Fire Bride

by Ava Sinclair

  Drorgros nods. “Lord Hyrxo is right. It has not been the ShadowFell way to attack humans in this manner.” He looks at Imryth. “Perhaps you can find something in the scrolls to lend insight to this? It may give some context to the warning of the Wyrd.”

  Imryth nods, and Drorgros turns back to the council. “We will visit both villages and look for clues as to why these were targeted.”

  Through all of this, I remain quiet, listening as once again my oldest brother takes command. Afterwards, as the lords exit the hall, I approach Drorgros.

  “A word, brother?”

  I can tell he is impatient to leave. He runs his hand over the top of his hair and then looks at me. “What is it, Zelki?”

  “You only told them half the truth.” I nod towards the departing lords. “Why?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I continue. “It was more than a matter of not wanting the lords to turn while drunk. You’d wanted to withhold what we knew about Kenrick until after the Deepening, remember?” When he doesn’t answer, I continue. “I know you do. Olin’s prophecy was explicit. It said we would one day follow Lyla as she follows us. The message came directly from the Wyrd, and yet you decline to mention it, or your full reason for waiting to tell the others about that village.”

  “Why must you make everything a fight, Zelki?” Drorgros’ tone is strained. “I have my reasons…”

  I stare at him, my body blocking his exit. My older brother’s posture is tense. I can see he’s considering leaving without giving me an answer. Then he surprises me.

  “Zelki, do you think that is a conversation we can reasonably have with the lords? How do you think they would have reacted? They see women for breeding.” He sighs. “My faith in the message of the Wyrd is firm, but even if Lyla is a strong woman, she is still a woman. Her greatest role is to bear sons to continue our line. If we tell her now of the attacks, if we tell her or anyone else of the prophecy before we know what we’re facing…”

  Drorgros’ words trail off and I nod, understanding. “You don’t think we should relay any information that may have our headstrong mate diverting her focus away from serving us, or from preparing for motherhood.

  “At the moment, no,” Drorgros says. “We are her lords, her protectors. For now, we will keep a balance between what is known, and what is revealed. The time will come when we will have no choice. I know the witches of the Wyrd warned us not to hide information from our mate. But if it’s done to protect her…”

  “Would you believe I had a similar conversation with Imryth?” I ask. “He agrees with you, about keeping Lyla protected from all this, for now.”

  “Yes, and Tythos agrees.” Drorgros puts an arm around my shoulder. “Little brother, it seems you are always ready for war, even in your own house. Come, let us go have some food. Lower your hackles. We are family.”

  Family. Yes. We are family. I remind myself of that as we exit the hall.

  Chapter 3

  LYLA

  With the arrival of the lords, I barely have time to ponder what is vexing my mates, let alone to continue my studies of Drakoryan history. This morning, I saw Zelki depart in dragon form, a flash of blue followed by a streak of quicksilver as Skryll followed him away from the castle. I watched him return, too, flying into the cave far below my window. I expected to meet him in one of the hallways; the youngest lord of Fra’hir is always the first to boast to me of how fast he flew, or how he sparred with and beat another dragon. Of all my mates, he is the most eager to impress me.

  But today I do not see him. Nor do I see my other mates, and can only assume they are busy greeting our visitors. I am kept busy, too. Shortly before leaving at dawn, Drorgros told me that today would be something of a test.

  “The empire has waited many years for the sons of Rymoth to take a mate,” he’d said. “The other Fire Brides will be casting a critical eye. They’ll be eager to see if you set so fine a table in your castle as they do in theirs. Remember, the feasts and comforts you arrange for the visiting lords and their families will reflect on us as well as you, so have a care, little one.”

  Despite the teasing tone to his words, I question his motives by implying that anything less than perfection will result in dishonor to House Fra’hir.

  “And what will my lords be doing while I ponder how many apples a baked boar’s mouth can hold?” I’d curtly inquired.

  “Seeing to the affairs of the council, of course,” he’d said, taking me into his arms. “Dry, boring stuff that is of no concern to our lady.”

