Dragon's Fire

by Gwynn White

  Axel and Lynx climbed out of the cab in front.

  Lynx sidled up to Meka and whispered, “Stop looking like you’re about to flee. It gives your opponents too much power. And anyway, the teens you’re about to meet are going to be your closest allies. You have nothing to fear from them.”

  Meka blushed. “Clearly, I need to work on masking my expressions. I should ask Stefan for lessons.”

  Axel’s hand shot out to flick Meka gently on the side of his head. “Cousin, you play the game well enough. A little humanity won’t kill you.” Meka barely had time to register that his growing family had just expanded again by the addition of Axel when his cousin guided him into the cavern.

  About half a dozen teens huddled on stools around a wooden trestle table. From what Meka could make out, they were dressing scarecrows, two of which looked remarkably like Lynx and Axel. None of them seemed to notice Meka’s arrival. It gave him a chance to study them.

  He knew the alliance was made up of people from all the Free Nations, but this group sported typical long, gingery-red Trevenite hair, pulled severely away from their faces. Even seated, it wasn’t hard to see that the boys were all taller than the Chenayans, including him. Even the girls were lanky, with none of the soft curves he was used to on Chenayan women.

  “I’ve brought you help,” Axel announced.

  Meka wanted to cringe as he felt the full glare of twelve eyes appraising him.

  Axel’s white teeth gleamed. “Folks, this is Prince Meka Avanov, Nicholas’s cousin and mine. He’s one of us.”

  Genuine smiles and murmured hellos—someone even pulled up another stool—and the group parted to make space for him at the table.

  Meka sat. “What are we doing?”

  He picked up a scarecrow head with intricately tattooed moons and stars on its face. He was aware of Axel, Lynx, and his grandfather leaving, but it didn’t matter. After the simplicity of his welcome, he intended to get along with these people if it killed him.

  A girl with fiery curls and eyes the color of grass answered. “Lukan intends to gas the Lapisian court in Oldfort on the solstice. If he gets his way, three thousand people will die.”

  Anger flared in Meka. “You aren’t serious.”

  The girl scooted her stool back, and her hands settled on her hips.

  Meka swallowed; she was wearing tight-fitting cotton trousers, which set off her long legs perfectly. If a girl in trousers wasn’t alluring enough, her breasts were pert in a matching green-and-white cotton corset.

  “Oh yes, I am. But don’t look so shocked. My father, Warlord Axel, and King Jerawin are hiding everyone to keep them safe.” Voice resonating pride, she added, “But no one outside the leadership knows, other than us.”

  Meka pulled his eyes away from the girl’s assets. “I’m not shocked. I—I’m furious.”

  She waved a pale hand dismissively. “We all are. That’s why we’re leaving the effigies in Oldfort for Lukan to find.” A wide grin made her nose dance. “Just our way of telling him to go to hell.” She held out her hand. “Anna.”

  Meka’s stomach looped as he gripped her fingers. Unlike Natalia’s small, soft hand, Anna’s was rough and calloused. That took some getting used to. She snatched her hand away; she must have seen his surprise. “I’m not just a princess, you know. I’m an alliance soldier. I partnered with Lynx when she was still doing patrols. I’ve even gone on a few missions with Clay.”

  Meka had no idea who Clay was, but he recognized the softness in her voice and face when she said his name. With yet another beautiful girl out of reach, Meka resigned himself to a sheepish grin. “Am I complaining?”

  “You better not be. Now come, there’s tons to do still.” Anna shoved a thick needle, threaded with twine, at Meka. “You can sew King Jerawin’s head onto his body.”

  Although Meka worked side by side for hours with the others to create caricature effigies of the four people on Lukan’s most wanted list, he was quiet. Maybe it was years of solitude with only Grigor for company, but he couldn’t stop himself slipping away into his own world. This time it was a terrible place filled with rage and hatred at Lukan. By the end of the evening, he knew exactly what he would use to bait his uncle: the planned death of three thousand people in Oldfort.

  It was late when Meka helped the others load the four effigies on to a vehicle bound for Oldfort. He turned back to the cavern to pack away the leftover fabric and straw when Axel appeared at his shoulder.

