Caress of Fire (Dawn of Dragons Book 2)

by Mary Auclair

  She had to get a grip on herself. Handsome Draekon Lord or not, she was a prisoner in this castle.

  What mattered now was to get back to Devan before Ignio Marula exacted his revenge on her brother. It couldn’t be too long before the news of the High Lord’s death came to the thug’s ears, and then he would know there would be no money. Thankfully, now that she was useless to him, Lord Fedryc Haal would release her soon. Maybe he would even take pity on her and help her pay Ignio Marula to save Devan.

  Thoughts swirled in her head of possible ways to get her hands on the money to pay the thug. She wasn’t beyond begging, when it came to it. She would do anything she needed to save her brother.

  She would go back home, grab Devan, and run as far as her legs would carry her. There was nothing else to keep her in Aalstad. The life of misery and fear they’d led up to now—they would leave it behind and start fresh, somewhere far away where no one knew their names.

  Just her and her baby brother, like always. All she had to do was to keep the dangerously attractive lord at arm’s length.

  Draekons were the enemy. They used women to give them children, paying them an obscene sum of money for a pregnancy that had fifty percent chances of killing them. They were monsters with no heart, and she would do well to remember that.

  Marielle inhaled deeply, then turned around to look at her surroundings. She was in some kind of living room, with tasteful, exotic furnishings adorning the space, giving it the look of something out of a fairy tale. There were two long sofas, their cushions ornate and embroidered, so beautiful Marielle was sure no one ever dared to sit on them, on either side of an ornate low table on which a sumptuous mother of pearl mosaic represented a Draekon flying with his dragon. Looking down at the table, she knew it was worth ten times what Devan owed Ignio Marula. A simple piece of furniture, one in a hundred—in a thousand—here in this castle, was worth more than her brother’s life.

  She hated every single piece of it.

  From where she stood, she could see the corner of a large bed in the adjoining room. It was piled high with blankets and pillows, and the intimacy of it made her uneasy. Lord Fedryc had brought her into his personal rooms, where he slept and ate, away from the eyes of the castle.

  Where he was at home, safe and comfortable.

  There was a small pile of heating crystals in each corner of the room, but they were not enough to heat the space and Marielle had to rub her arms over the silk of her dress to warm herself.

  Apparently, Lord Fedryc didn’t like warmth.

  The sound of the wind blowing lured her toward the bedroom, despite her initial misgivings. She pushed the heavy wood door separating the two rooms, and stared at the most glorious view she had ever seen. Her feet moved over the polished stone floor of their own accord, and soon she stood before an open window, under the harsh, cold wind of a desert night.

  As her eyes widened, she stared at a night sky filled with so many stars, they made her dizzy. The desert below was no less spectacular, with its sparse, parched grass and skeletal trees, far below and as far as the eyes could see. How far away she was from the filthy, cramped alleys of the low capital, where she was born and had spent her entire life. Now she was in the desert, in the Draekons’ fortress, surrounded by nothing but splendor and death. Even if she managed to slip outside the castle and run away, she had little hope of getting out of this desert alive. She turned and looked at the window, carved out of the sandstone of the cliff, a tribute to the power of Lord Aymond Haal, who had ordered a fortress carved out of the stone in the desert at the center of his kingdom. A place only a dragon could love.

  Marielle was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a door opening. She hurried out of the bedroom, but not fast enough. As she stepped into the living room, she spotted a tall, dark-haired young woman standing in the middle of the place, her silver eyes trained steadily on Marielle, aristocratic eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  At her feet was a beast the size of a large dog, covered in scales the shocking color of pure gold. The beast looked steadily at Marielle with eyes the same color as his scales, without flinching or blinking. Its long tail flipped in the air with irritation. Its body was long and lean, and its four paws tipped with talons several inches long. It had a long snout and upright ears that lay flat against its head in what looked like anger.

  It was a dragon, but it couldn’t be. It was way too small.

  This was the first time Marielle had seen a dragon at such close quarters—except for when she found Nissar, but the beast had been dead then, and she hadn’t paid it much attention.

