Chapter 54
Chapter Fifty-Four
Maxim
Agony strikes through my entire body.
I regain consciousness to find myself lying in cooling lava, the indent of my body sticking as I test my limbs. My fire may have healed my shattered bones, but it hasn’t helped my bruised flesh.
With a groan, I focus past the glare of the late afternoon sun to my serpent, who circles the air above me, his hisses agitated.
He’s smart not to try landing near me.
The ground around me is still too hot for any creature to touch without injury. The lava has spread for a hundred feet in every direction, making the ground appear like blackened rock.
Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, it’s been hours since I fell from my serpent’s back, my mind overcome by powerful magic that had, somehow, shown me the oracle.
I jolt upright as memories rush back at me.
She was reading from a book whose illustrations could only have been drawn by the Ferocie Scribes.
The memory of her voice rages across me, sending my heart into a thudding rhythm.
To break the curse, break the…
What?
Break what?
Wildly, I search the dunes around me, as if I’ll find the answers within the endless amber grit.
A futile search.
Forcing my aching muscles to function, I focus my fury into action, racing toward the edge of the lava.
My serpent follows above me in the sky, landing at the top of the nearest dune.
I reach his side within moments, retrieving the satchel containing my spare clothes and quickly pulling them on, covering myself as fully as I can once more, leaving only my eyes visible.
I need to move quickly now. Before the city beneath the dunes awakens and Ember Fae emerge back to the surface. I can’t let anyone know where I’m going. Certainly not my sister, Zenaida, or she’d try to stop me.
The last thing she wants is a war with the Tol-Dakri, the warrior tribe who won’t willingly offer me their help.
Launching myself onto my serpent’s back, I urge him into the air, and within minutes, we’re soaring in the direction of the southern coast where the Tol-Dakri live.
The only tribe that would welcome a fight with me to the death.
Two hours later, we approach the coastal city where one of the few above-ground populations in my kingdom thrives within clay buildings constructed along rocky amber cliffs.
The sun has sunk below the horizon, shedding its final light across the city ahead.
The Tol-Dakri have carved out a place for themselves that defies my control. They conduct their own trade, make their own laws, and live as they please.
For generations, their truce with the Ember Kingdom has been clear: As long as I stay out of their way, they’ll stay out of mine.
Far in the distance, tawny-brown serpents patrol the air, none so big as my golden serpent, but I don’t underestimate their ferocity.
The Tol-Dakri have proven themselves to be fierce in the face of a threat.
They will attack me on sight.
Which is why I plan on ensuring my presence goes undetected.
It’s time to land before the final glinting sunlight ceases to provide cover for my approach.
“Set me down here,” I call to my serpent, who immediately glides to the dunes below us.
Leaping off his back, I press my hand momentarily to his neck. “Stay out of sight. Move beneath the sand dunes and hide on the eastern side of the city. I need you to await my call.”
On that side of the city lies an open expanse of terrain that the Tol-Dakri use for combat training.
I know this because, before he died, my father brought me to the Tol-Dakri city on one of the few sanctioned visits.
I was old enough to take note of and to remember the city’s layout, as well as the internal design of their leader’s quarters.
If things go badly, I’ll head for that part of the city where it’s less populated.
The Tol-Dakri may have no love for me, but I’d like to keep collateral damage to a minimum.
My serpent bounces his head in acknowledgment of my command before he slithers into the nearest dune, concealing himself beneath the sand within seconds.
Setting out on foot, I keep the sun at my back, staying behind sand dunes as much as possible. Evading the tawny serpents is only the beginning. Getting past the city’s outer wall will be my second challenge. Not that rocks can stop me.
Moving with the wind, I reach the wall in quick time, now making the most of the encroaching shadows of nightfall. As I travel, I take note of the guards’ movements atop the wall, the way they cover all sections except…one.
I eye the western side of the wall, where the guards don’t patrol—a weak spot in their defenses. It’s only a small gap, but it’s enough.
Staying out of sight and keeping my eyes peeled for serpents, I dart toward that section. Quickly whipping off my gloves and pocketing them, I reach up and press my bare fingertips to the rock, praying my fire won’t explode beyond my control as I hoist myself upward.
My hands instantly heat, and the rock at my fingertips becomes soft, allowing me to dig in my fingers and create handholds, one after the other, as I move upward.
