Dragon's Blood: a Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy Book 2)

by Jasmine Walt

  But instead of hiding beneath the covers, Drystan grabbed a bottle of cognac and three glasses, then settled in to wait.

  “By the gods, Drystan,” Catriona said as she and Taldren entered the room fifteen minutes after Drystan had called for them. “You look like hell.”

  “Hello to you too,” Drystan said dryly, lifting his glass to her. Catriona was his fifth-born sister, and she looked much better than she had when she’d been brought back to the castle, her blonde curls shining and lustrous instead of matted and dirty, her creamy skin healed of all bruises and cuts and glowing with health. She wore the same tunic dresses all his sisters wore when they were at home, elegant enough to befit their stature but economical enough to throw on armor and rush into battle if necessary.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Taldren asked as he and Catriona joined Drystan by the fireplace. He still wore the guard uniform—Alistair had reassigned him to the Keep after they’d rescued him from the elves. “It can’t be easy, picking up the pieces after your father.”

  “I heard that the elves have arrived,” Catriona said, swishing the contents of her glass. “Is that why you’ve summoned us here?”

  “Yes. With Tariana and Lucyan both gone, you are the closest family I have.” His other sisters had already flown back to rejoin the troops—Catriona was still here only because her wounds had taken the longest to heal. He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “You both have spent time in Elvenhame recently. Do you have any reason to believe the elves are planning to backstab us?”

  Taldren shook his head. “Ryolas treated me well enough for a prisoner,” he said. “He was no crueler than he had to be, and he did release me.”

  “What of Arolas?” Drystan asked Catriona. “Have you ever had the occasion to meet him?” He’d run across the elven prince once or twice in his younger years, before the war—he was a smarmy bastard, used to getting his way, with a tendency to look down on others.

  “Arolas is a manipulative cunt,” Catriona spat, her eyes glowing with anger. “It’s a shame I never got to meet him in open battle. I would have made it my personal mission to run my sword through him.” Her hand clenched so hard around her glass it started to crack, and she quickly put it down before it exploded, to Drystan’s great relief. “He used to yank at my pigtails when I was a child, and once he forced me to sit on his lap for nearly an hour at a party. The pig was nearly a man by then—he had no right putting his hands on me at that age, or any other for that matter. Mother gave him a right scolding when she found him, and she never let him near me again, but…” She trailed off, shuddering a little. “I don’t know what he’s capable of, to be honest.”

  Drystan’s stomach roiled at the picture Catriona painted. “And I’ve sent Dareena into the clutches of that monster?” He groaned, putting his face in his hands.

  “Dareena has Alistair to protect her,” Taldren reminded him. “She will be fine.”

  “Not if Alistair is being incapacitated by that foul spell,” Catriona pointed out. “I don’t really expect Arolas to try anything with her—she is a valuable hostage, after all, and unless he cuts out her tongue he knows she will tell you all about it at the first opportunity. But as far as the treaty…it’s hard to say. King Andur will keep his word, but Arolas is manipulative, and he has the king’s ear now. He will have done his best to ensure that the king fucks us as hard as he can with this deal.”

  “Bloody fantastic,” Drystan growled. He had half a mind to seek out the elf delegation and send them back to the elven king as a jar of ashes, but that wouldn’t get Dareena back. He talked with Taldren and Catriona for a little longer, but since Drystan couldn’t tell them the full extent of the situation, they weren’t much help. Tired of going around in circles, Drystan sent them away, then gave in to his urge to hide under the covers and took a long nap, ordering his valet to wake him an hour before his supper meeting.

  By the time he went down to meet the elves for supper, he was feeling somewhat better, his raging headache reduced to mere tension in his neck and shoulders. To his great annoyance, Lucyan had still not returned—he knew his brother had said nightfall, but Drystan had hoped he would be back sooner so he wouldn’t have to endure these negotiations alone. Lucyan was far better at this sort of thing.

