To any invaders who might dare to make it this far, the powerful deception of ever-present lava would work as a brilliant forewarning. Just as an animal strikes a defensive stance, warning its enemies to stay away, so too did the low-lying lava. It would forever appear to wait in readiness. Aided by the glasses, it would continue within its mythical life embodying what others feared: a free-flowing death.
White Pyrosian marble endured conditions to break even the strongest stones. It glowed with an ethereal grace as a towering wall which circled the island inside the mouth's heart. Its surface foretold the stories of their peoples’ battles both, won and lost. The carved depictions were the testament to the endurance their people had shown. Inside the wall, another enclosure stood proudly.
Three colossal towers reached high into the air. The onion-shaped domes atop their heads dazzled the night. They wore flames of gold which molded and conformed as proud crowns. Those flames symbolized the Dragon's blessing to the royal home.
Between the towers, a lily-white wall ran to powerfully bridge their strength. It held fast to the wonders it kept within its grasp.
The royal gardens were blessed visions of green where only shades of fire seemed to reign. Its trees bore sweet fruit. Its vines grew precious roses. Throughout its lushness, fountains sang a soothing song while the meticulously designed paths coursing throughout the gardens created symmetry. Their interconnected channels all led to one patient destination. They led to a palace of ivory dreams.
The base of the palace was a strong rectangular realm of white. Its chambers and corridors were detailed with ornate precision. Each arched entryway spoke of romantic care. The archways carefree air did not pass to the level overhead.
The gold pyramid sitting atop the base's noble back held tightly to its secrets. The rooms of grandeur within were not visible from the outside. There was nothing, but the everlasting fluidity of the omnipotent pyramid.
Gazing down upon her life's prize, the lava's light caught in Aurea's eyes. Her breath hitched inside her throat. When at last her breath was freed from its restraint, it trembled fervently as her voice.
“Hail Aurea, Queen of Pyros.”
Chapter Three
Sing praises, you the proudly devoted. Rejoice. And yet, as you gaze upon the glorious future, do so with eyes which truly see lest you find yourself blind to the present.
----Book of Wrath
********
To a young woman, who had loved and nurtured thoughts of her reign as one would lavish over a cherished friend, there could be no better place, no better moment than this. It washed over her, enveloping her senses with fairy-tales and long held aspirations.
For years it had been fine gowns and imperial crowns which had consumed her most coveted dreams. And now, as she blinked away the tears giving everything an ethereal haze, these things were no longer a dream. At last, it had become her life.
Aurea lifted her eyes to the heavens but instead of seeing something celestial, she saw the domed ceiling looming over them protectively.
The grand ceiling cradled the aristocracy within its guard. In all the Pyrosian world, no greater tribute to banquet and dance had ever been created.
The splendor of champagne walls twinkled with determined flecks of gold. Upon their surface an artist's meticulous care had depicted the legend of the innocents.
With adoring hands and upturned faces, the innocents gazed lovingly toward the ancient beauty of the dragons as the creatures soared through an ever-evolving sky. The painting represented the Twilight of Life and as the aristocracy of the land gathered beneath its awe-inspiring beauty, it symbolized the feelings held within their hearts.
Tonight was the grand end of an era and the joyous beginning of yet another. It was the birth of a reign.
Music flooded and intoxicated the senses. Bodies writhed in decadent pleasures. In the sea of countless bodies, each face was masked, granting seductive anonymity. Only the most beautiful and most affluent were in attendance. They had come to celebrate their land. They had come to rejoice in their new Queen.
“Hail Queen Aurea!”
The collective voice possessed all the might of the sea. Aurea felt it beat against her being as if it were the impassioned gales of life's storm. Her chest heaved with her racing heart. She stared out to the reverent faces all reveling in her presence.
As torches and great pyres bathed their surroundings in warm light, Queen Aurea stood at the head of the stairs. She wore red unlike any woman before her. Its blood essence thrived with life, her life.
