by E G Stone
Miska stood, tugging Ravenna upwards. She winced slightly at the pull on her wounds, but obliged. She would have done almost anything to get out of that bed. “Come on,” he said, not looking at her so he could not see her response and she couldn’t read the emotions ranging across his features.
Ravenna was pulled through the open window into a stifling day beyond. The gardens were completely still, there being no wind and no clouds. The sun beat heavily down and even the moisture in the air provided by the underground springs felt oppressive. The palace servants were all indoors and the soldiers in the far training arena were too busy with their own tasks to bother with the gardens. Ravenna and Miska were alone.
Miska, though, did not seem content to stop at the pavilion where they had shared meals. Nor did he lead them further into the gardens to see where plant-life met desert. He instead pulled Ravenna around to the other side of the palace, a place closer to the grand library and quarters for the honoured guests that stayed at the Red Palace. The carvings grew more elaborate, the trees were better groomed and well cared for, as opposed to the other plants which were left to grow as they liked.
Eventually, Miska slowed to a stop, Ravenna breathing heavily beside him. She examined her surroundings as she got her breath under control, ignoring the searching look that Miska threw her way.
They were standing beside a large stone pool, its sides perfectly square, the water disturbed by the gentle trickling of a fountain in the centre of the pool. It was grey with algae, but the shape was unmistakeable. A man, wings folded calmly at his sides, stood with his arms around a woman. Water flowed from a pedestal beneath the statue. These would be Lenore’s ancestors, then.
“Are you alright?” Miska asked, steering Ravenna to a shaded patch of grass beneath a tree. She sat, stretching her wings out as far as they would go. The relief in her muscles was stunning, as was the view when she could finally catch her breath. Miska sat across from her, the shade dappling his reddish skin an unusual colour.
“This place is beautiful,” Ravenna said, ignoring the concern for her person. “I didn’t even know it existed.”
“It is Queen Lenore’s private gardens. She lets me and the other servants come here, sometimes. I thought you would like to get out of your rooms, maybe. I didn’t mean to stress your injuries.”
“I’m fine, Miska,” Ravenna snapped. She sighed, picking at the bandage wrapped around her wrist. “You didn’t have to interrupt your day to come babysit me. I would have been fine.”
“What if I said I wanted to spend time with you?” Miska asked, a sharp edge entering his voice for the first time since Ravenna had thrown him to the ground in the library all those weeks ago. She frowned, hardly more than a tightening at the corner of her mouth.
“That is your choice,” Ravenna said carefully. Where was Miska going with this conversation? “But you did not have to.”
Miska was the one to sigh, now. He shook his head. Looking back up at Ravenna, he said, “Is there anything you need? Some water? Something to eat?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Are you sure? I was the one who brought you out here. I should help you if you want—”
“Nothing! I don’t need anything. I’m not hot or cold or hungry or thirsty or tired or bored or anything,” Ravenna said. She wanted to seethe, but Miska made it difficult. It was the way he watched her so intently, looking for clues into her emotions, her words. All because he could not hear her voice.
No one had ever watched Ravenna like that. Like they wanted to see her. Even Tacitus, as much as she loved him, had, more often than not, listened to her words with his eyes glazed, his mind elsewhere. Or he had sat beside her and looked off into the distance.
But Miska…
“That’s your problem,” he said, and Ravenna finally realised that he was angry. “You’ve spent so long pushing away your own needs, dealing with everything on your own, that you don’t know how to let anyone—me—take care of you!”
Ravenna reached out to touch her fingers to the back of his hand. Thankfully, Miska did not pull away.
“Let me do something for you,” he said, voice thick.
Ravenna nodded. Even as her mind raced to figure out something she wanted—needed—that Miska could give her. Her mouth went dry, but she managed to get the words out.
“Please,” she breathed. “Just…just hold me?”
