by Jade Lee
She'd quickly entered the huge tiled room, stripping off the cloak as she went. Then she'd turned to stare at the waterfall, greenery and lush towels heated over a vent in the floor. Natiya hadn't even known that such things were possible. A quick glance had told her there was no escape from the bath except back to her bedroom, and so she'd succumbed to temptation and sunk down into hot, wet heaven. She even had food available: a tray of fruit within easy reach from the edge of the pool. She was starving, of course, and soon she was swallowing tiny madda grapes with her eyes closed, while thoughts of cages and guards faded away.
An image of Kiril surfaced quickly in her thoughts, but she resolutely pushed it aside. She would not think of him naked and surrounded by swords. She would not dwell on the fact that she'd known not to trust a governor and a dragon-hunter. And yet, when he'd looked at her so sadly in prison, when he'd folded her in his arms and then found a way to escape... But that had all been a lie. He was the one who had put her in prison in the first place. And it didn't matter now because he was dead, dead, dead!
She cut off a sob and submerged herself totally. The heat enveloped her and the water cleansed her thoughts, or so she pretended. Then, when she surfaced, she resolutely pushed away all thoughts of Kiril, his betrayal, and—d'greth!—what they had done together. She would not think at all. For the moment, she would lie in her bath, eat sweet grapes, and...
Think about the sharp prick of a knife at her throat. Natiya froze. The blade tickled cold against her throat. She didn't open her eyes, but she could feel the icy press of steel, especially as it differed so radically from the steamy heat of her perfumed bath.
If she could have, she would have sighed. Even though she sat frozen in a jewel-encrusted tub, part of her still registered shock that Dag Racho had been right. He had warned her that many at court would want her dead. But she had sent her protectors away, and now the blade began to press harder against her neck.
"Do I have your attention?" a female voice hissed against her ear.
"Yes," Natiya answered equally softly, opening her eyes, turning ever so slightly to see a dark-haired woman crouching beside her. Natiya frowned, wondering if she knew the woman. She certainly seemed familiar enough. Then the dragon egg flashed her a memory of Kiril and this woman sitting at the table that first night Natiya had danced for him. What was her name?
Sabina.
Natiya would have nodded, but with the blade against her throat, all she could do was stare at the dark-haired woman and wait. Fortunately, the longer this went on, the more chance that a servant or the guards would discover what was happening.
"Where is Kiril?" Sabina's voice was a low hiss of deadly intent, but her gaze hopped around, betraying her nervousness. She was not a woman used to violence.
Natiya waited. Now. Sabina had looked to the door—only for a moment—but that was all Natiya needed. She had discovered in the last few hours that her reflexes were even faster now; whether because of the egg's maturity or because she wasn't dancing three shows a night, Natiya didn't know. Neither did she care. What mattered was that it gave her the speed required to grab Sabina's wrist, enough to wrench it and the dagger away from her throat.
Less than a beat later, Sabina was flat on her back, a dripping Natiya pinning her to the cold, wet tile. Only then did she bother answering Sabina's question.
"Kiril is dead. I gave the order myself."
She watched Sabina's eyes go dead, and she knew the woman had been expecting this answer. Knew it, but had apparently hoped for something different. Yet even as she lay there, her eyes draining of life, her spirit would not give in.
"How could you do that?" the woman whispered. "He was our only hope."
"I make my own hope. And he was a liar." He had lied to get between her legs, and she had allowed it. She had believed he was different, and she, who had kept herself closed and contained for so long, had opened up to him.
Which made her a fool. That more than anything else fueled her hatred. And while Natiya was filled with self-loathing, Sabina found the strength to fight back. Twisting hard on the tile, Sabina shoved her captor backward. Natiya could have countered the move, but she had no heart to hurt another woman duped by a skillful liar. So she sat back, sinking onto her heels as she watched her adversary.
Sabina scrambled for her dagger, words boiling out of her. "Of course he lied to you. It's the only way to survive in Ragona. You were using each other. You never would have gotten to the clutching caves without him."
Natiya didn't answer except to flinch at the woman's words.