  The small size of the beast intrigued her. Lord Aymond had sometimes landed in the capital atop his green dragon, albeit never in the low neighborhoods where she lived, but even from that distance, she could see the animal was massive, as large a house. Maybe this creature was a juvenile. The notion of a baby dragon was foreign, but it stood to reason that dragons, just like any other creature, were born small.

  “Marielle Jansen?”

  The girl stared at her, her porcelain-doll face blank of any emotion, her small, round mouth painted a bright red. She seemed younger than Marielle’s twenty-two years, and very pretty. Her skin was smooth and pale, and her large silver eyes, lined with rings of pure gold, contrasted strongly with her black, silken hair. She wore a dark red dress with black lace trim around her neckline, matching her lips and hair. Beside her, the tiny dragon cocked its head, looking straight at Marielle with almost human, intelligent eyes.

  “Yes.” Marielle patted her own tattered dress, acutely aware of her ragged appearance. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Silva, and this is Hyrio.” The girl exchanged a glance with her dragon, then looked back at Marielle. “Isobel Haal is my mother.”

  “Oh.” Marielle swallowed, pushing saliva down a suddenly tight throat. Isobel Haal had been the one who had sentenced her to death, without so much as meeting her. “I am sorry about your uncle. I didn’t hurt him, I swear.”

  “This is what Lord Fedryc seems to think, and I agree.” Silva nodded but her lips remained pursed with anger. “There’s no way my uncle—or Nissar—would have let you sneak poison close to him without incinerating you on sight.”

  The words chilled Marielle even more and the cold penetrated her bones, making her shiver with fear. If Silva didn’t think Marielle had killed her uncle, then why had she come to see her? Maybe she wasn’t telling the truth. Maybe she was there for retribution. Lord Fedryc’s words came back to her in a flash and Marielle backed up a step. Silva’s silver stare didn’t flinch as she watched her like a predator, the golden dragon unmoving at her feet.

  “So, I guess I’ll be sent back home, then,” Marielle said to the Draekon girl, hoping to break her carnivorous stare. “I’m not going to be of any use to your family now.”

  Silva’s lips lifted a fraction and she shook her head. “I am afraid things are not that easy. You have a mating contract with the Haal family, and it must be fulfilled.”

  “How is that?” Marielle frowned in confusion. Maybe the girl didn’t know? “I wasn’t able to… um… mate with Lord Aymond. I’m afraid a baby isn’t possible without that.”

  “You were compatible with Lord Aymond, so that means you have a great chance of being compatible with another member of the family. My mother will no doubt find someone to mate with you. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not going to be handed away like some whore!” Marielle chuckled, shaking her head at the thought of being shipped away to some Draekon Lord, never to see her family again. She was shocked to see Silva looking at her with big, astonished eyes.

  “You signed a contract, Marielle Jansen.” Silva shook her head, then glanced down at her dragon, her hand absently running over the golden scales. “You have to mate whoever is compatible with you and fulfill the contract if you want your freedom.”

  It was like being hit by a ton of rocks. Marielle swallowed compulsively, then had to steady herself against th
e long wooden buffet by the wall. She turned desperate, tear-filled eyes to Silva, not bothering to hide her distress. Distress was all she had to convince the girl to help her.

  “I can’t stay here.” Marielle shook her head violently. “I have to get back.”

  “You will get back to your old life, eventually,” Silva answered, still stroking her dragon’s golden scales. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “But I don’t have time!” Marielle almost shouted, her voice breaking. “There’s someone I need to see, back in Gelmor. Please, please help me. It can’t wait. It’s a matter of life or death.”

  Marielle held on to Silva’s silver and crimson eyes like a lifeline. Silva’s delicate face twisted with indecision as she held Marielle’s gaze.

  “If I help you,” Silva said with reluctance, moving from one foot to the next, “my mother will be very upset with me. She can be… strict.”

  “No one will ever know it was you.” Marielle stepped closer, clutching the front of the dress that had once been lovely, but was now dirty and torn. “I won’t tell anyone. I just need to get back before it’s too late.”

