Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  "It will not be enough," he warned. "Not unless you take the initiative. Do not let Dag Racho find you first. Otherwise, he will always believe you're hiding something."

  "I'm not," she repeated wearily, desperately trying to suppress her fear.

  "But he will not believe you. And he is the ruler of this land." The governor paused, as if waiting for her to change her mind. She almost did. He looked so kind, his expression so sad, that she was tempted despite all logic. But before she could make up her mind, he spun on his heel and left.

  * * *

  Natiya knew he watched her dance.

  She would have known he was there even if he hid himself in the back room and watched from one of the darkened alcoves. But he had not. Talned had walked him to the center front table, chatting up the new governor as much as he dared. But apparently the dragonhunter wasn't very talkative, for Talned soon slunk away. Monik had equally little success, for it seemed the man wasn't very hungry either. She served him a bitter dakla and watched him from the sidelines as he nursed his drink and kept his attention on the curtain. It was as if he knew Natiya stood right behind it, watching him.

  Perhaps he did. Perhaps he felt the same itch on his skin that she felt on hers. Perhaps her scent followed him, clinging to his clothing and hair, just as his scent tormented her. And perhaps her words, her attitude, her very image had rooted in his thoughts just as he stood like a large statue within hers. Indeed, she could barely think without bumping into him.

  Should she eat before work? The pokoti he'd brought her for breakfast still lingered on her tongue.

  Did she have enough money to pay rent and buy thread to fix her costume? He had nice clothing and lots of coins to buy food. What would it hurt if she allowed him to spend some of it on her?

  Was Dag Racho truly rounding up all the people connected with dragon lore? Or had that been said simply to frighten her, to gain power over her?

  And why did she like it that the governor made his interest in her so obvious? That he sat at the center table, clearly waiting for her? Why was she so illogical as to thrill at this tangible draw between them when she needed to keep quiet, remain hidden, disappear in darkness only to rise again with dragon fire? She could soon burn evil from the world, if only she remained hidden a little longer. A year, maybe two...

  She had no answer, and in truth, she discovered she did not need one. The feelings were real, her attraction nearly overwhelming. She knew the egg enhanced her hunger, wanting to experience these new sensations, these new feelings. So the why of her choices didn't matter. Only the what.

  What would she do now? Trust him with useless secrets—tell him the location of the clutch caves—in the hope of fooling Dag Racho that she gave over everything? Or say nothing, run from her attraction, and continue as if the governor had never spoken to her, never seen her, never tempted her with his words? What would she do?

  She would dance.

  That's all. Dance. Move. And certainly not decide. Not until later when she had time and space to sort through things. For now, she danced.

  Except, it wasn't her usual dance. Her usual dance began with the beat flowing through her body until her heart picked up the tempo and the pace and the purpose of the music. But this time she felt a second beat—not just from the drums. She felt his heartbeat, his tempo, his power. And when she merged with the music, he was there as well, adding another layer to her movements, another reason for her dance.

  His reason. His purpose. His presence.

  She danced for him and for his seduction; there was no other way to define it. Where before she had danced for herself, for the simple joy of creating form and movement out of sound, now she danced for him, stretching her body toward him, pulling her shoulders up and away to tease him, arching her back to tempt him. And when the beat increased, so did his breath. When the music swelled, so did he. And she. Until with a final crash of cymbals, she collapsed at his feet, breathless, ecstatic, and completely overwhelmed by what she had done.

  So, too, was he, for they looked at one another in mutual shock and hunger, and something she could not define.

  "Well, well," drawled Monik from the side. "Little Natiya grows up."

  "No," she gasped, startled by her own vehemence. She didn't want to feel lust or passion, didn't want to care for any man, woman, or child. Loved ones died, leaving her lost and alone except for the egg. But her thoughts were drowned out by the explosion of noise from the other customers. All about the room coins were drawn out of purses and pockets, hefted aloft, waved in frenzied demand. Where before they would simply have thrown them toward her, now patrons held them out, asking her to come to them, to take the coins herself.

