Fire Bride

by Ava Sinclair

  And what other weapon does a Fire Bride have?” she asks. “What other value?” She turns away. “Your mother died trying to give her lord more children. Three sons, and it wasn’t enough for her lord. She died bearing the fourth. I refuse to be so selfless. If I am to risk my own life bearing children for men who took me from my family, I will demand something in return. You will keep my people safe!”

  “You will make no demands,” Tythos steps towards Lyla. But as he does, Zelki grabs him.

  “Calm down, brother,” he warns, only to have Tythos push him aside so savagely that Zelki falls. But our youngest brother is instantly back on his feet, and suddenly the room warms with the heat of their anger.

  Imryth and I try to separate them, but it’s no good. The anger is too great, and I feel it too, now, like an infection. Even Imryth’s eyes are glowing. I fight the dragon beginning to uncoil within.

  “STOP!” A sudden, unexpected voice cools our ire in an instant.

  Olin the Wise has a knack for appearing from the shadows, most often when needed. We break apart, and he walks between us. The old eyes peering from under the hood are filled with disapproval.

  “Did I not warn you?” he asks. “Did I not warn you that keeping secrets from your mate would only result in strife, and in her dividing you?”

  “It was not my intent,” Lyla says.

  He turns to her. “No. It wasn’t. But it is your choice to either bind your mates, or serve as the wedge that separates them.”

  He gives us a moment to reflect on his sobering judgement.

  “You all fight over the same thing. Family. The love of family.” He pauses. “It is the strongest love of all. You young lords fight to secure a family of your future. Your mate fights to save the family she left behind.”

  He turns to Tythos. “You cannot demand this woman breed with you. You cannot force her. You know Drakoryan seed will not quicken in the body of a forced woman.” He looks at Lyla. “You are right that you could end their bloodline. But trust me. Your regret would be great, for despite your anger, you love your mates as much as they love you.” He quirks a bushy brow. “Am I right?”

  She nods, a tear slipping from her eye.

  “Bah. I’m getting too old for this.” Olin the Wise chuckles and goes to stand by the fire. “So now we must find a way for you all to get what you desire, for the sake of harmony. The seed of a Drakoryan will not quicken in a forced woman.”

  “Lyla,” he says, “did your mates tell you of the prophecy?” He waves his hand again. “Of course not. But it can wait no longer. The ShadowFell are coming. They seek something this time. You, Lyla, will play some role in all of this.”

  “What role?” she asks.

  “That I cannot see. Only the witches can tell us. We must go to them, but first your mates must meet with the council. All that has been learned must be divulged. I fear we must prepare for the worst. I fear we must prepare for war.”

  Chapter 12

  LYLA

  My lords must consult the council for permission to visit the witches. I feel sure they will grant it once they know the maidens are being taken. As much as I’d like to attend the meeting, I demure. The council is for the lords alone.

  The evening’s feast is tense. Tythos avoids my gaze. Zelki is unusually taciturn. Even Imryth seems preoccupied.

  I choose Drorgros for my mate that evening. No one objects.

  “They’re angry with me.” Drorgros is laying on his back. My head is on his chest. I trace the mound of his muscle with my finger. “I should not have threatened your bloodline. I just felt so…helpless.”

  He runs his huge hand down my back. “We are five beings. We each have our own wills, our own strengths, our own faults. It is no great tragedy to fight so long as we forgive.”

  “Can they forgive me?” I ask. “Can you?”

  Drorgros sighs and pulls me up so that I’m straddling his cock. I sigh with pleasure as he slowly impales me on its length. His hands are on my waist. “I can forgive you if you can forgive me. I’m sure the others feel the same way. I do not think we will keep anything from you again.”

  He begins to move, easily, his cock undulating in my pussy, stroking the walls with a sweet rhythm, teasing out my orgasm. His intense dark eyes watch my every move. He’s so careful, holding me with hands that span my waist. I move on him, slowly and seductively. He smiles up at me.

  “Sweet little Lyla. My little prize.”

