by Jack Whitney
And then it nuzzled his face.
The dragons were purring behind them as they sat in front of the fire. Aydra couldn’t shake her core of the pride that had such filled the beasts upon her being released of her pain.
But it was the feeling that had taken her over upon the dragon’s seeing Draven that made her most curious. So curious, that she couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Come now, Sun Queen,” he said after a while. “Keep staring at me like that and I’ll think I’ve somehow broken you.”
“You don’t know how much they love you,” she blurted out.
His eyes narrowed sideways at her. “What?”
“I mean…” She fumbled with the cup in her hands, choosing her words. “You have to understand, my abilities… they are stronger than my sister’s and my sister’s before me. They don’t just allow me to hear the creatures. I feel them… Their pains. Their darkness. Their happiness. It swims through my core as it would my own emotions. The Rhamocour today… the pain of her child’s agony tore through me, but when the mother saw you… it vanished, if only for a moment.” She looked up and met his eyes. “They revere you. Anything you ask of them, they would do. They would die for you at a moment’s notice. If what they feel for you is love, then what I have felt has been nothing more than lust and the child-like vision of love our Chronicles portray.”
He stared at her for a moment. “I envy you,” he admitted.
“What?”
“The bond you share with them. Your ability to communicate as freely as you do with them. I would give anything to hear that.”
The screech of the great Aviteth bird burned through the forest then, and the sound of its call made Aydra’s chest swell.
“What?” Draven asked.
Aydra stared at the sky, feeling a genuine smile rise on her face. The Wyverdraki family’s song rang through her ears, and then she met his gaze again with a sudden realization.
“You’ve never heard it,” she realized.
“Heard what?”
“The Wyverdraki song.”
His brows narrowed. “They have a song?” he asked.
She smiled wider, and then wrapped her arm into his. He stiffened, but did not move as she closed her eyes and felt for their song as they flew above the canopy.
It started off a melodic hum that she allowed radiate from her throat and into the still air, and when the chorus came from above her, she sang the words aloud to him.
From once a wind
And brisk of leaves.
There came a night.
Across the sea.
And in its shadows
There was a memory.
Of what once was
Our land of free.
From once a wind
And brisk of leaves
There came a night
So dark it seemed
No more light
The curse it brings
And so the dying moons said to the sun
Set me free
As the last of the song filled her ears, she paused, feeling Draven’s body jump slightly, as though he’d inhaled a sharp breath. She opened her eyes and started to speak, but he let go of her and turned away.
“Draven?” she whispered into the air.
He cleared his throat, continuing to avoid her gaze. She swore she heard a sniff emit from his lips, but she didn’t push it.
“Thank you,” he managed after a moment.
She started to reach out for him, but cold feet washed over her, and she pulled back. “No Venari King deserves to have to live without ever hearing the song of its blood.”
His head turned just slightly in her direction. “I wish my men could hear it,” he whispered.
“Perhaps I’ll sing it for them,” she suggested. “Tomorrow night. After supper.”
He smiled back at her over his shoulder. “They would love that.”
The look he gave her then made her heart skip, and her face redden. Something she was not accustomed to. She pushed her hair back behind her ear as he turned back towards her.
“What?” she asked wearily.
“You’re… you’re not what I expected,” he admitted.
She huffed amusedly. “Let me guess: you thought I was a female version of my brother.”
“You never proved any different growing up,” he replied.
Her memory flashed to the times when Draven had visited with the Venari King before him, Parkyr. How she’d been so high on her own horse, so arrogant even as a child.
The noise of Draven’s chuckle brought her back to the present, and he laid back on the log behind them.
“Do you remember when you kicked my ass during our battle round at eight?” he asked.
“You swore to me that day you’d be the one to end me,” she remembered. “That one day it would be your sword to slice my throat and rid me of my royal life.” She paused and gave him a full once over as he smirked at her. “Makes me wonder if you’re just keeping me alive here so you can challenge me at the end of it when I’m well. The final battle.”
He scoffed. “I am glad you know I’d not kill you while you were wounded.”
“There would be not enough fun or glory in that for the Venari King,” she mocked.
He grinned up at her, his hand coming up under his head to support it against the log. She smiled and fumbled slightly with her hands, the memory of the day they’d fought as children coming to mind.
Her raven landed on her knee.
“You know, I earned my mark after our bought,” she informed him, stroking the bird’s head.
“Really?”
She nodded. “Arbina marked me first. My brother was furious. Zoria and Vasilis were so proud. I remember Zoria taking me to the cliffs, introducing me to the Orel. My abilities were just coming in. It was the second voice I heard in the creature world, the first being my raven. And then when the moons died, she took me out across the Preymoor to the forest.”
“I remember that,” Draven said. “Parkyr was livid at her taking you in without protection.”
“We could handle ourselves,” Aydra said.
“I know that now, but at the time… he’d no idea. He simply thought the two daughters of Promise thought themselves invincible, and he was angry at your being so careless.”
“Sounds like us,” she mused.
