by JD Monroe
Barely on his feet, he released his already tenuous hold on his dragon form. There were a dozen guards on the platform, all armed to the teeth, but they recognized him and put away their swords.
“Do you have news?” one of them said.
“I need to see Halmerah immediately,” he said.
The guard looked as if he wanted to give Tarek a hard time, but instead he sheathed his weapon and hurried toward the locked door leading down into the citadel. On the way, Tarek grabbed one of the leather kilts, wrapping it around himself as he took the stairs three at a time. “She is in the gardens,” the guard said.
“The gardens,” he murmured. “Why?”
“So she can join the battle if she pleases,” the guard said politely.
Oh, that would not do. The gardens were open to the sky, with a chain net that could be pulled over the open ceiling in such an event. It could be retracted just as quickly to allow a furious queen to join the fight. And when she heard of the ambush on Broken Stone Keep, she would surely be out for blood.
Tarek quickened his pace. He was so focused on moving ahead that he plowed into a familiar blue-robed figure on the stairs. “Eszen,” he blurted. “I’m sorry.”
“Tarek?”
The sound of Gabrielle’s voice was a balm to his wounds, a warmth that instantly lifted the ache from his muscles. She was disheveled and looked terrified, but she was alive. She hurried toward him with open arms, and he embraced her, ignoring the inquisitive expression on the councilor’s face. “Mr…Councilor Eszen was taking me to see the queen.”
“I’ll go,” he said. He turned on his heel and snapped at the retinue following Eszen. “I want you to escort her to the dungeons.”
“I am not going down there again!” Gabby spluttered.
Tarek glared at her. Her stubbornness had its drawbacks. “It’s standard protocol for guests, Gabrielle,” he snapped. “It’s one of the safest places in the entire citadel.” Tarek made eye contact with one of Eszen’s messengers. “Please see that she is comfortable, but ensure that she arrives.”
“Tarek—”
He ignored her. “Councilor Eszen, you must see that the prince is released before Halmerah harms him.”
“Wait, I am not giving that order without her permission,” Eszen said.
“But I just told you,” Gabrielle protested.
“I believe you,” Eszen said. “And I will help plead the case to the queen.”
“Then let us ask her together,” Tarek said. “But we have to act now.”
Eszen hesitated, then nodded in agreement. He snapped his fingers at the messengers behind him. “Take her to safety.” One of the men nodded and took Gabrielle’s arm lightly. She scowled, but followed him down the corridor with an angry look thrown back at Tarek. He winced, but did not call back for her. She could be angry from the safety of the mountain’s depths, where the chaos of battle would not reach her. “The rest of you, with me.”
Halmerah paced the length of the farhenh, the heart of the gardens. Her eyes flicked from her councilors up to the open sky and back. There was a nervous energy about her as she moved. This was the first time the city had been attacked in over a century, when her grandmother was the Empress during the Great War.
Her councilors were posted around the perimeter of the farhenh. Several of them wore heavy purple amulets like Gabrielle’s. Rather than translation, these allowed for long-distance communication with a paired amulet. Each of the councilors had messengers or spies posted through the citadel and the city below, sending reports back to the queen.
As Tarek approached, Councilor Netha suddenly lifted the amulet over her head and covered her mouth. Her face was pale, and it didn’t take much to realize what had happened. The connection through the amulets was telepathic, and something unpleasant had happened on the other end. Halmerah didn’t flinch, but she wasn’t particularly calm either. Though her face was as stoic as ever, her fingers fluttered against her legs as she paced. Her feet were bare, and she only wore a light robe belted with a silver sash, as if she was simply waiting for the signal to transform and take on the attacking force herself. During the Great War, she had fought as fiercely as the Adamant Guard in her grandmother’s name.
“Majesty, I have news,” Tarek said. He hurried toward the platform and sank into a kneeling position. His tired muscles protested as he crouched.
“Get up,” she snapped. “What is it?”
