by JD Monroe
On the terrace, he took a deep breath of familiar air. Like when they’d landed, the terrace was covered with a fine green dust. It was disturbing to see the layer of filth covering the usually pristine palace.
“Fast and quiet,” Lotheraos said. He gritted his teeth and spread his arms wide, expanding his concealing sphere of air.
Kaldir breathed deep, and called the dragon forward. He wanted to growl and let out the pain like an escape valve, but he kept silent as the transformation split him open and fused him together again. When it was done, he unfurled his wings with a noisy pop. Lotheraos’ eyes went wide.
“You hear something?” a female voice said inside. “Go check it out.”
“Go,” Lotheraos said. He practically shoved Azeria up onto Kaldir’s back, then held out his arms. “This is so undignified. If you tell anyone, I will end you.”
Kaldir lifted off, clutching Lothaeros in his front claws as he rose rapidly toward the top of the palace. Orienting himself by an ornate stained glass panel on the third floor, he flew to the balcony of the young princesses’ shared bedroom.
After Sohaila left the city decades ago, Kaldir knew he would never be a family man. But when he swore to serve Queen Tarim, he had found a family in her and her brother. And when Tarim bore twin daughters, they became his family too. He would have never presumed to claim them as his own, but he didn’t have to. Just a week after the twins were born, Tarim placed tiny, pink-cheeked Shadiah in his arms, introducing her to ‘Uncle Kaldir, who will always keep you safe’.
And so, the two soldiers in red who stood on their balcony would die for daring to threaten them.
He hovered over the balcony, dropping Lotheraos silently. The wind billowing from his wings was enough to make both soldiers look up, but before they could cry out, one of their throats simply opened up, spilling a sheet of crimson. Lotheraos spun away from the first one and flicked his wrist. A faint shimmer materialized in his right hand, almost blade-like, and he swiped up the other soldier’s back. The man cried out, and Lotheraos yanked him back, covering his mouth as he bled out.
At the sound, he heard a quiet voice. He scanned the inside of the room, his sharp dragon sight making out the familiar furniture in the shadows. The subtle smoky smell of the young princesses made his heart ache. Shadiah sat up in bed, her eyes wide. Two more guards stood inside, one standing at the door leading to the hallway. “Don’t you move,” a female voice hissed. A weapon glinted in the low light.
One figure walked toward the balcony. Kaldir waited for him to step out, then latched onto him with his powerful jaws. He shook the man violently, then bit down hard enough to crush his ribcage. While he spat the man out, Lotheraos and Azeria darted into the room. A faint whistle cut through the quiet as Lotheraos flung one hand out. Like the first guard, the woman’s throat opened in a seam of red. She clapped her hands over the gushing wound and sank back against the heavy wooden door
Shadiah screamed in fright and covered her eyes.
“Shh,” Azeria urged. “Please!”
Kaldir released his dragon form, shifting back as fast as he could. With his legs still trembling, joints popping back into place, he ran for her. “Shadiah!”
The little girl’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Kaldir?” she said in a small voice. Her eyes widened, and she threw out her arms.
He grabbed her, holding her tight to his chest and breathing her in. Her little heart thrummed against his chest. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” she said pitifully.
“Where is your sister?” he asked, pulling away so he could see her face.
Her wide amber eyes betrayed her fear, but she didn’t cry. “The mean dragon took her. Adron. He took me first, but then brought me back and traded for Izarel instead.”
His blood went cold. “Did he hurt you?” If he had laid a finger on this child, Kaldir would make sure his death took centuries.
“He pulled my hair,” Shadiah said. “And he made me sleep on the floor instead of in a bed. But mostly he just says mean things and tries to scare Mama. I’ve never seen her scared before. I don’t like it.”
“Where are they now?” he asked.
“Mama’s room,” she said. “I think.” Grasping his shoulder, she peered out to the balcony, where the three dead soldiers slumped. “Are they dead?”
“They’re sleeping,” Lotheraos said.
Shadiah shot him an incredulous look that she had clearly learned from her mother. “I’m ten. I’m not stupid.”
