Chapter 23
Arla’s feet were under her in an instant and she was marching towards the priestess with the fury of a thousand burning suns.
‘I do hope you’re not expecting I leave you alive after that?’ she snapped, forcing herself not to turn and check her dragon was okay.
The priestess smiled softly. ‘If you make a move towards me, these men will cut your guts from your body and leave them strewn over these rocks for the crows to peck at.’
It was enough to make Arla pause and take her in.
The priestess wore a gown of white that hugged her frame as though it had been stitched to her skin.
A cape of pearls decorated her shoulders, her tanned skin in such contrast against the netted pearl garment.
Arla dragged her eyes down the woman’s body, noting the pearlescent hair and the deep green of her eyes.
She reminded Arla too much of Kase, though after the revelation that Kase’s uncle was from here, she could only assume the rest of her family was too; that Kase herself bore the blood of Malarye.
The priestess smiled again, the action so irking that Arla ran her fingers over the hilt of the blade at her side, delighting in the way the archers cocked their bows towards her. The priestess lifted a hand to steady them, and then Arla remembered just who she was.
‘Attempting to shoot me out of the sky is an act of war.’
The priestess had the decency to look wary before she straightened her spine and took half a step towards Arla.
‘The magic of your people does not scare us, Dragonhart. Not yet, at least.’
Arla didn’t let herself dwell on the knowledge this woman had somehow collected about Flambriar or her dragonhart status. Instead, she focused on Thara as she heard the shuffling of rocks behind her and the scuff of stone against claw.
‘Are you all right?’ she sent down the bond, not turning her back on the threat in front of her.
‘I will be better for the bolts being removed. My flesh cannot heal around solid objects.’
Despite the worry that nipped at her with the thought of those bolts still piercing Thara’s skin, Arla was glad the dragon was talking.
She felt even better at the huff of hot breath at the back of her neck and the way the eyes of the archers widened in response.
She steeled herself. ‘So you know who I am, and the magic I have at my disposal,’ she said, her voice lethally soft. ‘I would love to know why you thought firing at us was a good way to begin our relations?’
Arla watched the priestess swallow, it was not fear in her face. No, it was certainty. A decision had been made behind those brilliant green eyes.
‘Because only one born of ancient bloodlines would have survived it.’
Thara huffed down the bond, her voice filling Arla’s head before she could speak. ‘A test. To prove we are what we claim.’
‘I should think arriving on a fucking dragon would be proof enough,’ Arla shot back.
‘Breathe. We need their alliance.’
Thara was right. As usual.
So she took a breath. And another one. And another one until she was looking past the priestess and out over Malarye.
There were cliffs beyond the shoreline, and huge sand training rings that contained targets both on the ground and suspended in the air. Archers indeed.
Further still, there were forests – great, ancient things – that spanned as far as Arla could see.
She had no doubt the tunnels Kase had spoken of would be concealed in there.
Houses peppered the landscape too, no order or pattern between them, which made Arla think they had been built wherever someone had stood still long enough.
They were harsh stone structures, like juts of rock sticking up to mimic the mountain behind them.
None of it captured her attention like the palace did, though.
It perched on the side of a cliff like a limb. Mild in its complexity, the castle could have been overlooked had her eyes not been trained to look for these sorts of things. She remembered it too, from years ago, a castle high up, overlooking the sea.
But nothing about Malarye’s castle was remarkable. A structure of stone and small turrets that she doubted would be well protected if someone happened to conduct an aerial attack. A wave of warm amusement crashed through the bond and tugged a smile at the corner of Arla’s mouth.
‘What is it that you are finding amusing, Dragonhart? It seems to me you have threatened us with an army,’ the priestess said.
The urge to snap the woman’s neck was growing by the minute.
‘Indeed. That is usually the expected response to shooting someone out of the sky, is it not?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ the priestess hissed, ‘seeing as you’re the first to ever be in the sky.’
