Wings of Flame (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 5)

by JD Monroe

  Thank you, she thought, though she was unsure if she was grateful to Kaldir, to the universe, or to the Skymother herself. She was struck with wonder, with disbelief that this beautiful, noble creature would love her in this way. For just a moment, she let her power drift into him, and felt the heat of his arousal prickling back at her.

  Then his tongue, as skilled and focused as any weapon he wielded, found its blazing target. Her legs trembled as the first tremors rocked through her. She involuntarily closed her legs, pulling away from the intensity, but he never stopped, just shifted those powerful hands over her stomach and pinned her there while his mouth cast its spell on her.

  Then it was almost painful, as if a knot formed low in her belly, drawing every cell in her body in. It wound tighter and tighter, searing hot, toes curling, back arching, then ignited an explosion through her entire being. She let out a sharp cry, shaking in his unwavering hold. All at once, his touch was too much, too intense. As if he sensed it, he returned his attention to her quivering thigh, kissing the skin there before moving up to her hip.

  “Shall I continue?” he murmured.

  She panted, barely able to catch her breath. “Not yet,” she said. Her hands fumbled for him, one stroking his hair while the other clasped at his hand. The world spun around her. “That was perfect. I love you.”

  He raised his head. “And I love you,” he said. “Now and always.” He rested his chin on her belly, staring up at her. “How did the experiment go? I think I’m feeling better already.”

  “Inconclusive,” she replied. “You can’t test theories just once. It’s not scientific.” He grinned. “Come up here, and we’ll begin another round.”

  Kaldir’s belly prickled with nervous anticipation as he made the final descent into Ironhold. From half a mile away, he could see the glittering gold decorations and red silk banners hanging from the spires of the palace. Soldiers lined the Queen’s Way from the gates of the city up to the massive front doors of the palace. Clearly, the queen had gotten the message that they would be returning.

  The bells from the temple rang out, a pleasant chaos of sound to herald their arrival. He growled. So much for a quiet entrance. While the entourage of Iron Blade soldiers landed at the gates to proceed through the city, he broke away for the western terrace, with Zayir on his tail.

  The queen waited there, dressed in glittering gold finery that blazed in the morning sun. Princess Ohrena stood at her side, clasping her hand tightly. Even the queen’s daughters were there, pointing up to the sky as they descended. Kaldir landed in front of them, spreading his wings wide so the twins could bolt toward him. Their small hands tickled along his belly, and he lowered his head so they could touch his face.

  Then Zayir’s smaller, crimson-scaled form landed next to him, and he was completely forgotten as two little voices squealed in delight. Once they were clear of him, he transformed back into his human form and accepted his clothes from Sohaila.

  Zayir shook off his dragon form, rising with a groan. He turned back to Sohaila for his clothes, but before she could hand them over, Ohrena dashed toward him and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. Her slender hands were clutched to either side of his head as she half-laughed and half-wept. A thin gold crown fell from her head and clattered to the ground.

  “You are never to leave this castle again,” she sobbed.

  He kissed her gently, then pulled away so he could look in her eyes. “Look at me. Am I not as handsome and healthy as ever?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  He brushed tears from her cheeks. “May I put on some clothes? I’d rather the entire city didn’t see my ass. That is a marvelous privilege reserved for you,” he said. She laughed and slid down, letting him quickly pull on clothing while she surreptitiously scrubbed tears from her eyes.

  When he was dressed, Tarim simply held out her hands. Her expression was stoic, but her jaw trembled as she folded him into her arms. “I’m all right,” he murmured quietly. “I’m sorry I frightened you.” Then they both laughed as the twins wedged themselves between them. Right on cue, Zayir picked up Izarel, letting her rest on his hip. “Did you grow while I was gone?”

  “No, silly,” she said primly. “You weren’t gone that long.”

  “It certainly felt that way,” he said, shooting Kaldir a glare. “I’m certain that you’re at least a hand taller.”

