by JD Monroe
He chuckled. “I can comply with these orders.” He gently touched her cheek again. “I’m glad you’re not hiding your face.”
Her fingers drifted up to trace the ridges. “It’s not easy, but in a strange way, they’ve given me something to be proud of.”
He tilted his head. “Really?”
“Sidran and the Chosen tried to steal from me. They took my bodyguards. They took a year of my life. They tried to steal my integrity and my peace of mind. They tried to steal my people, my homeland…even my Kaldir,” she said. There was still anger in her eyes, an echo of the flames from which she had been born. “But they failed,” she said. “It still hurts to see. It probably always will. But it also reminds me that I am far more than he realized. There is far more of value in me than just outward beauty. And let it serve as a warning to anyone else who would underestimate me. I am not easily broken.”
He smiled. “My little comet, as fierce and bright as ever,” he said. “Come along, and make me the envy of everyone here.”
The feast rivaled the massive party Tarim had thrown when her brother was married months ago. Round tables were arranged around an open floor for dancing. Everything was adorned in red and gold silks, with bright flowers everywhere.
Usually, the queen sat at a long table on an elevated dais, looking down over the gathering. Instead, she sat near the center of the room, along with the royal family. Her husband, Zersekh, had recovered from his imprisonment, though one would hardly notice a difference in his quiet stoicism.
The queen had risen to greet her guests, thanking them for attending. In a clear, resonant voice, she invoked the Skymother, asking for her blessing over the Iron Blade who had fallen in their brave pursuits. In the tradition of the Ironflight, the high table was set for their fallen kin. Wine had been poured, with fresh flowers laid in each seat. Gold coins were already placed on the plates, and would accumulate through the evening as guests offered their respects.
Tarim’s feasts would typically be attended by the wealthy of Ironhold, but many of the usual guests had not been invited. Most of the guests were soldiers of the Iron Blade who had gone to fight in Farath, along with their families.
He was tearing into a heaping dish of tirioc when something brushed against his arm. Setting his fork aside, he looked down to see Izarel wedging her way between him and Sohaila. She stared up at Sohaila, eyes wide. “What happened to your face?”
Zayir spluttered, covering his mouth as he coughed on his food. “Izarel,” Tarim said sharply. “That is extremely rude.”
“I just wondered,” she said, looking stricken. “May I ask what happened…please?”
“Izarel,” Zersekh said quietly. He shook his head at her.
“It’s all right,” Sohaila said gently, setting aside her goblet of wine. She lowered her head slightly, letting Izarel look closer. “You may look closer if you’re curious. A bad man tried to hurt me.”
The child tilted her head up, brow furrowed as she inspected the marks. “The bad man who hurt Uncle Zayir? And my papa?”
“Yes,” Sohaila said.
Izarel cast a glance at her father, then turned back with a sharp, predatory gaze that was her mother all over. “But he’s gone now.”
“Sort of,” Sohaila said. “He won’t hurt anyone else.”
Kaldir tapped Izarel’s shoulder, eager to spare Sohaila further scrutiny. “Did you know that Sohaila is a Marashti healer? She saved my life after the battle.”
“Really?” Izarel asked.
“Indeed,” he said. “She is extremely talented. She has the Skymother’s blessing.”
Tossing down her fork, Shadiah rushed around the table and crawled across Kaldir’s lap. “One would not know it by their current behavior, but I swear that my daughters have been taught manners,” Tarim seethed. “Shadiah.”
The girl’s face flushed, and she looked at Kaldir solemnly. “May I sit here?”
He suppressed a smile. “Yes, you may,” he said. “Thank you for asking politely.”
Her knee drove into his groin, and he bit back a groan as she leaned in to get a closer look at Sohaila. “I want to be a healer like you.” She rubbed her hands together and held them out. “Can you teach me?”
Sohaila laughed and took her hands. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. But if it is the Skymother’s design for you, then you will know.”
“When?”
“Not until you’re older,” she said. “So until then, you should always say your prayers and pay attention in your lessons.”
