by K. C. Julius
My mother is a Lurker. If knowing this means you must retract your proposal, I will understand.
If it made no difference to him, she would know she could trust in his steadfast affection. Then later, once he was crowned, she would tell him about being dragonfast, for she hoped he would consider it a fine gift, in place of the dowry she did not bring with her.
Because of the rain, she didn’t hear the door open, but Roth’s scent announced that he had entered her chamber unbidden. She was only half out of her seat when he caught her in his swift embrace and pressed his mouth hard on hers.
She pulled back with a gasp.
“You haven’t undressed?” he murmured, drawing her gown off her shoulder. “Let me help you.”
Maura shrugged off his hands and retreated a step. “You mistake my invitation, sir,” she said, mustering as much hauteur as she could manage.
For the briefest of moments, she thought he would persist, but then he took up both her hands in his. “Forgive me. I see that I have.” He kissed her fingertips softly. “You must forgive my impatience, my dear. A woman such as yourself can’t help but stir a man’s blood, even if you don’t intend it.” Gently, he drew her dress back over her shoulder. “What is it then, if not love-making, that you so urgently require of me?”
Maura could feel the hot blood in her cheeks. She was grateful when Roth turned to pour a goblet of wine so that she could steady herself. “None for me, my lord,” she said.
“My lord?” He dropped into a chair, cradling his goblet in his hands. “Why so formal suddenly, Maura? We’re engaged to be married.” He looked up at her in puzzled amusement.
Maura forced herself not to look away. “I have something to tell you—about my mother.”
Roth heaved a weary sigh. “Please sit down, dearest. You look as though you fear I might eat you. Now, that’s better,” he said, as she lowered herself stiffly into the chair opposite. “About your mother—we’ve been through this before, but perhaps I wasn’t clear. I know she wasn’t a Gralian princess. In fact, I know all about Daera Trok.”
Maura was stunned to learn he knew her mother’s name. “You do? But how?”
Roth gave a light laugh. “I made a few inquiries. You needn’t worry, my dearest. All that matters is that we are both of royal blood, even if yours is only through your father. If your mother came from less than noble stock, no one need be the wiser. The story of your Gralian upbringing has already long been accepted at court. We’ll leave it as it stands.”
Maura sank back, feeling light with relief. He knew about her Lurker blood and didn’t care. “So it really makes no difference to you?”
He shook his head. “None whatsoever.”
“But what about your mother?” she persisted. “And the Tribus? For that matter, the citizenry of Drinnglennin?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “They’ve all accepted you as the daughter of Prince Storn. As for your mother’s lineage, no one ever contested the account Urlion put abroad, and none will dare challenge it now. Only I know she is a commoner. There are worse things.”
He rose, tipping back his goblet, then set it down. “Now, you must sleep,” he said, bending to place a chaste kiss on her brow, “and dream of me.”
He left her to numbly undress and crawl into the wide bed, seething with frustrated anger at herself. It was no good trying to convince herself that he knew the truth. Roth had said nothing about Daera Trok being an å Livåri, and she had lacked the courage to apprise him of this.
She tried to tell herself that perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps no one need ever know, for if Roth had made inquiries and yet had not learned of her mother’s heritage, presumably no one else would either. And if he really loved her, as he professed to, surely it would make no difference.
I will tell him, Maura promised herself.
Still, she lay wide-eyed listening to the rushing rain. She had just accepted a proposal of marriage that would make her the High Queen of Drinnglennin. Why then did she feel as if she had stepped off a cliff from which she would ever fall?
Epilogue
The undying rush of the wind swept over the frozen land as, one by one, the dragons came together. The debate as to whether or not to bind had been ongoing for centuries, ever since they fled to the island sanctuary of Belestar. But now, invoking the ancient right of every dragon, Aed had called a drakmøøt, a conclave that could not end until a decision had been reached.
Listening to Aed put forth his proposal, Emlyn, his sister, felt her blood grow cold.
