Dragon Red: A Fire Unfed (The Dragonlords of Xandakar Book 2)

by Macy Babineaux

  He was handsome: a lean, hairless body, long black hair, and a nice face. She might go to work on that eventually, but she was having enough fun for now with the whip on his backside.

  “I don’t know who you think I am,” he stammered, his face red and strained, covered with sweat. He hadn’t started yelling or crying yet. That was good. He was strong. She liked it when they lasted longer. It prolonged her fun.

  “You can ask me anything you want,” he went on. “I don’t know anything.”

  “I don’t care what you do or don’t know,” she said. “The only thing I want to hear out of you are screams.”

  Nevra twirled the bullwhip and let it fly, expertly cracking sideways across his chest. He winced, clenching his teeth, but still did not scream. The blow left a red line across his chest, between both nipples. She smiled, then made her way back behind him.

  She felt good, despite the recent setbacks and her doubts about Marko and whether he could actually do what he was supposed to. This was a welcome distraction.

  The Nightshadow fortress was made of stone and black cypress. It was built up on pylons that held it just above the dark waters of the swamp. The architects could not sensibly build too high, nor could they build cellars or dungeons. So the seat of the Nightshadow throne was a sprawling expanse of buildings, interconnected with wooden walkways.

  Nevra and her captive were in the building the furthest from all others, a small, dark structure known by everyone simply as “the shack.” Prisoners were housed in a separate building, but occasionally one or two were taken to the shack, always in the dead of night. The building stood at the end of a long walkway, tucked under a copse of black cypress trees, far from the rest of the fortress. But the sounds of the screams still carried across the still, swampy water.

  She cracked the whip across his bare ass and laughed as he jerked away, clenching. As the third snap of the whip struck his flesh, she finally got what she had been waiting for. The young man began to scream.

  A fist pounded against the barred door. Nevra sighed. Just when she was starting to really have fun.

  She dropped the whip to the floor and took her time walking to the door.

  “Yes?” she said. “Who is it?” Though she knew full well who stood on the other side.

  “Open the door,” the low, calm voice said. Her father must have been extremely angry. If he were only a little angry he would have raised his voice. He was much more threatening the calmer he appeared, something his enemies often found out far too late.

  Nevra had thought of toying with him, joking about how she couldn’t find the handle. But not when he was like this. As much as she despised him, she also feared him. Soon there would come a day when she no longer would, but that day wasn’t here. Not yet.

  She slid back the black block of wood holding the door fast and swung it open.

  Sorian Nightshadow stood on the small landing by himself. He was an imposing figure, tall and lean, clad in shiny black scaled armor, a black cape hanging to his ankles. His white hair was pulled back into a long tail, revealing his stark but handsome face. He had the same pale skin and high cheekbones of his ancestors, as well as the same dark, penetrating eyes.

  As he stepped through the threshold, he looked Nevra up and down. He did not look pleased.

  “Is this how you spend your days?” he asked. “Could you not have taken up knitting?”

  “Is that really what you would have wanted, father?” she asked. She had to be careful, though. He was definitely in a foul mood. She didn’t want to overstep and have him lock her in her chambers. He’d done that before, more than once, even though she was a grown woman, a princess no less. But she couldn’t afford that now. She had been bored while she waited to hear from Marko, hence the play session with the kitchen boy. But soon she would have things to do. Many things.

  “Your mother would be so proud,” he said, stepping further inside and looking at the naked youth hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

  “She might,” Nevra said. “If she were still alive.”

  Sorian flashed his eyes at her. She saw his hand tense. She may well have crossed the line, but he didn’t strike her. She could see him force himself to relax, a thin smile crossing his lips. He nodded at the kitchen worker.

  “Why him?” he asked. “Do you suspect him of some wrongdoing, or did he just happen to strike your fancy?”

  “He’s a Moonglow spy,” she said.

  “I’m not!” the young man wailed. “I swear it.”

  “Oh shut up,” she said.

  “And how do you know this?” Sorian asked.

  A smile crossing her glossy black lips, and she almost blurted out a laugh.

  “Is something funny?” Sorian asked.

  “No, father,” she said, wiping the smile from her face. She thought of telling him that she’d gotten the information from one of their own spies, but then thought better of it. He would ask who, and she could not say. She could not tell him she had her own spies, though she did. That was forbidden, and he would do far worse to her than lock her in her chambers. So she told a lie that would be both more appealing and believable.

  “I saw him,” she said. “Skulking around your study, father. Then later at the east dock I saw him give a message to a raven shifter who flew towards the Still Plains.”

  “That’s not true!” yelled the young man.

  “Oh shut up,” said Sorian. “Speak out of turn once more and I’ll take your tongue myself.” But he did not look from his daughter. He was studying her face. “Has he anything useful to say?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “But I’ve barely begun.”

  The young man let out a whimper, but said nothing more.

  Sorian sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter whether what you say is true or not. But I have an important matter to discuss with you, and I’ll not do it here.”

  An important matter? Her father never included her in his plans. He had no sons, and she was more than capable. But he had never respected her abilities, though she knew she was always a step of ahead of him. Could this be a change in his ways? Might he tell her his plans and listen to her counsel?

