A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3)

by Arenson, Daniel

  He reached her. He took her hands and squeezed them, his grip warm, and his eyes stared into hers.

  "We will rebuild it together," he said.

  She scoffed and her eyes still stung. "You would have me be your queen? Do you think that's what I want?" She shook her head. "You are mistaken. I don't belong in this place. I don't belong up here in this capital anymore. And nor do you, Rune Brewer." She shook her head, cursing her damn eyes that would not stay dry. "You're just a damn brewer's boy."

  He smiled and nodded. "That's all I want to be. Queen? Tilla Roper, if you were queen of Requiem, the realm would just suffer under another tyrant." He winked.

  She growled and tried to pull her hands free, but he held them tight. "Why do you mock me? Will you marry Kaelyn then?" Her jealousy flared, and she hated herself for that too.

  He shook his head. "I will marry you."

  She growled. "Damn you, Rune! I told you. I'm not going to be your damn queen."

  "Oh stars, Tilla! You are dense." He rolled his eyes. "I don't want you to be my queen, I told you that. And I don't want this throne." He squeezed her hands. "I want us to go back home—together. I want you to rebuild Lynport with me."

  A stunned silence fell... and then the throne room erupted.

  Everyone began shouting at once.

  Kaelyn grabbed Rune's collar and shook him, yelling that he was the heir, that he had to sit upon this throne. Valien was emitting that rasp of his, insisting that they had fought this war for Rune, to return Requiem to his line, to restore the ancient dynasty of Aeternum. Other resistors all crowded around, some red with rage, others pale and shaking their heads.

  "Friends, please!" Rune said, tugging himself free from their grasp. "Listen to me."

  Kaelyn was snarling, her eyes flashing, and she twisted his collar tighter. "You listen to me, you stupid boy. We fought this war for you. Your forebears have sat upon this throne for four thousand years—since the days of the first king. How can you just... just walk away from it?" She released his collar and covered her eyes.

  Again everyone started shouting, tugging at his clothes, gesturing at the throne, and filling the hall with echoes.

  Only Tilla stood silently throughout the ruckus. She looked at Rune through the crowd that came between them. He met her eyes.

  There he is, she thought and breathed deeply. There is Rune Brewer. There is the boy I grew up with. There is the man I love.

  As the others tugged at his arms, his collar, and his shoulders, Tilla stepped forward, reached out, and held his hand. She smiled tremulously, and she was with him again on the beach. They no longer stood here in this throne room, this place that was foreign to them, this place of gold and marble and ghosts. In her mind and in his eyes, they were already back home.

  She nodded.

  "Yes," she whispered. She turned to Valien, who was still railing about ancient dynasties, and touched his arm.

  He turned toward her, face red. "The boy is a fool!" he said, teeth grinding. "Tilla, will you talk sense into him?"

  She sighed. "For the first time since I've known him, he is making perfect sense. Look around you, Valien Eleison. We don't belong here. I'm not a soldier. Rune isn't a king." Seeing him open his mouth to protest, she held up her hand. "Oh, I know all about his lineage. You've spoken of it enough. But those are old lines. Look at that throne, Valien. Is that the throne his father ruled? The Oak Throne of Requiem? No. Frey burned that ancestral seat. I see only an ivory mockery that Frey sat upon. Dynasties change. Requiem is reborn, and she is ready for a new line." She looked back at Rune and she smiled. For the first time in years, she smiled a warm smile, the sort of smile that filled one's entire body, that tickled like spring dawn after winter. "Let him return south with me. You needed him to rally hearts and win this war. You don't need his silly little backside to polish some seat." She returned her eyes to Valien and winked. "That backside of his now belongs to me."

  Valien gaped at her, eyes wide, mouth open, and then something happened that caught Tilla by surprise.

  Valien, the gruff and grizzled leader of the Resistance, laughed.

  It was a creaky laugh, sort of like a tree thawing after a long frost. Tilla guessed that like her smile, his laugh was reemerging after long years of slumber. It started awkwardly, scraping and crackling, then became a deep, joyous sound. And Tilla laughed too.

