Dragon Soul (Daughter of Shadow Book 1)

by LJ Swallow

  “I was waiting for the right moment to fight back.”

  “Perhaps with more practice.” His fingertips press into my leg. “But you are brave. You barely mentioned the wounds and you could be scarred by the attack."

  I shrug. "I'll tell people I have tattoos."

  His eyes widen, and he stops in his tracing of the marks. "Dark tattoos are frowned on. The Ebon brand themselves with them."

  "Oh." I self-consciously pull fingers through my tangled hair. Half of me wishes he'd leave, the other half is panicking about the fact a High Lord of the realm is kneeling at my feet.

  With his hands on my legs, tracing marks, which go much further up my leg than my calves and remind me of his hands last night.

  My cheeks flush, and I hope he thinks this is left from the warm bath. Leander focuses on my leg, circling my ankle with a look of concentration on his face. He slides a hand higher, and his touch sends tingles along my skin.

  I’m torn over what to do. We’re not hidden in the wilds, grasping at pleasure we might never have a chance for again. This is a civilised place; I should be civilised. Instinctively, I clamp my legs together. I’m confused by the effect these men have on me, and I can’t excuse my behaviour to myself now I’m back in reality.

  He pauses, then sits back on his haunches and looks up, but the look on his face doesn't suggest an apology. His dilated pupils suggest if I'd not reacted like a prudish girl, his lips might have joined his fingers. Maybe explored higher.

  I take a deep breath and fight the damp heat growing between my legs at the mere thought.

  Rubbing a hand across his mouth and chin, Leander studies me intensely—more intensely than I’m used to. He doesn’t hide anything, every thought clear in his seductive look. My heart thumps more blood into inappropriate places as I stare back at him.

  “You surprised me last night,” he says.

  “I surprised myself.” My pulse beats hard and fast. We’re in daylight—not hidden by the dark. Nothing is secret and the thrill is tempered by the reality.

  “Do you often allow men to share you?” His voice is soft, but there’s a hint of judgement.

  I glower. “You didn’t ‘share’ me. I shared myself.”

  He shakes his head. “What’s the difference, Calla?”

  “The difference, Leander, is that I made the decision. I’m not a possession to ‘share’ and if that’s what you think of me, I won’t let you touch me again.”

  He kneels up and places both hands on my thighs. “Then excuse my choice of words. And I would never see you as a possession.” He brushes his lips against my cheek, his soft lips caressing. “As long as you allow me to possess you occasionally, I’m happy with that. And I think you would be too.”

  My stomach tightens at the suggestion. If I remain pulled into his intense persona and allow myself to yield to this authoritative Leander, I’d be on my back in this bed. Naked. Those hands on my body, lips and tongue exploring… I meet his eyes filled with the desire to match mine, as if he can read my thoughts. But not now. I place a hand on Leander’s chest and push him away.

  “I’m confused by everything, Leander. This isn’t helping.”

  He sighs and stands. “I apologise. If you need salve, I can ask Tilly to find you some. Otherwise I will ask her to bring you to dinner with Mara."

  "Dinner?" I blurt. I must have dark smudges beneath my eyes to match his.

  "Yes. Dinner. And then you can sleep. Mara won't wait until the morning."

  “Can you tell me more about her, before I meet Mara?”

  "Mara leads the stronghold." He laughs at my expression. "Yes. A woman leads our crusade against the Ebon. She is the last of another noble family and is stronger in heart and mind than any man or woman I’ve met. Nobody dares cross her."

  A family Ebon killed?

  "Great." I clamp a hand across my mouth as the word escapes, and Leander's eyes sparkle with amusement.

  "You need to meet her straightaway. I will ask Tilly to wait until you’re ready and she will escort you to the war room and then we dine. Rohan and Galen are briefing her now; I must join them. Don't tarry—she isn’t a patient woman." He pauses and looks at the bump beneath my bedclothes. "And leave your dragonkin behind."

