Conquests and Crowns

by S E Meliers

  ‘You cannot know,’ Praise protested. ‘I may have found work-’

  ‘No,’ the woman turned those cold blue eyes and locked them on Praise. ‘No, you would not have. I do know. It is my gift: to know. Not everything, by any means, but sometimes enough. You would have been dead, one way or another, if I had not given you to the dragons.’

  ‘Is it any better, what you have done?’ Praise asked bitterly.

  ‘Only you can answer that,’ the woman replied with a shrug. ‘I cannot think it would be that bad. Dragons are reputed to be loyal mates.’

  ‘You do know,’ Praise said, awed. ‘They guard their secrets well. Unless-’

  ‘No,’ the woman shook her head, smiling. ‘I am not a dragon.’

  ‘Why are you here now?’ Praise asked cannily. ‘Why seek me out? This is the first time I have been able to get out by myself… and here you are.’

  ‘Ahhh,’ the woman smiled pleased. ‘You are a clever one, after all; I did have my doubts. I am here,’ she continued before Praise could be affronted, ‘as you and I are now allies, and it is important that allies are friendly to each other. So, I am here to give you opportunity to get mad with me, if that is what you need in order to get over your anger.’

  Praise blinked, astounded beyond any other reaction. ‘How are we allies?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘That is not for you to know yet. When the time comes, you will understand. So, are we friends?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Praise was dumbfounded by the assumption of the woman. Here she was, lost in an ocean of misery, confusion and self-castigation, and the woman responsible for her moral dilemma was asking to be her friend. ‘I should never have left EAery,’ she said exasperated. ‘At least I knew what was right and what was wrong there! I do not know anything, anymore. It is all so confusing... I should be mad at you: you did trick me and abandon me to maybe be killed by dragons. But, even if I do not totally believe that you can see the future, you are probably right that I would be dead by now, if you had not. But, I do not know if being alive and with the dragons is a good thing – a moral thing -’

  The woman laughed. ‘Dragons operate on a different moral compass to humans; they are dragon after all. And you are having trouble with that?’

  Praise pursed her lips. ‘I cannot discuss it.’

  ‘Because dragons are also secretive,’ the woman nodded wisely. ‘But, if I already knew about which you talked, then you would not be betraying a secret,’ she coaxed.

  ‘Why would I discuss it with you?’ Praise snapped with irritation at her presumption. ‘I do not know you, and even if I did I am not sure I would even like you – what sort of person sends another off to possibly be killed by dragons like that, after all? - and these are personal concerns.’

  ‘And here I thought you and I were friends,’ the woman said with amusement.

  ‘How can we be friends? I do not even know your name,’ Praise felt as if the woman did not understand the language that she spoke – surely some guilt, some reaction of conscience was required, and yet the white haired woman remained aloof and indifferent to the plight, the potentially soul imperilling plight, she had imposed on her. ‘And you have already betrayed my trust and placed me into danger’s claws. That is not a good basis for friendship.’

  The woman laughed, a delighted trill. ‘How did I betray your trust, when we were not friends at the time? There was no trust to betray.’

  ‘You gave me a poisoned apple!’ Praise cried.

  ‘No,’ the lady shook her head. ‘The apple was not poisoned. I do not need props to spell cast,’ she sneered at the idea.

  ‘Then, why did you give me the apple?’ Praise was baffled. ‘You are not going to cast another spell on me, are you?’ she asked with sudden apprehension, moving away.

  ‘No,’ the lady held out a hand reassuringly. ‘Friends do not bespell friends, after all,’ she smiled. ‘And I gave you the apple because you were hungry, and I happened to have it on me at the time.’

  ‘Oh.’ Praise bit her lip. ‘That was kind.’

  ‘When I have the opportunity to be kind, I generally am,’ the woman replied depreciatingly. ‘And, you may call me Calico. I already know your name: Praise.’

  ‘Because you know things?’ Praise asked.

  The woman just smiled.

  ‘We are not friends,’ Praise said definitely, ‘because I do not trust you.’

  ‘How about I prove that I have your best interests at heart?’ Calico suggested.