  “What is it, father?”

  “Not here, I said.” He glanced over his shoulder at the naked man, then back at her. “Finish this up and meet me in my study.”

  “Yes, father,” she said. Well, this was exciting, if perhaps too late. Plans had already been set in motion, and they did not include her father. What if he truly had a change of heart? What if he had finally decided to take her under his wing, to groom her to take the throne and rule the swamplands herself?

  He looked her up and down one last time. “Just make sure you put on some clothes,” he said. Then he strode from the room and down the long walkway into the darkness.

  Now it was Nevra’s turn to sigh. She looked at the kitchen boy. A shame. He was turning into a good bit of fun. Now she would just have to take him down and toss him in the swamp for the alligators. She didn’t have time to fool around, and she wanted to hear what her father had to say.

  Of course the kitchen boy wasn’t a spy. She hadn’t seen him skulking around her father’s study or meeting with any ravens. She’d spotted him stirring a pot of stew in the kitchen. His muscled arms and chest had pleased her. She knew that strapping him would please her even more. Besides, she’d been bored and restless. So she’d told the guards to bring him here and tie him up for her. That was all.

  Poor lad, she thought. Not that she bothered to care anymore, but she didn’t even know his name.

  An hour later she stood before the door of her father’s study. She had changed into her own black armor, and she put her hands on her belly as she took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she’d felt nervous. But she was excited as well. Perhaps, if things went well, she could put a stop to the plans. Perhaps it wasn’t too late after all. And then she could leave the demon imprisoned in the mountains. She might not have need for him afte
r all.

  She knocked at the door, then stood for a long time, wondering if anyone were actually inside. Had she knocked loudly enough? It was like her father to keep her waiting longer than she needed to. She raised her knuckles to rap again, when she heard his voice: “Come.”

  Nevra opened the door and was surprised to see her father was not alone. He leaned behind his great black desk in his high-backed chair, his fingers steepled. Standing beside him was a short, frumpy woman in a gray smock and headscarf. She had a round, plain face and a frightened look in her eye as she watched Nevra enter.

  “Who is this?” Nevra asked.

  “Close the door,” Sorian said.

  Nevra turned and did as her father said, a sinking feeling in her stomach. The woman was clearly a servant of some sort. But why was she here?

  “I have exciting news, daughter,” Sorian said.

  Oh no, she thought. It was never a good sign when he called her daughter.

  “Oh?” she asked. “And what is this news, father?”

  He arched his brow and smiled. “You are to be wed.”

  She felt as if she had been punched in the gut. Her head began to swim. Wed? What was this idiocy?

  “This is Marlo,” he was saying, but the words seemed far away to her ears. “She will teach you all the things you should have learned long ago. I should have had you schooled in the ways of wifehood long ago. Instead I turned a blind eye while you ran amok.”

  What was going on? What was he babbling about?

  “You will learn to cook,” Sorian said. “To clean. To sew. All the things a young woman needs to be useful to her husband.”

  Fuck that, she thought. She would sooner skin this woman alive than take instructions of any sort from her. She very nearly said as much. But she stopped herself before the words could form on her lips.

  This was actually just fine. Had her father actually confided in her as she had hoped, that would have complicated matters. This made things simple. This made it easy to go right back to hating him. She’d been foolish to think things could have been otherwise.

  So she would swallow this humiliation and continue with the demon’s plans. In the meantime she would play along with the stupidity of it all.

  “Wed?” she said, trying not to let the word catch in her throat, trying not to appear as she felt. “Who is to be my new husband?”

  “What’s this?” Sorian said, leaning back in his chair. “I would have expected a tantrum of some sort.”

  Shit, she thought. Perhaps she was being more suspicious by actually not being upset. What could she say to set his mind at ease for the time being? She needed to try to be herself.

  “Being sent away to marry some fool is not the worst that could happen,” she said. “At least it would get me away from here. And from you, father.”

  He smiled and leaned forward again. “There’s my Nevra.”

  Well, she thought. Are you going to sit there grinning like a toad or are you going to tell me who the lucky bastard is? It wouldn’t matter. She wasn’t going to wed anyone. But she was slightly curious.

  “The King of the Emerald Isle,” Sorian said. “The big green dragon himself, Vander Tanglevine.”

  Nevra felt a bout of laughter threatening to rise up her throat. She wondered whether it would be less suspicious to let it out, but in the end she stifled it. She could actually do much worse than the Tanglevine monarch. She’d seen him once, five or so years ago, and he was an impressive specimen. He was tall, with long, golden hair and ocean green eyes. She wouldn’t mind tying him up and having a little fun, if he even could be tied up.

  But she was distracting herself. What was so funny, what almost made her laugh so hard she might wet herself, was that Vandar Tanglevine would be disposed of within the fortnight. So would her father, and so would the rest of the dragonlords.

  Nevra kept a straight face, though. “The green king,” she said, as if actually considering it. “Did the grand owl bitch put you up to this, or did you think it up on your own?”

