by Ava Sinclair
“We have not!” Drorgros raises his arms, appealing for calm. Resentment settles over the crowd like smoke. “And the ShadowFell dragons do exist. There was a survivor in Branlock. A maiden. She can attest to it! She—”
Drorgros doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. What happens next occurs without warning and stands to change everything for the worse.
Damn Zyvis and his temper! His violet flame flares high in the air, and the dragon that he becomes lets out a roar that sends the villagers fleeing in terror. He flicks his tail around to sweep Releg’s legs out from under him. The leader of the angry refugees suddenly looks small where he lays on his back, staring up in terror at the dragon’s massive head looming over him. Zyvis’ throat rumbles with a deep, reverberating growl.
“Brother!” I call to him, unsettled by what I see. Had we known what we would find today, I would not have brought Zyvis. His blood already runs hot with lust that has made him easily agitated. For a Drakoryan who has always struggled with control, his current state combined with the villager’s challenge made it too easy to change.
I consider whether to change and challenge him. Both sides are watching now. I glance at Drorgros, and know he shares my fear that Zyvis may kill Releg.
Brother! I call to him with my mind, hearing our other brother call him as well. But he is oblivious to us. His golden eyes narrow, his nostrils lengthen and flare above the ridged lip that pulls away from massive teeth. Screams of terror ring through the crowds.
HALT! The message is intended for Zyvis, yet every Drakoryan hears it. It is a familiar voice, one we have not heard for many, many years— a voice most haven’t heard since the last battle of the ShadowFell.
It is the voice of our King.
Chapter 15
ISLA
I was staring out the window of my bedchamber when the first dragons appeared over the horizon. I’d tried to have a rest, but nervousness about the night ahead with the last lord of Za’vol had made sleep impossible. The wind was carrying the sounds of hammering to my very window, so I’d risen to watch.
The sounds of construction stopped when the villagers caught sight of what I’d noticed. Even from the distance I could see that the dragons winging their way over the valley carried no baskets.
A feeling came over me, one I’d had before but had forgotten. It was a feeling I’d had just before the ShadowFell had come to slaughter and steal. I’d not been able to sleep then, either, and had left my bed with an uneasy feeling. I’d gone out to make water but had done so with a fluttering heart although I’d told myself there was no cause for nervousness on such a beautiful night. The night did not stay beautiful for long. What had followed was blood, fire, death and the sense of loss I still wear like a veil.
The familiar quickening in my chest increases as the dragons draw closer to the settlement. Men are dropping their tools, walking away from the cottages they’ve been working night and day to finish. I see them look to the dragons and then to one another as they head towards an open area where the dragons are beginning to set down.
I recognize the Lords of Za’vol by their dragon colors. Turin is at the fore of the group with one of the Lords of Fra’hir. Were I not so unsettled by a growing, unexplainable feeling of dread, I would marvel at the sight of so many colorful flames erupting where the dragons land to transform. Even from here, I can sense tension between the villagers and their Drakoryan rulers. Turin and Drorgros are face to face with a large man and although I cannot hear them, I know the exchange is an angry one. And I know why. The dragons have returned empty-handed. Something has happened to the harvest. Something bad.
Now the wind carries raised voices to my window. My unease grows, but I tell myself that whatever has gone wrong, the Drakoryan will find a way to fix it. Jayx and Turin have allowed me to believe this, to believe in the power of their strength, their protection.
Then it happens— a bolt of violet flame shoots upward to become a huge dragon – Zyvis’ dragon. The villagers scatter, crying in collective fear. The large man has fallen and Zyvis’ massive horned head hovers above him. I hear another scream. My scream.
I have felt this villager’s fear. I have seen the beast in its most menacing form. I have looked upon it and wondered if I would live or die. I have felt its power to slaughter and steal all that I love. I slump to the floor from my window seat and clutch my hand over my ears. I am shaking. Sickness washes over me in waves and I struggle to keep down the food I’d earlier eaten.
