The Dragon God's Kiss

by Ana Lee Kennedy

Sir Greensleeve knelt on the cape, his eyes so dark they reminded Ember of two infinite wells of magic, a magic she hoped would provide salve for her soul.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I want you to desire me, not the magic that I weave.”

  “I am sure.” She nodded. “Keep your magic, dear Sarenkesh. I wish only for your body against mine.”

  He picked up her braid and tugged its leather tie free. Slowly, his long, deft fingers unfastened the twisted lengths. Once he reached the top, he threaded his hand into her hair and tousled it so that it hung free and wavy. Leaning forward, Sarenkesh grazed his lips across hers. She pulled at his shirt, tugging it over his head. He stood briefly to slip out of his breeches as she wiggled out of hers, yanked her soft undershirt over her shoulders and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled around her, her naked body pebbling in the soft breeze. Sarenkesh paused and offered her an appreciative look. His attention drifted along her curves and back up to lock gazes with her, a pleased smile curving his lips.

  Ember reclined against her cloak and held her arms out to him. “Come here.”

  Sarenkesh lay down next to her and pulled her onto her side and snugly against his body. “Aye, you are dangerous. Mortal and Fae can get lost in you.” He captured her lips, his mouth sure, possessive. The taste of his tongue like ginger and cloves.

  Ember rolled onto her back, pulling Sarenkesh with her. He pressed her tightly to the earth, his erection hot and eager against her lower abdomen. Desire pooled in Ember’s loins, its intensity creeping down her legs and up into her torso. She strained against Sarenkesh, wanting him inside her. His mouth seized the delicate pink tip of one breast, and she gasped. Arrows of need sliced through her, and she arched her back, fingers burrowing into his snowy locks.

  The torturous warmth crawled into her arms and spread upward into her neck as a fever claims its victim. She sighed and parted her legs, the delicate place between them tingling and wet. Sarenkesh shifted his position so that his cock nudged the lips of her sex. Frantic to feel his hard length, Ember shoved upward with her hips, impaling herself on him. With a surprised grunt, her lover slid fully inside her body.

  His cock filled her, stretched her. Before he could thrust, an orgasm swept through Ember in an inferno of sensation. She gasped, stiffening. As she plummeted over the precipice of ecstasy, she bucked her hips, crying out, fingers digging into Sarenkesh’s ass. The incredible heat that swirled through her body culminated within her fingertips and surged into her face.

  Sulfur singed her nose, assaulted her tongue. Fear crashed through her mind.

  “No!” She shoved Sarenkesh away, their bodies parting.

  Ember rolled to her side, desperate to turn away from Sarenkesh. She staggered to her feet.

  Water.

  She half ran, half fell toward the creek. Flames licked out of her mouth, her nose, and shot from her eyes in red, white, and orange brilliance. Blindness overcame her, and the aroma of brimstone weighed heavily in the air. She lunged forward, falling from the low bank. Cold fluid engulfed her, the brightness surrounding her vanished, and the heat extinguished.

  Arms slipped around her body and lifted her from the creek. Coughing, sputtering, Ember realized someone carried her but didn’t have the strength to protest let alone move.

  “Ach! What be wrong with you? Can’t you wait until we get to the next town to bed a wench other than the princess?”

  “She invited me here,” Sarenkesh replied tersely. With Ember in his arms, he dropped to his knees on the bank.

  “You risk much, elf. You woo her with your magic.”

  Kaedric? She frowned at his presence. What is he doing here?

  “You don’t know my sister,” Beron said, his voice the next to penetrate Ember’s dazed mind. “Father is always in fits trying to keep her apart from her lovers,”

  “Is she breathing?” Dikartha asked.

  “Woman, what be the matter with you?” the dwarf nearly roared. “Would she sputter and cough if she were dead?”

  Gingerly, Ember opened her eyes. She blinked several times to clear the mist from her vision and finally gazed up at the twilight. Lady Evanesce’s face suddenly blocked Ember’s view of the sky.

  “After unleashing such power twice in one day, she’ll need to rest,” the lady said in her quiet, calm way.

  “I must admit,” Sarenkesh stated, “the princess’ love burns like the sun.”

