Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  No. She was a fighter. She would hatch her egg and kill Dag Racho.

  "And yet you will not help us. You will not tell us what you know."

  She turned to look at him, wanting to see his face as she struggled to understand his words. And as she moved, he watched her and flatly stated his conclusions.

  "You fight out of habit, defying others because it is easy to say no. Even when it means saving your life, you still cannot allow yourself to say yes to anything."

  She wanted to look away, to stop her ears and close her mind, but she could not. What he said rang too true for her to deny.

  "What will it take, Natiya, to make you save yourself?" He reached out, once again stroking her cheek. "Not threats. You are not a crude woman in any sense of the word." He sighed, cupping her chin as he lowered his head toward her. "Oh, Natiya," he whispered. "I am trying to help you." Then he kissed her. He pressed his mouth to hers, using his tongue to stroke the seam between her lips. She did not know what to do or what he wanted. And yet, her body did. As his tongue tingled across her lips, she let her mouth drop open. Without her conscious decision, her hands rose up, feeling the muscles of his arms and his chest, stroking every sinew through the soft fabric of his shirt.

  He pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss, invading her senses along with her mouth. It was as if he entered her in all the most basic of ways. His scent filled her lungs, his hands caressed her skin, his taste was in her mouth; and most devastating of all, his words echoed in her mind.

  What will it take, Natiya? Say yes.

  She said something then. She did not even know what it was. It came out more as a whimper or a groan of surrender. Or perhaps it came from him. He had invaded so much of her, she could not separate herself from him in her mind, and that more than anything made her hands curl in panic.

  What was happening?

  He must have sensed the change in her, the tension that knotted her shoulders and stiffened her spine. And yet, when he pulled back, she clung to him, perversely wanting him closer.

  "What do you want from me, Governor?" Was that her voice? All breathy and soft?

  "Kiril. My name is Kiril."

  She nodded, her gaze trained on his face, her body still achy and jumpy from what they had just done.

  He groaned as he looked down at her, the rumble of sound transmitting easily into her body. His hands tightened on her shoulders. "D'greth," he cursed in an undertone. "You are such an innocent."

  "No..." she murmured, though she didn't even understand what she was denying.

  He slowly, carefully, set her away from him, gently tightening his cloak around her. "I will do what I can, Natiya. But it would be so much easier if you would talk to the lieutenant. Tell him what you know."

  She closed her eyes, wishing she could stay immersed in these last few moments. But she could not, and he had already stepped away from her.

  He sighed when she remained silent. "You will tell him nothing. You do not trust him."

  She glanced up, seeing his grim expression, the regret in his eyes, and the tightness around his lips. "I don't know anything—

  "Don't lie to me, Natiya. Lie to them if you must, but not to me." And with that he hauled open the door, nearly bowling over the lieutenant who stood framed in the opening. Kiril frowned at the man, and his words came out like hard chips of ice. "Do not touch her again."

  The soldier straightened, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Dag Racho approves of my interrogation techniques."

  "Dag Racho is not here." Kiril leaned forward. "I am."

  The man shrugged, as if the governor's statement were of no concern, but Natiya saw the hitch in his movements, the strain in the gesture. The lieutenant was not as sanguine as he pretended. But she had no time to consider that as Kiril gave her one last look.

  "I will return soon," he promised; then he spun on his heel and left.

  Natiya watched him go until the lieutenant slammed the door, blocking him from view.

  "Natiya Draeva," he snapped, drawing her attention back to him.

  She turned, looking at the young man, startled not by him but by the change within herself. Instead of the dull fatalism that had gripped her earlier, she now felt alive, curiously alert as all her senses continued to stretch beyond herself, beyond these walls, as if they wished to follow Kiril instead of remaining here.

  She felt her lips curl into a smile, amazed by this feeling of... what? Life? As if, for the first time in many, many years, she had suddenly woken up.

  "Natiya Draeva," the man snapped. "Tell me how to find the clutching caves."

