Dragon’s Temptation: Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book Fifteen

by Martin, Miranda

  “Yes, I would,” I say. proud of how calm my voice sounds, forcing myself to accept their offer with just the right amount of ease.

  I know people. If I act too eager, they may second-guess themselves. I need to be confident, contained. Not impressed at the opportunity. Inside though, it’s a completely different story.

  I’m going to be out of the lab! Wheeee!

  “Wonderful,” Rosalind says in that commanding voice that can hold a large crowd’s attention. I’ve always admired it. “Just so you’re clear on what we want—you are to act as a detached observer. You need to be able to compartmentalize how you feel in order to pick up details and facts about your surroundings and the people you meet. Because Nora is romantically involved with Archion, her opinion cannot be trusted. Not because we think she would be dishonest, but because her viewpoint simply can’t be objective. She’s compromised on that front.”

  “As she should be,” Visidion inserts, glancing at Rosalind.

  The corners of her lips rise slightly as she meets his eyes. Something passes between them, something real and strong. It’s a brief moment, but there all the same before they turn their attention back to me.

  “I understand,” I nod, emphasizing that I do.

  I wouldn’t expect Nora to have a completely objective view on the matter, either. We’re human, not robots without feelings and emotions. Even Visidion and Rosalind seem to be aware of that aspect of themselves.

  “Good. We want you to gather data from the Order. No detail is too small. Also, to be clear, no one is to make any firm commitments. We’re open to dealing with these new Zmaj, but we need to know more before we decide on anything permanent,” Visidion adds.

  Nodding, I see he’s right. It’s better to be cautious and protect ourselves. If this Order has the numbers and if they’re all as well trained as Archion...

  Leading them to our strongholds and letting them pass through our defenses... We could be overrun, our autonomy taken from us. Well, that’s a bleak outlook, but not acknowledging that possibility would be dumb. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, Rosalind and Visidion aren’t dumb.

  No, I’m glad that we’re moving forward with caution. I didn’t expect this assignment, but I also know that I’m the best woman for this job. I know people. I know how to deal with them, how to manipulate things when needed. I’m happy they see I have that skill set.

  Maybe this is the turning point in my life. I can almost feel the shift around me as new possibilities and opportunities open. And it’s an honor to be called before them for something like this. I’m grateful they noticed I could do more than work in the lab. The mind-numbing monotony could be over forever if I play my cards correctly and do this right.

  “If you have time, we can have a late dinner tonight to discuss the details,” Rosalind offers, standing up.

  “That would be great,” I agree, rising and turning to the door.

  Before I take one step toward the door Nora bursts in, breathless, as if she ran all the way up. My mouth drops open and my chest constricts seeing her. Were her ears burning from how many times her name had been said during the meeting? Not that any of us were unkind, but still…

  Looking at her I realize something is wrong, though. Her normally pretty, fresh face looks tired and drawn.

  “What is it?” Rosalind asks, her voice sharp.

  Her harsh tone is simply because she wants to help, and quickly. It’s Rosalind’s way. On the ship she was Lady General, leader of the armed forces, and she’s used to people jumping at her commands. I’ve also seen her use it before to snap people out of a panic so that they can convey the issue efficiently.

  “Something’s wrong with Malcolm,” Nora huffs. “They sent me to get you. Can you come with me?”

  2

  Ashlee

  My blood runs cold and it’s an effort of will to suppress a shiver. Malcolm? What could be wrong with Amara and Shidan’s child?

  “Yes,” Rosalind agrees without hesitation, coming out from behind the desk. “Lead the way.”

  My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. Uninvited, I follow Rosalind and Nora, breaking into a jog to keep up.

  “Addison asked me to come to the city because Malcolm is having a continual stream of fevered nightmares with recurring imagery,” Nora explains as we race down the stairs toward the nursery.

  “Nightmares?” Rosalind asks.

  “Yeah, maybe. It’s gotten bad. Something needs to be done.” She shakes her head grimly. “He’s barely sleeping and it’s taking a toll on him physically. He’s only a child. He shouldn’t have to be going through something this traumatic.”