  “Come.”

  Meka followed him out into the passageway to a vehicle parked some hundred yards away.

  Even though separated by that distance from the others, Axel leaned in to whisper, “I thought we would get the ice crystal embedded before you went back to the palace with Stefan and Mali.”

  Fear fluttered Meka’s insides. “Sure.”

  They drove a short distance through yet another tunnel and stopped at a steel door marked with a red cross.

  “Hospital block,” Axel said. “We want to keep everything as sterile as possible when we tag you.” Axel pushed the door, and it wheezed open.

  “Great.” What else was he supposed to say?

  Axel stopped, drilling Meka with a hard expression. “Having second thoughts?”

  Meka stood tall. “Lukan plans to gas Oldfort.”

  “He does.”

  “My ice crystal and I will be there when he finds the effigies.”

  Axel waved him into the hospital. Meka squinted at the harsh electric light bouncing off the white-washed stone walls. A waiting room of sorts, rows of wooden chairs, some filled with people, lined the room. A Trevenite woman sat at a table with an informa floating above her. A set of double steel doors guarded the rest of the facility.

  The woman acknowledged Axel with a bob of her head. “Warlord, Princess Farith is waiting for you in cubicle twelve.”

  “Thank you, Bethany.”

  Axel pushed through the doors with Meka following. A passageway with a line of curtained cubicles yawned before them. Meka grimaced against the smell of disinfectant. Room twelve and his ice crystal were just steps away.

  He sought comfort in conversation. “Did I hear right? Did she say ‘princess’?”

  “She did. King Chad has four children. Two sons and two daughters. They all work for the alliance. Farith is a nurse. It suits her personality. She is also the only person outside our small group who knows about the tracker, and that’s because I would trust her with her my life. You can, too.” He looked at Meka out of the corner of his eye. “I must warn you, though, don’t react to her appearance. She doesn’t take kindly to people who do.”

  That sounded ominous. “Does she have two heads?”

  Axel chortled. “That’s exactly what I meant. No comments.”

  They strode past cubicle eight.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  Axel snorted a laugh. “Not giving up, are you? I like it.” He stopped a few feet from the green door—not a curtain—screening number twelve. “She’s a twin, like you. Anna is her other half. They were born just after the alliance was formed. But it was a stressful time for their mother. Not enough food, the Chenayans beating at the door. Anna took all the nutrients and did all the growing.” His voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Farith never caught up. That’s a tough thing for a Trevenite. She compensates.”

  Meka’s heart went out to the unknown girl. He had also been the smaller twin, and it had taken years for him to catch up with Grigor. It was why, up until the lesson on the bees, he’d used force of will to dominate his brother. He wondered what Anna and Farith’s relationship was like. Probably not very good if Farith hadn’t been at the effigy build.

  “I have her back.” He pushed past Axel and tugged the door open.

  Axel followed, and the door eased behind them, closing with a click. A pale-faced girl, little over five feet tall, with short, spiky jasper-red hair, waited in the middle of the room. She had a nasty-looking syringe filled with blue liquid in h
er hand. Then he noticed her arm. The once-fair skin was mottled with colored tattoos. At a quick glance, he spotted purple roses intertwined with a stag’s head. Only the gods knew what that meant. Wordlessly, she waved that cruel-looking needle at him and patted the iron-framed bed behind her.

  Meka gulped and then tripped over his feet walking toward her. Didn’t Axel say her personality was suited to nursing? If so, she certainly needed some help with her bedside manner. To cover up, he said, “Aren’t nurses supposed to smile at their victims before they stick bloody great needles into them?”

  A flush of red infused her face. “Not if they figure their victims brave enough to handle the prick.”

  He shrugged. How could he argue with that logic?

  “But if you like,” Farith continued, “I can always give you a stuffed toy to cuddle. I keep a stash of them for the babies who come for treatment.”

  Meka burst into laughter. Seconds later, Farith joined him. Her eyes, the same grassy green as her beautiful sister’s, sparkled with mirth, brightening her features.

