by Ava Sinclair
I use that love now, to give me courage. Yes, it’s just courage to open a book, but it’s a start.
And there it is. My enemy, the rendering of it spanning two pages of the huge book. I try to suppress the memories the image evokes — the sounds of battle cries, the screams, the smell of sulfurous fire and smoldering flesh, the way the flames lit up the night sky, illuminating dragons that looped and reeled in aerial combat, and the soldiers who bravely fought below, ready to trap any dragon that landed at the king’s gate.
It’s the eyes I notice first. ShadowFell eyes are red in their coal-black faces—the color of dying embers. The heavy, bony brow plates above them angle downwards, giving these dark dragons a menacing appearance even when they are at rest. Unlike the Drakoryan, all the ShadowFell are black. But there are differences, if an observer knows what to look for. When the underbelly of a ShadowFell catches the light, unique patterns can be detected.
ShadowFell are not as heavy as Drakoryan dragons. But they are longer and leaner, with wings wider in span, and fixed lower on the back. They are faster in flight, and make better use of their heads and tails as rudders.
These are adaptations that serve them well in the deep mountains, where they keep to lairs we’ve been unable to locate. ShadowFell excel in maneuverability, and also in ferocity. They have longer, more pointed muzzles, and wider mouths with more plentiful teeth than our kind possess. Their tongues can taste fear in the air, an adaptation that helps them find hidden prey. Their claws are thick hooks, useful for burrowing deep into their mountain dens. They also possess an extra claw on their wing joint — a particularly deadly weapon employed in aerial combat.
But for all these advantages, the ShadowFell are primal fighters, capable only of brutish attacks. Or so we have always thought. Could it be that there is more to the violent dragons than we’ve assumed? Are they becoming capable of strategy? Is the attack on Kenrick part of some plan? What I can’t find in books I hope we find in Branlock tomorrow.
“Imryth?” I jump at the sound of my name and turn in surprise.
“Lyla.” I slam the book shut. “I didn’t hear you come in. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be with the other ladies.”
“They’re in the pools, and I’ve had the servants bring them good wine. I’ll not be missed.” She gives me a sad smile. “Are you going to scold me, too, for abandoning my guests?”
“Do you expect me to?”
She waves my comment off. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume. Tythos and Drorgros believe I should be studying the other Fire Brides instead of books, that I should be absorbing contentment instead of knowledge.”
“We have a lot in common,” I say. “They believe I should be swinging a sword instead of turning pages.” I pause. “Would you like me to help you find a book?”
“You already have.” She points to the book I just shut.
I look back at the huge volume. “You don’t want this one.”
“It’s exactly what I want.” She steps forward. “It’s about the ShadowFell, is it not?” She cranes her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the book I’m shielding. “Let me see it, please? I know little of the ShadowFell, other than what I glimpsed at the Deepening.”
“But what of your studies of Drakoryan history, Lyla? Surely that’s a more fitting topic for our lady. The ShadowFell is too terrible a subject.”
“And yet you are reading the book.” Lyla remains unmoved.
I think of the prophecy Olin received from the witches indicating that Lyla will have a role to play in the looming conflict. I am torn. I understand her desire for knowledge. I also want to protect her.
“Imryth.” She moves so close I can feel the warmth of her skin, smell her perfume. “Are you becoming like your brothers? Do you, too, see me as nothing more than a vessel for producing sons?”
“You know I don’t.” But even as I answer her, my cock stiffens under the leather that covers it. I see her drop her gaze to where it’s lifting the front of my skirt. When her eyes meet mine, there is judgement in them. I long to tell her that my interest in her is not merely sexual, that my body responds as it does because of the dragon, which is feral and shameless in its lust. But it’s not something I can put into words, so I don’t try. Instead, I step aside and open the book on the table.
She gasps at the sight of the dragon.