Arla’s jaw ached with the strain of clenching her teeth. ‘I suggest—’
‘I do hope we are granting our guests an amicable welcoming, Crea. I’d hate for them to return home and speak of Malarye’s lack of hospitality.’
Arla hadn’t seen the woman approach. Though now she looked upon her, there was no doubting a queen stood before them.
Jet-black hair framed a face as white as snow with lips the colour of blood.
Her smile, Arla was certain, had been practised for long hours in a mirror from the moment she had been old enough to understand the weight of the golden crown on her head.
She wore a simple dress that reminded Arla of the forest, all pines and oaks and secrets.
There was a warmth that emanated from her, a breath of fresh air amongst the hostility with which they had been greeted.
Arla didn’t doubt the queen had commanded it.
Still, she bowed before the queen of Malarye. ‘Your Majesty. It is a pleasure.’
When Arla rose, she found the queen watching her, her head tilted as if Arla were an exotic thing found in the underground markets of Kastonia. There was a crinkling of the eyes and then she was smiling softly again, locking the mask of a ruler back into place.
‘Mara, please. And the pleasure is mine, Arla Reinhart, though I do believe it is Arla Dragonhart, now, is it not?’
‘My court would laugh at me for insisting so, but yes, it is Dragonhart.’ A tightness flew down the bond, gripping her chest in something that felt a little like pride.
Queen Mara took a step towards her. ‘Then I hope you will forgive our … eccentric welcome. We have long worshipped the gods; it is not in our nature to accept heretics on our shores.’
The hairs on Arla’s neck bristled, as if the gods themselves were opposed to their own mention. Or perhaps she was fed up of the doubt that the gods had chosen her.
She ignored the fact that she too had doubted until a few months ago.
Heretic. She had arrived on the back of a creature blessed by the gods themselves. If she was opposed to the beliefs, then Thara would have snapped her neck.
A fog hung over Malarye, though the air was balmy, and Arla was already too warm in her uniform. She would need to remove the sheepskin lining soon, or she would seriously overheat.
‘Your … welcome,’ Arla said slowly, ‘has resulted in my dragon being pierced with crossbolts and arrows longer than my arm. We have travelled for four days to your shores at the request of your princess. From where I stand, the only heretics are those wishing to shoot a creature of the gods out of the sky.’
Silence seeped across the beach, so deafening Arla wondered if anyone had heard her at all.
‘I can only apologise that it was necessary,’ Mara said, hardness creeping into the edge of her voice. ‘Though you will understand when I say that the security of a kingdom outweighs anyone or anything. My people will not be placed in the way of harm unnecessarily.’
There was a glint in the queen’s eye, a goading thing pushing Arla to snap. But not here. Not in front of so many people. Arla didn’t know how Mara had come to know of Flambriar, or how much she knew, and Arla would not reveal any of her hidden kingdom’s secrets before she had worked the queen out.
‘Crea, please arrange for Lady Re—Lady Dragonhart to be shown to the castle once she is content her dragon is well tended. And send a healer, too. I do not remember instructing quite so many arrows to be fired.’
The queen was already walking away, booted feet crunching rock beneath them as she began to walk back up the cliff.
Walk back up the cliff.
As if she were no better than the rest of her people.
Arla hated that she was already beginning to like this queen.
Crea cleared her throat, and just the movement of her in Arla’s eyeline was enough to ignite a rage within her. Her fingers twitched on the blade still sheathed at her wrist.
The priestess only grinned at her. ‘I’ll send someone to show you to your rooms. A healer will be along shortly to tend to your dragon.’
‘I do not require the help of traitors.’
‘They are not traitors. They have no allegiance to us. And I do not know how to remove arrows from your skin, so let them help,’ Arla shot back, glad to feel Thara’s presence in her mind. It had been too similar to death when she had felt the strain through the bond.
The archers dispersed, some following Crea who gradually worked her way up the cliff following the queen whilst others found their places at watch towers carved into the rocky outcroppings overlooking the beach.
Arla turned her attention to Thara then, whom, despite the arrows sticking out from between her scales, looked remarkably bright.
