she insisted.
Kira threw up her arms. “There you go being all selfish again!”
Eena sucked in a ragged breath, almost crying out the next question. “How do you figure that’s being selfish? I’m trying to keep everyone safe!”
“And what did I just get through telling you about that idiotic notion?”
Eena looked up at the ceiling. She raised her palms in frustration as she bawled. “I don’t know what else to do! What do you want from me?”
Kira stepped forward and knelt in front of her tortured sister. Her hand rested gently on Eena’s knee as the Mishmorat’s gruff countenance melted. A softer, kinder voice answered the desperate question.
“We want you to understand that the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You’re only responsible for a small portion of what happens daily on Moccobatra. Life isn’t dependent upon you alone, Sha Eena. It’s dependent upon all of us. We’re a team. We work together doing our own part. We need you to be part of our team, not a single entity existing on your own. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Companionship of the Dragon's Soul (The Harrowbethian Saga #6)
7
" You will want to stand close by, but don’t touch it. Just allow your hands to hover. Pretend an atmosphere of acidic gas exists between you and the gemstone, and if you get too close, the acid will eat the flesh off your fingers.”
“That won’t actually happen, will it?”
“No, Amora. I’m just warning you not to touch it.”
“Why? What if I do?”
“The enchantment will fail.”
“From a simple touch?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
Edgar groaned a sound of annoyance. “Because if you touch it, the stone will suck out your living essence in the most painful manner possible and consume your flesh before turning your bones to powder.”
Her face twisted up imagining the agony of such a death. The worst part was that being immortal, she would somehow survive it.
“You’re lying,” she quickly decided.
“Am I?”
“You just said the flesh won't be eaten off my fingers.”
“If you don’t believe me when I tell you not to touch it, feel free to test the outcome of such folly for yourself.”
“I think I’d rather not.”
“A wise choice. Shall we move on? "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Companionship of the Dragon's Soul (The Harrowbethian Saga #6)
8
" Thank you." After rounding the couch, the young queen sat her hip on the cushy armrest. Her thoughts went back to the impromptu party in the commissary the night before. “I assume no Mishmorats or Viiduns are missing. Do you know if any real mischief took place last night after we left?”
“None you need to worry about,” Ian told her. She could see he was hiding something by the twinkle in his eye.
“What happened?” she asked, certain he had a story to tell.
“Let’s just say there may be an influx of soldiers visiting your garden.”
Her eyes scrunched, unable to guess what he was talking about. “Okay, and why?”
Ian’s shoulders jostled with a snicker. “Efren showed off your garden to Kira last night. She discovered the warm pond. You know how your sisters have a fondness for swimming in their underclothes.”
“Oh great,” Eena groaned.
“But don’t worry about it too much, Queenie, there is a deterrent.” Ian let go a laugh he couldn’t quite stifle.
“What deterrent?” she asked, grinning at his amusement.
“Shanks likes to swim too.”
“Oh?”
“Actually, he prefers skinny dipping.”
“Ew! Ew, Ian, like I need that image in my head!”
(Now you know how I feel on a regular basis,) he said, cracking up.
After a moment of grossing out, Eena all but begged Ian, “Please, can we change the subject. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Companionship of the Dragon's Soul (The Harrowbethian Saga #6)
11
" I’ve worn Niki’s pants for two days now. I thought a third day in the same clothes might be pushing it.”
Ian shrugged with indifference. “It might send Derian through the roof, but it doesn’t bother me. Wear what you want to wear.”
Eena wrinkled her nose at him. “Do you really feel that way or are you trying to appear more laissez-faire than Derian?”
“More laissez-faire?”
“Yes. That’s a real word.”
“Two words actually,” he grinned. “Laissez faire et laissez passer, le monde va de lui même!" He coated the words with a heavy French accent. Eena gawked at him.
“Since when do you speak French?”
“I don’t.” Ian chuckled. “But I did do some research in world history the year I followed you around on Earth. Physics was a joke, but history—that I found fascinating.”
Slapping a hand against her chest, Eena exclaimed, “I can’t believe it! Unbeknownst to me, Ian actually studied something in high school other than the library’s collection of sci-fi paperbacks!”
He grimaced at her exaggerated performance before defending his preferred choice of reading material. “Hey, popular literature is a valuable and enlightening form of world history. You would know that if you read a book or two.”
She ignored his reproach and asked with curiosity, “What exactly did you say?”
“In French?”
“Duh, yes.”
“Don’t ‘duh’ me, you could easily have been referring to my remark about enlightening literature. I know the value of a good book is hard for you to comprehend.” He grinned crookedly at her look of offense and then moved into an English translation of his French quote. “Let it do and let it pass, the world goes on by itself.”
“Hmm. And where did that saying come from?”
Ian delivered his answer with a surprisingly straight face. “That is what the French Monarch said when his queen began dressing casually. The French revolution started one week following that famous declaration, right after the queen was beheaded by the rest of the aristocracy in her favorite pair of scroungy jeans.”
“You are such a brazen-tongued liar! "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Companionship of the Dragon's Soul (The Harrowbethian Saga #6)
13
" (You look the same.)
(I’m not using it yet.)
(Don’t you think a test run would be a good idea?)
She nodded. (Probably.)
Her eyelids closed as she concentrated on a mental image of the person she wished to impersonate. Her desire was to appear exactly as the immortal leader, Pallador. Calling on the powers of the dragon’s blood, she willed its enchantment alive. It was Ian’s astounded whisper that told her the charm was working.
“Whoa!”
Opening her eyes she fully expected to see Ian staring at the shining gems on the dragon’s blood. Instead, he was staring at her with a look that was more or less disgusted.
(That’s really you?) he asked, looking her up and down as though she had turned into some sort of lizard creature.
(Yes, why? What’s wrong with me?) Her gaze dropped to check for herself. All she observed was her tawny dress pulled in at the waist by Edgar’s hideous, glowing belt. She glanced at one arm and then the other, both sleeved in the same billowed silk. Her fingers flailed, still the same short, slender digits.
(Oh crud,) she breathed. (It’s not working.)
(Oh, it’s working alright,) Ian disagreed.
Eena glanced up to find him grinning with real amusement.
(You’re a dead ringer for the guy. Ghost robe, bug eyes, bony fingers, in need of a serious haircut. Exactly like him.)
(Really?)
(Really.)
(Cool,) she breathed and then added, (That’s not very nice how you described him.)
(It’s accurate.) "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Companionship of the Dragon's Soul (The Harrowbethian Saga #6)
