Through Fire & Sea

by Nicole Luiken

“With a dowry?” Leah dared ask. “Just a small one,” she added quickly.

  “Serve me well, and I may arrange a marriage for you. Now come here so I can show you how to send messages through the hypocaust.”

  Leah sidled closer, careful not to touch him.

  “Put out your hand and Call for heat.”

  Hesitantly, Leah held her hand over the grate and said, “Heat.”

  The duke grunted. “Not like that. You’re speaking to the Volcano Lord—use authority.”

  “Heat,” Leah said more strongly, concentrating—and a pulse of heat pushed out from her fingertips. A warm draft wafted up from the hypocaust vent in response. She’d done it!

  “Better,” the duke said grudgingly. “But you must be able to Call flame.”

  He made her practice Calling heat over and over. Sweat stood out on Leah’s hairline when she finally produced a lick of flame in the hypocaust.

  By then the duke was snarling and pacing with impatience. He picked up a diamond chunk and laid it down again repeatedly, as if he wished he could brain her with it.

  “Finally,” he growled. “Now watch closely. I won’t show you again.” He scrawled something in dripping black ink across a scrap of paper. “Be sure to write the name of the recipient somewhere on the message.” With his belt dagger, he cut his thumb and smeared blood onto one corner, then Called a burst of flame. The paper caught fire, blackening around the edges. He dropped it in the hypocaust grate, where the orange flames quickly consumed it. “There, that’s how it’s done.”

  All Leah saw were some ashes. “I don’t understand. How does burning the message send it anywhere? Why do you need blood?”

  Pain exploded in her cheekbones as the duke backhanded her. The blow knocked her to the floor. She hurt her hip.

  He loomed over her, and she fought the urge to cringe away. “You don’t need to understand. Just do it.”

  He doesn’t know. He didn’t know how the hypocaust worked, only that it did.

  “Any more questions?” he asked, an obvious threat in his voice.

  Leah ignored her throbbing cheek and sat up. “Yes,” she said and had the satisfaction of surprising him. “How do I receive messages from you in return?” She braced herself for another blow, but better pain now than failure later.

  The fury in his eyes turned to grudging respect. “A drop of your hot blood will call any messages forth.”

  How? Leah didn’t ask, unwilling to push him any farther. She shakily stood.

  “One more thing. If I do not hear from you every four days, I will break all the bones in your mother’s hands. Understand?”

  The blood drained from Leah’s face. She’d rather suffer the pain herself than see her mother maimed and unable to set her own loom. “I understand.”

  Chapter Two

  Hot-blooded

  A muffled explosion woke Leah in the middle of the night: Isaiah, the Volcano Lord, grumbling. Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up in the maid’s trundle bed where she’d been sleeping in Jehannah’s room.

  Footsteps pounded on stairs and armor rattled. Fearing the castle was under attack, Leah fumbled in the dark for her clothes. She was fastening her skirt with jittery fingers when someone rapped on the door.

  A man poked his head inside without waiting for permission. In the torchlight, Leah recognized Saul, one of the men-at-arms, by his avid eyes and unkempt beard. He pouted upon finding Leah already dressed, then licked his lips when Jehannah sat up in bed, clad only in a thin muslin nightgown. “Up! The duke wants you on the battlements.”

  Quickly, Leah interposed her body between his lecherous gaze and her half sister. “Which one of us?”

  Saul blinked stupidly. “His daughter. He said, ‘Bring Jehannah and be quick about it.’”

  Well, that wasn’t helpful. Leah glanced at her sister.

  “You go,” Jehannah said. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to have your assistance.” The words were spiteful, but her lips trembled. She looked young and fragile.

  Leah hesitated. The duke had probably meant Jehannah, but Leah wanted to know what was happening. To help. She snatched up a cloak, then hurried after Saul down the hall. She raised her skirts to keep from tripping as they mounted the stairs.

  “What’s happening? Is it the dragon?”

  Saul stared at her, incredulous. “Of course it’s the dragon. Can’t you hear it?”

  She listened and realized the deep, eerie moan echoing down the stairwell was too low to be the wind. Her steps slowed.

  “Scared?” Saul smirked at her, displaying a snaggletooth.