  Nora is great with kids, which is why Addison would ask her to come. She’s a regular Mary Poppins with a magical touch when it comes to the little ones. It’s an impressive skill that goes beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I only hope that I will be half as good as her if I ever have a child.

  I can’t imagine what Amara and Shidan must be going through. The frustration of not being able to do anything while your baby suffers. If it’s as bad as it seems, they must feel powerless. Sleep is supposed to be rejuvenating, a reprieve from everyday life to heal, not something to dread.

  We race out of the main building and across the public square. Nora leads while Rosalind and I are right on her heels. The oppressive heat of the air outside presses down on us with a weight of its own. The nursery is inside a building only a block away from Rosalind’s office. The moment we enter the building I hear the poor kid crying softly. When we enter, it breaks my heart to see him shivering in Amara’s arms.

  Addison is standing to next to Amara. She’s pale and her face is drawn. It’s obvious she’s at her wits’ end. There’s a hint of relief when she sees us.

  “You need to help my son right now!” Amara’s shrill voice orders as soon as she sees us, her eyes red and hollow, the bags under them pronounced. White lines bracket her mouth, stress and worry clearly wearing on her.

  Amara isn’t known for being the most pleasant in the best of times, but in this situation I can’t blame her for being bitchy. I’m sure I’d be an ass to everyone around if it were me. All things considered, she gets a pass.

  Malcolm’s weak crying is heartbreaking. It’s like he doesn’t have the energy left to be upset. He’s quietly sobbing and crying, clinging to his mother.

  Something shifts in the corner of my vision, startling me. Goosepimples race over my arms and I look for the threat with the hair on my arms standing on end. Hovering in the shadows of the corner is Archion, his sharp eyes watching everything. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t miss much.

  Rosalind speaks to Amara in a low, calm voice. It’s obvious she’s trying to keep the worried mother calm. I don’t know if a calm voice will help with something like this, but I figure it can’t hurt.

  Poor Malcolm.

  Normally he’s full of life, but the robust child looks weak and his hair is stuck to his round face with sweat. The edges of his scales have a dull-gray tinge to them that doesn’t look healthy at all. His eyes dart all around and he clings to Amara with a death grip.

  What could he have seen? What is it that has him looking so... disturbed?

  Whatever it is, he’s too young to bear it well. Clenching my jaw, thoughts racing, I rub the back of my neck, desperate for some way I can help. About then Bashir walks into the room.

  The big Zmaj—like they’re all not huge comparative to any human—has an air about him. It’s an air that’s hard to explain, a presence he carries with him that makes me feel something I can only describe as reverence. He’s serene, at peace with… well, everything. It’s weird but nice to be around.

  Bashir is also the resident voodoo doctor/mystic/high priest of Tajss. Or something like that. He’s definitely the strangest of this strange world in which I live now. They’ve run tests on him, but the science only goes so far and doesn’t explain him. He has premonitions and visions that are right way more than they’re wron
g, which is cool and creepy at the same time.

  Is it telling that I’m relieved he’s here?

  It’s an odd world where I can go from the monotony of the scientific method to looking to a witch doctor for help. At least he isn’t wearing the skulls of his enemies around his neck or a headdress made of odd animal parts. Though that would be quite a look.

  His leathery wing brushes my arm as he moves past and crouches next to Malcolm. The child looks even smaller with the seven-foot-tall alien next to him. Small and vulnerable.

  “I hear you had some bad dreams,” Bashir says in a low, gentle voice.

  Malcolm nods, his eyes locking on Bashir’s, focusing here and now for the first time since we arrived. He’s reaching him.

  “Yes,” Malcolm replies, his voice so soft that it breaks my heart.

  “What exactly did you see? Can you describe it?”

