Dragon Lover

by Karilyn Bentley

  As if in slow motion, Alviss’s bushy brows rose, eyes widening, the corners of his lips twitching. Like a cat with a mouse in his sight. She, of course, being the annoying mouse in the kitchen cupboard he finally caught.

  Aryana straightened, returning his you’re-caught look with a glare. She had faced scarier than Alviss. For instance that time…no, not then, how about…no, not that time either. Well, maybe nothing was scarier than Alviss, but she refused to be cowed.

  A hum carried through the crowd, the low drawl of gossip spreading like a disease. Curiosity and surprise fell like a heavy mantle upon her shoulders as the crowd shuffled around to stare. At her. Short stabs of panic ran straight into her belly as she became the focus of their attention.

  No need to fear. It wasn’t their closeness or even attention she feared. No, not at all. For the moment she still wore the title of High Priestess, which meant these were her subjects. Her people. She had nothing to fear. Self-talk failed to stop a burning pit from forming in her stomach or her limbs from shaking.

  She crossed her arms over her stomach as if to hold in the shivers. Annaliese stepped beside her, placing a hand on Ari’s shoulder, a show of solidarity. Thank the Goddess for her friend.

  Fafnir met her wide-eyed glare, stepped right between his father and her as if he possessed no fear.

  It will be all right.

  For you, maybe.

  One black brow rose at her words. She wanted to scream at him, to shout he was wrong, she was not his mate. But lying was never her strength and lying to oneself took a certain ignorance she lacked.

  No, it was best to face her problems head first. No denial.

  I hope…

  Alviss cleared his throat, slicing through Fafnir’s words, focusing all eyes on him. “Ah, you have finally come to your senses. Glad to know, glad to know. Come in and exact your vengeance.”

  He crooked his finger and transported Fafnir through the iron bars.

  And the crowd’s attention again riveted on the accused instead of the about-to-be-removed High Priestess. No one but Annaliese and the priestesses kept their attention on her. Praise the Goddess.

  Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she watched as Alviss positioned Fafnir, Balthor, Thoren, and Ella’s father opposite a stone column. Then two Council members dragged a protesting Fasolt to the column, chaining his wrists to the sides of the column so his arms hung to his sides, prohibiting movement.

  The wind howled louder, a welcoming wail, full of anger and malice. Fasolt continued to plead for forgiveness, his scarred, baldhead bleeding from where he slammed it against the rough stone. For a brief moment, a stab of pity shot through Aryana, pity for the waste of life, for the sentence of death.

  But justice must be served. And she must admit, Alviss was good at serving that justice cold, with no emotion.

  The old Draconi waved a hand at Fasolt, his lips forming words unheard but nonetheless powerful. Then he spoke aloud to the males standing beside him. “Cast a killing spell and send this traitor into oblivion. For justice must be served and we are her servants.” His hand sliced the air, a silent go-ahead for the death spells.

  As one the males spoke their spells, colored streaks of light shooting from their fingertips to slam into Fasolt’s chest. He screamed, high-pitched and ululating, a cry of an injured animal, the shards of sound dripping from the air to coat the onlookers with his pain.

  And then the scream stopped, silence cutting like a dagger through the crowd. One minute Fasolt hung from his shackles, limp and lifeless, the next he vanished, the empty chains clacking against the stone column with an echoing finality.

  Aryana shivered as the wind danced an angry jig across the tall grass. Did it make her a bad person to only feel relief instead of sorrow? And how was she to comfort his grieving parents when the Temple brought the first accusation against their son? Provided his parents grieved. The last time a Draconi was executed, his parents joined the crowd in condemning their son to death. Laws governing tranquility trumped blood.

  She tried to remember Fasolt’s parents when she banished him and drew a blank. Perhaps they were dead. Perhaps he was the last of his family and no comforting was necessary.

  Perhaps after Fafnir’s announcement she need not worry about comforting grieving parents and family.

