Chapter 4
Four
The sun had sunk well below the horizon when we reached the mountains of northern Akalla, and as Rhylan began to lose altitude, I could no longer make out the world around me.
It was all a blur of shadows, shades of gray and black, and if we’d had the mind-speech, Rhylan could’ve given me his thoughts, what he saw through a dragon’s night-seeing eyes.
I had to make do to clinging to my safety rope, my palms now chafed red with oozing blisters, my legs sore, my hair a tangled mess. Even my eyes ached, from extended use of the third eyelids I’d only recently been able to use.
When I picked out soft, warm lights in a distant mountain, I knew it was an eyrie, and I would’ve wept if my gritty, swollen eyes could produce tears.
Jhazra Eyrie, the seat of the House of Obsidian Flame, was an ancient fortress nestled in the spires of the Krysien Mountains. Rumor had it that the eyrie itself was built over the dormant remains of a volcano, and the Obsidian Flames had never seen fit to correct that notion.
The Krysien Mountains rose like sharp, black glass shards from the earth, and Jhazra itself was built into one of the largest peaks. It was a forbidding eyrie, as dark as their namesake, but as Rhylan circled over the open, columned terrace at the peak of the eyrie, crystal lights flared to life within.
Their Ascendant was welcoming him home.
His wings beat hard, nearly dislodging me as he lowered us into the dragon door. I saw a rich crimson carpet covering the terrace floor, then Rhylan landed on all fours and crouched, and my entire body unfroze.
I slid from his back, landing on the carpet in a heap. Everything hurt. My muscles had been locked as hard as rocks from terror all day.
I whimpered as my calf muscles cramped, but I couldn’t massage them with my scraped-raw hands.
I hardly noticed when Rhylan shifted from his dragon form, but I lurched away from a sudden shape at my side. A Bloodless man had approached me, his hands held out like he meant to help me up.
He was an older man, his hair stark white and neatly pulled back, his eyes a pale blue. He wore the dark uniform with the silver insignia of an Eyrie-Master, and despite his sympathetic expression, he had an air of expectation and fussiness about him.
“I’ll take her, Viros,” Rhylan said, his voice harsh and dry. We hadn’t stopped for so much as a sip of water through the entire day’s flight.
For whatever reason, I couldn’t bring myself to push Rhylan away, probably because it would hurt too much to pick myself up on my own. But he picked me up easily, looping strong hands behind my back and under my thighs.
“She’s unpracticed,” Viros said, his lips twisted with disapproval. “Seek your vengeance, but for the love of the gods, don’t kill her to achieve it.”
Rhylan gave him a cool glance, already turning towards the eyrie’s interior doors. “She must learn fast, or she’ll get herself killed quicker than I could.”
I pushed my hate aside, letting him take my full weight. I was so tired; it had been years since I’d practiced riding. My thighs ached like fire, and my hands curled against my chest, stinging and useless.
Rhylan kicked the doors open, striding through a narrow entry hall and continuing downwards in a dark spiral staircase. I ached too much to even appreciate that the dark stone walls of the eyrie’s interior were embedded with jewels, a million faceted stones that lit with their own internal colors as we passed: burning crimsons, clear blues, verdant greens.
“I’m sorry, Sera,” he said, lips pressed flat. “I should have realized sooner.”
I tried to speak, coughed instead, and finally managed a dusty whisper. Gods, I was so thirsty. “I knew it’d be hard. I don’t give a damn as long as I’m on the mainland.”
I was that much closer to Varyamar, and I would’ve worn myself much thinner to get here, if necessary.
Rhylan looked down at me, eyes flashing, his already tightened lips going white. “Don’t be understanding about it. I half-killed you to get here faster, and I can’t treat you that way if anyone is going to believe this.”
He exited onto another hall, this one lit with more sparkling crystals set in the black stone walls. One of the doors opened easily when he nudged it.
Fury flared in me. “Oh, please, don’t apologize because of the charade. I would hate to think you’re sorry only because it makes you look bad. You can put me down now.”
