Shadowed Lies (Soul of a Dragon Book 2)

by Clara Hartley

  She caressed his face with loving touch he didn’t deserve. “Rayse, shhh… it’s okay.”

  Two gashes dug in into her skin. Another two marred the nape of her neck, exactly at the spot which he loved to kiss so much. They weren’t deep, but it could have been much worse.

  His muscles stiffened and he dragged himself away. He felt his face draining.

  “Rayse, please don’t go.”

  He stumbled backward. “It was a split second, but the damage…” His gaze latched on to the bloodied wounds on her neck. If he had dug deeper, he might have hit an artery.

  “It’s all right.”

  He pulled away from her. “It isn’t. It isn’t, and that’s terrifying.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Rayse, calm down.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Please.”

  “I can’t!” He paced around frantically. The sound of his hard steps on the ground thudded in his eardrums. “I know you don’t want me to leave, but I don’t know what else to do anymore. Urick singled you out. They’re seeing your face everywhere, and I know it isn’t you. But you’re in danger, and I’m part of that. This isn’t right.”

  “Love, don’t go.” A heartbreaking expression of desperation strained his mate’s face.

  He stalked to the door.

  “Don’t push me away,” she said.

  “We can’t be together. Not now.”

  He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The gravity of what he’d just done pounded through him. He saw the redness of danger flashing through his eyes.

  “That’s nonsense,” Constance said. “We’re mates. Soul mates.” She stepped out of the bed and placed her hand on his arm. He snatched himself away and kept himself a good length away from her. Hurt showed on her face.

  It hurt him to see her like this. But better she was protected than killed by his own hands. “I’ll send Shen over shortly. Remember to rest up.”

  She looked up at him with glazed eyes that held the world. “Stop being silly. If you stay away, it’ll just make solving this harder.” Her lower lip was trembling. He wanted to run his thumb over it and tell her not to cry. But he didn’t have that luxury. He couldn’t stay close to her. That would be easy. And selfish.

  He shied away from her caresses. “I’m sorry, love.”

  “Don’t walk away from me. It took me so long to open myself to you, and now you’re going to run from me? I need you.”

  I need you. Leaving was akin to abandoning her. But it was the better choice.

  It took all his resolve to turn away from Constance.

  He stumbled upon Nanili, standing next to their open door. Why was she standing there, so well hidden, watching them? She blended so well into the shadows that they hadn’t noticed her earlier. Awaiting orders, perhaps? It didn’t matter. Mishram had no thoughts or emotions. But the Nanili’s eyes carried an unsettling glare…

  He shoved the creature aside and strode past. He pulled the entrance to his room close.

  “Rayse!” was the last thing he heard before the door clicked behind him. Constance’s voice was laced with betrayal and anger.

  Listening to her begging almost made his heart shatter.

  The dragon inside fought against him. It wanted to be next to Constance. It was more important he stay with her now that she was with child. And he was hurting his mate—that was the last thing he was supposed to do.

  He pushed away his need.

  This was for her own safety.

  As he stalked out of the house, his hands clenched into tight fists. His talons lengthened and dug into his skin.

  Chapter 7

  Constance stared at the cold wooden door.

  He’d left.

  He’ll come back at night, yes? Then they would sort this all out. His leaving was an incentive to solve the mystery sooner. He’d stop treating her like glass after she figured this all out.

  He’ll be back.

  Rayse was her pillar. Without him, she would crumble and fall apart.

  It’s because I lied.

  In a way, she deserved this. She palmed her stomach. Her lie of a child was in there—a punishment for her deception.

  Her heart raced and her muscles tensed. A giddiness came over her. She ran to her bucket and retched. The contents of her guts spilled out. Tears washed over her, mixing with the vomit that had poured from her mouth. This was divine retribution for her white duplicity. She was trapped in a hole she had dug herself. Clutching her chest, she pulled herself to stand and wiped the mess from her face.

  Over the spots where Rayse had hurt her, she brushed her fingers. She winced. She had to add some healing solvent to her wounds, lest she bruised, but she was tired out from the thumping in her mind and the erratic skips of her pulse.

  She sat where Rayse had left her for a long while. She tried to convince herself she’d see him soon, but after what just happened, it didn’t seem likely. Still, she wanted to be in denial. She slid her fingers over the white sheets Rayse had been in moments ago. A bloodstain marred its brightness—her blood.

  She wanted to get back to work immediately. She needed to decipher the archaic text her tomes on black magic were written in.

  The perpetrator of these killings was finally coming for them. They didn’t have much time left.

  She swallowed back her emotions and got out of bed. Not bothering to change out of her nightgown, she made her way to the study.

  “Constance!” she heard Marzia yell as she walked out her bedroom.

  She stepped up to the railings and glanced down to the bottom floor. Marzia waved at her with a spatula and a wide grin splitting her face.

  Constance furrowed her brow. “What is that girl doing?” Had the loss of Fraser made her friend mad? How could one’s emotions be this volatile?

  Marzia looked toward the mansion’s exit. “I saw Rayse storming out of here about thirty minutes ago. Did something happen between the both of you?”

