The Dragon God's Kiss

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  “What sort of message?” asked Lady Evanesce. She poured wine into a small bowl and added a white powder to it from one of her many belt pouches. She dabbed it on Ember’s neck, then wrapped a cloth around it.

  “My guess is that strangling her would also silence her sisters. The Daughters of Trinity would no longer possess the power of three.” The dwarf wiped Ember’s blade clean on the assassin’s cloak and then tossed it on her bedroll. “The real question is if he was on his way to Verdfauna to murder the princess or if he merely stumbled across us here and recognized her.” He shook his head, the many yellow braids hanging around his shoulders swinging to and fro like ropes. “’Tis too convenient, if you ask me. My guess is that he knew Princess Ember was camped here.”

  Beron stepped around the women and knelt by the body. He placed one hand on the man’s head, his gaze distant, face placid. “You are right, Sir Hestbone. This man was on his way to the palace after killing Ember. Our sisters are in danger too.”

  “How did he find us here?” Sarenkesh asked. He wiped his sword with the dead man’s hood. “Who would have known our whereabouts?”

  “He overheard…” Frowning, Beron sighed with disgust and straightened, his gaze distant. “Kaedric. I see him bragging at the tavern about how he was escorting a Daughter of Trinity into the Southern land.”

  “That pompous ass!” Dikartha rose and paced around the fire. “We must send word to the king and queen so Enigma and Eternity remain safe.”

  “I can send a messenger,” Lady Evanesce said, “but there’s a problem. I have only enough protection powder to cast one more ward for tomorrow night’s camp, or I can use it to send word to Verdfauna.”

  “I thought you put a protection spell over our camp?” said Hestbone. “I don’t put much stock in your powers if—”

  “Hush your worries.” Lady Evanesce waved her hand at him as if shooing a pesky fly. “I said our camp was protected from ill spirits. That means bad magic and magical beings, not flesh and blood men.”

  “Ach!” The captain of war grabbed the assassin’s foot and dragged him deeper into the woods. “Give me a trusty short sword over Fae magic any day.”

  “Warn…my family,” Ember rasped. She grimaced, hand going to her fiery throat. “I couldn’t bear it…” She swallowed and gasped at the pain the action caused.

  “Hush, child.” Lady Evanesce rose and emptied the contents of the protection pouch. “It is a simple spell, and I shall send word to them immediately.”

  Lady Evanesce picked up a flat stone on the outer rim of their campfire and deposited the sparkly powder in a shallow indention in its center. She spit on the substance and uttered a string of words in her language. Closing her eyes, Lady Evanesce stood quietly for a moment, opened her eyes, and then tossed the stone into the middle of the fire. An explosion erupted, startling Sir Hestbone, who stumbled back, sword brandished.

  “Ach! Damn Fae magic!” he bellowed.

  The others laughed at him as a clear sphere rose from the fire. The orb made its way upward through the treetops and into the clear pre-dawn sky on its journey to Verdfauna.

  Chapter Five

  Ember didn’t sleep well. Her mother’s warning about Raya, the assassination attempt, and the knowledge her sisters were in danger rattled around in her head all morning. However, she did have one blessing to count. She touched her throat and swallowed. Whatever Lady Evanesce had put on her wound had healed it.

  She rose, waved to Beron perched in a tree on watch, and placed a kettle of water over the fire before the others awoke. Wrapping tea in a thin cloth, she dropped the pouch into the liquid. Her thoughts spun, and the worry in her heart inspired a knot of fear to grow in her gut. At first, the journey seemed grand and entertaining, but now, the realization that lives depended on Ember weighed heavily on her soul.

  A Daughter of Trinity meant she had a destiny but no life. She lived to serve Raya and the Fae.

  What about my dreams? My desires?

  She poked at the fire with a long, knobby stick. A heavy fog had risen and coiled through the forest, dampening everything. She shivered and stabbed the fire again. For all she cared, Raya could take back her mark. She hadn’t asked for it, nor did she want to be the favored one.

  “Did you sleep well, Princess?” Sarenkesh whispered and sat down next to her. He held his hands toward the fire, palms out.