  Only priestesses offered comfort. And she hung on to that designation with a fraying knot.

  One that continued to unravel by the second.

  Crossed arms failed to stop a chill from spreading outward from her shaking stomach. What would she do if she wasn’t a priestess?

  “Chain the next accused.” Alviss pointed at Latham, his voice booming over the howling wind. The same two Council members who chained Fasolt, grabbed Latham’s arms, dragging him to the column and fastening his wrists with the manacles.

  Unlike Fasolt, Latham did not utter a sound.

  “Who of you seeks retribution against this Watcher?”

  Several Draconi stepped to the fence and Alviss transported them into the circle. Ella’s father, though, stepped back, seemingly through the iron bars until he stood among the crowd. Aryana recognized several of the villagers from Tyne and Goleb standing opposite Latham.

  Where was Fafnir? He should be standing with the villagers. Instead, he stood against the fence as if trying to transport through it.

  Alviss noticed the same thing, pointing it out like a dark spot on a white gown. “Ragnor, you also have complaint against this Watcher. Come stand with the other accusers.”

  Fafnir straightened. “There are enough accusers to cast spells. Another is not necessary. Let me pass.”

  Alviss tilted his head, clearly asking Fafnir a question using mind-speak and receiving an answer in return. He shrugged, leaned on his cane and thump-shuffled until he stood with the other accusers.

  Facing the crowd, he spoke. “I will bring accusation against this Watcher for depriving me of my son, which caused my granddaughter to be raised by humans.” He waved a hand and Fafnir transported through the fence.

  Fafnir continued to stand where transported, as if transfixed by the scene before him, instead of coming to her. Why was she so bothered by his inaction?

  “Cast a killing spell and send this traitor into oblivion.” Alviss said. “For justice must be served and we are her servants.” Once again he sliced his hand through the air and once again colored streaks of killing spells sped toward the accused, striking Latham in the chest.

  The Watcher never screamed, never pled for mercy, and in an explosion of color he disappeared from life. Empty chains rattled against the stone column as the wind circled dirt into dancing columns of air.

  Another shiver struck Aryana and she clasped her arms tighter around her torso.

  Relief flooded her veins. She hoped with their deaths the village attacks would stop. Life would return to normal.

  For everyone else. For her, life was about to take a turn in a different direction.

  But would it be for the better? Or worse?

  “Can we leave?” Annaliese whispered. “This place gives me the chills.”

  Aryana looked at Alviss, expecting the old male to make an announcement to strip her of her title, but he huddled with the other Council members talking about who knows what. The crowd began to disperse, clearly not wanting to stay in this place longer than necessary. Good idea. If Alviss wanted her, he knew where to find her.

  “Let’s go. We need to discuss—oh!” Aryana started as a hand clasped her shoulder.

  “Sorry.” Fafnir rubbed his thumb across her shoulder and another chill shot through her, this one having nothing to do with the location. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s all right. We were just leaving.”

  “Would you like to take the noon meal with me?”

  Ari blinked, aware her fellow priestesses observed their interaction with more interest than a hungry dragon eyeing a herd of elk. “At the Temple?” Where everyone can see us?
<
br />   “How about someplace more—” He glanced at the priestesses huddled behind her. “—private?”

  Her heart tripped a thudding rhythm, her skin tingled a warning at the thought of being alone with Fafnir. Her mate.

  No, no, no. She should not feel all warm and tingly about catching some private time with him. She should be upset, mad even, at his appearance causing such a disruption in her life. Yet the anger failed to appear, only a consuming sense of unease over her future. She couldn’t very well be angry over him acting the way the Goddess in all Her wisdom designed him to act.

  Resentment, though, was a whole different matter.

  “Meet me in the Courtyard at noon and we’ll go someplace private.” Alone time coming up.

  No, no, no. She should not look forward to spending time with Fafnir. She should want all that resentment to build, to overwhelm her senses, to drive a wedge between their budding relationship.

