Court's Fool (The Aermian Feuds Book 6)

by Frost Kay

  She shook her head and pulled herself from her morose thoughts. The silence stretched on, only broken up by the occasional water droplets falling from the craggy ceiling. Unable to stand it a moment longer, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  Maeve smiled a secret smile but didn’t answer. Dor rolled her eyes. That was nothing new. The woman collected secrets like her father collected blades. She huffed and continued the silent trek. The tunnel curved to the left and then to the right, sloping steeply downward. Her legs began to ache, and she gritted her teeth. It had only been a few weeks since she’d traipsed about the Pit’s staircases, but she’d lost the muscle strength she’d gained, regardless of the relentless training the Scythian princess had thrown her into.

  They swung around a curve, and her eyes widened when they approached a huge opening with enormous metal bars that ran from ceiling to floor like great, steel teeth.

  Maeve halted and turned to face her, the dark maw behind the woman looking like it was about to swallow her. She gave Dor a piercing look that flayed her to the bone. It was uncanny. Maeve didn’t look much older than herself, yet knowing Scythia’s bloody history, she’d lived a long time.

  Dor’s skin prickled with unease. She crossed her arms to hide the goosebumps that had erupted along her forearms. It wasn’t easy to trust the warlord’s handmaiden. Well, work with her. She didn’t really trust anyone.

  The warlord’s handmaiden tipped her head, her gaze intensifying.

  Once again, Dor’s skin crawled, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Maeve had a way about her, like she could look inside your soul and delve into your deepest thoughts and feelings.

  “What?” Dor barked, breaking the silence. “What are we doing here?” Was it another training exercise?

  Maeve smiled and gestured toward the lever on the right-hand side of the bars. “Gentlemen, if you’d be so kind.”

  Three warriors broke off from their group, and each of them grabbed hold of the lever. They put all their weight into pulling the metal lever down. The stone around the opening groaned, and the giant bars began drawing upward.

  Dor took a step backward, her instincts screaming for her to run. She’d never been a coward. She forced herself to stand her ground and face whatever was lurking in the darkness.

  “Don’t be afraid, Dorcus,” Maeve soothed. “Your future awaits you if you’re brave enough to face it.” She stepped aside and held a hand toward the darkness. “Enter.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. “Weapons?” she croaked.

  “You will need only what is strapped to your person.”

  Lovely. Whatever test this was, it would end up bloody. Although, they knew she couldn’t outright die, so that was something. Dor cursed herself for not wearing better armor, or even bringing a sword. That was her father’s number one rule: never go anywhere without a weapon. And while she harbored a few daggers, they wouldn’t be enough if she went by the size of the bars. Whatever was hiding in the darkness wasn’t an easy foe.

  Woodenly, she took one step after another until she was standing in the immense doorway. “Light?”

  Maeve gave her an amused smile. “In good time.”

  What the hell did that mean? “Am I to go in alone?”

  “It’s not my place to enter at your side.”

  Dor scoffed. Not the handmaiden’s place? What rubbish. Maeve did what she wanted.

  “You’re hesitating.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Dor retorted, sarcastically.

  She flinched in surprise when Maeve stepped close and cupped her left cheek. “Today is not a day of death, but of rejoicing. Step into the darkness like the warrior your sire raised you to be. Claim your birth right.” With those cryptic words, Maeve stepped away and faced the darkness.

  Dor scowled. The woman knew how to play on her pride. But pride never kept one alive. With careful, gliding steps, she moved past the entrance. She pursed her lips and whistled softly, the sound echoing around her.

  A large cavernous space.

  While stealth was usually the best form of attack, the creaking of the bars had already warned whatever was lying in wait for her that she was coming. The echoes at least gave an idea of what kind of room she was in.

  It wasn’t easy to put one foot in front of the other and stride toward the darkness. She paused and glanced over her shoulder as she hovered at the edge of the pool of lantern light, her ears alert to any sound.

