The Dragon Princess

by Paris Hansch

  Adelia stopped dead in her tracks. There was a strong sense of menace coming from the gates, an uncontrollable anger that flooded her senses. A blur crossed the grounds, expertly weaving their way toward Mina. There was a glint of silver in the figure’s grip. Adelia shouted, but her voice was lost in the crowd.

  Mina immediately spun on her heel, unhooking her sword from her belt. She blocked the strike, her blade still sheathed, and pushed the intruder back. Some of the soldiers, including Alexander, ran over, springing into action and surrounding them. But Mina held up a hand.

  “No one is to interfere.”

  Adelia cocked her head. That girl was never worried about anything. She turned her gaze to the intruder, a cloaked figure with a black dragon mask, definitely male. His posture was aggressive, but she couldn’t sense any real ill intent. She narrowed her eyes. This was no Lanadese assassin or enraged imperial commander. There was a warmth about him that she couldn’t describe.

  “I see you haven’t entirely lost your touch.” His voice was deep, the accent foreign. “Though that shoulder wound clearly demonstrates your incompetence.”

  “How dare you speak to her like that,” said Alexander, drawing his sword.

  Mina kept her eyes trained on the intruder, merely waving a hand to halt his approach. She matched her opponent’s steps as they circled each other. “My deepest apologies, old man, but I doubt you could best me, even with one sword and an injury.”

  “Arrogant as always.”

  Mina smirked. “Not when it’s the truth.”

  “Let’s test that, then.”

  They lunged simultaneously.

  Adelia watched on, her eyes following their every move. She was no expert, but she knew that neither was holding back, their strikes calculated and precise. The intruder held his own, unlike the general. He moved as effortlessly as his opponent, his sleeveless shirt highlighting his muscular arms. The man’s anger had simmered down to frustration, though his movements reflected nothing but an exceedingly calm demeanor.

  Without warning, the pair were locked in a stalemate. Each a sword’s length away, their weapons were against each other’s throats. No one moved, but Adelia smiled. She could feel it now that he was closer. Their familiarity with each other was obvious. Peculiar greeting for friends, though.

  They lowered their swords, bowing to each other. Mina launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Adelia’s smile faded. He removed his mask, returning the embrace.

  “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he said. His hair was ashen gray, the short spikes angled to the side. He was handsome, with a strong chin, though his age began to show in the wrinkles across his forehead and in the corners of his eyes.

  Mina grinned. “I missed you, too.”

  A commotion echoed from the castle gates, and a tall woman waltzed across the grounds to join them, ignoring the threats and weapons of half a dozen guards. She dressed in strange clothing; the curves of her waist and hips were accentuated with leather, and her legs were exposed. Her skin was bronzed, and her dark hair was pulled back from her face. Metallic frames encasing two pieces of glass sat over her nose, and a circular blade hung at her waist. Adelia gaped. Lysanthian inventions, just like in her books.

  The woman stood with a hand on her hip. “How touching. You were meant to wait for me.”

  Mina’s face lit up, and she ran to embrace the woman.

  Adelia frowned. It’s not like she didn’t expect Mina to know people from before, but they should be keeping their distance since they obviously knew her as their princess. It was only proper; this was not.

  The woman shook Mina by the shoulders. “He’s been constantly grumbling about all the punishments he’s conjured up. Two years I’ve had to listen to that, and now, here he is, getting all emotional.”

  The man straightened up all of sudden, like he’d remembered something. “That’s right, don’t think you’re getting off easy. And I’m not emotional,” he snapped at the woman.

  Mina cocked her head. “Like you haven’t been slacking in my absence. Where were you?”

  The woman slapped her forehead. “Here we go again.”

  The two strangers began to quarrel, though Adelia didn’t sense any malice—rather, the indescribable warmth of close friends. Adelia fiddled with her dress, rubbing the cloth between her fingers. She couldn’t remember if she and Mina had ever felt that warm. Had they ever joked around like that?

