Sacrifice: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

by Ava Sinclair

  It is not her bravery that concerns me. My worry comes from realizing the dragon, red as the sunset behind it, has seen us. Nostrils that extruded smoke now inhale, pulling in surrounding smells — her smell. And the eye, having gone gray to yellow, is fixed on me, and narrowing as, behind him, more dragons appear on the horizon.

  “Come, Lyla,” I say, and am grateful when the dragon loops and dives out of sight. “We must go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am wanted in the council room.”

  “How do you know?”

  I turn her to me, grasping her shoulders. I’m angry, not at her, but at myself. Weakness. My desire to cleave her to me, to reveal something special and secret out of natural order, has now angered my brothers. In my mind, I can hear them, already summoning me.

  “You ask too many questions,” I snap. “You wanted to see a dragon. I showed you a dragon.”

  I scoop her up. I can feel her fuming. The sighting has left her even more frustrated. And although we’ve not achieved the Deepening, I already know what she’s thinking. She wants to know why they are here, how we control them, why we sent them. She wants to know so many things.

  I head towards the chamber we’ve set aside just for her, knowing she must rest before going back to the hall. I will use the time to talk to my brothers, to sort this out. Beti, a trusted nurse, is waiting by the chamber door.

  “I’ve been told to take her in,” she says.

  “Thank you,” I reply, and set Lyla back on her feet. She looks up at me, glaring.

  “So, I’m to be locked away, am I?”

  “Yes.” I’m firm. “For now. But I will be back. Go on now.”

  She looks towards the open door, as if considering once again whether to defy me. I feel my cock stiffen at the thought of taking her into the chamber, of pushing her onto the bed, of reminding her once more of my ability to conquer her. Then I remember her power, her intoxicating sweetness, how she turned the tables without even trying, leading to a rash decision that has put me on the outs with my brethren.

  “Go,” I say one more time, allowing my heat to rise. My voice changes as my inner beast uncoils. It is deep, and she is unnerved. She goes inside. Her nurse follows, and shuts the door.

  TYTHOS

  Foolish, foolish, pup!

  I am slow to anger, but as I pace the hall waiting for Zelki to show himself, I find it hard to control my growing rage. Imryth rises and walks with me. I know he seeks to calm me with his presence. He has always been the peacemaker. When the ship of our family begins to drift, his calm is the ballast.

  “He knows better,” I boom, my voice ricocheting around the round room. Drorgros is sitting at the table, slumped slightly, with his head resting in his hand.

  “Zelki has always been impetuous,” Imryth says. “He likely just wanted to impress her.”

  “No. It’s more than that.” I’m seething. “He seeks advantage, favor. If that is not the case, let him deny it to our faces.”

  “And what if I did?”

  Our youngest brother storms in, and what did I expect? Contrition? Humility? If he felt any shame for what he’s done, he’s hiding it now beneath his ever-present layer of hubris.

  He walks over to me. He’s as tall as Drorgros now, and stands face to face with me, knowing I must cast my eyes slightly upwards now to meet his.

  “If you are the kind of lover you are famed to be, Tythos, surely the workings of your mighty cock will eclipse the small favor I did for Lyla.”

  His words drip with mockery, but I sense something deeper.

  “Is that why you did it, then, Zelki? For fear that I’d drive you from her mind? You try so hard to hide the truth from us, but I don’t need to search the channels of your mind to know how you seek to prove yourself superior in everything, even in the taking of our mate.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?” Zelki throws his hands up and walks to a table along the wall, pouring himself a horn of wine. “I am the strongest. Even father acknowledged it…”

  “Father is dead.” Drorgros’ deep voice booms through the hall. “And he praised all our strengths at one time or another, Zelki. My leadership, Tythos’ bravery in war, Imryth’s knack for strategy. You were the only one to take father’s praise as some kind of call to arms against your brothers.” He rises, shoving his chair away. “I grow weary of this, little brother. We are not your enemies. Our enemies our out there.” He points to the window. “You’d be wise to remember that.”

