by L. P. Dover
“Who do you ride? Which dragon?” I asked.
Kye’s eyes moved down to meet mine.
“I am Feras’ rider.”
I was stunned into silence as we fell into step behind Feras and Lochlen.
“The dragon rex?” I asked, my tone full of disbelief. “The way he spoke of my mother, I’d, um, I’d thought maybe she was his rider.”
Kye’s hand took my elbow then, but I didn’t pull away. His touch caused a maelstrom of emotions inside me. Hatred, admiration, gratitude. I wasn’t sure which emotion I felt more of, and I didn’t really pursue the thought. There were too many other important things to focus on at the moment.
“Your mother was the dragon queen’s rider, Feras’ mate.”
My lips formed an o as I digested Kye’s words. Of course Feras had a mate. He had Lochlen after all. I searched the cave.
“Where is she? Will I meet her?” I asked eagerly.
Kye’s hand tightened on my elbow.
“She’s dead, Drastona.”
“Oh.”
My spirits fell. So many dead over the years; so many innocent lives lost and many of them because of me.
“None of this is your fault,” Kye whispered.
I glanced up at him, at the way his dark hair fell into one eye. There was pain in his gaze, scars that seemed even deeper than mine.
“If I hadn’t been born, there are so many that might have lived,” I said.
Kye’s gaze moved to the dragons’ backs as he moved closer to me, his head lowering. He was tall, but not a towering man. My head came up to his chest.
“If you had not been born, there would be no chance for any of us to live. Not now. Not during these times.”
His fervent tone touched me in ways nothing else had in days. He really believed I was something special. He really believed I could help the rebels.
“People die for freedom, Drastona,” Kye said. “They die so others may live.”
Chapter 15
I was in awe, my eyes locked on the grooves in the cavern wall. Leather-bound scrolls filled every man-made notch within the new room we stood in now. My hand came up and then fell again. I wanted to touch them all.
“An Archive,” I breathed. “It’s magnificent!”
And it was. This part of the cave was no less impressive than the rest, the ceiling as high as the outer cavern we’d come from. Except for the entrance, there seemed no other way to exit it. Scrolls filled every inch of the walls.
I looked up at Feras, my eyes bright.
“Where did it all come from?” I asked.
The rex chuckled. “Dragons like knowledge as much as humans, and ours is much more extensive.”
I itched to dig through the marked pages I knew lay within, but Feras had other plans.
“Kye.”
Kye glanced at the rex before walking up to the row of books, moving his fingers carefully over them before pulling on something I couldn’t see. Several scrolls moved aside to reveal a hollow space within the cave wall. Kye reached in, and I felt more than saw several spiders and cave-dwelling insects scurry out of the way. When his hand reappeared, he was holding an old rolled up text, yellowed and unbound.
“The Kiarian Freesonalay,” Kye said as he walked to a stone ledge doubling as a table.
I was next to him before I’d even realized I’d moved, my eyes drawn to the parchment.
“The Book of Truth,” I translated.
The words he’d spoken were Medeisian, but an older form of the language than we used now. The old language was strange on my tongue, but not uncomfortable. I’d learned to speak it as a child from the scribes.
“But it’s not a book,” I said, reaching out tentatively.
My fingers skirted the page. The move put my hand close to Kye’s, but instead of drawing back, he began rolling the parchment out, his fingers brushing mine before I had a chance to pull away. My skin felt warm where his calloused fingers had met mine, and I fisted my hand.
“No, but the page you see here is the remains of the true book of truth,” Feras said.
My hand lingered on the text, my fingers drawn to it. An electric tingle shot up my arm, and I gasped.
“It knows you,” Kye said.
Lochlen grunted from behind me, the displeased rumble making some of the bound scrolls inside the chamber tremble.
“It’s a bloody piece of paper,” Lochlen mumbled.
“A powerful piece of paper,” Feras corrected. “Read the words.”
Kye let me step in front of him, and I peered down at the page, intensely aware of the man standing at my back, one of his hands resting on the table next to mine. The words blurred and then came together. I translated them soundlessly, my lips moving with the text.
In the year of the Dragon, a kingdom will be divided. Twins will be born to the sovereign. These male heirs will be greedy. They will seek power. They will war amongst themselves, and their kingdom will be split in two.
For one son, the years will not be kind. His kingdom within the forests will suffer. Trade will be sparse. Crops will falter. There will be famine and civil war. A dictator will rise from his heirs, all semblance of a monarchy erased. There will be persecution. The old magick will be condemned. All learning will be outlawed. Those born with power will be murdered.
For the other son, the years will be prosperous. His kingdom amidst the sea will bring him wealth, and will bring his people peace. Trade will flourish. The old magick will be esteemed.
A desert will form between the two nations. The kingdoms will be divided by barren, harsh land. But it will not stop the big war from coming. It will not stop a dictator from attempting to usurp power.
The Dragons will take to hiding in their mountains. The creatures of the forest will bide their time. For out of the ashes of devastation will arise a phoenix, an omen, a child born under the Harvest Moon. This child will be born of forbidden magick, born to bring two nations together.
