Wings of Flame (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 5)

by JD Monroe

  “It is not my work, but hers,” she said, raising both hands as if someone hovered over them. “Rest well, my son.” She grasped his forearm lightly, and a warm burst of energy pulsed into his arm, winding through his muscles and into his aching shoulders. He sighed quietly with relief. “You should rest. Let one of us take care of you.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Kaldir and Azeria left the sitting room and strolled one of the winding paths to the massive garden outside the temple. Fragrant blooms wafted perfume into the humid night air. “What do you think we should do?” he asked her.

  “I follow your orders,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “You were quite forceful yesterday,” he said. “Shouting your own orders.”

  She gave him a wry look. “Because you were so intent on clawing that cursed creature’s eyes that you didn’t see the riders on your tail.”

  “And that is why I ask your thoughts. We would both be dead if you hadn’t spoken up,” he said. “Make no mistake, I will make a decision and bear the burden of its consequences. Speak your mind.”

  Azeria folded her arms over her narrow chest, leaning against a stone pillar. In the low light, copper glinted in her hair. She was an attractive woman, though her soft façade hid razor-sharp edges. It had taken him weeks to learn how to approach her without being sliced open at every turn. “I would prefer to wait a week for all of our team to heal while we gather more intelligence. I hate going in blind, especially with the Chosen.” She glanced at him, as if waiting for him to interject. He was silent. “But if Sidran is to leave in two days, then we will lose his trail. Doesn’t it surprise you that he wasn’t here in Greenspire when we arrived?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said.

  “I have. That’s all I’ve thought about since things died down yesterday,” Azeria said. Her eyes narrowed. “If this army was the mighty force of his supposed god, then why is he hiding a few hundred miles away with a dozen Aesdar? With that kind of power, he could raze Greenspire and be gone again before we got our pants on. So why didn’t he send them all?”

  “Perhaps they split away before we arrived,” Kaldir said. Upon their arrival, there had been a single white dragon guarding Greenspire, and another two that shifted during the battle. The Scalebreakers had killed two, leaving the third to escape to the Silent Orchard. “He held Arvelor for a month with just three of them, and they have ten times the military power of Greenspire. If he thought Greenspire was secure, he may have gone on to other pursuits.”

  “Other pursuits,” Azeria mused. She frowned and shook her head. “He’s not done. I think he has a much bigger show to put on still.”

  A chill ran down his spine. “Should I summon General Iceborne and rethink our plan?”

  “Because I say so?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If you think we need to reconsider, then we’ll do it. I trust your judgment.”

  Her jaw dropped. Then she shook her head. “I don’t want to risk losing him. We just have to be certain to capture him. I’ve seen enough of my friends and family dying.”

  “Then we will capture him.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Get some rest. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

  She nodded. The faint creases around her eyes betrayed a hint of warmth. “Rest well, Kaldir.”

  Before retiring to his room, Kaldir made another meandering circuit around the temple grounds. Slivers of moonlight broke the dark canopy in bursts of silvery light. Unseen among the ancient trees, the birds of the forest sang a quiet nightsong. The quiet was a welcome change from the chaos of the last month.

  He told himself he was walking the grounds to appreciate the beauty of the ancient shrine, a holy place that had stood for thousands of years. But he found himself surreptitiously looking at the face of each blue-clad healer that walked past, hoping fate would bring him into Falmina’s path.

  When she heard the divine call, he’d tried to make the decision easy for her by removing himself from the equation. But knowing it was right didn’t make it easier to lie in bed alone, mourning the loss of her smile, of her warm skin beneath his fingers.

  More than a dozen Marashti crossed his path, and most of them acknowledged him with a polite smile or a quiet blessing. Falmina was not among them.

  Idiot. He would chalk this up to a rare moment of foolishness and be thankful he hadn’t asked anyone about her.

  Returning to his quarters, he knelt beside his bed and murmured prayers. He beseeched the Skymother to grant Azeria a restful sleep for once, to watch over his nieces in Ironhold, and to protect Falmina, wherever she was. Clenching his fists, he raised his eyes to the ceiling. “And let us find him. Let us put an end to this evil tomorrow. Let it go no further.”