  “Nothing of significance,” Constance said, trying to cover her wounds by pulling her collar up. Her friend had more pressing troubles to deal with than her own. She glanced at the pot bubbling in the stove. “What are you making?”

  “Porridge,” Marzia said. “Did I mention I’m a terrible cook? It’s been a while since I made anything, so don’t be too harsh with your judgment.”

  “Smells great.”

  “I think I messed up.”

  Nanili was at a counter chopping some vegetables. When Constance’s gaze met the mishram’s, the movements became uncharacteristically vigorous.

  “Did something happen with Nanili last night?” Constance asked. She was jarred by the frown on Nanili’s brow—mishram weren’t supposed to feel emotion. Was she imagining things? Perhaps it was the lack of sleep. Slicing vegetables wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But there was something murderous about the way that knife slammed into the wooden board and made a loud thumping sound.

  Marzia scooped some porridge into a bowl. “Try some.”

  “Maybe later,” Constance said. The contents of her belly hadn’t settled after throwing up earlier, and the nausea hadn’t left.

  “Please?” Marzia smiled unassumingly.

  Constance obliged and strode down. She waited for the barrage of questions about her wounds. But none came. That’s strange. She did, however, sense a strange uneasiness emanating from her friend. Maybe she was nervous about her cooking?

  Constance’s breathing was still unsteady. She hoped Marzia didn’t pay attention to the redness of her cheeks and nose, or the stuffiness in her voice. If she had noticed, it didn’t show. Constance sipped a spoonful of porridge to taste, then tried not to cringe.

  Marzia grimaced at her reaction. “It’s that bad? Porridge is supposed to be easy to make.”

  “We can have it for breakfast,” Constance said, avoiding giving the wretched concoction an appraisal. If she did, it’d be hurtful. “I do think you could have added a bit less salt.” Much less salt. Sh
e thankfully didn’t share Marzia’s nonaffinity with the kitchen. Being a healer required Constance to study the art of brewing concoctions.

  “It’s not done yet.” Marzia pointed at the vegetables Nanili was cutting with too much enthusiasm. “I haven’t added in the final ingredients. Maybe that’s why it tastes bad.”

  On the cutting board lay seakale and saltreeds. As their names implied, they were used to add a saltier, sometimes sourer flavor to dishes. “Are you sure…” Constance’s voice trailed off. She wasn’t certain if she should let out her honest opinion to Marzia while her friend was in such a fragile state.

  Why cooking on top of all else? The redhead wasn’t one to help in the kitchen. Marzia’s elder sister had been the one in charge of dinner. The sudden interest was very unlike her.

  “Perhaps,” Constance finally agreed, lying.

  Tiredness washed over her then. Her lack of sleep and the strain of her injuries were catching up, even if the incident with Rayse earlier had sent adrenaline coursing through her.

  She rubbed her eyes, as if she would be able to rub the ringing in her head away. As she opened them, she saw Nanili staring—no, glaring—at her. A shiver shook through Constance. She blinked hard. The expression on the mishram screamed ill intent. When Constance’s eyes opened for the second time, Nanili was looking away as usual, standing as still as furniture.

  Her sleepiness was playing with her mind.

  “Honestly, you might want to be careful,” Marzia said, eating a spoonful of her own porridge. Constance waited for a reaction, but Marzia showed none, and smacked her lips together while wearing a pleased expression.

  “Be careful?”

  “I was out to get some groceries this morning,” Marzia said. “There’s a rumor going around about you and the dragon wife murders. They say you’re involved.”

  “What?”

  “One of the killers mentioned your name last night. One of the warriors heard, and I think he let loose the information. The news has spread quicker than a dragon’s flames. I think you shouldn’t be out alone anymore. The dragons are on edge because they’re worried about themselves and their mates being the next target. They don’t trust you very much, seeing as you’re new.”

  “I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  Marzia placed her spoon down and shot Constance an apologetic look. “I know. I’m just worried for you. I thought warning you is the least I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think it’s ready for the seakale.”

  “I don’t think you should—”

  But the redhead moved too quickly, and before Constance could stop her, their breakfast was completely ruined by a hasty tossing of the vegetables.

  Rayse glanced down at the report. Dim afternoon light cast shadows through his humble study. The grim room was stacked with rows upon rows of parchment, each containing matters he had to deal with. The logistics of handling an entire region were nothing to sneeze at, and it was his least favorite aspect of his workload.

  His body was with his duties, but his mind could only think about Constance and the way he’d left her in the morning.

  The weight of his actions, and how that magic had completely destroyed his sensibilities, made it difficult to concentrate. His quill cracked in his hand. He snarled and tossed the damn thing aside.

  Shen knocked on his door. “Am I interrupting something, milord?”

  Rayse waved his friend in. “No, come in.”

  Shen padded into the study with a wary gait. “No fights with other clans broke out today,” he reported. “Things have calmed after the Dragon Mother left.”

  “Good. So our numbers are still strong?”

  “Stronger, actually. Some dragons showed up on our doorstep looking to join. They lost challenges in their clans and were expelled.”

  Rayse raised a brow. “That’s new. Where are they?”

  “At the west mountain, waiting for questioning from you. But sir, there’s another pressing matter. Another one of those killings happened.”

