The Dragons of Summer

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I apologize,” I said to her, and stopped there, hoping she’d understand all the words I couldn’t say. Marskal, feeling the killing rage leave my body, relaxed his choke hold and, with another firm and reassuring clasp of my shoulder, stepped back.

  “We’ll talk later,” Ursula promised. She moved back enough to take in both Kral and me at once. “General Kral, please accept the High Throne’s apology for violating a truce of hospitality.”

  Surprised, he looked to her. “Your Majesty.” He inclined his head. “No apology needed. I should apologize for baiting my brother. An old argument that elicits… unpredictable reactions.”

  “Get more predictable, both of you,” she replied crisply.

  “Yes, your Majesty,” I bowed to her, then straightened. Habitually, my hand moved to give her the Elskastholrr salute, a promise and reminder, a grounding return to center—and for the first time since I’d made her that promise, I hesitated.

  I didn’t know if she realized I’d stopped myself, that the conflicts and doubts had seeded themselves in me so deeply that I wasn’t sure of myself anymore. She might not have observed it since she’d turned away, dismissing the guards and thanking them for their alert attention. A duty that should’ve fallen to me, had I not been the cause of it all.

  “As we were then,” she declared, gesturing Jepp and Kral to precede us. “Perhaps you should attend to other duties,” she said quietly to me. “Burn off some steam.”

  Marskal lingered close, ready to enforce her commands, no doubt.

  “Your Majesty,” I said, accepting the implicit judgment. As much as I wanted to affirm—perhaps have her confirm—that my place was at her side, I was in no shape to be in the same room with Kral. “I’ll be working out in the training yard if you need me.”

  I left before she could tell me that she didn’t.

  ~ 7 ~

  “You should try playing I Eat You,” Zynda said, walking beside me. I didn’t realize she was there until she’d spoken—a daunting indicator of my level of distraction.

  “Shouldn’t you be going to the council chambers?” I asked her mildly, to cover the surprise that she’d snuck up on me. Twice in one day, between her and Ursula.

  To be fair, the Tala shapeshifters move uncannily fast and silently. Kral was right—I had gotten faster, entirely from sparring with Ursula. Even as a partblood who couldn’t actually shapeshift, she could move like lightning striking. Zynda was not only a fullblood, she was likely the most talented shapeshifter alive. It didn’t pay to forget that, as much as she seemed to be a graceful and lovely woman in human form, she was also the dragon. Not to mention any number of other lethal and predatory forms I’d seen her take.

  She smiled at me, all blue-eyed beauty and friendliness, no frown of concern for my previous behavior. “I will go there. Eventually. But they don’t need me for the talk-talk-talking. I loathe that stuff anyway. I’m just the transportation.”

  I snorted, the half-laugh another surprise. “And I’m just a mercenary soldier.”

  Her smile took on a rueful twist. “None of our lives are as simple as they once were. But, in fact, Jepp and Kral are the messengers, and Marskal knows everything I do.” She shrugged in her languid Tala way, pushing her hair off her shoulders and stretching her arms up to the sun. “Sparring with you gives me an excuse not to have to be inside those horrid stone walls any longer than necessary.”

  “Are we going to spar?” I asked.

  “Yes, thank you!” She smiled radiantly, as if I’d invited her. “When you mentioned the training yard I figured I could be useful, so my cousin won’t worry that you’re going to kill your brother. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” I replied definitively.

  “Good. I’m a terrible listener.” She laughed when I slanted her a glance. “We all have our strengths. If it were me, I’d rather try to kill something than talk about my feelings, too. I’ll teach you to play I Eat You.”

  We’d reached the training yard, now empty with everyone either retired for midday meals or at their guard stations. I’d been planning a good workout, it was true—alone, so I could fume to myself—but sparring with a shapeshifter of Zynda’s caliber could be interesting. “All right. What are the rules?”

  “Quite simple. I shift to a form, try to best you in it. You counter with something that can top that.”

  “I can’t shapeshift,” I pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily.

  “But you have many weapons and fighting techniques. Basically, it’s a test—which of my forms can best you, which of your weapons can best me. And remember, I heal when I shift, so don’t worry about pulling your strikes.” She grinned. “Do your worst, mercenary.”

