Shadowed Lies

by Clara Hartley

  “I thought so.” He brushed his fingers across her shoulder. Her skin tingled wherever he touched. She hoped he didn’t notice her blushing. “I’ll take you home first,” he said. “There’s this hearing I’ll have to attend to.” His mood visibly soured at the mentioning of his meeting, but he quickly wiped the expression of distaste away. “And after I’m back, I’m expecting a reward.”

  “Reward?”

  He drew her in and captured her lips with his. The scent of him made her dizzy. His abdomen was hard beneath her touch, and his mouth was heavy on hers. She lost her breath, just like that.

  He let her go. It was a challenge to level her breathing. “Oh, that kind of reward.” The corners of her lips turned up sheepishly.

  The intensity he used to look at her made her knees weak. “Let’s go home.”

  Constance scuttled away from her mate. She watched as he flew off, giving her a light wave as he did. A reward, he had said. That promise made her nerves taut with a kind of excitement she wasn’t sure was appropriate. Well, but of course it is. Rayse was her husband. She could think those things about him. She didn’t need to be afraid of him anymore. They’d shared the bed countless times, and her nights were always eventful. Her chest ached from anticipation of what he would do to her this time.

  She pushed away those thoughts and ran to her study—a new one Rayse had built especially for her—with her beads clinking together in her hands. They looked unassuming, but were extraordinary items. They had been concocted by the water witches with a long-lost art to hold soul magic.

  The dusty scent of books hit her as soon as she stepped through the door to her study. It was home. But it was mixed with an animal odor, because of what she needed to experiment with. With these soul beads, she wouldn’t need to have the animals so close to where she worked anymore.

  Constance plucked a snow rat from one of its cages. The last few months of thinking had given her an ingenious way to solve a grain problem the clan had, while giving her plenty of souls to test with. The grain shipments from Yvrdeen attracted pests—mostly snow rats from the mountains. And despite how many she’d caught and harvested, they always managed to find their way into the food.

  She and Nanili had spent countless hours in the grain stores trying to find and trap these critters. Neither of them were the most efficient at catching rodents at first. After weeks of struggling, she had devised a trap. The traps made catching the snow rats a breeze. She hardly had to try anymore. Nanili did most of the work these days, collecting the critters from the wooden devices on the steep slopes of the mountains and their grain stores.

  Sometimes, when Constance wanted to clear her mind with a walk, she would go alone to collect the tiny rats. She preferred to avoid Nanili when she could. The mishram frightened her, even though she didn’t have any reason to be afraid of it.

  The critter felt slimy in her hands. It made a squeak, which sent a crawling sensation through her skin. She knocked the rat over the head, which made it pass out, so it’d lie still while she harvested its soul.

  “Es rea misreagou, kisla misreagou,” she said, reciting the spells to draw souls from animals.

  The magic swirled in her hand in a rainbow that starkly contrasted with the matted fur of the creature. She directed the magic to the beads. Nothing happened, and a lot of the rat’s soul drained into the atmosphere. She furrowed her brow, then remembered the last phrase. “Ah, yes: Couela misreagou.” She almost stuttered on the first syllable, but the spell worked. The magic drew itself into one of the glass beads. It gathered. The glass object glowed with a dim white light.

  She beamed, feeling the excitement of discovery coursing through her. This brought her one step closer, albeit a small one, to the cause of Eduard’s death. Perhaps these beads were the reason why such huge amounts of souls could be stored to cast such a murderous spell.

  Sometimes, wading through the books felt like swimming through murky waters. She ended some days feeling immensely frustrated, but Rayse was always there to make things feel better. She wondered if she would be as driven to investigate Eduard’s murder if not for Rayse’s guiding support and understanding. Without him as an anchor, she might have just cruised through life in a depression.

  She examined the orb. It didn’t manage to capture much of the rat’s soul. It was most likely because of her fumble. She wondered how brightly it’d glow once completely filled, and how many souls it could contain.

