Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  Dismissing the thought, she knelt and went back to feeding kindling into the fire. A few minutes later, she heard Hawk's footsteps approaching again. He wasn't limping, she realized. The bath must have helped.

  "What do you suppose the dragons need Yarro for?" she asked as he poured water into a kettle and set it next to her.

  "I don't know. The stories don't say anything about them needing people."

  "They don't say anything about the dragons having retreated to a Shrouded Vale in the middle of the desert, either," Azmei said. She paused. "We always thought the war with Strid was about the mines. Do you suppose they were actually looking for dragons?"

  Hawk sat cross-legged on the floor near her. "I'd never thought about it." He began rooting around in his pack, his tone turning dark. "The first place they attacked was the mines, though. That seems like a good clue that it was about the mines."

  Azmei nodded, wondering if she'd upset him. He wasn't looking up at her. He'd grown up in the Kreyden, hadn't he? He looked to be about thirty, though she wasn't the best judge of age. He might remember the start of the war.

  "Tea?" he said, without looking at her.

  "I'll make some." She found the leather pouch that held the most expensive of her teas. This was a spicy tea that tasted best when brewed with milk added, but was still sweet and spicy without it. She hadn't had any since leaving Meekin, but she needed something comforting tonight.

  The conversation dwindled as they focused on their tasks. Azmei measured out the tea and got the water heating. Hawk toasted bread over the flames, letting cheese melt over it. By the time supper was ready, evening had fallen outside. A cricket was chirping somewhere in the stable. Aside from that, the only sounds were rustling straw and the breathing of horses.

  "You grew up in the desert, didn't you?" Azmei asked softly.

  Hawk nodded and swallowed the food he was chewing. "A town called Hedron. Three hundred or so souls, Tamnese, Strid, and mixed." He looked down at his toast. "I've been in the desert most of my life, except when I went to Tamnen City."

  "Even Strid?" Azmei asked. She'd never been to Strid; it had been the one place Master Tanvel had refused to take her with him. Too much at stake, he'd said at the time. She swallowed hard and poured the tea. It must be brewed by now.

  "The part they held me in, yes," Hawk said. His voice was soft. "I've heard further south it's more fertile and green."

  "What are the Strid like?" She poured a second cup of tea and set it on the floor by his knee.

  He shrugged. "People, mostly. Some good, some not so good. It wasn't too awful. They did heal me."

  "The leg?" she asked. She'd wondered about that. She was glad it hadn't been torture. She didn't like to think of someone hurting Hawk like that.

  He looked away from her. "I was left for dead on the field after the Push. Someone recognized me, thought I'd make a good hostage." He paused. "I suppose eventually I did."

  Azmei shivered. There had never been prisoner exchanges before, that she could recall. If her father hadn't pursued this one, she might never have met Hawk. "How was my brother when you left him?" she asked.

  He cleared his throat. "Anxious for your father's sake. The reports said the king was badly injured in the attack."

  When Azmei looked over at him, he was frowning down at his cup. "Tanvel meant to protect Father," she said. "He thought he'd worked out..." She trailed off. If her father had been injured, Tanvel must be dead. She swallowed hard. "Something must have gone wrong. Is the tea all right?"

  He looked up, eyes wide. "Yes, it's nice. Different from what we've been drinking."

  She fought not to smile at him. She had smiled a lot at him today. He would start to think she was silly.

  "Prince Razem didn't know you're still alive," he said, studying her face.

  "He might now. He'll have reached the palace by now, won't he? Tanvel told my father right after the attack on me. Maybe Father will tell him now." Azmei brushed her hair back behind one ear. "Oh, gods, I hope I made the right decision." Tanvel had thought it best, and he had carried the word to her father. He had reported later that her father agreed, but what if he'd said that to make her feel better?

  "What else could you have done?" Hawk said. "I'm sure your brother will agree."

  Azmei didn't answer. She sipped her tea and stared at the fire. With the sun down, its warmth was pleasant. She suddenly felt very tired.

  "What will you do now?" Hawk asked after a time. Azmei looked up from the fire, staring in his direction as her eyes cleared from the dazzlement. She didn't know what he was asking.

  "Will you come back and be the princess again?" he said, when it was clear she wasn't going to speak.

  Azmei had no answer to that. She cupped both hands around her mug of tea and looked back at the fire. "You think it's Aris, don't you? My cousin Arisanat."