  She shook her head in confusion. They had never acted this way before. For some of the other dancers, yes. Monik, certainly. But not for her. And now she did not know what to do.

  Hide.

  She nodded at the egg's suggestion. It wasn't truly a suggestion, merely an echo of what she had always done. Whenever she had become confused or disoriented, she hid herself, waiting until the terror passed. It was what she did when Dag Racho came for her parents. It was what she did when customers became too demanding and followed her home. It was what she had to do now.

  She scrambled backward, ignoring the men, ignoring even the governor's outstretched hand. Her only thought was escape, and so she did, not even stopping when Talned tried to help her. She dashed from the stage and then through the back door. She ran all the way to her home, slamming her feeble door behind her as she stood shaking and confused.

  What was happening to her? Why was she changing? What would she do?

  She had no answers to her questions, no one to guide her. And so she collapsed onto her pallet, drawing her knees against her eyes in a useless attempt to stop her tears.

  Dragon's teeth, she cursed into the blackness; she felt so alone.

  * * *

  They came for her that night. While she slept, beset by fitful dreams full of throbbing drums and aroused flesh, they came for her. Her door burst open and her room filled with large, sweaty men. She had no time even for a scream before a hand smothered her mouth and cold steel pressed against her flesh.

  Then she was tied, bagged and carried away, her only protest the soft whimper of a frightened child.

  Chapter 5

  Natiya's mind was numb with terror.

  She sat on a stone floor slimed with filth, thick and oily and fouled with human waste. No air stirred in this blackened dungeon. Sounds came, too: a skittering of vermin that made her skin crawl, the sobs of the wretched and the giggles of the insane tightening her belly against the nausea that roiled inside her. The steady drip of water made her shiver with chill.

  And yet, for all that, she did not move, did not think. Indeed, she barely felt at all, so caught was her mind in the grip of dragon terror—remembered, not present. She heard her father's scream just after Dag Racho's Copper wyrm roared through the night sky. The tremors that wracked her body were the echo of soldiers' booted feet as they tore through her home while she crawled away, slinking out her window and then across the yard only to bury herself in the gap underneath their neighbor's porch. And the air she tasted was hot and burnt and filled with the loss of everything she once knew and everyone she loved.

  Why do you live in the past?

  The egg had been persistent with its questions: Why had soldiers grabbed her from her bed? What did they want? Where was this place, and who were the people trapped in it with her? The questions continued, but they had no power over the memories that locked tighter than any bars around her consciousness.

  Why do you live in the past? This question came most often of the egg's repetitions. Why do you live in the past?

  She finally found an answer: to prepare for what is to come.

  Death and dragon fire?

  Yes.

  Why would a dragon kill his queen?

  Because he is evil. And because I have failed.

&n
bsp; The egg stopped speaking after that, clearly trying to understand. It did not, of course. No more than she did.

  She knew about death, of course. No one could live in Ragona without knowing soldiers lost in battle, friends who'd disappeared without a trace in the night. How many times had she heard dockworkers talk of petty thieves caught and eaten by the Copper dragon as punishment?

  No dragon will kill his queen.

  Natiya did not bother to argue. She did not know what would happen to her, how she would die; she only knew what she remembered, and that was terrifying enough. She tried to distract herself. She tried to think of Uncle Rened, but she knew he had left yesterday on another trading journey and would be gone for many months. Talned and Monik would not help her. They were as powerless as she. And the governor...

  Naitya sighed. She would not hope for help from him. She did not trust him, nor did she trust the things he did to her. It was because of him that she no longer felt normal inside her own skin, because of him that she had run home like a frightened child to cower in her pallet where the soldiers had found her.

