Wings of Flame (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 5)

by JD Monroe

  But just like the last two days of prayers, no such miracle had occurred.

  Instead, Sohaila rolled up her prayer mat and returned it to the wooden rack at the back of the sanctuary. She tucked herself into the stream of blue-clad Marashti returning to their work. Some were novices, headed for another few hours of religious study, while others would work with an instructor to learn about anatomy and physiology. Others still would conduct private research.

  Before her capture, Sohaila had split her time between developing better treatments and visiting Greenspire’s hospitals. People came to Greenspire from all over Ascavar to seek healing, and she took pride in her prowess and reputation.

  But with Mother Akshas’ admonition and disgust at her cure for the soulstruck, she was determined to come up with a better solution. Even though it wouldn’t change the situation with Ayla, it felt like it would give her control over something.

  To her credit, Sister Iana had offered to give up her quarters. Sohaila didn’t have the heart to take it, though she appreciated the offer. Instead, she’d been given a pair of adjoining rooms in the novice’s dormitory. The small rooms were half the size of her old quarters, but it was strangely refreshing to have a new, unfamiliar space. It was free of expectations.

  The crates she had brought from the Silent Orchard sat in the middle of the floor. There were several baskets full of bundled herbs and various ingredients that she’d requested yesterday. The wooden worktables were crowded with glassware and several metal basins, gathered from the storage rooms in the apothecary’s wing. It was a mess.

  Virnan sat inside, dutifully watching the pots she’d left to simmer. His eyes lifted as she entered. “Sister,” he greeted, giving her a shallow bow.

  “Hi,” she said. “Did you have to stir anything?”

  “This one,” he said, pointing to the flask nearest to him, balanced on a wire frame over a small basin of flame. “It started to bubble a few minutes ago.”

  “Thank you,” she said, patting his arm as she inspected it. Slipping into the healer’s trance, she let her mind search the mixture. It felt dull and lifeless. She sighed in frustration. “It’s wrong.”

  “Did I ruin it?” he asked, his face drawn.

  “No,” she said quickly. “It’s just not the right mixture.” She carefully checked the other mixtures she’d left to steep. She tested each one in turn, finding all of them inert. All useless. Failure after failure.

  With a growl of frustration, she plunked the last flask on the table. The glass shattered, slicing into her finger as she jerked away. “Vazredakh,” she cursed. A rivulet of blood trickled into the mixture spilled across the wood surface.

  “Sister,” Virnan exclaimed. He grabbed her wrist and held her arm up firmly. He was strong, his grip like iron as he lifted her hand over her head.

  Panic washed over her. “No,” she said sharply, jerking her hand away from him. Her pulse raced, and it took her a moment to realize she was staring into Virnan’s kind gray eyes, not violent green ones.

  His eyes went wide. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  She sighed. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “You were helping. Can you find me a towel?”

  “Yes, of course,” he blurted. He rooted through the crates until he found a piece of linen. “Do you want me to wrap it?”

  She extended her hand. Glass had sliced deep into the fleshy mound under her thumb. The wound trickled steadily, blood pattering onto the wooden table. With a light touch, Virnan pressed the linen into her hand, then wrapped it tightly.

  “Which ointment should I get?”

  “Balirash,” she said. “It’ll stop the bleeding.”

  He surveyed the messy workshop. “Um…”

  “Here,” she said. “There’s some in the backpack.” He rooted into the leather bag he’d carried yesterday for her. “Gold lid with the red ribbon around it.”

  Glass and metal clanked as he shuffled through the bag’s contents, finally coming up with the small jar. He peeled back the linen and gently daubed the thick, gritty paste into the cut. “I didn’t mean to frighten you just now. I learned you should elevate a wound to keep it from bleeding so much.”

  She winced at the sting of the paste, biting into the raw skin like tiny insects. “You did the right thing,” she said. “It just startled me.”

  “Because of what happened to you?” he asked quietly. “I don’t mean to pry. But you looked very frightened. I assumed…”

  Her breath hitched. “I guess so,” she said. “It scared me to be grabbed like that.” His face fell. “Please don’t feel bad. I truly appreciate your help, and I’m sorry we haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. He smiled brightly. “I’m excited to be assigned to you.”

  “Are you really?”

  He nodded. “One of the Sapphire Circle. You’re very important.”

  “I was one of the Circle,” she said. His brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I am anymore. These are unusual times.”

  “Well, if Mother Akshas assigned your own personal Shrine Wardens, you’re important,” he said confidently.

  The last time she’d been assigned her own personal Shrine Wardens, they’d died an ugly death on a forgotten road through war-ravaged lands. It felt like an accusation, not a compliment. She forced a smile. “Maybe so.”

  “Would you like me to help with the glass?” He slipped past her and carefully picked up the largest piece of the broken flask.

  The pool of liquid on the floor glowed faintly. The muddy brown mixture had turned to a rich crimson. She dropped to her knees, lowering her face to inspect the puddle. Extending her uninjured hand over the glowing spot, she let her mind drift into it. It pulsed with a warm, familiar energy. It wasn’t nearly as strong as the elixir, but there was something here.

