The concubines stared at one another. For a moment they were frozen, hesitant, staring from side to side. A few shed tears. One reached toward the shattered hookahs and wailed. A few tried to step back into the hall.
Issari slammed down her tail, blocking their access. She stared at them one by one, meeting their gazes, silent. Slowly, as she stared at them, the women's fear seemed to ease. They dried their tears. One concubine stepped forward and gingerly placed a hand upon Issari's snout, then stroked her gently again and again. Another concubine stepped forward too and stroked Issari's neck. Others approached, caressing her, hugging her, weeping onto her scales.
"Thank you," they whispered. "Thank you, Issari, the white dragon, the savior of concubines."
They left the hall slowly, blinking, holding one another's hands.
Issari stepped outside and beat her wings.
She soared.
She flew from the Gosharian palace and glided over the city-state. Temples, streets, and thousands of brick homes rolled around her, a painting in tan, brown, and yellow, a dry city nestled among the mountains. She rose higher, letting the wind fill her nostrils, and she roared again. Her cry echoed across Goshar and the desert beyond.
Where are you, Tanin? Where are you, people of Eteer?
She flew across the sun, sounding her cry, a free dragon.
LAIRA
They huddled behind the roots and vines, two shivering women caked in mud. The sphinxes shrieked above.
"That does it." Maev clenched her fists and made to leap from their cover. "I'll burn them! I'll cut them apart. I'll—"
"Maev, hush!" Laira grabbed the woman and tugged her back. "Please. Please be quiet and still."
Maev grumbled—far too loud of a grumble, Laira thought—but stayed put. The maple's roots rose above them like a cage, thick with moss and vines. Grass and reeds rose beyond the hideout, further obscuring the two women. Laira—small and fragile as a child—easily fit in the burrow. Maev—a tall warrior—had to bend and twist and dig into the dirt. Deeper in the den hid its original inhabitant: a skunk Laira was very, very careful not to disturb.
Its spray won't be deadly like that foul smoke the sphinxes spew, she thought, glancing back at the skunk. But please contain your stench a little longer, my friend.
Outside in the forest, the sphinxes still shrieked. Some flew above, while others seemed to be moving between the aspens and elms, calling out.
"Come to us, dragons!" rose a cry. "Come now and we will kill you quickly. Hide from us, and when we find you, your death will be a lot slower."
Maev sneered and made to leap out again, to challenge the enemy. Laira grabbed the woman's shoulder and held her back.
"Don't listen to them," Laira whispered. "Please, Maev. Trust me. Hide with me."
Maev trembled with rage, and her fists pressed deep into the mud, but she obeyed.
Laira huddled deeper into the burrow. After a long night of fleeing through the forest, they had found this place to hide. The sun now shone overhead, and she dared not emerge, but once darkness fell again, Laira would wander the forest. She would seek the others. If they lived, she would find them.
She closed her eyes.
Did any other Vir Requis even live in this world? Had the sphinxes slain them all? She tried to think back to last night, to the pain and blood and fire. The sphinxes had torn into the group of fleeing dragons, had ripped so many from the sky. Laira had cried out to her husband, tried to reach him, but the sphinxes had swarmed. Claws had scratched her. The dragons had scattered, fled to forests and hills, and now . . .
Now only Maev and I are here, she thought. Maybe the last two in the world.
The sounds of sphinxes slowly faded, their cries moving farther away. Laira allowed herself a shaky breath of relief. At her side, Maev relaxed, her tense muscles deflating. Only a distant roar now sounded outside, moving south.
"Are they gone?" Laira whispered. "I don't hea—"
A boot stomped down right outside the burrow of roots and vines, only several inches away from Laira's face. She froze and bit down on her words. At her side, Maev bared her teeth, and her hand reached to the dagger at her belt. Laira had to clasp Maev's wrist, halting her from drawing the weapon and attacking.
"The two whores are here somewhere," rose a deep voice outside. The man hawked and spat. "The little one with the black hair and the tall yellow-haired beast. I saw them running this way, I did."
A second voice answered; this one was raspier and higher-pitched. "I see no damn tracks. No tracks for almost a mark. Ain't no women here for you, Ktar. We got women back in our camp. Bed them and forget about these reptile scum."
