Whisper

by Christine Grey

  Blood of the dragon,

  Imprisoned by me.

  Trapped in a cage,

  By the blood of all three.

  Locked in steel,

  Bound without key.

  There was a moment of silence as Dearra reflected on the terrible trap that had been laid for her friend. “Oh, Brin. I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice a choked whisper.

  “Hush, Dearra. Let him finish,” Darius told her. “If you cry, he will fall apart like an old woman.”

  You’re starting to get on my nerves, boy.

  Darius smirked a bit, but said no more.

  For twenty years, I had no choice but to do the bidding of that petty man, listening in on the thoughts of his enemies, and sending messages to others in their dreams.

  I was forced to slaughter whole villages on two occasions; it was horrible. I placed little importance on the lives of other creatures around me, as a rule, but killing for killing’s sake was unpalatable and lacked honor, and I started to despair, and often wished for my own destruction.

  I would have continued on like that forever if it hadn’t been for Cyrus. He was unhappy with his lot in life, as was I, both of us trapped in situations that we found deplorable, and my ability to communicate with him enabled us to form a fragile friendship. I chose him because he exhibited a high level of intelligence, and believed he would make more than a simple warrior. It is a long story, but in the end, Cyrus found he could stand it no more, and stole me away from Hathel in the night. The two of us escaped our Breken master, and neither of us ever looked back again.

  “Cyrus was Breken?” Dearra said.

  “Even I didn’t know that,” Darius said. The implications of the revelation overwhelmed him; he was not alone. He was not the only Breken to have chosen to follow a different path, to have broken free of his heritage and gone a different way. That it had been only one other, and it had been a thousand years ago, made no difference.

  Dearra cocked her head in confusion. “What did you mean when you said you were forced to slaughter whole villages?” she said. “I mean, you’re just one sword, and you’re very impressive and everything, Brin, but isn’t it really the wielder who does the killing and not the sword?”

  This was treading on dangerous ground. Dearra was a headstrong girl. Sharing too much information with her could lead to trouble. Though it was best to be cautious where Dearra was concerned, he owed her at least some degree of honesty.

  Dragons all have innate physical and magical abilities. When I was trapped in this form, I kept some, and I lost others. One of the ones I kept was the ability to breathe fire.

  Dearra’s eyes grew wide with interest. “You can seriously breathe fire? How does that work?”

  Darius couldn’t hear everything Brin was thinking. When he chose to, the dragon could block Darius, but he sensed hesitation on the dragon’s part, and he mentally cautioned Brin. Darius didn’t want him to share anything that might put Dearra in any future danger.

  It isn’t really ‘breathing’ fire, Dearra, that’s kind of a misconception. It’s more of a consequence of a very complicated spell. It’s been so long since I’ve cast it, I’m not sure I even remember how it goes. It’s a long one, too. I’m afraid I’d bore you to tears if I tried to recite it.

  “Oh, come on, Brin, you remember. Tell me, please.”

  Brin saw enthusiasm for the subject shine in Dearra’s eyes. When she looked at him like that, it was near impossible to refuse her anything. How he could find himself at the mercy of such a little slip of a girl was annoying, to say the least. Tolah help him if she ever discovered how completely she had him wrapped around her little finger.

  “Dearra, I hate to interrupt,” Darius said, saving Brin from spilling all of his secrets and humiliating himself, “but I’m pretty sure dinner is almost ready, and I know they have prepared something special for your birthday. You don’t want to disappoint everyone and spoil the surprise, do you?”

  “Oh! I completely forgot!” Dearra jumped to her feet, but pulled up short when the pain from her burned leg, a lingering and permanent reminder of the ordeal she had suffered at the hands of Jacob only a few days ago, reasserted itself.

  Darius saw her wince, and he struggled to control the flash of loathing he felt. Though he would give almost anything to erase the mark that Jacob had branded into Dearra’s upper thigh, it did neither of them any good to dwell on the wound. Darius’s only hope was that the brand had not burned so deep as to leave a mark on her heart as well.