  I think of the first time I saw him. He was a dragon then, his huge head rising above the cusp of the rock I was tied to. The next time I saw him, I was in his bed. He was gentle, even as a dragon. My gentle giant.

  “Let me see you come,” he says, and I give him my orgasm, crying out in the dark. He knows just what I needed tonight, not to be fucked, but to be loved. Afterwards, he holds me and for a long time we are quiet. I will not leave the bed to read, not tonight.

  “Why do the Drakoryans find shame in daughters?” I ask.

  He scoffs at this. “We don’t.”

  “But the brides…” I raise myself up on my elbow.

  “We can only mate with humans, not with our kind. This was deemed by the Goddess who made us. But there was a price for allowing us to breed at all. The witches do not take mates. Our daughters belong to them, to keep the Wyrd going.

  “Our ancestors extolled the birth of sons, hoping disappointment of birthing a daughter would blunt the loss of giving it up. Soon, it became part of the culture, with both lords and ladies seeing the birth of a girl child as something to grieve, and later, as a source of shame.”

  “And do you feel that way?” I ask.

  He runs a hand down my cheek. “I don’t think on it. It happens so rarely. We intend to have you surrounded by sons.”

  When I finally fall asleep, I try to dream of sons. But I only dream of black dragons and fire. I wake to find Drorgros gone, and remember he and the others are meeting with the council. Later today, I will know if we journey to see the witches.

  Unable to sleep, I rise early and see to the morning feasts for the ladies, and afterwards go to my chamber to see to Isla. She’s awake now, but still quiet.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” she says when I bring her breakfast.

  “It is easy to be kind to someone so deserving,” I say. “You have been through a lot. You’re very brave.”

  “No. I’m not brave. Had I been brave, I’d have run to the cage and freed my sister and the others rather than hiding in the well. It was so horrible. More horrible than you can imagine…”

  I take her hand. I do not tell her that I don’t have to imagine, that I know of the beast that took her sister, the black scales, the horrible red eyes.

  Beti comes into the room. “My lady.” She has a serious look on her face. “The lords want to see you in the hall. They have instructed me to tend to Isla until your return.

  Until my return. I know what this means. I take a cloak from the wardrobe and put it on. The lords are waiting for me when I arrive. They look serious, especially Drorgros, whose face shows more strain than usual.

  “Was it so terrible?” I ask.

  “Bad news never goes down easily.” He sighs. “The taking of the women is of grave concern. They agree that we should go see the witches. But…” His voice trails off. “They are unsettled by the prophecy Olin received, and some are loathe to believe it. For centuries, only the Drakoryan have consulted the witches in matters of war, never one of our mates.”

  “I see.” I look down to hide my anger. “So, they do not want me to go.”

  “No. And you would be staying behind were it not for Tythos and Zelki.”

  “Tythos?” I look to the one mate who had had bristled at my earlier ultimatum.

  “Yes,” Drorgros says. “He had a bravery I did not. He defended you. He asked the council if our old traditions were worth defying the witches, were worth possibly losing to the ShadowFell. Olin believes your role is somehow tied to the capture of thes
e village maidens.” He takes my hand. “But there is no time to waste. We must fly now to the Mystic Mountain. Now all that remains is for you to decide which dragon you will ride.”

  This choice is easy. “Tythos,” I say, smiling, looking at the second-born Drakoryan lord. I’ve ridden you before, I convey this without words, and he smiles, and I feel the rift between us healing.

  But I will need a deeper trust than ever, for when we reach the platform by the inland sea and my lords shift, the magnitude of what I’m about to do fully hits me. I will fly with the dragons. Lord Jayx is coming, too. I do not ask why, but I wonder whether it has something to do with Isla.

  Tythos lays down, his long neck stretched out. I have seen them change, but this is the first time since I was taken that I am this close to my lords in their dragon form. The others stand at the edge of the platform.

  Climb on. Tythos’ words invade my mind, the timbre of them deeper, like a smoldering growl. I step forward, my hand shaking as I touch one of the scales on his neck. It’s huge and thick. I run my hand over the surface of it, feeling the bony plate that provides him protection. Then I grasp the ridge and climb up to his shoulder.

