With a Dragon's Heart

by Marissa Farrar

  Vehel allowed the trail of insects to pass, and then continued himself. From the branches above him hung what he was looking for, swathes of thick vines strung like banners at one of his father’s castle parties. He wondered if he would even see another of them happening—not that he’d enjoyed them, anyway. It was just lots of standing at his father’s side, while his father greeted people. His brothers were often away on exciting excursions, while he was left home like he was a daughter they’d never quite been able to marry off. He found the whole thing humiliating, and he was glad to be out of it.

  Shaking off memories of home, Vehel got to work, pulling the vines down from where they hung. Things tickled his skin and landed on his head, but he just shook them off and tried not to think about what he might be disturbing. He hauled the vines down, one after the other, slinging them across his shoulder as he tore them free.

  A noise came crashing through the jungle toward him, twigs breaking, leaves rustling. And by the sound, whatever was coming was large. His stomach contracted and his pulse quickened. He prayed it wasn’t another one of those damned trees. The thing grew closer, the crashing louder. He was right in its path.

  Movement suddenly broke through the bushes nearby. Vehel leaped into the air, caught hold of the nearest branch and pulled himself up.

  The creature was a hoofed animal, with grey hide, and a long nose, which it had lowered to the ground. The beast didn’t seem to notice him hanging from the branch, focused more on something on the jungle floor. The animal caught the end of the procession of ants, and, with its long nose, sucked up the last straggler. It moved onto the next, taking each of the insects in line.

  Vehel stayed put, his breath held, not wanting the animal to notice him. While it looked as though the creature fed on ants, he wasn’t going to risk taking the chance. Even if the animal didn’t want to eat him, it might try to knock him down and trample on him. It was far bigger and heavier than Vehel, and he wouldn’t be any good to anyone with crushed ribs and broken limbs.

  Finally, the animal trundled away, sucking up giant ants as it went, and Vehel exhaled a sigh of relief and carefully lowered himself to the ground. The vines he’d already pulled down were still slung around his shoulder, so, with caution, he made his way back to the beach. He hoped Warsgra hadn’t encountered any problems while he’d been gone.

  He broke through the remaining foliage and stepped onto the shore. Warsgra was where he’d left him, but now, on the ground at his side, were five or six of the poles, already stripped of their leaves.

  “You did a good job,” he called out as he approached.

  Warsgra turned to him, swinging his long wavy hair out of his face. Sweat shone off the muscles of the big man’s chest, and his hair was wet with perspiration.

  “Let’s hope Dela and Orergon find water quickly. You’re going to need it if you keep going at that rate.”

  Warsgra nodded. “Aye, I could do with a drink. I don’t like this heat much. Give me mountains any day.”

  “I know what you mean.” The Inverlands were cooler climes too, with the end of the Great Dividing Range creeping into their homeland. From Vehel’s coloring, it was easy to see he wasn’t made for this kind of heat.

  “Any sign of Dela and Orergon yet?” he asked.

  “No, but they haven’t been gone long.”

  Warsgra was right, they hadn’t, but that didn’t stop Vehel worrying.

  He dumped the vines on the ground and joined Warsgra in uprooting the plants they were going to use as building material and stripping off the leaves. Within an hour, they’d added another six to the pile Warsgra had already collected.

  Vehel looked down at their loot. “That should do.”

  The poles were big and strong, and hollow, which would help them float. As long as they were all bound well enough together to prevent the waves pulling them apart, the raft would get them to the island.

  “We’re going to need four paddles as well,” he said. “With no sail, it’ll be our only way of making sure we’re going in the right direction.”

  Warsgra let out a huff of air. “Let’s get the raft together first and then we’ll worry about how we’re going to steer it.”

  “Sure.”

  They got to work, stripping the remaining leaves and then putting the poles in position—most of them side by side, while a couple rested on top in the opposite direction. They wound the vines around each point where one pole overlaid the other to bind them all together.

  “You think Orergon’s okay?” Vehel asked, suddenly unable to keep it in any longer. Warsgra wasn’t exactly the sort of guy he’d normally choose to have a heart-to-heart with, but he needed to speak his fears out loud.

  “What do you mean?” Warsgra frowned and straightened from his work. “He seems healthy enough.”

  “He does,” Vehel agreed, “but it’s not all about how he is physically. He died, and I brought him back, but he hasn’t even mentioned it. What did he see on the other side? Does he remember any of it? Don’t you think it’s strange that he doesn’t want to talk about it?”

  Warsgra snorted. “Not everyone wants to talk about stuff.”

  “But nothing about his behavior seems different?”

  “No. Orergon doesn’t talk about much like that. He barely even mentions back home.” Warsgra frowned. “You think Dela is all right with him?”

  “I’m sure she is. Orergon feels the same way about her as we do.”

  Warsgra’s lips thinned. “I heard them talking last night.”

  Vehel lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You did?”

  “I was half asleep, but they were definitely murmuring to each other.”