I lay down on the floor, curling into myself. The Wolven-skin rug is warm under my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to control the shudders that wrack my body, but cannot stop what enters my mind. I see the ShadowFell dragon. I see Zyvis looming over the village man. And then, in my memory, they become the same. Everything goes black.
Chapter 16
ZYVIS
I’d only thought to stop them from defying their rulers. The villager was arrogant, argumentative. He dared accuse us — the noble Drakoryan— of being false. I did what needed to be done. I did what my father would have done. I’d reminded them who we were.
Would I have killed the man whose rank scent of sweat and fear filled my nose? He wasn’t so bold then, cowering on the ground. I considered it, feeling the pressure of rage edging away the humanity that called for restraint.
Then I’d heard the voice of King Vukurcis, the authority sharp and commanding. It was as if a spike had been run through me, sending me backwards as I spontaneously shifted back into my human form. Once I’d turned, I realized I was not the only one who’d heard the call. My brothers and the other lords had heard it, too.
Drorgros had walked past me to extend his hand to Releg, who still lay on his back. The villager’s face was ashen, his large chest still heaving in fear. He’d refused Drorgros’ offer of help as he’d scrambled shakily to his feet. The villagers had moved away then as a wave, casting backwards look of fearful resentment.
When I looked to my brothers, I saw no understanding in their faces, nor from the other lords. They all looked on me with judgmental disdain. I would answer for what I did, but at that moment, they were more focused on the voice of the king.
The message to halt was not the only thing he’d spoken. He’d also commanded us gather our ladies and come to his castle. A War Council was being called.
The Drakoryan Empire is not like the kingdoms of men. The lords have their own agency and the king is a figurehead who oversees but seldom interferes, save for issues that impact the safety of the realm. His mind is bonded to every Drakoryan, and the king saves his voice, speaking only when necessary.
When the call is given, we instantly obey, for King Vukurcis is more than respected. He is legend both in strength and wisdom. He has ruled longer than any king, having fought his brothers for the right in a battle of great magnificence after the death of their father. He has outlived his brothers, the crown Drakoryan princes, and his queen. Today, he quietly resides with his sons in his Mountain of Kings which sits in the shadow of the Mystic Mountain.
As we head for home to prepare for the journey, my brothers are silent. They have closed their minds to me. They do not look at me as we fly.
Even if they did try to communicate, I am in no mood. We will be required to leave for council immediately. That means I will not lie with Isla tonight. I pay for my actions with the ongoing pain of unfulfilled need.
We land on the flanking wall together. Jayx leads the way into the tunnel heading to the hall where my brothers will have no choice but to talk to me. I fight to calm myself. We have been summoned by the king and I know now is not the time to indulge my wounded pride.
We do not make it to the hall, however. We are intercepted by Isla’s maid, Sal, who rushes to us in tears.
“My lords! My lords!” She wrings her hands in desperation.
Turin exchanges worried glances with Jayx. “What is wrong?”
“It’s your mate, Isla. Something is amiss!”
/> No more needs to be said. Sal leads the way to the bedchamber. Turin is the first to burst through the door. Isla is lying on her side, her red hair fanning about her prone body. Her face is ghostly pale. He scoops her up and sits on the bed as we hover around.
“Isla. Isla.” Jayx kneels, calling her name. I kneel, too, holding my breath. Her eyelids flutter and open.
“My lord Turin,” she says.
“Are you ill? What happened?” He looks her over, as if searching for a wound.
“No.” She sits up slowly. “I was looking out the window, to see...the dragons came in and landed. I saw them turn back to men and then…” Isla’s words falter, as if she’s trying to recover the memory. Then she looks to me and her countenance changes. Fear fills her green eyes.
“Leave,” she says, clinging to Turin’s chest like a frightened child. “Leave!!!”
I stare at her, speechless.
