Wings of Stone (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 1)

by JD Monroe

  “And that would be worth torturing someone for?”

  “Oh yes,” Tarek said. “As it stands, the Ironflight’s safest passage to our lands is a narrow path through the mountains, past several heavily fortified outposts. However, if they were to learn the location of our Gate on your side, they could launch a surprise attack by moving their forces through your world and crossing over. By the time we saw them, it would be too late to mount a successful defense. Rumors abound of a Gate that enters directly into Adamantine Rise, but it is truly only a rumor.”

  In the human realm, the Gates were protected with powerful warding spells that concealed their location, much like Tarek and the other wind dragons concealed themselves. Even a keen tracker would be hard-pressed to follow a trail back to the Gate, instead finding that the trail suddenly died off miles away.

  “So everyone here is in danger?” Gabrielle said.

  Tarek hesitated. “You’ll be safe here. The citadel has never been breached.” There had been many attempts, resulting in a sort of patchwork effect of repairs to the stone walls around the perimeter, but that wouldn’t do much to assure her.

  “But will you be safe? You’re going to get involved, aren’t you?” The way she asked wasn’t accusatory, but the resigned sound of someone who knew it wasn’t worth arguing. How long had it been since someone had been concerned for him?

  “I have to,” Tarek said. He took a deep breath and took Gabrielle’s hand. She slowly raised her eyes to his. After brushing a kiss across the warm skin, he said “I’m sorry to have brought you into this.” And while he was sorry, he wasn’t sorry to have met her.

  “Is it weird that I don’t really mind anymore?”

  She gently extricated her hand from his, leaving him bereft and wondering if he had made a misstep. But instead of retreating to herself, she brushed her fingers against his cheek. Her touch left blazing trails along his jaw. Without thinking, he leaned in. Her lips parted. He had never wanted something so much as he wanted to kiss her in that moment, to unwrap the bothersome silk covering her body.

  He leaned in and murmured, “May I—”

  She cut him off with a kiss that took his breath away. Her lips were on his, warm and tasting of fine wine. He wasted no time, curling his arm around her waist and pulling her tight to his body. Her touch was fire on his skin. With her chest pressed to him, he felt her racing heart against his.

  She broke away for a second, breathing heavily, eyes wild as she searched him. The sight of her lips, plump and pink from his kiss nearly drove him mad. The part of him that stupidly thought he could resist the temptation was losing the battle.

  “Shall we?” he said. Her mouth quirked in a smile as she pressed closer to him, reaching back to pull the constricting silk dress up around her legs. He groaned and pulled her into his lap, her shapely legs squeezing either side of him. Her mouth found his, tongue lightly playing across his lips. Lust overwhelmed him, and he forgot all about his resolve to keep his distance. To hell with distance and detachment.

  Dizzy and breathless, he ran his hands from her hips and traced the graceful curve of her body. Through the textured fabric, he cupped her breasts. As his fingers grazed the tender peaks, her breath hitched, and her hips twitched against his groin. A wave of heat rolled over him as he stiffened.

  “Miss Gabrielle? I’ve brought you some—oh!”

  Tarek gasped in surprise and looked over Gabrielle’s shoulder to see a young servant woman standing at the door with flushed cheeks. She looked back and forth and finally said, “Should I come back?”

  “I—uh,” Gabrielle stammered. Her hair was messy around her face. She bit her lip, her head hunched as if she was trying to hide.

  Outside, a long horn sounded three times. Along with the handmaiden’s arrival, the sound of it jolted him out of his lustful reverie. They were on the brink of war, and here he was letting his lust do the thinking. He squeezed Gabrielle’s shoulder lightly and spoke quietly. “It pains me greatly to leave, but I should go.”

  She started to speak, then closed her mouth and nodded. “You should go.”

  He carefully rearranged his clothing and hoped the evidence of his indiscretion wasn’t too obvious. The handmaiden was pointedly looking away as he got to his feet and composed himself. “I’d appreciate your discretion,” he said.

  “Of course,” she said.

