Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (11 page)

He bit off his curse, then quickly tossed the keys into the nearest cell where an old man crouched in his own filth. "Now come!" he ordered her, and together they flew down the left corridor.

She moved as fast as she could, her bare feet skidding on the stone floor. He moved with one hand gripping her arm. With him as her anchor, she never fell. He moved with assurance, taking turns and stairs through the fortress without pause except to listen for soldiers in the hallways. Twice they had to hide: once in a doorway, the other time pressed into the shadows, holding their breath in order to remain silent. Fortunately, both times the people passing nearby were too intent on their tasks to pay much attention to their surroundings. Finally Kiril dragged her behind a tapestry, muttering under his breath as he fumbled against the wall.

"Someone's coming," Natiya whispered, her senses straining.

"Got it!" he returned, and even in the dark, she knew he was grinning.

Then she felt a rush of cold, damp air. She pulled back, instinctively disliking the feel of a yawning, black maw somewhere directly ahead. But she was given no time to think as Kiril drew her forward, still gripping her arm.

"There are stairs right here. Going down."

Here, at least, her bare feet helped, and she curled her toes around the edges of narrow stone steps. She extended her left arm, feeling the chill wall to the side, and began to descend. He followed, his breath exhaled in short, controlled bursts as if he were in combat. Then he released her, and she stopped.

"Kiril?" she whispered, hating the panic that gripped her at his abandonment.

"One moment," he said, his voice a disembodied ripple of sound. Then she felt more than heard the thud of a door pulling shut behind them.

"What is this place?" She spoke in an undertone, disliking the way her whispers seemed to hiss back at her from the darkness.

"Dag Racho's business often requires secrecy. This is just one of the many hidden ways in and out of his fortress."

"Makes it a lot less of a fortress, doesn't it?"

She could hear his chuckle as he once again found and took hold of her arm. "No one has dared attack these lands in one hundred years. Our Emperor has more need of secrecy than defense."

"And yet you still serve him," she said, her tone more bitter than she intended.

"And so I'm still alive."

She heard him fumbling in the wall beside her, and then suddenly the light from an oil lamp cut the blackness. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw a long passageway extend before her. Despite her earlier fears, the tunnel was actually quite clean, with iron hooks and more lamps dangling at regular intervals.

"We must hurry. This is a well-traveled secret passage."

"Then you should have taken me on a less-well-traveled one," she returned.

He shrugged. "That one is a lot harder to find."

She glanced at him, wondering how a new governor would know these things. Then she remembered: he was the Emperor's greatest warrior. Of course he would have come here many times on secret business of one kind or another.

"Come," he urged, picking up speed. "It is not much farther."

She kept pace with him, mentally calculating distances. "This must go under the entire courtyard."

"It ends in the stable of the Open Maw inn. My mount is there."

She nodded, recognizing the name of the largest and most luxurious inn of the city, famous for the number of dignitaries who stayed there. No doubt because of just this reason: It gave direct and secret access to the fortress and whatever business was inside.

They were through the exit within moments, sliding into the stables as if they belonged there. Kiril took her directly to his mount—a large, mottled beast of unclear ancestry and ugly appearance. Natiya stared at it in shock.

"It has no hair!" She glanced at the other mounts in the stable. All of them were large, stately beasts with matted fur toeholds and finger grips. They had full cushions of fur that likely felt as soft as the finest down, but his creature was bald! "How will we sit on it?"

"I had a special saddle designed," he said. The beast nuzzled his master's shoulders. "And hair is decidedly dangerous for a dragon-hunter." Then he reached down, grabbing his strange saddle with ties that gripped the creature's belly instead of weaving into the fur. The leather was worked with tiny filaments of silver in ornate patterns, and Natiya felt a strange power coming from it. But she had no time to ask as Kiril reached inside the saddlebags and pulled out clothing, which he tossed to her. "There's an empty stall over there. No boots, I'm afraid, but the socks will keep you warm."

She held the clothing, lifting it up to her face to feel the velvety fabric. It was the finest cloth she had ever touched. "I will get them dirty," she said; then she felt her face heat, knowing how stupid a concern that was.

Fortunately, he didn't comment except to gesture to the other stall and whisper, "Hurry."

She nodded and ducked away, quickly donning the loose trousers and pristine white shirt. His clothes, obviously, for they were cut for a man and wrapped around her like a pale echo of his arms. The attire was much too large on her frame, but it would keep her warm, especially as the velvet jacket wrapped fully around her. D'greth, his clothes felt good. Oh, what would it be like to live in such finery every day? And to not even think about it?

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She smelled the stable, of course, and the lingering filth of prison that still touched her skin and hair. But mostly she smelled him. He wore no perfume, so none scented his clothing. Instead, she sensed him—strong and dark, like the dragons he hunted.

And with that thought, her eyes shot open and she quickly returned to the business at hand. He had already climbed atop his strange mount, the stall door open as he exited. Seeing her, he leaned forward and extended his hand to her, but his words were for his animal. "I've brought a friend today. This is Natiya. We're going on a trip together, and I'm afraid you'll have to carry us both. And yes, she's heavier than she looks, but even that isn't so much."

"What?" she said, unsure she had heard him correctly.

He glanced up in surprise, then flashed her a lopsided grin. "I make it a policy never to lie to Mobray."

"But you lie to people?"

"Of course I do. I was raised in the Emperor's court." And with that, he grasped her hand, lifting her up in a single, powerful movement. She settled awkwardly on both his lap and saddle at once.

"Isn't your family name Mobray?" Why would he give his own name to such a haggard creature as this mount?

He didn't answer at first, too intent on guiding the beast out of the stable, casually flicking a coin to the stable boy who had just now noticed their presence. Then, when she'd nearly forgotten her question, he answered, his voice low and intent. "We Mobrays may not look like much, but we're strong and smart. People laugh at us all the time, but this I swear, Natiya, we will have the last laugh."