  By choosing to visit me alone, Leander is sending me a message. What happened by the fire, when I was pressed between him and Galen, wasn’t a quick grope in a situation he took advantage of. I just saw the two conflicting sides to the nobleman who has protected me since the day he rescued me from a cell. Leander is also a man who won’t stop until he gets what he wants because that is how his world works.

  So why does he want a daughter of shadow? An enemy of his court and family. One who could kill him.

  24

  CALLA

  I feel less conspicuous on the journey from the quarters back to the main stronghold building. My plain green dress may not be decorated with ornate jewellery, but I at least look less out of place than wrapped in Leander's robe and semi-naked.

  The girl from earlier, who appears to be one of Leander’s servants, escorts me through the Silvercrest quarter and back to the main stronghold building. I’m already imagining Mara as a battleaxe who would make my school teacher and her ‘punishment stick’ seem kind. What would such a leader look like? My mouth dries at the other question repeating in my head—what will she do when she discovers who I am? My anxiety to reach my three men grows. I wish one of them had collected me from the room.

  We reach the splendid entrance hall where I first stood in nervous confusion with others. This time, more mill around, some huddled in groups as they talk and laugh. Instantly, I feel on the edge. These must be recruits as they’re dressed identically—some in matching leather pants and tunics, others in dresses like mine but none the same colour. The garb identifies us as scholars or magic users and not prospective warriors. My apprehension drops when nobody pays attention to me.

  A man marches between the groups. He’s thick set and older, grey hair cut close against his head. As he passes, I see the battle scars on his face and bare arms. He wears armour too, light chain mail over his tunic, with a sword at his waist. From the way he barks orders at people, I’d lay guesses he’s a general of some kind.

  “Ah, Calla!”

  I turn to the friendly voice and meet Saskia’s eyes. She takes in my appearance and smiles. “My, you do look different. I can see why you caught my brother’s eye.” She takes my dress sleeve and rubs the material. “Unusual dress for a recruit.”

  I swallow and nod, annoyed I’ve lost my words.

  “Where are you headed?” she asks.

  “Leander wants me to meet Mara.”

  Her mouth drops open. “Mara and Leander? You mean the War Captain and High Lord, I presume?”

  Perspiration breaks out on my forehead. Her tone and expression are a slap at my inappropriate familiarity. “Yes. Sorry. Them.”

  “And why would that be?” Again the close scrutiny of every inch of me. “What is important about you?”

  “I- I don’t know. I’m just doing what I’m told.” By now we’ve attracted the attention of some nearby recruits and the nearest whisper, pretending they’re not listening.

  “Not to worry! Come along, I can help you find the place you need to be,” Saskia says brightly and places a ring-covered hand on my elbow. She guides me to the groups nearby. “This is the way you need to go. I will see you later, no doubt.”

  Tilly looks as though she’s about to protest, but Saskia throws her a stern look. “Come along, I have need of you.”

  Leaving me at the edge of a group dressed in robes, she walks away with the servant girl at her heels.

  The crowd I blend into are ushered from the hallway to a separate building. This involves crossing a large square with a fountain central, and a low wall around some sit on. Others mill around, most headed the same direction as me. A nervousness surrounds some, others an amused arrogance. Guards are dotted around the square ba
rking instructions.

  Realisation dawns. Saskia sent me to join the other recruits.

  I turn back in an attempt to retrace my steps but a sea of people block my way and keep moving forward like a relentless tide. This can’t be the way to Mara’s chambers.

  Cursing Saskia, convinced she did this deliberately, I allow myself to be carried onwards. My men will find me.

  I step from the late afternoon sun into the darker hallway we’re funnelled along. A vast room with a high ceiling greets us at the end of the long hallway. Wooden benches run along tables that stretch across most of the room. There are hundreds of people here, which is a double-edged sword. I won’t be conspicuous, but I won’t be able to make friends with anybody quickly.

  Another thought strikes. Leander told me I’m to meet Mara and a decision would be made over what to do with me. Has that decision been made without my knowledge and I’m joining the other new recruits?