  She saw the flare of anger in her father’s eyes. Don’t overdo it, she thought. She needed to push back enough to make the ruse believable, but not so far enough to put her father into a rage. He hated the owl-mages and the way they had their beaks in everyone’s pies. Nevra knew that her father would have burned the One Tree down long ago if he could. But the last war with the Wildfires had decimated both clans, leaving them vulnerable to any other rivals. They had agreed to the pact with the owls, who put “advisors” in every seat of power, arranged their marriages, and as far as Sorian was concerned, had far too much power.

  “We will travel to the Emerald Isle in one week,” he said, ignoring her slight. “This marriage will happen whether you will it or not. You will be prepared, and you will not embarrass me.”

  “Oh father,” she said. “When have I ever embarrassed you?” Before he could open her mouth, she went on. “Don’t worry. I’ll go. I’ll even make myself look pretty. We all have our duties to the realm, do we not?”

  He was eyeing her, and she could see that he was trying to work out just how sincere she was being. Best not to seem too compliant.

  “The wife-trainer was a nice touch,” Nevra said, nodding at the servant who had stood near the desk the entire time, a strained, frightened look on her face. “I’ll travel with you to the Emerald Isle, but if this moon-faced idiot comes near me with housewife lessons, I’ll show her how to cook by roasting her on a spit.”

  That ought to do it, Nevra thought. All the blood had drained out of the frumpy woman’s face, and she looked like her knees might give way. But Sorian seemed satisfied.

  Before he could dismiss her, she turned and left, slamming the study door for the one final touch.

  6: Thalia

  They stood before the massive base of the ironwood tree and looked up high into its branches.

  “Do you see anything?” Kal asked.

  “No,” Thalia said. Well, she could see the tree itself, a mighty tower of steely wood rising into the canopy above. But she couldn’t see what they were looking for, the nest of a white hawk.

  “Then I’ll just have to get a closer look,” Kal said. He stepped among the great network of gnarled roots to the base of the tree. The lowest branch was still well above his head, though.

  “Perhaps you should let me go,” Thalia said. “I’m lighter than you.”

  He shook his head. “I can do it.”

  He was stubborn. She wasn’t sure how much she liked that about him. In the time since her warren was wiped out she felt like there was a heavy stone in her belly. She’d collected food for Kal, but had barely eaten at all herself. She felt sick with grief.

  But this man had saved her life. So she felt as if she owed him a debt of service. She would continue to pay it as long as she could. It helped a little to keep her mind off the horrors of what had happened, and the more time she spent with him, the less heavy that stone in her belly felt.

  Kal jumped, trying to grab hold of the lowest limb, his fingers grazing the wood. With his second jump he grabbed hold, grunting as he pulled himself up onto the limb. He squatted on the limb and looked down at her.

  “See?” he said. “Easy.”

  Yes, easy, Thalia thought, watching him climb up to the next limb. She began to get nervous as he scaled the tree, moving steadily higher. The branches were thick enough where he was, but they grew much thinner higher up.

  She hoped he really was dragonborn. Because if he fell from one of those higher branches, he’d likely break every bone in his body. She remembered hearing somewhere that dragonborn healed quickly. If he were not what he said or thought he was, he would surely die from such a fall. And she hoped that wouldn’t happen. Despite his hard head, she really was beginning to like him.

  “I think I see a nest,” he yelled down. He pointed at a limb much higher than where he stood. Her eyes followed in that direction, and she saw it, the tangled thatch of twigs that almost certainly was
a nest.

  Oh, but she didn’t think he would be able to get there. She wanted to yell out to him, tell him to come down. She felt her stomach tighten with anxiety now as she watched the smaller branches creaking under his weight as he climbed.

  He was nearly to the branch with the nest when it happened. Kal reached out to pull himself up and there was a loud snap.

  Thalia gasped and covered her mouth. He was falling, flailing to grab hold of branch along the way. Instead, a large branch struck him in the middle of his back. She heard another loud crack and hoped it was the wood of the limb and not Kal’s spine.

  He spun, falling face-forward now, and plummeted to the ground.

  “Kal!” she yelled, running to him. He was face-down in the dirt, having thankfully missed falling directly into the hard tangle of roots.

  She knelt and rolled him over onto his back. He moaned, his eyes dazed as he looked back up from the direction he’d fallen.

  “Are you all right?” Thalia asked.

  He blinked, his eyes watery with pain. He wasn’t dead. At least there was that.

  “Perhaps you should go,” he whispered. “I believe you’re lighter than me.”

  She nodded and let out a relieved little laugh. “All right,” she said. “But first I want to make sure you’re not badly hurt.”

  “Well,” he said, starting to sit up. He winced and hissed before lying back down. “I certainly don’t feel like having a dance. But I believe my pride is hurt more than my body.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, putting a soft hand on his chest. He hissed with pain again and she pulled her hand back.

  “Okay, perhaps my pride and body are hurt in equal measure,” he said. “In any case, I just need to rest here for a while and I’ll be fine.”

  Thalia got up to gather an armful of soft leaves and moss, returning to him to fashion a pillow. He grimaced when she helped him lift his head to put the leaves underneath, but he looked more comfortable as he rested upon it.

  “Thank you,” Kal said. “But you do not need to do this. You owe me nothing.”