  Dry boring stuff indeed, I think now as Beti arrives. Tonight, I will wear a glittering gown that shimmers with all the colors of my mates’ dragon forms. But for my morning tasks, I am wearing a sensible plum-colored dress that skims my form. It laces up to just under my breasts, the neckline low but modest. The sleeves are long and tight; the skirt hangs easily around my hips. The soft leather belt — a gift from the taciturn Tythos — has a ring where I attach the keys to all the castle rooms.

  “So much to do!” Beti is fretting as we leave my rooms. She was the first servant to attend me when I arrived at House Fra’hir, and puts me so much at ease that I have elevated her to my personal maid. Born to a race of mountain-dwelling humans subjugated into Drakoryan service many eons ago, Beti is kind and efficient. She is also motherly; her presence eases the pain I still feel when I think on my own mother’s grief as she watched me tied to the sacrificial post at Altar Rock, as she watched the dragon carry me away to what she believed was my death. Each morning, I make a silent vow to my mother know I live, even though I have been told I will never see her again.

  But today, I am to think of nothing else but our guests. Beti reads to me from a list as we make our way to the hall where I have arranged a welcome feast for the other Drakoryan Fire Brides.

  “Four roasted peafowl per table,” she says. “Venison and leek soup, mushrooms in plum sauce. As you requested, I instructed the kitchen to provide the best barrels of our summer nectar.”

  She drones on as we move from the tunnel to a stone bridge connecting the castle towers. Along one side is a solid wall painted with an ancient dragon mural, a massive image I often stop to study. I stop today, too, but this time it’s not the mural that’s gotten my attention, but what’s going on down below, in the courtyard.

  It’s Tythos, standing before a regiment of soldiers. These troops are Beti’s kinfolk. The strongest men born to the serving class are trained in military service, and Beti has told me they consider it the highest of honor.

  “The enemy will attack from above,” Tythos is saying to them. “Always, always look to the skies. Dragons can only lay down an intense blaze for a dozen furlongs or so. Then they must retreat to the clouds to allow their fire glands to fill with venom they ignite with their breath. Even a sustained attack from several dragons is survivable if you remember two things – kneel and shield.” He pauses. “Let me see you do it.”

  All the soldiers are armed with dragon scale shields like the one Imryth gave me the night he first seduced me, and now they drop as one and hold the shields up over themselves. From above, it looks like a carpet of scales.

  “Good! Rise back up!” Tythos points to a large Drakoryan standing to the side. “This is Lord Jayx of House Za’vol. He will test you on what you’ve learned.

  I have never seen this Drakoryan before. He has short blonde hair and no beard. He is tall, with a broad, sculpted chest bearing a jagged scar that runs from the top of one bulging pectoral to the hip on the opposite side. But it does nothing to diminish his attractiveness, and I feel ashamed for staring so hard.

  I gasp in surprise when — without warning — he is consumed in an indigo flame. I duck behind a pillar and peek around it as the blaze solidifies into a massive midnight blue dragon. He cocks his head and for a moment I worry that he has seen me. But his attention turns now to the soldiers.

  The dragon steps forward, arching its neck. Its mouth is half-open, and I can see its teeth, so long
and terrible. I can see even into the back of its mouth, where a flame is starting to build.

  “Kneel! Shield!” Tythos calls, and the soldiers drop as one, using their shields as cover just as the dragon exhales a stream of fire down upon them. Even from here, the heat is intense.

  “Good! Good!” Tythos calls when the smoke clears. “And what do we do if a dragon is on the ground like this one? What do we do to keep him from taking to the clouds to refill his glands with fire venom?”

  The soldiers fan out, running to what look like stone levers on the ground. It takes four men on each side to pull them, but when they do, a massive net shoots from the earth, landing on the blue dragon. Rather than struggle, however, the dragon just bursts into flame again, and Lord Jayx reforms now as a man standing in the remains of the trap.