  Silva looked down at her dragon, her hand still on its head, and it was like they were talking, but no words left their lips. She finally looked up at Marielle, and nodded.

  “I will help you get out of the castle.” Silva shook her head. “But I can’t do anything more than that. You will be on your own in the desert. You could die.”

  “It’s okay.” Marielle smiled, her relief tempered with fear growing inside her chest. Because Silva was right. The desert was not a forgiving place. “I’ll take my chances. If you could give me some water and some food, I’ll manage to get back.”

  After a long silence, Silva turned in a flurry of red silk and Marielle followed, fear in her mind and worry in her heart.

  Because, one way or the other, she had to get back.

  Chapter 5

  Fedryc stepped into his father’s old office with Nyra and Henron on his heels. They remained silent as he turned and looked around, taking in the appearance of the place. The very walls of this room exuded his father’s presence, taunting him like a macabre joke. It was a reminder that Lord Aymond Haal had loved and enjoyed many things in his long life. Many things except his only son. Fedryc had barely known the man the world had known as Lord Aymond Haal, and Lord Aymond Haal had never shown any interest in him. He had only shown Fedryc scorn—scorn and disappointment.

  Memories flooded his mind in an unshakable tide, and Fedryc was brought back to his lonely childhood in the hallways of the Imperial castle, to the last time he had spoken face to face with Lord Aymond Haal.

  He walked beside the tall, surly man with Nyra on his heels, uncharacteristically tame and silent. At nearly twelve years old, he knew who the man was, and why he came to visit him in the Imperial palace. Yet, with each visit, he felt like this man was more a stranger than his father.

  Maybe it was his fault, for having killed his mother. If he was in his father’s place, he wouldn’t want to know his son, either.

  “And have you ridden Nyra yet?” the man asked, looking down at him with his cold, assessing eyes. “Most boys your age have.”

  “No, Sir.” Fedryc shook his head and looked down as the man stopped walking. Behind him, Nyra stopped too. “Nyra doesn’t like flight training. She much prefers to play. She thinks we don’t have enough play time.”

  “And whose fault might that be?”

  Tears, hot and stubborn, burned his eyelids, and Fedryc fought them with all his heart. But to no avail. The salty moisture increased and filled his eyes, and he forced himself not to blink. Not to betray weakness in the face of his father.

  “Look at me, Fedryc.” The man’s voice was a steady flow of ice. “No son of mine shies away from his duties.”

  Fedryc inhaled deeply, trying to settle his breathing into a semblance of control, then wiped his cheeks clean, knowing full well that it would give his weakness away but unable to avoid it.

  “Yes, Sir.” Fedryc looked at the thin-faced man who called himself his father. His fine lips were closed tight together, so hard they were white. His mouth was lined with fine wrinkles, and his hair lay perfectly tamed on his head. He looked exactly the way a High Lord was supposed to look, and nothing like a father should. Those silver eyes saw everything inside him, every weakness and every failure, and every year, Lord Aymond Haal came to the Emperor’s court to remind his son how unworthy he was.

  “Nyra is much too wild. You have to tame her.”

  Fedryc’s heart grew heavy, and the ball of feelings at the core of his chest churned angry and hot. At his side, Nyra rubbed her muzzle against his hand, absorbing his pain and anger, his fear. A flash of brashness answered Fedryc’s pain, coming directly from the dragoness’ untamed heart, and he lifted his head to address his father.

  “Nyra isn’t too wild.” He heard himself speak in a strong, steady voice. “She’s just bored by all those lessons.”

  “She wouldn’t be bored if she took her training seriously.” Lord Aymond Haal bore down on Fedryc and Nyra, his face taut with repressed anger. “This is why I sent you here, as a ward of the Emperor. To train to become the High Lord of Aalstad and carry on the family’s honor after I die. Not to fool around in the fields with a wild dragonet.”

  “But we train all day!” Fedryc couldn’t contain himself anymore. All his loneliness came bubbling up, all those hours spent under the cold, uncaring eyes of the masters, studying dusty books, training with heavy swords until his palms bled and his arms ached. “Before Henron came, we didn’t even have anyone to play with.”