  See the large scale between my wings? Watch it.

  A center scale lifts slightly. There’s a hollow beneath, and I can tell what it’s for. I sit on the scale behind it, and slip my leg under the raised scale. As soon as I do, the scale behind me tilts upwards, supporting my back, as the scale over my leg molds itself over me, like a pliable, bony blanket. I am locked onto Tythos’ back, and the next thing I know he’s pumping his mighty wings and rising into the air.

  I hold onto the ridge of the scale over my legs. The lip of it curves towards me, giving me a makeshift handle. The scale behind me gives me enough security to look down at the water of the inland sea, which becomes a green blur as Tythos begins to move forward. His brothers are ahead of him, and I know he’s giving me time to adjust.

  Hold on. We are nearing the mouth of the cave, the pinpoint of light getting bigger and bigger. And suddenly I am blasted by the bright light of day and a wind that has me using my free hand to clutch my cloak around my shoulder.

  As the countryside recedes, I’m reminded of the first time a dragon took me aloft. I can see Drorgros ahead of us, a flash of green. I had been so afraid when he took me in his clawed grasp, but this time I made the choice to fly, and I’m exhilarated as I view the landscape below. I am finally seeing the Drakoryan Empire, which is comprised of a meandering mountain range surrounded by fertile valleys and grassy plains. Below, I can see the mountain castles of other Drakoryans. In the distance is a larger mountain range that separates the empire from human habitation.

  We are heading north, and the landscape starts to change. I have read about the Mystic Mountain, and know it is surrounded by forest close to a nearby mountain that houses the castle of King Vukurcis, the reclusive Drakoryan leader.

  Even from this distance, it is easy to see why the leaders of old would choose this mountain. The peak towers above the mountains around it, and in my mind’s eye I can still see the image from the Deepening of the two mighty dragons battling atop the lofty height.

  Hold on! I hear Tythos’ dragon voice in my mind and grip the edge of the scale. He banks sharply left, heading towards another mountain, one dark and shrouded in mist. My heart quickens in my chest. I do not have to ask which one this is. I can sense something different about it, even from this distance. It is the deep magic I have read about in the old books on Drakoryan history. Tythos’ wings fold by his side and we zoom straight ahead now, heading towards the home of the Witches of the Wyrd.

  Chapter 13

  TYTHOS

  It is my honor to bear Lyla to the Mystic Mountain. My anger had gotten the best of me when we’d argued, and when she’d threatened me, I’d become enraged that she would dare to set terms.

  For so many years, my brothers and I had waited to mate. During that time, we had all formed our own vision of what our mate would be like, how we would interact. So much of this was drawn from what we knew of most other Fire Brides. Even those who resisted at first eventually settled in, deferring to their lords in everything.

  I do not like disorder. I do not like dashed expectations. But Lyla is teaching me to expect the unexpected, and it was only when I became enraged that I felt the fear of alienating her. At dinner, I could barely look at her. I was sure she would hate me.

  When I defended her at the council, it was not merely to get back in her good graces. I had meant every word. She is changing the way I see things — the way we see things. When I listened to the council speak of women as unworthy of anything beyond childbearing, I had felt conflicted, for I’d realized how we’d sounded to Lyla. It was then that I had spoken up, and swayed them with a passion that matched their own.

  And now we are entering the unknown. We are flying into the mist that shrouds the mountain home of the Wyrd. It is so thick that I cannot see my way. But there is no need. Here, a dragon rides currents of magic as they ride currents of air. We fly in single file. I am in front, with my brothers and Jayx traveling in my wake.

  The entrance to the Mystic Mountain is only accessible to those who know where it is. Here, the clouds are thickest, the opening shielded by an overhanging, curved rock. A dragon must dive down and enter from underneath. Lyla holds on tightly as I dip and come back up, going from thick gray mist into darkness. We can only enter one by one, and once inside we land on a platform that rings the interior of the cavernous mountain. I move to the right to make way for my brothers and Jayx. Once everyone is in, they burst into flames. Except for me. I lay down and lift my scale so that Lyla can free herself. I lay perfectly still as she climbs down and stands by my head. She walks to the end of my head and kisses me on the tip of my snout.