  Somewhere just out of Ember’s line of vision the captain of war burst out laughing. “Ach, you are lucky your cock did not go up in flames too!”

  More male laughter followed.

  “I will ignore your words,” Sarenkesh said. He wrapped his arms around her body again, their gazes meeting.

  Eyes still stinging, she blinked, and tears leaked from their corners, the burn of sulfur still dominating her senses. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.

  “Shh. I am whole,” he said, wry amusement in his voice. “Dikartha will wrap you in your cloak while I dress, and then I will carry you back to your bedroll.”

  “You lit up the woods,” Beron’s voice came from somewhere behind Sarenkesh. “We thought you were on fire.”

  “Aye,” said Hestbone, “as well as Sarenkesh’s ass.”

  Kaedric’s bass laughter melded with Sarenkesh’s.

  “Hush now,” Dikartha admonished as she helped Ember into her garments. “The princess is weary.”

  “Aye,” the lady agreed. “Let us get back to the camp and sleep. We still have a long way to travel.”

  Sarenkesh gathered her into his arms again and stood. Leaves passed overhead, the branches of the forest blocking out the watery starlight. Ember contemplated them for a moment and allowed herself to relax against Sarenkesh. She closed her eyes. If Lochri is guilty of giving me the gift of fire, we are all in grave danger.

  And she’d never be able to take another lover. The thought frightened and dismayed her. She glanced up into Sarenkesh’s handsome face. Remorse filled her heart.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Ember grumbled at Dikartha, who kept shaking and nudging her to awaken. Ember rose, but with each movement, it seemed as if invisible weights had been tied to her wrists and ankles. Whatever magic had awakened within her came with repercussions, ones that drained her of strength and vitality. However, with the herbs Lady Evanesce found in the forest, she prepared a tea for Ember. By the time they broke camp and were on their way, the princess began to feel her strength return.

  Purple foothills rose in the distance, their fuzzy shapes undulating along the dark green horizon. Ember did not look forward to riding into them for the rocky terrain scarred with chasms and ravines were not only boring to look upon but dangerous to navigate.

  She’d barely spoken to Sir Greensleeve all day. Every time she thought about how close she’d come to killing him, shame knifed her so hard it left her breathless. Dikartha rode on her left, and Sarenkesh traveled a few feet away from her aunt. From time to time, Ember discovered him studying her, his piercing gaze so intense that each moment their eyes connected, she believed he searched for something in her soul.

  The idea of not being able to take a lover upset Ember, but the thought that she could never be with Sarenkesh disturbed her more than anything. She tried shrugging off the feelings. Not being able to make love to him shouldn’t be an issue. It was obvious he’d wooed her with his magic, so she’d given in to his power.

  She glanced over at him again. If it were pure lust, why did the idea of not being with him sear her heart so badly?

  “How are you faring?” Dikartha asked her.

  “I am fine, suvrete.”

  Lady Evanesce rode on her right. She maneuvered her steed so she traveled abreast of Ember. “Princess,” she said, “look at me.”

  Inwardly, Ember groaned. Wasn’t Sarenkesh’s poking at her heart enough?

  “Please, dear princess,” the lady pressed.

  She looked down from her lofty perch upon Hoggr’s back. T
he lady’s lightning-blue eyes bore into hers. The sunshine danced upon the ever-present dew drops that graced her ebony hair.

  “Aye, you are full of guilt…and shame.” The lady shook her head, sympathy filling her eyes. “No need to feel shame, dear one, nor guilt. I am guessing intense emotion tells you that your power is awakening?”

  Thinking about it, Ember realized the lady was correct. She nodded, not trusting her voice, or the tears that suddenly pricked the backs of her eyes.

  “Then pay attention to your emotions,” her companion said. “You will need to keep a firm grip on your anger, your pain, and your…” She smiled and looked askance at Sir Greensleeve.

  “Makes it difficult to take a lover if she is going to roast them,” Sir Hestbone said with a deep chuckle. He clicked his tongue to his war pony and led the way into the foothills.

  From the rear of their band, Kaedric laughed, and Beron joined in.

  “Be still, Brother!” Ember said without turning in the saddle.

  “Father need not worry about who you are with anymore,” Beron pressed.

