Iris's Guardian (White Tigers of Brigantia Book 2)

by Lisa Daniels

  Other princesses took up the chant, and Xanthia, protesting shrilly and attempting to kick and flail, was dragged up the stairwell by the other princesses, taken to the fifth floor, and gagged with several layers of cloth. They tugged painfully into her mouth and her cries became muffled. Her hands got bound by cloth as well, and once thrown into the bare wardrobe, she heard Vanessa yelling for the others to bind it. Xanthia considered trying to tip it over, but realized rapidly if she succeeded, she’d trap herself further.

  Instead she waited, fuming, trying to gnaw at the fabric, which became wet between her teeth as she attempted to control her breathing.

  Soon, the princesses left, no doubt to savor Mokkan’s defeat, get themselves all released, and probably inform the Questers that Xanthia got freed earlier or ran away or something.

  Furious at the injustice, Xanthia found herself sighing in exasperation. She understood why the others acted as they did. Through jealously, through a need to feel better about themselves by crushing someone else into the dirt. Through doing something, just because they could.

  In short, exactly how she behaved to everyone else. Including her younger and tomboyish sister, Ruelle.

  I can’t believe I’m on the other side of this. She tried shaking herself free, but to no avail.

  If Mokkan’s dead, and I can’t get out of here, I might even die. The thought sent her into mild panic. She did her best to control it and stay calm, because panicking never did much for successful escapes. The darkness pressed into her, even as a tiny slice of light revealed itself through the gap where the doors closed. Tentatively shoving it, she found she could only budge it a few millimeters. Somehow, those bitches had managed to secure it really tight.

  She didn’t know how much time passed. She heard nothing from below and couldn’t untie her hands or force the rag from her mouth. It felt as if it was slowly sawing its way through her lips. A bleak sense of despair instilled itself in her, and she sighed, closing her eyes, tears leaking out and trailing down her face.

  Presently, she heard a scratching noise from outside. She fluttered her weary eyes open.

  Did I drift off? Unsure of the answer, her heart gave a leap of hope when she heard inquisitive squeaks from outside. She responded with a muffled “Help!”

  Squeaks answered. There was silence for a moment. Then the squeaks intensified, and she heard scratching all along the cupboard. Bless their little mouse hearts, they were trying to free her!

  She waited with ignited hope in her veins, and the moments passed, before the mice successfully gnawed their way through the bindings holding the wardrobe together.

  Not wanting to crush any of the mice, Xanthia waited patiently until they prised it open themselves and got to work gnawing through the rags on her mouth and wrists.

  She’d never even consider hurting another mouse again, or owning a cat, or anything that threatened their beautiful little lives. She was free within moments from the swarm of mice working away at her, and she hugged a few of them gratefully.

  “Thank you!” Her voice came out hoarse, dry. She placed the mice back down and rubbed at her red, raw wrists, sighing. Now she needed to get out.

  Once the mice had cleared a path, she staggered out of the closet. Her first thought was to immediately go down to the bottom floor. Maybe she’d be in time for a rescue. Or maybe she’d find all the princesses sitting there in a mournful heap at having their dreams crushed for the umpteenth time.

  Either way, the faster she got down there, the faster she’d find out. Her blood pulsed in her ear, until the sound of her heart beating overwhelmed everything else. Down the spiral staircase, awkwardly because her limbs still needed to wake up, she made it to the bottom – and her heart sank like a stone.

  She saw no princesses. The door in the wall stood open and she spotted Mokkan on the floor, as still as death in his dragon form.

  Stepping through the door, she noticed his ransacked home, with all the beautiful decorations yanked off, and the little room where he kept all his treasures opened and emptied. Everything was stripped and gone, and the mighty dragon, capturer of princesses, lay slain.

  Xanthia could now escape. Sure, she’d be doing it without the aid of a Quester, and stood a chance of getting recaptured the moment she entered daylight… but the option existed.

  She crouched by Mokkan, with his normally green, scaly face swollen up like a blueberry. She touched his snout with her palm, checking for any signs of life, feeling a little sorry for him.

