Duality

by Renee Wildes

“Thou speaks afore thinking. That is the trait of a fool.”

  Her hand lashed out. He parried her blow, capturing her hand in an unbreakable grip. They stood that way for long moments. Cedric’s eyes were unfathomable. “Thou reacts instead of acts.”

  Dara jerked away. “So, what will you do with me? To the dungeon with bread and water? Without bread and water? Throw me from the highest watchtower? Drag me behind a fast horse by my ankles?”

  “Wash thy mouth out with vinegar, put thee over my knee for a solid whipping and send thee to thy room without any supper like the insolent youngling thou art.” Cedric stated it so levelly Dara believed him.

  She drew herself up, trying to focus through the red haze. She didn’t know where all this fury was coming from. Just one more thing… She had to get away afore she snapped. “If you’ll excuse me…” She stalked off to her rooms. Inside, she threw herself on the bed. “I defend myself and I’m the one sent to my room?”

  A fist hit the other side of the adjoining door. Dara leaped off the bed as Loren marched in without awaiting an invitation. “What in the seven goblin hells were you thinking?” He grabbed her arms. “You attacked Alani? She said she was walking through the hall looking at the family portraits when you attacked her. She did not lie.”

  Dara’s temples throbbed. “Nay, she just left out the critical middle part when she struck first. If you can’t tell truth from lie then Goddess help you.”

  “A skilled warrior such as you must know better than to pick a fight with civilians.”

  Rage built all out of proportion to the situation, but she couldn’t help herself. It was like watching someone else in a dream. “I didn’t start it.” Dara thumped him on the chest.

  “No, you would not.” He took a deep breath. “Dara, step back and look at yourself. This is not you. You are a guardian. You would protect people—unarmed civilians—and no amount of insults or lies should have provoked this.”

  Dara stepped back, vibrating with rage. She almost choked on the burning acid of it. “You’re one to speak of lies. How long have you known about the whole elf-prince fact, Your Highness?” she spat.

  “And how does that come up in casual conversation?” he challenged. “You need to calm down and start thinking, instead of just reacting.”

  “You’re as bad as your father!”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.” He moved toward her.

  “Don’t touch me.” The torque burned so hot Dara was certain her skin blistered beneath the metal. She wasn’t sure she could control it if he touched her. Her hands curled into claws. She tried to relax them, tried to take a deep calming breath. She shook with the effort.

  And still he came toward her, arms outstretched. “You shall not hurt me. I am unarmed; I am not here to hurt you. That is not your way, guardian. I trust you. Now you need to trust yourself. You are stronger than they are. Come back to me. Come back to yourself.”

  What did he know of dragons, calm, condescending elf? This was his fault. She’d been perfectly happy being a human nobody. Well, less miserable. Then he had to show up and ruin everything. Prince of truth and lies. She growled and backed away from his reach.

  “Alani is naught to me. That was Father’s dream. Never mine. The two of you need to keep your distance. You can stay in here tonight. I shall bring supper later. We need to talk. Later, when you have calmed down.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Now, Father and I have to go talk to Raun. Thanks to you, a civil war brews under our own roof.”

  He turned and retreated toward his own doorway.

  “Idiot! Coward!” Dara raged at Loren’s retreating back. Calm down? She’d take his bloody elven calm and shove it up his oh-so-superior princely backside. She flung the water pitcher at the slamming door and it shattered against the wood. The bowl followed. She stormed around the tower, overturning and smashing and tearing whatever crossed her path. She couldn’t believe what she was doing, but couldn’t stop. It was as if her body was no longer hers.

  The blood torque crackled with black fire. Her fury was a living beast, a half-broken colt straining to break free. It pushed and pulled and writhed, heavy and molten. She barely saw through the red haze. “How dare you?” Something snapped within her. Her soul shattered as, with a roar, the demon burst free. A flash of light, a clap like thunder, and the curtains burst into flames.

  Dara swayed and fell to her knees, dimly aware of her surroundings. There was only the fire of rage…fire…fire! She struggled to rise, cursing the weakness of a week-old kitten. Lady Goddess, she’d set the palace on fire. What had she thrown that was flammable? She couldn’t remember.

