Chapter 8
Her feet were numb by the time she’d trekked through the snow to find Thara. Arla tore off the flimsy slippers she had donned for dinner and trudged the rest of the way barefoot, glad when the heat radiating off her dragon sank into her skin.
‘The boy forgets you have the ability to kill him, Dragonhart. Perhaps a reminder?’
Thara rose from where she lay against the side of the mountain, the snow surrounding her a shade of red that had Arla feeling sorry for the goats. For all of ten seconds.
Wordlessly, Thara lowered herself closer to the ground so Arla could climb onto her back. The silk of her dress was soaking and wrapped around her ankles, but Thara’s fire was already warming her up, and if not the fire, the wind would surely dry her dress.
‘The mountains, Thara. Let’s see what’s so interesting about them that the boy spends half his time up there.’
The dragon tensed beneath her before launching off the ground in a spray of snow and ice.
They moved through the air as though the gods parted the sky for them. Gliding and twisting, higher and higher and higher. Claret Hall was a glowing spec beneath them, and for the first time in days, Arla could breathe again.
‘Ask the question, Dragonhart. You humans give too much power to your emotions.’
Arla huffed. There was no keeping secrets from a dragon.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing. Ever since I was named Dragonhart, I feel as if I’ve lost myself. You say I’m meant to unite kingdoms, but all I’ve done is break them.’
Thara was silent for a moment, the only sound the beating of her wings against the night sky. They were so high up that Arla thought she might be able to reach out and touch the stars if she wanted.
‘It is not for me to speak the plans of my masters and the fates, but know that everything happens as it needs to. You forget that the strongest things are forged after they are broken.’
Masters and fates. The gods and their plans.
Truly, if she ever made it to the eternal gates, she would have to try very hard not to fight with the gods themselves.
‘It will come in time, but you must have patience and know that only you can decide what troubles your heart.’
‘Why are you here, Thara?’ She didn’t mean it to be offensive, and she could sense that Thara knew it wasn’t meant that way, but Arla needed answers. Why, after so long would the dragon come to her aid and then sit back and watch her make a mess of things?
‘I am here because you are a Dragonhart. You will not know of the times and worlds before this, but the dragons and their harts worked as closely with the gods as you work with your court in that hall. My presence beside you is an oath sworn centuries ago. I will be at your side no matter what. Even if you let your human heart rule the course of things for now, I will be there when everything falls into place. It is my ancient promise.’
Frustration simmered like poison beneath Arla’s skin.
‘So, tell me,’ she whined. ‘Tell me of the harts that came before. Tell me what it is I’m supposed to be doing, please.
You say there is no bond as close as that between a dragon and their hart, and yet I feel as though I’m floundering. I beg you to tell me something.’
Thara was silent, though Arla was aware of the dragon’s conflict thrashing within the bond. ‘I cannot speak of it, Dragonhart. The one who came before you … he set all this in motion. Gods do not play fair, and in this, the fates are perhaps even crueller.’
‘Please tell me what I need to do,’ Arla begged. ‘Please, Thara. I need to know how to unite the kingdoms.’
The sadness felt cool as it washed through the bond. ‘I wish I could tell you everything. But for now, all I can do is guide you.’
Fucking impossible. This was Arla’s life. Arla’s destiny. To keep it all from her…
‘I will risk the wrath of the fates, if you wish it, Dragonhart. I will bear their ire for you.’
‘NO!’ The word was out of Arla’s mouth before Thara had finished speaking through the bond.
Arla would not allow the dragon to bear any punishment from the fates just because Arla was too impatient to wait and learn.
She wouldn’t ever ask Thara to bear that sort of pain because of her.
If there was one thing that Arla was certain of in Thara’s cryptic revelations, it was that the dragon was right; there was nothing like the bond between a dragon and their hart.
‘I am with you. I will not let you falter.’
For now, it was enough. Her head hurt after the dreadful day she’d had. Besides, the mountains beneath her were breathtaking.
And hidden between them, as if the snow could keep her eyes from prying, a man watched over Flambriar.
Thara landed as silently as if the world had ceased to create sound.
The man watched the kingdom from an outcrop of rocks that almost blended with the blanket of snow against the night. He wore a band of red silk around his waist, and the blades he kept sheathed at his side spoke nothing of a friendly visitor.
So this was what Hark had been up to, tracking down men in the mountains.
He’d never mentioned actually finding one.
Thara rose as quietly as she had landed, and Arla exhaled softly when the man wasn’t startled and nor did he turn to face them. Her fingers drifted to her brooch, and she revelled in the wave of something that swept through her. She’d missed the thrill of taking a victim by surprise.
She crept forwards on quiet, bare feet, ignoring the bite of cold already threatening her skin with a wasting disease. Her victim grunted, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he continued to spy on her kingdom. On her home.
Maybe she should watch him? Maybe she shouldn’t harm him at all and instead bring him back to Claret Hall for questioning. The sight of Thara would probably be enough to persuade even the most loyal of soldiers to talk.
‘Don’t play with my food, Dragonhart.’
Arla tried to block the image out. Yes, death at her hand would be a far kinder fate than whatever Thara would do to him. And besides, Arla had missed the split second of terror that would shine in someone’s eyes just before she ran a blade through their heart.
He was so lost in watching a sleeping Flambriar that he didn’t even know she was there until her blade was pressed against his throat and she whispered in his ear, ‘You know, you really ought to be careful, up in these mountains alone. I’ve heard they’re home to monsters.’
He whirled on her, eyes wide and bright. But she had expected it, and with his own action of turning on her, he ran his throat against the silver blade, spilling rivulets of crimson across the snow and her feet before he had a chance to understand just who had come to kill him.
His body fell the way all dead bodies fall, and as he lay there, beneath her, Arla struggled to summon even a spec of remorse.
Nine years.
That’s what it had taken to twist every morsel of humanity out of her. She didn’t care as Thara landed beside her and took the body in her mouth, swallowing it so crudely that Arla found it hard to look away. It still shocked her. A dragon. Eating a man she had just killed.
‘You smell of blood and anger.’
Arla scoffed and climbed onto the dragon’s back.
‘Good.’
Dawn wasn’t far off when Arla finally arrived back at Claret Hall. And although there was only a handful of soldiers and the odd maid working in the place, she knew they would speak of her arrival for days.
She could only imagine what she looked like, arriving on the back of a dragon, her hair still pristine, a soggy silk dress twisted around her ankles, her bare feet soaked in blood and traipsing red footprints across the stone floor.
And then there was the blood smeared across her face and hands.
Yes, they’d talk about her for days.
Lilith and Rheia hadn’t waited for her, as she had requested, and only when she finally closed the door and stood in the quiet safety of her room did Arla allow herself to feel the pain of her argument with Hark.
This … this was why she didn’t love. This was why she didn’t let herself get close to people, because they only ended up disappointed in her.
Hark had told her she wasn’t important.
As if she had ever been anything but. As if she weren’t currently the only person left in existence that had the blessing of the gods.
Fine. If Hark wanted to ruin his own kingdom, he could go ahead. But it was Arla who had listened and spied and been privy to everything her king had ever done; she had learnt what it meant to rule people. If Hark wouldn’t let them love him, she would make them love her.
There was a reason she’d had Lilith weave a crown into her hair.