  She pulled Rune into an embrace. She held him close and would not release him, and she kissed his cheek, and she kept laughing. When finally she could laugh no more, she touched his hair and whispered softly.

  "Can we do this, Rune? Can we rebuild our home?" She lowered her gaze. "Not much is left."

  He held her in his arms. "We are left. And we are together. We can rebuild the whole damn world."

  She pinched his cheek and mussed his hair. For the first time in many years, she had laughed this day. For the first time in many years, she was happy.

  ERRY

  She stood in the crowd, watching Valien and Kaelyn's wedding. Or was this their coronation? Erry couldn't tell and she fidgeted, hopping on her tiptoes and twisting her fingers behind her back.

  "Damn ceremonies," she muttered under her breath. "Who in the Abyss gets married and crowned on the same day? Too much pomp and too much damn—"

  "Shh!" Miya said, standing at her side. Her younger, taller sister glared down at her. "Valien is being crowned now, so hush."

  Erry grumbled, frowned at the girl, and grudgingly bit down on her words.

  She stood among a crowd of... stars, it must have been a hundred people. They covered the palace walls all around her—resistors, city elders, and whatever other dignitaries Valien had deemed important enough to stand here with him. And below the walls—maggoty toe juice! Erry's head spun to see it. A great square spread below; Erry thought it larger than all of Lynport. Hundreds of thousands crowded down there, maybe a million. All of Nova Vita had come to see the coronation, it seemed, filling the square.

  Upon these walls where Erry stood, no more banners of Cadigus hung, nor did they fly from the tower that rose above. Tarath Imperium had been rededicated. New banners hung here now. They were deep green, and the silver stars of Requiem appeared upon them, shaped like a dragon—the Draco constellation, the forbidden gods now worshiped again.

  Miya elbowed her and whispered from the corner of her mouth. "Erry! You're not watching the coronation. This is a historical event. Stop gawping at the clouds and look at Valien."

  Erry growled. "You're a pushy little sister. Remember that you're younger than me, and I can beat you up."

  The young Tiran's eyes flashed. "You might be older, but I'm taller. Now hush and watch."

  With another grumble, Erry looked up toward Valien. He stood upon the walls perhaps a hundred yards away, looking down at the crowds. Erry had always seen him wearing only furs and leathers, but now he wore his old knight's armor, the steel plates polished to a bright silver. Birch leaves were engraved on his breastplate, and he bore a new sword, abandoning his old hunk of steel for a kingly blade. For the first time since Erry had known him, his beard was trimmed, his hair brushed and neat, and his eyes bright.

  By the stars, he's actually handsome, Erry thought and felt her blood heat. Who knew?

  She turned to look at Kaelyn, who stood at Valien's side. The young princess had always been beautiful, even when covered with grime. But now, dressed in an azure gown, her hair braided and strewn with flowers, Kaelyn looked fairer than ever, so much that Erry's blood heated further. With her short hair and scrawny limbs, Erry wasn't sure if she felt jealous of or awed by Kaelyn's beauty.

  Valien is a lucky bastard, she thought.

  The coronation began.

  Rune stepped forth, clad in green and silver, and he too looked more clean and handsome than Erry had ever seen him. The last Aeternum approached the newlyweds, bearing two crowns. When he reached Valien and Kaelyn, they knelt before him.

  He spoke
some words; they flitted into Erry's ears and out again. She did not understand court-speak. Rune recited some fancy talk about abdi-something the throne, passing on the torch, and naming Valien Eleison the new king. He placed the crown upon the man's head, then turned to Kaelyn and crowned her too, and then spoke some more. He prayed to the Draco Stars and blessed them.

  Erry rolled her eyes and rocked on her heels. Rune had just memorized the words yesterday. He was no priest or ruler; he was just the boy from the boardwalk, the boy she would play mancala with, the boy who brought her food sometimes. And she was just a dock rat, and Tilla was just a ropemaker. They were just southern beach children. They didn't belong here. They didn't need any of this pomp and ceremony.

  She sighed.

  But maybe we're no longer those things, she thought and lowered her head. Maybe we did change. Maybe we did grow. Maybe... maybe Rune is wise now, and Tilla is a warrior, and I... what am I?