  Instead she wanted to see what could happen between them, what life would be like with him as opposed to Temple service. Better or worse? How was her life to change?

  “I’ll be there.” He reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze, his palm warm against her chilled skin. Forever. The word continued to echo in her mind after he disappeared.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Love,” Aryana overheard one of the priestesses whisper to another, “I would surrender my position here in a snap if I found out I had a mate.”

  Ah, but that priestess lacked the allure of power, of wielding a magic far greater than what she had inherited. The choice between serving the Goddess and taking a mate should be easy, given without thought, an instinctual decision leading to a lasting love.

  But once she tasted a drop of the Goddess’s power, she wanted more. To give up that magic was akin to knowing her favorite treat lay behind a door, but being denied entrance. Over the years she came to rely on that power, that extra magical boost given only to the High Priestess, rely on it like a cloak gave warmth during the winter. What would she do without that power? Not to mention renouncing her childhood dream.

  You made that dream happen, a little voice inside her head pointed out. You are the High Priestess. Now you have a chance to make the other dream, the one you squelched for all these years, happen.

  Bloody little voice.

  But she couldn’t deny she had squelched the desire of having a mate to chase after the dream of being High Priestess.

  “We have much to discuss,” Annaliese spoke to the cluster of priestesses, the corners of her lips twitching as if she knew Ari’s inner thoughts, “before the noon hour. Come, let us go to the Temple meeting room.”

  The discussion with the priestesses. The relinquishing of her title, her power. Her identity.

  Aryana forced a smile, hoping it hid the expression of panic freezing her features, and made her appear at ease without hinting at the nausea roiling her gut. Appearances meant everything.

  “See you there.” Throwing herself into a transport, she crossed the distance to the Temple and arrived in the meeting room before everyone else.

  Located on the floor above the dining room, the meeting area spanned the entire length of the east wing. Glass windows overlooked the Courtyard and its main entrance. Mosaics of flying dragons danced across the chair-littered floor. Two chairs and a table stood at one end of the room facing the lines of chairs. She grasped the smooth wood of her chair and looked down the length of the room.

  Here was where new High Priestesses were announced, charities planned, Temple matters decided. Here was where years ago she gained her title, her status, her power. And here would be where she lost it. The first High Priestess in memory to renounce the position.

  A streak of anger danced through her, a lightning strike carving out a pit in her stomach. Her knuckles popped as the hard wood bit into her palms. How could she not feel upset over being forced to give up all this?

  How could she not resent Fafnir just a little?

  She sucked in a breath as a whisper of realization snuck past the ire. How could power seduce her into thinking it held more importance than her mate?

  Ari slipped the gold circlet off her head, turning it in her hands, her symbol of power. Pops sounded in quick succession as the priestesses appeared. In an instant, murmurings filled the room, a hum of voices saturating the large space with excitement. The scent of fresh air swirled around them, carried in from their time on the Hill. Nice to know the rotten smell of death remained behind. No place for that stench in the Temple.

  Annaliese placed a hand on Aryana’s arm, her touch eliciting a sense of peace. Clearly a spell. Not that Ari was complaining. Are you all right?

  Seriously? All right? It wasn’t like she skinned her knee and needed a simple spell to heal. She failed to stop the exasperation from creeping into her tone. What do you think?

  I think tough decisions are made with anguish and loss always hurts.

  Well, there you have it.

  You are making the correct decision.

  I’m making the only choice given me. It’s not a decision if there is no choice, now is it?

  Ragnor is your mate. To experience that bond, that love—

  To give up all I’ve worked for my entire life. It’s hard.

  A furrow appeared between Annaliese’s brows. Do you not care for him?

  Of course I care! I can’t help but care. Along with want and desire, neither of which she’d mention to her mate’s sister. Who wants to hear such things about their brother? I want him for a mate now that he’s returned, but this is all I’ve ever known or wanted to know.

