by Sarah Hawke
“I did, yes.”
“I’m glad to see him taking a more active role for a change. He has enormous confidence in you, girl. I hope it is not misplaced.”
“It isn’t,” I assured her. “I will do what needs to be done.”
I could feel her smiling beneath her mask. “You possess the knowledge and the skill. I suppose we’ll finally learn whether or not you possess the cunning as well.”
She touched me briefly on the shoulder then pointed towards the ship. I stepped across the pier and nodded at the captain when I approached. Lorne was a bull of a man with a thick shock of black hair and more scars that a battered wooden shield.
“Lady Asha,” he said, offering me a crisp salute. “Welcome aboard the Prowler.”
“Thank you, Captain. The First Wife assures me that you and your men are more than capable of carrying out this mission.”
He scoffed. “Pirates don’t concern us. We’ll destroy that ship and get you your cargo, I guarantee it.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, putting just a hint of menace in my voice. Lorne and his crew were veteran soldiers who had almost certainly fought more battles than any nineteen year-old Dragon Bride, but it didn’t matter. I was in charge here, and I knew how important it was to ensure everyone here understood that.
We set off less than an hour later, and I joined the captain on the main deck as we slowly left the harbor. His men were already keeping their distance, which was fine with me. The less I had to interact with them, the better.
“I’ve arranged quarters for you below decks, my lady,” Lorne told me. “My men will not bother you.”
“If they do, they’ll be returning home without all their fingers. The Dragon God himself is counting on us.”
“He will not be disappointed.”
“Good.”
I remained up top until the Prowler had cleared the bay and drifted out into open waters. I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed sea travel. The smell was bad, the company was generally worse, and the constant swaying didn’t do my stomach any favors. But despite all of that, I still loved the warmth of the sun on my skin and the feel of the salty wind blowing though my hair. Sadly, the trip from Thalamar to Vantriss wouldn’t allow me much time to enjoy either.
I spent the majority of the three-day trip locked in my quarters rifling through every bit of information Lysandre had given me on the Trelathi Corsairs and the local Vin Aetheri cell. People, names, major events—I had already committed them all to memory, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances. The smallest detail could prove vital for my mission. I needed to be prepared for anything.
I only ventured outside at night, and once I even cleared the upper deck so that I could remove my mask and feel the breeze on my face. For the most part the soldiers and servants left me alone, though the retharri slave girl the captain kept as a pet went out of her way to make certain I had everything I needed. I allowed her to pleasure me the second night of the trip, mostly out of pity rather than lust. Spending an evening with her tongue on my quim had to be far more enjoyable than servicing the stems of three dozen soldiers.
By the third day, I was itching for an excuse to fight. We took up position just south of the tiny island of Habelor, a popular supply port for every ship sailing along the Crescent Coast, especially smugglers and pirates. At this point, all I could do was hope that Lysandre’s reports were accurate. If the Corsair ship didn’t swing this way soon, I would miss the Vin Aetheri recruiting window and have to start all over from scratch…
Thankfully, my fretting was for naught. The Corsair ship appeared right on schedule, and Captain Lorne and his men snapped into action with calm, calculated precision. We lured the enemy in with fake smoke and empty survival rafts, and by the time the pirates knew what was happening it was already too late. Sword for sword, Narth soldiers were more than a match for any pirate, and the power of my sorcery made the battle a forgone conclusion. I cut down their initial borders, blasted a gaping hole in their hull, and then swung over to their ship while they were still trying to put out the fires.
My target, First Mate Trevlyn, was every bit as impressive as Lysandre had led me to believe. She was tough and well-trained, and without the master’s power bolstering my muscles she would have had a real chance of besting me in a duel.
With the master’s power, of course, she was no threat at all.
I dragged her bloody corpse into the captain’s cabin, mostly to intimidate him and see how cooperative he could be. He helpfully pointed out everything of value on the ship, and he led me into Trevlyn’s quarters so I could snatch up some appropriate clothing and jewelry for my costume. When I informed him that his pitiful blubbering wouldn’t save him from the Dragon God’s wrath, he fell to his knees and openly begged for his life. He didn’t stop until he was hanging from the crow’s nest by his broken neck while his ship burned to embers around him.
Once I’d scavenged everything I’d needed from the wreckage, I returned to the Prowler and boarded the dinghy. Lorne was smart enough not to ask what I’d taken, and his men were too distracted at the prospect of plunder to even notice me drifting away.
All right, it’s finally real, I told myself as I rowed away from the battle. The master is counting on me. I am not going to let him down.
