Her eyes slid to him, as though she could hear his thoughts. “Are you mine, Morley?”
He placed a hand on his heart. “Always, my Queen.”
She nodded, her eyes softening. And just for a moment, she was herself again. She opened her mouth to say something and paused, her attention captured by movement outside. Morley stiffened.
“Leave us.”
The command came cold and harsh, accompanied by the blossoming scent of scorched earth and metallic blood. Morley’s skin tightened around his eyes and he bowed, backing slowly out of the room. As he shut the door, he saw the Queen on the balcony, one hand stretched into the night sky. A huge golden talon curved around the eaves as the dragon nestled onto the roof.
“Are you mine?” the Queen whispered to the beast.
One golden eye peered into the room, lighting on the Queen and burning with an inner fire. Tendrils of smoke spiraled from nostrils as the dragon peeled back its lips to answer.
Morley shut the door.
Chapter Three
One of Huru’s soldiers found her on the fourth day. She didn’t mean to kill him, but he rushed at her with a sword. She ducked under his swing and jammed her mother’s second-best kitchen knife under his arm. He made a gurgling noise, his eyes widening, and backed up a step. Eva’s hand still gripped the knife and she stumbled with him. His arms came down around her like a hug, his sword point scraping the dirt behind her. Warm blood pulsed over her hand. She tightened her hold and tugged at the knife.
The soldier opened his mouth to say something and coughed. Blood splattered across Eva’s face. He fell to his knees, taking her with him, and they knelt face to face. It could have been a kind face, with wide, child-like eyes, and full cheeks. But right now, his face was smeared with tears, blood, and fear.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she said, but it was too late.
His head tilted back and his sightless eyes focused on the sky.
She knelt with him, supporting his weight, frozen in this moment.
She killed this man.
She wondered if she should have felt anything. But she just felt . . . tired.
She shrugged out of his bloody embrace and crouched by his body, her hand still attached to the knife buried in his side. It wouldn’t come out. It went in so easily, parting the skin and muscle just below his armpit, and now it wouldn’t release its hold.
She used both hands, braced her feet against the dead man’s side and pulled. The knife scraped free with a fresh river of blood. It poured over her hands, warm and wet.
Eva’s heart raced and her lungs gasped for air. Her stomach clenched.
Funny how the terror hit after the danger had passed.
She stumbled away, dropping the knife, and vomited. She emptied her stomach of her meager breakfast and then continued spitting up yellow, foamy bile. She wiped her mouth, shuddering as the blood transferred from her hands to her lips.
A rustle in the brush drew her attention from the dead man at her feet.
A soldier, his sword aimed high, stepped forward. And another, this one holding a halberd. And one more with two knives.
Eva held out her bloodied hands, defenseless.
The man with the sword approached cautiously. “Gavin?”
Eva closed her eyes.
Gavin.
The name burned across her skin. His name was Gavin.
The swordsman growled and Eva opened her eyes to see the sword swing down. She stared at the blade glimmering in the sunlight and waited for it to bite into her neck.
“Hold!”
The command had an immediate effect. The swordsman pulled back and turned, stiffening his posture.
A man approached and Eva had heard enough stories to know him. The lightning blazing across his chest and the heavy double blades in his hands identified him as General Huru himself.
His eyes glittered darkly in the shadows of his helmet.
“Gavin?” he demanded.
“Dead.” The swordsman jerked his head at Eva. “Her doing.”
Huru considered Eva for a long moment. In one motion, he sheathed the double swords at his sides. “Bring the Blood-Wraith.”
Chapter Four
They tied her to a tent pole in full view of the camp. Both Huru’s soldiers and Rose Haven’s traitors gave her a wide berth, their expressions ranging from angry to fearful and everything in between. Someone spat at her and it landed in her hair. Eva didn’t care. She leaned forward, her shoulders and wrists pulling against her bonds. She embraced the sensation. But even the pain was dull.