  The elves were already waiting in the dining room when he arrived—two men and two women. They rose as he entered, and he greeted them individually, shaking their hands and noting their cold stares and smug smiles. Perhaps they’d been taking lessons from Arolas, Drystan thought as he seated himself at the head of the table. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn the prince had picked the delegates himself, or at least nudged his father into selecting the ones of his choosing. Rumor had it that the High King had not been himself since he’d jailed Ryolas—it was very likely that, in his grief, it was far easier for Arolas to manipulate him than it had been in the past.

  The five of them made small talk as they were served a full seven-course meal, starting with a clear, spicy soup and working their way to the main entrée, a tender roast duck that melted in the mouth, served with new potatoes and a side of cabbage sprouts. The tension in the room was so thick, Drystan could have sliced it with a serving spoon, and it only seemed to grow the closer they got to the end of the meal.

  Finally, when the table had been cleared and dessert was brought out, the conversation turned to business. “Thank you for this splendid meal,” Lord Parkas, a raven-haired elf with a long, hooked nose, said. “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

  “It’s the least I can do after you’ve traveled all this way,” Drystan said graciously. “I hope you’ve found your rooms comfortable.”

  “We have,” Lady Maliwood, a gray-eyed elf with fire-red hair cropped close to the nape of her neck, said. “It’s a shame we’ll only be enjoying them for a single evening, but we must be on our way in the morning.”

  “Of course.” Drystan inclined his head. “I assume you have a list of terms drawn up.”

  The delegates nodded. “Pre-signed by the king,” Lord Thranar said, pulling a scroll from his sleeve. He passed it up the table to Drystan. “Sign it now, and you’ll have your brother and your Dragon’s Gift safe and sound in the Keep walls by tomorrow night.”

  The thought sent a pang of longing through Drystan, but he hid it behind a mask of indifference as he opened the scroll. Sure enough, King Andur’s seal was affixed to the bottom, and there was a line for Drystan to sign as well. Andur had assumed that he was king after what Drystan had said to Lady Valenhall, so no other signatures were required, though he would have to speak to the council before he signed off on anything.

  He wondered how things would work once the four of them were reunited. Would all of them have to sign off on everything? Or would they each be delegated to handle certain types of matters, and only ones of the utmost importance would require a vote between them? They would have to hash all that out when Dareena and Alistair returned.

  One thing at a time, Drystan, he told himself, and pushed the thought out of his mind. He carefully read the demands, and his eyes grew wider with every line. The salient points were:

  That Dragonfell give its unconditional surrender.

  That the Dragon Force be reduced to a quarter of its current number and only used to defend Dragonfell’s borders.

  That during this time, Dragonfell will allow itself to be occupied by the Elven Host, who would provide “protection” from outside kingdoms.

  That a permanent envoy from Elvenhame be installed in Dragonfell’s court.

  That Dragonfell will pay the sum of a hundred thousand gold crowns for the safe return of Alistair and Dareena, plus a ten percent tax for the next five hundred years in war reparations.

  “This is absurd!” Drystan exclaimed. He snapped the scroll shut and handed it back to the delegates, resisting the urge to tear it into tiny scraps and shove it down their throats. “A hundred thousand gold crowns, plus ten percent? Your king
is out of his mind.”

  “I believe it is your king who has recently lost his mind, not ours,” Lady Eanor, the delegate sitting on his left, said with a smirk. “Our king is quite well, and he understands how valuable your Dragon’s Gift is. He said to tell you that if the terms for their release are unpalatable to you, that he will accept fifty thousand crowns instead, and that Alistair would be released in ten years after working off the remainder of the debt.”

  “And if I refuse?” Drystan asked, sounding far calmer than he felt.

  “Then you will never see them again,” Lord Parkas said simply.

  Dead silence descended upon the room as Drystan frantically scrambled for a solution. Even if he did recover the treasure, did they really have enough to cover such an outlandish sum? He would do anything to get Dareena back, but the thought of beggaring the kingdom…and not to mention the ridiculous request about quartering their army…

  “What if I paid the ransom in land instead of gold?” Drystan finally said.

