by May Sage
She opened her mouth, and closed it. Her goal until then had been attempting to stay alive while fighting dragonesses, but the king spoke of her winning?
Did that mean he wanted her to?
Wishing to calm her nerves, she snuck into the eastern wing of the palace the next day, tracking the noble women to their training grounds, only to freak herself out when she saw what they were capable of. She wasn’t just outmuscled, they had moves she’d never even read about, let alone seen in person.
“Chill,” Vincent told her, appearing by her side out of nowhere. “You’re going to be just fine.”
“Vincent, they’re dragons. As in real dragons. The kind that have scales and can breathe fire. What if one of them shifts in the middle of a bout and sneezes on me? I’ll be toast.” She wanted it to sound light, because she didn’t want to offend her friends, but hell, it was seriously scary.
Vincent shook his head in response, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Two things: first up, they’re not going to shift in the middle of battle. It’s bad form and they’d be vulnerable for close to a minute while they were shifting. You can knock that off your worry list. Secondly, you already faced the fiercest amongst them, and won. You ain’t all that puny, you know.”
Xandrie punched him, playfully, on the arm. It was great that he could make her laugh at herself.
“That being said,” he added when she was almost reassured, “Saskia did underestimate you—she didn’t use the extent of her skills because, not unlike Demelza, she isn’t one to want to humiliate her opponents. She won’t do it again. You’ll need more training, more endurance, and more understanding of dragon magic, so that you may use your strengths adequately.”
Xandrie nodded, determined to do whatever it took to keep her head on her shoulders.
“You’re going to trail me for the month. Everywhere I go, you go, and you fight alongside me.”
“But,” Xandrie was frowning, “aren’t you one of the king’s personal guards?”
She knew he’d been allotted two hours a day to train Demelza, but giving Xandrie all his attention would surely call him away from his duties.
Vincent laughed. “Trust me when I say the king won’t be an issue.”
Old Tales
The man had avoided him skillfully for close to a week, and Rhey had let him, at first, too busy to chase him around the city, but on the sixth day after The Claiming, Nathos came to him, armed with a dozen old manuscripts.
“I had to hunt these down,” he informed Rhey in the guise of a greeting, dropping the books on his tidy desk.
Then his advisor took a seat behind his desk and started to tap his fingers on the wooden armrest, visibly anxious.
Rhey let him take his time.
“So.”
“So,” the king echoed, wondering if the usually collected Elder had sniffed pixie dust.
“Revealing what I’m about to say goes against the king’s order, as well as my personal vow to my own father.”
Rhey didn’t bother pointing out the obvious—he was the only king of their people. He knew their nature didn’t allow them to carelessly renounce a vow, even when those they’d sworn to were gone—Nathos could have meant any king he’d lived to see; Rhey’s father, or Demelza’s grandfather.
“I order you to speak.”
There was no heat behind his words; he was just allowing Nathos to say what he needed to without feeling like he shouldn’t.
“I was born nine hundred and ninetytwo years ago—just after the Rift. You see this city and call it a jewel; I see pain, and suffering. I recall a time when it was a pretty hill; when we had nothing, and we camped. The men—and the boys, as soon as they were old enough—hunted; not only for food, but because they also had to keep the vermin at bay. These lands belonged to those who had no place elsewhere; orcs, goblins, and worse. The children, the women, everyone, gathered wood, stones, and whatever we could put our hands on. I was born in a tent—by the time I was twenty, we had rooves above our heads to shelter us from the rain.”
Rhey did feel rather foolish for always thinking that the old man took him for a youth; right now, he’d made him realize that was exactly what it was.
“Those days, talk of riders wasn’t outlawed. On the contrary, we lived for the tales of our glorious times—we spoke of our great deeds around campfires and whispered all those stories to children before bed. My own mother had a rider—a human woman, not unlike your Xandrie. I’ll tell you more about her in a moment. I grew up thinking that one day, if I was just strong and brave enough, I could very well find my own rider.”
That made no sense, so he admitted, “I don’t think I understand.”
Nathos smiled kindly, shaking his head.
“You wouldn’t, you weren’t told. The dragons inside us are darkness—Shadow—and we, their human counterparts, are Aether. We balance each other out. rider is just a common term for other beings who have been blessed by Aether, or Shadow. Together, our races were so powerful the rest of the world didn’t even need to consider whether they needed to bow before us. They knelt. Our ruling family has always been attached to Aether-Riders, so we were good, merciful rulers. But there always were others, those who wished for war. The Rift was their doing, and so is what occurred after.”
The smile was gone—Nathos looked out the window, but, to Rhey, it seemed like he was seeing a completely different world.
“There was a man, not much older than me, who left our town, for days sometimes, just like Demelza did. None of us were worried—we aren’t what anyone could call a weak race, and amongst us, he was one of the strongest.”
“He found his rider,” Rhey guessed; his advisor nodded in response.
“He did; an elf born to bitterness and malevolence. They’d bonded, and he convinced Marek that what we had built wasn’t enough—that dragons could claim their own kingdom; steal it from the claws of a weaker race.”