  Eventually, Mina silenced them and turned to address the curious onlookers. “I apologize for that display. Let me introduce two of my imperial guards.” She gestured to the man, “Kakeru, from the capital,” then to the woman, “and Sara, from Lysanthir.”

  So, Adelia was right about the woman. But she didn’t look all that special, even if she was Lysanthian, nor did she seem to be fit for the role of the princess’ guard. Adelia leveled her gaze. It was irritating, the way Sara stood there like the rest of them were beneath her.

  Her brother held out a stiff hand. “I am Lord Alexander. This is my brother Anton and my sister Adelia.” He gestured to them.

  Kakeru took his hand, but their eyes never left each other, their grip lingering for a moment too long.

  “I know who you are, Lord Alexander, and I do hope you’ve been taking good care of our princess.”

  Adelia narrowed her eyes. Taking good care of Mina? If it weren’t for Adelia, Mina wouldn’t have had it as good as she did, under the circumstances. It was by her request that Mina was made her maidservant instead of being thrown somewhere in the bottom ranks. It was she who gave her everything she needed to be more than comfortable. It was she who defended her against people’s suspicions. They should be asking her, not her brother. She knew Mina best.

  But she just stood there, her jaw clenched.

  Alexander hesitated. “Well—”

  Mina took a step between them. “I’m fine, really. Like you said, the wound was my fault, and you know they didn’t know who I was.”

  Adelia almost wanted to stop her. Mina didn’t have to defend her brother.

  Kakeru nodded after a pause. “True. We heard about Commander Ido. Good thing you finally caused a commotion, though, or we wouldn’t have found you.”

  “Even when you’re not hiding, you’re difficult to find,” remarked Sara. “And then, we got caught up trying to fulfill our mission without you.” She patted Mina’s shoulder. “Aren’t the healers any good here? Cynric will be here soon, I’m sure, and we can get that fixed up in no time.”

  Adelia bit her tongue. Elaine did the best she could; she always did. It was a nasty wound to begin with, and even with the power of the spirit arts, it could take many sessions for things to heal.

  Who did this woman think she was? She couldn’t just waltz in and insult their only healer.

  Mina put up a hand. “It’s fine, both of you. Let’s talk somewhere.”

  Adelia watched her walk off with the strangers, laughing and joking with each other. It wasn’t fair. Some imperial guards they were, anyway, having disappeared for two years. They hadn’t been with her when she was dying on the riverbank, and they’d left her alone this whole time. But now, all of a sudden, they felt like they had the right to come here and act like nothing had changed? Mina hadn’t even scolded them.

  Adelia stormed off, retrieving her bow. Though her hands ached and the general had told her to stop for today, she nocked an arrow. Well, she could be useful, too. No, not just useful—she was going to be even more useful than they were. She wasn’t about to lose to them without a fight.

  She moved away from everyone, closer to the outer walls. She just wanted some space. Adelia took aim at an ice pear tree, the giant trunk an easy target. Before she could release the arrow, the hairs of the back of her arms stood up, and she shivered. There was someone here. Not just any someone, either. Adelia whirled around, but there was no one. It was a strange feeling. Like Mina, but not; like her brothers, but not.

  The ice
pears jostled. Adelia let the arrow fly into the thick leaves. There was a stifled yelp, and a little girl tumbled out of the branches. She landed in a heap on the ground. Adelia edged closer, another arrow at the ready. She might be a child, but there was no mistaking that her aura was like an inferno, simmering under the surface—dangerous, yet comfortingly familiar.

  The child quickly brushed herself off, her hood falling back. She was small and clearly malnourished; she appeared as though she’d never had a proper meal in her life. Her hair was a brilliant scarlet, and her eyes were like Eloria’s fields. She took a dazed look at Adelia.

  “Mama?”

  14

  Chapter Forteen

  Scarlet

  Scarlet slipped through the streets, avoiding the more populated areas. Lively music was everywhere, and the Celestial Dragon Festival drew people toward Anadrieth’s main city. She rolled her eyes as she headed in the opposite direction, pushing open an unlocked door with her finger.

  Fools.