  ***

  Did you enjoy your birthday, Dearra?

  “I suppose.”

  That doesn’t sound very convincing. What’s wrong?

  “Nothing, I guess. I just don’t feel...”

  It’s Jacob, isn’t it? It’s not as easy to let go of the past as you hoped it would be.

  A tear escaped from her eye and caught in her lashes. Her voice trembled when she spoke again. “He branded me, Brin. I feel as if it somehow defines me. As if I am forever marked as his property.”

  Brin spoke gently. You know that’s not true. You are who you always have been. A scar does not make that any more or less so.

  “If it were any other scar, I would agree with you, Brin (Cyrus knows I already have my share), but I am reminded of his touch every time I feel the wound beneath my skirts.”

  The burn will heal, Dearra. In time, you will forget it’s even there.

  “Never. Even when the pain has faded, I will know. It makes me sick inside every time I look at it.”

  Let me see it, Dearra.

  Dearra lifted her skirt to expose the angry, red burn on her leg, the letter J vibrant against her pale flesh. She stayed like that for a long time, frozen in place, waiting for Brin to speak.

  I think I can help, Dearra, but it means trading one mark for another. Is that something you want?

  “Oh, yes, Brin, anything to get rid of this awful thing!”

  I can’t really get rid of it, Dearra, but…well…do you trust me?

  “That’s a foolish question. Of course I trust you.”

  Take the sword and press the flat of the blade over the brand. It’s going to get hot, but it won’t hurt like the other did. You need to be sure about this, Dearra. Once we start, I can’t stop. Do you understand?

  “Yes, yes! I’ll do anything, Brin. I’m sure. Just please hurry—I can’t stand it a minute longer. It…it disgusts me.” Dearra tucked the hem of her skirt at her waist to hold it out of the way.

  Brin instructed her to place the blade flat against her wounded thigh, so that the widest part of the sword completely covered the burn. Once the blade was in place, Brin began to speak.

  Draco Aeturnus,

  Prognatus Ignigena.

  Puella Maj,

  Ambo Consociu.

  The tip of the blade grew red hot, and a small wisp of smoke drifted up from it. Dearra felt only a deep warmth emanating from the metal, permeating her skin and seeming to make her whole leg tingle.

  “What does that mean, Brin?” Dearra asked, holding the blade firmly against her leg.

  Loosely translated it means, Dragon eternal, born of fire. Maiden of Maj, the two united.

  “Oh,” was all she could think to say.

  You can look now, Dearra.

  She slowly pulled the sword away and stared, open mouthed, at the mark the sword left behind. The original J was still raw, but the new mark looked as though it had been there for years. When the J finally healed, it would be nearly impossible to distinguish it from the rest of the mark she now bore, shaped like a dragon in profile, with a wide wing spread, curved gracefully upward to a fierce point. The figure’s head was held high, and topped with two magnificent horns, the mouth slightly ajar as if ready to speak, or perhaps breathe fire.

  Dearra, say something, he urged. It’s all right isn’t it? I did tell you that you would have to trade one mark for another.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just nervous, I guess.” She took a b
reath and finally said, “Brin, it’s…it’s…thank you.”

  Satisfaction and relief at her response washed over Brin. Dearra yanked her skirt back into place and was preparing to bolt from her chamber.

  For Tolah’s sake, Fuzzy! Now where are we going?

  “I have to show Darius!”

  Brin didn’t argue. What good would it have done, besides?

  Chapter 3

  Dearra made her way through the keep as quietly as she could, pausing briefly every once in a while to check for anyone who might be walking the halls so late at night. Now that Darius had been moved to a chamber next to her father’s, Dearra had to be a bit more cautious. She tapped lightly at his door and let herself in, not waiting for a response.

  Darius relaxed in front of a fire wearing only a pair of soft leather pants, trying to shake the tension of the day. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he had not heard her gentle tapping, but he was not surprised when Dearra slipped into his room.