  The Skymother had not left her to die alone. Something was happening. And while she had no idea what was going on beyond these stone walls, the mere hope that something would change was enough to lighten Sohaila’s steps, filling her with excitement.

  The little brown bird returned the next day as Sohaila packed envelopes of herbs into wooden crates. Thankfully, Adron was busy with the other Talons, and Nirren stood watch at her door. The sparrow zipped in the window and up to her top shelf, tapping its little talons gently on a glass flask to get her attention.

  “I see you. Hide,” she said quietly. The bird flew down into the open crate as she called, “Nirren?”

  The eager young man leaned into the room. “Yes, sister?”

  “Could you please find me some stuffing? Maybe some scrap fabric, or an old pillow that I can tear open? I have some delicate glassware that needs to come with us,” she said. “I’d hate for it to break.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, giving her a jaunty little bow.

  She hurried to shut the door behind him, then held out her hand for the sparrow. With sharp claws gripping her finger tightly, it held up one spindly leg to display a tiny slip of paper with a thread tied around it.

  “Is this for me?”

  Chirp. Up close, she could see the unusual flecks of gold and green in its glassy eyes.

  She carefully pulled on the red thread and released the tightly coiled paper into her palm. Written in neat Kadirai runes was a simple message that pierced straight to her heart.

  Sister – help comes at dark. Stay safe.

  “Tonight?” she murmured. The bird chirped. “Have you seen the other healers?” It was silent. “I’ll find them. Go with the Skymother’s blessings. Tell them I’ve gotten the message.”

  The bird fluttered away. Sohaila read the message again, committing the simple missive to memory. Then she tossed it into the small hearth, watching as it burned away. Her heart thrummed with excitement. She adjusted the veil over her face, then headed out to find her sisters.

  Soldiers in dark clothing and red cloaks bustled through the halls carrying their equipment. Sohaila set her jaw and headed for the end of the hall. Firsa was there, pacing absently in front of a closed door. The faint smell of medicinal herbs drifted from beneath the door.

  Firsa’s eyes narrowed as Sohaila approached. Her hand dropped, fingers dancing as if she was prepared to summon a flame. Like Adron, Firsa’s green eyes were unnaturally bright thanks to Sidran’s foul magic. Her soft, gentle features belied the merciless personality lurking beneath.

  Sohaila wished she had met Firsa before giving up her dragon. She would have enjoyed sinking her teeth into Firsa’s slender throat. Instead, she bowed slightly. “Excuse me, may I see Sister Ayla?”

  “She has work to do, like you,” Firsa said sharply. “Which you should be doing.”

  “I understand,” Sohaila said. “But I’m working on a batch of thelveran. I can finish it faster if I have help from her and Veraxa.” Firsa’s eyes glinted with greed. “I’d really like to finish it before we leave so the Talons will have it for emergencies.”

  Firsa glanced over her shoulder and spoke quietly. “How abou
t you bottle some up just for me and Adron?”

  “And you’ll let Ayla and Veraxa help me?”

  “I don’t know where the blonde one is. But I’ll let this one out.” After six months, Firsa knew their names, but she refused to use them. Ayla and Veraxa were ‘the skinny one’ and ‘the blonde one’ respectively.

  “Deal,” Sohaila said. “I’ll have it for you in the morning.”

  “You better.” Firsa took a key from her belt and unlocked the wooden door. “Out,” she barked.

  Ayla burst out of the room, glancing back fearfully at Firsa. Wiping her hands on a stained linen apron, she gaped at Sohaila. “Sister?”

  “I need your help,” Sohaila said. “Come with me.” The other healer was taller than her, with wavy black hair that streamed over her shoulders. Though she still wore the traditional blue, Ayla didn’t keep the traditional hairstyles of their order. Sohaila found comfort in keeping traditions, but she didn’t blame Ayla. It felt pointless.

  “What’s going on?” Ayla asked quietly.

  “Just a minute,” Sohaila said. “Do you know where Veraxa is?”

  “I haven’t seen her since before she left with Sidran,” Ayla said. Except the few weeks when Sohaila had taught them to make the Aesdar shift, the three healers were rarely allowed to be together. Perhaps Sidran feared they’d plot against him. Clearly, he was right.