  At the entrance of the room, Maeve smiled, satisfaction clear on her symmetrical face. Dor stiffened and caught the slightest sound of something slithering against stone from her right. A snake? She squinted and searched the area around her for the threat. Was this an initiation? Her pulse thundered in her ears and a shhhhh sound came from the left. A second creature?

  Precious one.

  Dor froze at the familiar nickname running through her mind over and over. There was only one who referred to her in that way. Well, at least in her mind. She inhaled deeply, noting the metallic and musky smell she missed before. There was only one creature who smelled like that.

  She stood taller and searched the darkness. “Illya?” she whispered.

  A familiar click greeted her. I am here.

  Dor gasped and stumbled into the darkness, holding her arms out in front of her, heedless of anything but reaching her dragon. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, and while she’d longed to visit, she didn’t know Maeve’s view on the creatures.

  Her fingertips grazed warm scales, and a smile burst across her face. Carefully, she traced a scale, discovering the pointed edge that was razor sharp and tapered to his tail. Dor stumbled forward, determined to reach his face so she could give him a proper hug.

  “I’ve missed you so much!”

  Another series of clicks and hums greeted her. Some of her joy waned, and she paused, her left hand still on the dragon’s side. She frowned. That didn’t sound familiar. The scales seemed to expand and contract with the beast’s breaths.

  “Illya?”

  Silence.

  Real fear slammed into her, and she yanked her hand back. She’d imagined Illya, but the dragon in the room was very real. Her heart flew to her throat, and she took measured steps backward, trying to make herself seem as harmless as a fly.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude in your home,” she murmured. “I’ll leave you alone.” Dor stiffened when the light disappeared behind her, and warm air blew across the back of her neck, a dry tongue licking her from shoulder to the crown of her head. She knew that familiar hello.

  Welcome, precious one.

  Tears burned in her eyes, and she spun around, opening her arms wide. She didn’t imagine him.

  Welcome.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she choked out, voice thick with tears.

  Illya hissed softly and blew another breath into her face. He lowered his face, which was barely visible in the low light, and pressed his muzzle into her chest. She wrapped her arms around his snout, her forearm brushing one of his long fangs that stuck out from his mouth. Dor squeezed him tightly and leaned her cheek against him, her eyes closing. The small scales that covered his nose scratched at her skin. It was the best feeling in the world. She was actually here with him, no stone wall to separate them.

  “Dorcus,” Maeve called.

  She opened her eyes and squinted toward the entrance, where Maeve’s body was haloed by the light.

  “Please ask your dragon if we may enter. We bear no ill will, and no weapons shall enter this sanctuary.”

  Ask her dragon… That was a weird request. Dor rolled her eyes and hugged Illya again. “May they enter?”

  The Dragon Song and her protectors may enter.

  Dorcus stiffened and lifted her head. Lanterns along the walls began to light, one by one. She stared at Illya, her mouth hanging open. She had no clue what a Dragon Song was, but she hadn’t made it up. It had come from him. The dragon.

  She stumbled a step away. Animals couldn’t speak
.

  As the cavern lightened, her breath caught. He was massive! His black scales caught the faint light and reflected it like slick oil. Illya arched his long, sinuous neck and blinked at her with a large feline silver eye, like liquid mercury.

  “You’re magnificent,” she breathed. Awe settle over her as she noticed his leather-like wings settled against his back.

  Precious one. Her attention was pulled back to his face. His clicks, hisses, hums, and soft purrs seemed to form the words in her mind. It’s time to speak and to plan.

  Dor blinked slowly, pressed her palms to each side of her head, and dropped to her haunches. Her eyes squeezed shut. What was happening to her? Before, she’d chalked it up to her overactive imagination and the need for friendship. Was she going insane?

  “Dor,” Maeve cooed. “It’s all right. Take a deep breath.” She inhaled slowly. “Now open your eyes.”