  “Especially now.” Olin the Wise has a voice soft and thin as mist, but just his whisper demands attention. He’s been standing in the corner of the room, where he often hovers, undetected, during any gathering. Most of the time he listens, taking the information back to the crooked, book-laden room at the top of the castle, where he divines with runes and pyromancy and inhales smoke from burning herbs as he trance-talks with the witches.

  Now he points a bony finger at my younger brother.

  “Have a care, young Zelki. This woman who has been chosen to mate with the sons of Rymoth of Fra’hir could easily end your house should you forget your place.”

  And our youngest brother, so swelled with bravado only a moment ago, deflates under the oracle’s withering stare.

  “You’ve seen something?” Imryth asks, and Olin tilts his head.

  “Yes, and Zelki should take heed. You all should. Your new mate is a female of powerful appetites that extend far beyond physical passion. She is a seeker, your Lyla, and this will serve you after the Deepening. But her will to know will challenge you, too. She is no amenable mate, this one. She will not be content with the mere pleasures of the bedchamber, not impressed with your strengths, your protection, mighty though may be. Take care, all of you, not to confuse her with those more placid mates. I have seen only one such mate before. Ages ago — before you were even a thought — there was Arvika, a fierce human whose blood runs through the veins of kings now.”

  “Arvika?” Drorgros furrows his brow. “My father spoke of her as legend. She was the only human to transcend her station as Drakoryan mate. Surely you don’t mean…”

  “Yes,” Olin says. “The Queen of the Witches.”

  Drorgros chuckles. “You compare our little human to Arvika?”

  “You dare doubt me?” There is a thread of steel in Olin’s misty voice. And if my eldest brother doubts him, the quickest mind among us does not. Imryth turns to Drorgros.

  “If we doubt Olin’s counsel, can we really scold Zelki? We are being urged to caution here. Olin the Wise has never been wrong, not with us, not with father. We should take heed.” Imryth turns his attention to the Oracle. “What would you have us do?”

  “Take her,” Olin replies. “ And quickly. There are two of you left. Acknowledge her curiosity, but not in a way that would hint at empty flattery. She will not forgive you for that. The sooner you all consummate your union, the sooner the Deepening will take place. She already seeks the truth. But only then will she be ready for it, and for her connection to it.” He looks at Zelki. “Do not allow her to divide you. She may do so, not for spite, perhaps not even on purpose, but this is a strong-willed female. She may use your arrogance against you without even trying.”

  He pulls aside his hood then and we glimpse his face, the skin parchment-thin and creased with lines, the nose hooked like an eagle’s beak, the eyes pale blue. He is having a vision, and the shock of it casts us into stunned silence. We rarely see Olin’s face; rarer still do we get a message through him. When he opens his mouth, another voice comes out, a female voice, that is not his own.

  “Dark times are head, sons of Rymoth of House Fra’hir. The ShadowFell have awakened, and they are coming. Their motivations this time are worse and more powerful than anything you can imagine.

  “Heed the words of our vessel, Olin the Wise. Trifle not with your mate; she will be your powerful ally. Fight not for her favor; it will divide your energies. Trust that she can supply each of you with the full of w
hat you need. Trust her instincts, for they come from a place of hidden power. Doubt not her capacity for love, for loyalty, for passion. Guard her. Keep her. Protect her. For one day, you will follow her as she will follow you.”

  The room falls silent. The blue haze that had clouded Olin’s eyes disappears. He blinks, as if confused, and sways. I rush forward and take him by the elbow, steadying him.

  “Easy, old fellow,” I say.

  He looks around, disoriented, and then glances at me, bashful. “Bah.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I am fine.”

  Still, he lets me lead him to a chair and help him to sitting as Zelki puts the horn of wine to the thin old lips. Olin sips, swallows, and leans back with a sigh.

  “What did she say?” he asks. “I felt her come into me. It must be urgent, if she spoke here, now…”

  Our eyes meet over the Oracle’s head.

  “She confirmed our worst fear,” I reply. “The ShadowFell have awoken. She said they plan something dire.”