  Praise considered. ‘How? No more spells. And if you are thinking of doing something to help me, discuss it with me first, or we will never be friends. Last time you did that, I am not sure I benefited,’ she frowned repressively.

  ‘Just some information you may find helpful, is all,’ Calico soothed. ‘With my… insight… into things that may happen in the future, I see a certain altercation between yourself and two gorgeous EAerymen who are currently guests of the Prince Cinder. One man is as dark as coal, and the other as pale as – ah, I see that means something to you.’

  Praise had paled. ‘Do they know where I am?’

  The woman shook her head: ‘Not at present.’ A shadow wheeled over them. They both looked up. Ember was a blood mark in the sky, flying low over the beach in search of his mate. ‘Well, I had best be off; one should never come between a dragon and his absent mate,’ Calico smiled.

  Praise tracked him with her eyes – he knew she was below and anger, anxiety and relief warred within him, overwhelming her. ‘I guess that is safer -’ she turned back to Calico, only to find the woman had already disappeared. She looked around, and could see no sign of her. ‘I guess if you have magic, you can disappear if you want to,’ Praise muttered to herself, before stepping out of the covering of the palm so Ember could see her.

  He landed down the beach and, as there was no one else about, changed into his man form. He was truly magnificent, she thought, stalking down the curve of sandy beach clad in nothing but his own skin and a cloak of scarlet hair. She watched the flow of muscles beneath skin, and marvelled with some dismay at the lust that curled in her belly at the mere sight of him.

  There was tension pulled tight beneath the surface of him, betrayed by the clench of muscle at jaw, although he kept his expression bland. ‘You were gone,’ he said from a good distance away. It was a simple statement, but with an undercurrent of emotion that washed over her in a tangled cacophony. Although through their bond they shared a sense of each other that would grow stronger as time passed, she found that this often just confused her, his emotions being so vast and vivid that she could not translate them into meaning, and always in such contrast to his calm, contained exterior. Was it a man thing, she wondered, or a dragon thing?

  ‘I needed…’ what did she need? Sanity; freedom to make her own decisions for once in her life… ‘Some time to think.’

  ‘About what did you need to think?’ he frowned, stepping closer. His physical presence overwhelmed her – she felt him deep in her bones, as if she breathed him in and he became part of her structure. Warm flesh, the scent of man, the touch of silken flesh and silken hair.

  She stepped back. ‘About this,’ she breathed. ‘About you. About what you do to me when you are near.’

  ‘You are my mate,’ he was puzzled.

  ‘Maybe so,’ she admitted. ‘But I am also my own person-’ it had been a lifelong struggle, but she would obtain it – ‘and sometimes you overwhelm me. Always,’ she corrected herself, ‘since the beginning, you overwhelm me. I need choice, and control, over my life.’

  He tilted his head to one side, considering her with eyes the colour of the sky. ‘I am a dragon,’ he explained with weighty patience. ‘Dragons are superior to humans in every way. Your comprehension is a drop of water to the ocean of my knowledge and experience. Of course I overwhelm you. I am overwhelming to a human. And, as you would not let a child make adult choices, I make choices for you.’

  ‘I am not a child,’
she said, heatedly. ‘I am an adult. You may know more than me, Mr Great and Mighty Dragon, but I still should have a choice over what happens to me. Why is it that everyone thinks they know better about my future than I do? It is my future!’

  He laughed, eyes lighting with sudden comprehension. ‘Ah, you are like a young dragon,’ he decided, relieved. ‘Rebelling against the authority of your elders. I was young once; I remember. It is a very good way to learn; by making mistakes. It may even be diverting. Very well. What mistake would you like to make first?’

  ‘Ergh!’ she sank to the sand in sheer frustration. ‘It should not be a concession to me, it should be a right! And how do you know I will make mistakes. Maybe I will teach you something new!’