  He gave Gabrielle a lingering glance. With loose strands of hair falling around her face, her lips and cheeks flushed, she looked even more beautiful than ever. And now that he had tasted her kiss, touched the swell and curve of her body, it took all of his willpower to look away.

  Damn the Ironflight.

  The barracks were swarming with the Adamant Guard. Narrow wooden doors stood open as the guards hurried to don uniforms. Shouts echoed in the stone corridor as they yelled back and forth with rumors and orders. Tarek found himself at the back of the crowd, and yet again, he was reminded of how his position had changed.

  There was no breaking through the tight crowd, and even if he’d been able to get to Navan, he probably would have been told to simply be on alert like any other civilian. Instead, Tarek took advantage of his decades of service to the queen and took a side hallway that spiraled around to a side entrance to the gardens. The citadel was full of narrow passages and obscured doors that allowed guards and servants to move quickly.

  As much as he wanted to see someone pay for what had happened to Ashariah, the thought of going to war with the Ironflight filled Tarek with dread. He had been barely old enough to fight during the Great War, and had lived the vast majority of his life in its aftermath. Furthermore, it was only by the Skymother’s blessing that Halmerah hadn’t attacked Prince Zayir. Silver tongued and calm, he was the balance to his sister Tarim’s fiery temper. If Halmerah so much as singed a hair on his head, Tarim would order her armies into Adamantine Rise and promise all of the hidden wealth of Vakhdahl as a bounty for Halmerah’s head. It would be an ugly fight, and one Tarek wasn’t certain the Stoneflight would win.

  The gardens were empty as far as he could see. Glass lanterns cast a hazy yellow glow across the path. The quiet was calming after the nervous tension in the citadel, but his mind drifted upstairs.

  Focus, he thought.

  Sure enough, his instincts had led him well. In the heart of the gardens, at the absolute center of the circle of pillars was a raised platform called the farhenh dar Isina, or the Skymother’s Heart. It was austere, just a flat stone clearing with two arches that crossed overhead to keep the overgrowth from covering it. Beneath the arches, four guards were stationed at compass points while the queen sat in the middle, now in her human form. Captain Navan waited at the perimeter, along with several of the queen’s councilors. Navan looked up and tilted his head quizzically at the sight of Tarek on the opposite edge of the clearing.

  Though Halmerah’s back was to him, she spoke up. “Old habits die hard, don’t they, Tarek-ahn?”

  He froze as the rest of the guards turned to face him. Several put hands to their swords out of instinct. “I came to see if you were…” He fished for the word.

  “Myself?” Halmerah said. She turned and looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes heavy and tired. “In control?”

  “Su’ud redahn, I meant no offense.”

  “I understand,” she said. She braced one hand on the stone and started to get to her feet. One of the guards and Councilor Eszen rushed forward, but she waved them off as she stood and straightened her clothes. Her silver dress had no doubt been ruined by her unplanned transformation, and she now wore a plain dark gray dressing gown that was still finer than any formal dress he’d seen in the human world. Her dark hair hung loose down her back, with part of it pulled away from her face and caught in a silver comb. Though she remained still, he could see the change as she composed herself and took on the stoic persona of queen once more. “And I know you, Tarek-ahn. You did not come here to check on me. You want to be involved with whatever lies ahe
ad.”

  “I—yes,” he said. There was no point in lying to her.

  “Majesty, I understand your sentiment, but…” Eszen protested.

  Halmerah snapped her head around, silencing the councilor with a look. “Tarek Windstriker was my protector long before you took your seat on the council.”

  Eszen glared at Tarek, but closed his mouth and remained silent.

  “Furthermore, Tarek saw the evidence of the Ironflight attack firsthand,” Halmerah said. “And protected my daughter against their continued attempts to kill her. He has a right to be here.”

  “Thank you, su’ud redahn,” Tarek said.

  “If I may speak, my queen?” Captain Navan said. “The Prince and his entourage have been secured. Would you care to be present for the interrogation?”

  Halmerah shook her head. “I do not trust myself with the Prince. You, Councilor Eszen, and Tarek will go. I trust you to get information.”