  “Did she say what?”

  “No,” Drorgros says. “But there was something of a prophecy, about Lyla.”

  “Yes,” the Oracle says. “They have been sending me small messages, through the runes and in the Telling Flames. She is to be more than a mother of sons, they say.”

  “So, she is to rule over us, then?” Zelki’s tone is curt and clipped.

  Drorgros smirks. “It seems to me she is already leading at least one of us without even trying.”

  “You arrogant…”

  “Enough!” Imryth is scowling. “Is this what we’re doing now? Bickering like old housemaids on the heels of advice to pull together? Or do you think the witches were using Olin as a vessel for their amusement?”

  “He’s right.” Zelki speaks, and I’m surprised at how humbled he is. “I should not be so prideful.” He glances at our eldest brother. “Or so reckless.” He turns to me. “You are next. I am sorry that I have caused strife ahead of your time with Lyla. I admit it. I was jealous. Jealous and…perhaps afraid. I thought if I let her see a dragon…” He looks suddenly bashful, chastened, like the younger brother who tagged after us as a child.

  “I wanted to give her something special. I know it was wrong. There’s always been plenty for all of us, of everything. And yet here we are, having to share the one thing that we’re naturally inclined to want for ourselves.”

  I nod along with my brothers. I do understand. I have been with more females than my brothers combined. I have fucked my way through the empire, tumbling housemaids in my castle and the castles of others. They have all spread their legs willingly, all eager to brag of being taken by the randiest of Rymoth’s sons. I’ve taken them three, four, five at a time, leaving them so spent they could barely crawl from the bed. Today, that all ends. When a Drakoryan takes a mate, he is cleaved to her and no other. The idea of ending the wondrous variety of females at my disposal has made me resentful. Olin says Lyla will be enough. I have seen her; she is indeed fair. But I have a difficult time believing one woman can satisfy me, not even if I heard it in a hundred prophecies.

  “Once Zelki celebrates his mating in the Hall, you will go to her,” Drorgros says.

  I nod. “And how will you three pass the time while I bed this little wench?”

  “I could scout,” Imryth says. “See if I can detect any border breaches.”

  “No,” Drorgros says firmly. “It may not be safe.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Imryth, who has the leaner build and light eyes of our mother, scowls. “I could take Bartax.”

  “No.” Drorgros shakes his head. “We will not risk either of you. Until the weather breaks, it is useless. Besides, Enid will not thank you if you go off with one of her mates and get him killed.”

  “I would get no one killed,” Imryth says. “You heard Olin. We have to act.”

  “Yes.” Olin speaks again. “But thoughtfully. We have a prophecy to consider. Although we do not know what role Lyla will play, she is at the core, but only as a consummated partner. If you were to be injured before the Deepening, it could ruin everything. Once a prophecy has been revealed we must bring our will in line with its path.”

  I can tell that Imryth is not pleased. As second to the youngest, he is the intellectual in our family, the strategist with as much faith in his mind as Zelki has in his muscle. If he sees a problem, he is impatient to work on it. If there is intelligence to be gathered, he wants to be the one gathering it.

  But he’s sensible, and more inclined to obey Drorgros, who — for all practical purpose — has assumed the role that our father vacated in death. We look to him, even if it is begrudgingly.

  “We will abide here until all have taken Lyla. We will abide here until the Deepening. The ShadowFell will be there, waiting, when we are done.”

  LYLA

  How long have I slept? I do not know.

  I was more angry than tired when Beti led me into a different chamber, presumably one set aside just for me, with walls of pinkish stone. The bed here is beautiful, albeit smaller, the four posts carved to twist up and over like heavy wooden vines. There’s a private bath, too, – a depression carved into the floor that fills from below. I do not know how this is achieved, but it delights me. A bath, in my room. Back home, clean water was a commodity. There was a rock face with a natural spring and we would go there to hold our buckets under the slow flow of ice cold water. Patience was a virtue as the trickle filled them slowly. Back home, we’d heat the water to tepid, and shiver in the chill as we bathed. But here, in this land where dragons fly the skies, there is enough hot water to fill a small pool in my bedchamber, where the floors are warm beneath my feet.