  Annaliese patted Ari’s arm as her brow smoothed. In the end, you will want this decision.

  I hope you’re right.

  If she wasn’t…Ari shook off a chill and glanced one last time at the circlet, at the dancing dragons experiencing a sense of glee she lacked. A burning ball of fire took up residence in her gut, anxiety twisting in its depths, a glove spiked with barbs. The gold dragons on the circlet symbolized power, magic, the highest rank of a priestess.

  The ability to sacrifice one’s own desires for the good of the Draconi.

  The true test of one’s gifts.

  Swallowing, she raised her head, the movement stilling the hum of conversation as well as a shout. All eyes turned to her.

  Nausea pressed against the back of her throat and she swallowed. The High Priestess shall not, ever, throw up in the meeting room. Even when what she needed to say made her stomach roil in protest.

  Appearances were everything.

  The coolness of gold cut into her fingers as she white-knuckled the circlet. No more delaying the inevitable. A wave of warmth washed over her as she spoke the words that sealed her fate. “You all heard Fafnir, I mean, Ragnor’s announcement today. He spoke true. We are mates.” Shocked mumblings greeted her words, and she raised a hand for silence. Words bubbled at the back of her throat, wanting escape before her nerve failed. “You have probably also heard rumors that we were predicted to be mates by the old Seer when we were young. This is also true. We, though, chose to believe her prophesy did not apply to us. I felt drawn to the priestesshood and Ragnor felt drawn to other things. And then he disappeared, believed to be dead. That meant I no longer had a rumored or true mate and was free to accept the position of High Priestess. With his return, we realized the old Seer spoke true, we are mates. And as such, I can no longer hold the position of High Priestess. Or any priestess, for that matter. Therefore, I must—” Ari took a deep breath. She could say it. She must say it. No matter how badly it hurt. “I must renounce my position. I must step down and allow another to take my place.”

  Stunned silence reigned for a moment before the room exploded into chaos.

  “But a High Priestess must hold the position until death. No one steps down!”

  “Who can be in the running for a new High Priestess?”

  “Can the rules change so you don’t step down?”

  “What will you
do now?”

  Wasn’t that the question of the hour? And the one she had no answer for. None. What would she do when stripped of her title?

  Annaliese raised both hands. “Quiet!” Like her father, one word from her lips dropped with the finality of a shroud, hushing the questions, settling the priestesses back into their chairs. “The rules are not ours to change. They were made for a reason and they will stand. A renouncement of the title of High Priestess has never been done, but there is no rule against it. And even if there was, the rule that mated females cannot be priestesses must stand for obvious reasons. No mated male could stand for his female to couple with other males. Anyone who thinks they are able can be tested for the position, but the winner will be judged by a panel of senior priestesses. You know this. As far as what Aryana will do and when this will occur, I do not know. Aryana?”

  “I will step down when a new High Priestess has been found. I will help judge the contestants and seek the will of the Goddess on the matter. After that time, I do not know. What should I do?”

  This time, her question elicited thoughtful consideration. At least she hoped it was thoughtful consideration and not shocked minds grasping for an answer.

  Definitely shocked minds. The silence draped her skin in prickles and set a ball of writhing snakes twisting into her stomach.

  “All right then, think about it.” One of them was bound to come up with an answer she would like. Hopefully. “The tryouts will occur two days from now beginning at dawn. If you wish to be considered as a contender, please let Annaliese know by noon tomorrow. That is all. You are dismissed.”

  The females filed out, most offering her condolences or touches on her arm, small displays of support. Others stared, dropping their gazes when she noticed. When the room cleared, Annaliese pried Ari’s stiff fingers from the circlet and set it on the table.

  “Well, that went well, don’t you think?” Annaliese’s smile failed to reach her eyes.

  Ari shrugged. “Rather like a stumbling dragon.”

  “At least the dragon didn’t fall flat on his face.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”