by Lynn Best
Outside, the horses rattled their halters and men’s voices called out to one another. Seela pressed her eye to the slit between the door and its frame only to surmise it was daylight now, but unable to pick out anything else. Soon, boots were heading her way, the lock was clinking, and the door creaking open.
Squinting into the light, she spied the Bishop of Danbury on the other side of the door. At least he appeared road weary with muddy trousers and tusseled hair.
“Out,” he barked, holding the door open.
She willed her aching body out of the carriage, immediately looking around. They weren’t in the kingdom. However, far off through the trees, she could see the stone wall marking the king’s courtyard. Her eyes traveled up to see the spires of his church and the turrets of his castle peeking above the heavy fortress barricade.
“Are we going to the castle?” she asked.
The bishop glowered at her. “No. And none of your petulant questions. Just move.” He pushed on her shoulder roughly. She lurched forward, wishing leprosy on his man parts. It was then she remembered the knife in her boot. But when she glanced back, he was flanked by two men, swords at their hips, not to mention the cruel knife at his belt.
He seemed to be marching her away from the castle and its walls, into the forest beside the road. Seela was very much used to woodland travel, but this forest was much thornier than her own. The trees were squatty with sharp brambles. Many times, her dress snagged and she had to untangle herself, the bishop scowling the entire time. She realized it irritated him, so every time it happened, she took care and ease to untangle herself. She could hear him fuming behind her.
Seela thought about running, about bolting through the trees. The armed guards had fallen back a little, leaving only the bishop to catch her, but where would she go? She had no idea where they were, nor any no food or water. Better to see what lay ahead than have a dagger between her shoulder blades.
Up a hill, they slogged. They were out of sight of the carriage now, and down a very narrow, overgrown path. How far would they venture into the woods, and what could possibly be waiting for them?
At the bottom of the slope, she spied a rocky cavern set into the hillside, the entrance covered by a large boulder. Seela glanced back at the bishop, and he gestured onward. Her heart began to patter again. What awaited inside?
She stopped a few yards from the boulder, peering at its massive girth. There was no way they could move it, so what purpose could coming here bring? Would they have a picnic? Her stomach growled at the thought of food.
Turning to the bishop, she tried to suss out what they were doing. Instead of directing her any further, he pulled from his belt a staff about the length of his forearm. It was bejeweled on the hilt, the handle tapering to a fine point. Yet, it was too short to be a walking staff and too dull to be a blade. It looked more like a very fancy wand, such as those she’d heard the wizards’ guild meddled with, though she’d never actually seen any in her village manage magic. That kind of power was long dead.
As she watched, he strode past her. Finding a small crevice beside the giant boulder, he lifted the staff above his head, said a few words in a language she did not understand, and drove it downward. It pierced the rock, settling into it like a key fitting into a lock.
Then it began to glow.
“What in the world?” she whispered.
With each pulse of green light from the staff’s jewels, the rock began to roll away. The bishop seemed to be directing it backward, using the staff as a handle.
Creaking and spilling debris from its top, the stone turned until the dark throat of a cavern became apparent. Seela stared in, trying to pick out anything in the pitch darkness.
“What’s inside?” she asked.
“Look closer,” the bishop said, stepping up behind her.
Seela peered in, unable to contain her curiosity. Was that magic he’d used? Was there more inside?
A shove from behind sent her flying forward. She hit the ground hard. Her hands buried into sharp rocks, then the rest of her body followed, tumbling and bouncing off the earth.
The taste of blood spiked into her mouth, sharp and startling. When she was able to sit up, she stared back at the round opening where the bishop stood, a silhouette against the brightness of day.
Then the stone began to roll over the opening.
“No!” Seela scrambled up, her ankle howling in pain. Limping toward the hole, she tried to make it out, but the boulder rolled faster than she would have thought possible. Within seconds, it had sealed shut, taking the light with it.
With her hands pressed against stone, the terror of the situation folded in on her. She was sealed inside a cave. She had no way out. It was black as pitch. Was this why they took maidens? To leave them for dead in the dark?
“No, no, no,” she murmured, feeling around the stone, then along the wall and to the floor. “There has to be a way out.”
But with no light whatsoever, finding it would be nearly impossible.
Standing up, she pressed her hands to the stone once again. “Hey, don’t leave me in here! Please!”
No answer from the other side.
“Bishop, get me out of here!”
Nothing.
Seela cursed. She screamed. She cried for help. Her words echoed around her, a mockery of calls that let her know this cavern stretched far on all sides. But how could she search it? Despair fell on her as she whirled toward the vast black emptiness.
She couldn’t see a thing. Panting harshly, she tried to listen instead.
Something scuttled in the dark. Movement over loose stones.
Seela whirled toward the sound. “Hello?”
Another sound. To her right. Weight crunching over gravel. Her brain produced images of monsters. She backed up against the bolder, shaking.
“Who’s there?” she whispered through trembling lips.
A rasping, gravelly voice spoke. “Another sssacrifice. How excccellent.”
4
Seela scrambled away, bumping into the rocky wall before stopping. “Whoever you are, stay away from me.”