“It’s horrible.” She moves towards the book. I watch as she places her hand on the page, tracing the shape of the black dragon with her finger. “I remember it from the Deepening, the sound of the roar, the anger in those awful red eyes. I could feel their rage.”
“They are made of rage,” I say. “They are night hunters, very territorial when it comes to other dragons. They would rule the world if they could, but we won’t let them. They’ve drive all the other dragons away, save for the Drakoryans.
“Why did we never see them in the villages?”
“Because ShadowFell don’t bother with humans. They understand enough to know that human raise the cattle they steal. They are not stupid, but we believe they lack the strategy of Drakoryans, who have the reason of man.”
“Are you sure?” She glances up at me.
“No,” I admit. “I wish we knew more about them.”
“Is that why you’re here tonight? To learn more?”
She’s so very clever. She’s leading me into giving her information.
“Even in times of peace, we should know our enemy,” I tell her. I hold my breath, hoping this answer will serve as a deflection.
Lyla says nothing as she turns to the next page of the book. This one depicts the largest of the ShadowFell, his long neck arched. He’s sitting on a mountain peak, his mighty wings spread, his tail curled around the rocks.
“The ShadowFell king.” I try to keep my voice level. “He has no spoken name in the human tongue. Only his kind can call him, in their own language.”
“Can you speak ShadowFell?”
“There is no communicating with them. They are a species apart.”
“Is it because you are half human?”
It is a good question. “Yes. But our disadvantage is our advantage. It is better to communicate with men than dragons. The serving class has been crucial when we’ve had to fight the ShadowFell, and as humans, we can call upon the powers of magic through the witches. We have the regenerative pools to refresh us for battle, prophecy to warn us of battle…”
“Prophecy?” She excitedly repeats the word, and I silently curse myself for giving too much away. “Have you been warned of a coming battle?”
“Lyla…” I shut the book. In my mind’s eye, I can imagine a war, imagine her in danger. Fear rises within me like bile. “I don’t want to speak of such a horrible thing.”
“Why?” she asks. Then she steps back, studying me. “By the gods, Imryth. You’re afraid.” Her words are tinged with disbelief.
“Stop!” For the first time, I’m angry with her. “It is not right to intrude into my thoughts like that.”
“I wasn’t prying into your mind, Imryth. I hardly have to. I can feel your fear.”
My heart sinks in my chest. “You’ll think less of me now,” I say. “You’ll think me less of a protector.”
Lyla reaches down, takes my hand, and brings it to her lips, so petal-soft on my skin. “No.” She stares at me with loving eyes. “If anything, I think you stronger than all your brothers combined, for you are not afraid to show me your true self.
She pauses for a moment. “I was afraid, Imryth. I still went to Altar Rock because I had to. I stood there and waited for the dragon, even though I believed it would rip me asunder. I was afraid the whole time. It is not weakness to be afraid. If anything, those who face danger despite fear are far braver than those who face it with arrogance.”
She looks around the library. “Have you ever thought of making love in here?”
The question takes me by surprise. “Here? Among the books? No!”
“Why?” The corn
er of her mouth curls into a small, seductive smile. “Are you afraid the ghosts of the old masters who penned these books will see our wanton deeds from these hallowed shelves?” Lyla puts her finger on my chest and trails it slowly downward until she hooks it in the top of my belt.
She inhales deeply, then stands on tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “The smell of books and scrolls makes me wet.”
She’s a sorceress. I’m convinced of it. She knows just the right things to say to weave a spell with words to make a hard man even harder. Lyla turns and bends over the table.
“If you take me from behind,” she says, “we can read while we fuck.”
I can’t get my cock out fast enough. I came in here to study, but my seductive mate has driven all capacity for thought from my brain. All I can think of is sinking my cock into her quivering warmth, of pleasing her.
And I always please her. She moans as my shaft slides into her pussy. And then a second appendage moves forward like a finger, pressing and rubbing her clit as I begin to move with slow, easy strokes. I look down, mesmerized by the perfect globes of her ass, by how easily her little body takes my cock, by how tightly she pulsates me.
