Obsidian Wings (Soul of a Dragon Book 1)

by Clara Hartley

  “Fraser will be with me,” she said. “And Marzia with him to keep me company. He is one of your best warriors, yes? It’ll be fine.” She placed a hand on Rayse’s arm, hoping to comfort him.

  “Another male,” he spat, and his eyes flashed yellow.

  Shen unconsciously took a step back. The uneasiness came off him in waves. “Um, but femriahl, if they don’t see milord for themselves, that will not do much for long. It may buy us a few days. Lord Rayse will need to be back by this week if we don’t want any commotion, and he’s not healing quickly enough.”

  “I’ll try and finish the bond by tomorrow night,” she said, panicking on the inside.

  Rayse’s eyes widened. “You’re ready?”

  “Not yet.” She never would be. How could she give him up? But for his own sake, she had to. She didn’t want to kill him. “Give me a day to prepare.”

  The gentle brush of his lips caressed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  She delighted at his touch, but it winked away as soon as it came. She would spend as much of tonight as she could with Rayse. Her last few moments with him were borrowed time, and before they slipped away, she would hold on to them as tightly as she could.

  Chapter 18

  Take care of her,” Rayse said, hating the way Constance stood next to Fraser. Sure, Marzia had a gentle hand on Fraser’s arm, reminding Rayse that the blue dragon was already taken, but his possessiveness got the better of him.

  His mind, his body, everything in him was burning. He didn’t have much time left. Soon, despite his wounds having healed, he would give in and collapse. He made a good show of hiding his pain, but animals were good at doing that. Some birds would act perfectly normal to fool their predators, then drop dead the next day because of an underlying condition. Dragons shared the same trait with those little creatures.

  Fraser bowed his head. “I will, milord.”

  This whole arrangement niggled at Rayse. He should be asking Constance to stay. But why? She had followed Fraser to the clinic before. This was no different. There was little reason for her to stay.

  The humming of the Mother streamed lightly in the back of his mind like a constant river. His dragon stirred, wanting to answer to her call.

  “Stay safe,” he said, kissing Constance on her cheek and ignoring his dragon’s demand that he took that kiss further.

  “You stay safe too,” she replied, grinning at him.

  He had to quickly return to the dimness of his home lest anyone spotted him, and with much disdain, he forced the door closed behind Constance’s retreating back.

  The room suddenly seemed darker without her, as if the warmth of the interior had been stripped away. Time flew by like the wind whenever he spent it with Constance. Now, it crept on like an emaciated tortoise. He strolled to the pantry, ignoring the stinging each step brought to his leg, and dug for a huge slab of meat from one of the carcasses Shen had been providing him. He needed energy to combat his exhaustion.

  After he was done eating, he picked his way to the window and peered at his sundial. Barely any time had passed. He cursed. This whole day was going to be a nightmare of boredom.

  <>

  He stiffened. He had never heard the Dragon Mother this clearly before.

  <>

  Worry whizzed through him like lightning. Constance. How would the other dragons react to the Dragon Mother’s calling? They would expect their femrah to greet her at the very least, and if he didn’t come, how would they treat his mate?

  He couldn’t leave her alone to face their goddess. He had to come out of hiding.

  Constance lifted the flap of the clinic and strode in, Marzia trailing behind her. The room had hardly changed since her last appearance. Greta looked as bonkers as ever with her too-many scarves and bushy white hair. The dragon lady was vigorously cleaning her equipment, as she often did.

  “You’re still alive?” Greta said, not looking up. “Thought you got your head bit off by a dragon.”

  A sheepish grin drew at one side of Constance’s face. “Head’s perfectly intact.”

  “Using illness as an excuse to rut, pumpkin?”

  “No, nothing of that sort.”

  “I’d like more accountability with my apprentices.”

  She swallowed her doubt. Was that anger she heard in Greta’s voice? Or annoyance, perhaps? She should have given a proper reason before slipping away from her duties. “Uh, the… red spot had me quite incapacitated,” she said, trying hard to stitch together whatever excuse she could manage.