  She’d have to test that out.

  Her head started to whirl, and her stomach cramped. She clutched her hand to her belly, scrunching up the fabric there.

  It was happening again.

  “Nanili, the bucket!”

  The mishram took slow strides toward the hallway. Constance would appreciate it if Nanili didn’t dawdle. Her vomit couldn’t wait much longer. In haste, she rushed past her servant and to the bucket she had prepared for such a purpose.

  She made an awful retching noise. The night’s dinner, a stew, poured from her guts. Her eyes teared as she puked. She’d been eating herbs to help with digestion, thinking they might calm her disobedient stomach. They’d failed to ease the problem.

  She cursed and wiped her mouth. After she washed up, she went back to her room to drink more of the herbal mixture she had prepared for herself. She couldn’t fall sick now, not when she had so much to do.

  But these signs… the women back in Evernbrook had them when they were pregnant.

  She couldn’t be—could she? Her bond hadn’t fully formed with Rayse.

  She was too deep in the secret to let him know without him being mad. Maybe if she’d just told him earlier…

  She’d have to spill it eventually—but maybe it’d be better if he found out after the spell was over and their temporary bond broke. He wouldn’t have to go through a year’s agony of knowing that their bond was faked, and they could get on with forming a proper bond right after.

  She heaved herself up and wiped her lips with a towel. She’d think about the problem later.

  Another worry for another day.

  Chapter 2

  Rayse sat in Dragon Keep’s trial room, on a small wooden throne that had been made for him by the craftswomen. He leaned back and propped his elbow on the armrest.

  Drab curtains hung around the room. His head spun with claustrophobia. The tight walls seemed to close in on him. Annoyance bubbled in his chest.

  “Hurry it up,” he told his warriors, who dallied about with setting up the trial.

  The walls had no windows. Torches, flickering with his black fire, lit the glum interior. Most of the room was shadowed, and his men looked like ominous figures as they moved about in the darkened sides of the space.

  Beneath him, a set of low steps led to a carpet just large enough for the accused to kneel on.

  His men brought Karona to him. The perpetrator bent over the ground, his eyes reddened from crying and his cheeks sticky with tears.

  “Karona,” Rayse said, unable to fathom how this man had managed to slaughter his very own dragon wife. Outwardly, he was in better condition than earlier in the day. The deep cuts around his arms had healed. But Rayse could read Karona’s emotions, and the killer still bore the same hatred and disgust for himself. “Why did you do it?” Rayse asked.

  Karona shook his head. In a croaky voice, he said, “I don’t know, milord. I can’t remember. One minute she was in my arms, and then everything was a blur. I lost my senses. And then the rage… I hated her in that instant. When I came to and got my sensibilities back, she was dead.”

  It was little different to the story from earlier. Rayse pulled a long breath from his lungs. “I’m sorry.”

  “I… I don’t know why I did it.”

  “The penalty for murder is death,” he said. Dragons often got away with murder, if they were smart about it. And the killing of another clan member was allowed in challenges. But this wasn’t a case of either, and Rayse was a man of order.

  A few dragon wives
and dragons sat behind the accused on wooden benches, watching the trial. They were most likely his friends and family. The shroud of death weighed heavy in the room.

  Karona bowed his head to the floor. “Kill me, please. I don’t deserve to live. I can’t imagine living on without my dear Marley. Still breathing while knowing that I was the one who did such horrible things to her is too… too much for me to bear.”

  Rayse trusted the man’s words. Such anguish couldn’t be faked. He pitied the poor creature. What had driven the dragon to kill the love of his life?

  He thought about Constance. He couldn’t imagine laying a finger on her. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he hurt her, much less murder her in cold blood.

  He allowed his shoulders to relax. “Very well. You will be executed next Monday. You will have the next few days to say your goodbyes. I’m sure you’ll want to have last words with your son.” He glanced at the boy. The little dragonling couldn’t even look at his father. What would happen to this child now that his parents were gone? Rayse made a mental note to arrange proper housing for the boy. Still, it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same for this shattered family.