The pain was gnawing at every cell in my body, but it was better than being held by him any longer. He hadn’t stopped looking at me, his grip tightening, but I jabbed an elbow into his chest, wriggling to get out of his grasp.
He set me on another thick carpet that would invite many toe-wriggles when I was no longer dying, and I saw that we were in a large bedroom.
An enormous arched window would overlook the mountains in the day, but for now it was a vast expanse of black glass, reflecting a large, unlit fireplace. A chandelier of crystal drops hung overhead, and the double-sized bed could accommodate several of me comfortably beneath its deep indigo silk canopy.
A horrible thought stopped me in my tracks. “Oh gods, don’t tell me this is your bedroom.”
Especially after today. I needed time to lick my wounds in peace.
Rhylan let out a soft snort. “No. Mine is down the hall. This is yours to use as you see fit, for as long as you need it.”
“Good. I couldn’t stand to share with you.” There was a small heartwood table with two chairs, carved in the elaborate Horde-style patterns of the dragons in the Wildlands to the south, but more importantly, the table was set with fresh food—real, actual fruit—and a pitcher of water. “You can leave me alone now.”
Rhylan hadn’t stepped an inch from the room. He’d crossed his arms as soon as he put me down, but his brow creased in a frown. “You need a healer to look over you.”
I dragged my pathetic carcass to the table, and wasted no time in stripping all the green grapes from a vine. One thing Mistward had taught me was that you didn’t waste time when food was available.
The taste—sweet, tangy, sour, juicy—burst on my tongue and I almost moaned out loud. My fingers shook when I ate the rest, my body clamoring both for the sugar and the sweetness I hadn’t tasted in years, and I grabbed a bunch of purple ones next.
“I’ll be fine after a night of sleep. It hurts now, but it”s really not much.”
Rhylan’s frown grew deeper. If he wasn’t careful, that line between his brows would be permanently etched there. “Your hands are burned, Sera. That won’t heal overnight.”
There were even oranges, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and the citrus smell had me salivating already. I began to peel one with great relish, licking a drop of orange juice that tried to escape down my fingers.
My fingers ached, stung, and shook the entire time. Some things were more important than pain.
“Believe me,” I said, staring at the beauty of the peeled orange in my hands. “I’ve had worse. You learn fast on the Isle, or you die. As for this whole farce, clearly your House is aware of the…ah, trickery?”
Viros had seemed upset, but completely unsurprised at my arrival. Rhylan’s House must be in on this, or it would only be a matter of time before someone opened their mouths about this deception.
The Houses would be howling for our blood the moment our ‘mate bond’ was revealed as a lie.
“They’re aware, but that”s beside the point. We need to practice again starting tomorrow, and you’re not going to be in any shape for it unless someone looks over you.”
I peeled a single segment of the orange away from the whole, and bit into it. I couldn’t stop myself from demolishing the rest.
Savoring would come when I was no longer starved, I supposed.
I poured a glass of water next, draining it quickly.
“Good. That they know, I mean. I don’t want them to be shocked when I tell you how much I hate you. Send up the healer, but for gods’ sakes, Rhylan, go away and leave me alone tonight.”
I just wanted to eat until I felt like my stomach was going to burst, then sleep in that soft, warm bed.
This whole ridiculous plan would look better on the other side of tomorrow, and the less I saw of Rhylan’s face until then, the better.
He still hesitated. I wanted to throw an apple at his face, but I couldn’t bring myself to waste good fruit like that.
Those brilliant blue eyes watched as I fumbled my way through cutting the apple with a sharp silver knife. His frown had become a scowl.
I flapped my useless fingers at him. “Good night.”
“I am truly sorry for this, Sera. Not just for what people would believe.” He stared at me, as though willing me to understand some secret thing hidden between his words, but I had no compunctions against throwing the knife.
He left, drawing the door shut behind him before I could fling it.
As soon as the door closed, I slumped in my seat. My body clamored for the food, but eating was exhausting. I forced myself to eat a slice of ham on a chunk of thick, crusty bread before I finished off the water, then I dragged myself to the bed.
