“I wasn’t-”
“Of course you were. That’s what I’d be looking for if I were young and naive and found myself a guest in my enemies’ home.” He pulls out a small black book called Tonic, Poisons and Antidotes and places it in my hands, as well as Injury and Muscular Bio-mechanics, and First Blood: A History of Dragon Magic and Rituals. “That should be a good start.”
“Thank you,” I mumble and flip through a few pages of the poisons book.
“Mmhmm,” he murmurs and moves to sit in one of the padded armchairs in the center of the library floor. He waves a hand at the other chair near him, and I take a seat, setting my books down beside me.
I glance around for signs of Odin or anyone else wandering about, but there is no one. Ademar and I sit silently, assessing each other for a few moments before I speak.
“And if you found yourself a guest of your enemy… and not so young and naive?” I ask and cross my arms over my chest. “What would you be looking for? Old and wise and rather ill-tempered?”
Ademar’s blue eyes darken as he leans forward in his chair, spindly hands clasped tightly between his knees.
“I’d be looking for answers that make sense of the senseless,” he says.
“Well, that’s incredibly cryptic,” I mutter and quirk a brow.
“Come now, human. You have been brought up to fear us ̶ hate us even. Why? Because we are dreadful, blood thirsty killers?” He raises both hands to the side and looks around. “Is that the truth? Is that what you see?”
I purse my lips and silently acknowledge that he’s right. I was born and raised to fear Dragons. They have always been the predator and humans the prey, killing indiscriminately, without warning and without mercy.
So why am I being treated so well?
Why have I been shown kindness and welcoming where I could have been easily used as an outlet for revenge. Ademar smiles again as though reading my mind.
“If you’re brave enough to ask, I’d be generous enough to help you find the answer…” he suggests.
“And what if you’ve already handed me everything I wish to know?” I say and pat the books beside me.
“Then you’re more stupid than you look.”
“Why are humans and Dragons at war?” I blurt.
He rises from his chair and extends his hand to me.
“Come,” he says. I rise and he ushers me towards the back of the library, pulling large, fragile-looking scripts down. I begin to unroll them gently on the large table and glance at him in confusion.
“What is this?” I ask.
“What does it look like?”
“Family trees. Charts. Almanacs - what does this have to do with anything?” I sigh impatiently, and he jabs a bony finger at the scroll in front of me.
“This is Dederic Volos’ family tree dating back more than two thousand years,” he growls. “We have noted mated pairs ̶ their names and surnames and place of origin, approximate birth dates, dates of death, children reared and the life events and histories of each of those children.” He says and starts pulling down more books on tides, astrology, weather, even farming.
I smooth my hand over the worn yellow script and find Dederic’s name. A black Dragon, born late summer, low tide. His parents, Wymar and Selova had no other partners or children. Wymar was a black Dragon as well, and Selova was gifted in music and song. Selova died nearly one hundred years ago. Wymar followed him days later.
I trace my hand back further, to Dederic’s grandparents, Belin and Muriel. Belin was a gray Dragon born at harvest time, clear skies, high tides. Muriel was twenty-four, magically gifted with an affinity for water, born mid-summer, Orion southwest, and-” My eyes cut sharply to Ademar who is watching me intently.
“Human?” I whisper and feel shock shiver down my spine.
My magic trembles and begins to swirl and thunder through my chest.
“Dederic’s grandmother was human?” Ademar nods and taps the scroll again. I continue reading and I lean my elbows on the table to keep from sinking to the floor.
The farther back I trace the lineage, the more human women are recorded as wives and mates, and the more children were born into these families - some with even five or six children. More than three quarters of all Dragon men took human females as mates and stayed bonded to a single one their entire life - the human females in these partnerships living much longer than typical.
I pull scroll after scroll of family trees from Dragons in the pride at Ruarden - each full of human ancestors. None of the most recent generations have any human pairs though, which makes sense since we have been at war. I stop.
“All of these families have human lineage going back centuries,” I say slowly. Ademar nods and waits for me to go on. “Dragons and humans were mated and had children together who were also Dragons? We lived in harmony?” He nods solemnly and begins flipping through other books that he has pulled.
“How is that possible?” I breathe.
“The original Dragons were scarce,” he says. “They were solitary, greedy, territorial creatures at the top of the food chain that lived for millennia. But that kind of existence was not sustainable, and they adapted and evolved the ability to shift into human form. They created bonds with human mates, and as such, that instinct to isolate and withdraw faded and moved towards the human need for family and a tribe, so to speak. And so, we began to live together, multiple families forming a pride.” His voice is low and intense, and I sit back in open-mouthed shock.
“Were the human women kidnapped? Is that where the animosity developed ̶ because they were being stolen and forced to live out their lives as some kind of mortal slave?” I murmur, and Ademar shoots his gaze to mine. The look on his face is thunderous.