It becomes a battle of wills. I can feel her using her love muscle, gripping me, pulling as if to coax my climax before I can make her come. And while I may be the most indulgent among my brothers, I will not give Lyla her way in this. I will make her come. I will make her come first and hard.
I press the tip of my smaller appendage against her clit. It begins vibrating. She’s squirming and mewling, and I grasp her hips, holding her still as I begin to pound her hard. She’s gripping the table, moving back to meet my thrusts. She reaches back between my legs to fondle my balls, the little minx. I will my cock to swell and ripple so that her pussy is thoroughly filled and stimulated as the smaller appendage flutters against her clit. Lyla is mewling now, losing control. She’s lost this fight, but I suspect she planned to all along.
She’s brilliant, beautiful, and my cock can’t get enough of her. When she comes, I surrender as well, spewing my hot seed into her quaking body. It is all we can do to muffle our cries, in this most unlikely place for an interlude.
But as it turns out, our restraint in that regard is not enough to save us from discovery. For just as I move away and Lyla lowers her skirt, we turn to see Drorgros standing in the doorway.
Chapter 7
DRORGROS
“You’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
It is the next day, and Imryth and I are walking to the platform, preparing to leave the cave for Branlock. I did not speak to him in the library. I’d walked in just in time to see him slide his cock – cocks – from between Lyla’s glistening thighs. Brother or not, the sight of another taking Lyla had sent the dragon fire racing through my blood. I’d turned away, walking and then running through the tunnels. I’d barely gotten to the platform when the fire had overtaken me. I’d never turned that fast. One moment I’d been running in human form. The next I was looking down at the inland sea zipping past beneath me.
“Just shut the library door next time, Imryth,” I snap. “That was not wise. Did you not stop to think that the castle is full of visitors? Anyone could have walked in.”
“I did not know it was going to happen, brother.”
I fix him with a scowl. “And you couldn’t control yourself? Are you her pet or her lord, Imryth?”
“Would you have refused her, Drorgros?”
“No,” I admit. “I won’t pretend that I could refuse her, if you don’t pretend that Lyla was in the library merely looking to couple. What was she really seeking?”
I can see Imryth doesn’t want to answer. “A book,” he concedes. “On the ShadowFell.”
“Did you give it to her?” It’s a pointless question. Of course, he did. “Imryth…” I hear the disappointment in my own voice.
“And why shouldn’t I, Drorgros? I want to protect Lyla as much as you do, but the prophecy — Olin warned us not to keep secrets from her.”
“Yes! But we are still her lords, Imryth. We are still her masters. If we are to keep her safe, we must wait until the right time to tell her what we know.”
“Can’t you see she won’t accept that, Drorgros? I don’t think the witches intended us to keep her in the dark this long.”
“Has it occurred to you that the witches might be wrong!” As soon as the words are out, I regret them. A cold breeze comes off the inland sea, as if the forces of nature are rebuking me for my heresy.
“Brother, don’t say such a thing. The Wyrd have never steered us wrong.”
“I know.” I sigh in exasperation. “I just want to keep her safe. I never imagined when I plucked her from that rock how much I would love her. How much we all would. I only wish…”
“That Lyla was more placid? Sedate? More like Enid and the others who preen and lounge and take pleasure in planning feasts and babies?” Imryth shakes his head. “The gods did not give us that kind of mate, Drorgros. He gave us a female with an inner fire that matches our own. If we are to master her, we must seek to be worthy of the honor. So strong a woman will accept no less. She will make us better men, better dragons. But we have to trust her.”
Imryth is right, and his words convince me. I hope what we discovered in Kenrick was the actions of a rogue or inexperienced ShadowFell, and that we’ll find something different in Branlock.