“Su’ud redahn, our enemy is not the Ironflight,” Tarek said. “I flew Gabrielle back to the Gate, and I found everyone slain.”
“On both sides?”
“I wasn’t able to find out,” he said. “I think we have to assume so.”
“How did they find it?”
“Dakhar,” Tarek said quietly. “Did he talk to them?”
“He swears he didn’t,” Councilor Thiven answered.
“Is that your news?” Halmerah snapped. “I’m not sure how you feel that exonerates the Ironflight.”
Tarek winced at her sharp tone. “I was attacked several times coming here. Each time, my attacker said ordahnar ikh valahn.” Long live the Ironflight.
“So?”
“So, the Ironflight never refer to themselves that way,” Tarek said. “I even spoke to one of them and gave the traditional greeting nalak halar, and they didn’t respond appropriately.”
“Get him out of here,” Halmerah said. “I don’t have time to debate language with you, Tarek. You sound as foolish as Thiven and his etiquette rules.”
Two of her guards rushed forward and grabbed his arms. Tarek struggled against them and shouted back at her. “Wait! You have to listen!”
“You waste my time in the heat of battle,” Halmerah said, her temper slipping through her tenuous grasp. Light flashed behind her eyes, as if the dragon was about to overwhelm her. Her eyes narrowed. “And for what? A discussion of the manners of those who attack my city with dishonor?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Tarek said. “It’s like we’ve been saying. These people want us to think they’re the Ironflight, but they’re not. The Ironflight find it offensive to be referred to as Ordahnar. You know that. Don’t you remember? When the girls were very young, you had to pay Tarim a tribute to make up for them using ordahnar at a state dinner. They would never refer to themselves that way, especially not as a battle cry.” Nalak halar was the traditional Ironflight greeting; the word nalak actually meant chosen. They used it to mean that they were chosen by the flames.
Halmerah stared at him. “Why does it matter?”
“Because you—we—are not ready for what’s out there,” he said. “There are two white dragons that are unlike anything I have seen, except for in your daughter’s nightmares. They are not of the Ironflight. There were three, but one of them was felled, at the cost of many of our own.”
“Then I will face them myself,” Halmerah said. She pulled the silver crown from her head and threw it aside. One of her attendants cringed and hurried to pick it up, surreptitiously brushing it clean. “Pull back the chain. They will soon see who they call to battle.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
As she descended into the reeking depths of the dungeons, Gabby was seething at Tarek. It wasn’t like she had much to offer in battle, but she didn’t want to be tucked away in some corner of the dungeon.
She’d thought Tarek was spinning a tale to get her down here and far away from the battle, but sure enough, there were half a dozen other guests looking frightened as armed guards ushered them into the dark, musty corridors. Eszen’s messenger led her toward the right corridor, on the opposite side of where she’d first visited. She shuddered involuntarily as she recalled her unpleasant welcome and subsequent trip through the leftmost doorway.
Along the right corridor, half the cells stood open. In the first cell they passed, a worried-looking man stood in the doorway, craning his neck as if he could see the action if he looked up. He flinched suddenly as a shout of fear and
rage came from the cell across the hall. Though the cells were windowless and the noise of battle was far away, it was like the prisoners could smell the tension and the blood in the air. They were noisy, their half-crazed cries echoing off the stone.
The messenger took her to a cell halfway down the corridor and gestured for her to sit. It was similar to the cell they’d brought her to before, with a cubby carved into the stone and metal rings on the wall. Someone had brought a rough-hewn wooden chair inside in an attempt to make it a fraction more inviting. “It’s not terribly comfortable, but it is safe,” the messenger said apologetically. “I must return to Councilor Eszen.”
He bowed politely, then left Gabby alone in the cell. She waited a moment, then walked to the door and looked up and down the hallway. A guard with a stack of linens up to his chin waddled down the hall. He stopped at each open door in turn and handed a blanket to its occupant. When he reached Gabby, he tilted his head in surprise. “Weren’t you…”
“I’ve been here before,” she said drily. She took the scratchy blanket from him and set it inside the stone cubby, then folded her arms over her chest.
