Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone Book 5)

by Annette Marie

  Lyre chuckled. She glanced back at the two guys walking side by side, Lyre grinning mischievously while Ash outwardly appeared serious but with that quiet spark of amusement in his eyes. Her heart swelled with emotion. She stopped and the two daemons halted, Lyre opening his mouth to speak. She walked up to them and threw an arm around each of their necks, pulling them forcibly into a hug.

  “Piper, what—” Lyre spluttered.

  “Nothing,” she said, releasing them after a firm, heartfelt squeeze. “Let’s go help with the set up.”

  Ash and Lyre blinked at her. Looked at each other. Looked back at her.

  She smiled at them and walked away again. Behind her, she heard Lyre’s exasperated mutter.

  “We incubi might claim to understand them,” he grumbled to Ash, “but no male can actually comprehend how a woman’s mind works.”

  “It’s safer to not even try.”

  Piper snorted and hurried to join the draconian women, leaving the guys to their philosophizing.

  Chapter Six

  Satisfaction added a little extra flavor to her dinner. Piper popped another bite of fried fish into her mouth, relishing the taste after so many weeks of dried rations and bland soups. Hunting dinner herself really added to the experience of eating it, especially since her dinner had tried to take a bite of her first.

  She sat on a log with Ash on one side and Lyre on the other, both holding empty bowls, meals devoured. The rest of the group sat around the fire on logs they’d dragged out of the forest. Nestled against the steep, rocky cliff beside the waterfall, their tents waited for them. After some sleep, they would start constructing a wooden shelter. Periskios was waning again, meaning the long night was half over, but many hours of darkness still awaited them.

  Piper’s gaze idly wandered from face to face as she finished her meal. Coby, Ivria, and Shona chatted cheerfully. Denna coaxed Yana and Netia, the two youngest children, to eat the unfamiliar fish while Mahala contemplated the fire. Seiya talked quietly with Raum, Kiev sitting nearby, listening. Sivan, Jezel, and Raisa played some kind of dice game in the light of the fire.

  She hoped the draconians’ journey was almost over. Even this little valley would make a lovely home, assuming it could support them, while Raum and Ash kept searching for an ideal location. And maybe, just maybe, they would find another tribe of draconians living in these mountains. How wonderful would it be for them to join another group of their own caste and reconnect with their people and culture?

  Beside her, Ash stared tiredly into the fire, his head bobbing occasionally as he nodded off only to catch himself. She would have badgered him to just go to one of the tents and sleep but she knew his pride wouldn’t allow him to retire first. He would wait until, at the very least, the children were sent to their beds.

  On her other side, Lyre hunched over a small green gem, turning it slowly in his hands. Little sparks of magic danced around his fingers as he worked on whatever spell he was weaving. He spent most of their downtime working on spells. She suspected it was a usual pastime of his that he’d kept hidden from her before now.

  She watched him spin the stone again and asked softly, “What are you making?”

  He glanced up and flashed her a smile. “Nothing interesting.”

  She gave him a hard look. “I doubt that. Why the secrecy?”

  He pursed his lips and looked at the gem. “Not secrecy. Just …”

  “Just what?”

  “Well, I should probably be making defensive spells or something useful, which this isn’t. It’s just a bit of illusion magic that I was making as a trinket for … Seiya.”

  Piper’s eyebrows rose and Ash’s head came up, turning toward Lyre.

  He gave a little shrug. “Her spirits have been kind of low lately with how long it’s taking her wing to heal. I thought it might cheer her up.”

  “That’s sweet,” Piper said hesitantly, not entirely sure how to respond. Wasn’t a custom-spelled gift kind of … romantic? “What’s the illusion of?”

  “I’ll show you if I can actually get it to work.”

  Ash leaned around her to give Lyre a hard look. “It’s not your fault.”

  Piper blinked, confused. Lyre’s eyes dropped from Ash to the gem in his hands, his mouth twisting.

  “You got her out of there,” Ash continued. “Don’t beat yourself up about her injuries. You stayed behind so she could escape. Neither she nor I could have asked for more.”