Lotheraos chuckled and smiled at her. “Then yes, little wise one. They are very dead.”
She set her jaw. “Good.”
Kaldir set her down, then pointed to the large wooden wardrobe in the corner. “Go find something to cover up,” he said. “So you don’t get cold.”
While she rifled through the drawers, Azeria tossed him his pants again. After Shadiah wrapped herself in a heavy robe and warm slippers, Kaldir bent to pick her up. “I can walk, Uncle Kaldir,” she said primly. “You don’t have to carry me.”
“Perhaps I need you to keep me safe,” he replied, holding her tight. And despite his banter, seeing her alive had bolstered his courage. The mind-clouding fear of the unknown was burning away in favor of razor-sharp focus.
“I don’t think so,” she said. But she tightened one arm around his neck.
He pointed to the door. “Down the hall to the right. Second door after this one.”
Lotheraos nodded, and with a flick of his wrist, his shield surrounded them. The hall beyond the door was empty. Just down the hall was a small washroom. The wiry man silently opened the door and peered in. Then he beckoned.
Inside the washroom, there was a large, polished wooden chest in the far corner. Kaldir set Shadiah down next to it, then pulled a stack of towels and sheets out of the chest. “Remember when we played hide and seek over the summer with Inrada?”
“She cheated,” Shadiah said irritably. “It’s no fair when she turns into a mouse.”
“She does cheat,” Kaldir said. “But this was a very good hiding spot.”
She gave him a stern look. “Uncle Kaldir, I’m ten. I know this isn’t a game.”
“I know that you’re very clever,” he said. He knelt and took her hands. She stared resolutely back at him, and for just a moment, he could see her sitting on her mother’s throne, crown resting comfortably on her brow. “But I need you to hide like you’re trying to win. Absolutely silent. Don’t move until I come and get you. Not even if you hear things that scare you. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes were wide and fearful, but she nodded. There was a streak of ferocity in Shadiah that was going to give Tarim fits in a few years, and he hoped to be here to witness it.
“Azeria,” he said quietly. “Give me the knife from your boot.”
She sighed and handed it over. “Isn’t she a bit young for the blade?”
Kaldir handed Shadiah the polished knife. He gave Azeria a wry smile. “She’s ten, Azeria,” he said. The blade was practically a sword in the child’s hand, but she held it comfortably, point down toward the floor. “Remember what I taught you before I left?”
“Go for the ankles, then the hamstrings,” she said. “And don’t let anyone grab me.”
“Good girl,” he said. He kissed her forehead, then lifted her into the chest. Inside, she curled into a little ball on the soft layer of towels, clutching the knife tight to her chest. “I’ll be back soon.” He stacked the remaining towels on top of her, then closed the chest.
“Go for the hamstrings, huh?” Lotheraos said.
Kaldir shrugged. “The Ironflight does not raise helpless children.” When Viraszel had given him the order to join the fight, he’d requested an extra month to prepare his second-in-command, Jazela, to take over. And he’d spent many afternoons with the twins, as well as Princess Ohrena and her maids, teaching them to defend themselves. He had hoped it would never be necessary, but he was glad he’d bothered.
>
“Down the hall to the queen’s room?” Azeria asked.
He shook his head. “We’ll take the balcony again. If we go inside, we’ll have to funnel through the doors and risk being heard if they’re locked,” he said. He raised an eyebrow at Lotheraos. “Can you do what you just did?”
The wiry man grinned. “My pleasure.”
“With a bit less noise this time,” Azeria said.
“A cruel taskmaster,” Lotheraos said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Moving silently through the halls, they returned to the twins’ room. Kaldir shifted back into his dragon form, which was slower this time. After a day of flying and so many rapid shifts, he was getting tired. He growled at himself. No time for weakness. Once Azeria was on his back, he lifted off and grabbed Lotheraos, silently flying around the building.
From up high, the city was still and quiet. Good. Once the queen and her family were secure, Azeria would use Marlena’s noisy signal to alert their comrades that it was clear to take out the Chosen.
