Fire Bride

by Ava Sinclair

  “All boys?” I’m puzzled.

  “True gifts from the gods.” Enid releases her older son’s hand and watches as he runs away to find his playmates. The baby in her arms regards me with dark eyes. Skryll’s eyes. There is no doubt to his paternity. “Strong, Drakoryan sons, Lyla. It’s the greatest gift a Fire Bride can give the empire.”

  “But no daughters?” I ask. The boys are still running, wildly screaming and pushing and laughing.

  “Sons.” Enid puts a hand on my arm and looks me in the eye. “Our mates want sons.”

  It is now I remember something Zelki had said about girl children being rare. An all-male brood explains why the Drakoryan must seek human mates. But it does not explain why there are no girls at all. Before I can ask, Symon has been pushed down by a playmate and his mother rushes away to fret over his now-bloodied knees.

  For the next hour, I’m introduced to more Drakoryan children than I can keep up with. Most are rougher than human boys, constantly wrestling and shoving. They are exhausting to observe. The only ones who seem quiet are the babes in arms. Nursing women sit in groups, with babies up to at least a year of age latched to their breasts. I catch myself staring and realize that even mothers with three and four children are slim, with firm, high breasts. I recall the women from my villages with multiple children, how soft some became, how their once firm breasts hung like teardrops after nursing one or two babies.

  “It’s the pools.”

  I startle and look over to find the raven-haired woman who’d stared at me at the feast is now standing at my side.

  “The pools?”

  “Yes,” she says. “You were wondering, were you not, how they keep their figures, the firm breasts that still please their lords? When it is time to deliver, a Fire Bride is taken to the mating pools. She delivers in the water, which diminishes the pain and restores her body. She comes out reborn, as she was before, save for her lactating breasts. But even full of milk, those breasts stay firm as ever, for the perpetual pleasure of her mates.”

  “That’s remarkable,” I say. “But if the pools guarantee safe birth…”

  “You’re wondering why your mates’ mother died.”

  I am momentarily rendered speechless. How is it that this woman knows what I intend to ask before I ask it?

  “Back in the time she died, the pools were closed to women, even though it was the Witches of the Wyrd who used the magic pools to create the first Drakoryans. Despite this, in their own castles, the Drakoryans reserved the pools for themselves, never stopping to think how it could benefit their ladies.

  And this is how it was until quite recently, when a lady in the northern empire was close to dying in childbirth. In desperation, one of her mates rushed her to the pool. She not only revived and delivered easily, but her body was restored. And the Drakoryan, realizing then that the pools could spare them the loss of a mate, opened the pools to us.”

  “You sound as if you resent the Drakoryan,” I say quietly.

  “Resent them? No. But I am not worshipful of them, either.” She pauses. “I sense something in you, Lyla of Fra’hir. Heed my warning. It is easy for new Fire Brides to be rendered complacent in this life, to see themselves as bed-warmers or vessels for childbearing. But you…when I look in your eyes, I see that you still hold true to where you came from, that you won’t so easily forget.” For the first time, she smiles. “My name is Syrene.”

  “I don’t remember you from the Fire Bride ceremony,” I say.

  “I don’t attend ceremonies other than council meetings since I gave birth over two years ago. I’m allowed to attend this one because all families come to council. We are seated in order of house alliance. Enid’s mates of House Gro’han are most closely allied with House Fra’hir, as are mine. I am from House Jo’lyn. My mates are Lords Edrys, Xarsi, and Nyron. Their fathers were close with Lord Rymoth.

  I look around the room at the children racing about. “Which child is yours?”

  “My child is not here.” There’s a wistfulness in her next words. “Girl children are not allowed.”

  “You have a daughter?” I ask excitedly.

  “Yes, and it has brought shame to my mates.”

  I’m momentarily stunned. “Shame? What shame can there be in having a daughter?” I am unnerved by her answers, and affected by the sadness I sense through her detached veneer.

  “The Drakoryan prize sons,” she explains. “When a daughter is born, she is kept separate and apart, with no playmates unless some other unfortunate Fire Bride gives birth to another girl. But that is so rare, and girl children often spend their early years alone until they are sent to live with the witches.”