I was asleep before I hit the pillow.
I wokein a completely different position, lying on my back, under the covers. My hands felt strange and stiff.
Thick bandages had been wound around them, redolent with a sharp herbal scent. I’d completely slept through the visitation from the healer.
The healer had also pulled off my boots—at least, I hoped it was the healer—and left them neatly aligned by the heartwood wardrobe. I pushed back the covers, groaning a little as my locked-up muscles stretched out.
Someone knocked at the door and I tensed. I didn’t like the sensation of being locked in this room, the only exit now blocked by someone else. My cave on Mistward had been carefully selected to allow me multiple escape routes.
“Yes?” I called, shocked at the sound of my own voice. It cracked from dryness and disuse on that one word.
A Bloodless woman opened the door, wearing servants’ livery: a black undershirt and soft pants, and a long-tailed sapphire silk overcoat over it.
She carried a vast silver tray, laden with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, dishes of fruit, a bowl of yogurt dotted with berries and swirled with golden honey, and a steaming pot of tea.
My stomach rumbled to life immediately, clenching with an almost nauseating desire to throw myself at the tray.
“Prince Rhylan has asked me to convey that you eat this in its entirety,” she said, carefully placing the tray on the table and keeping her eyes down. “He and the healer will visit with you later today, if you please, your highness.”
Your highness. There was something I hadn’t been called in a very, very long time.
“Thank you,” I said, keeping my tone polite. I wouldn’t abuse the messenger for her master’s high-handedness.
She bowed and retreated, and I forced myself to walk without hobbling to the table.
He didn’t have to order me. I was ready and willing to lick the plates clean.
Halfway through, I came to an abrupt halt, my stomach churning through sharp pains.
I stopped eating and forced myself to sip the tea while I rubbed my stomach, savoring the fresh rosehips and real sugar. I’d once seen a dragonblood rip a Bloodless’s leg off for a tiny bag of sugar. It was so rare on the Isle, the convicts would actually kill each other over it. Some even managed to snare desperate mates with such a gift.
“He doesn’t realize that this much food on a starved stomach will just make you sick.”
I almost lunged out of my chair at the unknown voice, sloshing tea on the rug. How could I have gotten so comfortable I’d forgotten to keep watch?
A draga stood in the doorway, one so stunningly pretty I immediately felt like a goblin next to her.
Long black hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her eyes were a shade of clear hazel speckled with green and gold. A proud nose arched above full lips, and soft black scales dusted her dark gold skin.
She wore a healer’s bracelet, hammered gold set with smooth malachite cabochons, but not a healer’s robes. Her dark dress was simple and practical, yet made of expensive fabric, with long slits cut in the sides that would allow her to mount a dragon at a moment’s notice.
“I came to check on your progress,” she told me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I worked on your hands and your eye while you were sleeping. Fortunately, most of the damage was superficial.”
She looked oddly familiar in her own right, though she was clearly one of Rhylan’s sisters, and I had to search the recesses of memory for her name.
“Kirana?”
Kirana of Obsidian Flame, the middle sister of their family. Like her mother Anjali, she’d been destined to be a famed beauty, but she took after her Wildlands father in coloration. The youngest sister, Loralei, was a small, feminine version of Rhylan, with black curls, golden skin, and brilliantly blue eyes.
The last time I had seen Kirana was at the Koressis Training Grounds. Tidas’s clear and obvious infatuation had been a blade in my heart at first, but then I’d laid eyes on Rhylan, her older brother, and I’d completely forgotten Tidas existed at all.
Kirana had not been cruel about my arranged mate’s attention. If anything, she’d avoided Tidas like the plague during our training years.
I wondered why she would smile at me when Rhylan hated me so much. She was making a token effort, at the very least.
“The very one,” she said, letting herself into the room. She took one of my hands, unwinding the bandages with gentle but efficient movements. “These look much better.”
My hands were coated with a white, slimy salve, but beneath it I could see that my palms were no longer raw but a soft, healing pink.