  Where was water? The puddle by the door—she’d tossed and broken the once-full water pitcher. Dara looked wildly about her. No water, but there was a horrifying amount of fabric in this chamber. Her insides churned. She’d go mad from the burning pain, and she retched and fell to her hands and knees. “Help. Somebody help me…”

  Another presence entered in the room. Cooling mists enveloped the flames and smothered them. “Be thou still and at peace, Flame of Androcles,” Lorelei’s voice commanded. Hands touched her, and the pain vanished. The torque resisted, but Dara was no match for an opposing sorceress at full strength. Dara looked up into compassionate Loren-green eyes and burst into tears.

  Lorelei pulled her close and let Dara cry herself out. When the sobbing reduced to an occasional hiccup, the older woman produced a dainty white linen handkerchief. “There now, that is more like it. Thou art exhausted. Dost thou wish to discuss it, or wouldst thou rather give my bullheaded peacock of a grandson a good swift kick in the teeth?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I felt the flash of power and came running. I canst still run quite fast.” Lorelei grinned. “For an old granna.”

  Dara found herself returning a shaky smile. Then she looked around the room and her eyes widened at the general devastation. The curtains sullenly steamed in the corner window seat and the pungent odor of smoke hovered in the air. A feeling of spent violence still lingered. “What have I done?”

  “Oh, pfft.” Lorelei waved her hands in the air, the very picture of unconcern as she conjured up a full tea set. “Come. Sit.”

  Dara obeyed, her eyes round with wonder, more at Lorelei’s nonchalance than the actual act of conjuring itself. To make something so magical seem…everyday…astonished her. Truly the elves were the greatest of the races. She was but a tempestuous child aside them.

  The voices raised their indignation.

  Lorelei hesitated. “Thy tantrums require energy. Thou shalt need to replace it. Eat.”

  Dara sagged. Now the surge had worn off, she was exhausted and shaking. She reached for a roll spread with tasi root.

  Looking lost in thought, Lorelei sipped her tea.

  Dara’s own eyes swept the shambles of the bower. Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll clean up the mess, my lady. I swear it.” She wasn’t sure how she’d replace everything. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper and…”

  “Everyone has a temper. From what I hear, thou wast provoked. I know the feeling well enough.”

  Dara recalled the rain cloud pouring over Pari’s head. She shook her head, haunted by the memory of fierce rage and an almost unholy glee at the wanton destruction. “Not like mine. It’s always been a problem, but now with them,” she touched the torque, “it’s a thousand times worse. As soon as my control weakens or slips… Well, you’ve seen it.” She indicated the damage.

  “Any fires afore today?” Lorelei’s question was casual, but her eyes were intent as she awaited Dara’s response.

  “Nay.” Dara frowned in confusion, trying to think.

  Lorelei nodded. “This palace was built on earth and fire, volcanic rock, ages old and dormant, but never dead. Thy natural dragon’s blood is too dilute to manifest itself in the ordinary mortal world, but that dose of undiluted dragon’s blood in prison, coupled with the blood torque in a realm rich with magic of all five elements, hast change
d thee.”

  Dara gulped. Her hands shook, and tea sloshed over the rim of her cup into the saucer.

  “It is unheard-of for an untrained talent to be able to draw on raw power; fire is quick to turn on pretentious amateurs. But in thy case, the fire within fueled the fires without. Thou needs learn control afore thou destroy thyself and all about thee. The very nature of fire-powered magic be chaotic, lending itself far more to destruction than order. Easily summoned by strong dark emotions—jealousy, possessiveness, anger, hate, rage—it is difficult to control and harder to banish. It burns its wielder in the very flames of the power summoned. Natural, for a dragon, but usually fatal for a mortal human.”

  “We protect thee,” the voices assured her.

  “Thou needs learn control,” Lorelei said. “We hath mages to help teach, and I canst supervise any further mishaps.” She paused for a moment. “There is another gift Mystria left behind. A book of spells on the Isle of Mysts. The book teaches thee the spells and torque gives thee the power to use them and make them become reality.” The dowager queen looked her in the eye. “If thou wouldst defeat the abyss and Jalad, thou shalt need this.”