“It is time,” the red drake insisted, “to leave Belestar and make the Known World safe for dragonkind once more. There is only one way we can preserve ourselves and our future, and that is by eradicating our enemies.”
Emlyn’s angry hiss broke the silence, but she knew better than to interrupt.
It is the way of dragons to deliberate and ponder at length, each speaking in turn before they come together at last to a resolution. But on the subject of binding, the arguments had all been heard. The law of the drakmøøt was inviolable, and by calling it, Aed had forced the issue. Now each dragon must take a stance.
“Who will be the first to answer my call?” Aed said. He stepped back, signaling he had said all he intended to say.
Isolde, the eldest, spoke first, as was her right. “We are not all present. We cannot speak for Ilyria and Rhiandra.”
“They made their choice,” growled Gryffyn.
“It is still their right to formally state their positions.” Emlyn ruffled her sea-green wings, dark smoke pluming from her nostrils. “Aed is out of order, calling this drakmøøt when our sisters are away in Mithralyn.”
“They have been gone far longer than agreed,” said Zal, “and we cannot wait indefinitely. Indeed, they may never return.”
“We must honor their rights all the same!” Emlyn insisted. “It is the law.”
Syrene made a low, threatening sound in her throat. “Our sisters have betrayed us,” the golden dragon retorted, “and thereby forfeit those rights. Soon my clutch will hatch into a world in which they will be feared and hunted down. It is past time for us to act. I say we become the hunters.”
“As do I,” Gryffyn growled, his sinuous tail lashing.
Zal nodded his great crested head in agreement. “I am with you.” He regarded the dragons who had not yet spoken. “That makes five assents.”
Emlyn glared at him. “I say we should make bindings, all of us. This is what will save us.” She turned to Isolde. “Sister, will you not lend your voice?”
“Yes,” replied the silver dragon. “I too choose binding. Menlo?”
“If we embark on a course of war,” said the indigo drake, “the outcome will be our demise. I will bind.”
It was Una’s turn to speak. “I have no driving desire to bind again,” she said, “but to consider eradicating humankind, with whom for millennia we lived in peace, is abhorrent to me. If I must seek a bindling to avoid this, I will. We all must.”
It was left to Ciann, their pale brother, to cast the deciding vote. In the dense silence, the wind gusted, laying the flames of the fire low as they waited for him to speak.
“I abstain,” he declared at last.
The dragons hissed. With this vote, Ciann had prevented the drakmøøt from coming to a conclusion. Consensus was not required to end it, but a majority was. There was no choice left to the dragons but to continue the debate, in hopes of luring Ciann to one side or the other, or swaying the position of a dragon already declared.
Long into the arctic night and into the next as well, the dragons deliberated. At last, just before the low sun slipped below the horizon on the third day, Zal signaled his frustration with a blast of fire that flared into the clouds.
“There is only one way for us to settle this,” he said. “I will go to Mithralyn and bring Rhiandra a
nd Ilyria back with me to cast their votes.”
Isolde looked as surprised as the others at the black drake’s offer. “You will abide by the decision we then reach?” she asked. “You must know, brother, as well as I, how they will choose.”
“Our weyr is all we have left,” said Zal gravely. “I will honor the laws of our kind. If it is the will of the majority to bind, then so be it.” He stretched his great wings, then lifted his snout to scent the air. “More snow is coming in the night. I will fly for Drinnglennin at once.”
“I will go with you,” Emlyn declared.
“I would not have you risk this, sister,” Zal protested. “The moon is waxing, and the skies to the south might be clear. One dragon, especially one such as I, can travel under cover of darkness, but your jade scales glow like jewels in the moonlight.”
“I agree,” said Isolde. “The risk is too great, Emlyn.”
“Better that I go alone.” Zal lowered his head to them all in farewell.
Emlyn opened her mouth to protest, but Menlo spoke first. “I think not. I will accompany you.”