  “As well as to be expected.” She marveled at the desire already pulsing through her. All the Gloaming Elf had to do was look at her and she wanted him. Remembering the way of his race, she braced herself against his magic, but the longing remained. She frowned and looked over at him.

  His dark gaze met hers. “I fear you have many sleepless nights ahead of you.”

  She nodded and pushed a lock of hair behind one ear. Steam began rising from the kettle. Perhaps a hot cup of tea would thaw the icy fingers that seemed to grip her innards.

  “Fear not, dear princess.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I will always be nearby.”

  More lust cascaded through her and spread warmth into her pussy. She steeled herself against it and shot him an incredulous look. “Forgive me, Sarenkesh, but you and Sir Hestbone slept two arm’s lengths away and knew not of the assassin’s presence until Hoggr screamed. I take no comfort in your reassurances.”

  “I shall rectify that,” he said, his hand sending tingles into her shoulder.

  The sensation penetrated her tunic, spreading into her chest. Her nipples tightened. Agitated, Ember shifted to stir the pot with a wooden spoon she’d found in Cook’s food bag. “If I had my power, perhaps I could protect myself. However it seems my magic doesn’t exist.”

  “It will come, and it will happen when you least expect it.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  “I am.”

  She glanced at the Gloaming Elf. Oh, what a sight he was with his sleep-rumpled hair and eyes that looked like deep pools of ink, each one with a bright diamond pinpoint. One corner of his mouth twitched in a slight smile. She saw herself in his arms, felt his mouth upon hers, his hands roaming her body, hips grinding against hers…

  Looking away, she swallowed hard. If she were to bed a man, it would be by her choice and not his ability to woo females with magic.

  “Perhaps you should wake the others,” she suggested. “I have yet to figure out how I shall get Hoggr’s saddle back on him.”

  Sir Greensleeve grinned. “I shall remedy that as well.”

  “Oh?”

  “You shall see.”

  Once everyone had roused, relieved themselves, drank tea, and ate chunks of breakfast bread, they broke camp. Sir Hestbone threw dirt over the fire as Sarenkesh saddled their steeds.

  “By Raya’s power!” The Gloaming Elf uttered a few choice profanities and dodged the pony’s bared teeth. “Why you put up with such an ill-tempered creature is beyond me. Saddle the beast yourself.”

  The dwarf laughed and clapped the elf on the small of his back. “Your fist isn’t as mighty as mine, my friend.” The pony’s lips peeled back. Hestbone hefted the fur pads and saddle onto its back. “Bite me,” he admonished the steed, “and ye shall see pretty lights in your head.”

  Sir Greensleeve smirked, shaking his head, and finished saddling the lady’s and Dikartha’s mounts. Ember rolled her change of clothes into her sleeping fur and tied it with a piece of leather. She looked up at him from her spot on the ground.

  “Your brother must ride with one of us,” said Sarenkesh. “The banshee wail from last night spooked his horse and threw him.”

  “He shall ride with me,” said Ember. “Hoggr will think nothing of more weight on his mighty back.”

  Her brother eyed Torr’s steed with trepidation.

  Laughing softly, Sarenkesh nodded. “As you wish, dear princess.” He held his hand over the saddle pads and concentrated. The furs rose into the air to cover the steed’s broad back. The elf turned his attention to the saddle, and soon it settled over the pads.
He cinched the straps and led the animal over to the stump where Ember waited to mount.

  “Full of surprises, I see.” Ember put one boot in the stirrup, her gaze connecting with Sarenkesh’s. He stared at her longingly. Flustered, she focused on gripping the harness and hefted herself up to struggle into the saddle. She held out her hand to Beron, and he hoisted himself up behind her.

  “Ach,” said Hestbone. “Mayhap the elf can do more than look pretty and woo women.”

  Dikartha and the lady giggled as they made a show of arranging their capes.

  “At least I have more congenial company than a mean-tempered pony who bites and blows foul wind,” Sarenkesh shot back.

  The dwarf roared with laughter and swung up onto his pony’s back.

  For the first time since the attack, Ember’s spirits lightened.

  They continued on their journey and minutes later met up with Kaedric on his way to their camp, his form faint in the mist.