  So she sat on the filthy floor, immobilized by terror, until a man with an iron sword and a perpetual scowl unlocked her cage and hauled her out by her arm. She stumbled after him, fighting his grip out of reflex rather than intention. But he was encased in hardened leather, and she naked except for her dirty sleeping tunic. All her struggles gained her nothing but bruises, until she was unceremoniously dumped into another stone room, this one with a scarred black wood table and a soldier behind it staring at a single sheet of paper. A torch burned fitfully in a wall sconce, its flame echoed in the man's scarlet uniform. Even his hair was red, and whenever she looked at him, she remembered the dragon fire that had engulfed her home.

  "Natiya Draeva," he said without even bothering to look at her. "Daughter of Samuel and Amaya Draeva, dragon scholars." His voice was as dry as ash, without inflection or pity. He did not seek confirmation to his words, merely stated them as if he recited a list of supplies to purchase. Or prisoners to execute. "You have been brought here to share knowledge of the dragonborn. Of their life and death and purpose under Dag Racho's most glorious reign. Refuse to cooperate and you will be killed. Acquiesce, and you will be released unharmed."

  He was lying, she knew. No one taken in the dead of night to the Kotoni dungeon ever returned alive. And yet she could not suppress a surge of hope at his words. If she pretended to cooperate ...

  She pressed her lips together. It was too late for that. Any hint of secret dragon knowledge would surely damn her completely. Better to maintain her ignorance. Better still to maintain a terrified silence she did not need to fake.

  "What do you have to say?" he asked.

  Nothing.

  She remained silent, though her hands trembled where she crouched on the floor. She could not trust what this man said, dared not even listen to his lies, for she was not smart enough to spot the traps. Her only hope was in remaining silent, focusing only on the egg and its approval of her decision.

  Say nothing.

  "Natiya Draeva! What do you have to say?" At least this time the soldier was looking at her, his black eyes narrowed in anger.

  She shrunk into a tinier ball, feeling a growl build up inside her. Where such defiance came from, she did not know, even though it was only a useless sound, powerless and animalistic. But she felt it nonetheless and held it back, used it instead to consolidate her strength.

  The soldier frowned at her, clearly confused by her defiance.

  "You would do well to cooperate with me. Do not wait until the Emperor himself comes to interrogate you. There will be no leniency then, I assure you."

  Natiya felt her lips thin into a grimace. Dag Racho would come here? To interrogate her?

  Far from striking fear into her heart, it brought her a fatalistic sort of peace. She would at least be able to look into the eyes of her enemy before she died. She would have her moment to see him, face him, and damn him with her final breath. She would not cower in hiding as she had so many years ago. She would not bury herself in the dirt and sob out her mother's name. She would face him upright and die.

  Or perhaps, if she grew strong enough, delayed long enough, her egg would hatch and she would be able to kill him.

  It was a vain hope. The hatching process took time. Longer still to bond with the newborn dragon. Neither she nor her dragon queen would be allowed within a fire plume's distance of her enemy. But she did not focus on that. Instead, she drew her fantasy around her, using it to steel her spine. She would face Dag Racho on her feet, cursing him with her last breath.

  With that thought, she straightened her body, coming to her feet with a dancer's grace.

  "Excellent," the redheaded soldier responded, though his voice remained flat. "What do you know? I will record it."

  Nothing, the egg said silently.

  Natiya remained frozen, and the soldier slowly began to understand her plan. She would not speak, so he stood as well, hissing and spitting threats at her. She still did not speak, and so he raised his fist, shaking it before her fixed gaze. He let the blow land, and she did not avoid it. And even then she said nothing.

  Until the door flew open, and he walked in.

  She sensed him immediately, even before he entered, but her attention had not been on the things outside of her body and mind; she had been focused inward, on the egg. Now, as he strode in, his body taut, his gaze quick as it darted about the room, she realized that she had felt the hum of his sword long before. And he'd broken her concentration, so she was fully aware of him as he took in her swelling cheek, her tattered shirt, her bare and dirty feet.

