Just as Mab had promised, the queen conceived. Months passed, and as the child grew within her, so did her suspicions of how it had happened. She constantly questioned him and seemed to be searching for any sign of his deceit. He tried to tell her that when she’d refused to eat Mab’s onion that he’d done away with it and that their luck had just taken a turn for the better, but it was obvious she didn’t believe him.
“It is a strange and wonderful magic, my dear, that brings this blessing upon us,” Christophe said as they lay together in the dark one night.
“Do you believe that, Christophe?”
“I believe that we have waited so long and been so patient that the gods have finally smiled upon us. He knows that we are pure of heart, and that our hearts are swollen with love to give.” He kissed her temple then. “It is all you ever need know.”
A strange and wonderful magic. Words that seemed so innocent would eventually wyrm their way into her heart, poisoning her love for him. Already he could feel it. She became obsessed with knowing just how their luck had turned so abruptly. She confided her fears that the little life growing inside of her was something more. Something sinister. She was convinced there were two of them, two boys, though the court physicians and midwifes agreed she could not truly be so certain. Each night she would walk the corridors of the castle and into the gardens, not awake but not sleeping. As if she were being drawn toward something. She began to doubt everyone and everything. Her doubt and fear were poisoning the queen’s mind, twisting her into some cruel stranger. The midwife said it was to be expected, but general unease was rampant throughout the kingdom as all awaited the birth of the heir. Even the common folk now thought of them as the little princes, believing in their hearts that the queen was right that there would be twins, fearing that she was right to be afraid.
Chapter One
Thalia woke with a start. She stared around the dark room to find she was alone. It was a relief and a disappointment. Just like always. Always the dreams came. Sometimes they scared her; other times she wished to never wake from them. Thalia had dreamt of him since she was a child. At first, they were just childish dreams, spurred by her mother’s stories of a dragon prince. They were two children playing chase through the paths in the wood. “Come and play!” he would call to her, darting in and out between the trees. She could never catch up to him, only catching glimpses of sooty black curls that tumbled over his back and the embroidery of his cloak. She could hear his laughter, teasing and warm, echoing in her head long after she woke. In those early dreams, she never saw his face; it was only the memory of his laughter that lingered.
As she grew, her playmate did, too. His body lengthened and grew strong. The landscape of his body drew her eyes, and always she would reach out to touch it. Soon their games grew dark: sinister and sexy. He would sneak up from behind, growling low in her ear until she squealed with the thrill of her own fear. His face was still hidden in the shadows, save for the generous bow of his lips as he whispered in the dark. “Come and play with me, little Thalia,” he would purr against the shell of her ear. His breath was hot and moist, like liquid fire. She would wake from these dreams all gamey and moist between her legs. At first, she feared these feelings even more than the dark forests of her dreams. These stirrings deep within her belly that drew her hands over the curves of her blossoming breasts and hips. Something was happening inside her. As she grew closer to womanhood, the fear began to disappear like the morning mist that hung over the meadow near the old midwife, Esa’s cottage where she had grown up to be replaced by wanting and need of her strange companion.
Thalia wrapped her meager blanket around her shoulders and stood up, making her way to where the fire had died to embers in the hearth. She rubbed her eyes, still trying to shake the sleep from them. Whenever she dreamed of the dark prince, she awoke feeling drained. Almost as if she’d spent the whole night chasing him. Though she could still feel his body burning against hers, the reality of his absence left her cold. Grabbing the poker that stood in the corner, she used it to stir the ashes, sending sparks popping toward her. She shuddered, catching just a whiff of the sulfur from the cinders.
She knelt by the fire, staring into the flames, warming herself. Even as a child, the fire had fascinated her. So many times Esa had pulled her away, insisting that she was too close. But she couldn’t help it, even now. She had respect for it but did not fear it. Fire was an entity that was neither living nor dead. It fed, breathed, and consumed. Perhaps that was why she had been chosen, this kinship she felt with fire. It was in her blood.