It took much of his considerable willpower not to laugh. Maybe Sohaila Mara was studious, but Falmina had not been. This little lecture was for Tarim’s benefit. Shadiah nodded solemnly. “I will.”
After their massive meal, the musicians launched into a rousing dance tune. Princess Ohrena’s eyes went wide, and she stole a last sip of her wine. “Girls, I am in need of your help,” she said, beckoning to them.
The twins slid down from their seats, ready to follow their aunt. Both wore glimmering silk scarves tied around their waists, mimicking the Edra women’s dance attire. Shadiah tugged on Zayir’s arm. “Uncle Zayir, why aren’t you getting up?”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Zayir protested. “Uncle Zayir is still recovering from his injuries.”
Kaldir glared at him. “As I recall, you were ready to fight,” he said. He gently pushed Shadiah toward her uncle. “Uncle Zayir can dance, don’t you think, Sohaila?”
Her amber eyes twinkled with delight. “He’s perfectly healthy,” she said. “It would be very good for him to dance and loosen up his stiff muscles.”
Over the little girl’s ornate crown, Zayir glared at them. Then he smiled indulgently at Shadiah. “Only for my favorite princesses.” With a bright smile, he took Shadiah’s hand and let her pull him into the undulating crowd. Leading a snake-like procession through the room were Ohrena and her maid Inrada, dressed in shimmering red and gold.
Kaldir leaned in to kiss Sohaila’s cheek. “Shall we?”
She shook her head, then gestured over his shoulder. He looked back to see Izarel wringing her hands. “Papa’s back hurts and Mama says to let him rest,” she said quietly. “Will you take me?”
“It would be my most esteemed honor,” he said seriously, taking her small hand. Her eyes lit up, and she tugged him into the crowd with her. Watching for an opening, he swept her into the procession.
The room was filled with light and laughter. His body still ached, and he felt the heavy weight of loss, of those who had not made it home to celebrate. And yet, looking around the crowded room, he saw what he had fought for. He would have done it again in an instant.
At the sound of a noisy horn call, the serpentine formation stopped, and Ohrena let out a noisy whoop, clapping her hands in a complex rhythm. Izarel grabbed his hand, then yanked him around in a tight circle. “Like this, Uncle Kaldir!”
With a hearty laugh, he tried to follow her guidance. Then she put her hand up, and he obliged, spinning her around until she squealed with laughter. In a flurry of shimmering silk, Princess Ohrena spun toward him, then knelt to grasp Izarel’s hands. “My sweet, it’s your turn to lead the dragon,” she said gently. She pointed toward the head of the line, where Inrada was beckoning. “Go with Inrada.”
Straightening her skirt, Izarel ran toward the other Edra woman. Inrada pantomimed putting her hand to her mouth, and Izarel let out a noisy shout. At her cue, the music shifted again, and the serpentine formation continued through the room. Ohrena linked her arm through Kaldir’s, giving him no choice but to follow her graceful steps. “Thank you for bringing my husband home, tallei-Kaldir,” she said to him, never missing a step.
“He is my oldest friend,” Kaldir replied, spinning her around. “I would have it no other way.”
She squeezed his hand. “Most people say you’re welcome.”
He chuckled. “My apologies. You’re welcome,” he said. “Thank you for welcoming Sohaila here.”
“I know how it feels to be an outsider in this place,” Ohrena said. She gave him a mischievous smile. “Or shall I simply say, you’re welcome. I’m very happy for you.” Then her eyes went wide, and she yanked away from him. “Kaldir!”
“What?”
“You just pinched my…” She whirled to see Zayir behind them and smirked. “I nearly slapped your friend.”
“I regret that you didn’t. He’s got a good one coming,” Zayir said. He gave Kaldir a wry look. “I must steal my wife from your clutches, before she realizes that she could have done far better than me.”
Kaldir laughed and squeezed Ohrena’s hand lightly. He gave her a nod. “She could have done far better.”