To the prosperous kingdom, there will be born a son to the ruler. His magick will be borne of steel, strong. His life will be cursed with hardships. His power will make others greedy, murderous. He will be plagued with death.
The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .
The words trailed off. I lifted the page carefully, turning it, peering at the back, squinting in case there were words that had dulled with time, but there was nothing more.
“The phoenix of peace,” I re-read aloud, my eyes moving to the dragons before peering up at Kye. “This is a prophecy? And you believe the phoenix is me?”
“It is only words,” Lochlen complained.
Feras roared, the sound loud enough to startle. “It is truth.”
The rex looked threateningly at his son, and I felt Kye’s free arm snake cautiously around my waist. I shook my head, and his arm loosened but didn’t move.
“The books,” Kye warned, and I spied the smoke that curled even now from Feras’ nostrils.
The rex froze, snorting more smoke as he calmed himself.
Lochlen was sitting up, his reptilian eyes flashing. “I do not believe in soothsayers,” he gritted out, his gaze locked on his father.
Feras’ nose continued to billow small wisps of grey.
“It is a prediction that, up until now, has come to fruition. A scribe died for these words. Do you deny that, Son?”
I stared at them both. A scribe?
“Are you saying a scribe had clairvoyant powers?”
My question fell on deaf, angry ears. Lochlen’s head lifted, his body looming over his father’s, and the two dragons began to circle each other, their eyes flashing.
“I don’t deny the prophecy seems to be true, but to rely so heavily on its outcome is foolish,” Lochlen argued.
Lochlen’s intent was clear, his words piercing my chest like a dagger. The outcome was me. Relying on me, on the belief that I was the One, was foolish. By the way Feras glanced at me, I knew he disagreed.
“She’s the
one,” Feras said confidently.
I wanted to believe the rex, but even as painful as it was, I silently agreed with Lochlen. There was something comforting in knowing that someone other than me doubted my importance.
“You believe I’m this phoenix of peace?” I asked.
Again the question fell on deaf ears. Lochlen and Feras’ eyes were locked in a battle of wills I couldn’t translate. Tendrils of smoke lifted from both of their nostrils.
“It looks promising,” Lochlen admitted. “But don’t forget the end of the text, Father.”
The end of the document had trailed off, ended abruptly. The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .
Lochlen settled back, the submissive gesture enough to relieve the tension.
“We don’t know how it ends. We have no idea what she will bring.”
“It would not refer to her as the phoenix of peace if she were to bring only sorrow.”
Feras’ words were like a splash of cold water to the face. I had brought sorrow, much sorrow. Anyone who’d ever known me, who’d ever loved me, had died to protect me. No one was that important. Certainly not me.
“I want to kill King Raemon.”
The silence that followed my words spoke for itself.
“Way to calm the dragons,” Kye said, the words echoing in the chamber. “Nothing more reassuring than assassination.”
My statement was bold, but my anger was bolder. There was blood on Raemon’s hands. Innocent blood. The blood of people I loved, people who sacrificed themselves because they believed I could save them.
I looked up, my eyes sad. “I can’t save a kingdom. I can only kill a king.”
Kye’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Calm down, Drastona. The Book of Truth labels a girl with forbidden magic as a phoenix of peace. You may be her. There's even a chance you may not be, but either way, the decisions we make now will be profound.”
“And,” Lochlen added, his fight with his father forgotten, “even if you were to make it to the capital unrecognized, how would you make it to the king? Many of your people hate Raemon, but there are also many who support him. You would have to first break through his ring of power, and you won't find much support outside of the outlawed rebels living in the forest. Fear is often more powerful than hate. There would not be many who would help you.”
“But there are spies,” I argued, turning so that I faced Kye. “You infiltrated the king's soldiers, and you said there were others . . .”
Kye frowned. “I also said we are few.”
I looked away to the books over Kye's shoulders. The familiar scent, parchment and leather, infiltrated my nose. My calloused fingers twitched. There were images transposed over the cavern, shadowy memories of brown-robed men and women leaning over scarred wooden tables. Glass encased candles burned, some of them too dim to see much with as an older man with a long, trailing beard stopped occasionally among the robes to skim a finger down a page, sometimes nodding, other times frowning. Scribes. My scribes. Master Aedan. All gone now.
I closed my eyes, and the scene disappeared.
“Then how do we stop the king,” I asked.
I smelled smoke as a head lowered, a claw skimming my back carefully. Kye's hand was still on my shoulder, the pressure comfortable and uncomfortable, but he didn't seem inclined to remove it.
“Revolution,” Feras breathed, and when hot steam circled past my head, curling my already frizzy hair, I didn't move. The heat was nothing compared to the burn in my gut.
Revolution.
Chapter 16
“Take this.”
I looked up from the log where I sat to find Kye standing behind me holding what looked like an old, well-used bow. He didn't wait for me to reach for it. He leaned over instead, both of his arms going over my head as he rested it across my knees. I stared down at it.
