by Colt, K. J.
They tried to fight back, but less than fifty men against hundreds of armed, trained soldiers was futile. Bastian urged them to put down their weapons. He didn’t want to lose any more men in a skirmish they couldn’t win. It wasn’t worth the loss of life. Each man had a friend or brother or wife who loved him the same way so many had loved Connor.
That hadn’t stopped five men dressed in black from knocking Bastian out. He hoped his men were being treated better than he was. Only the sway of the horse’s canter and the smell of its well-timed droppings pulled him out of his stupor. The turd shot down the pallet Bastian was tied to, landing on the top of his head and rolling down the side to his ear where it finally came to rest on his shoulder. The sweet and earthy smell invaded his senses. If it weren’t for the sharp scent of waste, he might have stayed asleep, lost in a dream of reuniting with Tressa.
Instead his head bonked on the wooden pallet any time it rolled over a rock. He’d have a headache, and not just from the beating.
His hands were bound at his stomach, but his head was free to loll about. He looked to his left, the poop still resided on the right shoulder, and groaned. The forest still surrounded him, the thatched roofs of taverns, inns, and shops danced above him, their roofs mingling with the trees. People milled in the street, taking a long gander at the man bound and dragged through town. They passed the tavern where he and Tressa had sat on their first day. Then came the town square where Connor had lost a battle he hadn’t even been able to fight.
He was back where he didn’t want to be. Bastian’s wrists couldn’t move. The rope only dug in deeper when he tried. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to come up with a new strategy. He’d always relied on his brawn, Connor’s words, and Tressa’s ideas. With his own ability hampered, he missed his friends even more. Together they had power, greater than any of the magic or dragons in the world. Apart, he felt useless. What good was muscle when he was tied up and unable to fight?
After fifteen large rocks, nine deep ruts, and a slight twinge of nausea, the horse came to a halt. It excreted once more, giving Bastian’s left shoulder its own companion.
Men in black uniforms with long swords stood over his pallet arguing.
“You cut him free from the pallet and Barden and I will hold him down.”
“No, you cut him free. I want to have my hands on him when we present him to the queen. I’m the one who knocked him out in the first place. I deserve that honor.”
“Only because you were lucky!”
“We’re brothers of the Black Guard, you shouldn’t be so concerned about how this makes you look.”
A set of hands burst through their argument and pushed them aside. “You three are pathetic.” The man, as large as Bastian, twice as wide, and as solid as a mountain jammed his foot into Bastian’s crotch.
Stars swam, swallowing the world into a bright vortex of pinks and blues. He vaguely felt the ropes fall and thump on the ground. His upper arms were surrounded by the tight grip of two men. Only then did the pressure on his crotch subside. The world slowly came back into focus.
“Walk! We aren’t going to drag you!”
Someone behind Bastian kicked the back of his knee, forcing his leg to bend. He stumbled, but kept his footing. One slow step followed by another and another.
“Good, good, keep it up now. A few flights of stairs and then you’ll be given a nice chair and a place to rest.” The guard guffawed and elbowed Bastian in the ribs.
Bastian ignored the pain radiating through his abdomen. He pushed away the fear over how much it hurt to breathe. Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step would get him closer to Stacia. Closer to the woman who’d killed his best friend. Step. Closer to the woman who’d turned his life upside down. Step. Closer to the woman who was probably about to kill him. Step. Closer to the woman whose neck he wanted to snap in two. Step.
They entered the castle. Like the horse, his muddy boots left their own gifts behind on the marble floors. He smiled in triumph. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Someone, other than the guards, would know he’d been here.
Bastian’s tongue dragged over his parched lips, sensing every ripped piece of flesh and tasting dried blood. He needed water. It was possible he’d never drink again. That they’d just kill him when they took him before the queen. It might be close to the end.
He flexed an arm, but it barely responded. He didn’t have the strength to fight back. At least not enough to win. But he’d fight until the last moment. That he knew deep in his soul. He wanted to win. He needed to win. He’d give everything he had to walk out of the castle alive.
