Wings of Flame (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 5)

by JD Monroe

  “You don’t have to hide from me,” he said.

  “That’s easy to say when you’re beautiful,” she said. Her cheeks flushed.

  “So you do still think I’m beautiful,” he said playfully. “That’s something.”

  “Don’t tease me. Not about this,” she said. His face fell, and she regretted it. He clasped her hand gently, then brought it to his lips. The brief kiss on her fingers ignited her skin with crackling heat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I misspoke. Let me leave it at this. If you should wish to uncover your face, know that I cherish it. But if a bit of silk is the price to stay in your company, then I will gladly pay it.”

  “Stay in my company?”

  “I’ve worked all day. I’ve sent word to Farath, exercised with my men, visited my wounded, met with General Iceborne, and said my prayers,” he replied. “For once, there is nothing else for me to do. Except help you straighten this chaos. If you would accept my help.”

  She regarded him warily. “All right,” she said. Part of her still wanted to push him away, but her resistance was fading. Being so close had awakened a yearning she had long forgotten. How long had it been since someone was focused on her as a person, instead of her abilities?

  He brushed against her as he stood and surveyed the room. “Some things don’t change,” he said. “This place is a mess.”

  “How rude. We just got back. And this isn’t even my usual room,” she said defensively. He tossed a mischievous smile her way, sending a thrill down her spine.

  “I don’t know how you find anything here,” he said. He started pulling things from her shelves, setting them on the work table. “Can I put your glass here?”

  “Yes,” she said. While he cleared a shelf, she rifled through one of the crates they’d brought back from the Silent Orchard. Some of the packets of herbs had been mixed up in transit, so she laid them out on the table to organize them. She worked in silence for a while, enjoying the quiet simplicity of having him close.

  Finally, he spoke up. “What do you mean this isn’t your usual room?”

  She chuckled. “I sat on the Sapphire Circle until the Marashti decided I was dead. They gave my position and my room away.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Don’t be. I don’t think I am,” she said. “They had to. But I do miss my old workshop.” She shot him a pointed look. “It was very well organized.”

  “If that’s true, then you have changed,” he said playfully. “Largest to smallest?” She glanced up to see him carefully sliding the glass flasks and vials into precise rows.

  “That’s fine,” she said. Long ago, she would have waited until he was done, then moved one glass out of place and waited to see how long it took him to notice.

  His back was to her as he worked. “Can I tell you about something that happened to me?”

  “If you want,” she said, still filing through her packets of herbs.

  “Did you know that Sidran’s people attacked Farath about six months ago?”

  “Really?” She tried to remember her journal entries. “With a few of the Aesdar?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I was there.”

  “What in the world were you doing in Farath?”

  There was a noisy clank as he set a metal bowl on the table. “Queen Halmerah requested an audience with Tarim. Wait—you know Tarim’s the queen now, right?”

  “I heard,” she said. “I’d always thought Zayir might figure out how to break tradition and wrangle his way onto the throne.” She and Kaldir had served in the Iron Blade together, though he had still been a simple palace guard when she had left the city.

  Kaldir chuckled. “He may yet,” he said. “In any case, we knew Tarim would probably start a war if she went, so Zayir went in her stead, and I was his protection. As best we can figure it out, Sidran set us up. His people attacked Halmerah’s youngest daughter and left her for dead in the human world. He left some Ironflight weapons with her dead bodyguards.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “And people fell for that?”

  “The Stoneflight did,” he said. “They put me in a cell and beat me to a bloody pulp, trying to find out what the Ironflight planned.” He stared at the wall, his amber eyes fixed on some unseen horror. It was hard to imagine him, immovable and immense as a mountain, helpless and chained. “I was there for a couple of days, and then Halmerah decided to execute me to send a message to the queen. I’m only standing here because…I can only assume the Skymother herself sent divine intervention. A human woman was in the citadel and had figured out it was a setup. I still don’t know how she knew, but she helped me escape. A little human woman.”

  “Are you all right? Were you badly hurt?”