  Tythos is laughing. “That…,” he says, pointing his sword at Jayx, “…is why we Drakoryan have the advantage. Our enemy cannot shift forms. Had this been the enemy, one of you would have blown the Summoning Horn, and we Drakoryans would have moved in as dragons to incinerate the foe before he could produce his own fire. Oh, yes, a dragon can burn another dragon, but it takes more than one to do the job.”

  I look down at the burned net, at Jayx as he walks across the thick ropes that remain around the edges of the ashes he left. Tythos is starting the soldiers on another drill when I turn to Beti.

  “Do they often do this — practice to fight other dragons?”

  Beti’s brow is furrowed as she stares down at the soldiers. “It’s been many, many years since I’ve seen them do this, my lady.”

  “When was the last time?”

  She seems hesitant to answer.

  “Tell me, Beti. I am your lady, and I demand it.”

  She looks at me. “Not since the days before the ShadowFell returned.”

  A sudden blast of cold hair hits us. Beti glances at the sky and crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s an omen,” she says quietly, and then — as if catching herself, smiles. “Listen to me, going on with this nonsense.” She takes me by the elbow and guides me forward. “Let’s get you out of this chill. There is much to be done.”

  Much to be done, and more after that. My first order of business is preparing for the Fire Bride Feast. It’s a gathering exclusively for Drakoryan mates, and despite the amount of preparation it’s taken, I am looking forward to being reunited with the other women I met in the Crystal Cavern after the Deepening. I was so overwhelmed then; everything was still new. I’m excited to get to know the other brides better, and perhaps to get some insight about adjusting to life as a Drakoryan mate.

  After seeing to some additional preparations, I go back to my chambers to bathe and change into the gown for this first feast. Beti, who is very knowledgeable in Drakoryan tradition, tells me that host brides wear silver gowns, and the one fashioned for me is beautiful. It has a split skirt revealing ivory lining shot through with intricate silver embroidery. The same embroidered ivory lines the bell-shaped sleeves that hang halfway down the flowing skirt. My hair, which I have taken to wearing in a single, long braid, is swept up today. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks stately and elegant, albeit small in stature. My heart flutters in my chest. I hope she can live up to the expectations that weigh so heavily on her slim shoulders.

  “Don’t look so grave, Lady Lyla. You’ll have a grand time at the Fire Bride Feast. While you’re gone, I’ll…”

  “…rest.” I finish her sentence for her. “Really, Beti, you do far too much.”

  She looks puzzled. “As a servant, it is my duty to obey.”

  “Then you will obey me when I tell you to take your ease here, by the fire.” I move to give her a grateful hug, and then back away when she tenses. As maternal as Beti is, there will always be a line that she will not allow herself to cross. She is a servant, and nothing I can say will ever change that in her mind. I suddenly feel very sad. I suddenly miss my mother more than ever, her kind eyes, her warm hugs.

  At least seeing Enid and the other Fire Brides will give me some hint of home. When I saw Enid at the Claiming Day ceremony, I nearly collapsed from the shock. She’d been taken by the dragon a few years before me, and I assumed she was dead. I’d mourned for her, as my mother mourns for me.

  One day, Mother, you will know the truth, I vow.

  What would she think if she could see me now, the lady of this massive castle, the mate of not one but four powerful lords? I think she’d be proud of my resilience. I am confident as I approach the hall, and when I enter, my spirit is lifted by the sight of so many women.

  They are already seated at the long tables. In another room, a separate feast has been prepared for the children tended by a select group of female servants who seemed giddy at the task of fussing over Drakoryan youngsters. Later, the children will join us. But for now, it’s just the womenfolk, and I think that my mates would be pleased at how delighted the other brides look when servants begin to bring in trays of food. Birds roasted to golden perfection surrounded by candied oranges and cherries, tureens brimming with fish chowders or stew. I’ve had the kitchen prepare several different kinds of tarts – some brimming with summer berries and apples, others with crusts surrounding hot cream fillings flavored with a blend of spices. The cooks seemed put out when I insisted on trying my hand at recipes, but I had enjoyed cooking in the village, and was excited to work with a range of ingredients my mother could only have dreamed of. Some of what is served today is of my own creation, and my guests exclaim with delight at the table I have laid before them.