  "Out!" he growled at the redheaded soldier.

  "Governor, you have no authority here. She is Dag Racho's prisoner—"

  "Do not anger me, Lieutenant," he interrupted. Then Natiya watched in amazement as the governor appeared to grow taller, his face darkening as he glared at the other man. "I am the Emperor's dragon-hunter. All things dragon go through me." Then he narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I wish to speak to her alone, that is all."

  The soldier appeared to consider his options, glancing first at her, then back at the governor. Finally he nodded. "Five beats. No more." He paused at the door, one hand on the knob. "This is a courtesy only. You have no authority here." Then he waited for the governor's nod. It was slow in coming, but eventually there came a dipped chin in acknowledgment.

  Natiya's heart sank. The governor had no authority within Kotoni dungeon. This was a military facility controlled by the Emperor and the true power in Dabu'ut. Still, she was grateful for the few moments' reprieve when the door finally shut behind the lieutenant. But that was nothing compared to what she felt when the governor stroked her face, trailing a single finger across her swelling cheek.

  "Does it hurt?" he asked, then grimaced. "Stupid question. Of course it hurts. But other than that..." His gaze once again devoured her entire body. "Have they done other things? Hurt you in other ways?"

  She didn't answer. Indeed, her mind felt slow and dumb; her mouth spoke of its own accord. "You didn't tell me Dag Racho would come tonight. That they would take me from my bed. That—"

  "D'greth, Natiya! Do you think I knew? Do you think I would have allowed this?" He made a helpless gesture at the room, the walls, the prison.

  "You have no authority here. No way to stop it." Her words were a statement, not a question, but hope flared in her heart that she was wrong. Perhaps he could help her somehow. All she needed was a few more months... maybe only weeks for the hatching and bonding. Right now the egg was hidden as her belly jewel: small, red, and completely uninteresting. But soon—she didn't even know how soon—it would start to grow. It would swell rapidly, like a baby in her belly but outside, attached to her through her navel. She would pretend it was a pregnancy and disappear to the clutching caves. It would hatch there and they would bond. She didn't know the details. Dag Racho had long since destroy
ed all history of dragons. The last scrolls had burned in her parents' home. If only the governor could get her out of here.

  "I..." He shook his head. "I am new as governor. These people—these soldiers—were here long before me and will remain long after I am gone." He stepped closer, rapidly pulling off his cloak before wrapping it around her. She hadn't noted his clothing before, but she saw it now: simple traveling clothes, warm and lush. Neither too rich nor too coarse, they seemed to mold to him and blend him into his surroundings, as if he intended to hide.

  She frowned. "Were you leaving?"

  "I was on my way to the capital when I heard. I came directly here." He sighed, pulling her deeper into his arms. She went willingly, allowing herself to relax into his solid support. "Natiya, you must tell them what you know. It's your only hope."

  She shook her head, already firm in her resolve. "I know nothing."

  He stroked his cheek across her hair, his words a gentle breeze of worry across her ear. "They know you went with your parents. You walked with them to the clutching caves."

  "I was a child. I do not remember the way," she lied.

  He pulled back, gazing into her eyes, his own filled with worry. "Try to remember. Your life is at stake."

  She sighed, at last speaking her fate aloud. "My life is already forfeit. No one comes out of this prison."

  His grip tightened against her arms. "Some do. And I will help you however I can, Natiya, but you must trust me." He stared hard at her. "Do you trust me?"

  "Of course." When had she learned to lie so easily?

  "Then tell them what you know."

  She turned away from him, the words mere whispers, but she knew he would hear them nonetheless. "Nothing. I know nothing."

  They remained silent then. She knew he was studying her. She felt the prickle of his gaze upon her back but she did not move. She was too weary.

  "You have already given up," he said.

  Had she?

  "You have been taught since birth that there is no hope. It died with your parents, and now you are lost."