  He chuckled. “I’m fine. I’ve had far worse injuries,” he said. “But I’ve never been helpless like that. I planned to fight back until my last breath, to get to Zayir if I could, and to distract them while he escaped if that was all I could muster. But deep down, I knew it was pointless. I knew I was going to die there. It was utterly certain.”

  He was quiet for a long stretch. She stared up at him, unsure of herself. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Me too,” he said. “I haven’t told anyone else how afraid I was. Kaldir Dawnblaze has a spine of steel and balls of pure flame, after all. I don’t get the luxury of fear. And when I got home safely with the prince, I had to immediately do damage control. I had to make sure my men were all right, and that Tarim didn’t go to war. It didn’t help when I was limping around her throne room while she ranted like a lunatic.” He chuckled again. “This is more than you bargained for, I suppose.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry that happened,” she said quietly. “It sounds frightening.”

  “It was,” he said. “Sometimes I lie awake and think about how lucky I was. I just think what if, what if, over and over until it drives me mad. And in the end, I have to accept that I was helpless.”

  “You don’t like that, do you?”

  He chuckled. “I do not. I’d prefer to never be so helpless again.”

  She fiddled with one of her packets, rubbing the knobby seeds between her fingers. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it out safely. The world is far better with Kaldir Dawnblaze in it.” He was still. She looked up to see him staring at her. Her cheeks flushed, and she hastily pointed to the brass basin where she’d mixed the dry herbs earlier. “That can go with the glass.”

  His gaze lingered on her long enough to send a warm flutter through her chest. “Understood,” he said. With a faint smile, he moved the basin and continued sorting.

  “For the first few weeks after I was captured, I was sure someone from the Shrine would come looking for me. I was dispatched to Blackstone. Their people struggle with the tam-kadi,” she said. The aftermath of the Great War had left the western lands poisoned and broken, and that corruption had spread into its denizens. Some of the dragons went feral, unable to control their transformations, and eventually getting stuck in their dragon form before wasting away. “I had spent years working on treatments that delayed its progression, and I was to train one of their resident healers to brew the treatment. But I never made it to Blackstone.”

  A rhythmic plink of glassware on the wooden shelves preceded his response. “You were attacked?”

  “A day’s flight out from the Shrine, we were ambushed on the road, and….” Her throat threatened to close. “My bodyguards fought bravely, and they died trying to protect me. I have never done anything to deserve that sacrifice.”

  “Perhaps that wasn’t your call to make,” he said. “They believed you worthy.”

  She scoffed and fiddled with her rack of herbs. “Even with both of them dead, I tried to fight back, but I was no match for them. You cannot imagine how frustrating it is to be weak after being so strong.” She fussed with one packet, fighting to get its edges neat with the others. She had sorted, weighed, and labeled each envelope
in a painstaking hand back at the Silent Orchard, giving her some tiny thing to control in a world turned on its head. “At first, I was sure someone would know. That someone would come for me. But no one did. Not until you showed up.”

  The rhythmic shuffling ceased. His warm aura grew closer. She couldn’t bring herself to look back, afraid of the tears welling in her eyes. When he spoke, his deep voice resonated into her, mere inches away. “If I had known you were in trouble, I would have been there immediately.”

  “I prayed to the Skymother constantly,” she said. “Maybe you were her answer to my prayers. But I still had to wait over a year.” She gave up on the packet and slammed it down on the table. “Maybe Ayla is praying right now, and it’s my job to go to her. I don’t want her to be frightened and alone like I was.”

  Warmth pressed to her back as Kaldir leaned over her shoulder. His wide frame caged her against the table, arms braced on either side of her as he took the packet from her. Her chest tightened. Being this close was like standing in the sun. He carefully opened the folded paper, then made a new set of creases to make the envelope smaller. His fingers were graceful and deft as he folded it again, then placed it in her hand. “Try now.”

  Her hands trembled as she fit the packet into the basket with the others, its edges lining up correctly. “Thank you.”