She did not doubt him. The intensity of his words radiated like an oft-spoken vow, one mumbled beneath one's breath, but all the more powerful for its softness. She now knew Kiril hated Dag Racho almost as powerfully as she. And more, that he had plans; probably complex, devious ones. That thought alone made her smile.

With luck, Kiril's plans would keep Dag Racho busy, taking attention elsewhere while she quietly hatched her egg and grew strong enough to gut the Emperor and his thrice-cursed Copper dragon. And with that thought firmly fixed in her mind, she relaxed back against her rescuer, feeling the tension of the last twenty-four hours melt away.

She was free from prison. Her plans were still feasible. All she needed to do to see them put into place was to hide somewhere and await the hatching.

"Take me to the edge of the docks," she said as he maneuvered them out of the inn yard. "I can make my way from there."

"You cannot go back to your room. It is not safe there."

"I know," she answered easily, though in truth she was already mentally listing all the supplies she would need and where she could get them. It was many days yet before the hatching. "I have friends."

"Don't be a fool," he answered curtly. "You have no friends except me."

She stiffened, insulted, and twisted as much as she dared on her precarious perch. "I am not a fool, Governor. Do not presume that your kindness today has—"

"Kindness!" he snapped, pulling on the reins. "Dag Racho is searching for you, Natiya. Do you honestly think Talned will help you? Or Monik? Who do you know who can stand up for you against the Emperor?"

She bit her lip, mentally reviewing her options. They were picking through the midday traffic, moving as fast as they could through the clogged streets. And as she looked at her familiar world, the truth of his statement crashed down upon her. None of her friends had the spine to stand up to a drunken soldier, much less the full weight of the Emperor. "No one," she breathed. "Not a one."

"Wrong," he snapped, the word sounding like stone splitting in two. "I have just done it. But that lieutenant is no fool. He will know I got you out of there."

She shook her head, denying his words even though in her heart, she feared he was right. "I was just one of many prisoners to escape."

"You are the one Dag Racho wants." Then, as if to emphasize his words, a dragon's cry split the air. Indeed, she had known a dragon approached. Her egg had felt it, and she through it. But she had been consumed by her escape, too distracted to consciously understand what the tremor of recognition meant.

Until now. Until she heard and recognized the cry of Dag Racho's Copper.

Kiril heard it as well. Indeed, all the city must have heard, but he was the one who identified it. "That is not an attack cry."

Natiya didn't respond, was too focused on the dark brown speck in the air. Especially as it grew larger and larger with alarming speed.

Another dragon cry tore through the air, to be followed by a heated plume of fire sizzling the clouds.

"That is a recognition cry," Kiril murmured, frowning as he, too, watched its approach. "But Dag Racho was not to come here, not for many days." He shifted uneasily in his seat. "And who would the lizard recognize?"

Kiril clearly had no answer. She could tell by the concentrated frown on his face that the Emperor's presence was both a surprise and a discomfort to him. As they watched, the dragon extended its neck, diving toward the city as a queenfisher would for its prey. It plummeted straight down.

Straight at them.

All about, people came to the same conclusion. One by one they gasped, abruptly turning away from the spectacle of a dragon in full attack. They screamed and grabbed their children and goods. They trampled one another in their haste to escape, while Kiril and Mobray skittered and pranced to avoid a similar fate.

And still the Copper came while Natiya simply stared, mesmerized by the awesome sight. Distantly she heard Kiril curse as he tried to both control his mount and move them out of the square, away from the fortress. She felt the sweat of his body as he gripped both her and his horse. But most of all she felt her egg, wild and exultant inside her.

That was when she knew the truth. She knew who the dragon recognized, knew it was coming for her and the queen's egg she carried. And somehow from its place pressed deep inside her belly, the egg returned the call.

"Quiet!" she hissed to her egg. "You will get us killed!" But the egg did not listen. It was screaming silently, creating waves and waves of joy—felt, not heard. Natiya pressed her hands to her stomach, trying in vain to silence it.

"Hold still!" Kiril rasped in her ear.

"I can't," she gasped, for the egg's shrieks were growing more intense, reverberating through her entire body. She barely had the control to look up, to look death in the face as the Copper shot like an arrow toward her—larger and larger in her field of vision—while inside, the egg's screams built and crashed through her mind.

The Copper stopped. Natiya did not know how it did it, except that with a full spread of its wings and riding the invisible waves of the egg's power, it pulled back and floated in the air just above them. Then, with a deafening roar, it belched a fire plume, heating everything around it in a flashpoint of blistering agony.

Everything, that is, except Natiya, Kiril and his mount. All around them, wood burst into flame, metal glowed bright hot, and unprotected people screamed at their death. But Natiya and her companions were protected by the egg. The queen egg absorbed all that crackling energy into itself until it throbbed with life. Natiya writhed and screamed, knowing if she did not escape soon, the egg would hatch right here, right now. But she could not control her body, for it was in the egg's grip. All she could do was mentally scream out her fears. Not here! Not now! Not yet!

Fortunately, Kiril understood the danger. He could not know the cause, but he knew to push his mount to run. The way was cleared before them, still smoldering from the dragon fire. And so Mobray kicked into a gallop, flying through the city streets. Kiril leaned forward, pinning Natiya between him and Mobray's neck, his harsh breath rasping in her ear.

For Natiya, all these things remained in the background, distantly felt and even more sparsely understood. Her eyes were filled with the sight of the Copper in full spread, giving honor to the queen she carried. And above it, she saw a rider: Dag Racho, his wiry body and pinched face awash with heat and exertion as he tried to control his dragon mount.