“Leave!” She buries her face in Turin’s chest. My brothers are staring at me. I look to Jayx, who is shaking his head.
“She saw, you fool.”
I stand slowly, glancing towards the window. From here I can see the settlements and the field upon which we landed. I look back at my brothers. Turin is holding Isla in a protective embrace while Jayx strokes her back. I feel like an outsider.
“Leave.” It’s Turin who speaks the word now. I back away and then storm from the room, hot with anger. I race through the castle, back to the ledge, bursting into flame just as I exit the tunnel. I keep to the west side of the castle where no one can see me and scream my fury into mist until I can scream no more.
Chapter 17
ISLA
“I am sorry, Isla. I am sorry to ask this of you. But there is no choice.”
I absorb Jayx’s words as I slowly recover from the terror that overcame me. It was Turin’s gesture that helped me the most. Once Zyvis had left the room, he’d fetched the wooden sword for me to hold. He’d reminded me that I was not just any mate, but a war bride, and that I would need to be strong if I am to survive.
I’d felt ashamed of having given into panic, yet these lords would not listen to my embarrassed apologies. They told me they’d understood, and that the fault was not mine. I could tell that whatever happened with Zyvis had angered them as much as it frightened me, but they did not mention it.
They only told me that the harvest had been burnt and a War Council had been called. The lords of every castle and their ladies were expected to attend, even me.
“I am not yet your lady,” I’d told them.
“No, but you may not ever be if we do not go.” Jayx had looked over at Turin nervously before fixing his eyes back on me. “Isla of Branlock, you must at least stay in the company of Zyvis for now. You must find a way to be at ease with him.” I could see the concern in his eyes. “If you do not mate with all, then you will be the mate of none.”
All or none.
What does this mean for me? If I do not mate, will they turn me out? Abandon me? I do not ask, for I am thinking now of what it will mean for Turin and Jayx. I have learned that Drakoryan brothers only get one chance to mate. If it fails, their bloodline ends. In most cases, the emptiness shortens their lives, the unspent energy they’d given to a mate burning and weakening them. I care for Turin and Jayx. But Zyvis? I do not know if I can care for the brother whose dragon ire is all too familiar.
And what of their relationship with each other? When it comes time to leave for the king’s castle, Turin ushers me into an enclosed litter that will be carried by Jayx. I overhear him ask Jayx whether he has seen Zyvis. Jayx tells him not to worry. Zyvis will come; he’s sure of it, for no Drakoryan ignores a summons to the king’s council.
“I’ll not waste time chasing him down,” he growls as I settle in the litter. The door shuts and I hear the whoosh of flames outside as the two Lords of Za’vol shift. The inside of the litter is plush, and across from me, Sal is both excited and nervous about her journey.
I am increasingly grateful for her now. She’d helped me don the gown I’m wearing for the journey — a plain but beautiful sky-blue dress with bell-shaped sleeves trimmed in soft ivory silk. The skirt is split to reveal an underskirt of the same ivory fabric. The scalloped neckline is just low enough to reveal the upper swell of my breasts.
She trained my thick red dresses into two thin braids that joined in the back. The rest of my hair hangs loose around the fur collar of my traveling cloak.
“Are you well, my lady?” Sal asks, using the title I have not yet earned. I smile at her. She has been worried for me since she found me collapsed in my bedchamber.
I manage a smile. “I am fine,” I say with more confidence than I feel. In truth, I am overwhelmed, and the only thing that keeps my panic in check is looking at the trunk sitting on the floor of my litter. My clothing is in there, but also the little wooden training sword that gives me a strange sort of confidence for what it represents.
I feel my stomach drop as the litter is borne into the air. Sal clutches the side, her eyes wide as she peers out the tiny window to watch Mount Za’vol rapidly recede into the distance as we head towards the Mountain of Kings.
I wish I could see the trip with the same adventurous spirit as my maid, but I have seen the reason behind the journey. One ShadowFell destroyed my village in a matter of minutes. I can barely comprehend a war, with the constant threat of attack.
