Dragon Touch (Soul of a Dragon Book 1)

by Ashley Frost

  Red embarrassment plastered all over Marzia’s face. “No, he wasn’t very gentle.”

  Constance couldn’t help but feel embarrassed too. Her eyes immediately flickered to Rayse. He would be rough, wouldn’t he, if they got to that stage? But would they ever, with her own voice at the back of her mind commanding her to not trust men?

  “I’ll have to leave early today,” Rayse said.

  “Why?” she asked. She sounded desperate. She liked his presence. Knowing he was around made her feel comforted. Comforted? Was it the effect of her mildly opening up to him through her tears yesterday? The paradoxical nature of her feelings was so frustrating.

  “I smell trouble.” That was all he said before he left.

  So secretive, she thought. She couldn’t bond with him if he kept avoiding her questions. He seemed to hoard too many secrets to himself. She wouldn’t be able to trust him knowing that.

  And there was that voice inside her head which warned her to stay away the night of the Offering. Was that related to the danger Greta spoke of?

  ***

  Constance watched intently as Greta worked magic with the herbs.

  “Now, when dealing with burns,” Greta said, “make sure you boil the grandberry branch for exactly twenty-seven minutes. A minute too long and the mixture will turn toxic. It won’t kill the patient, otherwise no physician would dare use this herb. But it’ll leave them sicker than before if we aren’t precise, and we don’t want to do that.”

  “Why are we learning about burns again?” Constance asked. “The dragons and dragon wives are immune to fire.”

  “Being complacent again, I see.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “No, just logical.”

  “Don’t you want to take this knowledge back to your village? There are other healers there who will benefit from knowing this.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t risk it. It was a risk for me to use soul magic there in the first place. The humans call it the devil’s craft. They’ll stake or burn Eduard alive if they found out.”

  Greta shot her a curious glance. “Eduard? That’s the only other doctor? I had the impression there were more from the way you talked yesterday.”

  Peeved, she looked away. “He’s my adoptive father. The only other healer in my village. We were running out of money for herbs; that’s why I signed up for the Offering.”

  “Ah.” Greta pressed her lips together. “Well, the reason why we need to make cures for burns is that the mishram get burned often.”

  “The mishram? Others like Nanili?”

  “Yes.” The old woman looked down. Unease set into Greta’s eyes. The old dragon did not like talking about the mishram. “Rayse treats Nanili well, but most dragons aren’t as kind. They like to burn and beat the mishram. Those creatures lack bright souls, you see. They’re mostly empty shells, so the dragons think it’s okay to hurt them since they don’t feel anything.”

  She gazed at Nanili. The mishram was still standing there, looking lifeless as usual. “They don’t have bright souls?”

  “You didn’t sense it? And I thought you had an affiliation with magic.”

  “She’s… a little threatening. I don’t let myself get too close.” Constance noticed other mishram walking along the streets, carrying groceries or laundry. They were no doubt running errands. She didn’t pay much mind to them. They seemed to blend into the landscape. Their lack of personality made them feel almost like objects, which made her uncomfortable when she did notice them.

  Greta rubbed her temples. “They’re poor things. Always getting beaten and bruised. Well, I suppose pain isn’t something they mind, or feel, for that matter. But looking at them makes me sad nevertheless.”

  “Careful, Greta. You’re starting to sound like you care.”

  The old lady wrapped her hand over her mouth in mock surprise. “Thank you for warning me, child. I nearly lost myself there.” Greta gestured to the pot. “After twenty-seven minutes, we’ll turn off the fire and add some bright souls of sparroweed. Go on, try it out. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Constance sighed. She’d summoned souls so many times. It was hardly ‘trying’ if she knew exactly what she was doing. “Es rea misreagou.” She waved her hand over the sparroweed and a smoke-like glow wisped from it. She willed it into the pot, and it flew in.

  “My goodness, child.”

  “What, did I do something wrong?”