  “So maybe he’s just in love with Dela.”

  Warsgra grinned and threw Vehel a wink. “Like the rest of us, right?”

  Heat coursed up Vehel’s throat and flooded his face, and he glanced away, focusing on the task at hand.

  Warsgra was right. They probably all were a little bit in love with her, and he hoped she felt the same way about them. But then how, by the Gods, was that supposed to work? He thought to his homeland, and imagined going home to tell his father he was in love with a human girl, and not only that, but he was sharing her with a Moerian and a Norc. His father would most likely laugh, at first, thinking him to be joking, but then he would be furious. News would spread across the Inverlands, and he’d be ridiculed even more than he currently was. His father would tell him that if he insisted on staying with the girl, then he would disown him, and so would the rest of the Elvish. He’d be an outcast from his own people.

  A wave of dizziness washed over him as he suddenly realized he was predicting his own future. If he survived to make it back to his homeland, that most likely would be exactly what would happen, and that wasn’t even taking into account how it would also be known that he was the one who broke the Treaty and started the Second Great War.

  But somehow the significance of the war paled in comparison to a future without Dela. Forced to choose, which way would he go? What would win?

  His heart, or his loyalty to his own kind?

  Chapter 9

  Dela

  It felt as though they’d been walking forever, though she knew in reality only an hour or so had passed.

  She was nervous they wouldn’t be able to find their way back again, but Orergon insisted he’d found a trail, and they’d come across fresh water soon. The jungle air was thick and humid, and it didn’t help with her dehydration. As well as tired muscles, another headache was forming between her eyes.

  “Are you sure we’re going to find our way back again?” she called out to him as she picked her way through the jungle.

  “Of course. I haven’t got you lost yet, have I?” He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, and she felt like she had a little bit of the old Orergon back.

  “No, I’m just worried about the others. It feels like we’ve been gone too long.”

  “We’re almost there. Look at ho
w the ground has changed. It’s already damp, and I can smell it on the air, too.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how you can smell water.”

  He laughed. “It’s easy. Can’t you?”

  “No. The only water we ever smelled at home was what came out of a communal tap in the street, and that didn’t smell so great.”

  The same laugh came again, and a small part of her relaxed. They continued to walk, Dela following Orergon’s smooth, brown back, his loose hair swinging as he walked, hiding the tribal tattoos that covered his skin.

  Orergon suddenly paused and lifted a finger. “Listen.”

  She frowned. “What is it?”

  “I can hear water running. This way.”

  He set off again, and she followed. The foliage became thicker and larger, and within minutes they stepped out onto the side of a small brook. It was barely a couple of feet wide, but it looked clear and cool, and it was all they needed.

  “Oh, well done, Orergon,” she said in delight.

  Dela dropped to her knees beside the brook and washed off her hands and face before scooping handfuls of the water to her mouth. She gulped it down, easing her parched throat. Orergon did the same beside her, and they both drank their fill before sitting back on their haunches and exhaling a joint sigh of satisfied relief.

  “You know,” Orergon said from beside her, “I can’t imagine living like that.”

  Dela looked to him with a frown. “Like what?”

  “Like you must have done back in the city. All holed up together, side by side, no space or nature around you.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just what we were used to.”

  “And didn’t you fear the Choosing every six months? Moerians volunteer to go to the Passover. I couldn’t imagine being picked, and having no skills to complete such a journey.”

  “Most of us were frightened, but some were excited to go.” Like my brother, she almost added. And me. A familiar wave of guilt washed over her. It had been a while since she’d thought about her mother and father back home. The longer she was away, the longer the spaces between them crossing her mind became. If she never made it home, would she ever think of them at all?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Just thinking of home. I wish there was a way to get a message there and let my parents know I’m safe.” She looked up at him. “Do you have anyone waiting for you at home, Orergon?”

  He glanced away, a troubled shadow drifting across his features. “My tribe will be wondering what happened to me, but they’ll assume I died in the Southern Pass.”

  “So, no family in your tribe?” she pressed.

  “I had a wife and a son,” he admitted, not meeting her eye. “But they died a couple of years ago.”

  Her heart twisted for him. “Orergon, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “She died in childbirth. My son died three days later. We did everything we could, went through all the correct rituals, gave sacrifices to the Gods to ensure a safe birth, but she was bleeding, and we couldn’t make it stop. Our son wasn’t breathing when he was born, and though we managed to get him started, he was never well. Perhaps if my wife had survived, he’d have grown strong again. I wasn’t able to give him what he needed.”

  She reached out and covered the back of his hand with hers. “I can’t even imagine what you went through. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. It was several years ago now, but the pain is still the same.”

  She nodded. “I feel the same way about losing my brother. The grief is always there.”

  It was a strange thing to be united in, but, in that moment, united they were. And there was no sign of the darkness that had troubled him during the night.