Her voice sounded uncertain, but Miska would not know or care. He just smiled, moved impossibly close and wrapped his arms around Ravenna. He held her until the shudders stopped wracking her body. And he held her still, long after they had gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
Davorin spent three days enjoying his sister’s hospitality. He had been given a luxurious tent to himself while his mercenaries were quartered amongst the Southron fighters. Barrow had taken to Davorin’s request for spy work like a wolf to the hunt. The others did their best, but they had not the unobtrusive looks nor the brains of Barrow. Still, one spy was welcome enough.
For Davorin’s part, he spent his time trying to talk with Baldur without Seraphina around. The Southron Warlord was annoyingly difficult on this point. When Baldur was not with his wife, he was out on patrol or running drills. He was strong enough, as far as men went, but his fighters were often the victors. And he laughed a good deal more than seemed prudent for someone of his position. But the fighters seemed devoted to Baldur, would hardly hear a word against him. As for Seraphina, they loved her without reserve.
Some, Davorin expected, loved her in more ways than one. He had no proof on that matter, though, and so had nothing to hold against his sister.
On the fourth morning, he lingered at the breakfast table in Seraphina’s tent. She was dressed in copper that day, her robe seemingly made from the metal itself. She had copper claws tipping her fingers and copper beads woven through her hair. Baldur, on the other hand, wore his same simple tunic and breeches that he wore every day. Today, it sported a slight tear in the hem.
“Brother,” Seraphina purred, lingering over the tea she had imported from the Salusian capitol, “don’t mistake my meaning. But you have been here far longer than I expected, given your plans with the Red Queen. Do you have any intention of leaving anytime soon?”
Davorin finished his own tea—a fragrant reminder of home that left a streak of anger on his palate—and rolled the cup through his hands. “I will be leaving this evening. Travelling in the desert during the day, especially at this time of year, is hard on the horses.”
“I see,” Seraphina said. “Well, at least let us give you supplies for you return journey. And a gift for your darling, perhaps? What do you think, my dear?”
Baldur smiled at his wife. He reached out to stroke her hair, jingling the copper beads. “Whatever you wish, my love. I am sure we have some finery around that would suit.”
Davorin did not quite understand how these people could stand the syrupy words that they sprouted when within ten feet of each other. He would never be so…weak. “Thank you, Seraphina, Baldur,” Davorin said, bowing his head. “I will gladly accept your offer. Any supplies can be delivered to my people. As for gifts, it’s not really necessary—”
“Tosh!” Seraphina waved away Davorin’s words. “All women like gifts, no matter what they say. I’ll send someone by later with a few options.”
Davorin shrugged. “As you like.” Frankly, he was tired of his sister’s company and had many things to attend to. He had lingered far too long already, hoping to glean some further information about Seraphina’s plans. All he had for his efforts was further knowledge of the Southron devotion to their Queen and her pet Warlord.
Davorin rose and bowed to his sister and Baldur before leaving their tent for the sweltering heat. This scrubland was not quite as barren as the desert where the Red Palace lay, but it was close. Certainly, the tiny well that served as the water source for the whole camp was barely enough. Davorin found himself longing for the enormous and i
mposing oasis that was the Red Palace. When it belonged to him, he would happily set it up as an eastern home for the Salusian Empire. Surely even the Emperor could not protest at such a grand acquisition.
He ignored the niggling desire to talk with Barrow and the others and sort out their plans. If Barrow was doing his job right, then the mercenaries under Davorin’s command should already know their master’s intentions. No, all Davorin wanted was some peace and quiet in his own tent.
He closed the flap of the enormous tent behind him. Not for the first time, he wondered who it was that had been displaced by his presence in the tent. Not even Seraphina would have a wooden bed and reed-and-down mattress lying around for whomever wanted to use it. The floor was covered in colourful rugs and a few furs, to keep the sand and dirt out. There was a chest that served as a table, as well as two chairs.
Davorin sat in one of the chairs and pulled a few charts towards him. They were relatively recent surveys of the Red Desert, detailing the potential resources and advantages of the desert, where a person could find water outside of the Red Palace’s oasis, where the armies were stationed, where the entrenched fortresses were. It was incomplete, but even so, it showed a treasure trove of wealth stretching all the way to the emptiness that was the Iron Mountains.