  She looked at Miya who stood at her side. The young woman's eyes gleamed as she watched the coronation. Erry looked past Miya at the tall, golden-skinned man who stood farther back, a captain of the southern seas.

  No, I'm no longer a dock rat, she thought. I'm a sister. And I'm a daughter.

  Her eyes stung and her chest constricted. The urge to flee welled inside her. She had to escape this place, to run, to get away, to stop those damn tears from burning.

  She tightened her lips, clenched her fists, and began to shove back through the crowd. Miya gasped at her and people muttered, but Erry didn't care. She had to get out. She couldn't... couldn't bear this anymore, couldn't bear these feelings that stung her, that felt so warm in her chest.

  Let them have their celebrations, she thought, worming her way between the people. Trumpets began to play and singers to sing, but Erry ignored them. She had never needed anyone. She had always been a lone wolf—on the docks and here in this city.

  She found a staircase and descended toward a small courtyard, moving away from the music, the crowds, the flowers, and all those things that still stung, that still frightened a child grown up in shadows. She walked upon cobblestones, walls and towers at her sides, finally able to breathe, to calm her heart. She had always felt most calm in solitude, and though she had often felt unfortunate as a child, she found herself missing the beach, the sound of waves, and the company of her animals. Perhaps that was the only life she truly knew how to live.

  She walked along paths and porticoes. Finally she found a small garden between brick walls. Several oak trees grew here, surrounding a statue of Frey Cadigus. Thousands of his statues filled the city; many had been toppled already, but some still stood, tucked away in small gardens or courtyards, still watching the city and awaiting their felling.

  Erry was about to sit under a tree when she noticed a figure standing ahead, watching the statue.

  Tilla.

  Erry froze, not sure how to proceed. Tilla had once been her dearest friend, but last time she had seen the woman, Tilla had worn the armor of a legionary, and she had burned Erry with her punisher; Erry still carried a faded scar from the attack. Today Tilla wore no armor and bore no weapon. She stood in a white tunic, a string of seashells around her neck. A breeze rustled the trees and billowed Tilla's black, chin-length hair.

  She's staring at the tyrant, Erry thought. Does she still worship him? She has removed her armor, but is her heart still dark?

  She had begun to tiptoe away when Tilla spoke, not turning toward her.

  "It's a funny thing, isn't it?"

  Erry paused in mid-step, turned back, and saw Tilla still staring at the statue.

  "I've heard folk call Frey a god or a monster," Erry said, "but funny is a new one."

  Tilla nodded, face blank. "I think most saw him as both, a monstrous god to worship not from love but from fear. That's why I served him."

  When Tilla turned toward her, Erry took a step back.

  No, her face isn't blank, she thought. There is deep pain there, a horror she hides under her cold mask.

  "Well, he's dead now," Erry said, still hesitant, not sure that she wanted to be here, and the old scar on her chest burned. "So to the Abyss with his rotten carcass, and may they dump this statue in a cesspool."

  She turned to leave, but Tilla called out.

  "Erry, wait."

  With a huff, Erry spun around and glared. "What?" Rage flared within her. "What do you want with me? You have your statue here. Go make love to it, or worship it, or spit on it. I don't care. I'm looking for a quiet place of my own."

  When she turned to leave again, Tilla raced toward her, held her shoulders, and wouldn't let go.

  "Erry, please. Just... wait a moment."

  "Don't touch me!" Erry said and shoved her off.

  Tilla took a step back and nodded. "Erry, I'm sorry, all right?"

  She snorted a laugh. "Easy to be sorry now with your lord dead."

  "You served in the Legions too. We both served him." Tilla lowered her head. "That doesn't mean he's my lord."

  "Oh, we both served him, did we?" Erry's voice rose, torn with anger. "I never killed for him. I never collaborated with his daughter. I never..." Her eyes burned with tears, and Erry hated herself for it. "I never betrayed a friend."

  "And I did," Tilla said. "I did all those things. I know it. And I'm sorry. I was... how would you say it? A horse's arse."

  Erry snorted. "You were a particularly big, smelly horse's arse."

  Tilla nodded. "Fair enough."

  "With fleas."

  "All right."