Four flights of stairs later, the guards stopped outside a set of doors, three times taller than Bastian and carved with vines and swirls and flowers. It was beautiful. Exquisite. Far too delicate to contain a woman like Stacia.
The man who stood like a mountain and cast a shadow just as wide stepped between Bastian and the doorway. “You will stand before the queen and you will tell her how the fog fell. You will tell her why. You will tell her anything she asks or my foot won’t be on your nuts this time. It’ll be up your ass. I assure you, you don’t want that.”
So she was in there. Behind the doors as beautiful as a summer’s day. Bastian found that ironic. It was the last place he would have looked for her. Maybe that was the point. A beast hidden by beauty.
The doors swung wide open. One guard stood behind the queen, his breeches around his ankles, her dress lifted. “Come in. We’re almost done here.” She looked over her shoulder. “Well, finish up, will you?”
He stood there, jaw dropped, hands shaking on her hips.
“Intimidated by a little audience, are you? Then stop, by all means. I’ll get it done elsewhere.” Stacia elbowed him. The guard stumbled backward, his manhood limp. He fumbled with his breeches for a moment. Bastian couldn’t bear to watch. It was embarrassing for everyone by the reactions from the other guards. Perhaps Stacia was the only one who took it in stride. “And don’t leave. Stand next to me while they present the prisoner.”
The guard nodded. He attempted to stand up straight, but it was clear he’d been shamed in front of his fellow guards. Bastian almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Stacia walked away from her throne toward Bastian. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side. “I know you, don’t I?”
Bastian didn’t respond. He only stared, hoping against all hope that his strength would return. The closer she got, the more he ached to strangle her. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her snowy neck and squeeze until her eyes rolled in the back of her head and her last breath escape her red lips. His blood pumped. His eyes grew wider. Adrenaline filled his veins.
“You’re the boy I captured months ago.” One black fingernail danced across his chest. “Though not so much a boy anymore, are you? Remind me again why I let you go.”
Bastian’s lips didn’t move.
She laughed. “You weren’t as worthy as your friend. You may have been bigger, stronger, but your friend had a quality you always lacked. Perhaps it was intelligence.”
Stacia’s eyes searched Bastian’s face. He refused to offer a reaction.
“And there was a girl with you. A homely girl with brown hair and small breasts. Did the two of you run off into the forest together and drown yourselves in each other? Enjoy a little carnal snack based off bloodlust? Did seeing your friend die finally throw her into your arms?”
She pulled her hand back and laughed. “It did. I can see that in your eyes.” Stacia spun around. The hem of her turquoise dress brushed against his breeches. “Where is she now?”
Even if he knew, he wouldn’t tell her.
Stacia’s lower lip jutted out. “Aw. You don’t know, do you? Did she leave you in the middle of the night? Head out to find a man who reminded her more of your friend instead of you? Strength can only take a man so far. There has to be something going on up there.” She tapped her head with a fingertip.
Stacia turned to the mountain of a man. “How beaten is he?”
He bowed. “Enough, my queen. He will not be able to fight back.”
“Excellent execution of my orders, Marden. Then leave. I want to be alone with him.”
“My queen, that isn’t wise.” He stood between Bastian and Stacia. “I would not advise it.”
“I can take care of myself, Marden. One man cannot defeat me.”
“Very well.” Marden snapped his fingers. “Follow me.”
“And leave just the guard outside my door. You men did well today. Head out to the tavern and find yourselves whores. On my coin.” Stacia grabbed a small silken purse and tossed it to the man.
“Thank you, my queen.” He gripped the sack in his massive palm as if losing it would mean losing life and limb. Marden motioned to the other guards and they followed him out the door.
