Wyvern's Mate (The Dragons of Incendium Book 1)

by Deborah Cooke

  His dragon princess had a gift for challenging his assumptions.

  Her hair was cast over them, glinting with inner light even in the shadows. It might have been made of flame, or a conduit for it. Troy smoothed it back from her forehead, wishing he had time to learn all about her.

  But his two days were over. They’d be coming for him by midday.

  Drakina would need something to eat.

  The house had been empty for years, but his mother had canned and stockpiled in preparation for the Apocalypse. And his father had stored wine. Troy was sure there was more that was still good to eat. It might be a strange meal, but it would be a generous one.

  His last meal, or at least the last one that counted.

  * * *

  It was not the nature of Drakina’s kind to sleep deeply. The dragons of Incendium dozed by habit, particularly when they were not surrounded by their own household and bodyguards. Drakina smiled to herself as Troy’s fingertips danced over her flesh, and she welcomed his ongoing exploration. She feigned sleep while he toyed with her hair and considered how best to pleasure him before he left the bed.

  But he rose abruptly and strode toward the chamber for washing.

  Drakina opened one eye, just a slit, to savor the view of him walking away. She had yet to see her mate fully naked, for Troy seemed inclined to wrap fabric around his hips or don his jeans or seduce her in darkness. She deserved one good look.

  Perhaps more.

  Could she change her father’s thinking about her having a Terran Consort? It would not be easy to leave Troy and return home.

  The view was every bit as fine as Drakina anticipated, Troy’s lean muscled strength kindling her passion anew. His skin was pale gold, tanned slightly and all over, so he couldn’t be that shy. There was a mark at the base of his spine, too elaborate to be a birthmark, to dark to be naturally wrought. She peered at it and her heart stopped in dismay.

  A tattoo.

  Not just any tattoo. A distinctive blue whorl of triangles.

  She recognized the symbol well. It was the mark of a condemned man in the penal colony of Xanto.

  No one escaped that place alive.

  Unless they were released on a bet, as sport for the rich of the galaxy.

  Drakina barely managed to keep from gasping aloud. Troy closed the bathroom door and Drakina heard the water running. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, her heart racing.

  Could she love a condemned man?

  Could she love a condemned man who had deceived her? Because if Troy had been incarcerated on Xanto, then he had left Terra and returned. He was not just a Terran and not just a MindBender. Could he have tricked her?

  Drakina recalled how Troy had been unsurprised by her nature and her abilities. She recalled her sense that he recognized her when she walked into the bar, as if he had been waiting for her. She recalled his reluctant confession that he was a MindBender and that he had been in her mind twice. Twice? Or just the once when she caught him—and he’d known the rest about her because he wasn’t the Terran she’d thought he was.

  She bit her lip and considered the power of his gift. A mother boar could not be easy to beguile.

  Troy was not just any MindBender.

  Drakina was afraid she knew which one he was.

  Had the notion that he might be her HeartKeeper been her own thought? Or one provided for her? Why?

  She rolled over to her belly and seized her computer. She tapped as long as the water ran, seeking the answers to her questions and giving fuel to her suspicions. By the time Troy opened the door again, she was sitting on the bed, her hair braided, waiting for him.

  He was wearing his jeans and had a towel looped over his shoulders. He was surprised to see her awake, but his smile revealed that he was pleased. He took a step toward her as if to resume their lovemaking but she halted him with her words.

  “You have not told me your great secret, Carrier,” she said with quiet heat.

  “Carrier again?” he mused. He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m guessing that’s not a good sign.”

  Drakina put the computer down. “I do not like to be deceived.”

  He paled then and shoved a hand through his hair. His expression turned grim and she was relieved that he didn’t tell her a lie.

  “What have you done?” she demanded. “Why were you sentenced to the penal colony of Xanto?”

  His lips set mutinously. He was not surprised, though. “I was caught.”

  “Caught doing what?”

  “Caught doing what my owner commanded me to do. A slave doesn’t have any choice, Drakina. And a slave sold to a gang of thieves has even less of one. I had to do what I did to survive.”

  A gang of thieves?

  “Were you sold to the Gloria Furora?” she asked in awe.

  The simmering anger in his eyes was all the answer she needed, and Drakina felt a wave of sympathy for him.

  “I’m amazed that you did survive that pack of thieves and counterfeiters. They are not known for being tolerant of any strangers or slaves.”

  He scooped up a shirt and tugged it over his shoulders while she considered him.

  “You lied to me about being Terran.”

  He shook his head. “No. I am Terran. You assumed I had never left Terra, which is a different thing.”

  “Did you MindBend me twice?”

  He winced. “That was a lie. Only the once and you caught me.”

  “So you did know about me before we met.”

  “Of course. It was part of the deal, princess.”

  Drakina wasn’t sure she was ready to know about the deal. “Did you lie about your name?” She had to ask.

  “No. It’s always been Troy. I didn’t lie about my family or my history, princess. It was all real, all except the deal I had to make to survive.” He gave her an intent look. “I was forbidden to mention it to you, for obvious reasons.”