Kaldir banked wide around the palace and glided to the large balcony on the northern wall. It opened into the queen’s sitting room, which connected to her luxurious bedroom. He made a silent pass, peering in through the open stone archways. He saw a form on the couch, but couldn’t make it out. Two guards stood on the balcony, with two more visible inside.
“Now,” Lotheraos murmured.
Kaldir dipped low and dropped him onto the balcony. Lotheraos landed silently between the two guards and extended both hands in a sharp, precise motion. With a sharp whistle of air, two silvery crescents slid through the air and sliced the guards’ throats open. Giving a smug smile to Azeria, he put a finger to his lips and slipped inside.
A shrill scream pierced through his focus. “Get up,” a male voice growled from inside. A tiny voice protested. The familiar timbre sent pure fury boiling through Kaldir.
Kaldir slammed down on the balcony and barreled inside. Tarim sat up on the plush couch, eyes wide. A thick silver collar was secured around her neck. “No,” she murmured, pointing to the door. “He’ll kill them. Get out.”
He growled at her, then snapped his head up to see a large man emerge from the door to Tarim’s bedroom. The dark-haired man clutched Izarel in front of him, thick arms crossed over her so she couldn’t wriggle away. His bright green eyes flashed. “Do we have guests?” he asked. “You weren’t invited.”
“Kaldir,” Azeria said quietly. “This is not wise.”
“This was not my doing,” Tarim said. “Please don’t hurt her.”
“What do you think, little princess? Should your mommy be punished for having guests without permission?” he asked. His thick fingers extended into dark talons that pressed into her slender arm. Izarel squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to make a sound even as a bloom of red spread on her white nightgown.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kaldir saw the vague shimmer of Lotheraos edging around the room toward the pair of guards at the door.
“Call for this beast to surrender,” the man said. “Or I will snap this little neck.”
Izarel whimpered, kicking her feet uselessly. She looked like a tiny doll in his grasp.
“Stand down,” Tarim said sharply. “Kaldir.”
I know what I’m doing.
The shimmer had made it nearly to the door. He bowed his head and released his dragon, groaning as his bones reshaped themselves once again. As he started to rise, the man tsked. “Stay right there,” he said. “Surrender, and maybe I won’t punish the queen for your intrusion.”
Remaining on his knees, Kaldir glanced up at Azeria. “Stand down. Trust me.” He put his trembling hands up to show they were empty. “Are you Adron?”
There was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Indeed,” he said. “And who are you?”
“No one important,” he replied. He lifted his eyes to Tarim. She shook her head at him, but he gave her a half smile. “Izarel, remember the game we played this summer? When you gave Uncle Zayir a black eye? And Aunt Ohrena laughed at him?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Let’s play that game again,” he said. “Now.”
With a tiny noise of determination, Izarel bowed her entire body forward, then threw herself back to slam her head into Adron’s face. He squawked in protest, instinctively clapping his hands to his face and dropping the child.
Chaos erupted.
Izarel scrambled away on all fours toward her mother. Lotheraos materialized in front of the two guards at the door, slicing them both from throat to groin.
Kaldir lunged at Adron and caught him by the throat. The man snarled, and he had just a hint of warning before sharp claws lashed out. He threw up his arm to protect his face. Searing pain split through his forearm.
He grabbed Adron’s arm and used his momentum to slam him to the floor. His form trembled, like he was trying to shift, but Kaldir punched him in the chest, producing a resounding crack. Adron bellowed in pain, arching up. Before Kaldir realized she was there, Azeria was at his side, with the point of her sharp scimitar at Adron’s throat.
“Try to shift, shak-ersath,” she said. “I’ll cut your fucking throat.”
His vivid green eyes flitted back and forth. “It doesn’t matter. You can kill me. He’s already won.”
“Oh, I know I can kill you, and I certainly plan to,” Kaldir said. He leaned in. “The question is how long it takes and how creative we get.” Adron’s eyes flickered. He glanced over his shoulder to see Tarim gaping at him, clutching Izarel to her chest. “Su’ud redahn. I’m glad to see you’re well.”
“Where is my other daughter?” she asked. “If he’s hurt her, I will peel his skin off inch by inch.”