  Dara stared back. “Real spell-magic?”

  “This goes beyond healing. I speak of true sorcery. Fire magic used to purpose.” Lorelei frowned. “Pari knows the way and the passwords. The path is dangerous, through the Shadowlands. It is a true quest. Wilt thou go?”

  Elation swept through her. “Aye. I’ll go.”

  Lorelei stood. “Come in, lad. I was just leaving.”

  Loren entered the room and looked around as his grandmother left and shut the door behind her. “I love what you have done with the ‘early cyclone’ theme.”

  Dara was too tired to react. “I’m going away.”

  “I heard. You shall not go alone. I go with you.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I’m too dangerous.”

  He pulled her into his arms, cradled her head against his heart. “You would never hurt me, or anyone else you care about. Of that I am certain. You ransacked a room, a one-riever army. That is all.”

  Strange how soothing his heartbeat was, how it banished despair.

  “You are not alone, Dara. We started this together. We finish this together.”

  “Stubborn elf,” she muttered.

  “Best you remember that.” He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “It would save a great deal of difficulty if you would just accept that one simple fact. Face it, woman. After hoards of trolls and goblins—and one upcoming demon—a temperamental dragon just is not all that intimidating.”

  She growled.

  He laughed. “Look at me.”

  She did, only to get ensnared by those eyes. He was the dangerous one. Dangerous to her heart. When he dipped his head to capture her mouth in a kiss, she moaned and burrowed closer.

  “We were meant to be together,” Loren whispered against her lips. “Better we fight others, together, than each other.”

  How could he be so sure? Dara was tired of fighting, tired of thinking. She just wanted to feel, to have the magic of Loren’s kisses sweep away all else. She clung to him, teasing his lips with her tongue, sliding her hands beneath his tunic. Hard muscle under hot skin, heart pounding beneath her fingertips. He pulled her back, down onto what remained of her bed, rolling her beneath him. She gasped at the foreign, thrilling sensation of his weight pinning her to the mattress. His hand stroked up her side, barely brushing her breast. Teasing.

  Heat. Yearning. She arched up, legs tangled with his. Frustration made her want to scream.

  “Easy,” he soothed, raining a trail of fiery kisses down the side of her neck as he curled his hand around her breast, stroking his thumb over her aching nipple. Afore she’d time to react to that, he’d lowered his head to take her nipple in his mouth, right through the material. The hot suction of his mouth sent a dart of need straight to her womb.

  “Loren!” She twisted in his arms. Wanting more. Needing more. The intimate stroke of his tongue drove her mad. Liquid heat pooled betwixt her thighs. He slid his hand into her hose, his fingers caressing the skin of her legs. Closer… Her eyes snapped open, staring up into his flushed face. She burned, on fire, alive with a need she couldn’t name.

  His eyes glittered down at her, dark with passion. Smokey, like jade. “I know, elingrena. I know what you need. Trust me. Give yourself to me. I am yours. You are mine.” His mouth captured hers in a carnal kiss of absolute possession, as his hand slid betwixt her legs, fingers stroking softly over swollen, passion-slick folds.

  Dara stiffened with shock at his audacity—for about a second. Then she sank into a storm of pleasure. Whatever he was doing built her need to a desperate edge. She moved on his hand, sure she’d die if he continued. She’d die if he stopped. She’d kill him if he stopped. He moved to her breast again, drawing strongly, his tongue teasing the very tip of her nipple as his fingers circled a hidden bud of pure heat. She panted with need, arching into his mouth, his hand. Need coiled, tighter and tighter. The ache was excruciating. What was happening? Her body was no longer her own, but his.

  “Easy, elingrena,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse. “Trust me. Let go. I have you.”

  The explosion of pleasure took her by surprise. Her eyes flew open as she jerked in his arms. Waves of sensation rippled through her. Elation. Exhaustion. She gasped at the look of fierce satisfaction of his face, despite the fact he lay rigid aside her whilst she sank into a boneless puddle. “What did you do?”