  The Scythian princess knelt a few paces away, not even glancing in Illya’s direction. “I know you’re overwhelmed, but it’s going to be okay.”

  “Am I crazy?” she rasped.

  Maeve smiled, and, for the first time since Dor met the woman, it seemed genuine. “No, you are not. You’re a Dragon Song.”

  “A Dragon Song?”

  “Yes.” Maeve’s smile grew bigger. “It’s so very rare now, but once upon a time, dragons and Dragon Songs were very common.”

  “What are you saying? That I can speak to animals?”

  “No, but you do understand the dragon language.”

  “Dragon language,” Dor repeated, casting a glance at Illya.

  Her dragon lowered his head to the obsidian stone floor.

  Listen to the Dragon Song. She is wise.

  Dor blinked. He spoke, and she understood him. Her legs turned to jelly beneath her, and she plopped onto her arse. “He speaks.” With wide eyes, she turned to Maeve. “I understand him.”

  Warmth filled the Scythian’s woman’s face. “You do. You are so very special, Dorcus. You will change the world.”

  “Me?”

  “You.” Maeve stared at Illya. “Your bond is strong. One of five Dragon Songs left.”

  There were four more dragons? “Why am I special?”

  I am Alpha. Her dragon’s rumble held satisfaction.

  “Your dragon is the Alpha, and you are the heir.”

  “The heir to what?” Chills ran up and down her spine. Somehow, she knew what the warlord’s handmaiden was going to say.

  “You, dearest, are the last remaining descendent of the Nagali royal house.”

  The world tipped on its side. A million little things snapped into place. Why she’d always been treated differently. She’d always assumed it was the color of her skin.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, overwhelmed and lost.

  Maeve’s smile turned dangerous. “We free the dragons and reclaim what was stolen.”

  Eleven

  Tehl

  Tehl’s lungs screamed as he carried a hacking soldier from the burning infirmary. His legs almost buckled as he moved away from the blaze, fatigue riding him hard. Soldiers rushed toward him and relieved him of his moaning burden. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees as he gulped huge lungfuls of air.

  He flicked his eyes up when Zachael placed a steadying hand on Tehl’s shoulder, and he forced himself to straighten, his back complaining in the process. Today, he felt old.

  He yanked down the wet linen covering his nose and mouth. “Is that everyone?” Tehl shouted over the noise.

  The weapons master nodded, his expression grim. “We got out all who were breathing.”

  The infirmary groaned, pulling Tehl’s attention to what was left of the heavy structure. It swayed and then crashed to the ground, belching flames and smoke.

  Tehl held his arm up to protect his face and tried to take small inhalations as smoke and ash rushed back at him. His nose wrinkled at the bitter taste of ash on his tongue, and his gaze locked on the inferno. They’d managed to save a fair amount, but it still wasn’t enough.

  Clenching his jaw, he dropped his arm and raked his sweaty hair away from his face. He scanned the crying mass of the wounded. Guilt swam in his belly for all those who had died. How many women had lost their husbands, children their fathers, and mothers their sons? He scanned the chaos of soldiers and the wounded, his gaze snagging on a Methian woman with half her face burned. Tehl swallowed hard. How many had lost their wives or daughters or mothers?

  Too many.

  “What about the rear?” he asked woodenly.

  Zachael’s expression hardened. “The rear of the infirmary took the most damage. There wasn’t much to salvage.”

  Tehl swallowed hard and forced his mind away from the gruesome deaths the men and women must have suffered. There wasn’t anything he could do for them now. Their focus needed to be on those who lived. They needed immediate care. Burns were painful, but with burns came infection. That’s where the true danger lurked.

  “Our healers?”

  “Queen Osir has opened her tent as the new infirmary. Everyone with herbal or healer training has been instructed to gather there and attend to the wounded. I’ve been told the queen is an excellent healer.”

  “Then we are fortunate to have her skills. Jacob departed for Sanee, leaving Mira with the bulk of the responsibilities. Another pair of skilled hands will lighten the load.”