“Blood-Wraith.” The voice was soft and familiar.
Eva blinked. She tilted her head back and peered through the curtain of her hair at Brodie Hammond. He stood in front of her, a cord of wood in his arms.
Two months ago, he had let his forge grow cold as he packed a bag and said goodbye to his wife and three sons. Two months ago he had followed Huru’s red flag and the promise of gold and mercy. Two months ago, he had left, believing that by joining Huru’s army, his family and village would be protected from the coming battle. And for two months, they were.
Eva stared at his wide, honest face. He knew. Somehow, he knew that Rose Haven was gone.
“Blood-Wraith,” he said again, “were there any--” He paused and swallowed. “Were there any survivors?”
How much had she changed to become so unrecognizable? She had played with his boys all her life. He had mended more than one of her scrapes as a child. And last year at the Harvest Festival, she had shared her first kiss with his youngest, Uther.
The urge to shout his name and throw herself into his familiar arms became unbearable. She opened her mouth to identify herself as the only survivor, but bit her tongue before she could speak.
Brodie’s family had burned to ash in an instant.
How could she be the only survivor? How could she tell this man that his entire family was destroyed, that his entire village was destroyed, leaving only one empty girl alive?
Eva met his eyes. The bleak shadows lurking behind his gaze told her that Brodie already knew that they were gone. But he needed to hear someone say it aloud. He needed her to say it aloud.
Her chest ached with guilt and sorrow. She gripped the emotions tightly to herself, but they burned their way up her throat, forming words.
“No,” Eva croaked. “No survivors.”
Brodie held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he turned and moved to the pyre in the middle of camp. He placed his cord of wood carefully in place and then stepped back, staring at the unlit pyre. By the slope of his shoulders and the shaky breaths, she knew he was thinking of his wife and children and their painful death.
Dragon’s fire was, at least, quick. Eva doubted anyone had suffered very long.
Her eyes slid to the pyre.
Unlike whoever was going to burn on that.
The tent flap behind her flicked open and General Huru stepped forward. Out of the corner of her eyes, Eva could see the edges of his hauberk and his black boots. She tensed.
“It’s time,” he said, and strode to the pyre.
A woman followed close behind. The feathers braided in her white hair and cloak of multi-colored fur declared her to be the General’s Sibyl. She moved through the gathering soldiers and stopped at the head of the pyre.
“Bring the fallen,” General Huru commanded.
Eva let out a breath as four men carried a shroud-wrapped body to the pyre.
She had heard of the barbaric practice of burning the dead, but had never witnessed it herself. She watched as they carefully laid the body on the pyre and lit it. Her skin crawled with a burning sensation as flames licked at the body. She felt as though she were on the pyre, slowly burning. Eva doubled over, her shoulders and wrists straining at the ropes, and gasped with pain.
There, in that moment, she heard the Sibyl’s voice begin a familiar prayer. She lifted her head and met the Sibyl’s eyes across the distance.
She heaved a breath as the holy woman spoke the final phrase.
“From ash we were born and to ash we return.”
Chapter Five
They left her tied to the tent until the pyre burned to dusty white embers.
Eva thought she would have been accustomed to the smell of burning flesh. She leaned against the pole and stared into the night sky. The scent clung to her hair and coated her skin. She would never be rid of it. Death had found her four days ago and she feared it would never let her go.
A movement at her periphery drew her attention as General Huru stepped into view. He had removed his helmet and his hair was pulled back in a knot of braids. The black paint smeared across his eyes and temples did nothing to disguise his glittering gaze.
“Blood-Wraith,” he said, dipping his head slightly, “are you satisfied? Or do you require more sacrifice?” He gestured to the glowing pyre behind him.
Eva’s eyes slipped past him to the dying fire. “Why do you call me that?”
He grinned, feral in the moonlight. “I’ll show you.”