  He went to his knees in front of her and stroked his hands from her shoulders, down her arms to her hips. ‘Come,’ he entreated. ‘Do not be mad,’ he pulled her gently and firmly towards him until she rested against his warm, bare flesh, and leaned over her to kiss the flesh beneath her ear. ‘There are too many other things to do with this time than waste it with anger,’ he murmured stroking his hand up her rib cage to her breast. She sighed, releasing her control yet again, and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

  He lay them down in the sand, and released the ties to her bodice, drawing away the leather shell from her flesh, and casting it aside. ‘Be careful with that,’ she protested, ‘I need clothing to wear back to the castle.’

  ‘I will be careful,’ he agreed, with a wicked smile, and took her nipple into his mouth, and sucked it with little tugs. She gasped. ‘I am very careful,’ he continued, lips against skin, as he moved his attention to her rib cage, kissing his way to her hip.

  ‘I meant, with my clothing,’ she insisted, as he tugged her leather trousers from her hips and drew them down to her feet where they caught on her boots.

  ‘You wear too many clothes,’ he said mildly irritated, pulling her boots off and then her trousers.

  ‘If your scales were not so sharp, I would not have to,’ she retorted.

  ‘Soft,’ he said trailing a hand up her inner thigh. She groaned and let her legs fall apart, granting him access to her core. He kissed his way back up the centre of her belly and chest, up the column of her exposed throat before brushing lips against lips as light as a butterfly’s wing. His fingers slipped very slowly into her, breaching her entrance just slightly before withdrawing, then penetrating again slightly deeper, but not deep enough. She lifted her hips in encouragement as he deepened his kiss, exploring the interior of her mouth with his tongue as he explored her lower with his fingers. She moaned as his fingers found her clitoris and teased it by stroking alongside before grazing it gently with his fingertip. ‘Ahh,’ he murmured softly, increasing pressure until she mewled and clutched at his shoulders. ‘A much better use of our time, then being mad, do you not think?’

  ‘You are so smug,’ she said, distracted by what he was doing to her body.

  ‘Yes,’ he grinned, ‘I am.’ He moved quickly, catching her hips in his grip and entering her. They both sighed. He held still, deep within her, and kissed her again, with tenderness, before beginning to move, slow and deep. ‘Look at me,’ he said softly. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. ‘Say it,’ he demanded.

  She smiled, contemplated refusing, to tease him with her independence, but something in his gaze caught her, an unexpected vulnerability, and she sobered. She took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘You are mine,’ she told him, ‘Ember Dragon.’

  Cinder

  Cinder was drenched in sweat. His shirt stuck to his back, showing clearly the columns of muscle as he raised his sword in attack. Just in time, his opponent managed to block his strike. ‘Good,’ Cinder approved, relaxing, ‘but a moment more and your brain would be bird fodder.’ He laughed and clapped the soldier companionably on his back. ‘Enough for today, the midday heat is upon us.’

  The evening before had brought with it a caravan of nobles from Shoethal, come to settle in the fertile land of Rhyndel. Gallant thought it would cement Shoethalian occupation of Amori, and eventually Lyendar and Truen, if Shoethalian nobility and their retinues were ensconced. This caravan had seemed heavy on the young, unmarried noble women, as if every mother had given her prettiest daughter over to the care of the families assigned to the caravan. Cinder was not a fool, he knew that these were bait, and he was the prey.

  They clustered now, in a dazzling array of expensive gowns, in the covered walkways framing the courtyard he chose to use as a practice yard, perfumes heavy on the air, swished his way by elaborate and coyly fluttered fans. Their fawning disgusted him with its transparency. Now that he was a conqueror, not just a Prince with a wild fantasy, he became eligible for their attention. He sneered as the servants clustered forward with towelling and a water skin.

  ‘Is it not gratifying to be the subject of so much feminine attention?’ Gallant commented, appearing from within the servants in that way he had of just being there, unwelcome and unwanted.

  ‘No,’ Cinder replied shortly, raising the water skin to take a drink. ‘It is not.’

  ‘Hmmmm,’ Gallant smiled. ‘But, then, you have not exactly been lacking for feminine company, have you?’

  Cinder rinsed his mouth and spat at the priest’s feet, smiling blandly as the priest recoiled, pulling his robes out of the way. ‘No, I have not,’ he replied, and used the towel to rub dry his sweaty hair and face. That done, he strode across the courtyard, for once forcing the priest to match his steps rather than the reverse. He enjoyed the shift in power, and in realising such, was struck by how much power the priest held. When, he wondered, had that happened and was it a good thing?