  “Uncle Kaldir gave me a knife,” Shadiah piped up, pulling at his free hand. “But I didn’t get to use it.”

  “Did he now?” Zayir said. “Uncle Kaldir has a lot to explain, doesn’t he?”

  “Mama says we’re having a feast tonight,” Izarel said. “And that tallei-Ohrena is going to teach me how to dance like she does.”

  Shadiah glared at her. “Teach us how to dance.”

  “That’s what I said,” Izarel protested.

  “No you—”

  “If tallei-Ohrena is going to teach you how to dance, then you will have the finest teacher in all the world,” Zayir said, his eyes gleaming as he looked at his wife. “Did your mama tell you what we would have to eat tonight? I’m starving.”

  “Mmm, well…” Shadiah trailed off.

  “Ashka vehl,” Izarel piped up. “And berry cakes.”

  As the youngsters rattled off a list of their favorite foods, which Kaldir suspected were not on the menu but rather an optimistic wish spoken for their mother’s benefit, the queen extended her hand to Kaldir. “Welcome back,” she said. “May I have a minute before you rest?”

  “Of course,” he said. He met Sohaila’s eyes. She lingered at the edge of the terrace, fiddling with her pack. He beckoned to her. She was part of the family now, too.

  “Sister,” Tarim said warmly. “I’ve asked Ohrena to see that you have a hospitable stay here in the palace. You are my honored guest. Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you may need.”

  Sohaila looked nervously at the Edra princess, fiddling with the wind-blown braid hanging over her shoulder. “It’s my honor to meet you, sister,” Ohrena said in her smooth, perfectly accented Kadirai. “We have the loveliest bath.”

  “A bath sounds divine,” Sohaila said.

  “Then follow me,” the princess said. She gently folded her arm through Sohaila’s and smiled up at her, like they were old friends. Talking quietly, Ohrena led Sohaila into the palace.

  With them gone, he offered his arm to Tarim and led her inside. The palace was filled with the smells of roasting meat and baking bread. Dozens of the palace staff bustled through the hallways, preparing for a feast.

  “I hope you didn’t do all this for me,” he said mildly.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she said. “You brought home my soldiers. Even the great Kaldir Dawnblaze does not get a festival day across the city and a feast for hundreds in my halls.” She gave him a sly smile. “Not officially, at least.”

  He opened the door to one of the sitting rooms near her throne room, where she entertained visiting merchants and diplomats. The lavishly furnished room was unoccupied. Its large windows were open to the sun, letting in a crisp breeze and the distant noise of Ironhold’s citizens cheering the return of the Iron Blade.

  As Tarim settled onto the soft couch, she kicked off a pair of golden slippers and took the heavy crown from her head, setting it on the cushion next to her. “Thank you,” she said. “You brought him home to me. I could have lost everything, but my family lives, and my city stands.”

  “We did lose soldiers in the battle. Not as many as I feared, but we did not come out of this clean,” he said. The bodies of the fallen had been cleaned and wrapped gently by the priestesses of the Brood. An honor guard of the Iron Blade had carried them home even before Kaldir left.

  “They arrived yesterday. Ohrena and I greeted every one of them by name,” she said solemnly. “I have asked the priestesses to make official records for me, and I have given orders to Councilor Ferha to ensure their families are provided for. They will never be forgotten.
I do not take it lightly that my loved ones survived while others did not.” She hesitated, then took his hand. “Are you staying here?”

  His heart thumped. “Su’ud redahn—”

  “Call me by my name, please,” she said. “So few people do.”

  “Tarim,” he amended. “I am not staying. Not this time.” Her face fell, and she pulled her hand back. With a sad smile, he clasped her hand again. “There is still important work to be done. The worst of it is over, but we have to root out this poison before it can grow again.”

  “How long?” she asked. For just a moment, she sounded young and lost.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But you will be queen for a very long time, and I will be remembered as the one who protected the greatest queen in the history of the Ironflight.”

  Her lips quirked into a smile. “You flatter me.”