  Karona nodded. “Thank you for your mercy, milord.”

  “May peace find you.”

  The haggard man stood up and allowed himself to be taken away by the warriors who oversaw the trial.

  Fraser walked up to Rayse. “Any leads?” he asked.

  “Not a clue.”

  Fraser’s jaw tightened. “The man obviously didn’t want to kill his wife.”

  “And you think I’m wrong for this sentence?” Rayse doubted himself too, but he had to ignore that shadow in his heart. He had too many decisions to make every day, and if he second-guessed himself at every turn, he wouldn’t be able to lead.

  “No.” Fraser directed his gaze to the ground. “I wouldn’t question you.”

  “But you do.” Rayse ran a hand through his hair and slumped back into his seat. “You’re easy to read, friend. Like a book.”

  Fraser shifted uneasily. “Perhaps a lighter sentence…”

  “We can’t let the clan think that just because they’re sorry for a murder, they can get away with it. And look at Karona—does he look like someone who wants to continue living? He can barely pull himself together to make proper conversation.”

  “He could heal.”

  “Would you be able to heal if you lost Marzia? If… if you took her with your own hands?”

  Disgust swirled through Fraser. “No.”

  “Exactly. We’re giving him a mercy.”

  Fraser dipped his head. “Yes, milord.”

  “It’s too late for him now, but we must stop this from happening to any other families.”

  “We don’t even know if this will happen again.”

  Rayse rested his fingers over his mouth, deep in thought. “It smells strongly of magic. I won’t be surprised if we find a witch or warlock somewhere out there, trying to thin our ranks through spells. My senses tell me that this is going to happen again.” He paused. “Which clan have we angered most recently?

  “There’s a rogue band of young dragons to the east, in the icelands.”

  “But dragons aren’t normally this strong at magic. Unless they have someone like Greta. Even then, Greta isn’t as good at the art as Constance.”

  “Could be one of their wives.”

  He nodded. “It could.”

  “This could happen to anyone.”

  They shared a long look, and understanding of the danger of this swept through them.

  “We have to find out what made Karona become the first target.”

  Fraser bowed his head again. “Karona was on a scouting mission a few days before the incident happened. Would you like me to send a group of men to find out if anything out of the ordinary showed up at the route he traveled?”

  “Yes. Do that. Any leads we can get will be helpful.” From his back pocket, Rayse pulled the letter Diovan Grimfire had passed him.

  Fraser glanced at it. “You’ve had a look at it.”

  The letter contained a proposal for an alliance. Rayse wasn’t certain he liked the idea. He wasn’t used to the thought of allying with other groups of dragons. His style was more to take them under his wings and convert them into Everstones.

  “Are you agreeing?” his friend asked.

  “You say you hated Diovan?”

  “He has his head in the air, and probably deserves two sticks up his ass.”

  “How did his men treat him?”

  Fraser paused, then said, “They loved him. He’s not nice to strangers but he takes care of his own. They’re loyal to him.” The blue dragon hesitated, then continued, “More than the Everstones are…”

  “Their numbers?” Rayse folded the sheet of paper.

  “Perhaps over a hundred, not counting their wives.”

  “They’re a decent size. Still no match compared to us. We could take them over easily. Have Ocharia under our rule.” His rule. Rayse wasn’t the kind to enjoy negotiating terms with other difficult-to-deal-with leaders. Thankfully, this dragon, Diovan, didn’t sound like too much of a hardhead, even if he were an ass. Diovan wouldn’t be initially amicable, but if Rayse could win him over, things would go smoothly from there. His wife, however, might be a problem. Men were sometimes too heavily defined by their wives. He knew that his mate had made him less strict than before.