"But I know him. He cared for you. He probably even warned you."
"He had me arrested!" Natiya shot back, rather than admit that Sabina was right. Kiril had warned her. And if she doubted her memory, the egg was right there with another flash of recall, this time of Kiril in her bedroom, his hair slightly askew, a rogue's smile on his face.
Neither I nor Dag Racho can afford to leave you be.
She was not stupid. She'd known then that he had been warning her, telling her that both men would do anything to get to her secrets. Already weary of her own thoughts, she sighed. "He is dead," she said. "There is nothing either of us can do to change that now." Then Natiya stood, pulling a silk robe about her.
"How?" Sabina pressed. "How did he die?"
"A dozen of the personal guard with orders to kill," Natiya responded flatly, unwilling to admit that she too wondered if he could have escaped. "He was unarmed." And naked after their lovemaking.
"I will kill you for this." Sabina's voice had settled into an equally flat statement of fact.
"Why?" Natiya asked, genuine interest prompting her question. What were these two to each other? "You were not lovers, so I have killed no one important to you. He said he does not even support you with money since you have your own. What does he mean to you?"
Sabina stared at her, those dark eyes widening in horror and disgust. "You are a beast," she breathed softly. "The dragon has already taken you. Or perhaps there was nothing there to begin with."
Natiya reared back in shock, stung by the words without knowing why. "No—," she began, but Sabina gave her no time.
"He could have saved us all," she breathed, her body shifting as she adjusted the dagger in her palm. "Until you." And with that, she lunged.
Natiya had expected it. Indeed, she was already tensed, preparing for the attack, but she never got the chance. Two guards leapt between them, catching Sabina in mid-swing, restraining her with brutal force. Natiya frowned, annoyed with herself for not sensing their presence, for being too preoccupied with thoughts of Kiril to hear their approach.
Meanwhile, Sabina screamed and fought, her furious cries echoing off the tiles. It did no good. She was no match for the men, who quickly dragged her away. She was gone before Natiya could figure out what to say. What to think.
"She doesn't know, does she?"
For the third time that day, Natiya flinched at the surprise presence of another soul. She didn't need to turn, though, for she recognized Dag Racho's voice. And more than that, she felt his presence—a nervous crawl on her skin.
She shuddered, pulling the robe about herself to cover the gooseflesh. "How...?" Her voice trailed away, unsure how to phrase her question.
"How did I sneak up on you unawares?" he asked calmly.
She nodded.
"There is a way to mask the dragon inside you, a way to hide from others, even those with their own dragons. You will learn it in time." He smiled as he spoke, and she was surprised to notice how handsome he appeared. Though he was accounted over a century old, he seemed nearly as young as Kiril. His body was lean and strong, though less angular, more soft. Perhaps it was the clothing he wore—soft velvets in golden hues—but he appeared celestial. And when he smiled, his teeth shone like polished pearls and his hair glinted reddish-gold in the fading sunlight. He looked every inch an Emperor, and Natiya felt a stirring of desire.
She knew that it was the ha
tching time that sparked such feelings in her. They were a pale comparison to the overwhelming hunger that had driven her to Kiril, but she recognized them nonetheless. So she stepped away from Dag Racho in an effort to diminish the lure.
She saw annoyance flash briefly in his eyes, but it was quickly suppressed as he settled on a bench near the bathing pool. "So, what shall we do with the impetuous Sabina?" He smiled, inviting Natiya to join him in this discussion as though he truly valued her opinion.
Natiya did not trust him. This man was evil incarnate. He had ruled for a century with a heavy fist. He had killed her parents and destroyed everything of value.
Except, right now, he seemed... nice. She bit her lip, completely confused. "What doesn't Sabina understand?" she asked, referencing his earlier comment.
"Hmmm?" His gaze slid leisurely from her stomach to her face. Natiya flushed, her hands instinctively slipping to cover the egg and her now swollen belly.
He grinned, as if he found humor in her movement. "She doesn't know that you intend to kill me." He arched a single sculpted brow at her gasp. "That is why you incubated the Queen, isn't it? To come and destroy me? Revenge for killing your parents."