  “Henron Ralun is not an acquaintance fit for a future Draekon High Lord.” Lord Aymond pursed his lips.

  “Henron is my friend!” Fedryc spoke louder this time. “He’s the only friend I ever had here!”

  “You will stop your foolishness. You will concentrate on your training.” Lord Aymond Haal’s eyes gleamed with anger but his voice became lower, more controlled as he articulated each word carefully. “You will not spend time with a boy who is the shame of his family. And most of all, you will tame your dragoness so you will not embarrass me any longer!”

  Fedryc stared at the stranger who was his father. Those cold, cold eyes. That stern face, void of any warmth. How he despised himself, and how he despised this empty-hearted man for letting him know that he should never have been born.

  This man who called himself his father. Fedryc knew he should back down but the emotions filled him, all those years of pain and loneliness came back with a bite. He didn’t care anymore. Lord Aymond Haal could berate him all he wanted, but Fedryc wasn’t allowing Nyra to fall under his cruel words.

  “You don’t know Nyra. You don’t know me!” Fedryc shouted. “And you don’t tell me what to do!”

  The slap came, hard and painful. Fedryc fell on his ass, rolling over Nyra. The dragoness writhed out from under him, then jumped protectively over Fedryc’s body. Nyra hissed, smoke and heat coming from her open mouth, her fangs at the ready.

  “Restrain your dragon.” Lord Aymond stood over Nyra and Fedryc, his hands balled into fists.

  “She’s only trying to protect me.” Fedryc was crying openly now, his cheek burning, his eyes dripping with unrestrained tears. He wrapped his arms around the dragoness’ neck, trying to prevent her from attacking his father, but with the physical contact, all the beast received was his searing anger, his raw pain at the disgust he sensed in his father’s words, his father’s eyes. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

  Lord Aymond Haal stared at his son and at the writhing juvenile dragoness, all teeth and scaly fury. His composure came back slowly, the mask of steely control erasing the anger inch by inch. His hands relaxed and he wiped his palms on the silk of his pants.

  “There will be no more child’s play,” Lord Aymond announced in a voice cold enough to slice through flesh like a knife. “You will train with Nyra as befits the future Lord of Aalstad. Ther
e will be no more discussion on the subject.”

  With one last icy look, he turned away from his only son, and walked down the deserted hallway of the ward’s wing of the Imperial castle. Fedryc watched his father leave, a stone as cold as winter and heavy as his heart settling between his ribs.

  As he reached the corner of the long hallway, Lord Aymond paused, then turned back to Fedryc. “I’m doing this for your own good. You’ll understand one day, son.”

  Then his father left, never to return for a face to face visit again.

  Fedryc opened his eyes, pushing the memories back into the pitch-black hole where they belonged. Emotions coiled inside him, nearing the surface, deadly and full of repressed anger, flowing like lava, ready to wipe the world clean in a rightful rage. He swallowed the old pain down, knowing there would never be anything done about it. Not now that Lord Aymond Haal was gone from this world.

  He turned to stare at Henron and Nyra. His two oldest friends. They were more than that. They were the family he had chosen.

  I’m here now, Father. I won’t let you down, even if you deserve nothing of my loyalty.

  He would honor his father’s life at the Mourning that was coming, and would hold his family’s seat on Earth as High Lord of Aalstad. He would find and punish his father’s murderer. And he would protect the human woman his father had been about to mate.

  If only.

  Fedryc pushed the thoughts of his childhood away, knowing it would consume all his mind if he allowed himself to look back at the old grief and the years of longing. He was not a boy anymore, and there was no place in a Draekon’s life for weakness. He needed to assert his hold on power on his father’s seat, and for that, he would have to be ruthless.

  His life hung in the balance, but moreover, Marielle Jansen’s life depended on it too.

  Fedryc shed the embrace of the past and turned to look at his father’s old office again. Knowledge lined the walls of his father’s office, shelves and shelves of it, from floor to ceiling, precious volumes on all the subjects dear to the Draekon people.