  "I cannot help you," she answered honestly. And then she closed her eyes, returning to her former stance of saying absolutely nothing. But instead of concentrating on the egg, her thoughts remained focused on four other words: I will return soon.

  He did not return soon. "Soon" for Natiya meant the time it took for her to serve three customers and take orders for three more. "Soon" was the time between hungry and famished. "Soon" was before the lieutenant became furious.

  Natiya was taken back to her cell after the lieutenant had hit her in places that would not be seen, after he had touched her in other ways that made her bare her teeth and growl like an animal. He did no more than touch, and that only briefly. Then he stood back and left the threat hanging in the air: He could do as he liked with her, for she was Dag Racho's prisoner and he was her interrogator. Then he sent her to her cell so that she could think about being more cooperative.

  She thought about "soon" instead, and what that word meant to the governor.

  As it turned out, it meant after the noon meal. The prisoners did not get any. The meal was for the guards, who ate with noisy relish in a room right next to the cell corridor. It was a petty torment for petty minds, but Natiya was no different from the other prisoners. Like them, she stood next to the bars, sniffing the air as if she could fill her empty belly by scent alone. She even closed her eyes, using her dragon-enhanced senses to try and identify what they ate.

  She could not, for the food disappeared too quickly into the men's mouths. But as she opened her eyes, she saw Kiril striding down the corridor, his booted feet clipping at the heels of the guard who walked too slowly before him.

  "Where is she?" he demanded.

  "Here," she answered for the man—a boy really, with greasy blond hair and shoulders too thin to fill out his uniform. Kiril pushed him easily aside as he rushed to the bars.

  "Are you all right? I swear I tried to come sooner. Did they hurt you? D'greth, this place stinks."

  She smiled at his quick flow of questions, amazed that she could find humor in this place when her life—even outside these wails—was so humorless. "I am fine," she lied. In truth, she was hungry, cold and wet. Her other pains—from both the lieutenant's blows and too many nights dancing—simply merged into an ever-present ache, which she had long since learned to ignore.

  "Open these bars," Kiril snapped to the guard. The boy pursed his lips, clearly unhappy with the command, but he was not as strong in character as the lieutenant. In the end he ordered Natiya back, away from the bars. Then he quickly unlocked her cell.

  "You'll have to go in there with her," he mumbled.

  He needn't have said it; Kiril was already inside, wrapping her in his arms. She went willingly, closing her eyes as she absorbed his heat, his strength.

  Why do you rely on him? the egg asked. We have always depended on our own strength.

  Natiya didn't answer, not knowing what to say. She knew only that it was heaven to rest against his chest, to hear the steady beat of his heart, to feel the supporting circle of his arms.

  Behind her, the guard shut the cell, relocking it with a quick turn of the key. And then he turned his back on them, staring into the cell across from Natiya's, as if that would afford them some privacy.

  Kiril pulled back from her, studying her face as he spoke. "The lieutenant is very angry. I fear for you." He bit his lip, his eyes skating aw
ay from hers. "I tried all morning to find a way—"

  "But you have no authority here. I know." She knew he would not be able to help her. She'd known it all along, and yet somehow she had allowed herself to hope. To... rely on him. She turned away, silently cursing her stupidity. The egg was right. She had pinned her hopes on him instead of relying on herself. Hadn't she learned that lesson a long time ago? Her only hope lay in herself.

  Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her back to him. "Don't despair," he whispered. "I have—"

  A trumpet blast cut through the air and his words. Once. Twice. Thrice. Kiril frowned, looking first at her, then at the guard who had turned at the sound.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  The boy didn't answer, but another prisoner did, coming to his feet to push his face against his own bars. "It's a summons. To assembly." Up and down the narrow hallway, all the prisoners shifted or spoke or jeered, each adding his opinion about what was happening.

  Meanwhile, down the corridor, the other guards were rushing, banging chairs and cursing each other as they scrambled to right their clothing, find their gear and run to the courtyard. All the while, the boy guard stood, fidgeting in nervousness, his dilemma clear: he was called to assembly, and yet he could not abandon his post. Not with the governor here.