The Prowler slowly faded into the mists, and I angled the dinghy towards the closest lighthouse. The tides were going to work in my favor for once; I just needed to paddle every once in a while to stay on course for the island. I used the extra time to shed my Dragon Bride armor and assemble my tattered Trelathi Corsair costume. Most of Trevlyn’s clothing fit better than I expected, though I had never worn this much leather in my life. Her boots, breastplate, and skirt were all made from the hide of a trelga, which made them incredibly soft and supple but not particularly resilient. I was more thankful than ever that I’d learned a few Luvani fencing styles—I was going to have to be light on my feet if I wanted to survive without my normal armor and magic.
The strangest part of all was removing my mask. I hadn’t realized how naked I would feel without it, and the sensation was only going to get worse when I walked into a crowd of people. Anonymity was like a second set of armor for a Dragon Bride. Controlling my facial expressions and body language was going to be more important than ever. I also had to conceal my tattoos, of course, but that was easier than it seemed. They wouldn’t glow as long as I didn’t actively draw upon the master’s power, and between clothing and cosmetics the dormant markings were easy enough to conceal.
Midnight had long since passed by the time I washed up on the shore. I scuttled the boat and maneuvered my way towards the settlement, silently thankful that no one tried to accost me. The locals would hear about the battle soon enough, and the wreckage of the dinghy would be enough to validate my story for anyone who cared enough to investigate. I stashed my old armor in the pre-arranged drop point—it was far too valuable to simply discard—and stumbled into the closest dockside tavern.
This is what I trained for. I just have to hope that Lysandre’s information was accurate.
I spent the entire evening in character spreading my story just like we’d planned. I was the only survivor of a doomed Corsair ship brutally attacked by the Narthil navy, and I was hell-bent on seeking revenge against the bastards who had murdered my crew. I didn’t take flak from anyone—in the first two hours alone I punched at least five thugs, some out of spite and some out of fake, drink-induced rage. By morning everyone on the island knew about the battle, and I booked passage on the first ship heading across the gulf to Vantriss.
Based on Charisse’s description, I half expected the city to be on fire when I arrived. It wasn’t, at least not overtly, but it didn’t take me long to realize she hadn’t been exaggerating. Official city watch patrols were sparse, and I didn’t spot a single Dragon Bride anywhere on the docks. For all intents and purposes, the district was run by a pair of competing smuggling cartels, and I dropped the na
mes Lysandre had given me to try and set up a meeting with a Vin Aetheri contact. All told, I spent the better part of two days fishing for leads before I finally got a bite.
The rebel contact in question was a full-blooded Avetharri man named Tanellor. Lysandre hadn’t known quite as much about him as the other names on the list, but I wasn’t willing to wait any longer. I set up a meeting through one of his goons, and later that night I arrived in an alley on the south side of the city according to his instructions.
A pair of enormous, grumpy-looking Kolathi thugs were standing on either side of the entrance to the alley. They weren’t carrying any visible weapons aside from their melon-sized fists, but the marksmen hiding on the rooftops above were holding heavy crossbows. I made a conscious effort not to stare—no normal human should have been able to spot them—but thanks to my superior vision I also noticed a half a dozen other thugs lurking in the shadows further down the alley behind the main guards.
Dragon’s breath, this place has more muscle than a city watch precinct tower. I drew in a deep breath and braced myself for the worst as Charisse’s prescient warning looped through my thoughts. Brute strength wasn’t going to help me here—for once, I was going to have to rely solely upon my wits. Hopefully they were up to the challenge
“I’m here for Tanellor,” I announced as I approached the Kolathi. When they glared at me in response, I revealed the ivory tooth clutched in my palm. “I was told to show you this.”
Several of the marksmen on the roof shuffled closer to the edge, and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of them take aim. My combat instincts threatened to take over, but I forced myself to remain calm and still. Diving for cover now would just guarantee a barrage of bolts in my direction…
“Inside,” the brute on the left said. “Wait with others.”
“Thanks,” I said, injecting as much sarcasm into my tone as possible. I strode past them into the alley, hoping that sheer swagger would assuage any lingering doubts about my identity. None of the marksmen made any sudden moves, but I could feel their eyes and crossbows tracking me. At least that meant I was in the right place.
The narrow alley eventually opened up into wider, roughly rectangular area filled with more burly guards as well as about dozen other people I assumed were potential recruits. They were a diverse lot, at least in terms of race if not hygiene. Basarn, Gosarn, Retharri, humans…I spotted several of each beneath the shadows of their hoods and cowls. Some were obviously mercenaries or pirates, but most looked like guttersnipes or escaped slaves. All of them were huddled around a large trash fire for warmth and light.
“The Avetharri’s not here yet, luv. Might as well grab a seat before you freeze your arse off.”
I turned and glared at the speaker. He was sitting atop an old wooden crate facing the fire, his fingers outstretched and shaking like a lotus addict. A gray hood concealed most of his features aside from his mouth and stubble-pocked chin.