  “You wish for me to go?” Tarek asked. Did she actually trust him with something so important?

  Her cool eyes searched him. “You observed the aftermath of their treachery first hand. It makes sense, does it not?” Her expression was probing.

  “Of course,” he said quickly. Pride swelled in him, but he pushed it back, not wanting to let his hope get ahead of him.

  Navan nodded his agreement. “By what means do you wish us to obtain this information?”

  “The Ironflight are cowards for attacking my daughter when they wished to hurt me,” Halmerah said. “I will not resort to such tactics. You will treat the Prince with the utmost respect.”

  “And his guards?”

  Halmerah simply shrugged. “My hospitality has its limits, and the Iron Blade is beyond my concern. Do what you must.”

  Dread gripped Tarek’s stomach. He knew what that would mean. The excessive courtesy and smooth diplomacy had ended when they saw Dakhar and what had been done to him. “Has Dakhar spoken?” he asked.

  Halmerah raised her eyes to him, then looked to Eszen. “Councilor?”

  Eszen snapped to attention. “I will send a messenger for information immediately,” he said.

  “I wish to know as soon as he is able to speak of what happened,” Halmerah said.

  Eszen nodded. “It will be done.”

  Halmerah paused, then gestured to the other councilor next to Eszen. The woman was new to the council and must have been seated after he’d been moved to the Gate. “Netha, see that the Vak are notified to be on guard. They are to report anything strange to us immediately.”

  “How much shall I tell them?”

  “They need not know details,” Halmerah said. She gestured to Navan. “See that Lieutenant L’hash speaks with the City Guard. Double all posts, and send word immediately to our outposts. And send word to the Circle of Edra.”

  Navan exchanged a look with Eszen. “Yes, my queen,” he said. “It will be done.”

  While most of the guest quarters in Adamantine Rise featured the huge open windows that allowed for the Kadirai to take to the skies, there were several smaller rooms with no windows. They were reserved for guests for whom protocol dictated a cell was inappropriate, but could not be allowed to roam freely throughout the citadel.

  Prince Zayir had been forcibly escorted to one of these rooms. As Tarek followed Navan and a trio of guards down the corridor, his eyes lingered on Gabrielle’s door. It had been at least an hour, but the mere sight of the door reawakened the fire in him. His mind drifted to the memory of her lips, of her body pressed to his.

  “Are you all right?” Navan asked.

  Tarek snapped to attention. “Just thinking.”

  “About your Vak friend?”

  “She is not Vak,” Tarek said. “She is from the human world.”

  “The words are irrelevant. She is not Kadirai,” Navan said sharply. “Perhaps you have been too long at the Gate.”

  “Perhaps you should mind the task at hand,” Tarek replied as anger bloomed in his chest, wrapping a hot vise around his heart.

  Navan simply raised an eyebrow at him, then stopped at a door toward the end of the corridor. Two heavily armed guards stood outside with spears held at their sides. Navan nodded, and one of the guards removed a key from his belt and opened the door.

  Navan entered first, with Tarek and Eszen close behind. As soon as they entered the room, Zayir began speaking. “I will remind you that I am the prince of the Ironflight, second only to the esteemed and divinely blessed Tarim, who traces her bloodline to—”

  “Save your breath, Prince,” Navan interrupted. He gestured to a small table in the corner of the room. Spread on the table were plates of fruit and bread, along with a pitcher of wine and several cups. The dishes were plainer than the fine pieces used at the feast, but still far nicer than anything Tarek had seen in his years away.

  The guest quarters themselves were richly appointed; not quite as lavish as Gabrielle’s room, but they were more than adequate. A bed large enough for two stood against one wall, draped with dark gray silks and an excessive number of cushions. A servant had even brought several changes of clothes, including a gray dressing gown, a pair of dark trousers, and a pair of slippers to protect a prince’s feet against the cold stone floor.

  “Have you complaints about the hospitality?” Navan said.