  Realization dawned on her.

  Elixir was produced from Kadirai blood, distilled into a purer form. The Chosen had been capturing the Kadirai and draining it from them against their will, which was why Mother Akshas and the others were so opposed to its use. Sohaila didn’t disagree with them, though she could overlook it if it would save lives.

  But what if her own blood, willingly given, could replicate it?

  “Virnan, get me a glass bowl,” she said. She unwrapped her hand and grabbed a piece of the glass. As he put the bowl in front of her, she sliced through the thin clot to release another trickle of blood.

  “Sister! You just—”

  “It’s fine,” she said, letting the blood drip into the dish. After filling it halfway, she wrapped her hand tight again and perused it. “I have an idea.”

  Three hours later, Sohaila had a small vial of purified blood. It was packed with the familiar, crackling energy of the Marashti, but it also held an echo of the power encapsulated in the elixir. Maybe she was biased, but this felt pure, like liquefied fire.

  Following the formula she’d created at the Silent Orchard, she brewed the base of the antidote. Her stomach growled as she opened a packet of er-tahm, a cooking spice that doubled as a stimulant. After dumping it into the simmering basin, Sohaila hesitantly added a few drops of the distilled blood.

  “Did it work?” Virnan asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, stirring slowly.

  “How long will it take before you know?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe a minute, maybe an hour.” She chuckled. “Do you regret giving up patrolling the forest for this position?”

  “How did you know I patrolled the forest?” he asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “With the exception of the last sixteen months, I have been here for over fifty years. I know almost everyone here.”

  His cheeks flushed. “I didn’t think I was worth noticing.”

  “Everyone is worth noticing,” she replied. A shy smile spread on his face. “Where did you come from?”

  As she stirred, Virnan told her about growing up in Farath, the capital of
the mighty Stoneflight dragons. The Shrine Wardens were not divinely called like the Marashti, but rather chose their path. He had become a Warden fifteen years ago.

  “And you have how many sisters?”

  “Four,” he said. “I had a stressful childhood.”

  She laughed. “And you were the youngest?”

  “Yes, I was—oh! Look!” He pointed. She glanced down at the pot. The liquid inside glowed a rich healthy red with a faint gold shimmer. “Is that what it should look like?”

  “I really don’t know,” she admitted. Letting her power trace the surface, it felt warm and familiar. She glanced back at Virnan. “Can you make me some nice cool air?”

  “Of course,” he said. He cupped his hands around the glass, like he was holding a large globe. Cool air whipped around the workshop, focusing in a tiny whirlwind around the pot. Slowly, the bubbling stopped, but the glow lingered. Once it was cool, she poured the contents into a flask and corked it.

  “We need to see Mother Akshas,” she said proudly.

  With Virnan in tow, she hurried toward Mother Akshas’ office and found the older woman there with a book open on her desk. “Mother Akshas,” she said proudly. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Of course,” she said, looking up from her book.

  Sohaila held up the glowing flask. “I have a solution. For the soulstruck.”

  “I already said I’m not fond of using the elixir,” she said.

  I heard you the first dozen times. Sohaila took a deep breath and reminded herself to be polite. “I distilled some of my own blood to replace the elixir. It’s not quite as strong, but I think it could work.” Akshas frowned. “It’s willingly given. Doesn’t that make a difference to you?”

  The older woman sighed. “So, will you drain all of your sisters to produce more?”

  “Only if they’re willing,” she said. “It doesn’t take much to create the catalyst, either.”

  “People may not like it.”

  “Interesting. They don’t mind us sacrificing our dragons for their benefit,” Sohaila said sharply. “This is a far smaller sacrifice.” All of the Marashti were once dragons, as magnificent and strong as Kaldir and his men. The final step of the initiation was to sacrifice their dragon. One last transformation, then a bloody rebirth that left them with divine healing power.

  Mother Akshas raised her eyebrows. “Watch your tone, sister.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Would you give me permission to try it?”

  “I don’t like it, but I admit that we have no better solution,” Akshas said. “You have my permission. I ask only that if a family member is present, you tell them how it was made. We have several of the soulstruck here in the infirmary. Some of the others have been trying various remedies to no avail. You might try there.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will.”

  She hurried out of Mother Akshas’ office to find Virnan waiting patiently. “Infirmary,” she said.

  He nodded eagerly. “Let’s go.”

  There was an unparalleled joy in being right, and doubly so when that victory came from diligent work and clever thinking. A young Kadirai male who’d been soulstruck in the attack on Greenspire was under the care of his father, who was forlorn as he stared at his pale, increasingly gaunt son. He’d barely heard Sohaila’s explanation of the ingredients, finally blurting, “I don’t care what’s in it, just bring him back.”

  She wasn’t certain yet that her new formula was a success, but the boy’s body had reacted. After letting it work for a while, the young man was flushed, and his eyelids fluttered. It would take multiple doses, but she was hopeful. She’d left his father with a promise to return as long as he promised to eat and sleep until she did.

  She was practically walking on air as Virnan escorted her to her quarters. He was light-hearted as well. He reminded her of Lezah, who had taken her duties of fetching medicines and linens very seriously.

