“You're deader,” Tessen said, grinning. His own knife was beneath the half-orc's sternum, a single twitch away from penetrating his racing heart. Tessen dropped his arm and returned the knife to its sheath. “You're terrible at hand-to-hand combat. I'd tell you to stick with bows, but you really need to improve at this or something is going to kill you.”
“I'm not terrible, you're simply more skilled than I.”
“Not terrible, then. Thoroughly mediocre, especially for a former operative.”
“You have a skewed point of view. Your dragonbind has made you faster than anyone I've fought before.” Iefyr drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it against Tessen's neck. “Sorry, didn't mean to nick you.”
Tessen took the handkerchief and held it to the moonlight to reveal the blood spot. “It's nothing. Barely a scratch. I'm not that fast, am I?”
“Yes. A little awkward, but fast. Faster than anyone your size should be. You move like an elf.”
Tessen sat on a flat stone to catch his breath. His pulse slowly calmed, but the air still tingled with agitation. He looked up at Iefyr and said, “Why are you so flustered?”
“Hmm? I'm not.” Iefyr turned his back to Tessen and watched the dragons chase each other through the barley field. Auna's red form leapt over a fence. The balefire dragon's body rivaled a mid-sized fox's in bulk, but her overall form was serpentine. Her long tail was tipped with black fronds that matched the similar ones crowning her head. Serida, Tessen's equally-serpentine solar dragon, looped around a scarecrow, the bulbous, luminescent end of her tail hanging above her triangular head like a lure. Her golden scales glittered and rippled in the moonlight. She chirped loudly, then pounced on Auna. Auna yelped and wrestled Serida to the ground. They were nearly the same size, so the play-fight was an even one.
“You are. I've felt it all evening. You look calm, but your heart is galloping.” Tessen stretched his arms over his head. It had been nine months since a mountain troll's hammer struck his back, and the healed fractures still ached when he exerted himself. He kept reminding himself that such injuries took a long time to fully heal, but his patience with his own body was eroding. He might have been fast and strong, but he paid for his skill every time he laid down to sleep.
Iefyr scoffed, then glanced back at him. “Can you shut off that empathy thing or is it a permanent fixture now?”
“I think it has always been permanent.” Tessen touched the handkerchief to his neck again. Still bleeding. “I'm aware of it now, but my mother and Ragan both told me they noticed it well-before the dragonbind. I'm not sure if Serida amplified it or it was gradually getting stronger anyway. To be honest, I'm trying to ignore it because it worsens my anxiety and makes other people uncomfortable. It's not working.”
“I don't think you can ignore it. And I do think Serida made it stronger. I didn't know you before her, but I've known you long enough to watch it progress. Lyssa thinks your natural empathy is why your bind is so strong, why you are being physically changed.”
“I guess it's the same as how your inner fire is being strengthened by your bond with Auna.”
Iefyr smiled, exposing the small orcan tusks in his lower jaw. He snapped his thick fingers and a wispy flame rose from his thumb. “Still figuring that out. Latent fire witch. Wasn't expecting to learn that about myself, not at my age. Went thirty years believing myself to be non-magical, and then that prince tossed his little dragon at me and suddenly I can spark fires. I'm shit at it, but it's something.”
“You're getting better. You can do it on the first try now.” Tessen stood and joined Iefyr at the ridge. Beyond the moonlit barley field stood the fortress town of Mountain Home. It was once the hold of the elven Nightshadow family, but now it was the refuge of the Moonlight Guardian—Queen Consort Lyssandra Zephyrain Lightborn—and her dragonbound Moonlight Regiment. Above and around the town rose evergreen forests and the snow-capped Redcairn Mountains. Beyond the mountains were the deserts and the Scarlet Canyons of the Crimson Realm, but within the vales hid a cool green oasis, a sanctuary removed from the battles and chaos of the rest of Bacra.
“Sometimes.” Iefyr twirled a strand of hair around his finger and sighed. His red hair was a shaggy mess. The Fae had cut it nearly to the scalp before the gladiatorial tournament, and Tessen assumed he was trying to grow it long again. Tessen was keeping his own black curls short so no one could grab onto them during a sparring match. Iefyr stopped fiddling with his hair and winced. “You see through me so damned easily. It's unnerving.”