  “I have complaints that I did not ask for your hospitality,” Zayir said. “I came in good faith at your queen’s whim. Had I known that her invitation was merely a formality to accuse my people of a horrific crime with no evidence, and that your queen had no intention of listening to reason, I would not have come.”

  Navan pulled the sword from his belt, and for the first time since the Prince had arrived, Tarek saw fear cross his face. Navan simply placed the sword on the table, then sat on the stool next to it as he helped himself to a piece of bread. “Do you mind? My dinner was rather rudely interrupted,” he said.

  Zayir folded his arms across his chest and sat on the edge of the bed. “You know this will not bode well for the peace between our people.”

  “Perhaps you should have considered that before attacking our princess,” Navan said, taking a messy bite of the bread.

  Zayir scowled. “I cannot say it any more plainly. There was no such attack.”

  Navan gestured to one of the other guards, who produced a small cloth-wrapped bundle and set it on the table. Zayir’s eyes followed it, his brow furrowing as he waited for Navan to touch it. But Navan took his time to finish chewing his bread, brush imaginary crumbs from his chestplate, and pour a cup of wine before touching it. The prince’s expression had turned to a scowl by the time Navan finally unwrapped the bundle.

  Inside the linen fabric was the jagged knife Tarek had found on Surik’s body. There was still dried blood along the gleaming blade. Navan held it up and made a show of looking it over. “This is of Ironflight make, is it not?”

  “I’m hardly a blacksmith,” Zayir replied. “It looks familiar, yes.”

  Navan squinted and held the blade closer to his face. “Anakh Mardahl,” he said pointedly. “For the lands of Iron.” He wrinkled his nose. “The gemstones are a bit gaudy, don’t you think?”

  “As I said, I’m not the maker. Can I ask why you’re so intent on showing me your little knife? If it’s a threat, it’s not terribly effective.”

  Tarek watched him closely. The Ironflight prince was renowned for his silver tongue. Though he paid lip service to his sister’s authority, virtually anyone who dealt with the Ironflight knew that Zayir was the puppetmaster operating the throne. It was his cunning that kept the Ironflight queen out of trouble. Zayir didn’t show any of the telltale signs of lying, but Tarek had a feeling that the prince could have promised that it was indeed daylight outside and made Tarek check to be sure.

  “This was buried in one of the princess’s guards,” Navan said. “Explain yourself, or I’ll be forced to draw my own conclusions.”

  Zayir sighed. “Several weeks ago, one of our ou
tposts was attacked. We believed it likely to be the work of the Edra separatists, or perhaps the Shadowflight. They left the guards slain and cleared out all of the supplies, including the armory.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of such an incident,” Navan said.

  “Why would a minor larceny in Mardahl come to your attention? If there is a tradition of reporting our daily trivia to each other, I’m rather behind. If you’re interested, I spent last night in the company of two lovely…”

  Navan slammed the blade down into the table, rattling the plates with the impact. The prince stopped short, but his expression was amused rather than frightened. “I tire of your tongue.”

  “Your explanation is rather convenient,” Tarek said.

  “The truth cares little for convenience,” Zayir said, scowling at Tarek. “May I assume that the queen will levy her accusations with equal intensity at the Shadowflight?”

  Navan ignored the jab and crossed his arms over his chest. “Will your guards verify your story? We both know you are the face and the voice of the Ironflight. And you would never get your royal hands dirty with such nasty business.”

  Zayir threw up his hands. “There is nothing I can say that will convince you of our innocence. That much is obvious.”

  “The truth would be an excellent start,” Navan said.

  With a sigh, Zayir sat at the table directly across from Navan. Despite the guard captain’s superior size and advantage in numbers, the prince looked unruffled. Neatly avoiding the knife buried in the wooden table, he topped off Navan’s cup of wine, and poured himself a cup. He looked back to Tarek and the other guards, making an offering gesture. Tarek scowled in response, which only made the prince smile.

  “You are not interested in the truth, or this conversation would have been over hours ago,” Zayir said after taking a sip of his wine. “Halmerah craves vengeance. She always has. Your kind belittle my sister for her fits of passion, but at least my sister has never slain an entire flight for the actions of their queen.”