  “How dare you brag about escorting the princess!” Staring hard at Kaedric, Dikartha sat ramrod stiff in her saddle, the reins gripped so tightly in her hands her knuckles whitened. “Because of your loose lips, an assassin almost took Ember’s life last night.”

  “Be still, woman,” Sir Hestbone admonished. “I had hopes of first bashing him over the head with my sword and then explain the matter.”

  Kaedric’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open. He looked first at Ember, followed by glancing at the others in turn. “I have done nothing but speak to the Town Master in private.”

  “Who?” Sarenkesh asked, his tone demanding and authoritative.

  Sitting in the saddle so tall and straight, the Gloaming Elf looked as regal and stern as a king. Ember wondered if there were more to Sir Greensleeve’s lineage. He’d smoothed his flaxen locks and braided each side so the pale plaits appeared snow white against his dark blue tunic. His ebony eyes flashed with barely restrained anger, his mouth a thin, harsh line. Even with his angry, threatening appearance, Ember felt drawn to him.

  The horses snorted. Riding gear creaked, and the rings and snaps on the bridles pinged merrily. In the distance, a bird squawked, but the cloying fog muffled the noise.

  “I asked you a question,” Sarenkesh stated, the warning in his voice obvious.

  “Town Master Nikko of the Zeda Family,” Kaedric finally answered. He glowered at Sarenkesh. “He was the one who sent Father and me to Verdfauna to represent the North. The village council and other two town masters all agreed to his idea. I’m sure he could not have had anything to do with the attack. Nikko is adamant the North and all who fare in it should be kept safe.”

  “Perhaps,” said Lady Evanesce, her voice melodious the mist, “but someone you and the village trusts conceals a second face.”

  “Who would want to cause unrest in the North?” Kaedric asked as he maneuvered his steed around a cluster of berry bushes.

  “Who indeed?” said Sarenkesh. “Why does anyone want what they want?”

  “Don’t look at me.” Kaedric’s voice rose. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in Raya’s cause.”

  “Heed my words,” Sir Hestbone said. “If I discover you are the weasel, I shall gut and skin you myself—consequences be damned.”

  Kaedric visibly paled. He nodded and urged his horse to the forefront of their path.

  By late morning, the group reached the southern edge of the Great Wood. The trees thinned, and the last traces of the fog dissipated in the sun’s blazing rays. Secretly, Ember reveled in the fact the trees were behind them and the sun shone on their heads. The wide, sweeping fields before them inspired a reckless abandonment within her. Her entire life had been spent inside the palace walls sequestered deep inside the ancient forest. Now, for the first time, she knew an odd sense of freedom.

  “Which direction?” Kaedric asked.

  “South, you dolt.” The dwarf shook his head and tugged on one of the many yellow braids hanging from his beard.

  Hiding her smile, Ember shifted in the saddle.

  “I am saddle sore,” said Beron. “Can we rest?”

  “Nay,” said Sarenkesh. “We must press on. The women are tired as well, but we need to go as far as we can until we reach a place of cover. I do not think we should be in the open any longer than necessary.”

  Dikartha and Lady Evanesce both nodded their agreement.

  “Just focus on Cook’s spicy black bread and a flask of moonbeam wine when we do rest,” said Ember. She reached back and patted her brother’s knee. “It gives you something to look forward to.”

  “You mean something to pine for,” he shot back.

  Chuckles filled the air, and the group urged their steeds into trots to cover the distance faster.

  They rode until the sun reached its highest point. It beat down upon them and soon everyone shed their capes.

  “Fire, fire everywhere,” said Beron.

  “What?” Ember twisted in the saddle. “What fire?” With horror clenching her guts, Ember recognized the faraway look on her brother’s face. She reined in Hoggr.

  “Ach, what now?” Sir Hestbone asked.

  Stopping his mount, Kaedric turned in the saddle, a look of irritation on his face.

  “He is having a vision,” said Ember.

  “What do you see?” Lady Evanesce coaxed.

  “Fire eating the grass.” Beron frowned and turned his head, looking this way and that across the rolling plain, his gaze distant. “Men on horseback.” He blinked the vision away and gazed back at everyone.