The first voice, low and gruff, answered. "Shut your mouth, Ferish! I got enough women to bed anytime I like. But you heard what Master Raem said. We're to kill every last dragon other than this Laira one, the little girl with the black hair. The demon's got his own plans for her, and he'll pay great treasures to those what find her. And I saw her! Saw her running here."
Hidden in the burrow, Laira winced and her heart leaped into a gallop. Raem. Her father. So this Widejaw tribe was working for him. Her innards trembled, though she was not surprised. Raem had hired the Goldtusk tribe to hunt her last year; why not hire another tribe, an even more vicious one?
"But there's no tracks—" rose the raspy voice—Ferish's voice.
Ktar grumbled. "Of course there ain't no tracks. Damn things can turn into dragons, same what we can turn into sphinxes. They must have flown off to hide somewhere." He sniffed. "I think I can smell something." His boots, barely visible through the burrow's curtain of roots and grass, turned toward the hideout. "I do. I smell something hidden in the brush." More sniffs and snorts sounded. "Smells like . . . like women. Yes! They flew here somewhere. I smell them hiding."
Maev sneered. Laira shot her a glare and shook her head. Outside the burrow, the boots stamped about the forest. When Laira peered between the roots and parted the grass, she could see the pair. They were two muscular men in ring mail, swords at their sides. Their cheeks were split open—Widejaws. Widejaws who could become sphinxes. Even if Laira and Maev slew them, they would raise the alarm before they died, calling hundreds more of their kind.
"I smell nothing," said Ferish, the older of the two.
Ktar kept moving about. "I do. I could smell me women a mark away. They're . . . here! Look. A burrow!" He came stomping toward the roots and grass beneath which Laira and Maev hid.
Before Maev could leap out—the woman was already growling and tensing her muscles—Laira reached behind her, grabbed the skunk, and pulled it forward. She shoved the animal out of the burrow, letting it race toward the two Widejaws.
The tribesmen froze.
Their eyes widened.
The skunk scurried forward, spun around, and raised its tail.
"Shagging goat-herders!" Ktar shouted. "Run!"
The two men spun on their heel and raced away.
"Smelled something, did you?" Ferish roared as they ran among the trees. "You and your maggoty nose!"
Within moments, the two men were gone, their cries distant.
Laira waited a few moments longer, heard no more Widejaws, and finally crawled out of the burrow. She rose to her feet and kicked her legs about, loosening her muscles. Maev crawled out next with a string of curses so foul Laira was surprised the trees didn't wilt. The skunk, meanwhile, lowered its tail—spray still unreleased—and crawled back into its home.
"Stars damn it!" The tall, golden-haired warrior spat. "We're bloody Vir Requis. We're warriors." She pounded her fist into her palm. "We could have slain those sheep-shagging sons of shite-eating whores."
Laira nodded. "Perhaps. And their cries would have alerted the others." She glanced up at the sky. "They're still flying somewhere up there, seeking us. A thousand of them. Maybe more. With that smoke they can spit out, they're probably even deadlier than demons."
"And we're deadlier still." Maev drew her sword and swung
the blade around. "I could crush a thousand of them. I'll slice them to ribbons. I—"
"Maev!" Laira grabbed the woman's wrist and pulled down her sword. "These are enemies we cannot fight. Not just the two of us. You saw what they did to Requiem." Laira winced, remembering the bloodshed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You saw how many they killed. Maybe . . . maybe they killed everyone else. Maybe we're alone."
Maev's eyes softened and she sheathed her sword. She held Laira's shoulder awkwardly, keeping two feet of air between them. "I don't believe that. They couldn't have killed King Aeternum. My father is the greatest warrior I know. They couldn't have killed Dorvin, that fool of a boy. He's tougher than he looks, that pup. They're still alive, maybe many of them, somewhere in this forest, or in the mountains, or the plains, or . . ." Maev sighed. "They could be anywhere. But I believe they live, Laira. I will not believe that we're the only two left."
Dry leaves glided around them. Oaks, maples, birches, and pines spread as far as the eye could see. Laira lowered her head and clasped her hands behind her back.
I miss you, Jeid, she thought, eyes stinging. My husband. My beloved.
