He seized her, embraced her. He took her head in his one hand and tipped her face up. He kissed her, his lips crushing hers.
Iola felt the heat of the earth coursing up through the soles of her feet, through her legs and her loins, through her heart and overwhelming all her limbs. She returned the kiss.
Iola would not turn around. Behind her, the morning sun beat on the hot paving stones of the courtyard. Behind her, scrapplings clamored for their morning bread. They yearned for a place to go after Midsummer and for a glimpse of the dragon at dawn. Beyond that, she did not know what they thought of or what they dreamed. She had not merely glimpsed the dragon. She had touched a dragon’s flank and heard her voice. She had been a scrappling, too, but not for long. She had only come to An