“Marek. I know this name.”
He’d heard it time and time again.
“He went to form Absolia, taking those who would follow with him. What the history books wouldn’t have told you is that he also destroyed everything on his way until he’d found a kingdom he thought worthy. They also don’t tell you that half of our kind went with him, giving into their shadows and breaking up family bonds. After that, the nobles voted that those who didn’t already have their riders shouldn’t seek them. We stopped speaking of them because, while it’s easy to recall all the good, the riders we find can be evil, too.”
Rhey thought of Xandrie, and suddenly understood the Elders.
He attempted to see past his attraction to her and wondered if she could possibly be ruled by darkness; but all he saw was her smile.
“Alexandria is Aether-born, my king,” Nathos told him, and Rhey released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “It’s easy enough to see. Anyone with high elemental magic possesses both forces, Aether and Shadow. While making use of one, they retain the other. That means that…”
“She pushes golden magics out, and there’s some dark mist surrounding her when she does it because she retains Shadow.”
“Precisely. Shadow mages retain Aether. When she first arrived, we knew nothing of her, but we’ve observed her since. She hasn’t used much magic but, each time she does, she does it that way.”
Thank all heavens, as he didn’t think it would have mattered if Nathos had told him the exact opposite. Rhey was ridiculously attached to her—something he didn’t quite understand, but he felt the pull down to his soul, down to his beast. With his next breath, Nathos somehow explained why.
“I’ve written these manuscripts over the years—they contain the tales of my childhood, and you’ll read plenty about riders, as I was quite fascinated with them for a time. But I’ll answer your main questions now. riders, as far as I know, always form a bond akin to a familial tie—a brotherly bond—with their dragons. Often, they’re of the same sex. But riders do pair with dragon
s; always have. The instant they form a bond linking them to our race, one dragon feels drawn to them, and every single time, they form a bond. And their children are the most powerful of us all. I’m born of a rider; my father. You’re born of one, too. Your mother was my mother’s rider.”
“No way, my mother lived hundreds of years, she couldn’t have been human…”
He’d lost her when he’d been forty, but she hadn’t aged a day, like the rest of their race.
“She was a rider, my king. They’re blessed with the gift of longevity, like their dragons.”
Again, his thoughts went back to Xandrie.
“Back in the day, our races were completely mixed with the rest of the world, thanks to our riders, and women rarely died in childbirth. As the time has passed, and our blood has dwindled, our children have become weaker. With each generation, things get worse. The rest of the Councilmen and I have talked about bringing up the subject for decades; telling you about riders. But we were bound by an oath. I’ll admit that a part of me was relieved when I saw you landing in front of the castle with a human on your back. Change was bound to happen. Alexandria was bound to come to us.”
His chest hurt, and the dragon inside him wanted to burst out, because he had a right to feel the cravings, the need to be closer, and to know more about a stranger—something that had been driving him mad.
Then, he laughed humorlessly.
“Too fucking bad you had to call for a bloody Claiming, then.”
Nathos smirked.
“Yeah, my bad. That’s still going to be fun to watch, though.”
“Dick.”
“Are you taking a break?”
No, she wasn’t. She was just pretty slow at doing her two hundred and twenty first push-up.
“I think I hate you. In fact, I know I do.”
He just laughed. “Come on, gal. Twenty-nine to go. We haven’t got all day.”
Vincent hadn’t been kidding when he said he was going to push her to her limits. He had her doing squats, thrusts, free weights, and jump-rope five hours a day, at first, then he started to give her various weapon training, and, on top of it all, she followed him throughout his day.
The first time, she’d felt shy, inadequate, and exposed. Literally exposed; she wore one of those sets of armor which didn’t make a bit of sense—metal barely covering her skin.
“You know my heart isn’t covered, right? Nor my stomach, nor my neck. It basically is a sex kitten stripper-outfit more than armor.”
Vincent just smiled.
“Seriously.”
“Stand there for a minute.”
She obeyed, tapping her foot as her trainer walked a few feet back. Then, without any warning, he pointed his hand toward her and a long, violent, molten jet of fire rushed at her.
Fear. She knew fear now. This would manage where the weapons of her people had failed—this could kill her, she felt it in her bones. She was confused and hurt that a man she’d seen as a friend would do this to her, but she didn’t exactly have the time to ponder upon it. Instead, Xandrie did the only thing she could do—she turned to run.
Not in time. The dragonfire reached her… and hit a wall, bouncing from it.
She stayed still for an instant, and then, yelled as loud as her lungs would let her as she launched herself as Vincent, kicking and screaming.
The damn idiot was just laughing.
Asshole.
“Alright, alright, calm down. I just wanted to show you my point. This metal you’re wearing? All of us have some when we go to battle. It’s called maille. It’s best to have it in direct contact with our skin, but some are stupid and just have it on a shield. It’s not meant to stop an arrow or a blade—those have never been our issues. They’re made by our mages, and their one function is to stop dragonfire.”
Okay, so maybe, just maybe, that part made sense.