  For a dragon, he was nice enough.

  His eyelids fluttered open, and he gave a great heave of air. Startled, Xanthia stepped back as Mokkan began coughing weakly, his scaly body shuddering.

  His eyes focused on Xanthia. He bared his teeth and spluttered, “P-p-potion. I-in my kitchen. B-bottom drawer.”

  Unsure what else to do, Xanthia nodded and went into the kitchen to locate the potion, wondering if it’d been looted. The bottom drawer was full of pots and pans, and she rummaged through them until locating a glimmering red potion in a tiny bottle.

  Then, with trembling hands, she returned to the huge dragon and helped tip the entire vial onto his tongue. The pink appendage swished backward, swallowing the liquid. A moment later, she saw the bruises disappearing. The potion did the work, and Mokkan sighed in relief as the pain left him.

  “They took them all,” he said, still lying there, eyes huge and sad, making him oddly huggable. “All the beautiful princesses I collected over the years, gone. All my efforts… for nothing. They cost me so much. And it didn’t help with making friends.” He sounded as if he wanted to cry, and the self-pitying started to irritate Xanthia. She’d heard quite enough of it from herself and the other royal bitches for a lifetime. She didn’t want to hear an adult dragon wail about it as well. Then, as if noticing something, he turned his snout to see her better out of his side-eye. “Wait. Why are you here?”

  “The other princesses tied me up and locked me in a closet. They didn’t like me very much.”

  “Oh.” Her response upset him. “So you didn’t stay for me?”

  Ah, shit. I could have said I stayed, couldn’t I? Just to stop him sniffling. “Even if they didn’t lock me up, I didn’t enjoy watching that fight. You were seriously outnumbered.”

  “Yeah.” He exhaled, and a puff of smoke left his nostrils. “It’s been like that for a while. I’ve actually run out of revives and auto heals. Presumably… they’ve looted my treasury as well.”

  “Yes.” Xanthia shrugged apologetically. “I’m quite afraid you have nothing.”

  He shifted his serpentine neck to examine the living room, then with a strangled sob, he stomped into the room, seeing everything smashed, his decorations ruined. “I had this picture in my family for three generations! Those beasts!”

  A beast calling humans beasts? The irony was not lost on Xanthia, though she now wondered if all dragons reacted like this once they lost their princesses. Or whether they usually struck deals with the people who defeated them, instead of getting robbed by a ravenous horde of elated Questers.

  I can’t believe I’m even considering this. He seemed rather less like a monster than a creature which had just lost everything it had ever worked for. She opened her mouth, hesitant, before saying, “You’ve not lost everything.”

  Mokkan’s tail twitched like a snake. He took a deep breath, before facing Xanthia and saying, “I’ve not?”

  I’m insane. I’m actually insane. “I’m here. You still have a princess. A princess people aren’t going to be looking for in a while.” Because I bet my left eye Vanessa spread her lies about me far and wide. “You have food. Water. A bed. A bath. And you can slowly start building up your treasures again. And still have a princess to elevate your position in, uh, dragon society?”

  Mokkan clung onto her words like a baby monkey, his eyes shining for a moment. “You won’t leave me?”

  “Not for now. You were kind to me when the others kicked me around. I mean
, I’m annoyed I’m here in the first place, but I suppose I could have been taken by a worse dragon.”

  Xanthia gulped as Mokkan transformed into his human form, revealing the handsome man with the green eyes and the short red hair. His thin lips spread in a smile.

  She continued speaking, forming her thoughts into coherence. “I’ll stay and help you rebuild, at least. After that, will you allow me to be free?”

  Mokkan nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Of course! Of course. I was defeated. You’re officially free, anyway. Thank you, Xanthia.” He stepped over to her and grasped her hands in his, warmth travelling between them. “Thank you so much.”

  Xanthia smiled thinly in return, utterly convinced she’d just made the worst mistake of her life.

  However, seeing him smile helped dispel some of those raging thoughts, enough to control her panic and focus on helping the distraught dragon perhaps rebuild his home.