  Greta narrowed her eyes. “We don’t get that around here. Red spot is a warm-weather illness.”

  Constance’s shoulders tensed. “Did I say red? I meant blue.”

  Greta saw through her lie, but didn’t prod further. The old woman spun back to her tedious chore of cleaning perfectly carved wooden bowls, leaving Constance dangling in silence. She shifted her weight to her other foot and grabbed the sides of her dress in a nervous gesture. “Is there anything you would like me to do?”

  “There’s a mess of herbs from the last shipment next to the mishram over there—help me sort them out into organized bundles.”

  She had looked forward to learning more about healing and spells, but supposed she didn’t deserve that after discarding her duties. She eyed the bluish women lined in a neat row, like lifeless avatars. They always managed to unsettle her stomach.

  A trumpet blared in the background.

  The sound was so jarring that she jolted. She turned around, then noticed a strange stiffening of Greta’s shoulders. The injured men in their beds began to stir. Constance’s brow furrowed. What was happening?

  “Greta?”

  “Do you feel that?” Greta said to Fraser. Excitement bubbled in the expressions of all the dragons.

  Constance was left flabbergasted. “Feel what?” she asked, palming her cheek to check if she was missing something. Had the temperature changed?

  Fraser pushed himself from the wall and nodded. “She’s here. The Dragon Mother has come to visit! I knew she’d look for us Everstones first. She recognizes our strength.”

  “There’s going to be trouble. Gods and the like are always trouble.” Greta sighed. “If only my dearest were here to see this.” The dragon woman pushed herself to her feet and clapped her hands. She fished her spectacles from her scarves and adjusted them over her eyes. “The Dragon Mother! Our goddess. What an honor. We’re taking a break for today, pumpkin—leave those herbs.”

  “A little help here?” a patient said, trying to get up.

  Greta scowled. “There’s too many of you,” she said, although Constance only counted four men. “All of you can walk. Hobble if you have to.”

  The patient grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t complain any further.

  Everyone in the clinic left in a hurry. Constance wasn’t certain what to expect. She knew the Dragon Mother was their god, and most believers of religions would kill to see their deities, but she still couldn’t understand their excitement. She’d never been a religious person.

  As she trailed along with the crowd, Fraser dragged her aside. “This is bad,” he said.

  “Why?” She peered around, looking at the gleeful faces around Dragon Keep. Celebratory songs came from somewhere nearby, and the sun was particularly bright today, leveling out the normally too-chilly temperatures of the mountains.

  “The first in command will have to welcome the Mother, as custom—or at least that’s what written in the books.”

  She opened then closed her mouth like a fish out of water. “He’s in hiding.”

  “You’re the next best thing, since you’re femriahl. Let’s hope the Mother doesn’t take offense.”

  “But I can’t do this. I’m… I’m not fit for this. I’m just a girl, just… Constance.”

  “You are our femriahl. You are equal to Rayse. The bond is only created if the dragon finds someone deserving of him.”

  Her
stomach stirred. She wanted to throw up. “All right.”

  It didn’t take long for all available members of the Everstone clan to assemble themselves in front of the clearing. She’d never imagined watching so many scaled beasts gathered in a relatively small place. Far too many predators shared this space, and thinking of so many beady eyes judging each of her movements when she walked up to the Mother made her want to hide like a mouse.

  An electrifying excitement bounced its way through the crowd as they waited for their goddess. A different kind of buzzing ran through Constance’s veins, and it wasn’t the good kind. Sensing her tension, Marzia wrapped her fingers over hers. Her touch did little to abate the icy nervousness coursing through Constance, like a handkerchief in a snowstorm.

  “You will be fine,” Marzia said.

  “I’m going to mess up in the most horrible way. What if she asks of Rayse?”

  “He could be out running errands.”

  “I doubt the Mother would like that excuse. She’s divinity. Will she not see through my lie?”

  “Most gods are just, or so the stories make them to be.” Marzia forced a smile. “Just have faith.”