  She thought he was going to kiss her again, but then he said, “We should get the water back to Warsgra and Vehel. They’re going to need it.”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  She spotted thick, round leaves suspended on stalks above the pool. “I have an idea.” Using her strength, she snapped one off, and then folded the bottom and twisted the rest into a cone shape. She dunked the leaf cone into the water and drew it back up. Holding it up experimentally, none of the water dribbled out.

  Orergon grinned. “Good thinking.”

  She was a little bit proud of her own ingenuity, but tried not to show it. “Thanks.”

  They wouldn’t be easy to carry. It was a balance between carrying as much as they could, and not overdoing it and risking spilling the water everywhere. It would be no good if they got back to the beach only to discover the cones empty again. But she pictured how grateful Warsgra and Vehel would be at their return, and silently vowed to make it back without spilling anything.

  She was forced to empty the first cone she’d created in order to fold a few more, then she dipped the first one back into the water, filling it almost to the brim. She tucked that one into the crook of her other arm and repeated the process with the next one. With two full, she just about managed a third before the first two began to tip, so she stopped there. Orergon had managed the same, and with their arms full, they started back.

  She trusted Orergon to follow their trail back through the jungle, but joined him at his side this time, instead of following along behind. Now she was rehydrated again, and with her arms full of water, her confidence grew, and at times she found herself leading the way and walking ahead of Orergon.

  “Dela!”

  His shout made her jump, and she spun around just in time to see him lunge toward her. His expression was filled with something she couldn’t recognize, and she reared away in fright. The water she was carrying tipped down her chest, and she gasped at the sudden cold. Her heart raced, and all she could think was that this was the darkness he’d been talking about—the other thing he’d brought back with him out of death.

  His hand met her shoulders with a shove, and she let out a yelp and staggered away. Tears filled her eyes, and she stared at him in horror, a part of her already grieving for the man she’d grown to know and care about.

  But he regarded her with confusion and pointed at the ground where she’d been about to step.

  “You were going to stand on those!”

  She tore her gaze from Orergon’s face and looked to where he was pointing. The jungle floor was bedecked with strange flowers with red petals and sharp spikes sticking out of the middles as their stamen. As she leaned over to get a closer look, some of the flowers opened, the spikes pushing higher into the air, while others folded shut again. She was wearing her boots, but even so, there was a chance one of those spikes—each of which was as long as her finger, and as sharp as a dragon’s tooth—could have pushed through the sole and into her foot. They might even be poisonous, for all she knew. Orergon hadn’t been trying to hurt her in any way; he’d been trying to save her from standing on one of them.

  She realized her mistake and winced at her reaction. She didn’t want to look at Orergon but sensed his eyes on her. Though she was dying inside, she forced herself to meet his liquid black eyes.

  It was impossible not to see the hurt across his face. He’d seen the way she’d flinched when he’d shouted and raised his hand to her, even though it was only to keep her from stepping on the flowers.

  “You think I’d cause you harm?” Confusion laced his tone.

  Her cheeks flushed with heat. “No, it’s not that. I’m sorry. You had me worried last night, when we were … you know … and you pushed me away and started talking about death and a darkness, and saying you’d brought something back with you. You can’t expect to say those things to me and for it not to play on my mind.”

  He bit his lower lip, glancing down at the ground. “Did you say anything to the others?”

  “No, not a word, but I can’t pretend like I haven’t been thinking about it. I’m worried about you.”

  “You’re worried I might hurt you.”

  “No—” She shook her head at herself, wanting
to tell him the truth about why she’d reacted as she had. “I’m not sure … I guess you frightened me last night. One moment we were kissing, and then you pushed me away and started talking about all this strange stuff. It’s not as though what you’re talking about isn’t possible either. Who knows what happens when magic brings you back from the dead. You saw Vehel after he took the death out of you. It completely drained him to the point of him passing out, too.” She paused, catching her breath and trying to piece her thoughts together. “I guess what I’m saying is that how you feel might not only be because of the trauma of what you went through. There might be something more to it.”

  He looked away, but nodded. “It comes and goes. Sometimes the feeling is stronger than at other times. It might be nothing, but yes, you’re right. It might be something, too.”

  “We should talk about it with the others—Vehel in particular.”

  “Can we wait until we reach the island? I’d feel better if we found somewhere safe before we had that conversation. Vehel and Warsgra will put your safety before all else. If they decide I’m a danger to you, they might think it best to leave me behind.”

  Worry threaded through her veins. “No, I wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “You might not have a choice.”

  She straightened, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “I don’t care what they say. I won’t let them push you away.” The last thing she’d ever want was for them to abandon Orergon—especially if she was the one who’d made them have the conversation.

  “But what if their worries are founded, and I am a danger to you, or to them? What if I was a threat to one of them? Would you still want me around then?”

  Her emotions were in turmoil. She wouldn’t ever want Orergon to be excluded from the group, but what if how he was feeling got worse? What if something was terribly wrong with him and he was going to hurt her or Vehel or Warsgra? What then?