  He didn't protest her changing the subject. "My lady, he's the only one who could have sent those mercenaries after me. I'm not important enough, in myself, so the only reason anyone could want me dead is to protect whatever was in Meekin."

  She huffed in frustration. "But I didn't find anything there!"

  He was silent for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. When she glanced over at him, he was watching her, the firelight flickering in those charcoal eyes. "You found Yarro."

  "Oh, gods save the foolish." She jumped up and scrabbled at her pack. "I did find something, and I'd forgotten about it until just now."

  Hawk had risen to his knees. "What?"

  "Before I killed the Patriarch. There was a packet of papers in a hidden drawer. I took it with me to look at later, but then I was searching for Yarro, and I completely forgot about it." Her fingers closed on the smooth parchment. She drew it out and cut the string with a dagger.

  "Kesh, the last of Yar's family, said it was one of the Nine who commissioned my death. A man, but that was all he knew." She knelt next to Hawk and opened the packet of papers.

  The first was a contract for an assassination in the Long Coast. Azmei turned to the next page, which was a shipping schedule—canal boats traveling between Meekin and Tamnen City. The third was a letter. As Azmei stared at it, her hand began to shake. Her eyes fuzzed with tears. She scrubbed impatiently at them.

  "It's Arisanat's handwriting," she whispered. Even after four years, she would know it. He'd always done that funny corner with his capital letters.

  Hawk leaned in closer, his hand closing around hers and holding the paper so they could both read it. She closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of his skin instead of the ache at Arisinat's betrayal.

  "Patriarch," Hawk read aloud. "I wish to commission your family's services. I will not discuss the particulars except in person, but I assure you the contract will be worth a princess' ransom. My messenger will tell you the meeting I propose. Send your reply with the messenger. With all due respect, A Prospective Customer."

  Azmei dragged in a ragged breath. "You were right," she whispered.

  Hawk's arm slipped around her shoulders. "For once, I wish I weren't."

  ***

  Yarro had often wondered what it would be like to fly. He had watched the swallows swooping over rooftops in Meekin and had imagined himself darting like a dragonfly. He had never believed he would experience it one day for himself. It was better than he could ever have imagined, and for a wonder, his mind was his own the entire time Darixu carried him to the mountaintop.

  The ponderous wings beat slowly and steadily, carrying them forward so quickly the ground blurred under them. The wind blew Yar's hair back from his face and made his eyes stream with tears, but he turned his face up to the sun and laughed. Under his legs, he felt Darixu rumble with laughter, too, and the great golden dragon folded his wings, plummeting for several heart-tumbling moments before snapping them wide and coming out of the dive.

  Yar shrieked, clutching at the thick, craggy scales, but he didn't stop grinning. Orya had made him feel loved, and Azmei ha
d made him feel accepted, but Darixu made Yar feel whole for the first time in his life. It was like his mind had been divided all his life until now, and the pieces of himself were finally coming together.

  Darixu let out a long bellow. Then they were climbing, the wings beating powerfully so they began gaining altitude. Yar leaned forward over the great shoulders, inhaling the crisp smoke and sulfur of Darixu's scales, and wept.

  Another being pressed gently against his awareness. It was a light touch, but it slithered warmly against his thoughts. DISTRESS?

  "No," he whispered, not knowing if the Slithery Voice heard him. But the gentle pressure withdrew, so it must have.

  Then Darixu soared down, all four legs outstretched to touch down more gracefully than seemed possible. They were not quite at the mountain's peak, but a huge ring of stones indicated that this was their destination. On each of the blocky menhirs perched another dragon.

  A slender, serpentine dragon with scales the color of new grass stretched its neck out, flickering a tongue at Yar. LITTLE BROTHER, WELCOME, she said, and he recognized the Slithery Voice. She was beautiful, something he hadn't anticipated from hearing her in his head. Her eyes were a deep, swirly silver, her leathery wings edged with a feathery fringe along the primary bone. I AM XELLAX.

  Yar slid down Darixu's front leg and tumbled into a deep bow. "Greetings, elder brothers and elder sisters," he said. "I am Yarro Perslyn."

  There was a murmur of laughter, but it was Azmei's sort of laughter, not the kind of laughter Yar had received from Rith and Kesh. Gentle, warm. Enveloping.

  NO, LITTLE BROTHER. YOU WERE YARRO PERSLYN. NOW YOU ARE YARRAX, VOICE OF DRAGONS.

  He staggered upright, staring around at them. Voice of Dragons? What did that mean?