  Nobody shows us where to sit, and I perch at the edge of a bench. A few around are pale faced and worried; I’m dizzy with exhaustion and stress despite my short rest. I stare down at the metal plates and cutlery in front of me.

  I’m a world away from sleeping by campfires and outrunning Ebon, and a lifetime away from home. We wait, expectantly, looking around for leaders or generals to address us, but none come. Instead, an army of serving girls and boys pile our plates with food.

  The girl sitting next to me barely speaks, her long brown hair falling into her face as she hides from everybody. I attempt to say hello and make polite conversation, but I give up trying to engage with her mumbled responses.

  Two young men, both nondescript with short, brown hair opposite me talk together, lost in conversation about training and their background. I smile to myself at their attempt to outdo each other with stories of skirmishes at their hometown.

  They remind me of boys from Westdale who strove to join the stronghold as warriors—all brawn and no brains. Why else would somebody choose to step into a life that would end in an early death?

  Then I think of Rohan and my stomach lurches. At first I thought he was blinded by duty, now I’m sure there’s more to him. He didn’t join to help in battle. He joined to defeat the queen at any cost and there must be a reason why.

  Where are he and the others? Why am I here when Leander told me he wanted me kept separate?

  Bloody Saskia, that’s why. I pick up a fork to stab into a potato when I’m jolted by someone squeezing onto the bench beside me.

  “Shit, sorry!” I turn to scowl at the newcomer, but his roguish grin stops me.

  He’s dressed in the same leather armour as others are, yet doesn’t look as nervous as some. But there’s a huge difference between him and those close by—pointed ears and distinctive features. This guy is an elf.

  As I look into his eyes, I’m reminded of Galen. Although there’s less hidden inside them, as if Galen’s wary eyes have seen more horror in his life than this man.

  And they’re green.

  There’s a difference between the two elves that’s bigger than their similarity. This elf’s hair is black with a blue hue. Instead of being drawn back into a long ponytail, his is shorter and cut roughly around his face. My chest tightens. The last elf I saw who looked like this held a knife to my face.

  He shoves hair from his eyes with long fingers and cranes his neck. “I’m always late. Thank the stars we haven’t eaten yet.” I open my mouth to protest when he takes my fork and helps himself to my meal, but I’m too shocked to speak.

  “What the fuck is that doing here?” snarls the man opposite, who earlier introduced himself as Riley, and stands. He places his hands on the table and leans forward to look down at the newcomer. “Elven bastard.”

  I tense as the other man joins him in standing. Both hold a bulk that would scare me if I was threatened, but no doubt help in their desire to become fighters. Riley’s friend, who I discovered earlier as Jared, looks as if he’s had his nose broken a few times in the past, which doesn’t improve his already sour features.

  “Elves are part of the Silvercrest court and stronghold,” I say. “Some are leaders.”

  Riley doesn’t look away from the elf. “He’s Ebon. Look at him.”

  “You see, the thing is—” The elf picks up a knife from the table and twirls it nonchalantly in his fingers. “I’m not.”

  “Your hair. Only Ebon elves have that hair colour,” snarls Jared. “Get the fuck out of here, before I do something you’ll regret.”

  “I don’t think the stronghold would allow Ebon elves inside,” I say, ignoring the way the words prompt my thoughts. They allowed me in. I’m worse.

  The two men glower as the elf continues to help himself to my food with the knife, picking the meat from the blade and popping it into his mouth with a wink. Riley mutters something to Jared who nods. They sit back down and turn their backs away from the elf, continuing to eat in silence.

  “I’m Devin,” he says.

  “Calla.”

  “Like the lily?”

  I frown. “What lily?”

  “Flowers. They grow near my home—well, old home. Beautiful. Suitable name for you.” He grins. “Have you never seen lilies?”

  I shake my head. I had no idea about my name.

  Devin draws one leg onto the bench and wraps a sinewed arm around his knee, setting himself out from those around who sit straight and nervous, or with self-importance.