  Kiril stepped forward, his expression kindly. "Go," he told the boy. "We can go nowhere. You have locked us in." Then he yanked on the bars for emphasis. They were truly trapped inside. Together.

  The boy made his decision quickly, already moving down the hall. "I'll come back for you as soon as I can," he promised. Then he was gone, and Kiril frowned after him, his eyes darting between the now empty corridor and the window slit far above their heads. He could see nothing of outside, but he kept looking, his expression more and more troubled.

  "Kiril?" Natiya asked. "What is it?"

  "There was no assembly planned for today. I know. I checked."

  "What does it matter?" she asked, not understanding his concern and feeling more interested in what he had been about to say before. "Why shouldn't I despair?"

  He turned to her then, after one last glance down the corridor. "Because I have the keys." And with that he pulled out a ring of keys identical to the one the boy had worn.

  "How?"

  He grinned and made quick work of opening her cell. "Do you think his are the only set? There are others, easily obtained by someone with quick fingers and the nerve to barge into rooms where he's not supposed to be."

  "Someone like a governor?"

  He didn't answer except to flash her a quick smile; then he rushed to the corridor, looking to each side before gesturing to her. "It's clear, but we haven't much time."

  She was beside him in an instant, gripping the hand he held out. But she didn't move when he tried to pull her down the hall. He glanced back, confused.

  "Natiya?"

  "The others. What about the other prisoners?"

  Kiril's eyes narrowed, his gaze hopping from her to the pleading wretches behind her. "I cannot release everyone. I don't know what they've done."

  "They are military prisoners, Kiril. What could they have done except run afoul of the Emperor?"

  "Plenty," he snapped. "And they are not all military prisoners."

  "I did nothing but read books," cried one prisoner, his cultured accent giving support to his words.

  "I stole bread," said a woman. "I was hungry!"

  One by one they called out their pitiful crimes. They could be lying, but Natiya couldn't simply ignore them. "Please," she said to Kiril. "You know they're telling the truth. Real criminals are given over immediately as dragon food." She stopped speaking as they both heard the sound of running feet from the corridor to the right. "Kiril, please. Besides, it will help to cover our escape."

  He bit off his curse, then quickly tossed the keys into the nearest cell where an old man crouched in his own filth. "Now come!" he ordered her, and together they flew down the left corridor.

  She moved as fast as she could, her bare feet skidding on the stone floor. He moved with one hand gripping her arm. With him as her anchor, she never fell. He moved with assurance, taking turns and stairs through the fortress without pause except to listen for soldiers in the hallways. Twice they had to hide: once in a doorway, the other time pressed into the shadows, holding their breath in order to remain silent. Fortunately, both times the people passing nearby were too intent on their tasks to pay much attention to their surroundings. Finally Kiril dragged her behind a tapestry, muttering under his breath as he fumbled against the wall.

  "Someone's coming," Natiya whispered, her senses straining.

  "Got it!" he returned, and even in the dark, she knew he was grinning.

  Then she felt a rush of cold, damp air. She pulled back, instinctively disliking the feel of a yawning, black maw somewhere directly ahead. But she was given no time to think as Kiril drew her forward, still gripping her arm.

  "There are stairs right here. Going down."

  Here, at least, her bare feet helped, and she curled her toes around the edges of narrow stone steps. She extended her left arm, feeling the chill wall to the side, and began to descend. He followed, his breath exhaled in short, controlled bursts as if he were in combat. Then he released her, and she stopped.

  "Kiril?" she whispered, hating the panic that gripped her at his abandonment.

  "One moment," he said, his voice a disembodied ripple of sound. Then she felt more than heard the thud of a door pulling shut behind them.

  "What is this place?" She spoke in an undertone, disliking the way her whispers seemed to hiss back at her from the darkness.