  “I do not. You know I always speak the truth, for better or worse,” he said. “When our work is done, I will come back here. You have my word.”

  She nodded. “I am satisfied with your word. And you have my blessing, though I am not pleased to give it.”

  He squeezed her hand again. “Tarim, do not mistake this for anything other than a promise to see through what I have already started.” Her head tilted. “I dearly love you and your brother. You are my family.” Her gaze softened. “And by extension, your girls, and whatever curious and undoubtedly troublesome offspring your brother may spawn some day.” She actually laughed. “When this is over, I want to be here with you.”

  “I understand,” she said. Her eyebrows perked. “However, you must stay for this feast. And you will dance with my daughters, because they have spoken of nothing else since I told them you were coming home. I promised them.”

  “That is a promise I can keep.”

  He tried to find Sohaila, but Zahila was careening down the halls with an armful of dresses when he got to the fourth floor. Ohrena had claimed the nicest guest room in the palace for Sohaila. He instantly liked her more. Zahila intercepted him before he reached the door. “Hello, tallei-Kaldir,” she said, kicking the door with one foot as she peered at him over a stack of silk. “You look healthy again.”

  “Hold on!” a muffled voice shouted from inside.

  “I am,” he said. “I see you’ve settled right back in.” Her cheeks were rosy, her raven-black hair loose and wavy around her face.

  “Ohrena told me I was not permitted to go off to war again,” she said with a sigh. “But let me know if you ever need a crow’s eyes again.”

  He chuckled. “You were very useful.”

  “I know I was,” she said. “If you’re looking for your lover, she’s soaking in the bath and singing Ohrena’s praises.” Heat rose in his cheeks, and Zahila rolled her eyes. “I hope you aren’t so foolish that you think it’s a secret.”

  “Don’t call me foolish.”

  She scoffed. “When she gets out, she has to try these on. She does not have time for you right now.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Just remember she’s a holy woman.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means to treat her kindly,” he said. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

  She scowled. “Don’t get gruff with me. I like her more than I like you.” Despite her harsh words, her full lips curved in a coy smile. “Now go find something else to do. She’ll be pretty for you tonight.”

  He grabbed the door handle, leaning in close to Zahila. She took a tentative step back, her eyes narrowing. “She’s already pretty. Don’t you dare make her feel bad about her face.”

  She slammed her hand down on his. Her nails dug into the back of his hand as she scowled at him. “I’m insulted. If you think we would be unkind to her, you don’t know us at all. You have my promise.”

  He stared at her. Her dark eyes didn’t flinch. Finally he pulled his hand away. “All right.” She huffed, slamming the door behind her.

  Leaving the Edra women to fuss over Sohaila, he headed for his own quarters, finding the door ajar. His heart thumped. Too much conflict over the last few weeks had him on edge. But the scent wafting from inside was familiar, one he’d known all his life.

  He pushed the door open to see his mother standing in the middle of the room, her posture perfectly straight as she turned in a slow circle. Instead of the black garb of the Arik’tazhan, she wore a long red dress that somehow was no less intimidating.

  “Ma’am,” he greeted. He hadn’t seen her since tangling with her in the healing gardens. Velati told him she’d come back soon after the battle to bring word to Tarim and rally the Iron Blade reserves, making sure Sidran didn’t have a secondary plan to attack Ironhold from within.

  “My son,” she said, extending her hands. The words stunned him. He approached, like he was sidling up to an angry dragon, and she gently touched his shoulders. Then she kissed his cheeks, her eyes curiously soft. “I saw you before you woke, but I am very glad to see you on your feet.”

  “You as well,” he said.

  Her shoulders slumped, though her gaze never faltered. “I’m so sorry for attacking you. Sidran controlled me and the queen.”

  “I know,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’d like to carve my name into his hide,” she said, baring her teeth. “I’ll be paying a visit to Halmerah before much longer.” A chill prickled down his spine. “Enha-Kal,” she murmured, using the affectionate nickname he hadn’t heard since he was a boy. “I am beyond proud of you.”