“So why are you agitated?” Tessen asked. In the field, the dragons growled, then bounded after a fat mountain hare. “Oh. Does this have something to do with the bladesmith?”
Iefyr shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Milene? Maybe a little. Just a minor crush. It'll pass. I'm not even going to bother her because it turns out she's very happily married. To Markis, of all people. Seems a strange match. Do you know him?”
“The Regiment scout with the big scar across his face? The one who would rather be a milliner?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Sorry. I'm sure you'll find someone to keep you company soon enough. I don't think Milene is why you're this restless, though. Do you want to tell me about it?” Tessen touched his fingertips to the scars on his left cheek. One was gifted to him by an elderly Concord Sibyl who had been intent on killing him, and the other was the result of an honor fight with a massive Foxfae. He had many other scars hidden beneath his clothing, and he no longer minded any of them. They were part of his history, and they continued to remind him that he was capable of surviving even the most impossible adversity.
“Ragan.” Iefyr's voice was barely a whisper.
Tessen tried not to laugh. “Well, then, tell him how you feel about him. He might actually reciprocate.”
Iefyr tilted his head and raised an eyebrow and an ear. The expression was far more elven than orcan. “What? Wait, no, that's not what I meant. I'm not crushing on Ragan. At least I don't think I am. He's only attracted to women, anyway. So, Ragan's in the middle of some sort of internal pissing match. Since I live with him I'm watching it happen. I think he's desperate to get out of Mountain Home and away from your mother, but he knows he can't go anywhere because there is nowhere for him to go. Half-Fae . . . where the hell could he even go? Elves will kill him, Fae will definitely kill him. I doubt anyone else would give a runny troll shit, but there aren't many places free of both elves and Fae in Bacra. His frustration has turned him into a downright slob and it's throwing off my calm.”
“Yeah, he did that when he lived with us in Jadeshire, too. Sometimes he'd sink into this pit and it was like he was shedding debris wherever he went. It's not as if you have to keep living with him. Why don't you move into one of the empty houses by the orchard?”
Iefyr folded his hands together and shook his head. “I might if he gets any worse, but for now I just don't want to live alone. I don't think he does, either. It's hard to come back to an empty house with no one but yourself for company. The dragons help, but they're not people.”
“Serida thinks she is,” Tessen said, nodding toward the field. The young dragons had caught their prey and were happily tearing it to shreds. “I like living alone. It's quiet.”
“That's different. You have your uncle and his family living on one side of you and your mother, stepfather, and sisters on the other. You have family here. Ragan and I don't, and that's awfully lonely.”
“Ragan has me. You can claim me as family too, if you like.”
Iefyr scrunched his nose and glanced up at an arcing meteorite. “No. You're my odd young friend who knows too many of my emotional secrets. What you and Ragan have is familial and unbreakable. We're not there yet. You shouldn't try to replace your own brother with a surrogate one. Life doesn't work that way.” He gestured toward the sack of sparring weapons that sat near the flat rock. “Want to try quarterstaves or have you had enough for the night?”
Tessen's sho
ulder muscles popped and groaned as he straightened his spine. “I'm done. My endurance is getting better, but my back prefers to be angry.”
“I'll take these back to the armory, then,” Iefyr said, hoisting the sack. “Do me a favor before you go home, will you? See if you can talk some sense into Ragan. He's probably in the library again.”
“I'll try. Have a good night, Iefyr.” Tessen whistled a low tone. Serida's gold-scaled head popped above the barley and she trilled back. He beckoned to her and called, “Come on. Time to go.”
Serida tilted her head and blinked her odd eyes twice. Amber on the left, blue on the right, the same as Tessen's. His eyes were once dark brown like his late father's, but the bind had changed them to match his dragon's. It was an incredibly rare transformation. Tessen only knew two other physically-changed dragonbound—his friend Kemi, and her father, High King Nylian Lightborn. The High King's changes were more extensive and dramatic, likely the result of binding himself to nine dragons. Kemi's changes were restricted to her eyes and the same extended lifespan inflicted upon all physically-changed dragonbound. Tessen wasn't sure what that mean for him yet. Nylian, who aged far slower than a typical elf, had told him in Anthora that he had the potential to live longer than any normal human. Tessen hadn't told anyone about that particular revelation yet. It was a thought he struggled to fight away every time it barged into his head.