She was too pissed to want to speak to him—because he could just have said so, rather than frighten her within an inch of her life—however, she couldn’t help but grumble, “That doesn’t explain why it’s basically covering as little as possible.”
She hadn’t heard or seen him coming, but it was the voice of the king who replied, “I can explain that easily enough.”
She turned to find Rhey Vasili walking towards her, smiling in a way that made her stupid little heart bounce in her chest.
“This armor is crafted this way because they were made by men. We tend to be partial to this kind of display.” His piercing eyes scrutinized her from the tip of her toes to her shoulders, and he looked directly into her damn soul as he told her, “It suits you.”
Then, as though he hadn’t just effortlessly made her swoon, he turned to Vincent. “We’ve delayed the hunt overmuch already. Is she ready?”
“You want to bring her to a hunt? No. No way, no how.”
Well, that was offensive. Her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, she interjected, “What’s a hunt and why can’t I go? I’m supposed to stay with you.”
“You’re supposed to stay alive—and you remember how you freaked out when I just threw you a tiny fireball? That’s why you can’t come.”
Ouch. That hurt.
“Enough, Vincent,” the king said. Then, he took a step towards her, his height easily topping hers. “A hunt is just a way to say that the king is accompanying his Knights, Guards, and Warriors on a patrol mission. We call it such because everything seems to happen when we monarchs show our faces—those we want off our lands take it as a challenge. There will be a lot of violence, a lot of fights, and it will be dangerous, but you’ll also learn more than Vincent can teach you within the safety of these walls. If you’re ready, I’ll have you accompany us.”
Wow. That was a pretty big thing, apparently. But he was asking her, directly, and despite her friend’s disagreement. He was trusting her. She gulped, “I’d like to go.”
“Good,” he replied, giving her a full-blown smile. “Demelza will accompany us, and you will stay between her and me—Vincent will be right behind us, along with a dozen Guards, and a hundred Knights and two hundred Warriors. It won’t be safe, but you’ll live.”
He said it like there was no other alternative and she found herself trusting his word. She’d live. Good.
“Bring Laria with you.”
“Oh, I meant to give it back to you,” she said, blushing because she had meant to, but she was also dreading it; she couldn’t explain it, but she loved that damn sword like no other possession she’d ever had, all the while knowing it wasn’t hers to keep.
Probably because she’d never owned very much, except some clothes. She wore her necklace, but it wasn’t expensive, nor precious; she’d found a pretty blue stone one day, and she’d managed to make it into a pendant with some metal strings and a bit of leather.
Yet, Demelza’s very fine weapons, her impressive and clearly expensive jewelry, didn’t make her feel anything; the sword was another matter.
It was a great relief when Rhey said, “A king doesn’t take back what has been given, Alexandria.”
She loved her name on his tongue.
He walked away, showing off that fine ass of his again.
“We leave at dawn. Catch some rest, and get ready—both of you. We may be gone for days.”
She had no clue what made her do it. Could she plead insanity?
“Wait.”
How fucking embarrassing, but it was too late, because he did, in fact, wait.
Her hands were shaking a little when she dropped her cheap necklace in his palm.
“As a peasant, there is nothing I could give a king that a king may want to possess, but you offered something of great value to me, so here we are. A gift for a gift.”
She would have sworn that the king’s eyes flashed gold, although they were usually grey. Then, he laughed. He actually laughed at her. She was blushing with shame, but he chased it away immediately.
“The first gift I’ve received since I was a boy. I thank y
ou. I shall treasure it.”
And to her absolute fucking shock, he then put it around his neck and under his shirt, before finally leaving the room.
“I may barf,” Vincent said.
“Oh shush. I’m still mad at you.”
Then, because she couldn’t make sense of just about anything that had just happened, she asked, “Do you think he liked it?”
“I think he likes you. You couldn’t be more wrong, Xandrie Astria of the Northern Var. There’s one thing you could give the king that he greatly desires.”
She lifted a brow, and Vincent smirked. “Win The Claiming.”
Night
So, possibly, maybe, in theory, the king favored her. That didn’t make much sense, but men weren’t required to make sense, so the point was moot. What mattered was, what could she do with that new, shocking piece of information?
And there was only one answer to that—Vincent had called it. Might as well admit it, at least to herself—she liked him, too, so she had to win The Claiming, or try her damnedest, in any case.
Dragon’s scales, how on Eartia was she supposed to do that, exactly?
Needless to say, she didn’t sleep at all that night; after hours of staying in bed, attempting to doze off, she gave up and just walked out of the room and into the inner gardens, dragging a long shawl over her shoulders. Two minutes out, she regretted her choice, wishing she’d picked her damn comforter instead. The morning breeze was freezing.
“Just so you know, that nightdress is practically transparent and I can see your nipples.”
Oh holiest of shits.
She hadn’t noticed him in the dark, but turning her head towards his voice, she saw his shifter eyes blazing. Rhey was sitting in an alcove, his feet propped up on the wall, a book in hand.
She’d always seen him in grand, official clothing, but now he wore nothing but a plain vest and some brown pants. Probably what he slept in. Was she blushing? Yeah, she was totally blushing.