Dragon Blue: A Lie That's True (The Dragonlords of Xandakar, Book1)

by Macy Babineaux

  “What?” Miranda said.

  “You must be so excited,” Astra said. “You haven’t seen him in years.”

  Yes, excited. That’s what she was. Oh God, if anybody was going to recognize her as a fraud, it was going to be the guy who was supposed to be her own father.

  “Oh joy,” Corban said. “We get to play host to a whole keep full of Wildfires.”

  “When is he supposed to get here?” Miranda asked.

  “Well,” Astra said, thinking. “An owl was dispatched soon after you arrived. I would imagine your father and his party are in flight now. They should arrive before sundown.”

  Great, Miranda thought. Maybe she could run away, find a blacksmith somewhere and get this damn thing off her neck. She forced a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Yes, wonderful,” Corban said, pulling on his scaled boots.

  “Oh, don’t mind him,” Astra said. “You’re going to love it here. I already feel as if we’re sisters. And after the ceremony tomorrow, we officially will be.”

  “Ceremony?” Miranda said.

  “Tomorrow?” said Corban.

  Oh no, Miranda thought. Now it really was all falling into place. She was afraid she knew before she even asked the question.

  “What kind of ceremony?”

  Astra laughed, a light, lovely sound. “See, brother,” she said. “Besides being beautiful your new bride has a wonderful sense of humor.”

  Bride. Holy shit. That word struck Miranda like a hammer.

  “Yes,” Corban said. “I hear her breath can melt mountains as well. She’s truly a gift.”

  Astra glowered at her brother. Miranda was still in shock. How the hell was she going to get out of this?

  “Come,” Astra said, pulling Miranda toward the door. “Let’s go to my room and find you a nice dress. We have so much to talk about.”

  “Yeah,” Miranda said, letting Astra lead her out the door. “We sure do.”

  8: Corban

  He watched his sister and future wife scurry out the door. Taunting her had been an amusing diversion, but he really didn’t have time for any more nonsense.

  Still, she had surprised him. He’d expected her to break down in tears, perhaps yell at him. Instead, she had stood her ground and slung a few insults his way. He almost admired that. Then she’d touched him, just the tip of her finger on his chest, and he’d felt himself stir once again. As she’d traced a circle around his nipple, her touch had been more arousing in a way than what Deelia had just done to him with her mouth. That was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

  He shook his head and left his chambers. He needed to find Wygard and talk to him about what he was about to say before she had appeared. No doubt the mage was helping with preparations. Karth Wildfire was on his way? And the ceremony was tomorrow?

  He had expected there to be some time for planning. This was a binding between two great clans, not an afternoon tea. But his sister lived for such things. She’d had a gleam in her eye upon seeing Siccora. For all he knew, she’d been planning the ceremony for months.

  Let the two of them marry, he thought. The idea wasn’t that outrageous. His sister could find a nice, sturdy mate to impregnate her. Then she could hatch an heir, and the two women could play dress-up and raise the child together. And then they could leave him be.

  As he walked the halls of the keep, the fantasy had its appeal. But no, it was ridiculous. The males had always ruled the clans and always would. And that meant they had to be the ones to marry and ensure the continuation of the bloodline.

  The keep was bustling now, servants and guards alike. No doubt they’d been given instructions, handed down on high from his sister. Tables were almost certainly being set up in the Great Hall in preparation for a welcoming feast for the Wildfire entourage. The thought of attending that, of shaking the Red King’s hand and sharing a meal with him made Corban want to find the nearest window and launch himself into the sky.

  He didn’t want to deal with dinners and ceremonies. He wanted to find his mage, and then he wanted to hear about how he was going to find his father.

  On the way to Wygard’s tower, he was already thinking of all those stairs, of the long climb upwards. To hell with it, he thought. He walked to a nearby window and leaned out, seeing a thin trail of smoke from the top of the mage’s parapet. So he was back up there already.