Leaving the prince to his wife, he dodged a whirling circle of children and snaked through the crowd to return to his seat. He was startled to see his mother sitting next to Tarim, talking animatedly. Sohaila looked stunned, and he hurried to settle next to her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Are you all right?”
She turned to whisper back, her lips brushing his ear. “She introduced herself and said it was an honor to meet me.” The Firestorm had not been impressed with Falmina Flamewrought. His mother’s eyes drifted over to them, a faint smile on her lips.
As the feast wound down, many of the guests headed for the continuing festivities in the streets of Ironhold. In the middle of the great hall, a dozen children danced with Shadiah and Izarel, trying to learn their increasingly chaotic dances. Tarim was circulating the room, speaking to her remaining guests, while Zersekh sat with the musicians, playing the drum deftly for a traditional dance tune. Zayir and Ohrena had excused themselves long ago.
Kaldir clutched Sohaila’s hand gently, pointing out the whirling frenzy of the dancing children. Several had spun themselves dizzy and were giggling on the floor. “Someday I’d like a few of those,” he said. The wine had loosened his tongue, and they were finally alone.
“Children?” she asked. “Or sparkling scarves?”
He laughed. “Children.”
“I never would have imagined you wanting children.”
“You don’t think I would be a good father?”
“Actually, I think you would be the best of fathers,” she said.
“They’re their own sort of magic, aren’t they? Everything is new and fascinating.” He sighed. “Maybe some day.”
She ran her hand over his arm, clutching his hand. “I believe we could make that happen.”
His heart slammed into his ribs. “Could we? Could you?”
“If you’re asking if I’m capable, most certainly. And I think we know how,” she said with a laugh. Her cheeks were pleasantly flushed. “Though we would be foolish to consider it before all of this nonsense with the Chosen is over.”
“Of course. What about the Marashti?”
She shrugged. “I am a powerful healer outside their walls,” she said. “Mother Akshas won’t like it, but I can live with her disapproval.”
He sighed. “I don’t want you to sacrifice who you are.”
“That is not who I am,” she said. “Not all of who I am. Not anymore.” She traced the veins on the back of his hand, her touch sending a shivering warmth coursing through him. “I am a healer of the Order of Mara. I am a Lightweaver of the Arik’tazhan. And I am Sohaila Mara, who loves Kaldir Dawnblaze.”
“And is loved greatly by him,” he added.
“All of these things are part of who I am. I do not wish to sacrifice any of them. And this time, I will not put the decision into your hands.” His brow lifted. “It’s my choice to stay with you. And if you leave me in the middle of the night again, I will—” He silenced her with a kiss, but she broke away. “I’m serious. I will serve the Skymother to the end of my days.” She gripped his hand. “But I want to do it by your side. And if you don’t want that, say so now.”
“You are far too clever to say something so foolish,” he said.
She smiled. “Then we are agreed.” A warm, phantom finger traced down his spine, around his waist and to his hip, teasing downward.
He squirmed slightly. “That’s unfair.”
“Is it?” Another delicate finger teased behind his ear. “I think we’ve spent enough time at this party.”
“Does that mean I’m to tear your dress off now?”
“Zahila will murder you,” she replied. “But if you were to remove it very carefully, an evening’s celebration is in order.”
Eight Months Later
On day fifty-one of Sohaila Mara’s return to Ironhold, life changed once again. And on day fifty-four, Kaldir’s life would change, too.
The afternoon sun blazed high over Ironhold; the cloudless blue sky filled with the endless spirals of dragons flying overhead. Sohaila Mara watched from the window of Mara’s Repose, a bustling hospital in the eastern district of the city. A cauldron full of balirash simmered over a low fire. The smell was sharp, tickling at her nostrils.
Two years ago, she’d been in her fifth decade of study and service at the Shrine of Mara, one of the youngest healers ever named to the Sapphire Circle. A year ago, she’d been imprisoned by Sidran, her face scarred and her spirit nearly broken. Her path seemed to ever change, and it was about to change yet again.
A quiet knock interrupted her thoghts. She turned to see Virnan in the doorway, dressed in his neat blue uniform and leather armor as always. “Sister, your shipments are here. Would you like them brought in?”