  Her heart thumped as they rounded the corner and saw a sliver of light pouring from her door into the narrow hall. She glanced back at Virnan, then gestured toward the door. With one hand poised on his blade, he crept forward, silent as a mouse. He sniffed the air, frowning. He pushed gently on Sohaila’s shoulder until she was pressed back against the wall. “What are you doing here?” he barked, bursting into her workshop.

  “Wait!” a familiar voice exclaimed.

  “Sir?” Virnan said in a curious tone. He peeked back at Sohaila and winced. “It’s General Dawnblaze, sister.”

  Her stomach sank as she peeked around Virnan’s broad frame. Kaldir stood in her workshop, looking around the messy space with an expression of disdain. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “Could I have a moment?”

  Virnan gave Kaldir a stern glare. “It’s customary to make an appointment, not barge into a sister’s quarters.”

  “I apologize for not following protocol,” Kaldir said, though there was little apology in his haughty tone.

  “Sister?” Virnan asked. Kaldir raised an eyebrow. He could toss Virnan out the window if he wished, but he simply waited.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said. “You can go.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Virnan said.

  She shook her head. “Though his manners leave something to be desired, General Dawnblaze means me no harm,” she said. “Thank you. Please have a good evening meal and enjoy your rest.” She reached up to cup Virnan’s cheek. “Mother’s blessings upon you.” She closed the door behind him and turned to regard Kaldir sternly. “Well? What is it?”

  “What are you working on?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t just strong-armed his way into talking to her.

  Open jars and packets of herbs were strewn about from her frenzy of activity earlier. Kaldir was neat to the point of being obsessive. To have him standing in her messy workshop was like having him walk in on her naked. “Another antidote for the soulstruck,” she said. “Since Akshas takes issue with my other methods.”

  “Did you figure something out?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Why are you actually here?”

  Hurt flickered in his amber eyes. “I’m genuinely curious about what you’re doing.”

  “But that’s not why you were in my chambers uninvited,” she said.

  “Would you have invited me?”

  She sighed and slammed her notes closed. “What do you want, Kaldir? I’m tired and have no patience for games.”

  He sighed and put up his hands defensively. “I wanted to…I need to apologize for the other day.”

  “I told you it was fine,” she said. Despite her dismissal, she was stunned. Kaldir Dawnblaze was not a man who apologized easily. And unlike his mechanical response to Virnan, this was genuine.

  “But it wasn’t,” he said. His hand fell on her shoulder, then pulled away immediately like he’d been burned. “Please, just give me a few minutes and then I’ll leave you alone if you like.”

  She drew a deep breath and turned to face him. He had always been a big man, but since she’d become Marashti, her own frame was diminished. His presence seemed to fill the entire room, his warmth overwhelming her. There was no escaping him in the tiny space. “Yes?”

  “I stared at your face before,” he said. She instinctively looked down, but his large hand cupped her chin and tilted it up to look at him. Don’t look at me. She wanted to pull away, but there was something so wonderful about being touched, even though the veil was a barrier against his skin. “And I hurt you with my reaction.”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t. I was just surprised.”

  A sad smile pulled at his lips. “You’ve changed in many ways, but you’re still a bad liar. I know when your feelings are hurt,” he said. “First you look disappointed with me for being so careless, and then you hide it so as not to appear weak. For years, I work
ed very hard to not produce that very expression on your face.” Releasing her face, he let his fingers trail down her arm to grasp her hand lightly. Then he sat on her stool, putting him at eye level with her. “I was merely surprised. And it pained me to know that someone had hurt you so badly.”

  Her breath hitched. “It’s healed now.”

  “Is it?” He shook his head. “I don’t wish to pry. I only want you to know that you don’t have to be ashamed or afraid. You are still who you are.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not Falmina anymore. I’m not the girl you knew before.”

  “That may be the case, but that’s not because of a few scars,” he said. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Her throat clenched. She wanted him to stop staring at her, like he could see right through the veil. “I know your intentions are good, but please don’t lie to me.”

  He pulled her in closer, still clasping her hand gently. His legs parted, and she was just inches from him, close enough to smell the pleasant, warm aura around him. A crazy urge swept through her, to close the distance and kiss him, just for the memory of it. She knew his lips would part gently at first, inviting her to stake her claim before he closed the trap with a hungry, devouring kiss that would steal her breath and her senses. As if he’d read her mind, his lips curved slightly. He knew exactly the effect he had on her. “You know I am many things, Sohaila Mara, but I am not a liar.”

  Except when you told me you loved me.

  He played coy when he was responsible for more pain than Adron had caused her. She pulled her hand away from him. “Thank you for the apology. I accept,” she said. His gentle smile evaporated, and she felt inexplicably guilty for it. “Was that all?”

  “Please uncover your face. Let me speak to you openly.”

  Her heart thumped, and she shook her head. “I appreciate your attempt to make me feel at ease.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said.

  “Well, I’m glad you don’t mind my presence,” she said. He frowned, lips parting to argue. “But I am more comfortable this way.”