  So, he had made a bet to save his own life. “The gamblers on Xanto.”

  Troy nodded. “They offered a wager. If I could win, I could live.”

  “And if not, you would die.” Drakina took a deep breath, because she’d found more. “The most expensive commodities traded in the sentient slave markets of Naruhm are MindBenders.”

  Troy held her gaze as if daring her to say it out loud.

  Drakina dared. “The equivalent of twenty solar years ago in Terran time, the confederation initiated a search for MindBenders throughout the galaxy, declaring all planets to be eligible hunting grounds.” She swallowed. “They launched a thousand ships.”

  His brows rose. “I didn’t think you’d know that story.”

  “My father collects stories. It is his contention that the same tales or elements circulate through all cultures in the universe, manifesting in a multitude of ways, yet remaining true to their essence.” She pursed her lips. “He would say that your destiny was defined when you were born, and that your name was chosen to mirror that fate.”

  “But my mother didn’t read classical history. I don’t think she knew that story.”

  “It does not have to be a conscious choice. The name could have come to her in a dream, or she might have been alerted to it in another way.” Drakina was dismissive of the notion. “One of my father’s astrologers or scholars could explain it better than me.” She fixed him with a look. “Of greater import is your story. The equivalent of ten solar years ago in Terran time, there were rumors that the pirates of Manganus Five offered a MindBender for sale on the shadow market. They refused to reveal where they had found the MindBender in question so he or she could not be trade freely. If that MindBender existed, he was never heard from again.”

  Troy smiled his crooked smile. “Who says no one really disappears in the galaxy.” His tone was wry and Drakina knew he didn’t expect an answer.

  “Who offered you the chance to escape the prison colony of Xanto?” she asked. “And what do you have to do to win your freedom?”

&
nbsp; Troy sighed. He shoved a hand through his hair, but she sensed the defeat within him. “All you really need to know is that I won’t be doing it, princess,” he said, his voice rough. His gaze was bright and bored into hers. “I’ve decided to lose.”

  “I still want to know.”

  “And I want breakfast. Come on. Food first.”

  It was a suggestion that Drakina found difficult to dispute. Troy had kept every promise he had made thus far.

  She chose to believe he would do as much again.

  But she dressed before she followed him, to show him that their intimacy was at an end. Even if he was her HeartKeeper, his truth made a future between them impossible.

  * * *

  Going down into the cellar was like being punched in the gut. The small cold room was filled with memories of Troy’s mother, and just as crowded with her preserves. He found pickles and jam, wine, and sealed tins of crispbread. The locked and even colder room beyond still had the scent of smoked ham.

  He found a last one, hanging from the ceiling, as well as a wheel of cheese, sealed in wax and locked in a tin. He brought it all into the kitchen and began to assemble a meal.

  He opened the wine, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait long for Drakina.

  He was right.

  He was carving the ham, which was still perfect, when he heard the tread of her footfall. “They found me here,” he said, seeing no reason to beat around the bush. “Alone on the farm. My mom had died and then my dad. I’d lived in town for a while after my mom passed. I had a job at old man Wilcox’s garage and I liked it. I worked a lot, because it was better than thinking. I only came back here once in a blue moon.”

  Of course, Drakina frowned. “Terra’s moon is not blue.”

  “It’s an expression. It means not very often, because every once in a while, our moon looks blue from here.”

  She spared a glance at the sky, but the moon had set hours before. The sun was rising.

  “When my dad was gone, the farm wasn’t the same. It had always been quiet, but it was lonely. He’d sold the last of the pigs, and like I said, I thought he’d sold the boar, too. I closed it all up and went back to town to work. I came back at intervals to check on the place, and I was here when they came.”

  She sat on a stool and watched him as she listened.

  “I’d never seen anything like that tracking beam.” He shook his head. “It was like a ray of starlight.”

  “You should not have seen it. Terra is among those colonies lacking sufficient sophistication for interference.”

  “I couldn’t stay away from it either.”

  “They laced it to lure you, then. A trap.” Drakina tapped her fingertips. “That’s why you were sold on the shadow market. It was illegal for them to harvest you here. Without provenance, they couldn’t sell you in the legitimate slave markets.”

  “I hope they got less than I was worth,” he said and heard his bitterness.

  Drakina’s smile was sad. “It was probably still worth their trouble. You were said to be the greatest MindBender in the galaxy.”

  Troy shrugged, uncertain how to respond to her admiration. “I didn’t know what the beam was. I saw it. I was drawn to it. I stepped into its light, and that was it. Next I knew, I was on a ship, in what I realized was a prison cell.”

  “Then sold at auction,” she guessed, sympathy in her eyes. “To the Gloria Furora. Truly, Troy, you could not have had worse luck. What did they do with you?”

  “Hired me out as an assassin. I was either locked up, hunting someone or making a kill.”

  “Also against galactic law,” Drakina murmured softly. He didn’t know whether she was disappointed in him or displeased by his treatment.