  He squeezed her shoulders gently, and for a split second, she wished he would just spin her around and kiss her like they were in another lifetime. Pinned against the table, she had nowhere to run, not that she would. “I wouldn’t claim that I am the answer to your prayers. But if the Skymother saw fit to use me to free you, then it is the greatest honor of my life thus far.” Without releasing her, he gently kissed her temple. His lips burned against her skin, awakening something hungry inside her. “I am sorry for what you endured.” Instead of pulling away, he lingered, kissing her once, twice, three times. One hand drifted over her side. A shiver ran down her spine. Then he suddenly pulled away. “I’m sorry. I have overstayed my welcome.”

  She turned, cheeks burning as her heart pounded. “You don’t have to leave.”

  “You have much to do,” he said. He forced a smile and gestured broadly to the room. “It looks much better.” He ran a hand through his hair and bowed politely. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

  With that, he hurried out of the room like his ass was on fire. Her cheeks burned with a combination of embarrassment and arousal as he left. Desire throbbed between her legs, as if to say now what? She frowned as she contemplated the neat workshop. It was probably best that he’d left. Kaldir could blind her, making her irrational and foolish.

  Still she wished he would return. Just that one little touch, the feel of his lips on her skin, the growling rumble of his voice echoing in her bones, and she was a young, foolish girl again.

  He hurt me. He left.

  But he was back now. What game was he playing? And what did it mean that she desperately wanted to play it with him?

  Tilting his head to focus on the moving target, Kaldir drew the bowstring and silently tracked the blue-scaled dragon darting across the clearing. The subtle tilt of Miko’s wings betrayed his next movement. Adjusting his aim, Kaldir released the bowstring with a satisfying twang. A shimmering shield materialized in a half-dome around the dragon’s left flank, deflecting his arrow. He grinned and took another quick shot at his face.

  The woman on the dragon’s back leaned tighter to his neck and shielded his face from the second arrow with her elemental shield. Behind him, a clipped roar ripped through the air.

  Azeria gave a snappy salute to the black-scaled dragon rapidly descending for a landing. Bright white feathers protruded from the dragon’s throat, a solid shot from Azeria. “Too slow,” she said.

  The dragon snapped at her and snarled, taking two lunging steps toward her. Sharp talons clacked against the stone.

  Azeria didn’t flinch as she snapped, “Quit complaining. You’ve been on your back too long. At least these aren’t poisoned.” She yanked the arrow out of his neck. The dragon roared at her, but she just grinned and patted his scaled shoulder. “Get up there again unless you want to cry some more.”

  In the distance, the bells of the Shrine rang the signal for mas-ferah, mid-afternoon prayers. He paused to murmur a quiet prayer. Mas-ferah was the hour of seeking wisdom in making decisions, and he needed all the wisdom he could find.

  He’d sent word back to the Firestorm for help, but now he had to wait. And waiting gave him far too much time to think. It gave him time to worry about Sidran’s plan, to wonder about Ayla Mara’s plight, and to fret about Sohaila.

  Ah, yes.

  The beguiling and frustrating Sohaila, who had taken up residence in his mind as if she owned land there. He’d gone to her last night…why, exactly? At first he’d told himself it was just to apologize, but once she accepted, he looked for any reason to stay. He’d just wanted to be close to her, though he knew she couldn’t reciprocate his affection. Her devotion lay to the Marashti now, and his childish infatuation would only be an obstacle for both of them. But her scent still lingered on him, that clean, floral smell of growing things with the faintest tinge of smoke. He’d left before his own stupidity led him down a forbidden path.

  Still. He couldn’t help wondering about what she’d said. Had the Skymother sent him into her path? Or had she sent Sohaila into his? Was their sudden reunion a divine gift? Or was it a test of their faith?

  Perhaps his time would have been better spent heading back to the Shrine for prayers, but he knew his thoughts would be consumed with her, his eyes drawn to every blue-gowned woman in hopes that she was nearby. Better to serve the Skymother by training her children than by entertaining foolish nonsense. And firing at his soldiers for maneuvering practice was a good way to work off his frustrations.

  Kaldir narrowed his eyes and lined up another shot. During his recent battles, he’d only fought in his dragon form. But he’d always loved the challenge of archery, which took skill that couldn’t be overwhelmed by raw dragon strength.