  Chapter Three

  No longer locked in a tower having to deal with a lunatic hierarchy of disgruntled royals, Xanthia found it easier to think and better to live. She had the entire tower to herself and a choice of rooms, an army of little mice to help bring her things and who loved helping her out at every opportunity – and a contrite dragon who ended up collaborating with her on how best to refurbish the cave and make it a worthwhile place to dwell in.

  Xanthia never got choices like this back at home. Everything existed, already made and set out for her, so she never got a chance to challenge or question the glamor around her. Here, with nothing, and the possibility to decorate, it made her excited and eager to stick around, at least long enough to see her efforts become reality.

  “The issue is,” Mokkan said, while they both examined a sketched diagram of what Xanthia thought Mokkan should do, “that I have nothing to bargain with at the moment. Witches demand artifacts, as do goblins and any good craftsmen. Until we sort out that issue, we’re stuck only with low level Quests and shady traders.”

  Xanthia considered “selling” herself off to dragons and then simply getting Mokkan to break her out again, but it would provide more trouble than it was worth. At least she had a bed, a bath, and regular food brought to her. Whether that merited her going out of her way to help him still remained in contention, but for now, she wanted to help.

  At least he’s good to look at, though I probably would have assisted either way. I’m a sucker for this kind of thing.

  “I guess you’ll have to stick with Quests, or raiding some of the kingdoms.”

  Mokkan shrugged. “I suppose. I won’t be able to steal gold. And it’s hit and miss if I can find a princess to keep or sell.”

  On second thought, I don’t want to put another princess through this. “Leave out the kingdom-raiding for now. Low-level Quests. What do you have or know?”

  Mokkan tapped his finger against the crudely drawn architect map. His green eyes furrowed, and the way he scrunched up his lips looked strange but endearing at the same time on his bulk of a body. He packed some serious muscles, honestly. Xanthia’s eyes wandered over them often, sometimes contemplating what they could do. Such as pick up a heavy weight. Punch through wooden walls. Pick her up and pin her on the bed, as the both of them became tangled up in silk and sweat.

  She fanned herself discreetly, trying to fight back the flush in her cheeks like the impact of wind against fire, though Mokkan didn’t appear to notice.

  “There are a few Quests I know of, running right now. And there are always travelling mystics who will inform you of additional ones.”

  “Here’s an idea. Find Quests that will get me gear. Armor. Weapons. Flight. Anything to make it possible for me to assist on low-level ones as well. And point me to a mystic. I can help.”

  “Hmm.” Mokkan nodded thoughtfully, mulling over her idea. “I can do that. Give me a week or two. I have a lot of farming to do.”

  “Deal,” Xanthia said. “And, uh… if you can find out what happened to my sister as well, that’d be great. From the… auction.”

  “Which one was she?” Mokkan asked, neither rejecting her request nor confirming he intended to go through with it.

  “Short. Short blonde hair. Looks like she wants to murder you. Oh, and she tried to escape but got caught by that bodyguard dragon.”

  “Ah. That one. Yes, I’ll ask.” Mokkan stalked into the kitchen, checking inside one of the undamaged cauldrons for whatever simmered away in there. “Okay, here’s food. Do what you can to tidy up, though I think we’ve tackled most of it by now. And I’ll start hunting down some Quests.”

  Xanthia waved him goodbye with a smile, before the expression collapsed, and she slumped herself on a sofa.

  Am I really doing this? Am I really helping this dragon?

  Apparently, she was. If my sisters back home found out about this, I’d be a laughing stock. I’d have put all our years together dreaming about princes and being rescued to shame. And my parents would be shocked with me.

  She shook her head violently and ran her palms over her face. Several of the mice were now pooling around her, and one squeaked in concern.

  “It’s okay,” she said to the squeaker, who twitched tiny whiskers and flicked its tail into a question mark. “I’m just thinking of what to do. We have a lot to decorate and get clean, don’t we? Do you mice have Quests as well?”

  The lead mouse nodded solemnly.