  I am indignant. “That is cruel!” I can barely get the words out for my anger. “Why should the Drakoryan not prize a daughter as much as a son?”

  Syrene glances at the children then looks at me. “That,” she tells me, “is a question best put to your mates. I’d advise most new Fire Brides to ask the other women for answers. But you?” She puts a hand to my cheek. “You are strong enough to insist your lords explain this aspect of the culture. I feel the answer will be another step on a path you walk, but I cannot clearly see.”

  She turns and walks away without another word, and I know there’s no need to follow her or to press for more information. My conversation with the enigmatic Syrene is over. I watch as she walks to a table, selects a piece of fruit and moves on to a lounge. Two women sitting there rise and leave, as if avoiding her.

  The servants have arrived to collect the children. The mothers laugh and help, chasing the active little boys around and scooping them up. A few children break into howls as they are handed, wriggling in protest, to nursemaids who ferry them out.

  Other servants come in bearing candied sweetmeats and wine. A young serving girl named Zini trails in after the others, clutching a lute to her chest. She looks around in awe, and I tell her how honored we are to have her play for us. I can sense she’s nervous; servants generally only stay in the cavern long enough to deliver food or clean. I guide her to a chair by a table with a little plate just for her containing candied fruits, cheese, and a glass of honeyed nectar. I tell her that if she tires of playing, she’s welcome to take a short rest and replenish herself with food and drink.

  I turn back to the ladies. They’ve all taken their ease, free to relax and talk now that their children are in the care of others. As lute music fills the cavern, I begin to mingle with the other Fire Brides. I am still unsettled by my exchange with Syrene, but keep myself from broaching the subject of daughters with these mothers of sons. And that is not the only thing vexing me now. The image of Tythos and Lord Jayx drilling with the soldiers is still on my mind. Perhaps one of the other women knows something.

  There’s a group enjoying the wine I’ve supplied for this gathering. I join them, and am pleased that I remember their names — Ana, Shila, Fyrn, and Ela. They smile up at me, moving over so that I have a place to sit on the cushioned lounge. Fyrn hands me a glass of wine. They are already in conversation, so I listen in.

  “They need a mate soon, especially Lord Jayx.”

  My interest piques when I recognize the name of the Drakoryan I saw from the archway. “You speak of the lords of House Za’vol?” I ask.

  “You catch on quickly,” says Ana, a buxom woman with ivory skin and hair the color of a sunset. “You’ve met them?”

  “No. But I did see Tythos practicing some sort of military exercise with him.”

  I scan their faces, looking for a reaction to what I’ve told them, but instead of being alarmed, they just laugh.

  “Tythos? Likely passing on his title as the empire’s whoremonger,” Shila quips, to the titters of the other ladies. Then she looks at me, flushing deeply as some of the others gasp. “Beg pardon, my lady! I forget myself. I should not have said that.”

  Fyrn looks up from her needlework “Really, Shila, it’s hardly a secret that Jayx will assume Tythos’ role as randiest unmated l
ord.”

  Shila, who has dark wavy hair and olive skin, frowns. “Perhaps not, but I shouldn’t have said such a thing of Lyla’s mate. Most Fire Brides don’t care to be reminded of their mates’ pasts.”

  “But that’s what it is — the past.” Ela, who is older than the others and the mother of three adolescent sons I met in the hall, looks at me and chuckles. “Your Tythos had quite the reputation, but he’s all yours now, and you his. But Jayx and his brothers are past due for a bride. They walk about with cocks hard as steel.”

  “Ela!” the others exclaim in unison.

  “You know it’s true!” Ela smirks. “No maid in the empire is safe until they are mated, especially not from Lord Jayx.”

  They are all amused again, but I am frustrated. I have no interest in Lord Jayx’s sexual appetite. I’m more interested in knowing what he was doing with Tythos. I raise my voice above their laughter. “Does anyone know why the men are practicing fighting dragons in the courtyard?”