“Ah, there you are!” I look past Imryth now to Turin, one of the unmated lords of Za’vol. The destruction of Branlock is of special concern to him and his brothers, as this was one of the villages under their protection, and one they’d hoped would produce a sacrificial bride come the next Claiming Day.
“My apologies, Drorgros” Turin says. “Xarsi and Jayx were fretting over being left behind, but Tythos needs them here to help with exercises.
“No more than three are needed to check the village, anyway” Imryth agrees. “Their skills are better used here.”
We all step back. Turin changes first, his flame as bright an orange as the dragon he becomes. Imryth goes next, his spiraling golden flame morphing into a shimmering dragon. I am last. I can feel it burning me from inside out, the pressure and raw pain intense for a flash before I swell and rise above the ground. My sight and hearing becomes more acute as the ground recedes beneath my rising head and I solidify into my dragon form. I inhale, catching scents of the salty inland sea, the snow and trees far beyond. I pump my wings and rise into the air, shooting forward as Imryth and Turin follow in my wake.
Halfway to the mountain range, I catch an air current that lifts me and my fellow travelers above the peaks that separate us from the human villages we rule. The landscape below is changing with the coming of harvest time. The days become colder. Once we clear the mountains we pass over the clouds shrouding the villages. The humans below cannot see us as we glide over, but we catch glimpses of them as the clouds break. They are tending the crops and livestock on land we have allowed them to cultivate. Patches of wheat gleam golden amid the fields of ash. An island of green is dotted with white sheep. If they please us with good yields and willingly sacrifice a maiden when we demand it, we burn less land so they can grow more food and animals and trade with one another.
Farther, towards the village by the forest, it is cooler. There is already ice on the rivers winding like ribbons through the hills. Shaggy cattle forage for lichen among the rocks. A shepherd boy sits with a girl, sharing a basket of food. She is not old enough to be claimed as a Drakoryan mate. Even after a maiden comes of age, she remains untouched for three years. If her name is not revealed by the witches as a sacrifice during that time, she is allowed to mate with one of the villagers. But we get first pick. Of women, of everything.
Drorgros. My brother silently calls to me and I spread my wings against the current, slowing down. Imryth pulls up beside me and I follow his gaze to the ground. A pack of Wolven is loping below — great hunch-backed beasts with long gray fur, mouths fu
ll of serrated teeth, and paws five times as large as a man’s hand. They are cunning hunters, hiding among the rocks or trees on the outskirts of villages and attacking as darkness falls. Winter makes them especially voracious, and bold; they have been known to leap through windows and snatch sleeping children from their beds. In the Winter, we lay down fire barriers around villages to keep them away. We know almost all the packs in this region, and this looks to be a new one made up of young adults driven away by alpha males. We make note of where they are, and will track them on patrols. They may leave the territory altogether, but should they roam too close to the villages, we will teach them to fear the dragon’s fire.
We bank left, towards the forest. Branlock sits at the base of an ancient, wooded hill that was once a volcano. The soil here is still rich, and the village has always grown magnificent berries of all kinds. There is also a small but productive vineyard.
I can see those vineyards are burned to ash, as are the berry fields along the forest edge. But the real damage is in the village itself, and my heart sinks as my companions and I land and shift back into our human form.
As with Kenrick, the destruction here is not confined to burning. Here, too, the thatch roofs of stone huts were torn off, the walls of some houses crushed inward. The village well is destroyed, the stones scattered by the sweep of a mighty tail.
“It’s a different dragon,” Imryth observes. He’s found a print. “A larger one.”
“Large foot, long tail.” Turin points to a drag mark in the ash.
This means there are two awake, and more to come. “We should search what remains of the houses,” I say, trying to restrain my anger at this senseless slaughter.
“Why, Drorgros?” Turin sweeps his arm in the direction of the devastation. “None could survive this.”
I know he’s right, but there were five hundred villagers here, and dozens of maidens. I want to know if those maidens are among the dead, or if — like Kenrick — they are missing.