  A deep blue dragon lifted his head and sang out his name—VETTERIX. Yar recognized his voice as a kind one that liked warm sunshine and listened to Yar's daydreams. A red dragon with black-edged scales—REXIEL, he roared—was a voice that had come during his nightmares and whispered that all would be well. Xerin was a bulky midnight green dragon with a ridge of spines down his back who had given Yar dreams of heroes. Inlux was a delicate bronze creature, only twice the size of a horse, with wings that looked almost lacy in the scarlet sunset.

  WELCOME, LITTLE BROTHER. Xellax leapt into the air and dropped lightly to the ground in front of him. IT FILLS US WITH JOY TO SEE YOU IN THE FLESH AFTER SO MANY YEARS OF WATCHING FROM AFAR.

  Yar took a deep breath, bending backwards and craning his neck so he could see all of Xellax. His heart was pounding so quickly he felt light-headed. "You are all...so much more than I ever dreamed," he breathed.

  WE TRIED TO SHOW OURSELVES TO YOU, BUT THE DISTANCE WAS TOO GREAT, said Darixu. Yar turned to stare up at him. Dizzied by the height of the dragon towering above him, he swayed. Darixu lowered his head. AND YOU WERE UNPREPARED. YOUR MIND COULD NOT TAKE US IN.

  Something smooth, like a marble sculpture, pressed against Yar's back. It was cool when the bare skin of his forearm brushed against it. Yar peered over his shoulder to see that Xellax had delicately placed one talon where it would support him. His heart twisted and he smiled painfully at her.

  IT WAS DARIXU WHO TOLD US TO CALL YOU, she crooned in his mind. HE IS OUR LEADER, THE ELDEST OF US AND—USUALLY—THE WISEST.

  Yar couldn't help laughing. He was relieved when he felt laughter from the golden dragon, too.

  TRUE, BUT XELLAX IS THE DRAGON WHO FELT YOU FIRST. SHE SAW YOUR POTENTIAL, SHE CALLED YOU WHEN YOU WERE YET A BABE. Darixu lowered his head until his snout glittered just a few feet from Yar's face. His breath smelled like a blacksmith's furnace. His teeth were easily as long as Yar's arms. XELLAX WATCHED YOU GROW. SHE TRIED TO HARDEN YOU, TO PREPARE YOU FOR US.

  A warm, dry wind ruffled Yar's hair, blowing it over his forehead, and he realized Xellax had sighed. WE DID NOT ANTICIPATE HOW OUR CALL WOULD CHANGE YOU.

  Yar looked down at the ground. Freak, whispered a voice that sounded like his brother's. Lackwit. Idiot. Monster. "I hated being different."

  Xellax's nose brushed his hair. IT WAS NOT WHAT WE WISHED FOR YOU. WE MEANT TO BRING YOU STRENGTH, NOT TO DIVIDE YOUR MIND FROM ITSELF. Yar could feel the deep sorrow in her words. He sighed.

  IT HAD BEEN TOO LONG SINCE WE HAD A VOICE, said Darixu, lifting his head and backing several steps. WE HAD FORGOTTEN.

  Yar glared up at them. "It didn't help that you told me to eat my grandfather." You filled me with all these thoughts and urges I didn't understand, he wanted to shout at them. You ruined me! But they resonated sorrow and regret, and somehow he didn't have it in him to wound them.

  HE WAS WICKED, Xellax said simply.

  Yar straightened, standing away from her support. "He's dead. Azmei killed him." He folded his arms across his chest. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, either, but he couldn't change it, and now at least he was free of the Patriarch.

  Rexiel bugled, stretching his scarlet head to the sky. AZMEI OF TAMNEN HAS SERVED YOU WELL.

  Yar scowled, turning to face him. "She's a princess. Probably I ought to be serving her," he said. Though he didn't think most princesses would care one way or the other about a strange young man from a textile family—or even a family of assassins. Then again, Azmei didn't seem much like a princess at all.

  NAY. WHEN THE VOICE OF DRAGONS SPEAKS, THE WORLD SHOULD LISTEN. That was Darixu's Wise Uncle Voice, the one that quelled arguments and spoke the law.

  Yar was thirsty. He looked around and found a rock that would make a comfortable enough seat. "Dragons aren't exactly revered. For that matter, you're only even remembered as stories. No one sits around wondering what dragons think about this or that."