  “No,” Leah lied. Her heart thudded against her breastbone, but she climbed the last five steps and emerged onto the castle roof.

  Smoke tickled her lungs, making her cough. Thirty men-at-arms fanned out, heads craned back. “There!” one cried, pointing. A dozen crossbow bolts twanged through the air.

  Torches attached to the wall’s crenellations lit the castle roof, and an ominous red glow came from Isaiah’s peak, but the sky above was pitch-black. The dragon could be anywhere.

  Leah raised her voice. “Where’s the duke?”

  Saul cursed in answer. He drew his sword and pulled her into a run over the rooftop.

  Halfway across, another eerie moan shivered her eardrums. She gasped as a long-necked black dragon dived toward them, wings spread and talons outstretched. Its head alone was the size of her entire body, its wingspan enormous, blotting out the stars. Black scales armored its belly and back—two crossbow bolts bounced off. The magma glow of blood coursing through its membranous wings traced out lacy patterns.

  Saul’s nerve broke. “Take her!” He shoved Leah so that she fell on her hands and knees then ran for his life.

  The dragon’s huge eyes glowed like diamonds. Leah stared, caught by its deadly beauty. Time seemed to hang, endless, as the dragon peered straight into Leah’s soul…

  The dragon swooped past and released its fiery breath on her cowardly escort. Saul screamed, engulfed in flames. Leah watched in sick horror as he stumbled in circles, burning. She gagged on the smell of singed hair.

  “Run!” bellowed the captain of the guard, charging up.

  Paralysis broken, Leah pushed herself upright and ran on watery legs.

  The captain met her halfway, sword in hand, and dragged her to the dubious safety of the wall. “Are you—?” Underneath his helm, the captain’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not the duke’s daughter.”

  Captain Brahim always made Leah think of iron. Iron-gray hair, iron expression, and iron-hard discipline. He kept his men busy and didn’t tolerate them harassing the servants. And so she gave him warning. “I am whoever the duke says I am.”

  His eyebrows lifted, but he took her to where the duke gazed out over the east battlements. “My lord.”

  “Quickly, Jehannah—” Duke Ruben’s jaw loosened when he saw Leah, and she felt a dull hurt—it had been his real daughter he wanted. His lips thinned. “You’ll have to do. Stand here by me and enforce my Call.”

  “You’re Calling the dragon?” Leah asked, appalled. The dragon was flying in tight circles, swooping lower whenever something caught its eye as if it were searching for something.

  “Don’t be a fool,” the duke said brusquely. “The dragon is the captain’s problem.”

  Taking the hint, Captain Brahim bowed and backed away.

  “Our problem is Isaiah.” The duke flung out a hand, indicating the towering silhouette of the Grumbling Man.

  Lava fountained from his caldera like a beautiful flower. Lines of orange fire burned down the mountain’s slopes. Grumbling Man towered almost five miles high, but fields blanketed his lower third, thriving in the ash-rich soil. “The crops,” Leah whispered.

  “They’re the least of our worries. If Isaiah loses his temper, half the mountain will fall on us,” the duke said grimly.

  “What do you need me to do?” Leah asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

  “First, I need you
r blood.” The duke nicked her finger with his dagger, then let the blood drip into a hollow bowl built into the wall. Without being told, Leah knew the bowl’s drain ran directly into the hypocaust. She could feel the underground vent’s connection to the Grumbling Man.

  The duke’s hand bore a similar wound. He mashed their cuts together. “Call,” he growled.

  The blood in the bowl began to smoke, and, abruptly, like a door opening, Leah sensed Isaiah. Not words, but hot pulses of emotion.

  [Annoyance. Flying pest. Not my blood. Go away.]

  Another blast sent lava high into the air.

  “Be calm, Isaiah,” the duke murmured. “The dragon’s naught but a buzzing firewasp. He can’t harm you. Sleep.”

  As he spoke, Leah felt waves of soothing heat emanating from him. She tried to send forth her own calming thoughts but flinched when the dragon belched flame overhead. She kept her head down, determined to avoid being caught by its deadly diamond gaze again.

  Isaiah’s grumbles had just subsided when the dragon’s restless circles overflew the volcano. Isaiah flared in anger, lava jetting up.