He gave her a crooked smirk. “Looks like nothing has changed.”
“Shut up,” she muttered.
Within moments, Aydra found herself completely immersed in conversation that she’d not allowed herself to have in years. No talk of their kingdoms. No mention of the ships at their doors. They spoke of foods, their travels… Draven told her stories of the Honest traders that would come through every few weeks, of the times members of the Blackhand race from the mountains had ventured into their realm… how he’d had to save one such Blackhand from the grasp of the Ulfram pack after the man had attempted to challenge the pack during their graduating trials.
“Idiot,” Draven laughed. “Blackhands have this power trip they send their children on when they come of age. Call it graduating trials. They’re to venture into the northern Forest during the Deads and come back with a kill,” he started to explain. “Most come back with Noirdiem or Aberd. This one, he challenged the entire Ulfram pack. Got a bit too south and lost his way. Dunthorne and I found him swinging his sword in the air at nothing. The Ulframs were taunting him, waiting for him to tire so they could feast.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t let them have the idiot,” she bantered.
“Tempting,” he agreed. “But he was no older than your youngers. We did have a bit of fun at his expense.”
“I’m sure you did,” she said, eyeing him sideways.
Draven chuckled under his breath, and for a moment he simply stared at her, the smile on his face fading deliberately into his features. Aydra’s gaze darted from his as she felt an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, and she stared at the fire as the soft s
ilence encompassed them.
As the flames danced before them, she felt her eyelids getting heavy. Instinctually, she sank herself back on to the log beside him, not realizing she was practically cuddling with him until he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
It was the first time she’d ever felt small in a man’s arms, as though her body fit into his instead of simply against it. His fingertips on her shoulder. The dance of the stars above them. The breath of the fire against her toes. Her stomach knotted, and a warmth radiated from her bones into her every muscle, settling in her abdomen. It was a feeling she’d never felt before, and she suddenly found herself feeling stronger than she’d felt in years.
And she wasn’t sure how to process it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SINGING THE SONG of the Wyverdraki in front of the Venari people was one of the more nerve-wracking things Aydra had ever done. She sang it, at the head of the table after supper the following day, and she was sure she would hear mockery come from the men when she was done. But the response she received was the same as had happened with Draven.
Silent tears.
They all stood after she was done to retire to the fire as they did every night, and each one stopped to either give her a hug, kiss her hand, or clap her shoulder. The hug she didn’t expect came from Balandria.
She found herself immersed in their chats later by the fire, feeling welcome and part of their group more than she ever had with her own people. She was laughing at a constructed jig a few of them made around the flames, arms linked together as they danced, when suddenly someone dropped down in a crouch beside her.
She jumped at the appearance of Draven coming from the shadows, and nearly hit his smirking face. “Can you stop doing that?” she hissed at him.
He chuckled under his breath, and she turned to meet his gaze. “Would you like to go back out tonight?” he asked.
The jagged breath she inhaled was unrecognizable. She felt a smile rise on her face, her eyes darting from his gaze to his lips. “I’m starting to think you like traveling in the dark with me.”
He huffed, and she watched a snarky grin fill his features. “I’ll take that as a yes then.” He rose from the ground and grabbed the crutches for her before reaching out his hand.
The touch of his skin was warm against hers, and she swallowed hard upon coming flush with his stature. She quickly grabbed for the crutches and gripped them beneath her arms.
He was simply staring at her when she met his gaze. “I’ll grab some things. Dunthorne is getting a couple of horses ready.”
“Will he be joining us?”
Draven’s brows raised. “Would you like him to?”
Her lips pursed. “One of you is quite enough company.”
He huffed amusedly under his breath. “Now you know how I felt on the road to kill the Infi,” he bantered.
She shook her head at him and gripped the crutches tighter in her hands. “How long will we be gone?”
He started to back away from her. “Depends on if the Rhamocour still likes you.”
Her eyes widened, and she felt an excitement grow in her bones that she hadn’t felt since the first time she had ventured into the Forest with Zoria and met the Noirdiem.
Dunthorne was strapping her bow and sword to the horse when she made her way over to him. She felt a frown slip onto her face upon seeing it.
“My bow and sword? Should I be worried?” she asked him.
“Never know what you might find in the forest, especially as the dead moons draw to a close,” Dunthorne answered.
“Don’t worry,” Draven said as he joined them. “I’m sure your aim will be true this time.”
The baby Rhamocour curled itself beneath Aydra’s arm, begging her to pet it. The laughter that Aydra heard from her lips was near unrecognizable as she sat there in the dark, alone with Draven with only the light of the fire and the purrs of the Rhamocour dragons around them. She couldn’t remember the last she’d truly laughed at something without a nagging in the back of her mind.
Draven was staring at her from across the fire when she looked up, and she glimpsed the first genuine smile she’d ever seen on his face.
Not sarcastic. Not smoldering. No smirking.
A true smile that lit up his features and rose to his eyes.
“Look at that,” she mused as she stroked the dragon’s head in her lap.
“What?”
“You do know how to smile without being an arrogant ass.”