We were in the forest again, having taken our leave of Feras. We'd exited back into the woods through the tree after having a very long and arduous conversation about guerilla warfare, about convincing a nation to give up its king. I'd looked closely at Feras, at his old, weary ruby eyes, and I'd reached out to touch him again, to touch his cool, dry scales
“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping my people?”
The old dragon's eyes had met mine, and I'd seen my reflection in his gaze. I'd looked wild, untamed. The image didn't match the inner me, the girl hiding beneath the skin, beneath the rebels' clothes and tangled hair. And then there had been fire surrounding me in the reflection. I wasn't sure if it was a trick of Feras' or if it was my own imagination, but there had been fire.
“Because by helping you, we are helping ourselves.”
It was all he'd said, and I had no choice but to accept that. For now.
The bow was heavy in my lap, and I stroked a finger down its side. Kye had removed his arms and was now kneeling next to me.
Beyond my log seat, green and brown-clad rebels clustered together in groups, some of them training, others talking. Some even laughed. There was the clash of metal against metal, and the occasional whir of an arrow speeding past. The trees were whispering amongst themselves, low murmurings I couldn't make out but only I could hear. Eyes stared at me from the foliage. I didn't have to see them to know it was the wolves.
“You should know the basic use of the sword and a bow. Using them will get easier with time, become natural, as you build muscle and experience. But we start with the basics.”
Kye's words brought my attention back to the man at my side, and I had to fight not to jump when he suddenly lifted my hand, one of his fingers tracing my palm. It caused a strange numb sensation in my head that traveled to my stomach, leaving it full of angry bubbles.
“It's good that your hands are not soft,” Kye said. I tried pulling away, the insult burning, but Kye held on. “It is a compliment here, having tough hands. Compared to most of us, yours are like satin. But time here will change that.”
I swallowed hard because I wasn't sure if the feeling in my stomach was nice or nauseous. I pulled away again, and this time Kye relinquished his hold, replacing my hand with the bow. He lifted it, keeping it above my lap, but close enough I could make out every detail. It was simple, made out of yew wood.
“This is a war bow,” Kye said. He took my hand again, and placed the bow in my palm, closing his fingers over mine on the wood. “Take this. It's yours now.”
He let go of my hand, and I gripped the bow, lifting it carefully with both hands. I stood and held it in front of me. It was long, reaching from the top of my head to my waist. I'd seen longer bows than this and knew Kye had chosen it because of my size.
“Have you ever shot one before?” Kye asked.
I turned to look at him. “It's a favorite pastime for ladies. I was required to learn along with my half sister.”
He nodded. “I figured as much. Is your aim good?”
I shrugged. “It's true.”
He seemed to give this some thought before stepping behind me.
“The bows ladies use are useless. The draw weight is low. The force behind it enough to land a close target, but not enough to cause a lot of damage. It's a game, nothing more. I'm sure you're aware women are not welcome in the Medeisian army.”
I nodded.
Kye let his arms fall on each side of me, his hands taking the bow before positioning it as if he intended to shoot even without the arrow. I let my hands drop to my sides.
“The draw weight on this bow is less than your body weight, but not by much. It can do a lot of harm close range and considerable damage long range, but it will be hard for you to pull at first. You'll need to practice often.”
Words didn't seem necessary, and I nodded again.
“Since I'm assuming you know how to string and shoot a bow, I won't insult you by teaching you how. Your job will be gaining the strength to use it. This bow is meant to kill.”
He lifted my hand with one of his and replaced it on the bow. He waited for me to grasp i
t before he released my hand entirely.
“And the sword?” he asked. “Do you have any experience with it?”
I shook my head. “None.”
He looked over my head at a group of young men and women feinting with wooden swords. A few used real weapons.
“You can train with me or the others,” he said.
I followed his gaze.
“I'd rather train with the others.”
There was a long stretch of silence.
“I'll talk to one of the women. It will be easier training with your own sex to begin with,” Kye said finally. There was no censure in his tone, nothing to suggest he was hurt by my decision to train with someone else.
There was silence again, and I watched the other rebels in the early morning light. We had passed the night in the cave, and I was tired. Kye still stood close enough, I could feel the heat of him against my back. He smelled like pine needles and wood smoke.
“Do you think I'm the One?” I asked him suddenly, my voice low.
If I caught him off guard, he didn't let it show. His voice was calm when he answered.
“If I thought you weren't, I would have done more to save your maid.”
The pain I felt in that moment made me close my eyes. In my mind's eye, I was in the prison wagon again, the dark eyes of a soldier peering in at me, eerie, cold. Only days to the Ardus, he'd told me. It had been a ruse to convince me to escape. It'd worked because I'd refused to die. I wouldn't give Raemon the satisfaction.
“You are right to question yourself and the Book of Truth. Too much confidence leads to death, and a soothsayer's words are always subject to change,” Kye said.
Kye had moved closer. I could feel the fabric of his tunic rubbing against mine. I wanted to step away but didn't. He'd reminded me of Aigneis, of his part in her death.
“Even if you are not her, you can become a leader, Stone. You can give people hope,” Kye added.
I cringed. “Not Stone. Do not call me Stone.”
I was Stone only to the people I cared about.