  All night, the cycle repeated itself. The duke’s strength never faltered. As much as Leah disliked her father, she felt a new gratitude for his ability. She could never have handled Isaiah on her own.

  The rising sun had streaked the sky red when the dragon gave a last plaintive moan and winged off into the dark skies of the west.

  The duke released her numbed hand. Leah staggered, as weak as if she’d scrubbed floors all day on her hands and knees. “Is it over?” she asked faintly.

  “No,” he said, staring out at the dawn. “The dragon will return at nightfall. Only Qeturah knows how to drive it away.”

  …

  Exhaustion dragged at Leah’s limbs, but she took advantage of the castle’s uproar to visit her mother.

  She pulled the cloak’s hood up, then hurried down the spiral stair, skirted one wall of the Great Hall, and exited the keep. Once she reached the grassy inner bailey, she sighed in relief.

  The castle folk—smiths, scullions, brewers, and stable hands alike—clustered together, talking in angry, frightened voices, while shrieking children reenacted the dragon’s raid.

  Leah slipped into the weaving workshop and found her mother, Beulah, bent over the smallest loom. A board creaked under Leah’s foot.

  Her mother looked up. “Leah!” Beulah crossed the room and folded Leah close in a rib-bruising hug. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “The head cook said you’d run off. I’ve been worried sick.”

  “I didn’t run off.” The whole tale spilled out. “And so I have to pretend to be Jehannah and spy for the duke and—” And I’m afraid I’ll fail, and he’ll hurt you.

  Instead of reassuring her, her mother said, “How, exactly, did you come to the duke’s attention? Tell me the truth now, Leah.” Her voice was hard.

  Leah shook her head in fierce denial. “I didn’t tell him, I swear. He must’ve always known I was his daughter.”

  Her mother kept silent a moment as if weighing her words for truth, then softened. “I expect you understand better now why I warned you never to attract the nobility’s attention?”

  Leah nodded fervently. “I wish he didn’t know.” But then she wondered if she’d truly choose to become an anonymous servant again. The duke’s plan filled Leah with trepidation, but he’d promised to reward her if she did well. And it made her proud that her hot blood had helped calm Isaiah during the dragon attack.

  “What’s done is done,” her mother said. “Now that Duke Ruben knows you exist, you must do exactly what he says. Or we’ll both suffer for it.”

  Their eyes locked in a moment of mutual understanding.

  …

  That evening, Leah stood beside Duchess Yudith and tried to breathe through her panic. She wasn’t ready. A few days of instruction and some hand cream weren’t enough to transform a scullery maid into a lady. Qeturah would take one look at Leah in her borrowed finery and know.

  Yudith pinched Leah’s arm. “Control yourself. If I have to send Jehannah away with that woman—”

  The door to the private dining room opened before she could finish her threat. Yudith snapped upright, a welcoming smile on her face.

  Leah copied the smile with stiff lips.

  Qeturah entered, laughing at something Duke Ruben had said. “But that’s exactly what he did! You know Duke Eliyah well!” Her lashes swept up flirtatiously, revealing vivid green eyes.

  Duke Ruben smiled down at her as if he hadn’t called her the Bandit Queen behind her back. From the nickname, Leah had expected a coarse, mannish woman. Instead Qeturah was both petite and feminine. She wore her dark brown hair in an unfamiliar style, braided back on one side and flowing on the other.

  “Qeturah, this is my duchess, Yudith, and my daughter, Jehannah. Yudith, this is Qeturah.”

  “Lady Qeturah,” Yudith said with icy politeness.

  Leah dipped her head but stayed silent, fearing she would give herself away.

  Qeturah’s full lips smiled, but her eyes remained as hard as green glass. “Actually, it’s Duchess Qeturah. Though my duchy is, of course, much smaller than your lovely domain.” She simpered at Duke Ruben.

  He pulled out a chair and solicitously seated her. Yudith’s lips compressed when he sat down at the head of the table without extending her the same courtesy.

  “You’ve chosen a very dangerous place to live,” Yudith said, taking her own seat at the foot. “Thunderhead is young for a Volcano Lord. He’s like a fretful child with no parent to soothe him—he could erupt at any time.”

  What? Alarmed, Leah almost knocked over her goblet. And she was to live in this Volcano Lord’s valley?