Thalia ran her fingertips over the dark mark that stained her wrist. The mark of the slayer. Legend said that the ancient slayers from her homeland of Tarkin bore this mark. Three dark slashes that surrounded her wrist. The skin there was rough and raised slightly. She was born to slay dragons, and so she had done, killing dozens of the mindless wyrms that plagued the outer reaches of the continent, devouring the countryside in clouds of ash and despair. They fed on the death and decay they wreaked.
Some called her Huntress, others simply Slayer. Tarkin was a realm known for its slayers, and Thalia was the best of her kind. Small and graceful, she had almost a supernatural ability for hunting these beasts. There were some that called her a snake charmer. The dragons seemed to come to her with an almost docile manner. One legend claimed that a dragon had literally bowed down to her and given its head willingly. A ridiculous legend, but there was no doubt—the small Tarkinian Huntress was good.
Some said that she could speak to them, but no dragon had ever uttered a word. Only a scream as she slashed at their hearts. They were animals like any other, and like any animal, they depended on a heart, lungs, and a brain to survive. If one of those were taken, the beast would fall. There was nothing magical about them, despite the tales of the Ancient Ones that could speak and cast spells. Those friends of the Fae. If they had ever existed, Thalia and her kind had long ago annihilated them.
“Thalia! It’s moving!” The shout of the boy outside her tent dragged her from her reverie. She could hear the rustling of fabric as Markus barged inside. “You have to come now, Thalia!”
“What are you talking about?” she yawned, throwing down the poker casually.
“The dragon! It’s moving! It’ll be here in a few minutes. We have to be ready!”
She raced to the door, throwing back the blanket and peering up at the sky. Markus was right. Just over the horizon, the sky had gone all purple with the impending dawn, but there was something more. Orange flame lit up the western sky. A soft glow that left no doubt to what was coming. First would come the flame, then the heat, and the last thing anyone still foolish enough to be close would hear was the leathery rustling of its wings.
“Thalia!” Markus shouted, snapping her out of her reverie. She immediately sprang into action. She rushed around the room, pulling on body armor and trying to find her boots. She grabbed her crossbow just as the dragon screamed, bringing them to their knees as they held their ears. “I hate when they do that,” Markus exclaimed, grabbing his own sword and shield as they rushed out of the tent.
She could smell it before they could see it. The stench of ash and sulfur like the pits of Hell overwhelmed them. “Gods, how do they sneak up on anyone? They smell like a pile of burning shit,” Markus complained, pulling his tunic over his nose. Thalia wasn’t listening. She was too busy watching the sky. She wanted to see it when it burst through the trees.
Dragons both frightened and fascinated her. Everything about them was built for the hunt. Their massive bodies were covered in impenetrable scales, but they could move with an almost feline precision. Their talons were razor sharp and grooved so that once the prey was caught, escape would be impossible. They could lock around even the smallest wriggling creature and hold on. The beating of their wings could create a gale that would level whole villages. Then there was the fire. Dragons were made of it. It flowed through their veins like blood, making their flesh steam.
Just touching the hide would scald one’s hand, peeling the blackened skin from the bones. A deep breath was all it took, and the flames would spew forth from the beast, burning everything it its path.
“We must draw it away from the villagers, Markus. Hurry and get everyone inside! Out of sight and quiet.” He ran off into the streams of screaming villagers, running to and fro. The stench of brimstone and sweat was so overwhelming, it burned Thalia’s eyes. The thick odor of terror was nothing new. It was everywhere she went and fueled her fury. She ran toward the western gate. Her arms ached with the weight of the heavy crossbow. Many were surprised that she could wield the rustic weapon with any accuracy, but it was the weapon of her father and his father before him. The only real problem was that to deliver a kill shot, one had to be standing in the furnace. A dragon was only vulnerable when he breathed fire. For a fragment of a second, he would expose his chest, and if one were clever and cunning, one might be able to deliver an arrow between the soft spaces in the scales and pierce his heart. Otherwise, there was nothing for it but a lucky blow that distracted the wyrm long enough to let you get away. Despite the rumors of her might, Thalia had never taken the head of a dragon. It would take one much stronger than herself to slice through the iron ropes of sinew and tissue, much less penetrate the scales.