  Heck, he’d been starting to act out of character since Constance’s arrival, smiling far more than he usually did. He’d been feeling more lenient, too. That rotten Ranwynn was still idling in Dragon Keep’s dungeons. The bastard received meals he didn’t deserve and didn’t get the lashings Rayse had intended to give him, upon Constance’s request.

  It was difficult to say no to her. His little fire… She was recovering from her father’s death, and he didn’t want to trigger any outbursts of negative emotions from her.

  He himself would prefer to subject Ranwynn to agonizing bouts of isolation and torture, if not execution.

  Fraser folded his arms. “I’m not sure about that. They have the most powerful witches in the western regions as allies.”

  “The water witches?”

  “Yes. The water witches don’t seem to like the dragons much, but the Grimfire femriahl is a water witch herself. From what I’ve heard, an important one at that. The water witches are open to allying with the Grimfire dragons, and them only.”

  Rayse grunted. He wasn’t one for politicking and strategies. He wasn’t a brute, but his strength, and the numbers he accumulated because of it, allowed him to easily take over clans and territories. He didn’t get his strength from mere talent, however. He remembered the countless days and nights he spent carrying boulders three times his size, and the immensely long flights he took to increase his stamina. Few dragons ever reached their strongest potential because they hardly trained. Doing so brought him miles ahead of the rest of them.

  “I’m inclined to agree to the treaty,” he said, surprising himself. It made sense. He’d have strong witches as allies, who might even be able to help Constance with her magic. And he didn’t have any plans to capture the swampy region anytime soon. Yvrdeen and Falron were already pains to manage, despite the span of his wings.

  Fraser bristled. The blue dragon didn’t seem keen on the idea. Rayse could tell Fraser was holding back a retort. “Should I send a messenger with your answer, then?” Fraser asked.

  “No, hold off on it. I’ll need to think this through.” There were bound to be conditions attached to the alliance. Rayse had to send warriors there should the Grimfires face any skirmishes. Likewise, the Grimfires had to do the same. That went without saying. Logistics were an issue.

  More troubling was the suggestion they try to mate their children, should any potential matches arise. Granted, such an event was highly unlikely, since female dragons were equivalent to blue moons. Plus, what were the chances that their children would be mates?


  Still, should he have a daughter, he didn’t want her to be sent away to a foreign land. Dragon wives tended to follow their husbands, as per tradition.

  Fraser pursed his lips. “Of course, Diovan did say he wanted a reply within a week.”

  “Him?” Rayse said. “Giving orders to me? The gall.”

  “Like I said. He’s a cocky bastard who needs to give more shits.” Fraser grimaced and made a sour face, as if smelling something bad. “He made us pick clams in the swamp because he craved some. Us, dragons, picking clams! Honestly, if the beads weren’t such a rarity, I wouldn’t have stood for it.”

  Rayse rested his jaw on his fist, pondering over the alliance. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to ally with a stubborn, egotistical, and eccentric dragon. He couldn’t let himself be pushed around and manipulated. “Well, he’d just gone ahead and made sure that I’m taking more than a week to give him his reply.”

  “I’m not sure how he would take to that.”

  “Relax,” he said. “I might give him a personal visit, which I’m certain would appease him. I want to look at who I’m going to be allying with.”

  “You’re upset,” Constance said, noting the morbid expression on her mate’s face. She lay cuddled against his bare chest, allowing his warmth to soothe her. Her findings today were next to none. It grated on her nerves. None of the books mentioned a spell remotely close to what she was looking for. Some spells suggested ways to make black smoke, but only the superficial kind. She needed to know the spell used to cast a malicious black smoke, one with a wraithlike quality. The killer smoke remained vivid in her mind, and not one of her books described it correctly.

  Rayse avoided her gaze. “It’s nothing you have to worry about.”

  “You don’t have to keep hiding your problems from me.” She withheld a shudder, aware of the irony of her statement. “I know you think that it’s because I’m fragile, after what happened. But I can take it.”

  “I need to think about this more.”