“M’lord?”
Davorin jumped to his feet, stifling a curse. He pulled the blade on his right hip out of its sheath, pointing it towards the entrance to his tent. A girl, perhaps barely nineteen, stood there with a small chest in her arms, eyes wide and afraid.
“Who are you?” Davorin demanded. The girl, bearing the same tanned skin as Davorin and Seraphina, but with locks the colour of false gold and eyes a bright blue, sketched a nervous curtsey.
“I am Nadira, m’lord,” she said, lowering her gaze reverentially. “The Lady Seraphina sent me to you.”
Davorin raised his brow skeptically, “Did she?”
Nadira blushed, the colour surprisingly becoming. “She said she had some gifts for the Red Queen and wanted your approval.”
Davorin huffed. Of course. “Very well. Set them here.” He put his blade away and Nadira stepped cautiously forwards. She set the small chest down on the makeshift table, then tugged her dress. As she did, it tightened and revealed more of her curves. Well, at least Seraphina had bothered to send someone becoming.
“Let’s see what my sister thought fit to send to the Red Queen,” Davorin said, eyeing Nadira’s reaction more than the goods inside the chest. Her sharp intake of breath and the way her eyes widened at the sight of the contents was enough for him. The gifts would obviously impress.
He looked at the multi-tiered necklace with red jewels wrapped in gold, the delicate arm cuff in the shape of a dragon, the fabric that looked to be made from liquid silver, the bracelet with green jewels, and knew that they were the least of Seraphina’s collection. But they were impressive enough and would certainly pay for a good deal of resources, if Davorin deemed them inadequate for a queen. Lenore rarely wore such grand things, he recalled. Yet Nadira’s awed gaze seemed to be unwavering, suggesting that they were grand indeed.
“Well?” Davorin asked, reaching in and pulling out the emerald bracelet. “What do you think?”
Nadira blushed again. Her fingers reached for the bracelet, only to retreat and rest against her bosom. “Oh, it’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen such finery, but what the Lady Seraphina wears.”
Davorin was struck with an idea, and a longing. Since both served his needs, he forged ahead. He reached out and took one of Nadira’s hands, purposely brushing his fingers against the bare skin revealed by her dress. She gasped, but that gasp quickly turned into a murmur of delighted surprise when he placed the bracelet on her wrist, doing the clasp before bringing her hand to his lips.
“Beautiful,” he agreed, making certain that his eyes never left Nadira’s. The girl smiled coyly, twisting her head to expose her neck.
“M’lord!” she said. “I cannot wear a gift meant for your…your paramour!”
He pulled her closer, so her body was mere inches from his. “And look how well she wears it.”
It took a moment for the young girl to understand what he was saying. When she did, though, the light in her eyes sharpened and she closed the scant distance between them. Her lips found his easily and she did not protest as he wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her into him tightly.
It was the work of moments to seduce her, but he took his time bedding the woman. As morning turned to afternoon, he considered the price of his sister’s emerald bracelet well worth the result. A distraction, a release, and proof that he could still manipulate someone into doing what he wished. Between Seraphina and Lenore, he had begun to doubt his skills. No longer.
Davorin knew that he needed to get up and finish his preparation to return to the Red Palace, but it was very comfortable in the bed with the bare-skinned Nadira laying on top of him. He traced lines along her back and decided that he might as well get some further use out of her.
“Nadira,” he said. The girl stirred, her hair tangled and showing obvious evidence of their coupling.
“Yes, m’lord?” she asked, pressing her lips to his shoulder.
“What is someone like you doing in the service of my sister out here on the borderlands? Surely you could have a better life in one of the more established cities in Southron? Or even the Salusian Empire.”
Affronted, Nadira sat up, revealing her nakedness. Davorin shifted beneath her, a wry look colouring his features. Nadira snatched a blanket and pressed it to her chest. “I am useful here! The Lady Seraphina has given me a good life!”