  “Right. Quests for food and avoiding mousetraps, probably.” Again, a nod.

  Xanthia smiled, getting herself up and ready to start tidying up. Her, looking forward to it. Well, if pigs could fly, so could she.

  Transforming the house for Mokkan took all her energy, and she also held a vision for a new look of the tower – instead of it being a mess of twenty lonely rooms, she wanted to make them more like an inn. A grand, luxurious place with decent facilities, and somewhere for Mokkan’s guests to drop by. She also wanted to establish a gaming area of sorts for him, to give friends more of an excuse to stay around, to play card games or those strange little board games where people pretended to be characters hunting for treasure.

  Over the next week, Mokkan blitzed Quest after Quest, accumulating little things and gear for Xanthia, so she could start with Quests of her own.

  Armed with Leaf Wings – not the best flying item that existed, but something that allowed her to fly for a few minutes at a time before she needed to land to recharge them – mithril armor, an invisibility ring, a Quest detector complete with a rating meter, and a spark wand that fired electricity from the tip, she now started helping with Quests.

  Venturing out into the Wilderness sent her quivering with fear the first time. The invisibility ring would be how she escaped from threatening situations, and Mokkan had promised to deliver her a teleport ring once he completed the Prince in the Mountain Quest. She looked around the local area, and her Quest meter vibrated with possibility. Steeling herself, she committed to the nearest Quest.

  In one day, she’d managed to kiss three frogs who had once been witches from a bygone age before being cursed by their own spells, rescued a giant’s cat from a cliff edge where it clung desperately to some twigs, and did some shopping for a troll by collecting gloomseeds for his garden.

  Her net reward from these low-level Quests wasn’t much, but she then traded all the trinkets to procure a goblin crew for the day to help renovate the cave.

  All the trading around and scampering for items felt addictive.

  The goblins worked magnificently, reshaping the entire cave with their peculiar brand of magic, adding soft orange lighting everywhere. The tower went through the biggest reshaping, now becoming more like an inn, complete with a bar (no drinks, though), a resting area, spa rooms, and spacious bedrooms with some free furniture thrown in. They expanded the treasury as well, adding shelves to help display some of the artifacts Mokkan planned to accumulate at some point in the future. They also gave her a bottle of blackthorn ale for being such a gracious client.

  Mo
kkan came back to the transformation, and grew so elated at the sight that he grabbed Xanthia in a massive hug and spun her around. Her blonde hair flew out behind her.

  “You’re amazing! You did this with two days of Questing? Wow!”

  Xanthia grinned idiotically, happy that Mokkan liked her efforts so much. It made her time worthwhile, and to see an impact, the association of her hard work converting into something visible, hooked her to the idea of seeing it through to the end.

  Of contributing to something, instead of sitting around and having everything handed to her.

  It worked best when she didn’t focus too long on the easy life she once held.

  One month of hard grinding for Quests, and though the treasury wasn’t nearly as full as it used to be, Mokkan’s cave now looked like the inside of a palace, complete with fortifications and curses.

  Both of them were sprawled out on one of the new plush red sofas, toasting their efforts with glasses of goblin-brewed blackthorn ale, both heading more towards the tipsy realm, exceeding what would have been appropriate for a princess.

  “And then, I told that stupid troll that if he didn’t give up the location of the princess, I’d hang him from a tree by his ridiculous pink hair and smear honey all over him. He gave up that princess so fast, you’d have thought I’d threatened to burn his whole family alive. So that’s the secret with trolls. Threaten their hair, get everything.” Mokkan burped, raising up his glass. Xanthia’s legs draped over Mokkan’s lap, and she laughed and clinked glasses with him.

  “Who would have thought this Questing business was so fun? I can see why some people want to be Questers forever. It’s wonderful! So much better than sitting around and bitching about other people. We have an amazing place.”

  At the mention of we, Mokkan’s smile widened, becoming shy. “Yes. We’ve done a lot to make it wonderful. And the mice, too.”

  A satisfied squeak resounded from under the sofa.