“Of course not!” he growls. “A mating bond is formed between willing individuals. It’s the only way we can create pride magic. Look,” he says and skims the next book. “In the beginning, we were able to forge a mating bond with these mortals so that they could bear Dragon children - these humans also seemed to be gifted an extended life once the bond was established. On top of extended life, the mates create pride magic, and that is what feeds not only our families and cities, but the very essence of life that has been gifted from the Mother.”
“That’s a rather bold assumption to stand on. You’re trying to imply that Dragon and human pairings are literally what sustain the entire world we live in?” I snort disbelief. “I guarantee you that humans are reproducing just fine within our own species.”
“Yes,” he drawls. “Unfortunately, you are quite correct. Humans have continued to multiply ̶ to forge cities and kingdoms that can barely sustain the people who live there.” I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off. “Men crave power and control ̶ no more so than when resources are scarce and total collapse is imminent. Have you not noticed the bleakness of the harvest, or the way the summer comes earlier and heats up to unbearable temperatures? The way winters have become colder and the frost thicker? The seas are violent, there are less stars in the night sky - it is all connected. The balance is missing.”
“Even if I believed you - which I’m not sure that I do - If our entire world is dependent upon Dragons and humans living in harmony, sustaining life itself… where is the motivation to hunt us down and kill us? Why start a war?”
Ademar slams his fist down on the table, and I am stunned into complete and total stillness at the show of strength and temper. He shakes his head in frustration.
“We are not at war,” he growls.
“What would you call it then?” I snap.
“We have been hunted down and killed over the last two centuries by humans who have been driven nearly mad with lust for power. Our females have been lured, kidnapped, murdered - who knows what else. All so that your High King might find a way to save his own sorry skin and control the one thing that he needs to maintain; power. The killing and cruelty has always been one-sided.”
“You are wrong,” I say, my bre
athing ragged.
“I am not wrong. The last Dragon to target a human village was more than a hundred years ago. His mate was taken and killed, so he tracked the scent of her blood to a human village and attacked the soldiers who came riding out and fired on him. After that, he drove himself into the sea and drowned - he would have been exiled, or worse, from whatever pride he approached after that.”
“That can’t be true,” I say, the tears welling in my eyes.
“I assure you that it is,” he states firmly.
“My mother was killed in a Dragon attack eight years ago.” My voice breaks. “So maybe you don’t know as much as you think. Perhaps something is wrong with your females going mad and seeking us out for vengeance or spite - burning us alive completely unprovoked.” I swipe at my face and will the tears to stop. Ademar shakes his head in denial.
“Impossible.”
“It’s not! They burned my mother alive - melted her flesh and bones to dust so that there was nothing left for us to bury!” I cry.
He exhales slowly, and I see his face soften and his eyes fill with something that looks like pity.
“Female Dragons have neither fire nor armor; it’s only our males. They cannot attack like that and their skin does not have the same impenetrable quality that male Dragons’ skin does. They can be shot down from the sky, for example. Or killed in Dragon form. They are infinitely more vulnerable. We believe this is why they are being targeted.”
“So, then a male did it-”
“No, Seda. It is not our way. Even the meanest, most vengeful Dragon would not kill an innocent like that. If your mother was killed, it was not by a Dragon,” he says gently.
“How could you possibly know that?” My voice is full of pain.
“Because I do. There is nothing we want more than to restore our relationship with the humans; and we know the cost if we do not. For the men who have experienced the brilliance of a love match, and the young ones who have never been afforded the opportunity… it’s what we want most in this life. Not one person in Ruarden would jeopardize that possibility for any reason.”
Something clicks in that moment and just as he suggested, I see the sense in the senseless. I understand the curious looks and the kindness instead of hostility. I understand now the spark of heat and desire and want that I noticed in some of the men’s eyes but could not believe at first. My stomach turns to lead and a sick, sinking feeling leaves me clammy and lightheaded.
“All Dragons know about this?” I demand, and he simply nods.
“Of course. Our lives are long. As are our memories. Everyone here remembers the Before.”
More shock.
More panic.
I can feel it rising in my chest. Tightening around my throat. I smooth my hands over my dress and try and appear as though I am not choking on my own emotions.
“Thank you. For telling me,” I say hoarsely and turn quickly, marching from the room. I think I hear him call out after me, but by then I’m too far gone.
I storm out of the library, catching Odin off guard. He has to scramble to his feet, but his long strides allow him to catch me quickly. He places himself in front of me, and I come to a hard, abrupt stop.
What the hell? his face screams, though as usual he says nothing.
“Where is he?” I hiss.
The split second of confusion on Odin’s face is too long, and I sweep around him and continue my rage-driven mission. I march through the long hallway and down the first set of stairs that I recognize and know will spit me out into the large courtyard.
The sky is overcast and gray and if I had planned on being outside at all, I would have chosen something warmer than the thin, white dress that I selected this morning. The lace sleeves and bodice had looked pretty and suitable enough for a day spent exploring the library, but the cold wind outdoors cuts instantly through the fragile fabric.
Odin moves at my side, and I can see him tilting his head trying to catch my gaze as we walk. Stop he’s trying to tell me.
I won’t look at him.