  Lyre sighed, the sound full of regret. Sympathy welled in Piper. So that was it. His spell wasn’t a romantic gesture, but an apology that he hadn’t prevented the debilitating injury to Seiya’s wing in their escape from the Ra embassy.

  “Yeah!” Raisa exclaimed, her voice cutting through all the quiet conversations. “I rolled a dragon king! You lose.”

  Jezel irritably threw her dice down, scowling.

  “A dragon king?” Piper repeated.

  Coby glanced at her as she stretched her legs out. “Triple nines, the highest roll. Automatic win. It’s the same dice game most kids play, but we came up with more draconian names for different rolls.”

  “I’ve never rolled a dragon king before,” Raisa gushed while Jezel rolled her eyes. “So cool!”

  “You wouldn’t be so excited if the roll summoned the actual dragon king,” Shona teased her.

  Raisa’s eyes widened. “Yes I would! That would be the coolest thing ever.”

  “It’s just a myth,” Jezel said flatly.

  Scowling, Raisa tossed her dice on the ground in front of Jezel. “I think it’s true. You can’t prove he doesn’t exist.”

  “And you can’t prove he does,” the older girl snapped. “It’s just a stupid legend.”

  “What is the dragon king?” Lyre cut in before the girls could get into an argument.

  “Well,” Coby said, “it depends which story you’re talking about. The dragon king is supposedly the all-powerful, magical dragon who created the draconian people. In other stories, it’s another name for the great dragons—the really big ones.”

  “Really big dragons?” Piper asked curiously.

  “Yes, we have many stories of them,” Coby said. “Whether the great dragons are actually real or just a myth is up for debate.”

  “Oh, tell her the story of the dragon king!” Raisa said. “I bet she hasn’t heard it.”

  “It’s a draconian story.” Jezel jerked her chin toward Piper. “She’s not a draconian.”

  “It’s just a story,” Coby said firmly.

  “But—”

  Shona clapped her hands once, silencing all talk. Even Raum looked over. Yana wobbled over to Ivria, her mother, and climbed into her lap, clutching her stuffed dragonet toy. Shona straightened, her serene aura of authority claiming everyone’s attention.

  “At the beginning of time,” she began, her words taking on a slow, melodic rhythm, “the worlds were ruled by two great dragons. The black dragon was the Lord of Skies, and his sister, the silver dragon, was the Lady of Seas. They danced through the endless skies and waters of all the worlds, enamored with the beauty of each land. When one world tired them, they would dive through the fabric of the universe itself to a new world to explore, leaving trails of their magic across the lands.”

  “She means the ley lines,” Raisa whispered to Piper, apparently concerned she wouldn’t make the connection herself.

  “As the worlds spun and the universe aged,” Shona continued solemnly, “the great dragons tired of their explorations. They’d left so much magic behind upon the worlds they’d visited, and they were weary. One day, the Lord of Skies bid his dear sister a final farewell. He returned to his favorite world, a land where tiny dragon cousins had once soared through the clouds with him. There, he chose the majestic mountains for his resting place.

  “He lay upon the earth and closed his eyes for the longest slumber—a sleep he did not expect to wake from. But as he prepared for his slumber, he felt the magic still flowing through him and thought
of the great waste of allowing it to fade with him. So in a final act, he called the tiny dragons to him and invited the boldest and bravest to step forward. Those few he imbued with his power. The dragonets evolved in the forges of the king’s power into draconians.

  “Each newly born draconian bore a flame of the king’s black fire within him, and the king bid the draconians to share their gifts with their dragonet brothers and sisters. To the strongest of the new draconians, the one who contained the greatest flame and greatest power, the king said, ‘You who bear the heart flame of my magic, I call on you to protect and nurture the fires of your kin. Be their shield, their taroth, and protect them until the day I awaken once again.’ And then the king’s eyes closed and he slept the silent slumber of the deepest night.