  Sohaila pointed down the hall. “Go to my workshop. I’ll be back as fast as I can. Start a base for afarakh. If anyone asks, you’re making thelveran for the soldiers.”

  Ayla’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she nodded and closed the workshop door behind her. Sohaila’s heart pounded as she hurried toward the main hall. The temple was small, and there were only so many places Veraxa could be.

  As she crossed the main hall, Adron emerged from the opposite wing, where Sidran and the Talons kept their quarters. She tried to veer away, but the larger man saw her and headed toward her. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Adron, have you seen Sister Veraxa?”

  He scowled. “Who?”

  “The other Marashti. With the short blonde hair,” Sohaila said.

  “Oh,” he said. “She’s working with Master Sidran on something.”

  “Could I please see her? I need her help,” Sohaila said.

  “No.”

  “But—”

  He grabbed her arm and hauled her close. Sharp talons poked through her sleeve and into her arm. She resisted the instinct to strike him. If they were among civilized Kadirai, every man and woman bustling through the open hall would have stopped to pull him away from her. No one here seemed to notice or care.

  “I said no.” Light burned behind his vivid green eyes. His pupils elongated into dark slits as his power surged through him. “And this bad dog will only bark for so long before he bites. Finish packing your shit.”

  She took a deep breath, not pulling away from his painfully tight grasp. “And the Aesdar? Will they need my care this evening?”

  “Master Sidran hasn’t said anything,” Adron said. “You’ll be the first to know, I’m sure.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”

  His brow furrowed, like he was confused by her mild demeanor.

  I hope they kill you, she thought as she stared up at him. Finally, he released her arm. She turned away, then paused at one of the stained-glass windows in the main hall. In one of the dark green panes, she watched as Adron’s reflection stared at her. Then he shook his head and turned to walk toward the courtyard.

  With her heart pounding, she returned to the east wing and saw Nirren walking toward her workshop. She intercepted him as he rounded the corner. His eyes brightened. “I found these,” he said, holding up two large cushions. “Mira said you could do whatever you want with them. I can find some more if you need.”

  “This is wonderful,” she said, accepting the dusty cushions. “Thank you. Can you find me a few more?” She needed him gone a bit longer.

  “Of course,” he said. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “I’d rather do this than pack the heavy crates.”

  She waited for him to stroll down the hall and turn the corner before she opened the door. Inside, Ayla was stirring a pot over the hearth. Sohaila closed the door and leaned against it, letting the pillows hit the floor. Her heart raced.

  “Sohaila, what the hell is going on?” Ayla asked. She dropped the long wooden spoon with a clatter against the metal pot.

  Sohaila slid a chair in front of the door, then hurried to the table next to Ayla. The younger woman’s eyes were bright and fearful. “Someone is coming here tonight. I think it’s our people,” she said.

  “Are you serious?” she squawked.

  “Shh,” Sohaila hissed. “I tried to get to Veraxa, but she’s with Sidran. Adron wouldn’t let me see her. I don’t know what else to do. As far as Firsa knows, we’re making a batch of thelveran. I promised her some, so they’ll leave us alone for a while.”

  “That was smart,” Ayla said. She raised an eyebrow. “So why am I making afarakh?”

  “It was just for a cover,” Sohaila said.

  Ayla raised an eyebrow. “Waste not, want not, my sister. A little extra spice at dinner might make this an easy fight for our friends.”

  Sohaila smiled. “I like how you think.”

  Working in concert, the two healers prepared a large batch of afarakh, a potent sedative they nicknamed ‘dreamsleep’. Dragon warriors were notorious for leaping back into battle before their injuries were healed. Centuries ago, a wise Marashti healer decided to make them rest if they were too stubborn to choose it. Afarakh was the sedative of choice; prepared in large batches, it produced a dense concentrate that traveled well and could be added to a tea or soup to induce restful sleep. And with a clever blend of honey and spices, the pleasant taste concealed its potency. Sohaila had seen plenty of patients gulp down the tea and pass out before they could put down the cup.