“Of course,” she said. His cheeks were flushed, a twinkle in his eyes. She smiled coyly. “Did the handsome merchant bring them himself?”
Virnan’s eyes widened. “I don’t—are you—I…” he sputtered. Her bodyguard had been swooning after the herb trader for weeks.
She smiled innocently. “Did you give him my order for the snow talon root?”
“There wasn’t an order,” Virnan said suspiciously.
She shrugged. “There is now. I suppose you’ll have to find him.”
“He’s already left.”
“Then you’ll have to go see him,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to set me up, Sohaila.”
“But it’s so much fun to make you blush,” she replied. “Send Enalah if you have more important things to do. Shall I call for her?” She started toward the door.
He lunged forward to snatch the paper from her hand. “No, ma’am. I’ll take care of it. I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time,” she replied. He smirked at her, bowing politely before he left.
She gave the simmering pot a hearty stir, then wiped her hands clean and headed back into the main building. Mara’s Repose was a bit cramped, with two dozen beds comprising the main infirmary. Half a dozen smaller rooms allowed for privacy. An apprentice healer, Koraska Mara, waited in the hallway with a small ledger in her hand. She bowed. “Sister,” she greeted. “I have an Edra girl who was accidentally struck in her animal form, and she’s not healing properly.”
“Show me,” Sohaila said.
A pretty young woman lay on her side on a cot in one of the private rooms, clutching her hand to her ribs. She was quiet, but her face was contorted with pain. Another girl held her hand, speaking quietly to her. As Sohaila entered, both of them glanced at her face, their gazes lingering a split second longer than was polite. She ignored it, and smiled. “Good afternoon,” she said. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
The young woman frowned, then looked at her friend. “It hurts her to speak,” the other girl said. “It was an accident. She ran across a path in her cat form and got struck by a cart. She shifted back, and we think it made it worse.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Sohaila said gently. She rubbed her hands together, then hesitated before moving the sheet that covered the girl. “May I touch you?”
The girl chewed at her lip, then nodded. Sohaila gently pulled the sheet back, revealing a dark stripe of bruising along her ribs. Fingers of dark blue and black spread over her bac
k. She gently pressed her hands to the darkened skin, prompting a gasp. “It’s all right,” Sohaila said. Sending her power into the girl, she found two floating ribs, broken away entirely, along with several others cracked and bruising to her internal organs. “Let’s have you patched up.”
She had only been back in the city for about two months. For nearly six months prior, she and Kaldir had fought alongside Velati, Marlena, Azeria and a dozen more of the Scalebreakers. First, they’d found several cells of the Chosen that had tried to flee back to the Shattered Cradle. One particularly daring group had tried to infiltrate Adamantine Rise to free Sidran. All of them had failed.
In the meantime, Velati had sent diplomatic messages to the king of Agni, the human nation that had been the fertile ground from which the Chosen grew. Finally, he decided he’d had enough waiting. With a small team of the Arik’tazhan, he and Marlena headed south to deliver the message and demand a response in person. He’d preferred a small team, but Kaldir was on the lookout for a message requesting backup. And when that request came, Kaldir was ready to bring the full might of both the Ironflight and the Stoneflight down on the Chosen.
Until then, they were enjoying the relative peace of being back in Ironhold. It was a different city than she remembered. With the prince marrying an Edra woman, the Edra were now welcome here, and she was pleasantly surprised each day to hear the Edra tongue and smell the delicious spice of Edra cuisine drifting from homes.
She’d also reconnected with her parents and older brother, who had thankfully been unharmed in the attack on Ironhold. As part of her initiation into the Marashti, she cut all official ties to her family, relinquishing any claim to titles or wealth. But she still treasured them, and was pleased to know that they were well.
After a long bout of healing to fuse her broken ribs, the girl was starting to squirm. Sohaila knew the itching of healing would soon drive her mad. Instead, she stopped, scooping out a handful of thelveran and smoothing it over her bruised skin. “Can you come see me again tomorrow?”