  Axel joined their laughter. “Lynx was right about the two of you hitting it off.”

  His words pulled Meka up short. Did Axel and Lynx think Farith his type of girl? If so, she and the warlord had it very wrong. He reined in his laughter and plopped his butt down onto the bed. “Let’s get this done. Stick it in wherever it needs to be.”

  The light seemed to fade from Farith’s eyes. All business, she picked up a swab off a table next to the bed and pressed it against a bottle of disinfectant. Meka winced at the cold when she pulled his shirt collar aside and slapped the damp cotton against his neck.

  But it was with gentle fingers that she held his throat to steady the needle. “Think of pink unicorns.”

  Meka blinked, wondering what she meant.

  And then she was turning away from him.

  “Are you going to do it or not?”

  A self-satisfied smile. “They don’t say I give the best injections by accident, you know.”

  “You’re kidding! I felt—”

  “Nothing? That was the plan.” Eyes averted, Farith picked at the hem of her white nurse’s tunic with tattooed fingers. “I take exception when my patients die.” She looked up at Meka. “Be careful, Chenayan prince.”

  “I—I’ll be back.” Meka cleared his throat, unsure why his voice cracked. “I promise.” Then it struck him that he should be worrying about the tracker in his neck and not some unimportant girl with a bad hair job. Brusquely, he rounded on Axel. “Is it working?”

  Axel held an informa in his hands. Above it blinked a single red light. “That’s you. The only person in alliance-held territory with an ice-crystal tracker.”

  Meka felt his face pale and his legs quiver. Seeing the reality of his tagging was very different than talking glibly about it around a hot pool. His claustrophobia shot into overdrive as the walls seemed to close in on him.

  Axel grabbed his shoulder to steady him. “I will find you, Meka. I will bring you back here. I give you my word on that.”

  Meka believed him.

  He shrugged Axel’s arm away. “And I will have Nicholas at my side.”

  Farith cleared her throat. “Um . . . Meka, there’s a party tonight . . . I don’t usually go—” She scowled.

  “Good idea,” Axel said, far too brightly. “It’ll take Meka’s mind off everything waiting for him in Oldfort and beyond.” He patted Meka’s arm. “I’ll expect you back in time for breakfast.”

  Feeling panicked, Meka looked from Axel to Farith. The girl’s eyes were focused on his lips.

  His voice cracked again. “Breakfast?”

  “Didn’t I mention that the Trevenites like to party?” Axel’s derisive grin twisted his mouth. “Watch out for the cider. It’s lethal stuff.” And then he was gone.

  Meka suppressed a groan. What was he supposed to do until breakfast with this weird girl?

  “Nausea and vomiting are possible. Also headaches.”

  And why was she rambling on about the hazards of drinking cider? He wasn’t an idiot; he knew what alcohol could do.

  “The side effects of the tracker,” she said, pulling her nurse’s tunic over her head. “They should be gone before the solstice, but if not, I can always give you a palliative.” She tossed the tunic into a basket with other linen. Her black cotton trousers and purple corset made her decidedly curvaceous body seem even shorter than it already was.

  “Don’t do pills,” Meka grumbled. He folded his arms across his chest. “So where’s this party?”

  “And I guess you don’t do people, either.” Farith flung open the door and vanished out into the passage.

  Meka raced after her. How much did she know about his life? Clearly more than he knew about hers, if he’d read her tone right.

  “So, nursing?” he yelled after her.

  Farith turned deliberately to look at him, rolled her eyes, and then sped up down the line of drawn curtains toward the main entrance.

  Meka should have been offended by the brush-off, but, strangely, he wasn’t. But he didn’t try any more small talk when he finally caught up with her. Guided by Farith’s flashlight, they walked in almost companionable silence through a labyrinth of passages and tunnels.

  After what seemed an age, Meka caught the strains of music—mainly pan flutes, cymbals, and drums. The ethereal sound, coupled with colored light pulsing through a stone archway, made his pulse race.

  Farith glanced at him. “Keen to dance, Chenayan?”