  “Faith,” Constance repeated. “Yes.” Her failure was going to be the death of Rayse. Imagining him being cut down by one of his subjects, simply because of her causing him weakness, made her sick. At that thought, an ember of resolve sparked in her, giving her what she needed to get through this ordeal. She had to be strong in the face of this tumultuous situation, for the sake of her mate.

  It took a while before another trumpet sounded. The stirring of the crowd trickled into nothing. Silence fell over the clearing with weighted anticipation. Constance searched the skies for the Mother. Her lungs constricted. Her body could not contain the lack of air for long. It forced her to suck in a sharp breath, and only then did she realize she had stopped breathing. She tried to steady the shaking within her, but the anxiety tugged at her chest like a ruthless puppeteer, making it impossible to.

  Lightning broke through the clear blue sky and the clouds parted. Darkness seeped through the clouds like dark ink. The shadow of a wing lowered from the gray clouds, then two talons. The dull skies returned to their vibrant blue as soon as the opalescent dragon descended from them. The Mother sparkled in the sun like a perfect diamond. The goddess was nothing short of gorgeous. A splendor to behold. Humans believed dragons to be their gods. They were fools to think as such. Ordinary dragons were like insects compared to the magnificence of their goddess. A shiver sliced its way down through Constance’s back. How was she to face this being?

  Next to the Mother, she wasn’t even a shadow. The goddess’s brightness could wash out Constance’s very existence.

  The beauty perched herself on top of the steps of Dragon Keep. Magic coalesced around her. After the transformation ended, a woman equally as radiant as the dragon stood where the beast had. A stream of long, dark hair cascaded its way around her curves, hiding her full breasts. Her eyes had no one color. They reflected the light with hues like that of a rainbow. The shade of her lips rivaled the reddest of roses—they were full and glistened in the sun.

  The Dragon Mother was not ashamed of her nakedness. She had nothing to hide, not with her splendor and grace.

  The Mother’s gaze fell on Constance like a hammer.

  A slender, perfectly shaped finger curled from the goddess’s fist. She beckoned to Constance. “You. Come.” The words were in Falronian. How did the Mother know Constance was only fluent in that tongue? Or was this the work of magic?

  Nervousness hit Constance in the gut. She didn’t want to move, not in this goddess’s presence. Then the reminder of Rayse’s predicament twisted around her, spurring her into motion. Marzia squeezed her hand in one final act of encouragement. All eyes were on her. The Everstones wanted to know how the Mother would react to her.

  Like a weighted chain, the anxiety made it difficult to drag her feet. Each step up the stairs was more difficult than the last. The impatience of the Mother began to emanate.

  “Do not make me wait, human,” the Mother commanded. Her voice boomed, yet was not low. It echoed through the clearing like a supernatural force, but despite its power, it was velvety, like the finest of cloths.

  “Apologies, uh”—how was Constance to address the dragoness?—“goddess…” She picked at the sides of her frock and scampered her way up the stairs.

  She knelt at the Mother’s feet. “How may I serve you, goddess?”

  “Rayse is not here,” the deity stated, ignoring Constance’s question.

  “No… he is not.” Constance swallowed.

  “The leader of the Everstone dragons is not here to greet me. Instead, I’m invited to this clan by… you…” The Mother sneered. “What a sign of disrespect.”

  “Rayse…” Constance bit her lower lip. Could she lie to a god? “He is preoccupied.”

  “Preoccupied, you say.”

  “My humblest apologies, goddess. Rayse has given me the honor to welcome you to the clan, and as femriahl, I will do as he says and try my very best to make your stay here as comfortable as possible.” The words were dragged from her tongue slowly, contradicting the pace of her racing pulse.

  A tendril of magic snaked its way from the Mother’s fingertips. Its dance toward Constance enraptured her gaze. How was the Mother doing this? Soul magic? But didn’t the art require spells to be voiced?

  There was something strange about the sliver. It was dark… vile…

  It grazed the side of Constance’s cheek. Immediately, she sensed a horrid spike of pain there. She winced and muffled a howl.