  Malcolm is talking but his voice is so quiet I can’t make out the words. I don’t want to interrupt the one thing that seems to be helping, so I let my gaze wander around the room. Rosalind, Amara, and Shidan are all focused on Bashir and Malcolm, leaving nothing of interest in the room but Archion. The foreign Zmaj is frowning, his head tilted to one side, completely focused on Malcolm and Bashir. Suddenly his eyes widen and his mouth opens partway. He leaves the room without a word to anyone, pushing past me like I’m not there at all. Something in Malcolm’s words triggered him, I’m sure, but what?

  Part of me wants to run after him and question why he left. That’s the less rational part though. My rational thoughts instantly realize how foolish that would be. Confronting a seven-foot-plus Zmaj who’s a walking wall of muscle? Me? Alone? Yeah, not a bright idea. No, I’ll file this away for future reference. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that you can never have too much information about people.

  I tune back into Malcolm’s quiet voice, even more interested now to see what he has to say. If it affected Archion so strongly, I need to know. It might be relevant to this trip we’re about to take. Still unable to hear him clearly, I move over to the position Archion left open.

  “...and there were buildings that looked kind of sandy. And these things that have claws and tusks.” He stops, frowning. “There’s fighting, but I don’t know why...”

  I listen intently, though none of it makes much sense to me. The images are clearly disjointed, without a clear story or through-line. Not unexpected. He is speaking about a dream, or a series of dreams. They’re never clear and straightforward, at least in my experience. I linger for a while anyway, curious and interested.

  Rosalind touches my arm, surprising me by her sudden presence next to me.

  “We should leave,” she murmurs in a low voice.

  It isn’t an order, but I’m not going to ignore a suggestion from her either, so I nod. I glance back over my shoulder as we walk out, noting that Malcolm is much calmer now. He’s sitting up in his mother’s arms, his eyes are clearer, his voice stronger and steadier as Bashir questions him expertly. Even his scales are returning to their normally vibrant colors. Maybe he just needed to get all of it out to someone who might understand. I hope it helps long-term. Or at least that Bashir can keep helping him through it if he keeps being inundated by those dreams.

  “I’ll see you at dinner,” Rosalind reminds me once we’re outside.

  “See you then,” I agree.

  My head aches as pressure builds, making it throb. Going from the high of the new position to seeing Malcolm so affected has me...out of sorts. My throat feels thick. Bouncing from the high of a new, much-wanted posting to Malcolm is hard. Mostly I feel bad for being so happy at a time like this.

  I return to my quarters, trying to get back to my own center. I’m not all that successful. Closing the door behind me I lean against it and exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and ease the pressure behind my eyes.

  Right. It’s not helping at all. Maybe being productive in a different way will help. I’m leaving to go on a trip of indeterminate length, so I need to clean this place. I get busy giving my space a deep cleaning to pass the time before I have to get ready for dinner. Rolling my sleeves up, I pick up the clothes I’ve left on the floor, change my sheets, and gather the trash to take out. By the time I’m done, I’m definitely in a better head space. And it’s nice to see the place clean.

  “Good job, girl,” I mutter to myself, nodding in satisfaction.

  It’s almost time to leave, so I change into a nicer set of clothes, brush my hair the best I can with my makeshift brush that someone shaped out of animal bones, and head out.

  On the ship, I used to take more time to get ready for things, applying makeup, wearing heels. In my experience, how you present yourself physically affects how people treat you. We don’t have makeup or heels here and I wouldn’t wear either even if we did. I’d sweat the makeup off in this heat and the idea of wearing heels when we could be attacked at any moment or when we have to walk so much...

  Yeah, no thanks.

  I guess there’s a couple of things I don’t miss from ship life. As I walk, my thoughts turns back to the interaction in the nursery. It plays through my mind like a scene from a vid-stick. I recall every detail as best I can in an effort to better reference it later. People tell you things—a lot of things—without realizing they’re doing so. You have to be on your toes, ready to connect the dots when needed. And I have extra incentive to be vigilant now.

  I want to show that I’m competent in this role, that Rosalind and Visidion can trust me. They’ll be watching and assessing. I don’t want to blow what might be my one chance to do something I really love.