We enter the armory, and Alina’s face is bright and welcoming until she takes in the look on mine. Her face falls, and she moves towards us.
“Seda?” she asks as I march past her towards the back door and exit into a massive dirt training yard, which is actually more mud than dirt after the rain early this morning. There are soldiers in armor using strength-training equipment. There are men running and doing drills. And straight ahead, there is a group of men sparring. I don't know how I spot him so quickly, but I do, and all I can think is that I need answers now.
Everyone has slowed or completely stopped their activities to watch my approach. My blonde hair whips back and forth in the wind, my white dress is already heavy and sodden with mud. Dederic finally stops to see what has caused so much commotion and looks up to meet my eyes. His green ones widen in shock and concern, and he jogs towards me.
“What’s happened?” he asks and cups my face in his hands. His eyes flick back to Odin a few feet behind me and I jerk out of his grasp.
“Why am I here?” I snarl, and his head snaps back in shock and confusion.
“I don’t know… I’m wondering that as well.”
“Not here, in this mud pit. I mean here! Why did you bring me here?” I yell and fling my arms wide to my sides.
His face hardens, and I can read what he’s going to say before he reaches for me.
“Let’s go-”
“No,” I say and slide out of his reach.
“This is not the right place to have this conversation,” he snaps, frustration cracking through his features.
“Why not? I’m already a spectacle. Tell me.”
“No. This yard is for fighting and training. Not-”
I march away from him towards the area he just came from and move behind the small group of men cautiously observing this wretched display. I pull a wooden practice sword down from the rack and turn back to Dederic.
“Fine. Let’s go,” I say and motion for him to follow me into the sparring ring.
“What?” he barks. Those green eyes are dancing with irritated fire, but his feet move slowly towards me; like he can’t ignore the challenge.
“You heard me. This space is for fighting. Fine. Pick up your sword,” I say and swing my own wooden instrument loosely in my hand. I am not a skilled assassin by any means, but I learned how to swing a sword well enough to hopefully not be gutted in the first thirty seconds.
Dederic looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream at me. A small crowd has gathered now and are yelling taunts and encouragements at him.
“You can’t be serious,” he says.
I swing my weapon so a small spray of mud flies up and splatters his bare chest. He looks at it in shock before something snaps in his eyes and he picks up a sword. The men around us hoot and cheer in amusement.
I am not playing.
Dederic faces me in the ring, and if I wasn’t already drowning in adrenaline, I’m fairly certain I would burst into terrified sobs at the sight of this giant, muscled warrior circling me with murder in his gaze.
“Why didn’t you tell me that I wasn’t in any danger here?” I ask, and he lunges, faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, but just far enough to the right that I arch and spin away for him to miss.
“I did tell you that,” he says. That calm, lethal edge slicing through his words.
“You made me think that if I ran from you, you’d kill me. And then you stuck Odin on me like someone was going to murder me in my sleep without a guard. And you paraded me in front of the king and everyone to answer questions - with no warning - like I could be thrown in jail for simply existing!” I screech and swing at his head. He blocks it easily and swings at my side, which I also block.
“I never said I’d kill you. I just told you it wouldn’t be advisable to run,” he retorts.
I growl and attack again, but he spins and parries away from me.
“I assigned
Odin to you because I didn’t know what kind of trouble you would make. And I didn’t know what the king was going to do that morning. It was last minute for everyone present. You were not exactly an expected visitor,” he says.
I’m panting now, my chest heaving and straining against the tight bodice of the dress. The hem to my knees is caked with mud and the muscles of my arm strain from the weight of the sword. I realize Dederic isn’t trying to hurt me, but he isn’t going to let me win either. He’s playing with me. And that just fuels my anger further.
“Why didn’t you bother to tell me that your grandmother is human? That almost every single person out here has human relatives? How could you not say anything? You knew I was terrified ̶ that I had no idea!” I yell and attack harder. He only blocks my blows now.
“When would I have told you that? The first five days when you played dead in your room and wouldn’t even come out to eat? Or the night before when you couldn’t walk straight?” he snaps.
“Did you really think keeping me prisoner would endear me to your cause? Or were you hoping I would resort to whoring myself out to-”
He attacks, and his powerful advance has me tripping backwards, barely able to block his strike.
“Enough!” he snarls. “I would never-”
“Then why did you bring me here?” I screech again.
“Because you weren’t safe out there!” he bellows.
“It wasn’t your call!” I shout and raise my sword again.
Too late, I realize that my tether on everything piecing me together has been shredded to bits. And as the last remaining thread tears, my practice sword bursts into flames in my hand.
Dederic stops instantly and his eyes go wide in amazement as he stares at the living flame swirling, consuming the weapon raised in front of me.
It feels incredible. Like letting out a breath that you’ve been holding for too long. I glance at the beautiful sword of yellow and white flame and I channel more of my magic into that hand, those fingers fueling the vicious blaze beside me. I glance back at Dederic and his green eyes clash with mine. I become aware again of who and where I am.
Song of Smoke: A Dragon Shifter Romance (The King's Series Book 1) Page 9