  “More like a sleeping infant than a child,” Qeturah returned smoothly. “He’s barely achieved consciousness. His last big eruption was thirty years ago, and his next may not be for another fifty. A lamb or goat kid sacrificed once a month keeps us safe enough. It’s resources that my poor valley lacks…”

  She angled her body toward the duke, displaying the lush cleavage framed by the square neckline of her black suede gown. Leah had only seen huntsmen wear leather before; Qeturah’s clung to her like a second skin. The duke seemed to appreciate the view. He wore his customary black, which had the effect of making them seem more of a couple than he did with Yudith in her blue-and-cream velvet.

  “Your valley here is quite rich,” Qeturah observed.

  Duke Ruben’s eyes glinted sardonically, but he followed her lead. “Yes, our Volcano Lord is generous. Our crops grow well. Or at least they do when we’re not troubled by a dragon.”

  Ah. Leah’s confusion lifted: they weren’t so much flirting as circling each other, searching for weaknesses.

  “Yes,” Qeturah agreed, “it’s terrible how this dragon is stirring up the Volcano Lords. I’m glad to help, of course, but my own duchy is suffering from my absences.”

  “We will be happy to compensate you for your trouble,” the duke said smoothly.

  While they haggled, Leah began to hope that Qeturah’s interest lay only in sacks of grain. But when the roast goose arrived, Qeturah set out her next gambit. “What worries me is that one day I will arrive too late to stop the dragon. First a messenger must be sent to me, and often I cannot leave immediately, and then it takes more days to journey back… Some of the other dukes have fostered their daughters with me so that we may send messages using the hypocaust vents that connect all the Volcano Lords.”

  “How unfortunate that you do not have hot blood.”

  The duke’s smug tone made Qeturah’s eyes narrow. “I have other talents.”

  Just who was Qeturah? What noble family was she from?

  “You want me to foster my daughter with you.” The duke swirled the wine in his goblet.

  His pretend reluctance made Leah clench her fists. He didn’t care how dangerous Thunderhead’s valley might be, because he only risked his bastard daughter.
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br />   “Please at least consider it,” Qeturah urged. “The dukes of Smoking Cone, Cinders, and Cauldron have all sent their daughters to me.”

  And then Leah saw it. A solution. “If you have Cinders, then you don’t need me.”

  “Why is that?” Qeturah asked.

  Yudith kicked Leah’s shin under the table, hard enough to make her eyes water, but Leah kept talking. “Cinders’s house is intermarried with ours.” Duke Ruben’s aunt was the duchess there. “Their daughter should be able to contact Grumbling Man through the hypocaust as well as their own Volcano Lord.”

  “Alas, the female gender is not as hot-blooded as the male line,” Qeturah said. “They can only send messages to their own duchies.”

  Qeturah’s overly sweet smile made Leah suspect she was lying, but the duke swallowed her statement without a qualm. “A well-known fact.”

  “And, of course, everyone is reluctant to send their sons away from home, so…” Qeturah shrugged. “I hear the dragon attacked your castle last night. If your message had reached me sooner, I might have been able to save both crops and lives.”

  Leah’s gorge rose as she remembered Saul burning. Nor was he the only casualty. Four men-at-arms had lost their lives during the dragon attack, and three serfs had fallen while fighting the blaze caused by Isaiah’s tantrum.

  If the Volcano Lord ever truly lost his temper, the resulting cataclysm would kill hundreds. Most dukes would be willing to pay the price of a daughter to prevent that.

  They were still at supper, nibbling at a marzipan castle, when a shout and an eerie roar announced the dragon’s return.

  Leah flinched. Yudith spilled her wine. The duke’s black brows drew together. Qeturah coolly patted her mouth with a napkin before rising to her feet.

  Leah’s heart pounded with equal parts fear and excitement. How could such a petite woman have the power to drive off a dragon?

  “I’ll require a large clear space on the battlements in which to raise the illusion, and several assistants,” Qeturah said.

  “I’ll help,” Leah said quickly, even though her insides tightened at the thought of facing the dragon again. If she could learn how to drive away the dragon, she wouldn’t need to be fostered with Qeturah, and the duke would be grateful.