‘There is no use for worry – it is a useless emotion. Let us take things as they come.’
Arla didn’t know why tears pricked her eyes. How did her dragon manage to rouse emotion from even the most secure vaults in her heart? She suddenly wished for Hark. He had always commanded the same effect – the siphoning away of worry.
‘You are strong enough to do this. You wouldn’t be facing it if you weren’t.’
Arla swallowed the lump in her throat. Thara was right. She could do this. Whatever this was.
‘Excuse me, Dragonhart. Mistress Crea sent me to aid you.’
Arla had watched the healer approach them from the direction of the palace, their long brown hair in braids that hung low past their shoulders. The healer had a kind face, and though Thara eyed them at first, Arla felt the dragon relax as soon as the healer was close enough to touch them.
‘I am Diath. I will remove the arrows so you may heal, great one,’ they addressed Thara directly, and it was in that moment Arla knew they were a mage.
‘You have magic?’ The words were out of her mouth in a splutter, her tongue tripping over her teeth as Arla inched closer to where Diath made to lay their hands against Thara’s scales.
‘Many of us fled when King Elrod began his purge, though mages had travelled here for centuries before. We have been around longer than Kastonia’s king’s persecution, Dragonhart.’
Diath’s hands roamed carefully over Thara’s body, leeching away pain. Arla watched the strain in her dragon’s eyes dissipate.
‘Be still, I will be as gentle as I can,’ Diath murmured, their voice raspy but low enough that it was soothing.
The whole beach was, despite the archers hidden amongst the rocks, and despite the sea’s relentless crashing against the shore, like a balm to the worry that had swamped her on their arrival.
The sun would be setting soon, and though it was warmer here than back in Flambriar, once the sun dipped below the horizon there would be a chill in the air.
Diath’s hands moved with expert precision, gently teasing the arrows from between Thara’s scales. If the dragon felt any pain, she did not show it, not even to Arla who couldn’t take her eyes away from the barbed ends of metal as they were delicately extracted from Thara’s skin.
‘It is an abhorrent test and I am sorry you had to endure it,’ Diath spoke lowly, their lip caught between their teeth as they struggled with the splintered end of an arrow in Thara’s shoulder.
‘Did you?’ Arla asked. ‘Have to endure it, I mean.’
‘Malarye is particular about who is allowed into their queendom and even more so about those who profess to carry the magic of the gods. All who claim they are blessed are tried this way. Only those who possess the magic can hope to make it across the border.’
Queendom.
‘Do they not have a king?’
Diath laughed, shooting a hand quickly to rest against Thara’s side as a groan rumbled up the dragon’s throat. It subsided immediately.
‘Once. Until Queen Mara killed her husband.’
A chill flitted through the muscles at Arla’s shoulders. ‘Brutal indeed. How did you make it here?’
‘I healed every hole those arrows made in my body as I lay dying on these very rocks while they watched. I was welcomed once I had proved I could lose my body weight in blood and still stand.’
Kase had been right. Malarye, despite its devotion to the gods, was a barbaric place prone to violence. Crea had ignited a ferocity in the pit of Arla’s stomach that had her itching to draw a blade and mar that perfect white gown with the blood of the priestess.
Her hands clenched at her sides.
‘Your body will heal quickly, great one,’ Diath said, gliding their hands over Thara’s scales once more before clasping them in front of their body.
The healer was already departing before Arla could snap herself out of her thoughts of this violent queendom and how she could manipulate it to her advantage.
‘Thank you,’ she called, offering a smile when Diath turned back to face her and nodded once. ‘Know you will always have a place in Flambriar, should you seek it, Diath.’
They offered the ghost of a smile in return. ‘Perhaps I will take you up on the offer one day, Dragonhart. I suspect there will be a need for healers in the coming months.’
Arla didn’t let herself dwell on the words or what they meant. She had spent too many hours thinking of it herself.
‘Go and rest in those rooms your hosts spoke of Dragonhart, I will be there in the morning. We will put the world to rights then.’
Arla didn’t have it in her to argue.