Lawless

by Janeen Ippolito

  For all that, the skin remained natural, enabling dragons to blend in with humans while bearing nearly undetectable shields—once the dose had absorbed. Until then, it was difficult to miss, setting off every inch of her fleetwing’s smoothly muscled form, turning him polished bronze.

  He was equally muscled beneath the fitted exercise pants and boots. Heat rose in Kesia’s throat.

  Zephryn met her eyes across the practice room.

  The heat in her throat spread to her cheeks. She gripped her short swords.

  He flicked his longsword to the door carved out of the cavern wall, guarded by six dragons in skin form. Typical for Kesia and Zephryn’s training sessions in the small cave. The reason there were only six was that the floor of the cavern abruptly dropped off into a steep cliff on three sides. Get too close to the edge, and you fell. Not as frightening for dragons, who could shift into flight. But shifting without permission meant the end of the session.

  Kesia smirked, trying to feel braver than her fluttering heartbeat. She could take out three, and Zephryn could take out three.

  Their words could be heard by all six guards. Which meant trying to set them at ease with the usual banter and mocking of sparring matches, all the while choreographing their actions to have a far different outcome.

  A brief meeting the night before had established the plan. But it had been too brief. Fear gnawed Kesia’s gut as she thought of the ways they could fail. But she had returned to find answers. Zephryn insisted she make good. All they had to do was distract the guards, take them out, and then search for answers.

  Get answers. Then escape.

  His eyes swept over her form once, then lingered a second time with a steady, penetrating gaze and a faint smile that sped her heartbeat further. Kesia had also been coated with slatesheen and wore the same outfit he did, with a broad band of fabric that tightly secured her breasts.

  She shut her mouth with a click and swallowed.

  Zephryn lunged forward, his sword swiping at her exposed skin.

  Kesia blocked the weapon off to the side and danced a few steps back, making a few parrying defenses. Foolishness. She was letting herself be taken in by the appeal of this flesh. They were dragons. They didn’t need flesh, except between their teeth. An oddly appealing thought where Zephryn was concerned.

  He lunged forward again with another series of precise attacks that hemmed her in one way, then the other, meeting her blades at every angle. Kesia ducked into a crouch and rolled to the side, then jumped to her feet, blades up.

  Irritation flowed through their mental link. Zephryn grimaced.

  Forget herself? He rarely reminded her of her criminal status.

  Then, she remembered. She was supposed to fail in sparring. Fail badly and quickly in the fight, feigning enough injury to make the guards concerned. It had been her idea. Since, for some reason, the Pinnacle valued her, any potential damage to her would gain more attention.

  Which meant Kesia had to stop trying to win, without looking like it. She breathed out a puff of smoke. Apparently, foolishness was one of her defining traits.

  She snarled.

  One wild swing at Zephryn’s neck, spinning around in a circle, strands of hair flying in her face. She stopped, blades at ready, just in time to block another lunge. Or try to. This time, instead of bringing her full momentum to bear with both short swords, she only raised one, withholding her full strength.

  Allowing Zephryn’s sword access to her side. He slashed at her skin, sending a streak of pain into her torso. Plenty to fuel her for another attack.

  Only, she wouldn’t be attacking anymore. Kesia gritted her teeth.

  She fell to the hard stone, resisting the urge to break her fall but making sure her short swords fell conveniently near her body. Her head thudded against the ground, and her eyes shut. The smell of fire and ash flooded her nostrils as Zephryn stood over her, his blade at her throat.

 

  She silenced her thoughts, making them as still as her body.

  Footsteps echoed toward her.

  One of the guards. Kesia didn’t recognize which one by voice alone. It didn’t matter. If it came down to it, she and Zephryn would have to kill all six.

  Zephryn’s voice seethed with anger.

 

  A hand grabbed her wrist, checking for a pulse.

  He dropped her wrist.

  Kesia focused on the heat signatures of the guards. One was behind her as she lay curled up on her side. Two others stood on either side of Zephryn. Which meant three still guarded the exit.

  Impatience burned in her veins. The situation wasn’t ideal for their plan.

  But it was good enough.

  She twitched her smallest finger. The go-ahead signal.

 

  Zephryn’s confirmation.

  She rolled to the side, smashing into the legs of the guard at her back. He cried out as he fell forward over her. Kesia finished her roll and leaped to her feet. The whistle of air by her ear foretold another attack. She ducked to avoid the blade and whirled around. The guards from the door had joined the fight. Kesia backed up, hoping Zephryn had cleared out the other two attackers. She grabbed one of her short swords off the ground and waved it in wild arcs, trying to keep her trio of attackers at bay.

  The guards fell back, forming a line and blocking her path to the door. The one nearest to her spoke.

  She ignored them. There were still too many to take on alone, especially since she and Zephryn had lost the advantage of surprise.

  Kesia huffed, tightening her grip on her weapons.

  His words held undertones of wry humor and a dismissive attitude.