Natiya glanced around, searching for anything—a weapon, a means of escape. Nothing. Nothing was at hand, and soldiers right outside. With her dragon-enhanced abilities she might be able to avoid two, maybe three of them, but she doubted she stood a chance against the entire regiment of castle guards.
Dag Racho's laughter cut through the air, warm and filled with good cheer, abruptly interrupting her thoughts. "Relax, my dear, I have no intention of harming you. Would I have fed and bathed you, set you up in my private quarters if I planned to kill you?"
"These are your chambers?"
He grinned. "Yes, my dear. My private bath. And my bedchamber is that way." He waved negligently to the wall opposite her bedroom. She didn't see a doorway, but she knew from her escape from prison that doors could be easily hidden.
She tensed her shoulders, preparing herself for anything. "What do you want from me?" she asked, hating the way her voice trembled.
"Don't worry," he answered. "I have no designs on your virtue, such as it is." Then he grinned. "At least not until we get to know each other a little better. Debauching the innocent lost its appeal a few decades ago." He winked at her. "Though every once in a while, as a change of pace..." He let his voice trail away before abruptly bursting into laughter that filled the room. "Oh, you should see your face, my dear. I do believe your eyes are the size of that egg you carry."
Natiya felt herself flush again as she looked away. The Emperor was nothing that she expected, and she wasn't sure how to proceed.
"Perhaps you should get dressed. I have ordered clothing placed in your bedchamber. I have some business to attend." He sighed. "It is the little details that are so bothersome, you know. Constant and unending." He glanced up with a smile. "But I have cleared the rest of my schedule so that we may dine together."
She shook her head, reluctant to spend more time than necessary in the Emperor's confusing presence. "I already ate."
He chuckled. "Yes, I know. But as I recall, I was constantly hungry before the hatching. And belly-horned, but I suppose you already know about that."
Natiya felt her hands clench, though in anger or mortification, she didn't know. "I have no wish to bed you," she snapped, avoiding her confusion by rushing headlong into anger. "And I will hurt you if you try to force me." She lifted her chin, looking directly into his flat gaze as his grin slowly widened.
"I'm counting on it," he drawled, a low, sinister sound that sent chills down her spine.
She swallowed, tensing for an attack when—abruptly—he once again burst into laughter, all vestiges of the threat gone.
"I am joking, my dear! Ah, please allow an old man his sense of humor." Then he stepped toward her, stopping only when she began to shy backward. "Come, come, I simply wish to get to know you. We will share a meal and some conversation. I promise, nothing more."
"I don't believe you," she said, though in truth she didn't know what she believed anymore. Kiril false and the Emperor kind? Nothing made sense.
"Such honesty," Dag Racho said, admiration coloring his tone. "I had forgotten how refreshing it is." Then he shrugged. "Well, no matter. I have to eat, and you have to eat, if not for yourself, then for the Queen. Go. Get dressed." He motioned her off to her bedchamber. "We will talk more later."
"Not with the guards in my room."
He shrugged. "Very well. They will watch from just outside your door. But do not go beyond these rooms. Not until I am sure you are safe." And with that, he turned and left the bath. She watched long enough to see him exit into the hallway with all her guards. Then the door shut and she was left alone.
She walked slowly, cautiously into her bedroom. Like everything else, it was luxurious. The bed was huge and covered in silk. The bedposts had gold with bronze filigree trailing beautifully throughout. A huge closet was made of the finest black... she didn't know what. Not metal, not wood, but some combination of both, and inside it hung a dizzying array of dresses. Ornate, subtle, warm or the sheerest gauze—she found all types, each with a relaxed waist for her growing belly.
Turning slowly around, she realized she had everything she had ever wanted in her most decadent fantasies. And yet, she felt empty and tired. Food had not helped. The bath had not helped. She doubted even sleep would make her feel better.