Bastian stood in the center of the marble room. Columns rose high above them. Silks draped the walls, cascading like the branches of the trees outside the windows.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Stacia sidled up to him, not close enough to be within reach. He’d have to lunge and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for that yet. “I grew up here, climbing in the branches, swaying from the limbs. Leaves and dirt would get stuck in every crevice and my mother would force to me to spend as much time bathing as I’d spent playing out there.”
Stacia lifted one arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails swiped through the air, taking a slice off of Bastian’s face. Blood trickled down his cheeks in lines, dropping to his chest. Still, he refused to flinch despite the burning pain.
“So you’re the one who took down the fog. Mind telling me how?”
Bastian stared out at the sea.
“The fog has been there through my whole life and through my mother’s. She spent years trying to figure out how to remove it so she could bring her precious little Hutton’s Bridge back. She always worried its people had starved to death without help from the kingdom. She cared so much.”
Stacia slapped him.
“I wanted the fog up.”
She slapped his other cheek. Blood covered Stacia’s palm. Her tongue slithered out of her mouth and she licked every last bit of it off. A small drop remained at the corner of her lips, glistening.
“Now you’ll tell me how you brought it down so I can get it back up again before another kingdom makes a move on my throne.”
Bastian imagined taking Tressa on the beach. They’d hold hands and run through the water. It would be a first for them both. Maybe a way to start their new life together, away from Hutton’s Bridge and everything they were forced to be there.
“I’m going to kill you either way.” Stacia sighed. “I wish you didn’t already know that. I can see it in your eyes. Those damn green eyes give away too much. That’s why you’ll never succeed as a warrior. You care.”
Bastian looked at Stacia. Her eyes were blue, ringed with a faint pink. He’d never seen eyes like hers. They were on the verge of being on fire.
“Tell me.”
He swallowed, the spittle running down his throat as if it were made of a million shards of glass. His lips parted, taking in a shallow breath. “Water.” He exhaled.
“No.” Stacia leaned in, her face only inches from his, their noses nearly touching. “Tell me. Then you’ll have all the water you can drink.”
“Liar.”
She tossed back her head, laughter falling from her lips like a volcano spewing lava.
Stacia threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his face close to hers again. “If only you weren’t so beaten. I could have found another way to convince you.” She reached down with her free hand and squeezed between his legs. “You may not be smart, but you are deliciously attractive.”
Her tongue wound its way over his face, tasting the grime and blood and maybe even a bit of the horse manure. She didn’t seem to care. The more deviant, the better.
Her lips found his. They were soft. Fruity. Her tongue dipped into the valleys of his parched lips, filling them with much-needed moisture. She forced his lips open and let her tongue slip in and mingle with his.
The door swung open with a resounding boom when it hit the interior wall.
“Bastian?”
It took the little energy he had to turn his head.
“Tressa?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“WELL ISN’T THIS INTERESTING?” STACIA pushed Bastian to the floor and took three steps back. She raised her hands in the air.
Tressa looked from Bastian to Stacia, trying to suss out what they’d been doing. It looked like they were kissing, but she couldn’t be sure.
“One of my guards is a girl.” Stacia’s long braided ponytail swayed from side to side as she stepped backward toward her chair, reminding Tressa of the day Connor died.
“A woman,” Jarrett said, “not a girl.”
Henry wolf whistled behind them. “What about me? I’m nothing to sling mud at. Tell her who I am.”
Jarrett elbowed Henry. “Shut up, boy.”
Stacia’s gaze fell on Henry. “You’re the one who didn’t kill anyone during the tournament, yet none of the other guards seemed to care. Curious. Why?”
“No reason,” Jarrett said through gritted teeth. He looked at Tressa and Henry. “Stop talking to her, she’s only delaying the inevitable.”
Stacia’s laughter could have cut holes in glass. “Inevitable?” She swirled around, then sat in her throne. “Let me guess. You’re here to kill me.” She faked a yawn, waving her hand in front of her mouth.
“No,” Bastian said from the floor. “I am.”