  A smile tugged at her lips.

  She still wished she could touch his skin, just once.

 

  Even as Kesia continued to retreat across the floor, she reached out through their link and sought Zephryn’s heartflame, the potent essence of his heart, mind, and spirit that was available to her alone. The maze of his strategic and calculating thoughts descended over hers, and her strong sense of creativity and outward focus gave shape to his drive.

  Together, they were nearly unstoppable.

 

  Kesia knew not who gave the order. It didn’t matter. They reacted. Back to back, plying their weapons with breathless speed. Then side by side, blocking sword strokes and calling out commands.

  Cold wind chilled her despite the warming effects of battle. Kesia stiffened. They were perilously close to the edge of the cliff. The alarm jolted her, separating the union of their bond.

  Zephryn opened another secure mental link.

  Her thoughts raced.

  Manifesting wings required a half-shift between skin and scale forms. It wasn’t dangerous, but it was certainly forbidden. Yet this entire scheme was forbidden. What did they have to lose?

  She felt Zephryn’s concern.

 

  <…we’ll do it.>

  Kesia felt him tense, energy rushing to his back, anticipating the shift into wings. Complex plans and movements filled their minds as they again joined to plan the attack. It should work. But even that couldn’t fill the
pit in her stomach.

  The three remaining dragons were nearly upon them.

 

  Kesia was off the cliff, wind singing around her for a moment. Then her large, deep red wings pushed out from her back, catching her mid-air and propelling her up with smooth, swift strokes. Scales covered her skin in variegated patterns. She sailed over the dragons, low enough to aim kicks at their heads and necks.

  Elation filled Kesia. She and Zephryn zipped around the dragons on the ground, attacking quickly and relentlessly to keep them from manifesting their own wings and taking the pursuit to the air.

  At last, only one straggler remained upright.

  Kesia blew out a stream of fire. “We did it!”

  A bolt of fear arced through her, as intense as it was sudden. Not hers. Zephryn’s. She turned to see dread in his eyes as the remaining guard pulled out a pistol.

  He aimed it at Kesia.

  An explosion echoed through the cavern.

  Searing pain arced through her right wing. Kesia retracted it, spiralling to the ground in a haphazard circle, her ears ringing and mind filled with fog. Her head slammed into a rock, and blackness coated her vision.

  The last thing she saw was her right wing, limp beside her, with a Pinnacle-made barb-hook shoved through the delicate inner scales.

  Then darkness silenced the pain.

  ***

  He wanted to kill them all.

  Zephryn paced the length of the small room. It was little more than a rectangular box with rough-hewn corners and a cot in the center, where Kesia lay on her stomach, eyes closed in sleep. From her back sprang her wings, the hole made by the barb-hook coated with healing scale-screen.

  It would heal in a few days, the caregivers assured him, but she wouldn’t be able to shift for at least a week.

  Fewmets to the Pinnacle! Fewmets to this whole situation. They should have left after Kesia rescued the airship captain. Why had he let her ideas about finding answers in the Pinnacle sway him? She was clever, but she sometimes had the brains of a mountain grazer when it came to her own safety.

  The Pinnacle could also be blamed for that, in part. They certainly didn’t treat her as invaluable, except for choosing not to kill her. She had invisible scars from the flay-room, the evidence sealed over with the same scale-screen that was healing her wing.

  But some of this dangerous absurdity was Kesia’s own invention, her own stubborn insistence on trying to improvise solutions when following a clear plan would be far better.

  Yet, Zephryn couldn’t imagine life without her.

  He strode to her side, sitting on the stool next to the head of the cot. At least the medicine they’d given her had removed the pain. A lock of hair had fallen over her face. Zephryn stroked the strands back behind her ear. Such fine, silky brown strands, threaded with red.

  His fingers hovered over her face. Kesia was in her half-shifted form, rose-red scales patterning her forehead and cheekbones, the bare shoulders visible above the sheet, and presumably the rest of her body. Not that he’d ever seen it.

  Zephryn gently stroked the scales behind her ears. Smooth, warm scales. She sighed and leaned into his touch, her contentment radiating through the fleetwing bond. Everything in him desired to slip into bed next to her and hold her close.

  That, too, was forbidden. Right now, they had broken enough rules.

  “Physical contact in skin form?” A new voice resonated. Zephryn stiffened as footsteps echoed behind him. The voice continued, “Now, Nightstalker, you know better. Even if you’re above our leash, she certainly is not. I would have thought the consequences of your illegal maneuvers would have taught you that, but it appears I was wrong.”

  “You are wrong. Wrong about everything. She isn’t yours to punish.”

  He stood and turned to face Highlord Garishton Razorclaw. The Pinnacle leader had taken skin form and wore a robe glimmering with green and gold dragon scales—those of the fallen as a memorial to their sacrifice. Or so the Pinnacle leadership claimed. In truth, the scale cloak was a subtle threat to the living; cross the Pinnacle and they would wear your pelt as well.