He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “I could say the same about you.”
For a moment, she didn’t break her gaze, feeling almost unable to even blink as she sat there. But Draven cleared his throat, and he laid back on to the ground, where he began to play the horn.
She recognized the song.
“It’s the Wyverdraki song,” she noted.
He nodded. “I knew as soon as you started singing the other night that it was the same.”
“Can I see the horn?” she asked him.
He stopped playing and stood from the ground, stepping over the fire to join her on the ground once more. He held the horn out to her, and she took it in her hands. Her fingers traced the Noctuan creature carvings on the hull of the ivory bone.
The huff of the mother Rhamocour’s breath rattled their fire. Her purr sounded, and she nudged Draven’s head with the tip of her great nose. Her teeth flashed, and Draven reached up to push back her top lip.
“It is made of a Rhamocour fang,” Draven said, revealing the great tooth on the beast.
The dragon huffed annoyingly and shook its head, making Draven chuckle. The words the beast spoke made Aydra smile.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She said you risk death doing that,” she informed him.
He grinned and stood to face the beast. The dragon backed up, its wings flaring out, and she gave a great bellow as Draven puffed his arms out. He shouted a great cry in her face, and she bellowed louder back.
Draven ran at the beast.
Seeing him attempt and fail spectacularly at battling a such a beast made her laugh aloud. He climbed on her back, to which she shivered him off. The baby joined in quickly, an adversary he stood equal to, and he wrestled it to the ground. The baby wrapped its wings around him, tumbling them to the floor. Aydra shook her head at them and turned back to the mother.
Do these fights happen often? she asked her.
A slow blink came from the beast, and Aydra felt its happiness fill her core. She shivered at the spread of it and allowed her eyes to close.
Draven appeared beside her a few moments later, dusting his pants of the dirt that had collected from his wrestling. Aydra laughed at him, and then turned back to the horn, still admiring it in her hands.
“Samar said something the other night that puzzled me,” she as he sat at her side once more.
“Surprised you had time to talk with all the moaning going on,” he mocked
She glared at him, but chose not to respond to his musing. “She said you know all the calls of the Noctuans.”
“I do.”
“I didn’t know there were such.”
He took the horn from her hands again. “There is the main call, which is simply blowing into it,” he began explaining. “The great war bellow, which requires blood and your feet to be in the water of the forest.”
“What if you are not near the forest and you need them?” she asked.
“Then I would call Samar,” he said simply. “She can turn any water to the forest waters.”
“How did you learn them?”
Draven stared at the fire and pushed his hair that had fallen behind his ear. “Duarb,” he said softly.
Her gaze narrowed. “But… how…”
“After I received the horn, I didn’t know what I was doing with it. I had no idea why it had been given to me. Nadir, one of the traders, came through town, saw what I had. I was chatting with him and happened to mention my qu
estions. Two days later, the Nitesh showed up—”
“The Nitesh?” Aydra interjected. “You’ve met her?”
“Just the once,” he replied. “She took me to Duarb’s roots had me sit in front of her. She channeled him, and suddenly it was he sitting in front of me instead of her. We didn’t have long. He showed each of them to me only twice. I was left to master them on my own.”
“Will you play one for me?” she asked.
He laid back on the log and crossed his legs out in front of him, a long sigh emitting from his lungs. “Who would you like to meet?” he asked, fingers strumming on the ivory.
She thought about it a moment. “Noirdiem,” she finally answered.
A shadow passed over his face. “How do you know about the Diem?”
She smiled at the memory. “They were the first creatures Zoria and I came upon when she took me into the Forest. I remember how elegant and beautiful they were.”
“The Diem rarely show themselves,” Draven said. “If they found the two of you…” His words faded as he stared at her a moment, his fingers strumming on the horn. “All right, Sun Queen—”
“And the Berdijay after,” she interjected.
A brow raised on his face. “No.”
“No?”
Draven swallowed hard, and some of the color faded from his cheeks. “The Berdijay is not to be called upon. He comes when he sees fit.”
“Sounds like you’re afraid, Venari King,” she mocked.
The look on his face did not fade. “Terrified,” he told her.
“I can speak with him,” she countered.
“You do not want to hear anything the Berdijay has to say.”
“Have you ever seen him?”
Draven became quiet as he stared at the flames. She could see his breaths shortening, the haze of a memory flickering in his eyes.
“I was thirteen,” he managed. “Parkyr took me out for training, and he left me there, three days ride from home. I had nothing to defend myself with. I was asleep on my second night, in the canopy. I heard large footsteps, and at first I thought it the Bullhorn. I knew Cees, so the familiarity made me jump down from my spot with glee, happy to see a familiar face. But when I looked down the trail, and I saw nothing more than red eyes staring back at me, I panicked. Whispers filled my ears. The words he spoke in them were the ones I had pushed to the back of my mind. The doubts and fears I’d had growing up as an Infinari, wondering if I would be strong enough to be named a Venari, much less a Venari King.” Draven paused and looked up at Aydra.