“I’ll be having a word with my brother,” she said softly, unwrapping my other hand. “No more ridiculous schemes. No more ropes. We have a proper riding harness in the eyrie.”
Once, I would’ve appreciated Kirana’s concern.
Now I only guessed at what her role in this charade was, and what she would get out of Tidas’s death.
I huffed out a laugh, flexing my hands. “That would’ve been appreciated.”
Kirana gently probed at my eye. The swelling had reduced, enough that I could now see clearly. “From now on, your wellbeing is my personal responsibility. I have very little time to turn you into a proper Dragonesse, so I fully expect both of you to listen when I tell you what to do.”
I held back a wince as her fingertips pressed against still-tender flesh. “So if Rhylan is the Drakkon-Apparent, and you’re the healer, what’s Loralei’s role?”
Kirana frowned as her hands moved down to my ribs, palpating sore areas. “Loralei isn’t here. She lives in Sylvaene Eyrie with the Jade Leaves now. Does this hurt? Can you breathe? I don’t think your ribs are cracked, but…”
I supposed that the last time I’d seen Loralei, she’d been fourteen. Four years was more than enough time for her to find a mate while in the Training Grounds.
Kirana pushed harder, and I gasped instead of breathing in calmly. “Gods damn it—”
“Definitely bruised, but they’re not broken. You’re going to take it easy for a few days.”
I held back the glower I wanted to give her. It was unwise to antagonize the draga responsible for my healing.
But I also wanted to distract her before she could start poking at any other sore areas—with the questions I wanted answered.
My mind chose to betray me instead.
“Why does Rhylan despise me so much?” I asked, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
It was a question that had burned in me for years. He’d single-handedly annihilated my House, my family, and I still had no idea why.
Kirana glanced up at me, startled. Her eyes flicked toward the door, but it stood empty. “That’s for him to say. But I don’t harbor a grudge against you, Sera. I truly don’t.”
I drew my hands away from her. “A grudge for what?”
What had I done?
“For our mother’s death.” Kirana’s eyes widened as she sat up. “Did you…did you really not know that? They never told you what shewas sentenced for?”
That ‘she’ could only be one person.
I knew my mother, Nerezza, had been exiled to Mistward Isle for murder. I was days away from my sixteenth birthday when the Drakkon had sentenced her, and me alongside her, though I hadn’t been present at the actual Judgment.
The Drakkon’s guardians had ripped me directly out of the Training Grounds and escorted me onto the ship that would take us to Mistward Isle, without so much as a hint as to what I’d been exiled for. Any attempt at talk or questions had been firmly rebuffed—with fists, if necessary—until the ship had reached Mistward’s shore.
They’d offloaded us, thrown a small bundle of supplies at Nerezza’s feet, and left without another word.
In our time on the Isle, my mother had never told me directly who she had—supposedly, in her words—killed, but she had strongly implied it was another of the Drakkon’s mistresses.
Nerezza had died bitter, declaring her innocence. I’d known I was innocent—I had never harmed anyone, let alone committed murder.
“Anjali…was never one of the Drakkon’s mistresses.” It was all I could think of to say.
Their mother had truly been one of the most beautiful draga in the world. Anjali of Obsidian Flame was renowned for it.
It was said she’d been offered so many bonding proposals she could have chosen a mate from any House in Akalla. Instead, she’d found her mate in the Wildlands, when her pleasure-ship was attacked by a Horde.
Their romance had turned into a fairy tale story for young dragons, beautiful Anjali fighting off a Horde dragon single-handedly, and he’d been so impressed with her beauty and ferocity that he had begged her to bond with him even while she was threatening to cut off his head.
I thought there was quite a bit missing from that story, but Anjali herself had agreed with the gossip: she had in fact been about to neuter her future mate with a sword when he decided she was the only draga for him.
Instead, Anjali brought Cratus home to Jhazra Eyrie, and made him a prince.
Their children were just as beautiful as they were, of course; a mix of the Wildlands golden skin, and the Obsidian Flames’ ebony hair and sea blue eyes.