  It was the easiest day of the year to steal, and these villagers couldn’t even remember to bar their doors. She waltzed right inside, slipping anything of value into her pockets as she passed. The other orphans scrounged around for scraps every day and begged on the streets, but Scarlet didn’t bother. If they were smarter, they’d simply take advantage of the right times.

  The door flung open, and she quickly dived into the next room.

  Dragons, they shouldn’t have come home this early.

  Voices exploded through the house as Scarlet eyed the size of the window—too small. Under the bed—too visible. Her heart pounded. She was stuck in the room. Maybe they would leave.

  “Look what you’ve done!” shouted the man.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You useless, good for nothing—”

  A scream, a shattering smash. Then, a dull thud.

  Scarlet whirled toward the noise, her eyes widening. A slender arm lay on the floor, and Scarlet clapped a hand over her mouth. The man kicked the woman, his feet crunching on whatever had broken.

  “Get up!” He kicked her harder, and her face rolled into view. “Lazy,” he barked. A crimson stream trickled over her cheek under her glassy eyes.

  Scarlet’s forehead was hot. Her chest was burning.

  He just killed her.

  She was walking toward him before she even realized it, and he glanced up with a brief look of shock that soon twisted into a scowl. He lunged toward her.

  “Get out of here, you little brat—”

  She snapped her fingers on instinct, and her fingertips sparked, her palms bursting into flames. Her body grew hotter, uncomfortably so, but didn’t burn. She never burned.

  The man stumbled back, grasping wildly behind him, and found a vase, but it wouldn’t help him. The flame grew, concentrating into white-hot balls of energy. He deserved it. Scarlet breathed out. The entire house exploded in flames. His flesh melted in a mere instant, his very bones disintegrating.

  The heat was unbearable. It burned through her, consuming every inch of her. But she reveled in it. It was like she was meant to do this. Through the flames, she saw a face, the same face she always saw—a beautiful woman with golden locks. The woman was surrounded by fire, but still, she smiled.

  Freezing water was suddenly thrown into her face, and Scarlet jolted upright, gasping for air. Laughter filled the room as two of the boys stood over her, one holding the now empty bucket.

  “Get up, Red. The matron’s been calling for you,” one said, tugging on a strand of her hair. She glared at them as they ran off. Stupid boys.

  Scarlet wiped her face with her threadbare blanket, wringing the water from her hair. Maybe she should just cut it all off and be done with it. It would be easier to take care of, at least. Her hands were trembling, and she clutched her shoulders, hugging herself as she gritted her teeth.

  She’d dreamed of that night ever since it happened, unable to forget. The strange, indescribable feeling that’d overcome her had happened before, but though she tried, she couldn’t replicate the fire that had burst forth from her body. Not that she really wanted to. The memory of that man’s melting face was ingrained in her mind every time she closed her eyes. It was a good thing that she’d gotten out of there before the guards came.

  Her hand closed around her locket, the small piece of silver calming her heart once more. It was the only thing she had left from her mother. Scarlet flicked it open, gazing at the lock of short hair inside. Fiery red—exactly like hers.

  “Red!” a voice called, the shrill tone not to be ignored.

  Scarlet sighed. Only two people had ever called her by name, but they were both long gone, and she had been too young to leave with them. They’d never returned for her as they’d promised. She dragged herself from the straw mattress, brushing off the dirt that clung to her baggy pants before heading downstairs. The other orphan girls wore dresses, but she refused. There was little point in trying to seem like a lady when she would never be one.

  The matron pursed her lips, tapping her foot. One of the younger girls, Penelope, stood next to her, all prettied up with her pale blue pinafore and blonde pigtails.

  Scarlet internally rolled her eyes.

  The matron stuck out her finger. “Get cleaned up right now. Your new parents will be arriving shortly to collect both of you.” She nudged Penelope forward. “Help her.”

  Scarlet raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t what she’d expected. No one wanted to adopt an eleven-year-old with a troublesome reputation. Pretty little Penelope, however, hadn’t been here long.