“Chirp?” Serida hopped over preening Auna and dashed toward Tessen. Her tail bulb cast a soft yellow-green glow upon the barley. She paused at the edge of the ridge and tilted her head to look up at him. “Chirp?”
Iefyr adjusted the weight of the weapon sack on his shoulder. “Bedtime, Auna.”
Auna looked away from him and released a low trill.
“No, I mean it. You get grumpy with me if you don't get your sleep. We'll put this away, then it's bedtime for you.” Iefyr nodded toward Tessen. “We'll try quarterstaves tomorrow. Put some heat on your back and have a good night.”
Auna reluctantly followed him toward the armory, a hare foot securely held between her sharp teeth.
“Chirp? Chirp.” Serida's golden head crests ruffled.
“Library.” Tessen descended the small ridge in a controlled slide. He easily regained his balance at the bottom and patted Serida's head. “You're filthy. Please wash yourself if you're planning on climbing into bed with me tonight.”
Serida sneezed, then shook her head.
“I'm serious. I don't want to sleep in dust and neither do you. Why don't you go home and clean yourself up while I talk to Ragan?”
Serida clambered up the ridge behind him. She stomped the edge, then stretched her wings to their full breadth. She hopped twice on her hind feet before launching herself over Tessen's head. She couldn't fly yet, and likely wouldn't be able to for another two years, but she soared beautifully. She glided over the barley field and landed with soft feet between a cluster of stone houses.
“Show off!” Iefyr called from the other side of the field. Auna had yet to master the glide and usually ended up on her back in a tangle of brambles and wings.
Tessen smiled to himself as he walked toward the keep. Summer nights were cool in the Redcairns and crickets chirped in the grass. He took took a deep breath and let the scents of pine and stone fill his senses. He didn't think this place would ever feel like a true home, but it was close enough to keep him content. He missed sunny and temperate Jadeshire, but Mountain Home was comfortable now that most traces of the Nightshadow family's depravity were removed. Many of the people he loved now resided within the Moonlight Guardian's sanctuary, but he still worried for those outside the spell-shielded veil.
Cobblestones clicked beneath his boots. Hardly anyone was out this late in the evening, and the few who wandered paid him no attention beyond polite nods or waves. They knew him—everyone here did now—but few were truly familiar with him beyond his name and deeds. Few tried to be. They found him intimidating, but he didn't think he deserved that distinction no matter what they thought they heard about his time in the Faelands. He had only done what he needed to save those he could and survive along with them. It didn't make him either a hero or intimidating, just an overwhelmed teenager who happened to be dragonbound and well-trained with a sword.
The darkness only served to remind him of the people he'd lost, the people his luck and skills couldn't save. Their names clicked into his head in time with his footsteps. Daelon Goldtree. Nador Underwood. Kailandrian Lightborn. Rosalia Dannis. Each step left a deep sting in his heart. He couldn't save them, any of them. He'd saved others, but losing those four left him feeling undeserving of any manner of accolade.
Silver scales caught the moonlight as a dragon soared overhead. She landed on a conical roof high on the keep, just above the Nightshadow library. Lenna. Kembriana Lightborn's bound dragon was an adolescent and much larger than Serida or Auna, her body size rivaling that of a Fae horse. She shook out her wings, then stared up at the moon and released a mournful cry.
Tessen took off his spectacles and used the hem of his tunic to clean off the smudges left by an evening of sparring. By the time he returned them to his nose, Lenna was gone. Tessen wondered if she had gone home, or if she had instead flown into the mountains to meet with her sister. Bronda became feral upon Kai's death, but Tessen was certain she'd tracked Lenna from the Faelands to the Crimson Realm. He had occasionally glimpsed a distant silver wing gliding between the northern peaks. Bronda could no longer approach people, but even unbound there was nothing to prevent her from remaining close to her sister.