Her dress nurtured each curve of her taut young body. It dipped low to expose the soft swells of her breasts. With a captivating slope, it tapered into her small waist. The deep red fabric glistened like liquid glass. It tantalized the eyes by revealing lengthy slits at the skirt's sides. As she stood overseeing her nobles from behind a crimson mask of the Dragon, her tone legs claimed the night.
Fluidly, she descended the steps. The winding train at her back slunk down the stairs like a tail. It furthered the nature of whom and what she was. She was the Dragon's Child.
Aurea all but breathed fire as she scoured the horizon. The alluring intensity of her sapphire eyes threatened to burn those who met her gaze. She was the wildfire to scorch the land. She relished the mark left by her fires, watching the people burn like glowing embers.
The woman in red maneuvered throughout the ballroom. She passed through bodies intertwined by music and lust. She shook her head in silent decline as tray after tray of delicacies was offered up to her by servants smiling beguilingly.
One such beauty lowered gracefully low to the ground. In her hands, she carried a golden tray laden with fruits. The heat of her eyes promised the mouthwatering sweetness of so much more than food. It was in that moment that Aurea understood the power she wielded.
She reached out with a soft hand to stroke the woman's warm cheek. They exchanged a heated stare before she walked past the woman to take her place on her throne.
At the feel of her body making contact with the luxurious chair, Aurea slowly closed her eyes. She felt her insides shiver. Her fingers curled delicately around the arms of her throne. She tightened her grasp while a soft sound escaped her lips. When she reopened her eyes, the flames of her pupils were white with intensity. Then from behind her mask, she smiled with a slowness that was almost predatory.
********
The raptures cloaked in darkness were brought to light in raging bursts as the fire-dancers who reigned atop giant marble columns sent their fires into the air. From their lips, they brought the fiery dawn. Their spray of fire bloomed outward in glorious tribute to their mistress the Child of Fire while others twirled and manipulated their torches with a spell-casting grace.
Several wild boars made their final charge through treacherous terrain as they were carried high atop trays of silver and gold. Their final gallivant was through a field not of colorful wildflowers, but rather costumed people who danced passionately or reclined upon beds of brilliant pillows. Blazing scarlet, shimmering sapphire, burnt orange, royal purple and dazzling emerald, these were the last flowers to house their journeys.
But even as the night commanded so many, it lost its power over one.
Aurea witnessed the night discover humility. She alone had seen it suddenly kneel in submission. All around her, the music faded to a distant roar. The people succumbing to their most indulgent fantasies blurred. They were little more than a mass of movement and streaked color. Even the timeless prestige of the palace shrank away from Pyros’ new Queen.
Instead, what remained was destiny's drum. It had become personified as the loud beating of her heart. She could feel its throbbing life and the roar it caused against her ears.
The young woman shivered beneath the awareness of the moment, feeling inevitability ripple up her spine. She was now the most powerful woman within her kingdom, but she had been suddenly conquered by a moment. It caused her mouth go dry. And yet that copious moisture
sprang out of her in new havens. It glistened at her brow. It slicked her hands and as the momentous force of sweet surrender came colliding into her world, she knew the first droplets of dew to welcome the dawn of womanhood.
The Queen drew in a shaky breath. As she released it, it was with the intent of pushing away the thoughts compelling her to move, to go to the woman standing near the wall of windows.
The woman was bathed in an eternal dusk brought about by the lava's light. Her hair was long and dark. It spilled down her back like silken sheets of sweet chocolate. Throughout her leonine mane, ribbons of gold had been braided to crest each wave.
To Aurea, the woman embodied the willowy height of any bewitching statue to grace these walls, but her body was not made of marble. Her body possessed light olive skin, softly glistening with the mists of perspiration. Her prowess was enhanced by the white whispering dress adorning her wiles.