  “Ach, hold your tongue, lad,” the dwarf hollered over his shoulder, “else the princess lose her temper and roast you in her magical spit.”

  Sarenkesh’s gaze met Ember’s. The pain in his eyes knocked the wind from her lungs. Why should it matter to him? After all, he’d used his magic to woo her and not his heart.

  Silence settled over the travelers save for the creak of saddles and the horses’ snorts.

  “Fire is such an odd gift to give a Daughter of Trinity,” Dikartha mused. “Why not the gift of invisibility or perhaps allow her to wield most magic—like a grand sorceress?”

  Beron chimed in. “Is Lochri the god who gave Ember the magic, or did Raya?”

  No one answered.

  The youngster continued, “I do not understand how any of this is going to help Ember discover the Ebon Weapon’s identity.”

  “No one understands the ways of the gods,” said Sarenkesh, his musical voice caressing Ember’s ears, its touch comforting her wounded soul. “And we are not to question them. The Fae are Raya’s favorite, so let her sort it all out.”

  “I can blend with the flora and fauna,” said Ember.

  “Aye,” said Kaedric, “but half the blood in your veins belongs to the Green People, so it is only natural you have their abilities.”

  “What good is a magic if I cannot wield it?” she whispered.

  Lady Evanesce heard her and placed her hand upon Ember’s boot. “You will figure it out, child. Trust your instincts. Half the power of faerie magic is pure instinct and emotion. In your case, yours is magnified to god-like proportions.”

  God-like proportions? Ember looked down into the lady’s eyes. “Are you saying…?”

  Lady Evanesce nodded gravely.

  Queen Honey had warned her well. Raya has more in mind than just saving the Fae but what?

  They reached the meeting place where Lady Evanesce’s guards would escort her back to Mist Valley. Kaedric built a roaring fire as Sir Hestbone unsaddled his pony and led it to a small glen where it could graze with the other horses.

  “Ach, you wretched beast,” he grumped. “Go join the other horses and frighten them with your roaring backside.” He slapped the steed on the rump. It trotted into the clearing, immediately lowering its head to sample the thick grass.

  Hiding her smile, Ember watched the dwarf gather logs and sticks for the fire. His yellow beard caught on a heavy piece that wrenched his mouth with its weight. He grimaced, spewed a few choice obscenities, and then caught Ember’s gaze.

  “Forgiveness, Princess,” he said. “The closer we get to the Southland, the more ill at ease I become.”

  “Be calm, Sir Hestbone,” she said. “Our biggest worry is that your pony doesn’t blow foul wind the same moment I flame our next adversary.”

  His laughter roared throughout the campsite. The others looked curiously their way, only to smile at the dwarf’s infectious laughter.

  Ember sat with the women, who passed a skin of moonbeam wine between them. Beron returned to the camp with two slain hares he’d skinned, and Sarenkesh helped him string the kills over the fire. Slicing off a hunk of cheese, Dikartha handed a piece to Ember, followed by one to the lady.

  “When shall your party meet us, Lady Evanesce?” Sir Greensleeve asked. He stoked the fire and added more small logs to it.

  “Any time from now ’til morning,” she replied.

  “Who will keep watch first tonight?” Kaedric questioned.

  Ember held up her hand. “I will.”

  “Princess,” said Dikartha, disapproval in her tone, “it is not your place—”

  “Sleep shall not visit me for some time, suvrete.” She glanced around at her companions. “Why not allow my friends the luxury of rest when I cannot have it?”

  With approval shining in his eyes, Sarenkesh favored her with a smile that lightened her heart.

  A derisive snort next to Ember drew her gaze upward. Glancing down at her, Kaedric stepped around the women to dump another armload of wood by the fire.

  “A woman keep watch?” he said. “I think not.”

  “Careful, Kaedric,” said Beron. “You have no idea what my sister is capable of.”

  The Mortal knelt and began stacking the wood. “I already know the princess can roast men and animals”—he looked askance at Sarenkesh, eyes dark with some sort of suppressed emotion—“and lovers.”

  A comforting touch landed on Ember’s knee. She turned her head to find her aunt looking at her with a pleading expression. Ember smiled, shrugged, and took another sip of wine from the skin.