  “The draconian who bore the king’s heart flame then took Taroth as his name, so never would he or his descendants forget that they were the shields of their people, the guardians of draconians and dragonets. He led them from the king’s sleeping place and out into the world where they too soared through the clouds, their chosen dragonet companions beside them, with whom they could share their flame and imbue the dragonets with a touch of the dragon king’s spirit.”

  “And his size,” Raisa explained to Piper in a whisper, “so they can get bigger.”

  Shona cleared her throat. “And the draconians flew through the skies of their world, each generation led by, and protected by, a Taroth who carried the king’s heart flame within him. Some say the king slipped into the deep, forever sleep of death. Others say he slumbers beneath the earth even now, recovering his strength and spirit until the distant future dawn when he will call the Taroth back to him and reclaim his heart flame so he may once again soar across the skies of a thousand worlds with his silver sister of the seas.”

  Her final words rang through the clearing. The quiet night pressed down on the group as they all contemplated the story, their thoughts private and unspoken.

  “Ash?”

  The small, sweet voice barely penetrated the silence. Piper looked around in bewilderment, having no clue whom the voice belonged to. Everyone was staring at Netia, the second youngest girl, sitting beside Denna with her hands clasped in her lap as she looked intently at Ash.

  “Yes, Netia?” he replied bemusedly.

  Netia’s gaze became even more intent. “Why haven’t you had a baby?”

  Piper’s mouth fell open. Coby choked on a stifled snort.

  “A baby?” Ash repeated, sounding remarkably composed.

  “You need to have a baby,” Netia said seriously. “Like Raum had Yana. You need to have a Taroth baby. If you die, the dragon king can’t get his heart flame back when he wakes up.”

  “The dragon king’s heart flame is very precious,” Ash responded gravely. “I will protect it carefully until I can give it to the next Taroth.”

  “Don’t die first.”

  “I will do my best.”

  The little girl gave a satisfied nod and leaned her head on Denna’s arm. Denna patted the child’s head, her face contorted with the effort not to laugh.

  Coby let out a loud exhale as though expelling all the laughter she’d suppressed. “Nice retelling, Shona. Though the bit about the ley lines always makes me snort. Our legends are rather pretentious, aren’t they?”

  “Just a bit,” the older woman replied with a smile. “That’s my favorite version. I’m less fond of the versions where the dragon king will eventually awaken and take all his magic back from all draconians, destroying us, or the one where he rises again to rule us as our immortal god.”

  “Or everyone’s least favorite,” Coby said, “the one where the draconians actually stole the dragon king’s magic and on the darkest nights of each year, he hunts the skies for draconians from whom he can rip the magic out.”

  “I like Shona’s version the best too,” Piper said dryly.

  Raisa got up, leaving Jezel and Sivan to play dice, and sat beside the older women. “Shona, you should tell the story of Diza the Dragonet.”

  Shona smiled and began a story about a mischievous dragonet who got lost in a dangerous forest. As Piper listened to the tale with a smile, Ash rose, slipping away from the firelight. She looked over as he headed away from the camp. Giving Lyre a questioning look, she got up and followed him into the surrounding trees.

  She trotted a few steps to catch up before he vanished into the darkness.

  “Hey,” she murmured. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, his voice equally quiet. “Just needed some space.”

  “Oh.” Her steps slowed. “Do you want me to leave?”

  He reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her after him. Her heart fluttered a little. She matched his stride as they wandered into the trees. She let the silence envelop them, content to keep him company.

  The forest was quiet, the leafy ground absorbing their footsteps. The trees had narrow trunks and rose high above their heads before sprouting narrow canopies of red leaves, the scarlet washed out by the silvery light reflecting off Periskios. Pale light spotted the forest floor, illuminating dangling strands of white vines that hung from the branches of the trees overhead. Since Ash hadn’t warned her about anything, she assumed none of the plant life here would try to eat her, unlike in the Overworld.