His knife nicked her wrist as he cut through the rope. She didn’t react and he didn’t apologize. With his hands on her shoulders, he drew her into the tent and deposited her on a roughly-cut chair.
“Look.” He held a small mirror in front of her face. “A Blood-Wraith.”
The creature in the mirror drew back in dismay. Wild hair surrounded a gaunt, wide-eyed face, both caked in ash. Dried blood painted the mouth, chin, and cheeks. Angry red burns glowed through the ash on collar bones and forearms.
This wasn’t Eva. It was a monster born of flames and fury. Eva fisted her hands in her lap. And if that’s all she was, then she would do what she must.
Huru nodded in satisfaction, as though he understood her grim acceptance. “A Blood-Wraith,” he said again. He settled in an equally-uncomfortable chair and stared at her. “Why are you following my army? Why did you kill one of my men?”
Eva’s gaze snapped to him. He didn’t appear angry, merely curious. For a brief moment, she wondered what her punishment would be for killing one of his soldiers.
Not that it mattered. How could he punish her if she were already dead?
When she didn’t answer, he leaned forward. “What do you want, Blood-Wraith?”
He held intelligence in his gaze, and a fierceness that would have frightened her had she not already survived a dragon.
“I . . .” She trailed off as the tent opened, admitting the Sibyl.
“The questions can wait,” the wise woman said. “First, let’s see what we are dealing with.”
General Huru sat back as the Sibyl retrieved a wash basin and rag and proceeded to clean every inch of Eva’s exposed skin. The Sibyl worked in silence with Huru looking on. Eva cringed in pain as the rag found the burns on her forearms and the back of her neck. The feathers in the Sibyl’s hair brushed against Eva’s clothing and came away gray. After several painful minutes, the Sibyl straightened, glanced at her ash-dusted clothes, and sighed.
“Well?” Huru asked.
The Sibyl moved to the side, revealing Eva to his curious gaze. “Not a Blood-Wraith. At least, not yet.”
Huru nodded. “Just a girl. For now.”
Eva found her voice. “What do you want with me?”
The general and the Sibyl exchanged glances. Huru nodded and the Sibyl turned back to Eva.
“What do you know about the Queen’s dragon?”
Eva paused, the screams of her family echoing in her ears. Her hands trembled. Days ago she was consumed with household chores and the best way to get Uther to ask her to the Reina Day festival. And then, as she sat in the cellar peeling potatoes for the feast, the Queen’s dragon struck. One moment the house above her echoed with footsteps and chatter and the next it was filled with the roar of fire and the dying shrieks of her family. And the dragon waited. For three days it waited in the square, flaming anything that moved. And Eva waited, frozen in the cellar, listening to the dying cries of the townspeople, listening to the terrified screams of the few survivors as they broke free to encounter a dragon face to face, and listening to a dragon breathing in and out, patient and calm.
What did she know about the Queen’s dragon?
“Everything,” she whispered.
The Sibyl nodded and untied a small scroll from her belt. “The stars speak to us, did you know?” She unrolled the scroll, pressing it flat against the table. “They told Huru to take command and they told us when to march on the capital. The scourge of the Queen’s dragon cannot stand. Our people have suffered long under this beast. Too many sons and daughters have been lost to its appetite. Too many mothers have cried for vengeance. And now we march on your land, to defeat your Queen and her dragon.”
Eva watched as she traced the patterns on the scroll. It was full of swirls and lines, like writing, but much more complicated than anything Eva had learned from her mother. Instead of forming distinct words and sentences, the marks flowed into each other, like one never-ending word.
“The stars spoke to us of a Blood-Wraith, paving our path to victory, the only one to defeat a dragon.” The Sibyl pushed some long, gray hair behind her ear, her eyes intently fixed on Eva. “The stars spoke of you.”
Eva shook her head. “I’m not a Blood-Wraith.”
Huru stood up, his dark gaze locked on the gray girl. “Not yet. But you could be.” He squatted in front of her. “And so I ask, Blood-Wraith, what do you want?”