  Beti bids me remove my gown and enter the pool. There are several glass vials sitting on the rim. She takes one, uncorks it and puts it beneath my nose.

  “Does my lady prefer this?” she asks. The fragrance is heady. I cannot describe it. I would say it is flowers, but I have smelled too few to say for certain.

  “Yes, please,” I say.

  “There are others, if you’d like to choose,” she says, but I hold up my hand. After a life of denial, I feel the need to pace the onslaught of sensations. The kindly nurse pours only a little of the liquid into the pool and soon the entire chamber is filled with the scent.

  While I enjoy my second bath since arriving, Beti leaves and returns with a wooden bowl filled with fruit and bread and hard cheeses. Zelki is right; the grapes here are as big as my hands; even the skin is sweet when I bite through it. I could not have imagined such a thing as even this single piece of fruit, but there is more. Beti slices another fruit called Thousand Sons. Inside are smaller fruits, sweet where the flesh of the surrounding mother fruit is tart. The combined flavors mingle on my tongue, delighting me. The cheeses, hard to the tooth, are smooth and creamy when chewed. The bread, brown this time, tastes a bit like nuts, and Beti confirms that indeed the flour is made from a type of nut that is ground between two giant stones in the castle mill.

  She speaks of this place with pride, and when I ask her how long she has been here, she laughs and tells me she was born to service, as were her parents, her parents’ parents, and so on. So many generations have served here, in fact, that her people have lost their history. She only knew that they originated in the mountains, and long, long ago, the Drakoryans enslaved and pressed them into service.

  She tells me this without a hint of resentment. She is a slave, not a servant, but when I point this out, she looks at me with something of pity.

  “Slaves do their duty with resentment,” she says. “Slaves revolt. If there ever was resentment, it was forgotten long before my time, or my parents’ time even. There has never been an uprising. “We love the Drakoryans. The greatest honor for your young sons is to join the army of the Drakoryan empire and fight alongside our masters. In the war, we fought bravely.”

  “There was a war?”

  “Oh yes,” Beti says. “Long ago. Fra’hir Castle fell under siege, as did a
ll the castles of the Drakoryan Empire. Even King Vukurcis’ castle was attacked. Those were terrible times. Terrible. It was then we lost Lord Rymoth.”

  “Who attacked you?”

  “Why, the enemy, of course.” And then she laughs and shakes her head. “But you’ll know nothing of the ShadowFell. They were driven back, and have slept now for hundreds of years.”

  “Wait.” I sit up from where I’m reclining in the pool. “How could you remember if it was hundreds of years ago?”

  She smiles. “There is much you will learn here, much of the gifts that come to those who live and serve in this realm. Had the Drakoryans not conquered my ancestors, we’d have never met, for I’d be long dead. Although we are as human as you, we’ve been gifted with exceptionally long lives. Not so long as the Drakoryan, mind you, but longer than you can imagine.” She pauses then. “But I’ve said enough.” She stands and reaches down for me and when I look up, I realize that I can’t really read Beti’s age. She could be in her thirtieth year, or her fiftieth. It’s hard to tell because her face looks different depending on the angle. It’s uncanny.

  “Is it magic?” I think of my aunt and the other priestesses. For years, I thought I would join them, was convinced of it in my bones. My mother was almost certain of it. She used to joke that I looked like my aunt, that like Myrna, I had all the qualities of a female destined for the priesthood. Life had been so hard for my mother; her sole comfort through my childhood was her confidence that I would not fall into the clutches of the dragon.

  But on the day the initiates from my year were announced, when my name did not appear in the scrying bowl, she collapsed, telling me it was an omen. I remember lifting her from the floor as I sought to comfort her. I, too, was disappointed, but told her that just because I wasn’t chosen for the order did not mean the dragon would take me. There were so many girls, after all. I was but one…

  She’d said nothing, and had hugged me so tightly to her chest that I could feel the beating of her heart beneath my ear.