  “I don’t heal magically, so watch your claws, shapeshifter.” This began to sound fun. With my blood still hot, I drew my sword, swinging it to loosen my muscles.

  Her smile took on a feral edge. “Just try not to actually kill me. Marskal would be most put out and we don’t need any more manly displays today.” With that taunt, she shifted into a tiger. I barely registered the sight of the big cat—astonishingly orange, ribbed in black warning stripes, mouth opened in a mighty snarl that had frozen plenty of warriors in their shoes—before she leapt at me.

  I barely dodged those lethal claws, coming up under her belly with an upward, two-handed heave of the broadsword that connected with a satisfying bite. Or started to, because she vaporized at the edge of my blade, becoming a raptor that dove with a shriek. Talons slashed down my upraised arm before I countered with a hastily drawn short blade, my broadsword heavy in one hand on a backstroke too distant to bring it to bear in time.

  Next time, I’d make a pile of weapons to access. A bow or spear would be handy. The raptor—was it an eagle? I couldn’t get a clear look at her and it didn’t matter—buffeted me with stunning blows of its wings, hooked beak going for my eyes. I dropped the sword, as it was too big for close infighting like this, and seized the bird by the slender neck, squeezing.

  And found myself embracing a fucking grizzly bear. My fisted hand slid uselessly off the thick throat as the bear roared in my face, stopping my heart, and then wrapped its great arms around me in a deadly vise so that my spine cracked, the fanged jaws closing over my head. I was done for. I’d be so done for if this was to the death.

  But I still had my dagger and I drove it up, into the soft cavity under the rib cage, into its heart, putting all of my muscle into it. Hot blood gushed over my hand, along with entrails and the scrape of bone resisting, then cracking. I roared, too, into the bear’s steaming maw, my defiance and rage in the face of death.

  And it was gone.

  Zynda—remarkably composed in her pretty blue dress, hair sleek and flowing—stood barefoot before me with a slender hand pressed over her heart. Her eyes huge and dark blue as the deepest ocean regarded me with shock. “Moranu, Harlan—I told you not to kill me!”

  I looked down at my dagger hand, covered in blood and gore. Why did the fleshly aspects of the bear remain when the animal itself had vanished? In this, too, I shared Ursula’s uneasiness with shapeshifting. A profoundly strange magic. “You had my entire head in your jaws,” I pointed out, very reasonably. “All you had to do was bite down a fraction more to end me.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t,” she snapped. Then burst out laughing. “Well played, Dasnarian. I’m only glad Zyr didn’t see this. He’d never let me hear the end of it. Beaten by a mossback.”

  I found myself grinning back at her and rolled my head on my neck, feeling the bear’s bruising grip in my spine. “My ancestors thank you. I’m sure more than one faced an actual grizzly in the forests of Dasnaria.”

  “Two out of three?” she suggested with raised brows.

  It had felt good not to have to hold back. “You’re on. But I’m stockpiling some weapons for this round.”

  “Sure.” She pretended to examine her nails like a lady of court. “But I won’t go so easy on you this time.”

&nbs
p; “Same,” I told her.

  “When I suggested you burn off some steam, I didn’t mean get yourself killed,” Ursula said with considerable asperity as she walked into her chambers.

  She would’ve been informed that I’d requested a Tala healer to attend my worst wounds, so it didn’t surprise me that she already knew. Just as well that I’d gone to her rooms and not elsewhere. I’d considered it, whether I’d be welcome in the chambers that had been hers long before her father hired my Vervaldr to defend Ordnung. Ursula referred to them as our rooms, but I was careful not to. Finally I’d decided that she’d tell me in no uncertain terms when she wanted me out.

  She’d left the decision in my lap, so I’d keep that tactical advantage.

  “I didn’t get myself killed,” I replied mildly. “As you, with your acute observational skills, can no doubt confirm for yourself.”

  “How is he?” she asked the Tala healer, Kelleah, ignoring me entirely.