Laira had loved few people in her life; this life of hardship had presented her with few opportunities to love. She loved her mother; the woman had burned upon the stake. She loved her brother; he had taken his life, too fearful of their father. She loved her sister; now Issari was missing in the south. And as much as anyone, Laira loved her husband, her dear Jeid. She thought of the tall, gruff man with his bushy beard and brown eyes, with the kindness she saw in him, the strength in his wide arms and his soul. He was a lumbering bear of a man, so strong and frightening to many, but to her he was a gentle soul, a pillar of strength and a warm cloak of comfort.
Please, stars of Requiem, don't let me lose Jeid too.
Maev hawked—a ridiculously loud and long sound—and spat. "Come on. Let's go find the others." She began to shift, green scales emerging upon her.
Laira grabbed the young woman in mid-transformation, tugging her back into human form. "No flying! Too many sphinxes in the sky."
Maev's eyes widened. "No flying? Bloody stars!"
"I mean it." Laira glared. "Trust me. I used to hide in the southern forests from the rocs. Sneaky and small—this is how we survive now."
"I'm neither sneaky nor small, even in human form."
"Smaller and sneakier than a dragon! Please, Maev. I was right about the burrow. I've spent my life slinking and hiding. I know how to remain unseen. And I know you never thought much of me, never thought I'm a warrior or a strong queen or . . ." She let her words fade away. No, this was not the time to bring up that pain. She sighed. "Let's just walk for a while, seeking tracks, seeking the others. Maybe they're not far."
Yet as the two walked through the forest, stepping over fallen boles and twisting roots and mossy boulders, Laira couldn't help but dig up that pain. She glanced at Maev as she walked. The young woman, once a wrestler and now a princess of Requiem, grumbled and cursed under her breath with every step. Beside Maev, Laira always felt inferior.
I'm short and weak beside her, Laira thought. The top of my head barely reaches her shoulders. I'm ugly beside her, my jaw crooked, my mouth tilted. I'm not strong, not beautiful, not tall . . . and yet I'm her queen. Her stepmother.
After marrying Jeid, Laira had wanted to become friends with Maev. She would bring wildflowers to Maev's hut among the birches, only for the woman to nod and toss them into a bowl, forgotten. She had tried to speak to Maev over meals, to ask about her dreams and hopes, only for Maev to drink deeply of her ale and sing raucously, ignoring Laira's attempts at conversation.
I want to be close to you, Laira thought, but you push me away.
She sighed. Of course Maev would push her away. Not only was Laira different in every way, she was three years younger than Maev. Few women wanted a stepmother, and what woman wanted a younger stepmother?
I'm too young, too weak, too different, Laira thought. Will she ever respect me?
"I reckon Dorvin must be singing now," Laira said. "He always sings, probably even when hiding from sphinxes. Maybe we'll hear him. Don't you hate his songs?"
Maev gave Laira a cold stare, then looked back ahead. "I don't feel like talking. Makes too much noise."
As they kept walking in silence, Laira lowered her head. Even this was more than Maev had said to her all autumn.
"If we keep our voices low," Laira said, "we—"
Maev glared. "I don't feel like talking to you. All right, Laira? I don't want to talk about Dorvin or about anything. Stars!" Maev clutched her head. "When will you stop? You keep trying to start these damn conversations when nobody wants to talk. I wish I'd been stuck here with somebody else, even Dorvin and his songs, just not you, not my damn stepmoth—" Maev bit down on her words, and her cheeks reddened. She stared down at her feet. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. I'm sorry."
Laira nodded silently, her eyes stinging. She said no more.
They kept walking, seeking tracks, hiding whenever sphinxes shrieked above. Hours went by, and many enemies flew overhead, sending Maev and Laira into bushes and burrows. But no dragons. No sign of Jeid and the others. The sun began to set and shadows stretched across the forest floor. When the first stars emerged, Laira dared speak again.
"We'll need a place to hide for the night."
Maev grunted and said nothing.
Cold wind gusted and rain began to fall. Laira looked around, seeing nobody in the darkness, and dared to shift. A golden dragon, she dug under a boulder, creating a burrow just large enough for her and Maev. She hid the entrance behind branches and vines, then released her magic. A human again, she crawled through the leafy curtain and entered the clammy tunnel.