I’d had no idea Anjali was dead. She was a legend for young draga, almost mythological.
“No, she wasn’t. Our father would have summoned the Hordes and torn Koressis apart if the Drakkon had ever tried to claim her. Some believe it was jealousy, or that Nerezza believed the Drakkon was trying to take another mistress, but…” Kirana swiped a hand over her face, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know. All I know is that Rhylan testified because he had indisputable proof that Nerezza murdered her.”
“What proof?” I demanded.
I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it.
My mother had been ruthless, but she was never bloodthirsty. She had taken to the title of ‘mistress’ quite well, never seeking a mate bond with the bereaved Drakkon, or anything requiring more commitment than occasional companionship and the shared duty of parenting.
Beyond that, my mother had always hated physical violence, calling it uncouth and degrading. Her knife thrusts were made only with words.
It made no sense. Why murder Anjali, who would never have consented to become his mistress regardless, when the Drakkon already had other mistresses she couldn’t have cared less about?
Kirana looked miserable when she met my eyes. “He saw her do it. He…he held our mother while she died. And he claimed it was Nerezza who had done it.”
I sat frozen, curling my hands into fists. My palms stung where my nails bit into tender flesh.
Kirana took a deep breath, looking away out the window. “We’ve all lost someone we love. I didn’t want to dig up old grievances—”
Anger flared inside me, as quick and bright as a dragon’s flame.
“These aren’t old grievances to me, Kirana,” I said, full of quiet venom. “I am the one who was sentenced to exile on a prison isle for crimes that weren’t my own. You’ve had years to grieve, but these wounds are still quite fresh for me. Thanks to your brother, last night was the first time I’ve slept in a real bed since I was sixteen years old.”
The old fondness for Kirana had quickly curdled into a sour sort of anger.
I was sorry they had lost their mother. I was sorrier still to have lost my own, along with my entire life.
Nerezza had been a bitch of a draga, it was true. Once we’d been exiled, her concept of a mother’s love was to slap, pinch, or bruise.
But she had molded me into someone who could survive Mistward, and in the end, that had been worth far more than kisses and bedtime stories.
She had known they wouldn’t keep me alive on that island. Everything she had done from the moment we had reached those rocky shores had been done for my survival.
She’d known the Isle would not be kind.
Kirana folded her hands in her lap, twisting her healer’s bangle around and around. Her gaze hardened, the barely-concealed anger a far more believable emotion than her smiles. “I am sorry the Drakkon chose to punish you as well. You’d never done me any harm. But I’m not sorry Nerezza died out there. Now we’re even on that score, I suppose.”
She got up, pushing the chair in. I could see she had something else on her mind, her lips pressed together like she was trying to contain the words.
She failed at the door, spinning around to face me. “We can’t afford to fight, Sera. There are greater problems than yours, or Rhylan’s, or mine. This is going to be war.”
I didn’t give a damn at this moment. I only wanted to go home.
“Akalla will tear itself apart, and I’ll be damned to all the Nine Hells if I live to see Yura and Tidas on the throne. We need the old Houses to stand together, or we’ll all suffer for it. So hate me and my brother all you want. Nurse your wounds and your grievances. But I’m willing to put aside old hatred and do everything in my power to help you both.” She took another deep breath, hectic spots of color high on her cheeks. “Apologies will not give you your childhood back, but action will ensure your future. Think on that, will you? We don’t have to be enemies any more.”
After she left, I thought for a long time. My eggs and bacon were cold by the time I finished eating them.
How could we possibly go through with this ridiculous plan when our Houses abhorred each other so deeply? Nothing I said would make them believe in my family’s innocence.
And I would always hold a grudge against them. They might not have chosen to send me to Mistward, but Rhylan’s testimony had damned me all the same.
Half-killing me to bring me home did not make up for the years of fear and hunger. Far from it.
Rhylan owed me blood before I would be satisfied.
But Kirana was right in one regard. I would also be damned before I let my sister take my throne.