  “None of that sort. I’m just amazed with how in tune with soul magic you are. It’s as if you’ve been mentored by one of the witches of the old. You make it look so easy.”

  “You’re really starting to lose your touch.”

  Greta chuckled. “I thought I’d tortured you enough yesterday, that is all. Just because you’re good with magic doesn’t mean you’re not a terrible herbalist.”

  Constance grunted.

  “I’ve had years of practice with the art. Pay careful attention to when I use it.” Greta hovered her hand over the sparroweed and said, “Es rea misreagou. “ The old woman looked deep in concentration as she moved her hand along with the bright soul and threw it into the pot. The wave of the dragon’s hand swerved an inch higher than usual and quivered, making Greta’s actions seem oddly exaggerated. “Notice anything different?”

  “The soul. It looked much dimmer than usual.”

  “Yes, and I had to move my hands a lot more. You simply wave yours. You command the soul like a natural. It takes practice to be so in tune with bright souls. The more you use soul magic, the more your own soul becomes in tune with it. And I’ve been using it for nearly nine hundred years.”

  “So you’re saying I’m good?” Constance smiled. She liked hearing praises from Greta. She had to endure numerous insults before receiving a good comment.

  Greta knocked her on the head with a clean ladle.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “You’re getting cocky, child. I shouldn’t have praised you so much. No, no, you’re terrible. You simply have more raw talent. You only know two phrases of soul magic.”

  She straightened herself excitedly. “There’s more?”

  “Of course there is. It’s an ancient art made with dragon language. Only two are used in herbology, but you can create a huge array of wonders with it. The witches of the old could even change the weather. Unfortunately,” Greta said with a sigh, “those bloodlines are diluted now. Nobody can do that these days.”

  “But you said I’m like one of them.” Could she change the weather? That was an interesting possibility.

  Greta gave her two extra knocks on the head.

  “Can you stop doing that!”

  “You’re terrible. Don’t forget what happened yesterday with those nuts. The nurses and I had a good laugh over how stupid you looked, cursing over silly nuts.”

  Constance’s face turned red. “You’re despicable.”

  “I’m realistic.” Greta waved the ladle around. Constance covered her head with her hands just in case the old woman decided to hit her again. “Most of those spells are gone amongst dragons now. Nobody had the talent to carry them out, so they faded out. They existed almost hundreds of millenniums ago. You’re not summoning thunderstorms or rain anytime soon.”

  Constance’s heart sank. So, controlling the weather wasn’t something she could ever do. Well, she never wished for it or assumed it was possible until right then. She was letting Greta’s compliments get to her head. “Gaia is that old?”

  “Obviously. Don’t they teach you history in your village classes?”

  “No, actually. We’re taught to plow the fields.”

  “Pity.” Greta checked her timer. “So, a couple bright souls of sparroweed after twenty-seven minutes. Stir it ten times, and we’re almost done. Now we can sieve this to remove the residues, and the mishram will have something for their burns.”

  She looked at Nanili and imagined herself in the mishram’s position. She’d be bored out of her mind simply standing there an
d doing nothing. “Where do they come from?”

  “Sorry? Where do what come from? You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “The mishram, I mean. I don’t see them outside of this clan.”

  “I don’t know. Every thousand years, a new one appears somewhere in a clan. At least that’s what the legends say. It’s odd, really. They seem to come out of nowhere. But they make perfect servants, so they blend into society easily. Nobody ever has qualms about having free slaves. Only the dragons deemed worthy by the leader of the clan gets one; then they’re passed down through the generations.”

  “And they don’t die?” Constance asked.

  “No. Some of them are older than even my dead great-grandmother.”

  “Interes—”

  A loud banging sound came from outside, somewhere far from the infirmary. A patient got up, even with his broken leg, and waddled onward.

  “Sit down, Eustus,” Greta scolded.

  “It’s another one of those matches,” the graying dragon said. “They’re fighting again. I want to have a look. That crazy dragon might even lose this time.”