“She’s fine,” Kaldir said. “Now, let’s get this bit of garbage dealt with, shall we?”
It was still dark when Thaleza hurried into the town hall, holding a loose robe closed over her body. She bowed politely. “Sisters,” she said. “Velati sent me to retrieve you.”
Sohaila launched herself to her feet, fumbling for her healer’s kit. “How did things go?”
“As clean as we could have hoped,” Thaleza said with a smile. “A few minor injuries, but the Marashti in residence at the palace are taking care of it.” She led Citra and Sohaila outside, where one of the Broodguard waited, its copper-scaled tail swishing lazily. Her heart thrummed with anticipation as she climbed onto the dragon’s back.
A pleasant ache of nostalgia swept over her as they flew north over her homeland. Moonlight gleamed off the serpentine curve of the Irithaz River below, like a silver vein through rolling hills. It was only a short flight to the capital, and they soon descended into the city she had once called home. Despite the hour, Ironhold was ablaze with torchlight. Dragons circled the skies, with hundreds of people bustling through the streets.
There was an angry buzz in the air, but she saw no signs of immediate conflict. Flying over the long staircase that climbed to the palace, she saw a body in a red Chosen tabard sprawled out, blood spilling over the smooth stone stairs. Her escort brought her to the western terrace, where a soldier in the red of the Iron Blade helped her climb down.
In the main entry hall, dozens of Kadirai milled about. Some still wore heavy silver collars, while others were rubbing their bare throats. She recognized several of the Broodguard among them, fumbling with keys to unlock the collars.
Two guards were posted at the doors to the great hall. They still wore collars, but they wielded familiar ornamental blades, posted in front of them as a silent warning. Thaleza led Sohaila and Citra toward the large double doors.
Beyond the doorway, their soldiers were gathered around several round tables along with dozens of other Kadirai. Gleaming gold decorations were strewn across tables, and broken glass glittered on the floor, as if a state dinner had been interrupted in the attack. A Marashti healer Sohaila didn’t recognize was making her rounds to examine the soldiers. “Sister Citra, your help is requested in the great hall
.” Thaleza gestured into the open doorway.
“Understood,” Citra said, hurrying into the room. Sohaila started to follow, but Thaleza gently took her arm and pulled her past the door.
“What’s going on?” Sohaila asked. “I’m not needed?”
“Kaldir said you might want to be here for this,” Thaleza said. She led Sohaila toward the massive bronze doors to the throne room. An unmistakable shriek of pain tore through the air. Her stomach churned as she followed Thaleza.
Statues of bronze and gold depicted mighty dragon warriors around the throne room. Lined in perfectly straight gold inlay, pale stone led up to the carved golden throne sitting on a raised dais. Red and orange stones encrusted the throne like sparks rising from a fire. What Ironhold lacked in age, its architects had made up for in opulence.
A circle of familiar figures gathered at the base of the throne, while a beautiful woman in a red dressing gown glared down from the throne. “I will only ask you once more,” the woman said. “Where is my brother?”
“I told you, we sent him to Sidran,” a strained male voice said. “I don’t fucking know.” She nodded, and the voice rose into a clipped cry. Her heart thumped.
She knew that voice, though she’d never heard him cry out in pain.
“Su’ud redahn,” Kaldir said mildly.
Kneeling before the throne, Adron wore a silver collar and dark metal shackles around his wrists and ankles. Deep gashes split his bare back in angry red seams. His usual cruel expression was consumed by pain and fear, but it was Adron.
Marlena crouched in front of him, her eyes glowing bright green. “He’s telling the truth,” she said. “What does Sidran plan for Farath?”
“Fuck—” Adron said.
Marlena smacked him across the face, hard enough to rock his head back. “I’m tired of your nasty mouth. If you keep that up, I’m going to let her cut your nuts off, cauterize the wound, and then I’ll keep questioning you. We’ll be right back where we started. Is that worth the attitude?” Behind her, Velati’s eyes went comically wide. “Answer my question.” Her voice echoed with a powerful resonance that prickled at Sohaila’s skin. “What does Sidran plan to do in Farath?”