Emerging from the gates, she ran into the clearing that surrounded the village just as the dragon crested the tree line. It hadn’t seen her yet and soared in and out of the clouds, patrolling the area for any movement. Thalia was still. She wasn’t quite ready to show herself. A dragon’s vision was sharp when the target was moving, but if one could be still, really still, it couldn’t focus. Thalia watched as it plummeted toward the earth then pulled up fast into the mist once more.
“Hurry, Markus!” He rushed behind her, his pack full of odds and ends rattling behind him. The dragon screamed once more, and though they could not see it, the pounding of its wings against the wind made the ground tremble. “It’s close.” Again, Thalia hoisted her crossbow from behind her back. Markus dropped his bag, going to her, a flint and steel clutched in his hands.
“Does it know we’re here?” Markus shouted over the din. He fiddled with the flint, trying to ignite the bit of oiled cloth tied around the end of Thalia’s arrow. After several attempts, it lit suddenly, making both of them jump with the whiff of sulfur.
“No, but it will momentarily. When I say run, run as fast as you can toward the trees!”
“Thalia! This is a large bull; let me take it down,” he said, trying to pull the crossbow from her hands. “I can do it.” She smiled, a thousand unsaid apologies flashing in her eyes. Ambitious fool. Markus was only a boy. His parents had been killed five years previous by a pair of particularly nasty green dragons, and he had begged to be taught to slay. Thalia had tried to resist, but the boy had followed her around until finally it was inevitable that she let him help. He was good. She had taught him well, but he had the recklessness of a child. Thalia feared that one day she would be scattering his ashes to the wind like so many of the slayers before him.
“Markus, you’re not ready,” she started.
“Please, Thalia! I’ll never be ready if you don’t trust me.” Her resolve wavered for one second, just long enough for him to take the crossbow and run toward the center of the clearing. “I’ve got it!” he shouted. Going down on one knee, he aimed for the sky. The first shot, just a single bolt of fire into the clouds, would draw the beast toward them and away from the village. Thalia watched as the burning missile streaked into the sky, lighting up the clouds for a moment before disappearing. Then silence. For several moments, nothing moved. Even the birds seemed to flee the sky, and the air grew still. Markus looked back over his shoulder at Thalia. “Where did it go?” he shouted. “Do you think we scared it away?”
Before she could answer, the beast appeared from nowhere. It dove toward Markus, skidding over his head so close that the boy fell to the ground, rolling over and over. His shield and the crossbow flew in opposite directions, leaving him exposed and unarmed. “Markus! Get up!” Thalia screamed. She ran toward him, pulling her own sword from the baldric at her back. The boy struggled to his feet, grabbing at his shield and scrambling toward her. The ground beneath their feet shook as the dragon landed behind them, and Markus slipped once more, falling in the mucky grass. The dragon roared, deafening Thalia and drawing a scream from the boy. With an inhale that seemed to suck in all of the available air, the dragon breathed a magnificent plume of flame toward Markus. Only the boy’s superior dexterity saved him, and he rolled to the side, dodging the brunt of the fire. “Markus! Stay still!” Thalia screamed. But it was of little use. The dragon had already locked on to the boy, snarling and stalking around him. The dragon reared back, inhaling once more to burn the boy to ash. With a savage bellow, Markus struck out, pulling his own sword from the scabbard at his side and plunging it as hard as he could into the dragon’s chest.
“Yes!” Thalia shrieked, almost laughing as she watched. The beast stumbled backward, flapping its wings wildly, trying to get away from the boy and his stabbing sword. It took wing sloppily, thrashing against the wind, trying to dislodge the sword that was caught between the scales on his chest. With a frustrated roar, it succeeded, throwing the weapon at the ground hard enough to drive it into the dirt to the hilt. “Run, Markus!” Thalia shouted, taking up the crossbow. She dropped to her knees in the grass and began loading another bolt into the groove. Dragon bolts were heavier than ordinary hunter’s bolts with a sharper tip fashioned of deep mountain stone. They required a tighter, heavier crossbow that was not easy for a woman to wield, but Thalia was no ordinary woman.