The ivory white about her body wrapped its arms in a clingy embrace around her long neck. Those silken arms lightly covered her full breasts as a body of sheer white gripped possessively to her flat stomach. It touched her hips with only the gentlest of caresses, clutching her as if by fingertips. That gown of cloud-like wonders ended midway against her lean thighs. The backs of those athletic thighs were tickled by the ends of the wings made solely of fragrant flower petals.
The woman turned her beautiful face from the windows to seek out the source of the heat she felt searing her skin. The powerful storm of her eyes seemed to rumble with rolling clouds. Their slate blue sparked with the electric flicker of intelligence and intrigue. Slowly her lips began to break into a radiant smile.
The heat of her smile came as a swift death. Aurea was slain. This angel who gave an elegant ---though noticeably bashful--- bow had come as a divine mercenary to drive her sword directly into the heart of a trembling beast.
Inwardly, Aurea retched. Her own cowardice stared back at her, reflected in the beautiful stormy eyes which looked to her from across the ballroom.
“She is beautiful,” Aurea heard spoken softly. “Is she not, my Queen?”
Aurea clenched her fists. The muscles in her jaw danced. Painfully, she tore her eyes away. Her head turned slightly to the side, allowing her to speak over her shoulder. “Who is she?” she asked hoarsely.
“She is Autumn of Angels,” Maven answered, “the daughter to High Lord Angelos III.”
Aurea's eyes burned hotly.
Autumn was obscured from sight for only a moment, but to Aurea that instant felt like an eternity. When the throngs of people had broken just enough for Autumn to come into sight again, the Queen shrank into herself.
“Why is she speaking with that druid?” Aurea demanded in a low voice. Her disgust lingered in the air like a bitter soul's incense.
With love alight inside her eyes, Autumn embraced a smiling man in red.
“The daughters of Angels share a kinship with the druids,” Maven explained. She could sense the disdain emanating from her sovereign. To fan the flame, she leaned close and whispered directly into a shell-like ear. “It is a duty passed from mother to daughter.”
The face of a ruby dragon lowered dangerously. Blue eyes narrowed as if hungering for the kill. “What duty?” she asked. Inwardly, she fumed with jealousy. Her subjects should not have allegiances to anything beyond their Queen and the Dragon, Herself. “What is it that binds them?”
Maven shook her head slowly with uncertainty. “No one truly knows outside of the druids and the women of the Angel bloodline.”
The Queen drank heartily from the cup of resentment.
No druid could be trusted, Aurea thought, especially the one who whispered to autumn now. She seethed as she stared at Soren.
The sight of Soren as he raised his chalice to clink glasses happily with autumn infuriated her. Why should Soren celebrate on her night, Aurea wondered. He had appeared to be so against her being chosen as the Dragon Child. Why would he celebrate her triumph now? He was probably speaking ill of her at this very moment. She was certain of it.
Trumpeting horns shattered the icy grip she had upon Soren's heart. Aurea turned in the direction of the stairs where only hours before she had made her entrance as Queen.
Standing atop the stairs was a short pudgy man, who beamed with a certain sense of self-importance. “And now,” he announced, “I present to you the gifts of your people.” He motioned his hand.
At his insistence, the servants came. They carried magnificent treasures to await her approval.
The winking gold and smiling jewels shined beautifully inside Aurea's eyes. She took in each mountain of riches as it was deposited at her feet but, she soon realized that these spoils were merely the beginning.
One by one, the noble houses of her aristocracy began to step forward. Upon their announcement, they offered up their gifts and in so doing their loyalties.
Aurea smiled almost warmly as the Province of Whispering Winds was announced. She watched the manner in which Maven smiled. Maven’s smile spoke of shared secrets.
Maven's beauty was remarkable. Her silky green dress brought out the splendor of her eyes as they peeked out through a mask of shimmering leaves. She might have been the mother of the world. Her full breasts and womanly hips surely spoke of her fertility. The golden glory of her flowing hair hung about her face. It was mussed and wild. With it as her mane, she seemed powerful and untamed. She bowed to emphasize every endowment she owned and there was no mistaking that Maven did own them. She commanded each part of her body and the reaction it inspired in all those around her.