“Yes, but surely it could be better,” he said, sliding the blanket aside, tracing lines along her hip. “To be a mere servant in a camp of warriors in a land on the brink of war…”
Nadira sniffed. “I am not a mere servant! The Lady Seraphina trusts me. I can get close to people most people would fail to get near. I am talented.”
He chuckled.
Her mouth fell open and she scrabbled backward from Davorin, shaking her head fervently.
“I would never! Not with you, m’lord! I mean, I was told to do so, but you’re so much more than the Lady Seraphina said. You were so nice to me. You haven’t hurt me like some of the others. I…I want to go with you,” she said, her words rushing together even as tears welled in her eyes. False or real, it did not matter to Davorin.
“You cannot,” he said. He climbed out of the bed, looming over her enough to make her shrink, another plea dropping from her tongue. He merely reached forwards to brush a strand of her hair behind her ears. “For what it’s worth, I believe you. My sister speaks well, but she is as cunning and cold as a snake. She doesn’t care for the well-being of her people, only for power. I know better. An Empire is built on the backs of its people and without their support, it cannot survive. Do you understand me?”
Nadira nodded dumbly.
“Good. Now, my dear,” he said, throwing in the endearment he had heard that morning passed between his sister and her husband, “do you know what you must do?’
“I…You want me to stay here. To report to you on the Lady Seraphina’s movements. Oh, but m’lord! When will you send for me?” Nadira was on her knees, begging, her fingers grabbing at Davorin’s hands in desperation.
“When my business is concluded in the Red Desert,” he lied easily.
She frowned at that, another tear falling from her eye.
“You intend to marry the Red Queen,” she sniffled.
“Yes. But that is nothing to someone such as you,” he said. “Now, what can you tell me about Seraphina’s doings here. It seems a bit unusual to linger in the borderlands, away from the central cities.”
Nadira hesitated, but the emerald bracelet on her wrist caught her eye and her hesitation lasted no more than a few seconds. She licked her lips and looked up at Davorin eagerly. The artifice of her simpering persona was gone, replaced with a blatant lust for power. “Thi
s isn’t a war band, for all the High Warlord’s patrols,” she said.
“There is no mineral here, nor no plant worth having. What could possibly be of interest?” he asked. Whatever it was, to keep Seraphina away from her seat of power was something Davorin knew he had to have.
“Get dressed, m’lord,” Nadira said, slipping out of the bed and throwing her dress over her head. “I will show you.”
Davorin did as he was told and bit back any questions until she was leading him across the camp to a small, patched tent. She looked around swiftly for watchful eyes, then moved inside. Davorin copied her.
What he found was the whole of Seraphina’s treasures laid out before him in a number of plain chests. There were jewels, fabrics, spices, teas, fortunes. Nadira, for all her greed at Davorin’s gift, ignored them all. She instead gestured him over to a box not much bigger than his closed fist.
“She was looking for this, and more like it,” Nadira murmured, flicking the catch open on the box.
Inside was nothing more than a large animal’s fang, broken at the top and ending in a needle’s point. Davorin picked the piece up and weighed it in his hand. It had more weight to it than he would have imagined, but it was more than simple mass. There was a strength, a sense of power that filled one’s bones. Davorin would have thought it nothing more than a large wolf’s tooth, or perhaps one of those desert lion’s fangs, had Dagan not lectured Davorin on such things.
Over and over, Dagan had spouted the stories. He would talk of little else—when Davorin could even get a conversation out of him. It was either bloodshed or lore with Dagan. Davorin had thought it a fool’s obsession, until now.
“This is impossible,” Davorin murmured. But he had breathed those words before, when an angel of untold beauty and an icy fire burning in her eyes stood before him. That had been no more impossible than this.
“A dragon’s tooth,” Nadira confirmed. “The Lady Seraphina found some old records mouldering in one of the smaller tribe’s collections when the unification was brought about. There was a detailed map to the grave site of a dragon. She sent a scout on a whim and he returned with this.”