  The rainbow of the goddess’s eyes darkened into a vicious red. “Just a flick of my wrists and I could crush you into nothing.”

  Constance’s mouth went dry. The sound of her heart beating was deafening. She wrapped her left hand over her right. They trembled under the terror.

  Demon.

  The word came to her in an instant. The Mother did not inspire thoughts of reverence, as gods should. Constance thought the female “deity” was an abomination. The goddess’s magic shook within her. Her body and soul fought back. It opposed the purplish tendrils.

  The Mother’s art was unnatural. Nothing this powerful and demonic should exist.

  “But”—the goddess clicked her fingers, and immediately her threatening magic flew away—“my mercy knows no bounds. I will spare your life for a moment longer, although it will not last long after today.”

  The Mother stared at her expectantly.

  Constance’s brow creased. Then, realizing what the woman in front of her wanted, she bowed her head to the ground in a deep gesture of respect. “Thank you, goddess.”

  The goddess brushed past her, ending their conversation and pretending it had never happened. It was almost as if the woman hadn’t just scared the wits out of Constance. In that instant, she felt insignificant, worthless—she was nothing more than a fly in the eyes of the Dragon Mother.

  “Rise,” the goddess said, this time in Dragon Tongue.

  Constance whipped her head around, then stiffened. She had been so preoccupied with the Mother that she didn’t realize that the whole clan had been bowing this entire time, dragons and humans alike.

  Did this demon truly deserve this much respect? But she was so beautiful…

  A string of words in Dragon Tongue trailed from the Mother’s lips. Constance was not yet fluent enough in the language to understand most of it, but her ears caught and translated the words that mattered. A sensation of dread sank through her like a heavy rock.

  “Rayse… is weakened,” Constance heard the Mother say. “He has been hiding for the last week and is undeserving of this clan. I have chosen a new contender as the leader of the Everstones.”

  She knows, Constance thought. She knows about Rayse and now she’s betraying our situation to the clan. Betray? The Mother hadn’t done that. The goddess hadn’t sided with them, and it seemed obvious now that whoever’s side the
dragoness was on, it wasn’t theirs.

  Another dragon descended from the clouds. Constance recognized its sinewy brown form—Ashur. Ashur? This spineless subordinate was to replace Rayse? She almost laughed at the idea, if not for how worried this situation made her. The brown beast couldn’t hold a candle to Rayse.

  In Rayse’s current condition, Ashur would take the position as easily as snatching a flower from a field—or worse, if her hard-headed mate didn’t know when to give up, she could lose him.

  She failed to interpret the Mother’s next words, but it wasn’t difficult to deduce the meaning of them from the goddess’s gestures. The Dragon Mother was pointing toward the direction of their home, giving away Rayse’s location.

  Constance felt her strength weaken. Her body was nudging at her to give up, to let go and allow the winds the take her will away. But she would not take that route, despite it being easier. She balled her fists and swept herself to her feet.

  The Mother spun around, her eyes an icy blue. The air around her grew cold. “I did not give you permission to stand.”

  Constance summoned all her courage into her voice. “I will take his place.”

  “His place?”

  “Rayse’s, in this challenge. I’ll face Ashur in place of him. Is there a rule to allow that?”

  “Interesting.” The goddess folded her arms, considering. “There is one. But there is no turning back after a ishnar kra is chosen, and unlike Rayse, you will not be allowed to surrender. He will have to on your behalf, and if he decides not to…” The Mother’s smile grew wider at the prospect of Constance’s demise.

  Constance trembled. This is stupid. But then the image of Rayse struggling to jog, and his raw, still-unhealed wound, burned through her mind. This was her responsibility. She wanted to protect him. Could he even handling shifting in this state? At least she could move faster than a slow walk. By that standard, she was a better candidate to defeat Ashur—not that it meant much.

  “Can I be given some time to prepare?” she asked. Magic was her best chance, but she had no souls with her.