“For you, my beautiful Sovereign,” she purred.
Maven moved to the side. The fluid act caused the silken flowers bedded within her hair to flash in the light. The tributes from her province blazed with the same boisterous bravado present inside her. Held lovingly within bejeweled chests was the pride of her land. Her people were widely respected for their craftsmanship. It showed brilliantly beneath the light as glorious golden armor was revealed to Aurea's waiting eyes.
Appreciatively, the Dragon Child smiled from behind her mask. That favor alone was enough to truly warn the nobles that Maven of Whispering Winds had seduced her way into the young Queen's good graces.
“Presenting the Province of Angels,” the announcer boomed.
Maven respectfully moved to the stairs near Aurea's feet. She smiled knowingly as three members of the Angels family stepped forward.
Angelos III shared the grand height of his children. It was true that from this proud tree blessed fruit fell. The waves of his hair had long since lost their rich brown. Now they were the occasional branch of strong brown weighted by the dense frost of ivory snow. His eyes were the essence of a winter sky. They were cool, enough to bring a flush to the cheeks, but did not fail to send a certain rejuvenating rush throughout the limbs.
As Angelos III stood holding a golden helmet beneath his strong arm, the light warmed the golden armor upon his broad chest. The proud wings at his back made him otherworldly. His long legs rooted him in his stance, touched only by the ivory tunic ending slightly above his knees and the golden sandals upon his feet. He bowed in time with his two children. That simple movement created by their small family sent the light dancing on the radiance of their gold and white.
“For you, my Liege,” he spoke. His voice might have inspired a people to follow him into battle. Its strength easily inspired unquestioning faith and a willingness to follow within others. And though he might have made a great king, if asked he would attest to knowing no greater ambition than serving both his sovereign and his children. “I bring the greatest transports in all the Pyrosian kingdom.”
As the nobles looked between themselves, they knew that it was no mere boast. The entire kingdom knew that within the Province of Angels, their clan possessed the gift of flight to shame the land.
Aurea rose from her throne. Once Autumn had held her attention at the windows, but now she could see through their glorious perfection to the
gardens. She smiled with a slight gasp at the four elegant owls being guided to stand within her sight.
The white owls proudly turned to exhibit their power and beauty. Their every movement attested to the fact that nobility was bred into these gargantuan creatures.
The young ruler turned and gave a favorable expression. “They are truly exquisite,” Aurea praised.
Her attention was called away from the general whose chest puffed with pride to the young man at his side.
Long shining waves of dark hair tied him to the legacy of his father or the beauty of his sister. Angelos IV was a tall man, but nothing in either his presence or his physique commanded the respect his father garnished from all those around him. He stood quite literally in the shadow of his father. That fact had set him off on the path of pursuing his ambitions at all costs. He had risen in ranks with a zealous swiftness, but it had not been for his skill with a sword so much as it had been his ability to manipulate a situation.
In every way, he had valiantly attempted to emulate his father. His armor mirrored his perfectly. The gold covering his chest balanced the majestic wings at his back. His broad face exuded grace but also a desperation to prove himself.
“My Queen, I have brought for you diamonds mined from our mountains.” Angelos IV inwardly beamed. He had personally selected each diamond to be placed before the Queen. He knew without question that they were worthy of a grand ruler. “Their beauty is beyond compare.”
Soon another voice came to softly claim the Dragon Queen. “I have also brought a gift for you, my Queen,” she heard.
Aurea turned her head in its direction. The woman she came face to face with caused her abdomen to clench in an attempt to restrain all breath.
The youngest member of the Angels nobility moved with a quiet air. She turned toward the servant who silently brought a bundle forward. With a smile on her lips, she gently untied the twine sealing her gift away from the world. As she unwrapped her gift, the servant patiently held her burden. When at last her gift was unveiled, it sat as a large pillow the very essence of lavender mists.
The Flame of Wrath Page 4