  By the time I make it to the intimate dining room, I have my game face on, my mind calm and focused. Dinner is already on the table, the scent of the food reminding me that I haven’t eaten in quite a while. It’s a modest affair with just a few offerings. Wine, smoked meat, and the famed sauce Delilah sends over from the Tribe from time to time that makes almost anything taste great. There’s also some fresh-picked fruit that looks really good. Everything smells and looks delicious.

  An image of when we first crash-landed on Tajss flashes through my thoughts. Hurt, starving, dying of thirst, literally. I didn’t think then that we had a chance of surviving. We’ve come a long way.

  I try hard to never forget that, to never stop appreciating what we’ve managed to carve out here on this alien planet, to never forget it could be worse.

  “Welcome,” Rosalind says, extending her hand.

  “Thanks,” I say, looking around.

  It’s a small affair with only a handful of people attending. Rosalind and Visidion are here of course, and so is Archion and Nora. The surprise guest is Ladon. I’m not sure why I’m surprised he’s here—he’s the “OG” of the Zmaj, sort of. He’s not the oldest but the City was his territory before our ship crashed and got the Zmaj to get over their territorial ways.

  Mostly. They still get tense with each other sometimes, something primal that they call the bijass. I can’t even pretend to understand what it is, but I’ve seen it affect them and it’s not pretty. It’s actually scarier to see one of them in the grips of it is than most of the things on the planet that are trying to kill you. Yeah, I’d rather face a zemlja, one of the giant sand worms that burrow their way around the planet than a Zmaj in the grip of the bijass.

  It’s a small, obviously calculated group so that we can all talk to each other rather than naturally breaking off. I’m sure it’s intended to help Nora, Archion, and me to build a rapport. Definitely has Rosalind’s touch all over it.

  We sit down to the dinner and the conversation starting smoothly enough. The topics are deliberately light, but it soon turns to the task at hand, the reason why we’re here.

  “Archion, how long will it take to reach the Order’s territory?” Rosalind inserts neatly during a lull.

  The fork in his hand stops midway to his mouth and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say anything for a second, but it
’s a long telling second. Yeah, there’s a lot going on in there.

  “Two to five days,” Archion responds, deliberately vague. “It depends on how quickly we travel.”

  “And they won’t attack if you bring strangers with you?” Visidion presses.

  That would be...really unfortunate. No way the three of us could fight against even two Zmaj, even if they’re not as trained as Archion. There’s another long pause as he swallows, frowning. That’s not reassuring, and when he speaks, it’s not better.

  “We will not pass across the boundaries without permission,” he responds carefully.

  Clearly choosing his words. There’s no doubt we all notice it, but Rosalind and Visidion only nod.

  “I see,” Visidion says, nodding.

  “So this mission may not take place at all?” Rosalind asks, her sharp eyes taking in everything.

  “It will be what it will be,” Archion says, setting his fork down on his plate.

  Forks are something we humans introduced to the Zmaj. Random, I know, but watching him picking his words carefully, studying his body language, it stands out to me for some reason. They used to use a wood thing to eat with that was almost a cross between a knife and a spoon. It was weird and hard to use without cutting your mouth if you didn’t have scales to protect it from the sharp edges.

  “So, you have no way of getting an okay before you go?” Rosalind asks.

  Oh, that’s clever.

  Archion’s eyes lock onto her, his frown deepening as he sees through her question. The air is heavy as tension builds like a storm is about to let loose.

  “It will be what it will be,” he repeats, each word dropping like a stone into still water.

  “I’m sure it will all be fine,” Nora says, placing a hand on his arm.

  He doesn’t take his eyes away from Rosalind, but something about him softens at her touch. It isn’t something I can pinpoint to a specific change or difference. It’s good to know she has that effect on him. It means he’s still—under all his secrecy and training—a Zmaj like the rest of them. If there’s one thing I know about the Zmaj, their “treasures” take precedence over all.