  Half-jokingly, he’d thought about jumping out a window. Now it sounded like a splendid idea, at least better than climbing all those stairs. Corban pulled himself up onto the ledge of the window and looked down at the sloping shelf of snow piled against the wall of the keep. The drop was at least three hundred feet. That would do just fine.

  He stood, then jumped. The cold rush of air against his face felt splendid. The sun was out, but the temperature was still nice and cold. He hoped it would make the Wildfires, who loved the hot desert air, as miserable as possible.

  As he fell, he sent the command out through his body to change. Armor became skin. Arms became wings. His bones cracked, stretched, and reknit themselves.

  A man had jumped from the window, but a dragon nearly touched the snow far below. The transformation was complete just before Corban reached the ground. With a single flap of his powerful blue wings he reversed direction, blowing up a giant cloud of fresh snow as he shot back up into the air.

  He turned and headed for the mage’s tower, and with only a few more flaps of his mighty wings, he flew eye-level with the windows of the chamber at the top.

  That was definitely better than walking up all those stairs, he thought.

  He pulled up, beating his wings so that he hovered in place.

  “Wygard!” he bellowed, his dragon voice so deep and resonant snow shook and fell from the keep’s walls. Icicles cracked and splintered, the shards falling as well.

  After a few moments the mage still had not shown himself. Corban drew in another deep breath and was about to yell again when the narrow face and huge eyes appeared in one of the windows.

  “Your Grace?” Wygard said.

  “We have much more to discuss,” Corban said. “Meet me atop that crag.” He pointed at the flat ridge above a cliff not far in the distance. “I will hear what you say and not be interrupted this time.”

  “Yes, my—” Wygard began, only to be knocked back by a burst of wind from Corban’s wings as the he flapped them. Corban flew through the cold, sunny air, feeling almost like himself again.

  He saw the dark green tops of the trees below and a herd of elk upon an open hill. He was almost tempted to snatch one up, but he had more pressing matters. Instead, he flew to the outcropping he had pointed out to the mage.

  Once he’d landed, he folded his wings across his body, tucked his head in, and transformed back into human form. He stood up straight and looked back in the direction from which he’d flown. The sun was high in the sky, shining down on the massive walls of Everfrost Keep, walls that his ancestors had built, hauling the stone from quarries far in the south. They’d used their ice breath to freeze the stones in place, forging their new seat of power with magic and might. Those towering walls had stood for a thousand years. Corban vowed they would stand for a thousand more. He would not see his legacy torn apart by some invading force from another world, or destroyed from within by the Wildfires. He didn’t trust them and never would.

  As he looked out from the edge of the cliff, he saw a tiny white dot flying toward him. The owl was slow, but Corban's own flight had calmed him, made him patient after his encounter with the Wildfire woman, who had temporarily put him off-balance. He was not going to let her dictate his temper or alter his plans.

  The owl drew near and transformed as he landed, taking the shape of the old man. He bent over, breathing heavily.

  “You called for me, Sire?” Wygard said, trying to catch his breath.

  “Yes,” Corban said. “Before Siccora appeared, you were telling me you had some sort of plan.” Even saying her name made the hair on the back of h
is neck stand up. She’d gotten in his head somehow. Perhaps the talisman that let her travel from the world where she grew up to this one had other powers. Perhaps he had been bewitched.

  “Ah, yes,” Wygard said, taking a deep breath. “The void world. I have no idea how we could find it or create a portal there. But I did manage to capture and record the signature I spoke of before. Before the last of the black snow melted, I infused that signature into a piece of crystal in my study.”

  Corban tried to put Siccora Wildfire out of his mind and focus on the mage’s words. “What good does that do, if you have no way to make a portal there?”

  The owl-mage smiled. “Well, I can offer you the next best thing.” Wygard reached into his robe and took out a small piece of purple crystal attached to a thin leather lanyard. He held it out.

  “What’s this?” Corban said, not yet taking it.