  "Dag Racho's business often requires secrecy. This is just one of the many hidden ways in and out of his fortress."

  "Makes it a lot less of a fortress, doesn't it?"

  She could hear his chuckle as he once again found and took hold of her arm. "No one has dared attack these lands in one hundred years. Our Emperor has more need of secrecy than defense."

  "And yet you still serve him," she said, her tone more bitter than she intended.

  "And so I'm still alive."

  She heard him fumbling in the wall beside her, and then suddenly the light from an oil lamp cut the blackness. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw a long passageway extend before her. Despite her earlier fears, the tunnel was actually quite clean, with iron hooks and more lamps dangling at regular intervals.

  "We must hurry. This is a well-traveled secret passage."

  "Then you should have taken me on a less-well-traveled one," she returned.

  He shrugged. "That one is a lot harder to find."

  She glanced at him, wondering how a new governor would know these things. Then she remembered: he was the Emperor's greatest warrior. Of course he would have come here many times on secret business of one kind or another.

  "Come," he urged, picking up speed. "It is not much farther."

  She kept pace with him, mentally calculating distances. "This must go under the entire courtyard."

  "It ends in the stable of the Open Maw inn. My mount is there."

  She nodded, recognizing the name of the largest and most luxurious inn of the city, famous for the number of dignitaries who stayed there. No doubt because of just this reason: It gave direct and secret access to the fortress and whatever business was inside.

  They were through the exit within moments, sliding into the stables as if they belonged there. Kiril took her directly to his mount—a large, mottled beast of unclear ancestry and ugly appearance. Natiya stared at it in shock.

  "It has no hair!" She glanced at the other mounts in the stable. All of them were large, stately beasts with matted fur toeholds and finger grips. They had full cushions of fur that likely felt as soft as the finest down, but his creature was bald! "How will we sit on it?"

  "I had a special saddle designed," he said. The beast nuzzled his master's shoulders. "And hair is decidedly dangerous for a dragon
-hunter." Then he reached down, grabbing his strange saddle with ties that gripped the creature's belly instead of weaving into the fur. The leather was worked with tiny filaments of silver in ornate patterns, and Natiya felt a strange power coming from it. But she had no time to ask as Kiril reached inside the saddlebags and pulled out clothing, which he tossed to her. "There's an empty stall over there. No boots, I'm afraid, but the socks will keep you warm."

  She held the clothing, lifting it up to her face to feel the velvety fabric. It was the finest cloth she had ever touched. "I will get them dirty," she said; then she felt her face heat, knowing how stupid a concern that was.

  Fortunately, he didn't comment except to gesture to the other stall and whisper, "Hurry."

  She nodded and ducked away, quickly donning the loose trousers and pristine white shirt. His clothes, obviously, for they were cut for a man and wrapped around her like a pale echo of his arms. The attire was much too large on her frame, but it would keep her warm, especially as the velvet jacket wrapped fully around her. D'greth, his clothes felt good. Oh, what would it be like to live in such finery every day? And to not even think about it?

  She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She smelled the stable, of course, and the lingering filth of prison that still touched her skin and hair. But mostly she smelled him. He wore no perfume, so none scented his clothing. Instead, she sensed him—strong and dark, like the dragons he hunted.

  And with that thought, her eyes shot open and she quickly returned to the business at hand. He had already climbed atop his strange mount, the stall door open as he exited. Seeing her, he leaned forward and extended his hand to her, but his words were for his animal. "I've brought a friend today. This is Natiya. We're going on a trip together, and I'm afraid you'll have to carry us both. And yes, she's heavier than she looks, but even that isn't so much."

  "What?" she said, unsure she had heard him correctly.

  He glanced up in surprise, then flashed her a lopsided grin. "I make it a policy never to lie to Mobray."

  "But you lie to people?"

  "Of course I do. I was raised in the Emperor's court." And with that, he grasped her hand, lifting her up in a single, powerful movement. She settled awkwardly on both his lap and saddle at once.