  Xellax gave a dry, whispery chuckle like the rasps of scales against stone. NO ONE MUCH REMEMBERS WE EXIST. BUT WE WILL REMIND THEM. Her tongue flickered out and licked her scaly lips.

  Yar sat up straight. "Are you going to take over the world?"

  Laughter rumbled around the circle of dragons. TOO MUCH TROUBLE, said Vetterix, letting herself drape down over her menhir.

  BUT WE KNOW THINGS, added Darixu. IMPORTANT THINGS. YOU MUST SPEAK FOR US, VOICE OF DRAGONS.

  Yar stared at him, but the dragon sat calmly, his metallic eyes reflecting light back at him. The other dragons all looked serious as well. Yar spread his hands to either side. "How?"

  YOU WILL FIND A WAY, Xellax assured him.

  FIRST THERE MUST BE THE JOINING. Darixu stood, spreading his wings so they stretched like a canopy over Yar's head. YOU WILL KNOW US MORE FULLY ONCE WE ARE JOINED. WE WILL NOT OVERWHELM YOU AS MUCH THEN.

  Yar wanted to cover his face and hide. He wanted to curl up inside his cloak and pretend the world didn't exist. But where would he retreat to escape from the dragons? They had been in his head all his life. Where would he go?

  Did he even have a choice? What if he refused, would they kill him? Make him a prisoner? Would they hurt Azmei and Firefoot and Hawk?

  Xellax lowered her head, meeting his gaze. Her smoke-silver eyes were full of sorrow, hope, and love. Yar had never felt that love when she was whispering to him of bloody things and revolution, but facing her now, he couldn't doubt it. He sighed and looked down.

  "All right. What do I do?"

  BLOOD AND FIRE. The words slid into his thoughts. He jerked his gaze up to Xellax again. She was watching him. She said nothing else.

  "B-blood?" His calf throbbed at the thought. But they said he wouldn't be overwhelmed by them if he did this. Wasn't that worth a little blood? "How?"

  BLOOD, Xellax whispered again, AND FIRE.

  "Fine!" he shouted. He drew his dagger from his belt and sliced it across the inside of his left forearm before he could think about it. The knife was a good one—even the freaks of the assassin family knew how to care for their weapons. The pain took several heartbeats to register. Xellax's head thrust forward, her tongue darting out. It licked across his arm, fire dancing along her tongue and searing the wound.

 
Yar screamed. The touch held him immobilized, his blood boiling in his veins and searing through his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like he was being turned inside out like a dirty shirt. Then something shifted inside him, something clicked into place, and the agony was past. His forearm pulsed where the dragon's tongue had scorched it, but when he pried one eyelid open and looked, only a white welt remained, its edges turning red. There was no blood.

  Yar stood panting and staring down at the arm. Now he had a scar on each arm, one from his childhood and one from the dragons. He looked up at Xellax again. He drew in a long breath.

  "I don't feel any different."

  "You will," Xellax replied. Her voice didn't hiss and echo around in the corners of his mind anymore. He could hear that quality about it, but he didn't want to cringe from the ill-fitting corners that used to poke his thoughts. "Rest, Yar. The dawn will come soon enough." She settled down on the ground, her serpentine body curling like a cat. She stretched out her wings and looked at him with open invitation.

  Yar crawled under her wings, snuggled against her side, and slept.

  Chapter 28

  Azmei woke only once in the night. She could hear Hawk breathing. She rolled onto her side, staring across the dark stall to where he sat, propped against a bale of hay. Was he standing watch? She didn't bother to fight the warm fondness that rose inside her at the thought. She nestled deeper into her blanket and let the sweet fragrance of the hay lull her back into sleep.

  She was up before dawn. She'd slept deeply and peacefully, but at the first thump of horses rattling their wooden feed buckets, she was fully awake. Hawk was no longer in his place. Azmei stood and stretched. The stable was dim, the first hints of light not yet reaching in as far as the stall they had chosen for their sleep. She wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. She buckled on her sword belt and went to find her companion.

  Hawk was out in front of the huge stone palace. He was stripped to the waist, going through a series of stretches that almost looked like combat forms. Azmei licked dry lips, wondering if that was something he'd learned in Strid, or a routine he'd devised himself. The rays of the rising sun limned his figure with gold. He was too skinny, probably from all the years spent in prison, but she couldn't ignore the lean strength of his body. Except for the slight limp, he was grace incarnate, and even that was a badge of honor, something he had earned in service to his kingdom.