  “Gave you pleasure. And answered a very important question.” He kissed her with long, drugging kisses. His hands soothed where moments earlier they’d aroused. “You trust me.”

  She did. She shouldn’t, but she did. She was just too exhausted to admit it right now. Her eyes fluttered shut. Later. She’d tell him later.

  “Rest, elingrena. You need to sleep.” He kissed her temple, tucked a pillow beneath her head and drew a coverlet over her. “We have a long journey ahead of us. It starts tomorrow. Together.”

  Together. Her mind drifted off on a cloud built of that one word.

  ***

  Dara could barely look at Loren the next morning. Every time he caught her eye, he’d smile, and her cheeks would flame. ’Twas a miracle she got through the packing. ’Twas amazing how quickly and efficiently the elves mobilized once they’d reached the decision to travel to the Isle of Mysts. It boded well for their return to aid Riverhead. Cedric and Lord Elio selected who would go—Dara, Loren, Lord Elio, Cianan and Pari, along with a half-dozen rangers briefed by Cianan. Supplies were packed by first light.

  Everything went smoothly until Dara had to find a mount. Because of her draconian nature, she now knew why no ordinary horse would let her near it. As the war steed herd was sentient and able to reason things out for themselves, the elven royals assumed there would at least be a small handful of volunteers.

  Apparently they’d assumed wrong.

  “Shall not one of you help us?” Loren’s voice rang out across the field. “She cannot walk to the Isle of Myst. What we go to do affects all creatures of this free world. Shall not one of you help her?”

  The young stallions shifted. Behind them, the mares whickered amongst themselves. “Dragons eat horses.”

  “Not onesss we know.”

  Clad in the squire’s armor of Loren’s youth, Dara yanked away from Loren’s restraining hands. “Release me. I would answer them.”

  He bowed and stepped back.

  Dara’s eyes locked with those of the stallion at the head of the standoff. “That charge is true. So, which am I? Am I dragon, come to devour and destroy, or am I mortal and fellow prey? You do well to wonder, for that is the question I now face every day.” She fingered the torque around her neck. The blood stirred, but she forced it to be still.

  “And what is your answer?” a deep voice called from the rear of the herd. Mares and stallions parted and up the opened pathway strod
e perfection incarnate. Gleaming white, with a broad chest and deep girth, he stood a little taller than the rest, with more muscle and bone and presence to spare.

  “Which am I, dragon or woman? Destroyer or savior? I am Dara Kahn Androcles, the daughter of queens of dragons that were, born to mortal men who are, here and now.” Dara’s voice rang out in the clear air of the early morning.

  “I am both, my lord, with all the strengths and weaknesses and conflict my blood must bear. I must now conquer my very nature every day of my life, and by finding a balance within myself may I find the balance for us all.”

  “Stand easy, daughter of queens.” The stallion strode forward. “I carry you myself, as far as you need go.”

  She placed one hand on his muzzle, the other on his neck, under his mane. “I name you Gloreriell, for by ‘Flamebearer’ will history remember you.”

  “‘Flamebearer’ shalt I be. My life is yours, ’til journey’s end.”

  The group prepared to depart within the hour. To Dara’s surprise, Deane came from the palace in full ceremonial battle gear. When Loren raised an eyebrow, his older brother scowled. “The king should have battle experience. I have studied. We are going through the Shadowlands.”

  Cianan snorted. “This is no classroom exercise. The Shadowlands mean real goblins. Real fighting. Real blood.”

  Deane turned to Pari. “Are we free to choose?”

  Pari nodded.

  “Then I choose to go.”

  He intended to become a hero, Dara realized. He still sought to compete with his brother, in a contest that was not a fair one. Loren had actual field experience; Deane fenced with men who let him win. The difference was a dangerous one. She looked to Lord Elio.

  He nodded back. “Cianan, get him some proper armor.”

  Deane looked down at his breastplate. “What is wrong with my armor?”

  “You look like a beacon,” Dara snapped. “Might as well paint a target on your chest and be done with it.”

  “Less shine, more substance,” Lord Elio agreed. “Come, my lord. Go with Cianan. He knows what warriors wear.”