The litter rises and dips. Occasionally, I feel a warm blast of air from outside, exhaled by another dragon flying in our wake. The rise and fall of the litter makes me dizzy. I find myself dozing. How long I sleep, I do not know. When I awaken, it is to the excited voice of my maid.
“Lady, there are more!” I turn my sleepy gaze to the small window by Sal, who peers out while clutching her thick brown cloak around her sturdy body. Other dragons fly past, some carrying litters similar to mine. “Come look!” Sal moves over, and I join her on the little bench on her side of the litter, taking advantage of the view. We are in the northern part of the empire. There are more trees here. The dark forest is beyond, the two mountains rising from its edge. I hear the rush of dragon wings as we head between the two mountains, dropping lower and lower. Then all goes dark and Sal and I grip the bars by the seats as we feel the litter rise rapidly through inky blackness.
I tell Sal not to panic, for Turin warned me of this. He said both the King’s Mountain and the Mystic Mountain have hidden entrances known only to the Drakoryan. We are flying upwards through a vertical tunnel we entered near the base.
We are traveling fast, the wind whooshing past us. I lean back against the seat, holding Sal’s hand to comfort her just as a golden light comes streaming through the window of the litter. Still clutching the bar with one hand and my maid’s hand with the other, I lean forward and gasp at what I see. We are in a massive cavern with gold-gilded walls. Down below, dragons are carefully depositing other litters onto an obsidian floor. Dragons not carrying litters fly to huge ledges connected to one another and then the floor by obsidian staircases. Huge braziers blaze with flames that both warm and light the enormous cavern.
I am in awe.
There’s a soft jolt as our litter lands on the floor of the cavern. I hear a whoosh of flame and then Turin is standing there in human form, opening the door of the litter and extending his hand to help me out
Sal emerges behind me. “Such wonders!”
I am as awed as my maid. Above us, multi-colored dragons sit on golden ledges. They shift into bright flames. The men they become head down the black staircases to the lower level.
Around us, other women emerge from litters. Drakoryan Brides. I stare at them. They are beautiful and cast loving glances at the dragon lords who bore them here. I catch sight of Lord Imryth assisting Lady Lyla of Fra’hir from her litter. She turns and sees me, then says something to her mate before leaving him to walk over.
“Isla of Branlock!” She smiles warmly and extends her hands.
“Lady Lyla.” I pla
ce my hands in hers and she leans forward to plant a light kiss on my cheek before standing back to study me for a moment. “Lord Turin.” She turns her attention to him. “Let me see Isla to the ladies’ quarters. I’m sure she’ll appreciate a chance to take her ease before she sees the king.”
Sees the king? I don’t have time to question this before being whisked away. I glance back to see a violet dragon light on ledge above. Zyvis has arrived, just as his brother said he would, but I have no time to stop and stare. I am swept along now in a tide of other women who move towards a long, lighted tunnel.
I have only seen two castles in the Drakoryan Empire—Castle Fra’hir and Castle Za’vol. I wasn’t at the first one long and was so numb from the shock of what I’d been through that I didn’t have a mind to absorb the splendor. I’ve become accustomed to grandeur at Castle Za’vol, where I have spent time strolling in the company of dragon lords who sought to woo me. I’ve marveled at its massive feast hall, council room, library, and winding tunnels that open to balconies offering stunning vistas.
Yet this castle is beyond my imaginings. In the other castles, the tunnels are bare rock, narrow and dark. The tunnels here are wider and lit by ornate iron braziers. The firelight casts a glow on gems imbedded in the rock walls, which gleam with veins of gold.
As we walk, Lyla tells me that this was the first mountain settled by the Drakoryans, that the sons of King Eknor—Arok, Dax, and Yrn—battled to decide who would become the first king to rule here. King Arok prevailed, and as we pass through a room that connects two tunnels, Lyla gestures to a huge mural.