  He aimed carefully at Miko’s head, watching as his rider, Shanti, tracked the movement. She focused her shield and blocked the first shot. While her attention was on protecting Miko’s head, Kaldir rapidly nocked another arrow and aimed at Shanti’s white blouse. She squawked in protest when the dull arrow struck her shoulder.

  A few seconds later, Miko landed while Shanti cursed in a colorful tirade. Blood stained her linen shirt. She glared at Kaldir as she dismounted, holding the dull-tipped arrow. “Really?”

  “You weren’t paying attention,” he replied. “Do you need a healer? I can’t tell if it’s your body or your ego that’s wounded.”

  “No, sir,” she seethed.

  “Keep your eyes moving,” he said. “They’ll shoot at you, too. Remember Thana and Navor.”

  Her jaw tightened, and she leaped back onto Miko’s back. “Try that again.”

  Kaldir had grown up tussling with other dragons in aerial combat, learning to dodge blistering waves of fire and piercing ice. He’d also trained with numerous weapons, for when he was unable to transform. But the Chosen were a new challenge. It was one thing to fight with another dragon, and another entirely to dodge arrows and catapults from below. And it was another still to carry a rider, trying to protect them without becoming dangerously distracted.

  Neatly diving under Miko, a black bird plummeted from the sky. It let out a shrill caw and landed on Kaldir’s extended arm. A tooled leather harness was secured around the bird’s chest. Kaldir removed the slip of paper peeking from a pocket of the harness. The raven hopped up his arm to his shoulder, digging in with sharp claws.

  Contingent from Adamantine Rise has arrived. Request presence of General Dawnblaze and General Iceborne immediately in southern reading room.

  His heart thumped. Already? He turned to see the raven’s bright blue eyes scant inches from his face. The hard, gleaming beak that close to his eyes made him nervous, though Ch
ala was one of their Edra allies. “Message received. I’ll be there immediately.” He gestured to Azeria. “Let’s go.”

  On his way back into the temple, Kaldir took the back entrance to enter the dormitory that had been loaned to their soldiers. He traded his loose tunic for his formal crimson uniform, throwing a heavy cloak over his shoulders. After raking his hand through his tousled hair, he rejoined Azeria in the hall. She’d followed his lead, trading her loose linen shirt and pants for a dark blue coat with silver details, indicating her former affiliation with the Adamant Guard. As did all of their compatriots in the Broodguard and the Scalebreakers, they wore a silver crest, a stylized flame. Kaldir secured his cloak at his left shoulder with the polished crest, while Azeria’s hung on a chain around her neck, prominently displayed outside her coat.

  As they walked downstairs to the war room, he caught Azeria hastily braiding her hair out of the corner of his eye. He pretended not to notice the tiny vanity, keeping his eyes forward. Six months ago, he’d have laughed at the idea that he would count a Stoneflight hybrid as one of his closest confidantes, but war had changed everything.

  Like so many, Azeria’s world had changed in an instant. When the white dragons attacked Farath, her husband and mother had been killed in the conflagration. When Halmerah called for hybrids to join the fight, she’d been one of the first in line.

  Inside the reading room, General Ralna Iceborne sat at the head of the table with a map spread in front of her. Her silver hair was loose around her shoulders, though she wore the formal blue uniform of the Adamant Guard.

  Seated next to Iceborne was Velati Rimewing, second-in-command to the Firestorm. Like Kaldir’s mother, Velati was one of the legendary Arik’tazhan who had fought in the last Great War. He wore the striking black uniform of the Arik’tazhan, exposing the intricate tattooing on his chest. Dark circles ringed his cold blue eyes.

  Rising to her feet next to him was a pretty young woman with tousled shoulder-length hair. Beneath a dark cloak, her bare arms were covered in the swirling crimson tattoos of the Aesdar. Marlena was from the human realm, and had undergone the marking rituals of the Aesdar before turning her back on the Chosen. She smiled. “General Dawnblaze,” she said. Her Kadirai was flawless, but her accent was strange.