  “A fight?” Constance asked.

  “You best stay out of it,” the old lady dragon said.

  Constance was about to sit back down when she saw Rayse flying overhead. She could recognize his black dragon form. He seemed to shadow his opponent, despite being not much bigger.

  Greta narrowly missed grabbing the collar of her dress. “You get back here, you stupid child!”

  “It’s Rayse. Is he… fighting?” Her voice trailed off as she moved onward/

  She heard Greta muttering something underneath her breath, but couldn’t make out what the old lady had said. She heard the lady dragon’s footsteps following behind, though she didn’t bother to turn around and look. Her eyes were fixated on her mate. He breathed black fire, while his silver opponent breathed blue fire. Both fires hit their targets, but neither of them were scorched. Dragons were immune to fire.

  “Rayse can handle himself,” Greta said.

  “Why is he being attacked?” Constance sounded worried. She didn’t want to see him get hurt. She hated the thought of him bleeding. “They both look like they’re struggling.”

  “He does seem slower than usual.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Young Ranwynn is no match for him. He’ll be fine. The young lad let his confidence get to his head. Like I said, too much confidence is bad. Now that little dragon is going to be our next patient.” Greta clicked her tongue against her teeth. “He’s challenging Rayse for his right to leadership. Rayse has to accept these challenges. And win. Any loss or forfeit means he will no longer be clan leader. The dragons will want to follow the stronger party.”

  “Even when he’s sick, or injured?” It sounded incredulous for Rayse to keep up with those expectations.

  “Dragons don’t get sick, and we wouldn’t want to follow a clan leader who allows himself to get injured.”

  “Even you?” she asked.

  “Even me, child,” Greta replied. “Such are the ways of our race.”

  The dragons dived toward each other and narrowly missed.

  A crowd had gathered to watch the dragons fight. It made her furious. Rayse wasn’t some spectacle for their entertainment. And none of them, not even Greta, pledged their allegiance to him. They were in no way loyal. They blindly followed strength.

  It sounded so heartless.

  Rayse and Ranwynn clashed, and their bodies tumbled. Their wings stopped flapping, and as a consequence, they spiraled downward, past the edge of the cliff.

  “Rayse!” Constance shouted, running toward the cliff. Would he crash and die? No, she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to imagine that.

  Greta grabbed her before she got far. “Where are you going? What are you going to do with two fighting dragons? Be a distraction to Rayse? You’ll only get yourself hurt.”

  But rationality didn’t register in her mind. She only wanted to see Rayse safe. She gritted her teeth. “Let me go.” The dragon woman’s grip was as tight as a snake’s coil.

  A silhouette of the two dragons shot toward the sky. It didn’t take long to recognize Rayse as the dragon who dragged the other along. Ranwynn looked lifeless as Rayse dropped him onto the rocks. Bloody claw marks laced the silver dragon’s hide. Constance brought her hands to her face, relieved. “Thank the heavens,” she breathed.

  Rayse hadn’t noticed her. Instead, he turned the other direction, seemingly readying himself to fly off.

  Ranwynn stirred, raising his head.

  And the young dragon’s eyes fell on her.

  Greta’s hands turned to claws. Her body was slowly shifting, but not fast enough. Ranwynn was already lunging straight for Constance. His face screamed murderous intent. He was going to kill her.

  “Dirty tactics,” Greta spat. “I hate dragons who use those.” The dragon lady’s nose had transformed into a snout.

  Not fast enough, Constance’s instincts screamed. Greta wasn’t going to able to protect her. Her flight response kicked in. She turned around and her legs jolted forward. Stupid. How was she going to outrun a flying dragon?

  A deafening growl pierced her ears. She smelled fire and heat. Then, silence. She willed her legs to stop, although they wanted to keep running. Glancing back, she saw Rayse breathing his black fire over Ranwynn. His claws pressed into Ranwynn’s chest. The smaller dragon coughed, releasing weak clouds of blue flames. Ranwynn sounded like he was running out of air.