  The delegates exchanged surprised glances. “What land do you have to give?” Lord Thranar asked. “Are you prepared to relinquish part of Dragonfell itself?”

  “No,” Drystan said. “But there is a province in the west called Dawnfall that we conquered some centuries ago. Though it belongs to us, we do not technically consider it a part of Dragonfell.”

  “Dawnfall is not a very large province,” Lady Eanor said with some disdain. “Surely you could offer us something better?”

  “I would also be willing to throw in Kalakas Island,” Drystan said.

  The elves leaned in, their eyes gleaming with interest. Kalakas Island had belonged to them some two thousand years ago before the inhabitants had declared their independence and managed to free themselves from elven rule. Not fifty years later, Dragonfell had swooped in and taken it for their own, and the elves had wanted it back ever since.

  “I must say, I am quite surprised by your counteroffer,” Lady Maliwood finally said. “It is well-known that dragons hoard their gold jealously, but they are even more possessive of their land. Why is it that you would rather not pay us?”

  Drystan shrugged. “As I said, those two pieces of land are not truly part of Dragonfell, and Kalakas Island was originally an elven territory. My father was a warmonger, no doubt about it, but I assure you, my lords and ladies, that my brothers and I do not share his bloodthirsty tendencies. I throw in Kalakas Island in the hopes that you will consider it a gesture of goodwill. I will, of course, insist upon certain trade agreements, but overall I think it is quite a good deal.”

  There was another beat of silence as the elves considered this. “We are not authorized to negotiate territory or trade concessions,” Lord Parkas finally said. “We will need to send a missive to our king and wait for instructions.”

  Drystan gave them a wide smile. “I guess you will be staying more than one night after all then,” he said, getting to his feet and signaling the end of the meal. He had no intention of handing over any lands—he simply needed to offer them something to chew on to prevent them from hurting Dareena or Alistair. Hopefully Lucyan would have something useful to offer once he returned from wherever the hell he’d gone off to, preferably something that they could use to free their mate and sibling. Drystan was coming up empty. Unless his brother put that brilliant mind of his to use, they were well and truly fucked.

  13

  By the time Lucyan arrived at the cave, the sun had long set, and his stomach cramped with hunger. It was a damn good thing he hadn’t eaten breakfast before he’d left—the ritual for summoning the dragon god included fasting for an entire day. He’d drunk deep and often from his canteen during the journey, refilling it several times to keep the hunger pangs at bay, but with his extraordinarily high metabolism, fasting was particularly hard on him.

  “This had better be worth it,” he muttered as he dismounted from his horse.

  It had taken Lucyan quite a while to locate the cave in question—it was hidden halfway up the cliffside overlooking a vast lake thirty miles south of Paxhall. Since the pathway to the cave was narrow and treacherous, he left his horse at the top of the cliff rather than forcing him to wait directly outside. While the animal grazed, Lucyan stripped off his clothes and dunked himself into the cold, clear spring nearby, then changed into a fresh pair of clothes.

  He had to look his best for the dragon god, after all.

  Once he was presentable, Lucyan climbed back down to the small opening leading into the cave itself. He had to duck to enter, and even so, the moss hanging from the entrance slid over his hair like ghostly fingers, making him shudder. But the same sense of peace and contentment he’d felt at Targon Temple swept over him, and he let out the breath he’d been holding as the apprehension prickling at his scalp vanished.

  “All right,” Lucyan said, pulling the torch he’d picked up back in Paxhall from his belt. He blew a gentle stream of fire atop it, igniting the beeswax. He had to hold the torch low to keep from accidentally lighting the moss on fire—it seemed to hang everywhere, so thick it was almost as if Lucyan was staring at a forest while hanging upside down in the air. His keen ears picked up the sound of critters skittering about, but as he did not see or smell anything dangerous, he disregarded the noises and continued walking.