She held shaking hands out in a ridiculous effort to defend herself. Whatever or whoever it was, he seemed to be able to see much better than she could in the dark. She saw nothing, but she could hear the crunch of gravel as it moved toward her again in a frantic, scrabbling sort of way that made Seela picture something with many legs.
The fear choked her. She could barely draw breath. Hands clawed through open air.
Then something scraped against her arm.
Screaming, she batted at it. It let go, leaving her spinning and crying out. It had felt prickly, like the bristly back of a pig. What was it… and was it toying with her?
“Leave me alone!”
“That is enough!” another voice boomed.
Fire exploded forth, filling the cavern with heat and light. Her eyes darted up to the source and gasped.
A dragon—but they were all supposed to be dead!—took up her entire field of vision. It was the size of a house… nay, bigger, with a tail that extended as long as its body. She couldn’t tell its color, only that it blended in with the rock surroundings. The fire spewing from its mouth threw out heat so intense she shrank from it. The fire caught on a bundle of straw, setting it to aflame. A small, charred body lay beside it, many legs twitching. The smell of burnt hair and flesh stung her nose. Was that the thing that had attacked her? The dragon must have killed it.
The dragon stopped issuing fire in long blasts, examining her with wide reptilian eyes. They glowed green like the bishop’s staff. Vertical pupils sat behind half-closed lids, but the expression on his jowls seemed strangely human. It took a massive step forward, shaking the cavern.
Seela screamed.
Instead of eating her, the dragon pulled its head back, seeming to wince at the sound. It shook its massive skull, eyes glowing as it blinked at her.
She stopped screaming, still panting and holdi
ng onto the rock.
“That is very loud,” the dragon said, shaking its massive head again as if to remove the sound.
It was talking?
“Leave me alone,” Seela said, clutching her head. Had she hit it and knocked herself unconscious? Was she asleep, dreaming all this from her bed?
The air shimmered around her. While she stared in fascination, the dragon shifted, morphing before her very eyes. His giant shape twisted and shrank until there was no dragon, only a man standing before her. A naked man.
Seela blushed, averting her eyes.
When she dared peek again, he held out his hand, a very earnest and concerned expression on his face. “We have to get out of here before the horde comes back. That was only one of them, but more will come. Please.”
Lords, he was handsome. Stunningly so. Even in the dim light by the dying fire, she could see his features were legendary. His strong chin and jaw were cleanly shaven. His cheekbones were high, giving him a regal look, but his expression wasn’t haughty like that of castle royalty. Yet, it was his eyes that drew her in, a startling lime green that seemed to glow just as the dragon’s had. She stared at them as he took another step forward.
“Please, we need to hurry. If they come when I’m in this form, it will not be good.”
“Can’t you just… ch-change back into a dragon?” she asked, not really sure she had any idea what she was talking about.
He shook his head, brown hair falling on either side of his face. “I used that trick all up, unfortunately.”
Her eyes darted toward the dark crevices where the thing that had grabbed her. She definitely did not want to meet his friends in the dark, but how could she trust this… man? She knew nothing about him other than he was some sort of mythological creature she hadn’t known existed until now and that he was… er… naked.
“Please,” he begged again.
“What’s your name?” Seela asked.
“Jerrard. What’s yours?”
“Seela of the Deep Forest.”
“Seela.” He said her name almost like a form of worship. His eyes were endearing. Her mother had always taught her to seek out generous and caring people.
Seela tentatively put her hand in his. He smiled, flashing white teeth before turning and pulling her away down a dark tunnel at a fast clip.
They plunged forward at a pace that was terrifying. Seela couldn’t see anything, and she had no idea how Jerrard could either. Yet, he was able to draw them through a series of tunnels, lefts and rights that Seela could not name if her life depended on it.
He skidded to a stop, and she nearly plowed into him. Though she couldn’t see him, she pictured the glimpse of his naked body in her head, firmly muscled thighs, washboard abs, and hardened chest.
Phew. Was it hot in this cave?
“Where are we?” she asked, turning her head only to see inky blackness in all directions.
“We’re here.”
She opened her mouth to ask where here was when the wall in front of them began to glow.
A green pulsing light that matched the hue she had seen in Jerrard’s eyes slowly filled the cavern, illuminating her surroundings. The cave walls and floor were what she’d expected, but what was in front of her transcended her wildest imagination. A large wooden door with a rounded arch sat in front of them, glowing with green runes. The ancient symbols meant nothing to Seela, but Jerrard appeared familiar with them. He moved his hand over each symbol, touching them before continuing to another.
Before long, the door swung wide.
The room on the other side was as dark as the tunnel behind them. Jerrard gave her a reassuring nod. “In here, we’ll be safe. They can’t come in.”
She asked the only question her addled brain could form. “Who are they?”
“I’ll tell you inside,” he said, gently tugging on her hand.
Seela swallowed, letting him lead her inside.
The boulder rolled back with a loud grinding sound, sending fear up Seela’s spine again. Now she was locked inside with this strange man. Pulling her hand from his grasp, she took a big step back until her shoulder blades scraped against the now-closed door.