“Well…let me know if you require something,” the guard said. He cleared his throat and hurried out of the cell.
When he had left, she waited in the doorway, listening carefully for any sign of the battle outside. But she heard nothing; the dungeons were deep in the citadel. Nervous energy took over, and she tiptoed out into the hall to wander. She didn’t go all the way back to the entrance, but slowly walked up and down, casually inspecting each cell. There were seven other cells that had open doors and guests inside. Two cells were entirely empty, and the rest were locked. With each lap up and down the hall, she peeked into the round antechamber. Several of the guards gathered around the table, talking quietly. Nothing interesting.
She lost track of how many times she had walked the hall when a pair of armed guards came down the hall with swords drawn. With a quick step back to clear their path, she watched as they prepared to open a locked cell a few doors down. When the female guard placed her palm on the door, the other stood with his sword ready to strike. They nodded to each other as if they were preparing for an ambush. A flash of hot anger burned in Gabby’s chest as she recognized the woman. It was the same guard who’d taunted her and dragged her down into the dungeon upon her arrival here.
The door swung open, and the guard with the sword jumped a little. The woman stepped into the cell, and emerged a minute later leading a prisoner. With his wrists shackled in front of him and connected by a heavy chain, Kaldir emerged from the dark cell. As soon as she saw him, her heart sank. He was naked and covered in bruises and welts. He’d had a rough night by the looks of it. The woman led him, the chain dangling from her hand, while the male guard followed close behind with his sword still in hand.
“We ought to do it ourselves,” the male guard said. “Save the queen some trouble.”
Kaldir’s eyes went wide. “What’s happened?”
The woman scowled and threw an elbow back into his ribs. “Don’t play stupid.”
Kaldir took the blow silently and doubled over, then straightened with an imperious scowl. “If you touch the prince—”
“You’ll what?” the woman responded. “The queen plans to send your head on a platter back to your bitch queen in Ironhold. Maybe with some flowers to make it pretty.”
They hadn’t gotten Tarek’s message to the queen, or if they had, she hadn’t cared. Gabby swallowed the lump in her throat. She stared at Kaldir, her heart pounding as she contemplated his fate. As if he felt the weight of her eyes, he looked up suddenly, his amber eyes locking on hers. He looked calm, but not entirely resigned.
He was like Tarek, only with different allegiances. And if they killed him, they would probably do the same to the prince.
Led by the guards, Kaldir shuffled closer, the links of the chains clanking together and scraping against the floor. Her heart pounded as she pondered what to do. If Tarek was right, and she had to believe he was, then that would start a war. Thousands of innocents would die in the city, and while she didn’t know them, that mattered. If Tarek was wrong, then releasing the prince and his bodyguard still wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice small and shaky. “Guards.”
The woman looked up and frowned. “What?” She tilted her head. “Wait, what are you doing here?”
“I’m one of the queen’s honored guests,” Gabby retorted. “And you’re about to make your second huge mistake in a week.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not the Ironflight,” she said. “We saw it ourselves.”
The woman ignored her and kept walking until she was within arm’s reach of Gabby’s door. With a deep breath, Gabby stepped into the middle of the narrow hall. Even with her smaller size, they wouldn’t be able to pass her. “Move,” the woman said.
Kaldir tilted his head quizzically. She set her jaw and planted her hands on her hips to make herself as big of a presence as possible, hoping she channeled the renowned Rojas stare the nurses talked about. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this. If you kill him, you’re only going to piss off his queen and have twice the problem you have now.”
“You should listen to the Vak woman,” Kaldir said mildly.
“I’ve been to the Gate,” she said, emboldened by Kaldir’s endorsement. “And I saw what’s going on in the city. Unless the Ironflight suddenly have white dragons the size of tractor trailers, then it’s not them.”