  Grimacing, Sir Hestbone asked, “Is that all?”

  Beron shrugged. “Some visions are detailed, but most are just pieces of a bigger picture.”

  The big dwarf sighed. “Lot o’ good that does us.”

  A falcon called from high above them. It circled and soared toward the west.

  “I have a bad, bad feeling about that bird,” said Ember. “A falcon means—”

  “Riders!” Dikartha yelled.

  “By the Underworld,” Hestbone said. “Those aren’t just any riders. Those are Southlanders bent on battle.”

  “But they came from the west.” Dikartha urged her horse over next to Hoggr.

  Sarenkesh shook his head, his braids swinging from side to side. “Somehow the Southlanders knew Ember was coming. They have skirted to the west to surprise us.”

  A note of panic tinged Lady Evanesce’s voice. “What do we do?”

  Dimly, the pounding of hooves across the plains reached Ember’s ears and matched the pace of her heart.

  The Gloaming Elf asked, “Does anyone possess magic that will thwart them?”

  “I am but a seer,” said Beron.

  Everyone else stared back at Sir Greensleeve, their gazes wide, and shook their heads.

  Ember met his worried eyes, the feeling of desperation growing larger in her chest. The thunder of hooves became louder, and she wished she could do more than blend with flora and fauna, wield a sword, or joust in holiday tournaments.

  “Then we flee,” said Sarenkesh. “Back to the Great Wood. If we can make it there, we might be able to lose them.”

  “There are too many,” said Beron.

  “We have no other choice,” the dwarf shouted. “Go now. Run!”

  Dikartha and the lady spun their horses about and kicked their flanks. With tails high, the steeds galloped full speed back the way they had come. Kaedric nudged his steed into action and raced off after them.

  Hoggr raised his head high, nostrils flaring. Prancing to one side, he shook his head up and down.

  “What is wrong with him?” Beron asked, his fingers digging into Ember’s sides as he held on.

  “He is a warhorse,” answered Ember. “A steed bred to fight.”

  “Well, let me ride with someone else,” her brother cried. “I’m bred to flee.”

  “Ach, get ye to the woods, Princess.” The dwarf turned his pony around and heeled his sides hard. The pony shrieked and pounded after the women and Kaed
ric as fast as his stout legs would allow.

  “Flee!” Sarenkesh bellowed as his horse charged past her.

  “Hoggr, run!” Ember yanked on his reins. “Please!” She imbedded her boot heels into his flanks. The horse half reared, shook his head, and pulled against the bit. Behind her, Beron hissed his surprise and nearly cut off her air as he clamped his arms around her middle to hold on.

  “Ember, hurry!” someone called.

  She glanced toward the others. Sarenkesh had reined in his horse, turning him sideways. He motioned for her follow.

  “Hoggr will not move,” she shouted back. “He wants to fight.”

  The vibration of hundreds of stampeding hooves passed through Hoggr’s body and into Ember’s thighs and hips.

  “You are his mistress,” Sarenkesh shouted. “Convince him to flee.”

  Ember looked to the west. The riders rode enormous warhorses. Although not as large as Hoggr, they still presented a frightening image advancing toward her in a blot of black, brown, sorrel, and gray, their hoofbeats growing louder with each passing second. Horned helmets adorned each rider’s head. Some of the marauders held swords in the air, others spears. One rider in the front carried a long pole with the Southlander’s banner atop it. A gust of wind pointed the flag due east. The South’s emblem—a red falcon with talons and wings outstretched—presented a bold image against a black background. The wind continued to bluster across the plains, as if heralding their arrival. The faint aroma of filthy, sweaty men, and hot horseflesh offended Ember’s nose.

  She looked back at Sarenkesh. Beyond him, the women and Kaedric kept riding, their capes whipping out behind them, forms growing smaller until they passed over the farthest rise. Between them and Sarenkesh, the dwarf had somehow realized that she and the elf were not behind him. He whirled his pony around and charged back in their direction.

  “By Raya’s power,” Sarenkesh yelled as he urged his horse in her direction again. “Jump off the animal and ride with me!”

  “Beron, get off the horse,” said Ember.

  “Are you serious?”