  She watched him out of the corner of her eyes as they meandered among the trees, their hands entwined. Netia’s question repeated in her head. The others had found it hilarious—mostly because it was so inappropriate—but Ash hadn’t looked amused. Piper wasn’t sure if he’d just been humoring the child, but she didn’t think it was funny either.

  A dominant daemon bloodline like the Taroths’ would pass from father to son with minimal dilution, but she hadn’t thought about what that meant for the bloodline’s continuation. Maybe she’d subconsciously blocked out thoughts about it. If Ash was the last Taroth, the only way the line could continue was if he fathered children. Even as the very last Taroth, he could singlehandedly restore his family’s line—one of the reasons he was so dangerous to Hades.

  If Ash didn’t reproduce, the family line and name would die with him. The responsibility for continuing the bloodline of the draconians’ ruling family rested solely on his shoulders. And if he were going to produce a Taroth offspring, it would be with a draconian woman.

  Painful jealousy stabbed her but she shoved it down. One day at a time with him—that’s what she’d decided. She’d take whatever time with him she could get, and if someday he had to leave her to go make Taroth babies, then so be it.

  “What did you think of the story?” Ash asked abruptly, his deep voice rumbling through her bones like part of the night. “About the dragon king?”

  Unsure what kind of answer he was looking for, she said, “It’s quite the tale. Most cultures have a myth or two about their origins or their creator. What I found most surprising was the apparent reference to the Overworld water dragons.”

  He stopped. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “The silver dragon, Lady of Seas,” she mused. “In a way, the water dragons are to the ryujin what the dragonets are to the draconians, though I don’t know what kind of bond the ryujin have with their dragons. It’s pretty crazy that a draconian legend would mention them though, huh?”

  “Yeah …” He gave his head a little shake. The silvery glow of Periskios highlighted one cheekbone as he looked at her, the other side of his face in shadow. “I never liked the dragon king story.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a romantic pseudo-explanation for a lot of things we don’t understand. Where we came from, our bonds with dragonets, why we can help them change form. Even the ley lines and the different worlds.”

  “But that’s not why you don’t like the story,” she guessed. “What actually bothers you about it?”

  He grunted and pulled away from her. He strode half a dozen paces away, spun, and walked back. Stopping in front of her, he lifted his arms and spre
ad his wings to their full span.

  “What do you see?” he asked, his tone oddly flat, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

  She considered him. A hundred answers jumped into her mind: the man she loved, for starters. A powerful draconian, a dragon in human shape, a fearless warrior. But he was looking for a particular answer and she didn’t know which one. Unlike Lyre, who could keep a conversation going in circles until she was dizzy, Ash was a straightforward guy. He wasn’t the type for word games, so she decided to cut right to the chase.

  “What do you want me to say? I see the same thing you do in a mirror.”

  He dropped his arms and snapped his wings in and out restlessly. His gaze shifted around the forest, landing everywhere but on her.

  “I don’t look like the others,” he finally said.

  She tensed a little. So that’s what he was getting at. He’d never before mentioned the differences between him and the others.

  “Not that different,” she said cautiously. “You’re still very much a draconian.”

  “I know I’m just as draconian as they are,” he said, half-mumbling. “But I’ve always been different, and not just in appearance. I’ve never fit in with them.”

  She chose her words carefully, wary of inflicting an unintentional wound. “Well, the others are all related in various ways, aren’t they? Your bloodlines are different, so it’s logical that you wouldn’t quite blend in with the extended family group.”

  His eyes flicked toward her. “But what bloodlines do I have?”

  As soon as the question left his lips, his whole body tensed in anticipation of her response. This was what he’d been leading up to, she realized. He began to pace, striding one way then the other in front of her.

  “It’s just a name,” he said, the words fast but quiet. “He was half insane by the time he told it to my mother. Maybe he just wanted to mess with Samael. No one knew who he was, not even her. She told me she didn’t plan to give me the name, to spare me the suffering of bearing it, but when I was born, she knew in her gut she had to honor his wishes. She told me before she died it was the right choice, that I looked so much like him that it was only right that I carry his name. She said I was strong enough to bear it.”