  About ten feet inside, Lucyan came upon a simple stone slab no higher than his waist. The sigil of the dragon god was carved into the flat surface. Lucyan frowned, wondering why there were no signs of previous offerings. Surely there would be something if his ancestors had visited this place, and yet the slab was as smooth and pristine as it had likely been the day it was carved. The hairs on the back of Lucyan’s neck rose as he placed a gold ring on the stone, then kneeled before the tiny altar and clasped his hands together.

  Please, Fiorlax, he prayed, invoking the dragon god’s name. Accept my offering, and speak to me as you have done with my ancestors.

  Lucyan didn’t know what to expect. The only reason he believed in the gods was because of Shalia’s Curse, but even so, he wasn’t much for prayer. Why hadn’t he sent Drystan to do this instead? He wasn’t as devout as Alistair, but since his younger brother wasn’t here, Drystan would have done just fine.

  He half-wondered if maybe he would feel a gentle gust of wind, a stirring in the air, maybe a whispered word. But there was no sign that the dragon god had heard him at all. The minutes passed in utter silence, the only sound in the cave that of his breathing and the movements of the critters who dwelled there.

  “This is ridiculous,” he finally said, when his knees started to ache in earnest. As he pushed himself to his feet, the air around him grew hazy. He gripped the wall, feeling woozy…

  I must admit, I had thought you would hold out longer than this, a deep voice echoed in his head. His vision blurred, and then everything around him changed. He was at the top of a mountain, his knees buried in several inches of snow, and he was so high up that there was only fog, the clouds obscuring the world below. And above, hanging in the sky, was a giant golden dragon with eyes of pure flame.

  “By the gods,” Lucyan croaked, his mouth dry. The dragon was at least a hundred feet tall, twice the size of his father, with a wingspan that seemed to stretch endlessly. Warmth radiated from the enormous beast, melting the snow around him into puddles and turning the frozen ground to mud.

  Did you think I was not real? The dragon cocked his giant head. There was no censure in his booming voice, only curiosity. That I would not come?

  “I…there was a moment…” Lucyan trailed off, not wanting to offend the god. Really, what was there to say? “Thank you for answering my prayers, Your Eminence,” he said, bowing his head.

  The god snorted, emitting a stream of fire from his nostrils that scorched the air. I cannot remember the last time anyone called me Your Eminence, he said. I quite like the sound of it.

  Lucyan’s lips twitched. “When was the last time you were called upon?”

  Three centuries ago,
by your great-grandfather, Barimius. He wished to know my opinion on what to get his wife for their twentieth anniversary.

  “You can’t be serious.” Lucyan gaped up at the dragon, certain that the god was pulling his leg. Had his ancestors really dared to bother the dragon god for something so trivial?

  The dragon god laughed. No, I am not, he admitted. Your grandfather and father have come to see me since then, though sporadically, and the last visit was some thirty years ago. But the conversation I had with Barimius was the last one I truly enjoyed. Once, I had a much closer relationship with my descendants than I do now.

  The dragon god’s voice carried genuine sadness, and pity stirred in Lucyan’s heart. “What did my father ask you the last time you spoke to him?” Had madness started to take root in him already?

  The dragon god was silent for a long moment. He came to beg me for a cure to the curse, he finally said. One of his daughters was in tears—she had fallen in love with a male and wanted to marry him, but she could not due to her inability to bear children.

  Lucyan went still, remembering Tariana’s story. She hadn’t seemed very distraught when she’d told them about Ryolas’s offer of marriage being shot down in flames, but if it had really been so many decades ago, she would have buried those feelings deep. Could his father have come here seeking answers on his eldest daughter’s behalf?

  Unfortunately, I was unable to give your father the answer he sought, as the time was not right. But it would seem that your Dragon’s Gift has found what he could not. The dragon god smiled, baring rows of sharp teeth that sparkled like diamonds.

  Lucyan’s heart leapt. “So, you really did intend for all three of us to wed Dareena, then?” That the dragon god had given him a real answer was more than he could have hoped for.