  He was taken aback. “Uh…thank you.”

  “I know I have always been hard on you,” she said. “I have often wondered if this was the right choice. But I did not want my legacy to be a burden you could not escape. I wanted you to stand proud on your own.” She cupped his cheek, tilting his face down toward her. “Before I left, they spoke of you in Farath. The one who felled half the Aesdar himself. The one who liberated two cities, wielded the Iron Blade, and brought down the Chosen.”

  “That’s overstating it a bit,” he said, though it sounded quite nice from Viraszel.

  “Is it?” she asked. She smiled, an expression that was foreign on her face. “They spoke your name with honor and respect. And they did not proclaim you my son.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  She chuckled. “That is all I have ever wanted for you. To forge your own name. Farikul suggested the Undying Flame. It has a rather nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “It would be an honor.”

  “I have been proud of you since you were just a boy, trying to sprout wings before you could walk properly.” He chuckled at the memory. “You have always had my affection, but now you have my utmost respect. I am proud to be your mother.”

  His eyes widened. He would have been less surprised if she had punched him in the gut. Trying to recover, he asked, “What do you plan to do now?”

  “I’ll stay here for a while,” she said. “Help train the Iron Blade in your absence.” She shrugged. “Frighten teenaged dragons.”

  “Sounds about right,” he said.

  She smiled, then gently touched his cheek. “Be well, my son. And don’t be distant. I know I have not been the gentle mother you may have wanted, but I still love you very much. Will I see you at the feast this evening?”

  He nodded, kissing her brow. Then she brushed past him, leaving him alone in his quarters. He sighed and flopped back onto his bed. It was neatly made, the linens freshly cleaned.

  Six months ago, his life was simple. He lacked nothing, or so it had seemed. Now his world had expanded, becoming far more precarious. And yet, he would not have changed a moment of it, not if the end result was the joy of Sohaila in his arms, of seeing her whenever he wished.

  He had told no one else of his vision of the Skymother except for Sohaila. But he barely went an hour without thinking of it, and the charge she had given him. Protect my children. And love well the one I have entrusted to you.

  He intended to keep
his oath.

  The bells rang to signal the beginning of the feast just as he finished shaving. He contemplated his ornamental armor, but one of the queen’s attendants had come by to remind him that he was to dress in formal attire, conveniently bringing him a tunic tailored for him. He bedgrudgingly donned the tunic, an ostentatious garment that was far more befitting of Zayir than him. A quiet knock rang through the silence. “Come in,” he said, still fussing with the ornamental belt.

  He smelled her floral scent before she even stepped inside, and he turned on his heel, intending to sweep her up into his arms. Then he froze, stunned by the glimmering vision before him.

  Instead of the simple blue garments she wore as a healer, Sohaila was draped in a deep blue gown glittering with tiny stones and metallic thread. Makeup enhanced her eyes and lips, but they had not covered the scars on her face. Her auburn hair hung down her back, held back with silver combs.

  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “You’re staring,” she said, eyes skimming away from him.

  “You cannot blame me,” he said.

  He reached for her, but she caught his wrists before he could touch her. “Careful,” she said. “Those Edra women fussed over this gown for ages.”

  “Does that mean I should not tear it off?”

  Her lips quirked into a smile. “I’m afraid it does. But what a lovely thought.”

  He cupped her cheeks, letting his thumbs trace both the smooth and marked skin at the same time. Without speaking, he kissed her gently, savoring the way her lips curved into a smile against his, parting for him. “Are you sure we have to go?”

  “We do,” Sohaila said. She pulled away from him, though she held his hands, sending warm tendrils of her power tickling across his skin. He braced himself, but she kept her roaming phantom hands above his waist, gently stroking his back and sending a warm tingle across his skin. “I let those women primp and fuss over me for two hours. The one with the red hair never stopped talking. You are taking me to this feast, and you are dancing with me until I’ve had my fill.”