  He didn’t bother answering, in part because he was blown away by the beauty of the party cavern. Mouth dangling, he stepped into a kaleidoscope of flashing color. Lights, angled at huge ice-crystal stalactites of every hue, flickered at random, bathing the stone walls and partygoers in soft muted tones of red, blue, green, and gold.

  In the center of it all, Anna twirled. Her long hair, catching the light, sparkled like fireflies as she gyrated to the music. Her partner, a strapping Trevenite boy, took her hands and wove through the ice crystal with her.

  Meka gulped down a lump his throat. Aware of people pushing behind him to enter the room, he slid along the rough walls, deeper into the cave. He stopped when he had a clear view of Anna again.

  Farith’s wistful voice hooked his attention, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Your sister? Yes, she is.”

  Farith shrugged, like it didn’t matter, and then whistled loudly at a man carrying a tray with pints of cider. He darted through the crowd, swept past them with barely enough time for them to grab a glass, and was gone to his next customer.

  Farith held her drink out to him. “To success.”

  He clinked his glass with hers. “Like I said to Axel, I will be back.”

  That familiar smug smile settled on her perfectly bowed lips.

  Meka turned away and took a swig of his cider. Never a drinker, it burned all the way down his chest into his stomach. Clawing for breath, he put the glass down on the floor. Maybe he’d try cider on another day, when he wasn’t fending off a girl he wasn’t interested in.

  He pointed to Anna. “Is that Clay dancing with her?”

  Farith doubled up with laughter. “Clay’s thirty-plus. Anna and I have just turned eighteen. As far as he’s concerned, Anna is his little sister, but, of course, she can’t see that.”

  Meka grinned, more at her tinkling laughter than at the news that Anna was unencumbered by nothing other than unrequited love. “I guess we all have our problems.”

  “I’ve tried to tell her, but she’s in love . . .” Farith’s voice trailed off and sadness bowed her shoulders. “It’s so pointless because she’s betrothed to Xipal.” Another sigh. “A fate worse than being short.” Mere seconds later, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s dance.”

  Meka considered telling her he was a hopeless dancer, but he figured she’d discover that quickly enough. He took her in his arms and started swaying to the music. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested
her head on his chest. Tiny as she was, her ear didn’t quite reach his heart. Just as well, or despite his irritation with himself, she’d find it pounding like a kettle drum.

  “Think of me when you’re languishing in that jail with the Light-Bearer, Chenayan prince.” He had to bend to hear her whispered words.

  “That’s a given.” His feet missed a beat at the conviction in his voice. His boot hooked hers, and they both stumbled.

  She laughed as she fought for balance. “I hope you’re better at escaping than you are at dancing.”

  Why was her laughter like a button, that once pressed, made him want to laugh with her? His hand shot out to steady himself against the wall.

  “Make you a deal,” he said through his chuckles. “You get this . . . thing out my neck when I get back, and I’ll work on improving my dancing.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Unexpected peace settled on Meka at her quiet confidence. She believed he could do this impossibly hard thing. She trusted he would be back. Comfortable for the first time since leaving Grigor, he leaned against the wall. He couldn’t think of a single complaint when her warm body brushed up against his side as she slouched next to him.

  He thought about saying something, but decided against it. If anyone understood his silence, it would be the girl with the ugly tattoos and the ridiculous hair.

  That alone made it worth coming back.

  Chapter 51

  “Where are you taking me?” Meka demanded of Farith. He let her tug on his hand as she led him through the dark mine passages.

  Sometime over the last week, they had begun holding hands. It felt good, even if he wasn’t quite used to the black lines inked onto her milky-white skin. They made her hands look ghostly. Ethereal. Almost as unreal as how much he had grown to like in her in a very short time.

  “Somewhere special, Chenayan prince.”

  Since the dance, he and the girl with the jasper-colored hair had spent every moment they could together. At first, he thought Axel and Stefan would complain that he constantly sought her out over other, more productive, alliance business—or in Stefan’s case, the duties of a Chenayan prince visiting an occupied territory—but both men had been indulgent. Perhaps they wanted to entrench him in the alliance by giving him something solid to come back for.