  Darius took a deep breath, got to his feet, and approached her. “What are you doing here, Dearra?” he asked. His tone was firm, but his eyes were kind, and she knew he wasn’t really angry. “I thought we agreed no more nighttime visits. It’s no good for your reputation, and if your father ever catches us, it won’t be any good for my neck either.”

  She was so excited, she completely ignored his concerns. “You worry too much,” she told him. “I came to show you! Look! Look what Brin did!”

  Dearra took hold of the hem of her skirt and lifted it high, exposing the burn on her upper thigh. Darius assumed she was referring to the image of the dragon that now covered the offensive J that had been there previously, but honestly, he had spared the mark only a cursory glance in favor of staring at Dearra’s shapely legs.

  “Well? What do you think?” Dearra asked expectantly.

  Darius swallowed what felt like a mouthful of sand before he was able to force a response. “Magnificent,” he whispered, not looking up.

  Dearra realized that he was not referring to the dragon, and for a moment she was annoyed, but then she saw how dark his eyes had become as he stood fascinated before her. It was a heady thing for a girl of eighteen to have that much power over another person. Perhaps she could be forgiven for wanting to experiment a little with that kind of influence.

  Don’t do it, Dearra.

  She didn’t heed Brin’s warning. She had chosen her course. Her heart beat nervously as she looked into the face of the man she loved. Summoning her courage, Dearra stepped toward Darius’s towering form, the skirt still held high. She closed her eyes, leaned into him and inhaled deeply, and placed velvety kisses on his bare chest.

  Darius held himself completely motionless, warring with the desire to do the right thing, and the desire to do the Breken thing. For a moment he thought he would be able to control that more dangerous side of himself, but when Dearra stepped even closer to him, and reached up to twine her fingers into his hair and urge him to kiss her, he lost what little control remained.

  Months of her teasing had taken their toll. Brin had warned her. Darius had warned her. Even Carly, her best friend, had warned her, but Dearra refused to believe there was any danger in her flirtation. She was about to find out how wrong she had been.

  Darius lowered his head to provide the kiss she was so ardently insisting on. He scooped her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, the kissing becoming more insistent, more intense, until Dearra felt she couldn’t catch her breath. She tried to focus on what was happening, even as she felt the room begin to spin. Overwhelmed with these strange, new feelings, she couldn’t seem to make her mind work properly. But when she felt the bed beneath her, she snapped back to reality, and a moment of apprehension crept in.

  “Darius,” she managed to whisper between kisses, but instead of making him pause, the throaty whisper seemed to urge him onward.

  She felt his weight on her frame as his body partially covered hers. The sensation was both pleasant and intimidating at the same time. “Darius,” she said again, this time with a bit more force.

  Again, her voice seemed only to intensify his need. She was still not overly concerned, and continued to revel in his touch, but when she heard the fabric of her shirt tear under his less than gentle hand, she felt panic set in, and tried to sit up, but her attempt was in vain, for she was pinned beneath him. “Darius, wait!” she pleaded.

  “No more waiting,” he growled in response.

  Gone was the Darius she knew and loved, replaced by the newly awoken Breken warrior, the one who wanted and took without thinking twice.

  When she tried to push him away, he grabbed both of her narrow wrists in one of his hands and held them firmly above her head, effectively shackling her. It reminded her too much of being manacled by Jacob. The image of him touching her bare leg loomed in her mind, causing her to relive the horrible time spent on board the ship, and silent tears slipped from her eyes. “Darius, please! Stop!” She cried openly, no longer able to hold back her tears. Darius continued, giving no indication of having heard her plea.

  Darius was completely consumed by the fire of his longing. Somewhere, at the very back of his mind, he thought he heard a voice telling him to stop, but that voice grew fainter with each passing moment. She was all he needed. How and even why he had denied himself this for so long became the only questions he cared to deliberate. She was right in front of him, and she had come to him. He wanted her; everything else was irrelevant. Who could blame him for succumbing to his desires?