The woman frowned. “Tractor…” Damn amulet. Her confusion evaporated into a scowl. She made a growling sound of annoyance and threw out her arm to push Gabby out of the way. As soon as the woman moved, Kaldir fixed his gaze on Gabby and said, “Move.”
She crouched and flattened herself against the wall as Kaldir brought his chained wrists around like a club. The female was distracted with trying to move Gabby. Reacting to the clank of metal, she turned just in time to catch Kaldir’s balled fists directly in the nose. She yelped in surprise and brought one hand to her bloodied face, and Kaldir took advantage of her distraction to strike another vicious blow to the back of her head. Like someone had flipped a switch, she flopped to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Without even looking, Kaldir whirled and threw his elbow back into the male guard’s face. A graceful spin brought him face-to-face with the guard. Kaldir body-slammed the other man into the stone wall, pressing his thick forearm to his throat and leaning in hard. “Drop the sword.”
“Vazredakh,” the guard spat. With the tight quarters and Kaldir pinning him, he couldn’t do much, but he still managed to strike at Kaldir’s back and side with the hilt of the sword. The bigger man winced, but kept his grip. Kaldir hiked his shoulder up and lifted the guard clear off the ground. His face reddened as he tried to get a breath.
“Drop it,” Kaldir said. The guard was persistent; even with his eyes rolling back from lack of air, he continued swinging at Kaldir with his sword.
Gabby lunged around them and grabbed the guard’s elbow, digging her fingers deep into his sleeve and feeling for the wiry tendons in his elbow. She pinched as hard as she could, prompting a choked yelp as his fingers opened. The sword clattered to the floor.
Kaldir looked down at her, his jaw slack in surprise. “Get his keys.”
She found the ring on his belt quickly and pulled it free. There was a noisy thud as Kaldir released the guard and let him fall. As soon as he hit the ground, Kaldir kicked him hard in the face. His head snapped back, and a spray of blood spattered the stone. It was a surprisingly savage move, but judging by Kaldir’s state, it might have been justified.
“Did you kill him?”
“He’s unconscious,” Kaldir said. “Though they were going to kill me.”
“It was a misunderstanding,” she said.
“Which would have been of great comfort when my head was on a platter,” he said drily. He held out his chained
wrists. “Release me.”
“Would a please kill you?”
He stepped toward her, his face set in a dark, grim expression. She swallowed hard. She sure hoped she hadn’t just bet on the wrong horse. “This is not the time for wit.”
“Are you going to hurt me if I release you?”
“I have no reason to hurt you,” he said simply.
She fumbled through the keys to find one that would fit the odd hexagonal keyhole on his manacles. It was distracting to be so close, with six and a half feet of glorious Ironflight muscle in her face. His chest and sides were marked with dark welts, and she could picture the clenched fist that had left each one. He was still handsome, but he smelled pretty rough. She tried not to think too hard about the details of the last twelve hours of Kaldir’s life.
Finally, she found a key that worked, and released the manacles. As soon as she had unlocked the second chain, he crouched to grab the guard he’d pinned to the wall. With a groan of effort, he hauled the guard into the empty cell he’d vacated. He returned for the other, and closed the door behind him. A subtle smile pulled at his lips as he turned away from the door.
With the distance between them, she couldn’t help but notice that he was naked as a newborn. Good Lord.
He caught her inspecting him and gave her a wry smile. “Are you impressed?”
Her cheeks flushed hot. “Should I be?” His smile widened. “Besides, I was noticing your leg. You’re limping.”
He looked down and flexed his right knee with a wince. “The hospitality of your friends.”
“If you want me to fix it, I will,” she said.
“I do not need your help.”
“And that changed when? Because two minutes ago you sure did.”
He scowled at her. She raised her eyebrows and stared back, hoping he couldn’t do some crazy dragon thing and spit fire at her from down the hall.
“Will you help me?” he finally said.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said in an overly sweet tone. He rolled his eyes and approached. “Go sit in there.”