Eva stared at the general and his Sibyl and licked her lips. She still tasted ash.
“I want to kill the dragon.”
Huru didn’t scoff. Instead, he leaned forward. “Is that so?”
Eva’s fingers clenched at her skirt. It had once been a pale yellow, made of the softest wool, crafted by her mother’s own hands. Eva’s mother had made matching skirts for all three of her daughters, because yellow was her favorite color.
Eva thought of the other two skirts, with delicate pink roses embroidered on the hem, now burned to ash, and took a deep breath.
The knot in her chest pulsed with anger and guilt, but she forced it back down. “It is.”
He stood and held out his hand. “Then you’ll need something better than a knife.”
Chapter Six
Morley had proven himself a coward years ago in the Before and he did so again now as he stood just outside the entrance to the throne room, waiting for the screams and crying to stop. Once they did, he straightened his doublet, nodded curtly at the soldier standing guard, and slipped through the doorway.
The room held remnants of past opulence—the giant chandelier hanging from three stories above, the hand-cut marble floor, and the heavy iron-wood throne—but they were mostly obscured by the damage to the room. The throne sat at the far end, in front of what used to be large windows overlooking the valley. The windows and part of the walls to either side had been removed some time ago to allow a larger entrance for the Queen’s dragon. The flying buttresses and two thirds of the balcony seating had also been removed to allow the dragon room to stretch wings and turn around. The remaining walls and ceiling were braced with hastily-constructed columns of wood and rocky remnants of the stone wall.
In the Before, courtiers had crowded the throne like cloying flowers reaching for the sun. But now . . . Morley deliberately kept his eyes on the Queen, ignoring the courtiers huddled at the back of the room, clinging to the walls like dying vines.
The Queen watched him approach and beckoned him to her side. Morley climbed the three steps of the dais, doing his best to ignore the sounds of rending flesh and breaking bones coming from behind the throne. He placed a hand on his heart and bowed, his eyes desperately searching for a single stone not stained with blood.
“Morley.” His name exited her lips as a sigh. “Rise.”
He straightened and focused on the fresh droplet of blood staining the dove-gray silk of her collar. “My Queen. I have news.”
Her eyes brightened despite
the massacre taking place behind her. “Of General Huru?”
Morley tilted his head to one side. “Related, yes.”
She leaned forward. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”
He glanced unnecessarily over his shoulder. With the sound of a masticating dragon and weeping courtiers on the other side of the room, there was little chance of being overheard.
Yet he still whispered the news.
“There have been reports of a Blood-Wraith.”
The Queen’s eyes widened and she slowly rose to her feet. “A what?”
Morley didn’t repeat himself. He knew his Queen too well to make that mistake. “It joined Huru’s company last night.”
The Queen’s mouth opened and when she spoke, it was a scream. “Get out!”
Morley bowed again, letting her anger wash over him and splash against the courtiers at the other end.
Morley remained in place while the courtiers scrambled to exit the room. Once the doors slammed shut, he lifted his head. His Queen stared at him with tears in her eyes. His breath caught in his chest. She was still so young. He longed to wrap her in an embrace, as he did many times in the Before, and press his lips to her hair. He wanted to tell her that despite the sorrow and the pain, she was strong enough to bear it.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
Morley returned his eyes to the floor. It would never be the way it was in the Before. His Queen wasn’t his anymore.
“In Huru’s camp. In Einsburg.”
She whirled, robes flapping wetly against the flagstones. “Find it!” She commanded. “Fly!”
Morley kept his eyes averted as the dragon swallowed its final morsel and spread its wings.
“Wait!” The Queen rushed around the throne, heedless of the fresh offal soaking her slippers.
Morley moved back, unwilling to eavesdrop on her whispered words. As he stepped off the dais, his foot kicked something down the steps. He bent to pick it up and froze.
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