Burn (Dragon Souls) (40 page)

He wept for his cousin, his young heart breaking.

It was not lordly, not manly, to show such emotion over a member of your House who died in glorious honour, but he’d loved her so. It did not matter she would forever be remembered, held dear to the hearts she had touched. All he knew was that she was gone. Her life taken before she could become the legendary Queen she had been destined to be.

Ululating wails of mourning filled the air. The Citadel widows would cry for the fallen Chosen for a day and night, as was tradition.

Pushing shakily onto his claws, Viktor did not stop running until the moisture in his eyes blurred his vision entirely.

In the beginning, he’d heard and spread rumours of her like the rest. Lies that said she was a monster, cold, calculating, and bent on twisting the Dragon King around her finger to rule the Drgaon Lands. He had assumed she would be a plain, disfigured thing, stern of bearing, and opinion. The kind of hard female that intimidated him no end, and thought he was ruined because of his halting speech. Those females – like Anastasia Vor – who seemed more likely to cut your throat then consider a mating.

Slowly, as the weeks passed, and they travelled to the Fire Kingdom for Aver, rumours of an even more outrageous kind circulated. ‘
Princess Zar’
, it was whispered, ‘
is a warrior saint
.’ She protected the weak and fed the hungry. She adopted a slave and made him a Prince. She loved the King and embraced
all
the people of Tzion as her own.

Viktor had been terrified for the first time in his life when he realized he was to sit next to the infamous High Princess during the commencement feast.

The radiant beauty that dropped into the seat next to him, flashing him a charming smile then offering him food, as if his personal servant, had been wholly unexpected, and consequently, beguiling.

It was no wonder the Dragon King and Lord Kol were so taken with her. She was kind and giving.

Aver had claimed her life. It was too horrible to fathom.

Viktor had meant what he said. After hearing of her kind-heartedness, and meeting her in person, he passionately hoped she would choose the Wreath and become Queen of the Wyvrae. Serving a female such as her would have made the inescapable future his Sire plotted for him bearable.

Heading higher up the mountain, Viktor breathed through his nose to filter the ash from entering his lungs, as he had been taught, and rubbed his reddened eyes with the softer side of his foreclaw.

A cautious mewl caught his attention. It came from beyond the crest of the rocks he leaned against.

Climbing nimbly on all fours, he craned his serpentine neck over.

He rumbled a low, baffled growl.

A wild Dragon female with vibrant purple-scales peered up at him, her violet eyes keen with intelligence.

She chirred throatily.

Sorrow too fresh to show interest in the peculiar encounter, Viktor slipped down the boulder to return to his aimless roaming.

The dragoness lifted into the air, descended with a rapid beating of her wings, and blocked his departure.

She chomped at his spiked tail.

A deep aggressive growl rumbled from his throat. He bared his fangs so she could see his flame.

He might be adolescent, but he would defeat the dragoness if she attacked.

She lowered her hornless head in submission.

Maintaining eye contact, she returned his narrowed gaze with what Viktor swore was frustration.

Confused at her behaviour – wild dragonesses were known to be unapproachable to Dragon Lords in
dragonskin
– he watched her cough smoke, almost disdainfully, before she flicked her bladeless tail in a steady wag.

The movement smacked him with the notion she tried to keep his attention.

She inched backwards back around the boulder, holding his gaze prisoner, yet keeping her snout lowered in surrender.

Curious, he followed.

Maybe she had a nest of fledglings that needed saving after the eruption.

Caves often collapsed killing the young of wild ones. It was a common enough occurrence in this part of the land, but he never heard of a dragoness asking for help.

Viktor charily followed from a distance. He was sure she wanted him to trail her, as when he stopped, she threateningly hissed and snapped. Rounding the boulder, she took him across a barren flat until the strong scent of sulphur burned his nose.

The incandescent orange glow of magma caught his eye – nothing unusual about that considering he stood in the shadow of a nodule on a volcano flank.

The creature dragging itself from the boiling stream of magma
was
uncommon.

Viktor stopped walking.

Utter confusion swamped him.