I scale the wall within seconds, reaching the turret, pausing on the wall, listening for footfalls before I launch myself up and into the battlement.
A heartbeat later, I jump from the other side into the city itself, catching lightly hold of the inner wall to slow my fall so that I land with no louder than a whispering thump.
Keeping my movements calm, I meander into the nearest alleyway, avoiding a group of warriors sharpening their knives on my far left.
I’m dressed like they are, and, now that I’m inside the city, all I have to do is move steadily, and I’ll appear like any other city dweller.
I take the long route to the Tol-Dakri leader’s quarters, unsurprised to find the side entrance into the humble clay building unguarded.
The Tol-Dakri’s leader, a woman named Ortansia, is confident in her ability to defend herself, and so she should be.
I met her on my last visit, a fierce woman who earned her position not by birth but in a fight to the death with the former leader who had reigned for decades. Since then, she apparently defeated five challengers, wiping out her competition entirely.
She is as formidable as Cassia of the Starlit Court.
Listening carefully and keeping my footfalls whisper-quiet, I follow the soft sounds of movement from within the building to one of the back rooms. From memory, it’s some sort of library.
The door is open.
A single occupant, judging by the rustle of papers.
Calming my breaths, I slip into the room, immediately identifying the woman leaning over the table on the far side of the room.
Her back is to me, but there’s no mistaking her long, deep-black hair, an unusually dark color for a Tol-Dakri.
She calls from the other side of the room without turning, clearly mistaking my approaching footfalls for those of one of her warriors. “Do you think we could—?”
Her back stiffens.
I wonder what gave me away.
Possibly the faint scent of ash I carry with me at all times.
I imagine her suddenly narrowed eyes.
Her arms are both in front of her, where I can’t see them, but I’m certain she’ll now reach for one of the many daggers she carries about her person.
Impressively fast, she spins toward me, crouches, and launches a blade at my heart.
It would be a perfect strike if I weren’t so fast.
I side-step the blade instead of burning it to ash mid-air, moving with the confidence that comes with knowing I could render this entire city to rubble within seconds.
Quickly, I pull off my mask, revealing my face. “Is that any way to greet your king, Ortansia?”
Her dark-gray eyes glitter up at me. “I will never bow to you, Maxim, King of the Wasteland. You know this.”
Now that she’s crouched, it’s apparent that the table behind her is strewn with parchments. Some appear to be maps. No doubt what she was studying when I came upon her.
Rising from her crouch, she stands her ground, tossing back her dark hair, her gaze raking me up and down. It’s difficult to visually ascertain her age, but she doesn’t appear much older than me. Probably no more than thirty years.
The fact that she hasn’t launched herself at me and tried to kill me is more unsettling than comforting.
So is the absence of knives about her body. The last time I saw her, she was wearing a near-mountain of blades.
She folds her arms across her chest—not the kind of gesture she’d make if she were on the verge of fighting me. “What do you want?”
I’m not about to squander these heartbeats of peace between us. “Where is it?”
She’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
I’m certain her people have prepared for the day an Ember King came asking for the only fire dragon’s hide in known existence.
With the briefest pinch of her brow, she unfolds her arms, scoops up a flask of water from the table, and offers it to me. As if that’s what I was asking for. “Water, my king? You must be thirsty.”
I don’t drink water. Or liquor. My body requires protein, and that is all. I’m certain she knows it.
She grimaces. “Oh, that’s right. Water simply evaporates in your mouth.”
I lower my voice. “Ortansia. Where is the dragon’s hide?”
My calmness seems to unsettle her. Her fingers twitch, and the flask shakes a little as she sets it back on the table. “What makes you so certain I have it?”
“Because the Tol-Dakri have long boasted about the Battle of Fire Dragons,” I reply. “The way they killed and skinned the last ferocious dragon. You have that hide. I want it.”
Casually, she props herself up on the edge of the table, sweeping one arm backward as if to support herself, but I’m certain she’s reaching for another dagger.
I cross the gap between us in a flash, wrapping my hand around her arm and halting her. “Do you wish for death?”
A smile flickers around her mouth, as if she would scoff at my warning, but it’s taking all of my willpower to keep the heat from my palm, a heat that’s growing hotter with every passing second—