  ‘Are you aware of the Lady Patience’s recent occupation?’ Gallant asked, lengthening his stride to draw even.

  ‘Her school?’ Cinder was pleased to be able to take the wind out of the Priest’s sails with his answer. ‘Yes, she has spoken to me about it at length, and I agree it seems logical to educate the children of heathens on the Monad, rather than torture them into conversion. I wonder,’ he glanced at the priest disapprovingly, ‘why this avenue has not been explored before?’

  Gallant found himself on the defensive, and did not like it. ‘Our current methods of conversion are time honoured and successful; there has never been any need to vary them. In addition, once the heathens hear that their children are being fed, clothed, bedded down in the Amori castle, taught to read and write… what will motivate them to convert? Indeed, their children are being rewarded for their not converting.’ He frowned, irritated. ‘When the lady took the children from the dungeons this is not at all what she implied she would be doing with them.’

  ‘I doubt, very much, that any parent would consider their child being taken from them, even if they are being educated, as reward for not converting,’ Cinder replied blandly. ‘And you are still free to use your traditional methods of conversion on the adult population. The children, however, I insist, are Lady Patience’s to command.’

  ‘I doubt the Lady Patience’s sincerity in her conversion to the Monad,’ Gallant hissed. ‘She is not an appropriate role model for those children.’

  Cinder whirled on the priest. ‘You will be careful about what you say regarding the Lady Patience,’ he warned, ‘she has been nothing but loyal to the Monad in manner and word since her conversion. I will not have her slandered. The Lady Patience and her children are sacrosanct, do you understand me?’ It was time, he decided, to pull the teeth of this wolf. Gallant had grown bold and disrespectful with power garnered from Cinder’s own disinterest in the mundanity of ruling.

  The priest’s sneer was almost disguised by his cowl as he bowed, but not quite.

  ‘Is that all?’ Cinder demanded as they neared his rooms. He had spotted a rune etched in chalk on the wall, and he needed the priest to depart as he had a guest waiting in his chambers. ‘I need to bathe,’ he added, to soften the dismissal. He needed to pull the wolf’s teeth, but it would be easier to do if
the wolf was at his ease.

  ‘There was one other matter,’ Gallant waited as a gaggle of Shoethalian ladies passed them in the hall. Cinder had no doubt that they had lingered near his room for the opportunity to pass him in this way, hoping to draw his attention to their charms.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A body has been found-‘

  ‘Charity?’ Cinder was pleased. That the Lord’s body was still missing plagued him.

  ‘No,’ Gallant shook his head in emphasis. ‘No, a Hallow.’

  ‘A dead Hallow?’ Cinder was surprised. ‘Is that unusual, considering their nature and occupation?’

  ‘This dead Hallow’s occupation was to watch the EAerymen. His body was found in the shadows only a short distance from their door. He has been dead several days.’ Gallant frowned. ‘I consider that to be very suspicious.’

  ‘Do you think the EAerymen killed him?’ Cinder considered. ‘Then left him within a short distance of their room? Does that not seem a little foolish? Surely if the EAerymen killed him, they would lure him away from their room so as not to incriminate themselves? It seems more likely that someone killed him and left him near the EAerymen’s room in order to be found and incriminate them. I would be more inclined to warn the EAerymen that it appears they have an enemy in this court.’

  ‘I will investigate further,’ Gallant bowed his head. He was not pleased with Cinder’s continued support of the foreigners and that this ongoing support ran in direct opposition to Gallant’s own sentiments on the matter. ‘If you will excuse me,’ he swept off down the hall without a response from Cinder.

  ‘Trouble, trouble,’ Cinder frowned. And not the sort of trouble he excelled in. ‘Give me a sword and a straight challenge any day,’ he muttered to himself as he pushed open the door to his chamber. The chamber was, to all appearances, empty. He knew it was not so, and dropped the bar down to prevent interruption. ‘Spider?’ he said.