  “She’s a capable healer,” Zachael commented, his eyes narrowing. “Speaking of which, have you seen her?”

  Tehl frowned and groggily tried to remember if he saw her among the fray. He didn’t recall seeing a blonde. He reached out to a young soldier. “Check the new infirmary for Healer Mira.”

  The boy scampered off into the sea of tents toward the new infirmary.

  Once again, Tehl scoured the cluster of wounded. Mira wasn’t someone to stand by. She never waited in the infirmary for the wounded to be brought to her. She waited on the edge of camp for them. Mira had to be somewhere close by.

  Tehl’s brows furrowed as he scanned the group again carefully, looking for a blonde head. Where was she?

  The young soldier jogged up to them, an apologetic look on his face. “She’s not with the healers.” He wrung his hands. “I’m happy to keep looking, my lord.”

  “Search the wounded,” Tehl commanded, his stomach twisting.

  The boy burst into action.

  “Where is the healer?” Tehl asked hoarsely, his gaze focusing back on the inferno. She couldn’t be in there.

  The weapons master studied the chaos around them. “I don’t see her, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  A sick sense of foreboding settled on Tehl’s shoulders as he realized his wife was nowhere in sight, either. Wicked hell. Where was Sage?

  “Sage,” he gasped. “Have you seen her?”

  Zachael stiffened. “No.”

  Tehl’s eyes darted back to the blaze. She wouldn’t have gone in, would she? Surely, he would’ve seen her. He closed his stinging eyes and tried to remember anything from inside the infirmary. All he could remember was smoke, heat, and the scent of charred flesh. He opened his eyes, gazing blankly at the fire.

  “Search for the princess,” Zachael barked at the remaining Elite guarding them. The men immediately waded into the crowd.

  Where the blazes was she? Sage was supposed to stay here. But if Mira was missing…

  “She wouldn’t have left her friends behind,” he muttered to himself. His heart thundered in his chest. Stars, he was so stupid. He knew exactly where she went. “The rear side.”

  Zachael’s lips thinned, and both men started running toward the rear of the enormous fire.

  The flames seemed to rise up and touch the stars. Tehl’s breath shortened as they rounded the back of the collapsed tent and spotted a group of soldiers yelling at each other.

  Gav knelt in the middle of them, a lifeless female form lying on the ground.

  Tehl stumbled a step.

  No. No
t Sage. Please God, no.

  He barreled through the group and skidded to a stop. The men quieted as he inhaled sharply. Blonde hair, not brown. Mira.

  Gavriel didn’t take his eyes from Mira as he placed a wet rag over a nasty looking burn on the healer’s right shoulder and she took a shallow breath.

  She shivered and moaned, coughs rattling her abused body. Tehl knelt and stared at her dirty, bruised face, and then pinned his cousin with a fierce look.

  “Where is Sage?”

  Gav lifted his head, his eyes holding pity. “Tehl,” he said softly.

  There was too much emotion in his tone. Loss. Guilt. Sorrow.

  No.

  Tehl wouldn’t believe it.

  A tremor worked through him, and he glared at Gav. “Where is my wife? Where is she?”

  Gav held his gaze, pain and guilt written all over his expression. “It happened so fast.”

  Zachael placed a hand on his shoulder, but Tehl shook it off.

  “You left her inside?” he roared.

  “She was right behind me,” Gav whispered. “One moment there, the next gone.”

  Gone.

  It echoed in his mind, a morbid chant that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

  It wasn’t possible. Sage couldn’t just be gone.

  Tehl shook his head and stormed away from the group, his eyes pinned to the fire as he moved around the far side of the infirmary. Maybe Sage had escaped and was on the other side.

  But there was nothing there. No one.

  His heart began to crack. She couldn’t be inside. Surely, if she’d died, he would have felt it, felt something?

  “Tehl…”

  He shot a black look at Zachael. “Don’t.”