  “That,” she says, “was amazing. Thank you, my lord dragon.” She moves back then so I can shift to my human form and now it’s the six of us – my brothers, our mate and Jayx. Our eyes have adjusted to the darkness illuminated by glowstones embedded in the cavern walls.

  “Oh, my!” Lyla is looking over the edge. Stone staircases set at angles lead down into what looks like endless darkness.

  Beside me, Tythos sighs. “The only downside of the Mystic Mountain? The stairs. Shall I carry you?”

  Lyla declines as she looks at the daunting steps. “No. Not yet at least.”

  As we begin to descend, I am reminded why the witches feel safe here. The way down is treacherous. The steps are narrow and steep, with no handholds on either side. Drorgros, Imryth, and Lyla walk ahead of me, Zelki, and Jayx walk behind.

  By the tenth flight, Lyla is ready to accept my offer of help as we continue to descend. We descend for a very long time.

  Finally, after what seems like hours, there is a faint glow coming from below.

  “May I walk now?” Lyla asks from Imryth’s arms now.

  “If a lady wishes.” He stops, carefully putting her down.

  “It’s dizzying,” Lyla observes, looking over the edge. The glow is becoming brighter the closer we get to the bottom. The air thrums with energy. When we reach the bottom, we come to a large pool. Behind it are tunnels that lead to other pools—pools of great power, including ones that can raise the dead. But the pool in the main cavern is the most significant to the Drakoryans, for it was here that King Eknor and his sons found themselves after stumbling into the mountain from an entrance since sealed forever.

  Lyla is staring at the pool in wonder, and I know she is imagining the dying king she has read so much about, how he lay at this very spot and watched his sons change into the first dragons. At the side is the rock where he first spied the lady. Across the pool, in the shadows, is where her consort emerged in the form of the stag.

  “I cannot believe I am here!” Her eyes are shining and we all exchange smiles, pleased to see her so enthralled.

  We wait in silence, and after what seems like an eternity, a girl emerges from a nearby tunnel. Sh
e looks to be about eleven or twelve and wears a light blue tunic belted at the waist. She carries a tray bearing a small platter of food, a jug, and five goblets.

  “The Wyrd offer this food and drink.” Her voice is strong, carrying through the cavern. I recognize her, and am struck by how poised she is, how much she’s grown. She departs without another word, and we help ourselves to the food.

  “Did you recognize her?” Lyla asks

  “Yes. Her name is Sylva.”

  “She came here as a youngling,” Imryth tells Lyla. “She’s an initiate now.”

  “She’s Drakoryan?”

  “Yes. A girl child. She’s in her twelfth year. Next year she will be introduced to the mysteries.”

  I can tell Lyla wants to ask more, but we have been served food and must eat. The fare is simple but substantial. There’s fruit, cheese, dried meat, and bread made with soft, unborn grains. The pitcher is filled with honeyed nectar better than anything we serve at the castle.

  To the right is another tunnel, and I see a light at the end, coming closer. Drorgros directs us to stand by the wall, and I can see women now, the one in front carrying a lantern. They carry themselves with quiet dignity. Even from here, we can feel their magic, their divine female power.

  My brothers can feel it, too. Despite the patriarchal society of the Drakoryan, in the presence of the witches, they instantly bow their heads in deference to the semicircle of women that comes to line part of the pool’s edge. Not a word is spoken, and then another woman enters. She is clad in a flowing midnight blue robe. Her silver hair hangs down past her waist. Her face is ageless, her eyes piercing.

  “The Lords of Fra’hir,” she says. Her voice is melodic but as strong as any man. “It has been many long years since you have honored us with your presence.”

  “The honor is ours, Queen Arvika.” My oldest brother addresses her first.

  “And you have brought Lord Jayx of Za’vol.” She smiles. “He seeks a favor.” The witch queen looks past us then, at our mate.