  His stomach fell. So he wasn’t the next in line. Then why that warning? It felt like someone was toying with him. “So soon? Urick was just hit last night.” Why was he let off so easily? Was he simply lucky to not have done any significant damage to his mate before the spell ended? He doubted that.

  “Josiah. He turned himself in, his wife in his arms. She will be given a proper burial this afternoon.”

  Rayse growled. Josiah was one of the stronger dragons. It didn’t matter how strong the male was—the magic was indiscriminate.

  Rayse tapped his fingers on his desk. “My wife says this is black magic.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. This power is foreign. But I’ve never come across anybody this proficient at the natural form of soul magic, much less the black kind.”

  “We can’t sit idle. Fraser told me the Grimfire dragons have contact with the water witches. I will fly there personally to recruit their help.”

  Shen frowned. “But your wife…”

  “What about her?” Rayse had been considering this mission. It gave him the perfect excuse to keep his distance. He didn’t know if he could stay away from her long if he remained in Dragon Keep. His dragon would keep pressing him to go back to her side. His insides were still turning, and every moment in the cool winds of the Everpeak mountains was a battle.

  “She’s with child,” Shen said.

  Rayse narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never told any of you that.”

  “Word spreads quickly. Pretty much the whole clan knows about this. We also know it’s a girl. You can send me to visit the Grimfire dragons instead. You must want to be with your mate.”

  He did. Every part of him screamed to be next to her. Needing to stay away was slowly chipping at his heart, piece by piece, breaking him. He needed to get this matter resolved as soon as he could.

  “It will be more convincing if they see me in person,” he lied. “I will leave you to handle Josiah.”

  Shen’s features turned dark. “Put to death?”

  “Same as Karona and Urick.” Rayse hated thinking about them. Their despondent expressions showed how he had failed as a leader. “You will lead these executions.”

  “Should I be with you, milord? You can’t leave for Ocharia all by yourself.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Keep Constance safe for me. Once you’re done with giving Josiah his sentence, go to her side and make sure no harm comes to her. I don’t trust anyone more than you.” He had trusted Fraser just as much, but that blue dragon was missing. Rayse missed his friend. His chest had ached when he heard of the disappearance, and the sight of those men in the clinic hadn’t left his mind.

  Shen dipped his head. “Yes, milord.”

  Rayse walked to his desk and picked up a key from the side of his table. He bent down and unlocked a drawer. The birch croaked as it slid against itself. In the drawer were two sheets of sparrow-vellum. He grabbed one and passed it to Shen. “You know how to contact me should anything urgent require my attention. If it relates to Constance, do not dally and report to me immediately.”

  The sparrow-vellum were rare sheets of paper, magically imbued to send messages over a long distance. Because it was an ancient, scarce object, it was only used for the most important of missions.

  Shen took the magical item. “When will you be back?”

  “As soon as I get any noteworthy information. The water witches are stubborn. It will be a while before I can crack their shell.”

  Would they even know anything about this black magic? He would have to look for another band of witches if they didn’t. Doing this would be difficult, considering most of their kind hated dragons. The Grimfires were his best shot.

  Constance woke at her desk. She ran the backs of her hands over her eyes and yawned. How long had she been out for? The chatter of critters whispered into her ears, and the papery scent of the room lingered around her, but there was something diff
erent about it. A sweetness, perhaps? The headache running from her temple to her neck was still there.

  Her vision cleared, and the first thing she saw was the blue mishram.

  The contempt in the kitchen earlier did not show. Where had it come from? She tried to search for it but could only see a placid expression on Nanili’s face.

  “When you and Marzia went out… what happened?” Constance asked the creature. She realized that she hadn’t had a moment alone with Nanili to ask about the darkness yet. Maybe it was because she avoided the blue mishram like it carried the red spots.

  The mishram didn’t even blink. “Nothing.”

  “I waited for the both of you the whole night. And you’re saying nothing at all happened? That you and Marzia walked in the cold, and that’s it?”

  “I was told not to speak of it.”

  “You answer to Rayse and me, not Marzia.” She hated talking to Nanili. She even avoided touching the gray creature, despite being in such close proximity all the time. What thoughts whirled through the mind of this soulless being? Or was Nanili as empty as she presented herself?

  “She told me not to answer your questions,” Nanili said.

  “Who? Marzia?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “I thought you were bounded to Rayse’s orders, not Marzia’s? She can’t keep you from speaking, can she?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Constance tried to press the mishram with a few more questions, but was met the same response every time. There was no use trying to interrogate Nanili. The wretched being had no emotions. She had no bright soul, only the dull soul that sustained her being. Constance could ask questions all day and Nanili would feel no frustration—only she would.

  She let out a long sigh, then shook her head and looked back down at her book. What time was it? How long had she slept for? The Unknowns of Black Magic, the front of the tome read—or, at least, that was what she roughly translated the title into. The black magic books had been written centuries ago, in an archaic version of Dragonian.

  She paid attention to the foreign scent that marred the familiarity of her study. She scanned the room. She spotted a round, metallic object with intricate patterns carved into its sides on one of her shelves. It emitted smoke.