Tessen scaled the black stairs and let himself into the keep. It was unlocked, as it always was. Lyssa wanted her Regiment to have access both to her counsel and to the vast archives contained within the dark stone walls.
Soft blue light met his eyes. The common areas of the keep were lit by sconces containing dwarfstones, perpetually radiant gems that could not be extinguished and would not begin to fade for thousands of years. Tessen hated them. These dwarfstones had almost certainly been mined by Uldru slaves, and if they were like the ones in the lanterns his mother and stepfather had been given in the underground, they could be used to spy. There was no knowing if someone somewhere possessed a linked stone granting them a full view of the keep. Lyssa tried to remove the stones when she claimed Mountain Home, but she found them fused in place by warlock incantations none of her people could break. They would have to remain in place, and those who passed through the halls were left to hope that when they looked up at the stones no one was looking back.
Laughter echoed from the dining hall, but Tessen ignored it and continued past the kitchen to a wide circular staircase. The twisted wrought iron banister was icy under his hand as he climbed the three flights of stairs to the lavish residential floor previously occupied by the matriarchs of the Nightshadow family. It also housed the substantial library where Ragan spent much of his time.
The library door was propped open by a worn out riding boot. Tessen assumed it was Ragan's. The half-Fae was the tallest person in Mountain Home and the large boot would have swallowed anyone else's foot.
Tessen stepped into the library and slipped around a marble bookshelf that inexplicably had been built into the floor barely a yard from the entry. The study desks were tucked deep within the library maze, so Tessen heard Ragan's gruffly melodic voice well-before he saw him.
“I'm telling you, Princess, just ask him. Worst he can do is say no.”
“No, I've already told you what the worst is. And you know how he is. And don't call me Princess.” A second voice rose above the books, sharply accented but gentle. Kemi was with Ragan.
“Kemi. Kembriana. Princess Kembriana Nyrialor Andaria Zephyrain Lightborn, Silverwind of Anthora. You act like it doesn't matter what anyone around here calls you, so long as it isn't formal. Your mom, too. Queen and Princess, Lyssa and Kemi. You're trying so hard to be casual, but you're gods-damned royalty, the both of you. Can't help it if I slip into politeness, not wh
en I've spent my life so deep down in the gutter that I've gotta either use the titles proper or get stomped into oblivion.” Ragan sighed and the sound of shuffling parchment fluttered over the bookshelves. “Anyhow, your dad can suck an ogre's underside. He's not here so your life's your own, and you can ask any damned person any damned question you wish.”
“I can't believe you just called yourself polite.”
“I'm nothing but sarding polite. I'm the most polite gods-damned raggabrash asshole this part of Bacra.”
More shuffling papers, then Kemi laughed. “I think you added some extra words there.” A chair shifted and feet padded across the floor. She was on the opposite side of the bookshelf from Tessen. He wasn't sure whether to make his presence known or to stay still and hope they didn't notice him listening. He stepped forward, being sure to stay on the narrow runner rug to muffle his footsteps. One more corner and he'd be in sight of the desks.
“Did you find anything yet?” Ragan asked, a yawn tacked on the end of his question.
“No. You'd think of all the places to find a reference, it would be here. Nothing. Not even a mention.” Leather slid across marble as Kemi removed a book from the shelf. “Maybe they hid them somewhere else. All those spells had to come from somewhere.”
“I did find the one diagram, the one that matches a pattern I saw on his back. Hell if I know the language, though. Need to get Tessen to translate.”
“I don't want to involve your son in this. It will only worry him. We both know what he's like when he–”
“Yeah, yeah. He's an anxious little thing. Not so little now. He's only a hand shorter than me since that last late growth spurt he had. And he's not my son. Wish he was, but he's not.”
The chair creaked again as Kemi returned to the desk. “He thinks of you as his father and you think of him as your son, so he's your son. Blood or not, doesn't matter. You've claimed each other just as strongly as any dragon bond.” More shuffling papers. “Show me that diagram.”
A second chair groaned as Ragan shifted. “This one.”
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