  “Parents?” Scarlet asked.

  The matron rubbed her temples. “Hurry up, or I’ll never be rid of you.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “You get none since you can’t be bothered to care about your personal appearance.” The matron grabbed Scarlet’s arm, throwing open the door to the bath and shoving both girls inside before locking it behind them. If that wretched woman gave them more than a measly spoonful of gruel, maybe she would have an appearance to care about.

  Penelope turned up her nose, moving as far away from the bath as possible. “You can wash yourself. Don’t think that just because we’re being taken together that I’ll ever call someone like you my sister.”

  Scarlet stripped off her rags and began scrubbing her body in the cold water. This was so unnecessary. “Likewise,” she said. “I didn’t ask to end up with a brat like you, either.”

  “So says the murderer.”

  Scarlet’s hand froze. She couldn’t possibly know about that. She turned, her voice slow and deliberate.

  “Say that again.”

  Penelope folded her arms. “Everyone knows you’re cursed, Red. There’s no way an infant could have survived a fire like that, unless she started it. Bet that’s where you got your red hair from. Face it, you killed your own—”

  She shrieked as Scarlet lunged from the bath, tackling her to the ground. Wisps of steam rose from her body.

  “Say that again!”

  The door was flung open, and Scarlet was dragged to her feet by the matron’s iron grip around her arm.

  “Can’t leave you two alone for one minute, can I?”

  Penelope got up, looking at the dirt on her clothes. “Look what she did to my dress!”

  “You’ll be fine,” the matron snapped, sending her out of the room. “Not much longer…” she muttered. “The more gone before the war, the better.”

  After a rather aggressive scrubbing, Scarlet stood in the waiting room, rubbing her bare arms. Her skin was still slightly red, and she wore a dress that matched the ridiculousness of the brat next to her. The matron had even put a little red bow in her hair.

  Gross.

  The matron paced in front of the door. She needn’t be so nervous. Even if the matron had roped a poor couple into taking a troublemaker like her, sweet little Penelope would be enough to make sure that they showed. Sweet little Penelope, with a tongue as nasty as a
crowcodile. Luckily, the stupid brat didn’t seem to know about the festival—just the age-old rumor that had clung to her ever since she had arrived. Scarlet shook her head. With what happened with that man, she was sure that it wasn’t just a rumor. She must have killed her beautiful, smiling mother as an infant—with the same fire that consumed the man.

  Scarlet fiddled with her locket, closing her eyes for a moment. The matron was still pacing back and forth. Maybe these so-called new parents just wanted her to do back-breaking labor for them. There was no other reason why they’d want someone as old as she was. If that were the case, she’d be out of there in an instant. It didn’t matter where she went, as long as she was out. She could take care of herself.

  When the knock came at last, the matron straightened her dress and puffed out her chest before opening the door.

  “Welcome back to the Last Chance Orphanage. Please come in.”

  Scarlet almost snorted. No one could say that absurd name with a straight face, let alone that cheerfully. The couple who walked in were nothing like she’d expected. A stout man with a kind face and a thin blonde woman in a high-necked dress—ordinary. And bakers, apparently. The woman glanced over at her and smiled, sending shivers down her spine.

  Scarlet looked elsewhere, but she could feel the woman’s eyes burning a hole through her. The matron eagerly counted out the small sack of gold coins the man handed her, and the two of them were ushered into their new lives.

  The man, Henry, talked non-stop as they sat in the carriage; his wife, Marianne, didn’t say much at all. Penelope took to them quickly, answering all his questions with an appropriate balance of child-like naivety and enthusiasm.

  “I think we’re going to get along quite nicely,” said Henry, giving Penelope a nod.

  Penelope shot her a smug look, and Scarlet turned to the window. Penelope was going to have them wrapped around her finger soon, if she didn’t already. It didn’t really bother her; they would either like her or not. Her bet was that they wouldn’t. No one wanted a cursed child. Her stomach turned. She wasn’t sure if it was from the nerves or the fact that Marianne had been staring at her the whole time. There was something familiar about her that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.