For a breath, Zal looked as if he might object. But then he inclined his head in acceptance. “Of course, brother. Then I suggest we waste no time.”
* * *
They were halfway between Belestar and the northern shores of Drinnglennin when Menlo lost sight of the black drake. Heavy clouds had rolled in from the west, making visibility poor even for a dragon’s keen eyes. Menlo dropped toward the roiling water, searching for his brother on the nameless isles peppering the inky sea.
Too late, Menlo heard the rush of the black drake’s descent directly above him. Instinctively, Menlo rolled, and a streak of searing breath blasted past him.
Unthinkable as it was, Menlo knew this had been no accident.
He had long suspected his brother would go to almost any lengths to unite his siblings against the human race; it was for this very reason that Menlo had insisted on accompanying Zal to Mithralyn. The black drake meant to go against that which had always been inviolable—the bloodties of dragonkind, which had since time immemorial served as the linchpin of their survival.
Zal never intended for Menlo to arrive in Mithralyn. Nor would it serve his purpose to bring Rhiandra and Ilyria back to Belestar to cast their votes.
Menlo shot skyward, for if he remained below his brother, he would have no chance against the great black’s superior speed. Zal would drop on him like a boulder and strike him from the sky.
The black drake hurtled toward him, quickly closing the distance between them, seemingly confident that Menlo would not, as Zal had just done, violate the sacrosanct law and attack his kin.
Menlo swerved just before Zal struck, then climbed for his life, higher in the sky. With a roar of fury and fire, Zal shot after him. The indigo drove through the clouds, higher and higher. At this altitude, the air was so cold that he could feel ice crystals forming on his thin-skinned wings. He veered north, then west before daring to dart a look back.
He scoured the sky, but Zal had disappeared.
Menlo desperately wanted to believe that his brother was having second thoughts, but he was too wise not to consider that the black was simply biding his time, knowing he would have to descend soon, for the weight of the accumulating ice was already dragging on his wings.
Conserving his strength, Menlo spiraled into a slow, silent glide, down, down, until, with a heaving breast, he came to rest on a barren rocky isle. He was not deceived by the empty sky. He waited, his ears straining to hear above the hollow song of the wind for the sound that would signal the next assault.
When none came, he set off south once more with the greatest urgency. Zal’s attack had been in earnest, and Menlo knew he must get to Mithralyn before his brother.
We cannot trust him ever again.
It was Menlo’s last thought before Zal plummeted from the clouds, his talons bared, to drive the indigo dragon into the frigid sea.
Book III:
Bindings of Peril
by K. C. Julius
Dedicated to Tom, Dörte, Markus,
Ben, Asha and Erin,
and in memory of Harry,
beloved sons and daughters of my heart
The Main Characters
The Royal House
Roth Nelvor—High King of Drinnglennin
Queen Grindasa—Roth’s mother
Members of the Nelvor Court
Lady Hadley—Roth’s cousin
Lady Maitane—Roth’s cousin
Lord Vetch—High Commander of the Royal Forces
Lord Lawton—King Roth’s Master-of-the-Chamber and distant cousin
Thameth Wynnfort—Lord Chancellor
The House of Konigur
Princess Asmara—cloistered sister of Urlion & Storn(both deceased)
Maura—bastard daughter of Storn
Drinnkastel denizens
Heulwin—Maura’s maid
Llwella—Asmara’s maid
Gilly—proprietor of The Tilted Kilt, a tavern in Drinnkastel
The Tribus
Selka—a sorceress from Langmerdor
Audric—a wizard, and Morgan’s former mentor