  "And with an infected, maggoty red spiral brand right on it. And with some ticks and—"

  "All right, Erry, I get it."

  Erry sighed, knuckled her stinging eyes, and looked at her feet. She spoke in a low whisper. "You're my best friend, Tilla. You're my only friend. You and Wobble Lips." Now her own damn lips wobbled. "I never had any other friends." She looked up through damp eyes. "I love you, you stinky horse's bottom."

  Tilla smiled, laughed, and pulled her into an embrace. "Love you too, you little shrimp."

  Erry held her friend and felt warm and safe. She closed her eyes, leaned her cheek against Tilla, and thought this better than all the crowds, weddings, and coronations in the world.

  Leresy would hold me too, she thought. A hundred men before him would hold her like this, but they hadn't loved her. They had all wanted her sex, or they had wanted her to heal their souls. But this felt right. This felt good.

  "I'm moving back to Lynport," Tilla said. "Rune is going too. A few hundred townsfolk survived, and we're going to rebuild. Rune and I will rebuild the Old Wheel and run it together." She held Erry at arm's length. "Come with us. Brew ale with us or serve tables or cook meals... just be with us. We'll run the place together, us three."

  To live with Tilla and Rune? To have a roof over her head, regular meals, a home of her own? Warmth filled Erry, spreading through her like sunrise over a rolling landscape. And yet she shook her head.

  "Nah, it's called the Old Wheel, not the Third Wheel. It's not a place for me. Go and make it a great place, Tilla. You and Rune. I know that you will. But me... it's not a place for me."

  Tilla's eyes softened. "So where will you go? Do you have a place? Are you sure you don't want to stay with us?"

  A hesitant smile tingled Erry's lips, soon turning into a grin. "I have a place now. I have a home. I have a family."

  The spring sun warmed the land, leaves budded on the trees, and new light shone across Requiem. Masons bustled in cities and villages, building new temples to the stars. Statues of Frey fell. Knives scratched red spirals off armor, swords, and shields. A new dawn rose for Requiem, and King Valien ruled with light, justice, and wisdom.

  "I helped save Requiem," Erry whispered, flying over the forests and mountains of the kingdom, the sun bright above. "But not for me. It will never be a warm, safe place for me."

  She had suffered here too much. Her body and sou
l bore too many scars. The beaches, the forests, the city walls... they all carried too many memories, too much pain.

  How do you cleanse your memories of blood? she thought as she flew on the wind, the forests rolling below her, the capital vanishing far behind. How do you find light when so much darkness still fills you?

  Erry didn't know. For so many years, she had run from pain. She had run to her docks, into forests, or into men's arms. Today too she was fleeing.

  Yet now... now she had a good place to fly to. Now she had somebody to fly with.

  "Hey, Erry!" Miya cried from her back, seated in a saddle. "Can't you fly any faster?"

  Erry growled over her shoulder. Her little sister's hair flapped in the wind, and her cheeks were pink, yet still she pointed forward, demanding more speed. Their father sat upon the saddle too, smiling, his hard face showing rare peace.

  "Do you want to fly instead, Miya?" Erry said.

  "Not fair. I'm a Tiran. You know Tirans can't fly. Tirans sail."

  "So be quiet and let the half-dragon do her work."

  Tirans sail. And Erry too had Tiran blood. She too would sail. She inhaled, already smelling the salty air.

  They flew across Requiem for days. They left the birch forests behind, and they flew over the great plains of Osanna. They traveled over hills, woods, and mountains. At nights, they slept in taverns or simply under the stars. They flew until they saw the eastern sea, the blue border of the empire.

  In a clear dawn, they descended toward the port of Altus Mare, an ancient city. Once a place of docks and shipyards, a great hub of merchants, the city had fallen in the wars, its original inhabitants slain. Today a small fishing village rose upon the ruins, home to several hundred Vir Requis, a tanned people clothed in canvas, their faces weathered with the sea winds.

  Erry walked onto the docks, stared out into the sea, and tapped her chin.

  "Now what do we do?" she asked her father and sister. "The islands with our ships are a three-day flight away. I can't fly for three days straight, not without a place to rest at night."