The dragoness was horned. Her opalescent scales were a beautiful black onyx edged with a slivery-blue sheen.

Am I truly looking at a horned, blade-tailed female?
His mind rejected that.
I am looking at a runty wild Dragon male with female scales?

Whatever it was, the poor creature seemed half dead.

Mindful of the torrents splintering off the core lava flow, Viktor lumbered towards the injured beast. The dragoness that led him to this place unmistakably wanted him to help. The adamant tail flicks and impatient snarls were impossible to ignore.

The black dragon caught his scent. It stilled, growled menacingly. It even sounded female.

‘
Easy
.’ He was not a Phoenix, the wild one would not understand him, but it would not hurt to send out peaceable thoughts. ‘
I will help you
.’

The purple dragoness coughed then took to the sky.

Bewildered by the hasty departure, Viktor turned his attention to the black-scaled dragon.

It accepted his presence, trembling and whimpering for help. Its hind leg looked swollen, and rested against its slender body awkwardly. Its laboured breathing seemed to become worse on each inhalation.

‘Poor creature.’ He looked into its eerily present eyes. Dark mahogany eyes filled with recognition. His heart skipped a beat and he reared back in fright. ‘C-
Cousin
?’

‘
Viktor
?’ The plaintive whisper was barely sound.

But he had heard it.

‘
Marina.
’

A reaction to the name, the horned dragoness tried to crawl closer, groaning lowly when she shifted, dragging her sensitive underbelly across the harsh ground.

Convinced, Viktor padded closer.

Reaching out with his tail, he dithered, realizing she was covered in scoria. Porous and ashy bistre, it cooled into a rigid, rumpled husk covering her body in a broken lattice of chainlike striations.

He winced.

It would feel heavy and tight, uncomfortable, not to mention scorching.

Keening, she tried to stand.

He calmed her with soothing noises and gentle waves of his tail. ‘
Be easy. It must feel as if the weight of the world crushes your hide
.’

She snorted smoke, choked, and then vomited runny brimstone.

The magnitude of what he had discovered was unimaginable. Viktor experienced true mind-numbing indecision.

Did he fly for help? Would she survive her appalling condition for that length of time?

Surviving the magma and breathing in ash thorough her maw instead of her nose had drained her of strength, not to mention the tremendous amount of mystical energy one expelled just to shift into
dragonskin.

Without help, exposed to the elements, she could fade before help arrived. Yet, her people had to be told she was alive. Moreover, what if another came across her before then?

Shrinking back, scared, Viktor trembled under the immense responsibility thrust upon him.

‘Tell me what to do, Cousin.’

There was no reply.

Sobs echoed through the walls. Cathryn’s cries to be reunited with her friend inspired pity from the servants that watched her break apart.

Her grief raked across Koen’s soul with poisonous claws.

Bloody and gore splattered, he had barely passed her chamber when she had flown at him with a desolate kind of lunacy. Returning to the great hall after a respite from the tense aftermath of the latest raid, he had merely swept the woman aside, unable to deal with her sorrow because his own was too raw.

Mercifully, Mikhail intercepted.

When she demanded answers, begging him to contradict the rumour of Marina’s demise, the Council Mon told her the gruesome tale in a broken rush.

Her anguished scream, the sound of her body hitting the floor made his heart bleed.

Koen could not comfort the woman his Treasure had loved.

He could not even comfort himself.

The screeches of denial tearing from her throat had not abated in the hours since. The crash of random objects flying into the walls as she raged at anyone who came near added to the mad woe infecting the Citadel.

Feral and restless, Koen stalked the halls he and his Treasure had tread. She haunted him. Memories plagued him at every turn, muted by the hazy mist of fantasy.

“Are you sulking?” he asked
.

Her ghost spun, eyes twinkling, lips curved in a smile. “Yes.” She pouted as fears of not being a good mother shadowed her dark eyes.

He picked her up in his arms and held her warm weight close to his heart.

The vision dissipated. The gnawing ache grew.

Now he stood in the throne room, his soul shattering into a million pieces, only for those splinters to shatter again.