  Suddenly, the cavern goes completely silent and flush as I realize the only sound is Zini’s lute. I glance around. Syrene, off to the side, is staring intently, as if interested in what answer I’ll receive. The other women just look puzzled, as if they can’t fathom what interest I’d have in such a thing.

  “They’re Drakoryan,” Shila says. “If they’re not fucking, eating, or flying, they’re finding some other way to burn off their dragon energy. I assure you, whatever you see them doing is of little consequence to your life.”

  I bite back my response. I want to ask them why they aren’t curious themselves. I want to ask them if they’ve noticed weapons being made at their castles, or whether their mates are gathering in quiet, concerned huddles. But they are just fixing me with puzzled looks, and all I’ve accomplished today now seems offset by this random question that has dashed my image of domestic perfection.

  The rest of the gathering passes in a blur. I won’t remember much of what is said, but I will remember how knowingly Syrene looks me in the eye as she departs.

  Chapter 4

  TYTHOS

  It was my idea to suggest drills and patrols. Normally, we’d have had two days of council meetings before beginning such exercises, but talk can only do so much to cool a Drakoryan’s ire. The exercises provided an outlet for the tension we all feel, and on the way to the evening’s feast, Drorgros praises my thinking.

  “Good move, brother. How went your training?”

  “Well, quite well. As usual, the young soldiers were excited to learn. The old ones were grim. They suspect it was more than just an exercise.”

  “You haven’t told them what we know?”

  He glances at me. “No. Not yet. Soldiers talk to their wives. Their wives are castle maids. If we tell them, how long would it take to reach Lyla?”

  I nod grimly. We head left, climbing up a twisting stairway leading to the hall.

  “Zelki has his back up again,” Drorgros tells me.

  “What now?”

  Drorgros sighs. “He called me out for not telling the council the whole truth about the prophecy. He implied we were being hypocritical for keeping it from the council, from Lyla. I was able to reason with him, but…”

  I stop and turn to my brother. “Do you think he has a point?”

  “I think Zelki wants to be the leader. If he were in my shoes, I know he’d want to wait. But he’s not, so everything I decide, he takes issue with.” Drorgros takes my arm. “Maybe we should give him a regiment.”

  “Drorgros…” I begin.

  “Just hear me out, Tythos. He wants some responsibility, some focus. He feels dismissed, overruled. I think…”

  “We agreed, Drorgros. This is my decision.”

  My elder brother lets go of my arm. “So we did. But will you think about it?”

  I know Drorgros is right; our youngest brother needs an occupation. But I am loathe to reward Zelki simply for being contrary. “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  When we arrive in the hall, Lyla is with Zelki and Imryth on the platform that overlooks the room filled with lords and ladies. Zelki is standing close to our beautiful mate, who looks resplendent in a colorful gown crisscrossed with ribbons that make it look as if the iridescent fabric is tied onto her perfect body. Her hair is swept up into a loose bun studded with tiny jewels. Long tendrils frame her face. Zelki takes one of the tendrils, tugs on it, and then releases it so it springs free. She drops her eyes and blushes at something he says. The front of his skirt is tented with his arousal. He’s shamelessly courting her, and I struggle to fight back my irritation.

  To my satisfaction, Drorgros interrupts them. He takes Lyla’s hand, raising it for a kiss. They exchange words and then — to my surprise, she looks past them and smiles at me.

  “Tythos!” she calls, walking over. “May I sit by you tonight?”

  My brothers glance at one another, the hopeful light in their eyes extinguished. That she should so boldly ask to sit with me amounts to an unspoken endorsement of me as her mate for the evening. I could not be happier and ignore Zelki’s crestfallen expression as I offer her my arm.

  The crowd below spots us and calls up in welcome. We are, after all, the lords of this castle, and my chest fills with pride when I look below to see the tables our little mate has prepared.

  Whole roasted boars with crackling skins rest on beds of crisp greens. There are geese stuffed with chestnut dressing and drizzling with pomegranate glaze. There are massive standing beef ribs, some barely cooked for lords who prefer their meat almost raw. There are bowls of vegetables – rutabagas and parsnips swimming in broth – and savory pies.

