by Morgan Rice
Kyra stood at the window of her chamber watching dawn break over the countryside with a sense of anticipation and dread. She had spent a long night plagued by nightmares, tossing and turning after overhearing her father’s conversation. She could still hear the words ringing in her head:
Does she not have a right to know who she is?
All night long she had dreamt of a woman with an obscured face, wearing a veil, a woman she felt certain was her mother. She reached for her, again and again, only to wake grasping at the bed, at nothing.
Kyra no longer knew what was real and what was a dream, what was a truth and what was a lie. How many secrets had they been keeping from her? What couldn’t they tell her?
Kyra finally woke at dawn, clutching her cheek, still stinging from the wound, and she wondered about her mother. All of her life she had been told that her mother had died in childbirth, and she had no reason to believe otherwise. Kyra felt she did not really resemble anyone in her family or in this fort, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that everyone had always looked at her a bit differently, as if she didn’t quite belong here. But she had never imagined that there was anything to it, that her father had been lying to her, keeping some secret from her. Was her mother still alive? Why did they have to hide it from her?
Kyra stood at the window, trembling inside, marveling at how her life had changed so drastically in the last day. She also felt a fire burning in her veins, running from her cheek to her shoulder and down to her wrist, and she knew she was not the same person she was. She could sense the warmth of the dragon coursing through her, pulsating inside her. She wondered what it all meant. Would she ever be the same person again?
Kyra looked down at the people below, hundreds hurrying to and fro so early, and she marveled at all the activity. Usually this time of day was quiet. But not now. The Lord’s Men were coming for them, like a brewing storm, and her people knew there would be retribution. The spirit in the air was different this time, too. Her people had always been quick to back down. But their spirit seemed to have hardened this time, and she was thrilled to see them preparing to fight. Scores of her father’s men were securing the earthen banks, doubling the guard at the gates, lowering the portcullis, taking positions on the ramparts, barring windows and digging ditches. Men selected and sharpened weapons, filled quivers with arrows, prepared horses, and assembled in the courtyard nervously. They were all preparing.
Kyra could hardly believe she was the catalyst for all this; she felt a sense of guilt and of pride all at once. Most of all, she felt dread. Her people, she knew, could not survive a direct attack by the Lord’s Men, whom, after all, had the Pandesian Empire behind them. They could put up a stand, but when Pandesia arrived with all its might, they would all surely die here.
“Glad to see you’re up,” came a cheerful voice.
Kyra spun, startled, as did Leo beside her, not realizing anyone else was awake in the fort this early, and she was relieved to see Anvin standing in the doorway, a grin on his face, joined by Vidar, Arthfael, and several more of her father’s men. As the group stood looking back at her, she could see they looked at her differently this time. There was something different in their eyes: respect. They no longer looked at her as if she were a young girl, an observer, but rather, as if she were one of them. An equal.
That look restored her heart, made her feel as if it had all been worth it. There was nothing she had ever wanted more than to gain the respect of these men.
“You’re better, then?” asked Vidar.
Kyra thought about that, and as she opened and closed her fists and stretched her arms, she realized she was, indeed, better—in fact, stronger than ever before. As she nodded back to them, she could see they also looked at her with something else: a touch of fear. As if she held some sort of power they did not know or trust.
“I feel reborn,” she replied.
Anvin grinned wide.
“Good,” he said. “You’re going to need it. We’ll need every hand we can get.”
She looked back, surprised and thrilled.
“Are you offering me a chance to fight with you?” she asked, her heart thumping. No news could be more thrilling to her.
Arthfael smiled and stepped forward, clasping her shoulder.
“Just don’t tell your father,” he said.
Leo stepped forward and licked these men’s hands and they all stroked his head.
“We have a little present for you,” Vidar said.
Kyra was surprised.
“A present?” she asked.
“Consider it a homecoming,” Arthfael said, “just a little something to help you forget that scratch on your cheek.”
He stepped aside, as did the others, and Kyra realized they were inviting her to follow. There was nothing she wanted more. She smiled back, joyful for the first time in as long as she could remember.
“Is that what it takes to be invited to join your lot?” she asked with a smile. “I had to kill five of the Lord’s Men?”
“Three,” Arthfael corrected. “As I recall, Leo here killed two of them.”
“Yes,” Anvin said. “And surviving an encounter with a dragon counts for something, too.”