  After a few hours, they had four glass flasks filled with the dark green concentrate. Ayla’s eyes gleamed with determination as she wiped her hands clean. “How do we get it to them?”

  “I’ll take it to the kitchen,” Sohaila said. “You stay here and keep working in case someone comes by. Tell them I went to find something to eat so we could keep working through dinner.”

  Ayla nodded. She leaned down to kiss Sohaila’s forehead. “Mother guide your hands.”

  Sohaila’s heart thumped as she tucked one of the flasks into the voluminous robe and secured it under her sash. The narrow stone hallway was empty, though she heard the shouts of the Chosen outside as someone barked orders. She strolled down the hallway, veering to peek into the courtyard where she’d helped Enzar the day before.

  A dozen of the Chosen worked to load equipment into large wooden crates, pushed together in neat stacks. They’d already completed one, wrapping the entire stack in dingy fabric and a chain net that was secured at the top with a thick ring. Nearby, another soldier laid out long leather straps as wide as her body. Between the Aesdar and the Kadirai that had sworn loyalty to the Chosen, they had enough dragons to travel quickly. One of the Aesdar alone could probably carry the entire contents of the temple.

  Adron oversaw the process, pointing to one of the stacks and shouting at his subordinate to pack the crates tighter before securing the chains. Her heart thumped as she ducked back inside. If he knew what she was doing, he would do far worse than scar her face. Perhaps she should be wise and stay in the safety of the workshop. The Kadirai could fight for themselves.

  No. She’d been a coward for almost a year, going along with Sidran’s orders so he didn’t hurt her or Ayla any further. Maybe the Skymother had kept her here just for this reason, to be ready to aid when the Kadirai finally arrived. Four hundred and thirty-three days had brought her to this moment. Closing her eyes, she offered a silent prayer skyward.

  Blessed mother, guide my steps and make me brave. Avert the eyes of the enemy, and allow
me to help your children with your gifts.

  With grim determination, she followed the scent of cooking meat toward the small kitchen. As she walked through the temple, she searched for Veraxa but saw no sign of her.

  Three cooks bustled around the cramped, humid kitchen. Steam billowed from a pot over a hearth, while oil and fat crackled on a large skillet. She watched as Hanna, an older human woman, poured water into a huge pot and stirred its contents.

  “Sister, do you need something?” a polite voice asked. Niza, one of the cooks, wrestled a bag of grain onto the wooden table.

  “No, dear,” she said. “I was just curious what you were serving, what with moving out tomorrow.”

  “Keeping it simple,” Kamis announced from his position over the skillet. The stocky man deftly flipped large chunks of meat, pressing them down with a spatula and producing a noisy sizzle. She wandered past him, brushing her hand over his shoulder as she did.

  “How’s your back?” she asked. She kept her eye on him, but backed toward the cooking pot until she felt the searing heat of the fire against the back of her legs.

  “It’s been much better,” he said. “If you could make me some more of that ointment, I’d appreciate it, though. I’ve nearly used it all. That’s good stuff, sister.”

  “Of course,” she said. “As soon as we get settled again, I’ll take care of it for you. It won’t take long. I’m glad it helped.”

  “Thanks, sister,” he said. A warm smile spread across his face, forming creases around his warm brown eyes. A pang of guilt struck her as she contemplated what she was about to do. Kamis had been kind to her since she’d arrived. As far as she knew, he’d never raised a weapon in battle.

  She drew a breath for resolve and turned back to the stock pot. A brown broth bubbled inside. “This is boiling,” she said. “Should I stir it?”

  “Please,” Hanna said. She dumped a crate of mushrooms onto the table. “Would you keep an eye on it while I cut these? Gotta use them or they’ll go bad.”

  “Sure,” Sohaila said. Her heart thumped as she leaned over the pot, carefully maneuvering the flask of dreamsleep from her sleeve. Stirring the pot gently, she dumped the sedative into the broth. Rising on the steam, the sweet smell of the sedative tickled her nose. She carefully blew away from the pot, hoping the aroma wouldn’t catch their attention. As she stirred, she glanced back. The cooks paid her no mind. “Do you know where we’ll be going?”