Tressa looked down at him, her stomach in knots. She wanted to be weak, to drop to the floor and cradle him in her arms, but she was too close to finishing what she’d worked so hard to achieve. She had to put Bastian out of her mind and focus. He was dead if she didn’t.
She laughed again. “You’re all so pathetic. A half-dead man. A girl. A boy. And,” she looked at Jarrett, “I cannot figure out exactly what you are.”
Before anyone could answer, Henry fell to the floor, grabbing his stomach. Jarrett and Tressa stood in front of him, but it wasn’t enough to shield him from Stacia.
She bounded from her throne, her skirt swirling around her ankles. “What is this? What have you brought into my castle?”
Her words were drowned out by a hiss coming from the floor behind Tressa. Henry’s body changed faster this time, scales and claws appearing as his flesh disappeared.
“A dragon?” Bastian said from the floor. “Like the one that came to our village. They are also human. But the villagers…they…”
“What dragon?” Stacia snarled at him.
“A turquoise one. It was dangerous. But beautiful.”
“What did you do with her?” Stacia’s anger swept through the room.
“They cut up the dead dragon and ate it.”
“The people of Hutton’s Bridge ate my mother?” Stacia screamed. Her chin dipped down and her arms rose into the air. Her blue gown split in two. Her breasts spilled out the front, swollen and pulsing.
Tressa recoiled. She’d seen this once before. Instead of sticking with Jarrett and Henry, she ran to Bastian’s side. She tugged on his arm. “You have to get out of here. Now.”
Bastian looked up at her, one eye swollen, his lips caked in blood. “I can’t. I’m too injured.” He looked at Stacia’s body convulsing. “What’s going on with her?”
“She’s turning into a dragon. It’ll take a few minutes.”
Bastian’s eyes looked at Henry. “Him too?”
Tressa nodded. “Yeah. We can’t fight her now. She’s going to be too powerful. We have to leave.”
“What are you doing here?” Bastian asked. “I thought you’d gone back to Hutton’s Bridge. I went there for you. I slayed the beasts in the darkness of the mist. I took down the fog. I did it all for you. But you’ve been here?”
Tressa nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek. The screams of the two transforming into dragons echoed in the cavernous chamber. “I’m sorry I left you behind. I thought it would be easier for me to sneak in here alone.”
“But your father said...” Bastian’s throat rattled.
“Shh.” Tressa placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t talk. I need to get you out of here and healed.”
Bastian’s eyes tore away from hers. She followed his gaze to Stacia. Her limbs were no longer human like theirs. Blue scales sprouted along the lengthening appendages. Her nails grew into talons. Her long braid disappeared and a tail grew from the lower part of her back, just as dangerous as the braid she wielded.
“It’s okay,” Tressa whispered, “Henry is a dragon too.”
“Is he powerful enough,” Bastian said. “He looks like a boy.”
Jarrett stood watch over his charge. Tressa could see the worry lines around his eyes. This wasn’t what they’d planned. Killing Stacia in her human form would be much easier. As a dragon, she’d kill them all. Even Henry who hadn’t ever fought as a dragon. She’d eat him alive.
“Go!” Jarrett yelled to Tressa.
“I can’t leave Bastian,” she called back over the deafening screams.
Jarrett’s expression changed, only for a moment, from fear to sadness. He glanced down at Henry, then ran to Tressa’s side. Bending down, he slipped an arm around Bastian’s trunk. “Help me,” he said to Tressa.
She wrapped her arms around Bastian, letting her sword clank to the floor. Jarrett still held his in his right hand. Together they pulled Bastian to his feet.
Tressa only came to Bastian’s shoulder and Jarrett just past it. Still, together they were able to support his weight.
“Come on, just a few steps more.” Tressa’s hands trembled. Bastian had always been the one to support her. His strength was as much a part of him as his flaming red hair. She’d never seen him so defeated. So weak. “You can do this. I know you. You’re the tough guy who doesn’t let anyone tell him what to do.”