  She smelled like lavender and sunshine, and he breathed in deeply as he kissed the skin above her chemise. There was a brief moment in which he wondered how her undergarment had become exposed, but then he disregarded the thought and continued his exploration.

  He kissed the hollow of her throat. His free hand trailed down her side to her hip. Again, he had a moment’s pause when he considered that his other hand was holding her wrists, but then the moment passed when he became distracted by the feel of her beneath him, the fabric of her skirt, and his hand wrapped in the gauzy material. That was when he realized that the only barrier between him and the silky soft skin of the woman beneath him was the garment. He needed to feel that skin on his the way a man dying of thirst needed water. He tore the cloth violently out of his way, and then—

  Darius! Enough!

  The voice seemed loud enough to cleave his head in two. He reached for Dearra once more, but his hand brushed against something more than her, and he shouted out in extreme pain. He yanked his arm away to see the skin just above the wrist on the inside of his arm had been scorched by Brin’s blade. He looked up and was startled to see the look in Dearra’s tear-swollen eyes.

  Realization having set in, Darius scrambled to his feet, backing away from her until he stood with his back against the stone wall on the far side of the room. He stopped to look at her again. Really look at her.

  The skirt of her gown had been torn from hem to thigh. The top of the dress had fared little better, and was ripped in two places, exposing the delicate undergarment beneath. There were red marks on her wrists from where his hand had been. Her eyes were red with tears, and her lips swollen from the assault of his kisses. His revulsion with himself was all consuming. He wondered what kind of monster he was to do such a thing to the girl he loved more than life itself. All he could think was that the only way to keep her safe was to ensure she remained as far from him as possible. “Get out, Dearra!” he shouted. “Get out, now!”

  Dearra gripped the tattered bits of her dress and attempted to cover herself as she ran from Darius’s room, moving quickly and quietly through the deserted corridors of the keep, for the safety and solitude of her room. She scolded herself: Brin had warned her; Darius had warned her; even Carly had warned her. But she had persisted in her teasing, and then, when he reacted as any man would, she’d refused him.

  She was humiliated. She professed to love him, but then she caused him this pain. She was appalled with
herself. What kind of girl was she to do this to him? No wonder he had sent her away. “Brin?” she asked tentatively, seeking the comfort of her friend, but Brin’s only response was silence.

  Chapter 4

  Darius stood on the docks a few feet away from Dearra, stealing furtive glances at her as she took in the activities around her. He would give just about anything to know what she was thinking. Was she hurt? Was she angry? Had she told Maj’s weapons master Daniel, or Carly, or her father? He felt almost literally crushed beneath the weight of his guilt and shame, but Dearra seemed to not even notice his existence. Brin, please, Darius pleaded, I have to know what she’s thinking. I can’t stand it anymore. But his thoughts went unanswered. Darius imagined that Brin was as angry with him as Dearra, for this wasn’t the first of his questions that had been answered with silence since the events of that night.

  Dearra stood on the docks a few feet away from Darius, peeking in his direction whenever she thought he was busy with his task. She longed to know what he was thinking. Did he still care for her, even a little? Could he ever forgive her? How was she ever going to make things right between them? She wanted and needed the comfort of a friend, but her shame was so complete, she felt she could not confide in anyone. Anyone, that is, except Brin, and he still wasn’t talking. She had begged and pleaded but Brin remained silent. She could only assume he was as angry with her as Darius was. She frowned and fidgeted with the bag she held. The stress was already beginning to wear on her. She hoped it did not show as plainly on her face.

  Darius caught the look transforming Dearra’s normally smooth and lovely features and felt a fresh wave of guilt. Sure his own face had pulled into a matching dark mask of anger and frustration, he stalked aboard the ship, anxious for it to be underway, if only to have something to take his mind off the situation at hand.

  Carly was so busy helping to load the last of the needed supplies that she was unaware of Dearra’s distress.

  Daniel, however, had noticed that she was nervous and upset, but chalked it up to the fact that the girl had never done well on boats, and she was probably feeling a good case of the nerves at the thought of her upcoming voyage.