  “That is not yours to decide, Zephryn Nightstalker. She is a criminal, and you both owe your allegiance to the Pinnacle.”

  Razorclaw’s voice thickened with command, using his voice Talent to force obedience from others. His lined face wrinkled further with disdain, and his eyes flashed.

  Zephryn stared back at him, ignoring the tugs on his will. Did Garishton really think that he could twist the mind of an heir? “You are the last person who should talk of allegiance, Razorclaw. She is the only reason I remain, yet still you choose to treat her poorly.”

  The highlord flashed sharp teeth. “Bold words for a boy whose careless actions caused his own fleetwing such pain.”

  “No. Your punishments against her did.”

  “She is a convict. She escaped from custody. Would you have her given more clemency? She must earn it, like all the others.”

  Zephryn’s blood raced, and claws slid from his fingers. “I spoke with the caregivers. She cannot fly. She cannot even shift except to hide her wings, and only under great pain. Her abilities are what make her an asset to the Pinnacle, and you would squander them?”

  Razorclaw’s eyes flashed to slitted dragon pupils. “She is a convict. Do not forget that, Nightstalker, and outlast my patience. I know you broke her out of her cell and encouraged her foolish mission.”

  “Foolish? It yielded valuable intelligence.” Zephryn’s throat grew warm. “Or was that another lie? Was the explosion on the airship an attack by the Pinnacle after all? I never thought you would stoop to chemicals, but then, I shouldn’t be surprised by anything you do.”

  “And yet, you still test me. As your parents did.” Razorclaw breathed out smoke. “You are closer to their fate than you think. I thought your genes would be valuable to breed with hers, but this latest insolence is proving otherwise.”

  The statement chilled Zephryn’s anger. Who else could they breed with Kesia? Fleetwings were partnered precisely because of ideal genetic compatibility, a compatibility detectable upon first meeting through their heartflames. Now that they were of maturation, the time had come.

  Not that he looked forward to it. Rumor had it that the process wasn’t enjoyable, especially when it had to occur in a large cavern in dragon form before a host of monitoring scientists. All to ensure optimal insemination, as if they truly were animals.

  Razorclaw still stood there. Why was he here? Kesia was not his.

  Zephryn stepped toward him. “You should leave now.”

  “And allow you a few last moments with the criminal?” The highlord spared him a withering glance. “Such a waste. Such valuable skills in a fragile shell. I only hope she produces good stock with her breeding partner. Who will not be you.”

  “We’re bound. We’re only compatible with each other.”

  “Not if the heartflame bond is broken. She could find another.”

  Zephryn swallowed. “You fool. That would kill both of us. You would lose both of our skills.”

  Razorclaw sniffed. “Well, at least it will kill you. A fortunate benefit.”

  He swept out of the room. Zephryn’s mouth burned and his veins were a fury of fire. It took every ounce of his strength not to follow and exact vengeance.

  But that wouldn’t help Kesia. There was only one choice: flee and avoid all contact with humans and dragons. Kesia had expressed concern, but considering their Talents, slipping into obscurity wouldn’t be that difficult.

  What of your kingdom, Midnight? Kesia’s optimism haunted him even when she was unconscious.

  Her arguments were based on the belief that people still wanted to support the old kingdom. A kingdom whose name Zephryn couldn’t even remember anymore. Then again, between the dragon Pinnacle, the human Congruency, and the bloodthirsty anarchists, it seemed no one remembered the old kingdom. Not enough to try and resurrect it.<
br />
  Pinnacle deserters were killed on sight, but how was that any worse than lingering here and watching them attack his fleetwing behind the guise of enforcing their rules? Could he watch her be taken from him?

  No. They would have to flee as soon as possible, which meant before Kesia was healed.

  “Fewmets!”

  Kesia flinched on the cot, silencing any further curses. Zephryn rushed to her side, but her eyelids hadn’t opened. A single line wrinkled her forehead, and her hands clutched the blankets on either side of her.

  Zephryn took a deep breath and released it slowly, descending into the chair. He closed his eyes, imagining the coldest snow and ice upon every part of his body, forcing his anger and frustration to a place where it wouldn’t upset her vulnerable internal state. He drew a mental shield around their mindspeak to give them privacy for a few minutes. Shields would alert the caregivers, but with Kesia so disabled, they would assume no further trouble could happen.

  They didn’t know his fleetwing.

 

  How many more dragons would suffer in this war? How could he consider leaving them entirely at the mercy of the Pinnacle?

  One target at a time. That’s what Kesia always told him when he projected too far into the future.

  He sighed.

 

 

  She stayed very still on the table, but he felt her worry through the fleetwing bond.

 

 

 

  She didn’t flinch that time, but her fingers gripped the edges of the cot. Zephryn sighed.
  of my kingdom and any possibilities therein later.>

  He felt her stubbornness rise, then abate, her grip on the cot loosening.