  “What are you, then?” he asks too loudly. “You’re wearing a dress. Scholar? Sorcerer?”

  I focus on my plate. “Magic.”

  “Oh, cool. What kind?”

  The guys opposite look up for my answer. Nobody has asked this type of question yet. “Uh. Apothecary.”

  “That’s not magic,” retorts the girl beside me.

  Devin leans around. “It can be. Takes skill to infuse that shit with enough power to make potions.”

  I smile gratefully.

  “I guess you guys are warriors?” Devin points between the two opposite. “No thought required. Just muscles.”

  “We’re hoping to join the Lux,” says Jared. “We just need to pass the entrance test.”

  Devin splutters. “Uh huh. Good luck.”

  “What about you?” Riley snaps back. “What have you been recruited to do?”

  He taps the knife against his lips for a few seconds, dark eyes focused on the rude guy, then breaks into a grin. “Do they serve wine? I need a drink after the day I’ve had.”

  “I bet it’s nothing like the day I had,” I mutter.

  “You? I saw you coming from the Silvercrest nobles’ quarter. Not exactly harsh conditions,” says Jared with a sly smile. “Tiring day?”

  “Silvercrest?” The girl finally pushes hair from her face and studies me. “What makes you so special? You don’t look noble born.”

  If only she knew. I fumble for words and Devin interrupts. “Probably fetching and carrying for the High Lord. Have you heard what an arsehole he is? I bet he tried to drag you into his bed too, huh?” Devin’s attempt to help fails as his raised voice draws stares from others around. He gives a tiny wave to the open-mouthed girl a few seats down.

  “You don’t know anything about him,” I say.

  “And you do?” Jared arches a brow and sweeps a gaze over my dress. “Coincidence that the common girl is wearing a fine dress? I bet you’re not the first recruit he buys favours from.”

  The girl beside me titters and I clench my teeth. Thanks a lot, Devin.

  “He wanted me to run an errand,” I lie.

  “I heard when the High Lord returned he brought a shadowmancer.” My blood freezes at the girl’s interruption. “And that she’s locked in the dungeon because she’s uncontrollable.”

  Slight relief edges in. Devin straightens. “Huh. And you accuse me of being bad.”

  “I hope they skin her alive,” snarls Jared. “Once they get information from her.”

  Whoa. Perspiration breaks out acros
s my back.

  “Is this shadowmancer a friend of yours, elf?” snaps Riley.

  “Me? I told you. No. My skills lie elsewhere.” He winks at me.

  The conversation lulls and we continue to eat. Devin perks up when wine is set on the table and a battle ensues between him and the guys opposite to see who can empty the bottle first. Devin pours the last dregs into his mouth, then hides the bottle beneath the table. A confused serving girl brings a second when he complains we were missed when she served the wine.

  This gains him a tiny sliver of favour with the guys opposite.

  I quietly sip on my wine. The hall is cool despite the number of bodies, and the wine joins the low buzz of chatter around, which blurs into thoughts. Hours ago, I was in the company of three powerful men, now I’m thrown into this.

  Why aren’t they here?

  25

  LEANDER

  I stand over the war planning table and study the small wooden blocks representing our forces positions across the realms. Red for the 6th Battalion and white for the Order of Lux. Black to represent the last reported sighting of the Ebon army.

  I’ve missed looking over this every day. I may not be a general, but my life is tied as closely to these battles as those in combat. I may not be a prince, but I am a Silvercrest.

  Others may rule over the Silvercrest realm, but as the nephew of one of the last princes, I’m borderline royalty. High Lord. Sometimes I’m accused of playing this up, but most who know me are aware of how committed I am to taking part in the war directly. Why else would I have left the stronghold’s safety to attend towns searching for help?

  My sister, Saskia, certainly plays up her royal role. Or what she thinks should be hers. When the king died, his throne was passed to his wife which caused a stir. When she died, the throne went to my great-uncle.

  The original Silvercrest line of succession became muddled and caused problems that exist today. Anger and betrayals that led to death.