  Enid sits to my left, wearing a gown the color of a flowing stream. The color reflects her calm demeanor. She is chatty, and happily comments on what a fine job I’ve done with the meal.

  “Everyone is so impressed!” she says. “For you to be so new to our world, yet so proficient at running your household! I believe you have found your calling, Lyla! Oh, is it not wonderful fun?”

  I force a smile. Fun? I don’t want to tell her that while I endeavored to do a good job, I found the preparations tedious and mundane.

  As the courses are served, she apprises me of what she calls “bride gossip,” surreptitiously directing my attention to women throughout the room and then confiding in some meaningless rumors regarding their personal lives. I listen, feigning interest, when in truth the talk of petty rivalries or who was gifted with a tapestry by her lords seems as tedious as stocking a hundred rooms with linens.

  As Enid rambles on, I can’t help but notice the woman to her right — a raven-haired beauty who listens more than talks. At first I think I’m just imagining that she’s watching me, but it’s not my imagination; even when I’m turned away talking to someone else, I can feel her gaze on me. I turn several times, catching her staring, but she does not demure. She does not look away, and it unnerves me.

  The other Fire Brides praise the food, rave over the sweet nectar they say is even better than wine. But I have more pleasures in store. Halfway through the meal, a group of servants’ children enters to perform a song. I have heard them singing on my walks through the courtyard, and learned from Beti that her hard-working race document their history in song as the Drakoryan do in writing. She told me they could date songs back to the times before they were enslaved. The children perform the songs of their people, the lyrics dark and beautiful. The room falls silent, and all eyes are fixed on the singers.

  When the meal ends, I stand by the door of the hall. The other Fire Brides file past, each stopping to give me an embrace and a customary gift as they head to the Crystal Cavern. I am quickly overwhelmed by the beautiful offerings of my new sisters—elegant, intricately carved bone hair combs, necklaces of precious metals, gems, or heavy, blown glass balls. I’m given bolts of fabric dyed in the colors of my dragons – green, red, blue, and gold. I am given skeins of the softest wool, spices for my kitchen, a hand-carved flute, stones that stay permanently warm, and miniature paintings of parts of the Empire I have yet to see.

&
nbsp; Unlike other feasts, there is plenty of food left after this one, and when Beti arrives, I instruct her to invite the servants who prepared and served the meal to enjoy what remains. I will not listen to her objections, and since I know she prefers that I mix authority with kindness, I tell her that once the meal is done, I’ll need her to take all the gifts up to my chamber and put them away.

  With the servants seen to, I make my way to the Crystal Cavern, where I find a much different environment than I did the night I was inducted into the informal sisterhood of the Fire Brides. That was a quiet and reflective affair. Today, the large cavern with the shimmering rose quartz walls is teeming with something I’d not seen since I was taken from the village.

  Children.

  They are everywhere. There are babes in arms, toddlers practicing unsteady steps under the watchful eyes of their mothers, older children playing chase among the cushioned lounges and tables. There are older children too, but none that look to be more than ten or eleven. They are all dressed the same— in long tan tunics that fall just below their knees. They all wear their hair at shoulder-length. Their yells and happy laughter sound like music ringing off the walls of the cavern.

  “Lyla!” Enid comes over, balancing a golden-haired toddler on her hip. A child who looks to be about four years old strains to escape as Enid pulls him along after her.

  “My sons.” She is beaming with pride. “Merlo..” She nods to the baby in her arms and then to the little boy who’s begun to tantrum at the end of her hand. “…and Symon.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I say as her older son escapes to rejoin his friends. “Two boys. They must keep you so busy.”

  She laughs. “Not mere boys. Drakoryan males. And I’m no busier than any other mated female. We all have sons.” There’s a proud edge to her voice. I look back at the children. To a casual observer, the uniform dress and length of hair lends an androgynous appearance. I’d assumed some were girls.