  “A few broken ribs, a lot of lacerations, some internal bleeding. Nothing I can’t fix, given a few more moments of quiet,” Kelleah replied, voice vague and green eyes sharp. A wide-shouldered and big-bosomed woman with an unusual amount of red in her Tala dark hair, Kelleah possessed both the gentle, nurturing qualities of a healer and the no-nonsense conviction of those who put their calling above all else. Andi had sent her to be Ordnung’s healer, remarking that Kelleah would be up to the challenge of defying Ursula when necessary.

  Duly rebuked, clearly not happy about it, Ursula divested herself of the trappings of her public persona. First she tossed the crown aside, then removed her jewelry, treating her mother’s rubies with a reverence she hadn’t shown the crown. She unbuckled her sword belt from the metalwork bodice and set the whole thing—sword still sheathed—on the table. One of her ladies approached at her glance and undid the fastenings of the bodice, taking it away.

  Apparently Ursula planned to stay in for a bit. I couldn’t decide if that boded well or ill for me. At least she was unarmed. With external weapons, anyway.

  She stretched—nothing like Zynda’s languid movements, but like a warrior relieved of armor—and prowled to the window behind me. Her soft bootsteps on the thick rugs continued, and I pictured her pacing restlessly. Kelleah’s healing magic swarmed through me, an odd prickling heat that made me profoundly sleepy and restless at once. I resisted the sleepiness, focusing on the surging energy. I’d need it for whatever confrontation Ursula planned—almost certainly not of the enticing variety. Alas.

  Tala healing—we all knew from experience—tended to arouse sexual desire along with the renewed wellbeing. The more intense the healing, the more extreme the ensuing arousal. Except when the patient nearly died, as Ursula had. Then it was all they could do to muster the will to live. Aha—and that memory worked to dampen any ill-considered desire on my part.

  I sincerely doubted Ursula would appreciate any seductive moves from the man she thought had betrayed her and had lost his temper, shaming her royal hospitality.

  “There,” Kelleah declared, rubbing her palms together briskly, the green of her eyes dimming as she allowed the healing magic to settle inside her again. “You’ll be just fine, Captain Harlan.” Her gaze darted to Ursula, still standing rigidly by the window. “At least physically.” She winked encouragingly and stood. “Your Majesty,” she said, by way of signaling her withdrawal, and strode out.

  Servants passed her, bringing in platters of food and wine, then also left, closing the doors and leaving us alone.

  “Didn’t you eat yet?” I asked Ursula, surveying the spread, and the midafternoon sun.

  “Yes. And no.” She sounded distracted, deep in thought, but came over to sit opposite me. With her crown removed, she’d been running her hands through her bloodred hair so it stood in unruly tufts and spikes. Endearingly so. Her composed expression and shuttered gaze didn’t show it, but the mussed hair gave evidence of her agitation.

  I reached over the table and took her hand, so wiry and strong, callused from wielding her sword. “I’m sorry if I worried you. My wounds weren’t that severe. Under other circumstances, I’d have dealt with them on my own. I only asked for Kelleah in case there’s an attack. I need to be in top form.”

  She squeezed my hand, meeting my eyes—hers indeed filled with worry. “It’s not that,” she said, then amended, withdrawing her hand. “Well, hearing that Zynda had torn you up enough that you called for Kelleah didn’t help my appetite. But, no, I had no stomach to eat with the others, and I knew you hadn’t eaten. Due to the aforementioned and ill-advised battle to the death with the best shapeshifter living.”

  “It wasn’t a battle to the death,” I corrected, filling my plate. Magical healing left you hungry, too. “We only sparred.”

  “Sparred,” she echoed, the neutrality of her tone an accusation in and of itself.

  I quickly checked her expression, but it revealed nothing. “Yes. A game, nothing more.”

  “Oh, it was more than that. It was foolish and irresponsible,” she bit out “Either of you could’ve killed the other and we need you both in the war ahead. One slip, Harlan, that’s all it takes. One wound mortal enough that she can’t shift in time or the Tala healer can’t reach you. For a game. She wasn’t supposed to be out there with you anyway. Sparring.”