  “The piece of crystal I spoke of,” Wygard said. “I have made…alterations. This piece of stone now acts as a detector of sorts. The next time another visitor from their world enters ours, the stone will know, and it will tell you where they are.”

  Corban took the necklace from the mage. He looked at it, a lump of dull purple crystal wound with strips of leather. He had trusted Wygard his whole life, though the mage was getting old. Perhaps he had gone mad and concocted all this nonsense about a world that shouldn’t exist. Perhaps the stone was just some useless bauble meant to placate him. There was only one way to find out, and that was to wait and be patient.

  “How far is its range?” Corban asked. He tucked it into the vest of his armor. If he hung it around his neck, it was likely to snap the next time he took dragonform.

  Wygard narrowed his eyes. “I’m not exactly sure, my Liege,” he said. “But it should work quite far. To the edges of the Icelands, I should think.”

  “Thank you,” Corban said.

  “The magic really wasn’t that involved,” Wygard said. “It actually only took—”

  “I mean for believing me,” Corban said. “Everyone else thinks I’m mad.”

  The old mage chuckled. “You’re definitely not mad, Sire,” he said. “Although perhaps I am not the best judge of such things.”

  Corban laughed at that. “Perhaps. I will keep a keen eye on this crystal of yours. Whoever these intruders are, the next time they come, I will be there to greet them.”

  “I would advise not going alone,” Wygard said. “They have the power to move between worlds, mostly undetected by us. You would do well not to underestimate them.”

  “Thank you for your counsel,” Corban said. Though he felt if anyone should be afraid, it should be the ones who encroached on his lands and stole his father from him. “Shall we return to the keep now?”

  “That sounds fine, my King,” Wygard said, but as they turned to look back they both saw the same thing. A cluster of red dots on the horizon, moving toward the keep.

  “Oh, what a joyful day,” Corban said. “The Wildfires are nearly here.”

  9: Miranda

  “I have to apologize for my brother,” Astra said as she led Miranda down the hall of the North Wing.

  “People around here seem to do a lot of that,” Miranda said.

  Astra laughed. Miranda wasn’t quite sure what to make of her yet. So far everyone and everything wasn’t quite what it seemed.

  Astra led her into a room similar to Corban’s. The huge canopy bed was the same, but there was a lot more furniture here, wardrobes, dressers, and several full-length mirrors.

  I can’t really blame her much, Miranda thought. If I looked like her all I’d want to do all day is look at myself in a mirror.

  “I think I have just the thing for you,” Astra said, looking her up and down. “We’re just about the same size, I believe.” She headed for a wardrobe against the far wall.

  Miranda walked across the room as well, standing by a tall window. She looked out at the wintery scenery, the snow-covered pines down below, the white stretching out towards mountains not far in the distance. She’d always preferred the winter back home in Oklahoma, at least to the summer heat. She liked the way you could see your own breath, feel the cold as you drew it through your nose and into your lungs. And this world, at least what she had seen of it so far, was beautiful.

  “I had the seamstresses sew a dress for me for the festival of rebirth last season,” Astra said, rummaging through the wardrobe, then moving on to a chest next to it. “It didn’t really suit me, but I have a feeling it will look much better on you. Where is that thing?”

  While Astra talked Miranda gazed out the window. She caught something moving out of the corner of her eye and looked along the wall of the keep to another window far ahead. Someone was standing on the ledge.

  Her whole body tensed. The drop looked too far for someone to survive. Was she about to see someone commit suicide right in front of her? She was about to call out to Astra when she caught the glint of the sun off the person’s clothes and realized it was armor. Then she saw the silvery-blond hair. That was Corban.

  Miranda leaned forward. What the hell was he doing? She glanced over to see Astra on her knees, her head in the chest, flinging dresses out all over the floor.

  When she looked back, he jumped. Oh my God, she thought, letting out a gasp. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t even blink. He was going to die.

  But something happened as his body plunged toward the snow. He began to change. His outstretched arms grew even more outstretched, webbing forming under them. His neck grew as spikes jutted out across his head. His feet morphed into claws and a tail lengthened out behind him.

  Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around what her eyes were seeing. She’d seen the old man turn into an owl not long ago. But as her mother would have said, this was a whole other ball of wax. He was still falling, likely to slam into the snowy earth, and now he was twenty times as big.

  But just before the crash, the leathery blue wings flapped, blowing a plume of snow in the air. He shot back up into the sky, now an honest-to-God dragon. Miranda thought she might faint. She let out a hysterical little giggle. People only fainted in the movies, right? But the blood felt like it had drained out of her head. She grabbed the edge of the window to steady herself, to keep from keeling over.

  She watched as the dragon that had been a man only seconds before beat its giant wings and flew high up to the top of a tower affixed to the far wall of the keep. It opened its mouth and roared something unintelligible, but loud enough to shake the window.

  “What was that?” Astra said, looking up.

  Miranda turned back to look at Astra. “Your brother…” she trailed off, not really knowing how to finish the sentence. Just turned into a fucking dragon was the first thing that came to mind, but she couldn’t mouth the words.

  Astra smiled sympathetically. “Yes, he’s headstrong,” she said.

  Arrogant, you mean? Miranda thought.

  “And he can be a bit trying at times,” Astra said.

  You mean he’s a straight-up asshole, right? Plus, he’s apparently a goddamn dragon.

  Astra pulled a dress out of the chest. “Finally,” she said. “Here it is.” She held it up. The dress was deep crimson with a gold trim. It actually looked a little more provocative than Miranda would have expected, but she had to admit it was beautiful.

  “Here,” Astra said. “Let’s get you out of those rags.”

  Miranda glanced out the window once more only to see the tail end of the dragon as it flew away toward the mountains. Just where the fuck am I?

  Astra put the dress on the bed, then stepped up to Miranda. “Let me help you,” she said, bending down to grab the hem of Miranda’s white robes. She slowly pulled them up, her fingers grazing Miranda’s thighs.

  Miranda lifted her arms above her head, and Astra pulled the garment up and off. As she did, Miranda could feel Astra’s breath on her bare nipples. Astra stood up and tossed the servant’s clothing onto the floor, then looked Miranda’s
naked body up and down.

  “My brother is lucky,” Astra said, her eyes stopping at the giant red gem clasped at the base of her throat. “You’re beautiful. And that necklace suits you.”

  Miranda had never been with a woman. She’d thought about it a couple of times, but just never had the opportunity. If she were going to, she figured she could do a lot worse than the elegant woman standing before her, looking her up and down as if she wanted her. Astra was certainly nicer than her brother. Miranda thought about reaching out, taking Astra’s hand, and putting it on her own breast. Then she could pull her in for a long kiss, lead her to the bed, and see what happened next.

  But she was still trying to get her footing in this world, and that seemed like opening a whole new can of worms. So instead, she just said: “Thank you. Should I try on the dress now?”

  “Oh,” Astra said. Her eyes had drifted back down to Miranda’s breasts. Now they snapped back up to look Miranda in the eye. She looked a little embarrassed. “Of course.”

  Astra helped her put on the dress in front of the full-length mirror by the bed, her hands friendlier on her body than they needed to be. Miranda didn’t want to take it any further, but she found that she really didn’t mind.

  The dress fit her perfectly, the fabric tied at the back of her neck, crossing across her breasts in an X, hefting and revealing her cleavage nicely and leaving her back mostly bare. The hem came down below her knees, but a slit revealed her long, smooth legs.

  She admired herself in the mirror. The dress made her feel elegant, sexy, and even a little regal. After all, she was supposed to marry Corban tomorrow, right? That was if Siccora’s father didn’t show up and call her out as an imposter first. She thought of running, but where the hell would she run to? What if she managed to get the necklace off and nothing happened?

  Astra stepped up close behind her, putting her arms around her waist and hugging her tight. She put her lips close to Miranda’s ear and whispered. “You truly are a wonder to look upon. I’m so happy to have you as my new sister.”