  “What sort of bee stung your ass?” Sir Hestbone grumbled as he also brought another load of wood to the campfire. “The princess is more than capable of keeping watch if she so chooses.”

  “Aye.” Sarenkesh straightened and brushed bits of bark and soot from his breeches. Without looking at Kaedric, he added, “She can fight as well as any swordsman.” Finally, he stared the Mortal in the eye. “And I daresay you would be wise to keep your snide words to yourself, else the princess may be inclined to spill your guts first and roast them aft.”

  Kaedric rose, looked around at everyone, and then shrugged. “If you believe her capable of being a good guard, then so be it.” He stomped over to his bedroll, then began untying its bindings. Without sparing anyone so much as a glance, he readied his sleeping area, asked Dikartha for a chunk of cheese and bread, and returned to his spot by the fire.

  “What was that all about?” Dikartha whispered to Ember.

  “I know not, suvrete.” She struggled to her feet, and then picked up her dagger and Sarenkesh’s long bow. With purpose, she walked into the woods. There she chose a large tree with low-hanging branches and began her ascent up into a section allowing her a reasonably comfortable spot in which to survey the immediate area.

  An odd thump-thump, thump-thump drew closer.

  “Looks like you won’t be alone out there, after all,” Sir Hestbone called loudly. Laughter from the travelers followed his statement.

  Ember twisted on her seat and looked down. Below her, pushing through undergrowth and plowing over low branches, was Hoggr, his great, blue-black body glimmering in the fading daylight. A pinpoint of light winked on the tip of his long, silver horn.

  “Are you certain you want to keep watch on the ground?” she asked quietly.

  The warhorse shook his head, his mane tossing from side to side. He nickered softly.

  “Very well but no sleeping on your watch.”

  The horse answered her with a snort as if offended by her comment.

  Ember laughed.

  She settled back against the tree trunk and let her gaze wander over the woods. Jumbles of berry bushes and wild grapevines clothed the forest floor. The trees stretched on into the gloom. Relaxing, she focused on blending with the tree. She raised her legs and stretched them out across the limb. Her body faded, clothing and ski
n matching the smooth bark. Even the long bow and dagger were indiscernible.

  An owl screeched in the distance. A moth fluttered past Ember’s nose, oblivious to her presence. Below her, Hoggr twitched his ears.

  A twig snapped. Ember’s attention shot in the direction of the noise. Gradually, a faerie orb moved into the area, followed by a band of Fae who looked similar to Lady Evanesce. A man rode a tall, elegant Fae horse that pranced more than it walked. Behind him, three more men followed and one female. The aroma of rain heralded their approach.

  “I say,” said Ember, “state your presence!”

  The leader reined in his horse and looked around. Hoggr stepped out of the shrubbery, blocking their passage. With his mouth ajar and his eyes huge, the leader stared at the equine.

  “By the Underworld,” the man exclaimed. “We mean no harm. We are here to collect the good Lady Evanesce.”

  Ember released her hold on her glamour and allowed herself to be seen. She motioned to the riders. “Be of good cheer.” She placed her thumb and middle finger to her mouth and issued a piercing whistle. Sarenkesh, the first to arrive, searched the trees for her, his expression concerned. She motioned to catch his attention and pointed in the direction of their visitors.

  Sir Hestbone and Kaedric hurried through the forest behind the Gloaming Elf.

  “Move, you hulking behemoth,” the dwarf said.

  Hoggr turned his massive body to the side, allowing them passage, and then returned to stand beneath Ember’s tree.

  The leader introduced himself as the lady’s head guardsman, Diondi Shastar. Nodding, Sir Hestbone invited him and his companions to share their fire.

  As everyone passed beneath the tree, Diondi looked up. “Greetings, Daughter of Trinity,” he said.

  Startled, Ember dipped her head in greeting and watched the procession wind a path to the glow of the fire. Now bringing up the rear of the procession, Sarenkesh looked up at her before continuing back to the camp.

  “It startles you that you are recognized,” a familiar voice stated.

  Ember’s head whipped toward the voice but only darkness and trees looked back at her. Below, Hoggr fidgeted, his ears turning back, forward, and to the sides.