  I watched her closely as she finished by spitting the word through tight lips. We had been foolish and irresponsible, Zynda and I. She’d beaten me two rounds out of three—the third time only because she pulled out the dragon form—and I’d been the one to insist on a fourth, with the dragon off the table as the worst kind of cheating. That last match had indeed nearly killed us, both of us carried away in our determination to best the other. We’d finally conceded to the tie and she’d had to lend a shoulder to help me stagger back into the castle.

  Ursula, however, was more than worried, more than aggravated with me. Something had her in a quiet fury, something newer than this morning’s trials.

  Ursula and I usually sparred together, and it often led to sex. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might see my sparring with Zynda as another betrayal. “Are you jealous?”

  “No, I’m not jealous,” she sneered, lathering a slice of rye bread with fresh butter. Then she sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “All right, maybe a little jealous.”

  “Essla…” I wished I still had ahold of her. “I’m in no way attracted to Zynda. You are the only woman I want. Ever. You’re everything to me.”

  She met my gaze wryly. “So you’re forever telling me. And it’s not that. I’m more…bothered that you sparred with her instead of talking to me about what’s going on.” She held up the honey-stick, the thick liquid forming golden teardrops, pointing it at me to forestall any explanation. “I’m also envious that you two got to be outside, playing games, while I was stuck in the council chambers talking obnoxious politics.”

  I chewed thoughtfully. The butter tasted of sweet clover, redolent of summer, and the warm afternoon sunshine brought in the sounds of furious birdsong and the faint echoes of music and laughter. Ursula didn’t have Andi’s same drive to be outdoors, to live outside of walls, which seemed to be characteristic of the Tala, but she had enough Tala in her to feel the pull. When she’d been her father’s heir, Ursula had traveled extensively through the realm, leading campaigns or exercising Uorsin’s diplomatic overtures. On our travels, we’d been outside more than in.

  Since returning to Ordnung and taking up the weight of her crown again, it had been the reverse. She’d barely been able to enjoy the summer weather at all. No wonder she acted so caged lately. Maybe I could do something about that.

  Though not today.

  “I take it the politics were obnoxious enough for you to cancel court for the afternoon?” I asked carefully.

  “As obnoxious as they get,” she agreed, then poured us both wine, filling the goblets to the rim. An ominous sign for so early in the day. “You and I need to talk.”

  ~ 8 ~

&nb
sp; Had there ever been another phrase to strike such terror in a man’s heart? I could’ve wished to be more clear headed, free of the dregs of the healing magic, but I’d brought this on myself and I’d withstand the storm.

  “All right,” I said, helping myself to more food, acting as calm as possible. “You know I always enjoy conversing with you.”

  She slammed her palms on the table, jolting the dishes and destabilizing the wine pitcher. I caught it before it toppled, setting it back carefully and eyeing her. “Stop managing me,” she ground out. The measured words might as well have been shouted.

  I put down my food and rubbed my palms on thighs. “I’m not managing you. I’m doing my best to keep this conversation calm and reasonable.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Her eyebrows climbed along with her tone. “You mean, calm and reasonable like when you attacked Kral?”

  Setting my teeth, but keeping my jaw relaxed so she wouldn’t read that tic of mine, one she knew well, I picked up a fresh slice of bread and began to meticulously coat it with an even film of butter. Witness my manful control. “I apologize for that lapse. He goaded me in exactly the way he knew how to get to me.”

  “Then it had to do with Jenna.”

  Three times. Jenna’s name spoken aloud for the third time in one day.

  Though I’d thought I’d left Dasnarian superstitions behind, I reflexively scanned the room, half expecting her ghost to appear, summoned by the incautious incantation. Would she rail at me? Weep, perhaps, and rightfully accuse me of having been too weak and stupid to save her?

  The butter tasted sour now, the fresh-baked bread like ash. I set it aside and scrubbed my hands over my face. “Yes,” I replied. “It had to do with her.”

  Ursula sat back in her chair, angling it so she could extend her long legs, crossing them at her booted ankles. “You once told me that old pains fester like unhealed wounds, that we think they’ve healed, but they’ve only scabbed over, with the pus growing in the dark. Until something happens to break them open.”