A powerful Mage stood before him demanding an audience.

“King Raad, our condolences.” Shukri was dressed in a sturdy travel cloak. A humble attendant kneeled at his rear, and a powerful Battle Mage with eyes of cold steel escorted them. “The time has come to end our business here.”

Daniil glared angrily. “Your timing-”

“Is regretful,” the Eldermon said, “but not our fault. The Princess and I disagreed, but we did not meet as enemies. You have no cause to believe me, Lord Kol, but I am saddened by this loss.” Shukri drew himself up. “It was the Princess herself who claimed this land was a haven of safety for Ryuk.” He gestured to the balcony. Below them vagrants tried to gain entry. “That is no longer the case. We are returning home, and we are taking our Prince with us. It is no longer safe for him here.”

“How dare you,” Mikhail rumbled. “The ashes of my offspring barely settle, and here you stand, demanding what she loved most.”

Shukri tossed him a dry look. It was not without pity. “Your decision?” he asked Koen.

“We have run out of time,” Daniil said quietly, his eyes fixed on his weary King. “There is no sense in delaying this any longer.”

Anastasia – the only female within the room – leisurely stood. She eyed them all with abhorrence. “I will not be part of this. I must check none of my people have become caught up on the wrong side of the fighting.” She sniffed. “Goddess knows Aleksandr will be neck-deep in trouble.”

“Yes,” Sevastyan grumbled. “It is time to see to our vassals.”

He stumbled onto his feet.

Eyes glassy and balance compromised, he brushed splatters of wine from his chest plate. His reaction to the death of his niece was to drown in drink.

He felt hollow inside, even as a part of him rejoiced it was not Viktor.

His thoughts made him ill.

“I cannot stay,” he said more firmly.

Anastasia halted. “If Marina’s people are not here then I know exactly where this conversation will end.”

Daniil scowled. “We are all her people.”

She did not openly refute his claim. Her body language said it all. “My answer remains the same. I will not be a part of this.” She looked at him then, softening. “But I understand the practicality behind it.”

“Perhaps,” Mikhail said slowly, understanding dawning, “I too should leave.” There would be no wining this fight. He sacrificed his relationship with his only offspring over a lusting that quickly passed. He and Cathryn could barely speak civilly in each other’s presence. Now his offspring was gone, and there would never be the opportunity to mend the breach. Dishonouring her death and furthering his betrayal was not something he was interested in. More than that, Boy was his grandchild. He could not in good conscience make a decision that befitted his station. He would speak from his heart alone, and that was not his duty as a Council Mon sworn to protect the land. “My offspring–”

“Thought too much with her heart,” Shukri snapped. “It is why we are in this mess.”

At the insult to their beloved dead, the males tensed.

Daniil glared.

The youngest Raad growled and snarled in affront, whereas the older simply stared at the Eldermon until he blanched and trembled.

“Remain, Council Mon.” Anastasia was gentle as she advised Mikhail. She looked at Sevastyan. “You should stay too. Fight her corner.”

With a polite bow to the males, she slipped through the tense figures awaiting the King’s next command.

Muttering about the whereabouts of his Captain and offspring, Sevastyan moved behind her.

Anastasia spun, and closed the door pointedly behind her.

Sevastyan stared at it longingly. His armoured shoulders slumped.

Dejected, he returned to his seat.

Mikhail hesitated. He lowered himself onto a chair and gripped the armrests. “I will hear this proposition.”

Shukri’s face heighted with colour. “This has nothing-”

“She was my heir,” Mikhail said. “Ryuk inherits that honour. I have the right.”

Koen had said nothing. He turned to his Second, a male he had always considered of his blood. He did not see the battle-brother he knew. “You cannot ask this of me.”

“The time for thinking with your heart is done. Will you stand by the decision to reject the Eldernmoot after they declare war? All for no other reason than to cling to a memory.”

The ghost of his Treasure stood before him. Her eyes begged him not to agree.

Koen closed his eyelids to shut her out. “He is a part of her.”

Daniil cleared his throat. “Eldermon, if we may have time to confer.”