  Lyla has even thought to have extra servants on hand. They rush about, carrying trays piled high with hot bread to be served with pots of butter and creamed honey.

  “You’ve outdone yourself, lady,” I say to the affirming nods of my brothers.

  I’m encouraged that she’s thrown herself into the management of our home. It’s obviously consumed her focus, and that is good, because tonight, I intend to consume the rest.

  I can feel admiring eyes following us as we make our way to the head table, where our closest allies are sitting with their mates.

  Enid — the mate of Skryll and Bartax of House Gro’han — smiles when she catches sight of Lyla. A little farther down the table are the Lords Edrys, Xarsi, and Nyron of House Jo’lyn, seated with their raven-haired mate, Syrene. There are no children at this feast, and I am glad. The mere mention of sons is a sensitive topic for House Jo’lyn, given that Syrene produced a female. Some have suggested the daughter was Syrene’s punishment for initially fighting the lords who claimed her. Despite their rocky start, they have the strongest of bonds that appears undiminished by the birth of a daughter.

  She is leaning in and whispering to Edrys, who smiles and touches her face. They will breed again. I pray next time that she will give them a son.

  “Tythos, if you ignore me, I can always go sit with another.”

  Lyla’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn from my speculation about House Jo’lyn to face my mate. I learned shortly after Lyla joined us that she is not to be ignored.

  “Ignore you? You accuse me of doing the impossible, my lady.” In the glow of candles lining the table, her skin is flushed with color. The flame stone given to her the day she became a Fire Bride sits just above the swell of her breasts, burning with multi-colored blaze. She lifts her goblet to her mouth, and when she puts it back on the table I notice her top lip is tinged with wine. Her tongue darts out, licking it away. I could take her on this table right now, so great is my need.

  “You’ve outdone yourself with the feast.”

  She smiles. “And while I was fretting over sauces and pies, what was my most serious of lords doing?”

  I think of the drills, the soldiers. And I lie. “Just the usual sort of things we do when we come together — planning trades, inquiring after the harvests, preparing to protect the villages from Night Bears and
Wolven. The young of both will be on their own soon, and will be a threat, especially at night.”

  “Yes. I remember the barrier fires the dragons laid down to protect us.”

  “I know. I was one of those dragons”

  It seems as if she’s going to say something, but instead looks past me. “Who are those lords? The ones without a woman?”

  I glance to my right. “The Lords of House Za’vol — Jayx, Saedus and Turin. They are yet unmated.”

  “Introduce me,” she demands.

  I’m taken aback. Why should she want to be introduced to Jayx and his brothers when they have no mate for her to chat with? I’m about to ask her this when she speaks again.

  “They sit at our table, so their House is closely allied with House Fra’hir, correct?”

  “You are learning quickly,” I say. Too quickly.

  “So, introduce me,” she insists once more. “As Lady, I should know our allies.”

  I hesitate, wondering if I should quietly explain that a Drakoryan’s possessiveness of his mate is innate, that even seeing her speak to an unmated male stirs the inner dragon. For all of Lyla’s learning, there are things she still does not understand. I could refuse, but the determined set of her jaw tells me she would not accept this.

  “Lords of Za’vol.” I call to my companions, who turn. Their eyes instantly fall on Lyla. Our Lyla. I can see the hunger in them. A Drakoryan male will not so much as touch another male’s mate. But that does not mean a Drakoryan can hide his hunger. I can see the flame flickering in the eyes of these unmated lords, and I do not like it. I put my hand protectively on Lyla’s arm. “This is our mate, Lyla. She was inquiring as to the guests at our table.”

  “Greetings, Lady Lyla.” Jayx appoints himself the spokesman. “It is a pleasure to meet the woman who has tamed the Lords of Fra’hir. But seeing you up close, it is no wonder they are brought to heel. Any man would be obedient when so well served…” He sweeps his hand towards the food. “Although I am sure your charms extend to other…appetites.” When Jayx’s gaze drop to the swell of Lyla’s breasts, I take command of the conversation before the dragon uncoiling in my veins can take hold.