“He’s already late,” the man went on. “If he doesn’t show up soon I’m out of here.”
“You don’t sound very committed,” I told him. “Aren’t you here for the cause?”
He scoffed and was promptly rewarded with a coughing fit. “Most of these folks are,” he said eventually. His Karissian accent was strange to my ears—immigrants from that part of Varellon were almost unheard of in Narthil. “They’d wait around all night just for a chance to sniff the Conduit’s arsehole. They think she’s the only one in the whole bloody world who can save them.”
I glanced around to the others. Between the natural background din of the docks, the crackling of the fire, and the low murmurs of conversation, I wasn’t sure if any of them could hear us or not.
“I take it you don’t agree,” I said.
“Never trust a lizard who thinks herself a dragon,” he muttered. “Honestly though, I don’t give a damn who or what she is. She could be a blind leper for all I care. As long as she gives me a chance to put a blade in the gut of the Emperor’s whores, I’ll do whatever she wants.” He hacked up another wad of phlegm and pointed at the cutlass on my belt. “Trelathi, right? You must have your own scores to settle.”
“Plenty.”
“Well, the way I figure it vengeance is a better motivator than loyalty anyway, right?”
My brow creased as I studied him. None of the other potential recruits were paying any attention to us, and the marksmen on the rooftops hadn’t moved a muscle. But the anxious knot twisting in the pit of my stomach refused to go away.
“One of the Emperor’s wives sank my ship and murdered my crew,” I said after a moment. “She’s going to pay for that, one way or another.”
“I bet she will,” he murmured. “A lot of these folks have a grudge against those whores, too. I hear there was a massacre up north about a month ago. A single Dragon Cunt butchered a dozen refugees just trying to flee into the Deadlands. Can you believe it?”
“Of course I can. They’re monsters.”
“True, but I almost pity them sometimes. Stolen from their families as children, fed lie after lie about the world…and I’m sure it can’t be comfortable getting bent over and fucked by a dragon.”
The hairs on the back of my neck started tingling. There was something strange about his voice and mannerisms, and out of the corner of my eye I swore I saw a flicker of movement from the shadows…
“Everyone’s scared of their power, but it’s not like they’re invincible,” the man went on. “They make mistakes just like everyone else, and their arrogance is astounding.”
I took a step backwards when I saw the marksman on the rooftops abruptly shift their aim towards me. The other would-be recruits around the fire were suddenly alert and focused as well. Most had drawn thin blades from inside their clothing; others were holding small, previously-concealed hand crossbows. All of them were pointed directly at me.
“Still, you are courageous, I’ll give you that,” the cloaked man said. “You’re a more convincing pirate than I would have expected, but did you really think I wouldn’t recognize those sparkling turquoise eyes?”
Before I could move away, the man reached up and pulled back his hood. The dark eyes and youthful face beneath confirmed what I already knew.
“I gave you a chance to surrender back in Last Hope,” Soren Drell said, dropping his Karissian accent and hacking cough. “This time, I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”
The instant my hand twitched in the direction of my sword, a trio of crossbow bolts whistled past my ears and struck the crates behind me. The Kolathi guards shuffled forward to close off my only potential escape, and several more armed rebels emerged from out of nowhere.
“You know what happened to Garaad and his men,” I said, trying and failing to stay calm. “I will kill every last one of you Vin Aetheri scum!”
“Not today,” Drell replied, standing. He didn’t have a weapon, but his hands crackled with sorcerous energy. “There’s no way out of here.”
I almost reached for my sword anyway. My eyes flicked about the alley in search of any means of escape, no matter how fleeting. But even if I could somehow dodge the barrage of crossbow fire—even if I could somehow take cover or dive into melee and force the rebels to fight me hand-to-hand—there was no way in the void I could kill them all and deal with Drell’s magic. I had no idea how powerful he was, but he didn’t need to be my equal to stop me. Not here, not now.
“The Conduit has wanted to meet you for some time,” Drell said, a smug, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “One way or another, you will kneel before your new mistress soon, Dragon Bride. I will make certain of it.”
To Be Continued
Also by Sarah Hawke
The Elf Slave Series
Slave to the Empire
Unbound
Unchained
Unbroken
Unleashed
The Spider Queen Collection
Web of the Spider Queen
Slaves of the Spider Queen
/> Bound to the Spider Queen
Vengeance of the Spider Queen
Dirty, Filthy Fantasies
The Priestess’s Gratitude
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About the Author
Sarah Hawke is a thirty-something aspiring spinster with two cats, a horse, and a car that is technically capable of moving her from place to place. She loves the cold, hates the heat, and desperately watches anything made by Joss Whedon for fear it will get cancelled.