  “Rayse, that’s enough,” she heard Greta shout. “Enough, Rayse!” The woman had abandoned her transformation, and morphed back into her normal, human form.

  Her mate didn’t stop his assault on Ranwynn.

  “You’re going to kill him,” Greta pleaded.

  The Black Menace finally lifted his claw. He kicked Ranwynn, sending the silver dragon flying to the edge of the cliff.

  “Dear goddess, you went too far,” Greta said as she rushed to the silver dragon.

  A low, menacing growl rippled from Rayse’s throat. He blocked Greta’s way.

  “I must heal him,” Greta asserted.

  The black dragon did not speak, but shook his head and shoved Greta aside. Then he turned his eyes to Constance’s direction and stalked toward her. Rayse nuzzled her face with his snout. He was so warm. She let her hands run along his scales. His head was the size of her. She withheld the need to flinch, knowing how she affected Rayse when she acted afraid. It was difficult not to, though. Being so close to a dragon, with its sharp teeth and sheer power, was overwhelming.

  He lingered there for awhile. She could sense what he wanted to say.

  “I’m safe, Rayse. Thank you.”

  He grunted in approval. Then he batted his wings and took off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Fourteen years in the dungeons and no medical care on top of that?” Constance asked, concerned. She was reiterating the sentence Rayse had given to Ranwynn. Ranwynn had committed treason in her eyes, and attempted to murder her on top of that. The punishment would be lenient in most human communities. They’d have him strung up without hesitation. “No medical care seems harsh. He’ll need to get his wounds cleaned or they’ll take forever to heal.”

  Rayse was escorting her home. He had flown off to shift privately, and then appeared at the infirmary shortly after. “That is my intention. To let him heal slowly. A dragon like him should suffer.”

  “He might die of infection.”

  “We don’t get infections. He was attacking you, love. I’m used to those challenges, but I’ll never stand to see you get attacked again.”

  His hand wrapped firmly around hers. She found herself liking the touch. It let her know he was safe. Still, it made her heart thump so hard it hurt. He pulled her close, and his large figure framed hers. “Those few seconds, love, when I saw him lunge toward you, I felt fear. I don’t feel fear. But I did, for the first time in a very long while. I was thinking I’d
never forgive myself if I let him lay a claw on you.”

  “Rayse,” she whispered his name. Then she did the unexpected. She stretched up and kissed him. Her action shocked her. He stilled.

  He accepted her lips.

  She shivered as his fingers curled against her scalp and brought her closer with his grip. A warm tongue slipped into her mouth. She tasted him, and his hot scent washed over her. Her body trembled against his touch. It was too much. She pulled away, and he let her.

  She regretted her decision immediately. She should have embraced that moment more. She should have let him take control of her lips. She ached for more of his addictive taste.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have.”

  A wide, genuine smile spread across his lips. “You’re starting to trust me.”

  “I am,” she admitted.

  He kissed her forehead. “One day, I’ll make you say those words.”

  “Words?”

  “You’ll tell me you love me.”

  His boldness sent blood straight to her cheeks. She whipped her head around and walked onward. The night was dark and ominous, but she continued forward, feeling safer than she did when she first arrived. Rayse was trailing behind her, and he’d lunge straight into the face of danger for her. She knew that, at the very least. He’d protect her. He wouldn’t harm her. Deep down, inside, she knew.

  She was turning around to glance at her mate when a piece of dirt flew and hit her neck. She winced. It stung. “Who—”

  She met the gaze of a young boy. He couldn’t be older than seven. “Bad woman! Bad, bad, bad!” he yelled.

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  Another piece of dirt flew toward her.

  “Mother says you’re bad,” he continued. “Go home. Leave our clan alone, whore.” He raised his hand and aimed more dirt at her.

  Whore. The women at the inn wanted her to be one. She hated that word.