Yes, inside she still felt empty, even as the egg she carried continued to pulse and grow with alarming speed. Thankfully, it was not ready to burst out of her. Once they'd left the Queen's cave, the need—even the size of it—had shrunk. Not greatly, but enough that she noticed. It wanted to be born in the cave.
She still talked to it, still communicated thoughts, opinions and interpretations, but now it remained noticeably silent. She decided that was perfectly normal. The egg seemed mostly to reflect back her thoughts, and since Natiya could not sort through her experiences, the egg had no opinion to reflect. It had only images and memories over which the egg seemed to mull, with annoying frequency. As soon as Natiya found a moment's respite from her conflicting emotions, the egg flashed her a memory: Kiril with a tender smile and even more tender touch. Kiril in her bedroom, speaking calmly, respectfully to her, and then letting her decide her course. Kiril, his face twisted with worry, as he stormed into her interrogator's room.
Except, it had all been a ruse, Natiya reminded herself. A big, fat lie. He was the one who'd had her arrested, not Dag Racho. He was the one who'd ordered her stolen out of bed and dragged into that dungeon. And he was the one who'd created the very interrogation from which he rescued her. That's what Dag Racho had made clear on the flight to his palace. And even had he not said so, she had seen the truth on Kiril's face.
D'greth, she had been such a fool! To think that anyone, even a governor, could orchestrate an escape from prison. She was glad—ecstatic—that the foul creature was dead. And even more thrilled that she had been the one to order it.
And yet, as soon as she thought that, the egg flashed her the image of his face: the anguish in his eyes when she had been caught by the Emperor, and the absolute fury of impotence that he could not protect her. She tried to tell herself that his expression was just another one of his lies. She could not know what he thought, could not believe anything he said. And yet, the feelings had seemed so true.
She sighed, once again turning toward the flowing gowns hanging before her. She selected one of deepest brown, soft enough to be fur but light enough to feel like a second skin. She chose it not for its beauty, but because it was simple and would not confine her too greatly if she needed to run. And for her feet, she found a pair of slippers. Not the sturdy boots Kiril had obtained for her, but delicate slippers meant for a lady.
She slipped them on her hard and callused feet, sighing with joy. She had never possessed anything so fine. Indeed, she thought the footwear an exorbitant waste of mon
ey. What use were slippers that would tear at the slightest pebble, that offered little in way of protection or warmth? Their only value was in looking pretty—for a short time—and for feeling like the gentlest of clouds when she walked on the flat stone corridors of a castle.
A silly waste of money, and yet, she had secretly coveted slippers such as these all her life. Now she had an entire wardrobe full of them. It left her feeling stunned and overwhelmed. And secretly so gleeful she took an experimental twirl just to see how they would feel to dance in. Glorious. They felt glorious.
But the joy of her dance soon faded, and she found herself by the window, staring out at a sunset that painted the sky in shimmering colors. Her muscles twitched with the movement, unused to remaining idle for so long. She had been in this castle for less than a day and already she missed dancing. She missed the outdoors. D'greth, she even missed Talned's filthy dockside bar.
If only she could wander outside, could move beyond the confines of this opulent room. She stepped to the door, pulling it open only to see four guards turn and smile at her. The nearest stepped inside.
"How may I help you, Empress?"
She blinked. "Empress?"
"Is there something you need? I shall send for it immediately."
"N-no, no," she stammered. "I thought I would walk a bit. Ease the strain—"
"Apologies, my lady, but it is not safe. You must stay—"
"But I wanted—"
"—inside. For your own safety. I will send for someone to read to you. Would you like that?"
"No. I want to take a walk. You can accompany me, if you like." She smiled as winningly as possible, hoping to find an opportunity for escape. If he were one to be swayed by a smile. If...
"Gravest apologies, but I cannot. The Emperor would feed me to ..." He didn't have to complete his sentence; they all knew that the Copper had large food requirements.
"But—"
"No, my lady." Then he paused. "Should I send someone—"
"No. No, thank you." Then she backed up and firmly shut the heavy door. She barely restrained herself from kicking it in frustration. Instead, she whipped around and went back to the window. Then she leaned forward, wondering if she could fit through.