Maev followed. The wrestler stared around at the earthen walls and said nothing.
"It's a bit small," Laira said, "but it'll keep us warm and dry for the night. And at least there are no skunks. We'll keep searching tomorrow."
With only a grunt, Maev lay down, turned her back to Laira, and did not move. Laira lay down too. The burrow was narrow, forcing her body to press against Maev's, and she wished she had dug it wider.
At least it'll keep us warm, she thought. Even if her heart remains cold.
"Goodnight, Maev," she whispered. There was no reply.
Laira lay awake for a long time, worry gnawing on her. After all she had gone through, she was fleeing again, an outcast, afraid. This time it felt even worse. When fleeing the Goldtusk tribe, she had only her life to worry about. Now she worried about so much more: about people she loved and about Requiem.
Requiem . . . A tear fled her eye. The beacon of her soul. The light of her heart. The kingdom she had killed for, bled for, prayed for. It was more than a kingdom to Laira; it was a symbol of hope, of home, of starlight. Only moons after gaining its independence, Requiem had fallen—just like that, within moments.
I swear to you, Requiem, I will fight for you. I will not forget you. My wings will forever find your sky.
Along with her worry for her family and her kingdom, another worry—deeper, colder—filled her.
The Widejaws had spoken of Raem. Of my father. Laira shivered. He's alive.
How could he live? Laira had bitten off his arms. Jeid had bitten off his legs. How could anyone survive such an injury? And yet those words returned to her, the words the Widejaw had spoken: . . . you heard what Lord Raem said. We're to kill every last dragon other than this Laira.
The fear clutched her like sphinx claws. Raem lives.
She couldn't sleep, and the thoughts kept racing through her mind, and it seemed like half the night had passed when Laira heard Maev whisper.
"I'm so sorry." Maev trembled. "I'm so sorry, Laira."
Laira stiffened, sure that Maev was talking to her, but no—Maev kept whispering to herself.
She thinks I'm still asleep.
"I'm sorry." Maev's voice was choked with tears. "I'm so scared. Please be safe, Dorv
in. Please be safe, Grizzly. Please forgive me, Laira. I'm so scared."
Laira felt something warm melt inside her like tallow over a fire. She waited until Maev's voice faded to a whisper and was gone. Then Laira wriggled a little closer, letting her body warm Maev. She hesitated for a moment, then slung an arm across Maev, holding her close.
Maev stiffened. "Laira, are you awake?" she whispered.
Laira said nothing. Maev's words had been spoken in secret; she knew that.
But I can still soothe her, give her some comfort, some warmth. She's taller than me, older than me, stronger than me, but I'm still married to her father. She's still my daughter.
Maev's tense muscles relaxed, and soon she slept, breathing deeply. Laira smiled and let her worries flow away for one night, and she welcomed the deep embrace of sleep.
TANIN
He languished in shadows.
All was darkness, screams, and blood.
He huddled in the corner of his cell, shivering. It was a small cell, too small for him to lie down; he slept seated, knees pulled to his chest. A single torch flickered in the hallway, its light falling between the bars of his door, illuminating craggy bricks, cobwebs, and bloodstains. Shadows fell whenever the guards walked by; five or six patrolled the hallway, clad in ring mail, their beards long and curled.
"Come to me, friend," Tanin whispered. He reached out a frail, trembling hand toward the spider. "Come to me."
The thin, long-legged arachnid crept across the floor, moving toward him.
"That's it," Tanin whispered.
The spider reached him and Tanin lowered his hand, letting it crawl onto his finger. He lifted his hand, admiring his little companion.
"Hello there, friend. So nice of you to visit. I've been lonely. I've been so alone."
The spider seemed to regard him in the flickering shadows. Tanin closed his eyes, shoved the animal into his mouth, and quickly swallowed. He tried to ignore the feeling of the spider sliding down his throat.
I've killed a friend.
Yet the hunger—the hunger was all consuming, maybe even worse than the welts across his back. The guards had whipped him several times by now, and the chains chafed his ankles, and the bricks hurt his skin, but the hunger was perhaps the worst. Every spider was a blessing.
Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Page 4