Jerrard didn’t seem to notice. He was busy lighting the room with a wave of his hands.
Magic, that was what this was. Old dragon magic that she thought was extinct, along with dragon shifters. They hadn’t been seen in… what? A hundred years?
Of course, the stories of the ancient ones still circulated, children’s stories about times when dragons roamed the skies and mothers hid their babies. But Seela had also been told that dragon shifters had died off long ago, poisoned by Good King Yarrow in the year of the liberation. Yarrow had found the dragons’ weakness, a berry from the south sea that when smashed into a poultice and rubbed on dragon eggs caused them never to hatch. With no way to hatch new babies, the dragons died off, freeing the people from their tyranny.
Only one had survived, the dragon king, and he hadn’t been seen since his people died.
Yet, here was one before her. Either that, or she had gone entirely insane.
As Seela stood immobilized, Jerrard grabbed a bundle of clothes and disappeared behind a door, giving her leave to take in her surroundings. The entryway, dining area, and kitchen were all one big room, small and well-kept with expensive rugs on the stone floors and carved wooden furniture. A large kitchen table dominated the left-hand side of the room, topped with a bowl of apples and dirty plates as if someone had gotten up from eating and hadn’t cleaned up their mess. A very expensive-looking antique settee sat before an ashy hearth. Twin end tables on either side held elaborately gilded oil lamps straight out of history book, though they still somehow functioned. The warm flickering light from their wicks let her see the bookshelf across the room, which was filled with dusty tomes. On the far wall, an oil painting of three men in royal dress drew her attention. Leaving the safety of the door, Seela started toward it.
The painting was as ancient as everything else in the room, likely a hundred years old, though the frame was dust free and the canvas unmolested. What drew her wasn’t the age of the painting, but the subject of it. Three handsome men, brothers from the looks of things, standing together, heads high. They seemed like royalty in princely jackets decorated with war medals and glinting stars. Seela studied the face of the one on the right, his lime-green eyes. He greatly resembled the man who had just come to her rescue.
“Ah, the good old days,” a voice behind her said.
Seela whirled around.
Another figure stood in the room with her, male, similar appearance to her rescuer, but with distinct features that let her know he was someone else. Lighter hair and a higher brow, this man also looked like he was one of the strapping young princes in the painting, though now in threadbare clothes.
As she stared, he walked toward her with his eyes on the painting.
“It was commissioned by Sir Runimade, the best painter in the day, though… I don’t know; I just don’t think he got my nose right.” The man angled his face to Seela so she could inspect his profile.
“The nose is definitely wrong,” Seela said, still a little afraid.
“I knew it.” He smacked his hand on his sizable thigh, smirking. “He’ll have to be fired. Oh wait, that’s right. He died one hundred years ago.” The man winked, mirth in his eyes, before holding out his hand. “I’m Stenton.”
“Stenton,” Seela said, shaking his hand as her brain tried to process this next surprise.
“Your name is Stenton as well? How unfortunate a name for such a beautiful woman.” He pulled her knuckles to his full red lips, then kissed her hand.
Seela felt tingles trip down her arm despite her fear. There was something about the men she was meeting that made her feel warm and alive. Maybe it was her near-death experiences, or the fact they were so tall and handsome.
“My name is Seela.” She pulled her hand back, still wary.
“And she’s our gues
t,” Jerrard said, stepping into the room as he laced his ancient-looking trousers. His clothes were like the room, old and clearly expensive for their time. His white shirt clung tightly to his broad frame, as did his pants. Seela gulped, dropping her eyes. At least he was dressed.
“Where did you find the lovely Seela?” Stenton asked, raking his gaze over her. She was sure she looked dirty, worn, and travel-weary.
“As far as I can gather, she is this year’s Dragon Sacrifice,” Jerrard said.
“Alive?” Stenton asked, his voice rising in surprise. He turned shocked eyes between Jerrard and Seela.
“Yes,” Jerrard said carefully. “I managed to be at the right place at the right time. One of the horde was there. If I hadn’t been at the entrance—”
“The horde was there?” Stenton asked, standing up with alarm. “How did you manage to get her away from him?”
Jerrard shrugged sheepishly. “I scared him off.”
“You transformed,” Stenton said, shock and then concern running through his expression. “Jerrard, you used your transformation up? She is lovely, but your one transformation? Even if she is the Sacrifice, who knows if it will—”
Jerrard dropped his eyes. “It would’ve taken her.”
“What if they try to breach our magic again? You’ll be left completely vulnerable,” Stenton fumed, waving his arms up and down.
Seela glanced between the two. “What are you two talking about?”
Jerrard slouched against the settee, weariness slumping his shoulders. “There’s a lot to explain.”
Seela arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest in a way she hoped made her seem formidable. “Well, then you’d better start talking.”
They sat her down at the kitchen table and gave her hot tea, which she gulped down. Then they plied her with fruits and nuts. Seela knew she should exercise proper table manners and not eat like a ravenous pig, but she was starving and could barely stop herself from shoveling every handful into her gob. The two princes watched, exchanging loaded glances that Seela could not interpret.