Celaidra—an elven princess of Mithralyn, cousin to the elven king Elvinor
The Northerners
Leif—grandson of Avis and the late Pren Landril, son of Lira Landril (deceased), former apprentice to Master Morgan
Morgan—discredited wizard and former Tribus member
Sir Heptorious du Bois—Earl of Windend
Borne Braxton—mercenary soldier serving in Gral, Heptorious’s former ward
Maisie—mistress of Port Taygh
Horace—Maisie’s husband, master of Port Taygh
The Midlanders
Lady Inis of Lorendale—widow of Lord Valen, sister of Rhea, cousin of Urlion
Halla—eldest child and only daughter of the late Lord Valen and Lady Inis
Nolan—Lord of Lorendale, son of Lady Inis and Lord Valen
Gray—second son of Lord Valen and Lady Inis
Pearce—youngest son of Lord Valen and Lady Inis
Lady Rhea—Lord Jaxe’s widow, sister of Inis, cousin of Urlion
Whit—Lord of Cardenstowe, only child of Lord Jaxe and Lady Rhea
Cortenus—Whit’s tutor from Karan-Rhad
Wren—Lord of Elthing and one of Whit’s vassals
Mistress Ella—chatelaine of Trillyon, a hunting lodge of Cardenstowe
The Southerners
Sir Glinter—mercenary leader of Drinnglennian company serving in Gral
Lord Grenville Fitz-Pole of Bodiaer Castle, Langmerdor
Lady Guin—Lord Grenville’s wife
The Gralians
Crenel Etiene Fralour Du Regis —King of Gral
Latour—Marechal of Gral
Comte Rapett—King Crenel’s cousin
Du Mulay—powerful rogue knight
Comte Balfou—leader of the Gralian mission to Olquaria
D’Avencote—aide to King Crenel’s herald in Olquaria
The Albrenians
King Jorgev—ruler of Albrenia
Seor Palan de Grathiz—High Commander of the Albrenian forces
The Helgrins
Fynn Aetheorsen—son of Aetheor Yarl and Jana, his Drinnglennian mistress
Jered Aetheorsen—elder son of Aetheor Yarl and Wylda Olviddotter, his lawful wife
Aksel Styrsen—nephew of the yarl, Fynn’s cousin
The å Livåri
Grinner—Fynn’s cellmate
Bria—Halla’s childhood friend
Florian—Bria’s brother
Nicu—leader of rebels in Albrenia
Chik—follower of Nicu
Baldo—follower of Ni
cu
Barav—friend and informant of Master Morgan
Lehr—Barav’s cousin, leader of his clan
The Olquarians
Zlatan—Basileus of Olquaria
Mir—bastard son of Zlatan and a Drinnglennian member of the hareem
Kurash Al-Gir—hazar of the Khardeshe, the Seven Thousand Companions
The Elves of Mithralyn
Elvinor Celvarin—the Elven king
Egydd—an elven mage
Tarna Mrenhines—the Faerie Queen
The Dragons
Ilyria—bronze, bound to Maura
Rhiandra—blue, bound to Leif
Isolde—silver
Gryffyn—gray
Emlyn—forest green
Aed—red
Syrene—gold
Una—sea green
Menlo—indigo
Ciann—white
Zal—black
Other
Lazdac—wizard, last of the infamous Strigori brothers
Prologue
The drakmøøt had ended at last. Zal and Menlo were the first to lift into the sky and wheel away, then one by one, the other dragons went off to sleep or feed.
Except for Emlyn. Fear, not hunger, stirred in her gut. Since the very moment Zal had proposed to seek Ilyria and Rhiandra in Mithralyn, she had been suspicious of his motives. Those misgivings drove her now.
She lingered until Syrene, the last of them, took flight. Then with swiftly beating wings, Emlyn went after the two drakes who had pledged to bring their bound sisters back to Belestar. Only when they returned—if they returned—would the drakmøøt reconvene, and the dragons determine once and for all whether the unbound dragons must seek bindlings.
This debate had been ongoing for centuries, and with good reason. Passions ran deep on both sides of the argument, and a unanimous decision was inconceivable. If the vote went in favor of binding, as Emlyn believed it would, the drakes opposed would be furious. And their outrage might lead to the unthinkable: an irreparable rift within their weyr, pitting dragon against dragon. It would mean the doom of their kind, and dragons would pass from the Known World.