The dragon grazed them overhead as if taunting the slayers that their splinter of a sword would not defeat him. Thalia looked up, and Markus was nearly within her reach. She got up and raised the crossbow, using one arm to steady the weapon as she tracked it across the sky. Then suddenly it dropped, hiding in the mist. “Where…?” she stammered. “Markus!” she shouted, her voice an echo in the fog. And then, with a burst of flame and a rush of wind, the beast rose up, grabbing Markus in its talons and streaking into the sky with him. Higher and higher it flew, and Thalia could only watch it as it climbed. Markus was screaming in its grasp, the jagged claws tearing into his skin. His voice faded as they rose until it was gone, swallowed up by the clouds above.
Thalia dropped the crossbow, her heart sinking as she realized that the dragon was gone. And with it, Markus. “Stupid…,” she snarled. “It should have been me!” she shouted into the nothingness. Then suddenly, a distant whistling sound caught her attention. She looked up just in time to see what was left of her friend and protégé plummeting toward the earth. His broken body bounced on the ground when it hit, his blood splattering over the grass and staining it red. Thalia ran toward him, closing the distance quickly. The dragon appeared out of nowhere, landing between Thalia and Markus’s body. It roared as if in warning, but she stood her ground. “Come on, you bastard,” she growled. “Come and get me.” She raised her shield, dodging the first spit of fire. “You’ll have to do better than that,” she murmured, taking another step. It growled and hissed again as she raised the crossbow. Her heartbeats marked the seconds as the dragon reared back. “Now or never…” she whispered, closing her eyes. It opened its mouth, sucking in the precious air that would ignite its venom. Just before the spark, Thalia let her bolt fly, true and swift, straight into the gullet of the serpent. Its scream pierced the air, and she knew her ears would be ringing later. It hissed and spit, the point of the bolt burrowing farther into its flesh as it struggled. Thalia loaded another bolt into the crossbow and leapt onto the back of the injured dragon. She was so small, so light and dexterous, that the beast never felt her weight as she climbed atop its head and fired the final bolt into its brain. With a weak snarl and a shudder, it died under her feet.
Thalia reached down and pulled hard on the bolt sticking out of the dragon’s scales. It gave way final
ly with a sickening sucking sound. She brushed her fingers over the tip, gathering a bit of the serpent’s blood and bringing it to her lips. The bitter taste of copper and ash was satisfying, and she savored it. In the distance, she could hear the townspeople emerging from their homes and running to the clearing to see the slain beast. Thalia leapt down, pulling a single scale from the breastplate and depositing it in her bag that lay discarded at the edge of the forest.
“Hurrah! Bless you, child!” A round parish priest ambled toward her, holding a leather pouch. “You’ve saved us.”
Thalia did not respond but slung Markus’s pack over her shoulder. “Let the body rot in the field. It will turn rancid, and the stench will be nearly unbearable, but it will fend off any others.” He followed as she sprinted over to where the boy lay dead. Kneeling down, she kissed Markus’s forehead and pulled the chain from around his neck. The charm was a dragon’s tooth that she had pulled for him at his first hunt. “I will burn the boy at dawn. Have your men bring him to the pyre at the square,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek to fend off her tears.
“Of course, Mistress,” the priest answered, beckoning to a group of men. “Here is your payment. I pray it is enough.”
Thalia took the purse, her stomach rolling over as she heard the gold coins clattering inside. “For one boy’s life? It is never enough.”
Chapter Two
Katrin’s screams echoed throughout the great halls within the castle. Surely the labor must be killing her. Those were the whispers among the servants as they slinked silently through the halls to the secret place where the queens of old had borne the monarchs of the kingdom for thousands of years. There she lay sprawled on a gilded feather bed. The linen coverlets, once bright white, ran red with the blood of the queen.
Huntress: A Paranormal Romance Page 2