  He nodded, not proud of what he had done. “I defied them a couple of times, but they’re inventive bastards.”

  “No one survives the torture of the Gloria Furora. They have a consuming hatred of all others.”

  “Thanks. I feel like less of a loser knowing that.”

  “And so you were caught, doing what?”

  Troy winced. “Assassinating one of the warrior maidens of Cumae.”

  Her eyes widened and he knew he’d lost her support. “No! The culprit was never found!”

  “Oh yes, he was.”

  “But the trial would be in the record…”

  “Not the way the Gloria Furora play the game. They delivered me, paid for a conviction and I went mining. The person who caught me disappeared without a trade.”

  Her eyes were wide.

  “They have a reputation to protect, apparently.”

  “Not that,” she whispered.

  Troy frowned. She looked truly shaken.

  “Who was your target?”

  “Her name was Arista…” At Drakina’s gasp of horror, Troy stopped. Her expression made him fear the worst. “Friend of yours?”

  Drakina turned away, but not so quickly that he didn’t see her tears. “Arista was the best friend of my sister Gemma. She was well loved in our home and still deeply mourned.”

  And Troy had been the one to kill her.

  He was pretty sure Drakina wasn’t going to be having their son any more, not if she had anything to say about it.

  He might as well nail his own coffin shut. “Like I said, I was snared and delivered to the court, then condemned and sent to the penal colonies of Xanto. The sentence was for me to mine for sixteen quartos, then be executed.” Troy grimaced. “They like to give prisoners time to realize just how screwed they are.”

  “And so it was until the gamblers came.” Drakina’s voice was hard and he looked up to see that her eyes were cold. Her arms were folded across her chest, as if she needed one more barrier against him. “What was the wager?” she asked, though he was sure she’d already guessed.

  “My life for yours.” He put the platter of ham on the counter between them and watched her nostrils flare. “Pretty simple really, or it should have been.”

  “What is that to mean?”

  “That I’m not going to do it. I’m giving you my promise, and you know I’ll keep it.”

  She frowned. “Then you’ll die.”

  “I have it on good authority that we all do, and the only deaths worth mourning are the untimely ones.” He couldn’t look at her as he continued. “I’d rather try to be a champion, princess, although I might not have much chance to succeed.” He dared to flick a glance her way. The hair was standing up on the back of his neck and he knew in his heart that they’d returned for him. “I’m going to lose the wager, but you have the Seed, and if the prophecy is right, the crown prince will save Incendium. Winner take all.” He saluted her and moved toward the door. The tracking beam was illuminating the same spot in the yard as it had all those years before. “You might want to find out who wants you dead, princess. It might be Prince Urbanus, or he might be acting for someone else.”

  “You can’t go!”

  “I have to go. We both know it.” Troy paused in the doorway, looking back one last time, knowing the sight of her would be with him to the very end. “I love you, Drakina,” he admitted, his voice husky. “Maybe, just maybe, you’ll tell the kid something good about me.”

  Then he turned and strode to the beam. The light washed over him, making him tingle to his very marrow. Troy could almost feel his electrons being shaken apart and cast into the sky. He closed his eyes, knowing it would be over all too soon.

  The last thing he thought he heard was Drakina calling his name, but Troy knew that had to be wishful thinking.

  He was just yearning for what could never be.

  * * *

  What manner of judge condemned a slave for fulfilling a command?

  Drakina had her suspicions, but she would unravel the truth. She knew she could not defeat any party sent to retrieve Troy, not alone. She took the meat that so resembled verran and packed the feast her mate had prepared for her. Then she transported herself home to Incendium with haste. Once in the royal palace,
she strode down the corridors to the library and demanded that the portals be secured.

  She had no time to speak with her family.

  She had no time to reassure her father, or whisper with her sisters.

  The crown prince was conceived. Her duty to her father was done. Her independence was won.

  And if Troy’s life was to be saved, Drakina would be the one to do it.

  Every moment counted.

  Chapter Five

  Kraw, viceroy of Incendium, awakened with the sudden conviction that he was no longer alone.

  Yet it was the middle of the night.

  In a way, it was a relief. He had expected this ever since the return of the crown princess Drakina, and he preferred to face his terrors rather than have nightmares of dread.

  He rolled over in his bed, glanced at the doorway and his heart sank. The princess Drakina was silhouetted there, but worse, sparks ignited at the ends of her long red hair.

  Though no door in the palace was closed to the imperial family, Drakina showed her father’s courtesy and waited on the threshold to be invited into the viceroy’s apartment.

  Kraw sat up and tried to look suitably dignified to greet her, but doubted his own success. His nightshirt was rumpled, for his sleep had been restless, and he was certain his moustache—the pride of his days—was at less than its best. He had finally fallen asleep on the couch in the formal room instead of his bedroom. While this meant he could see the princess easily, it also posed some challenge to receiving her in the appropriate manner.

  Still, there was no denying the royal will, or presence.

  Kraw cleared his throat. “My grandfather wrote in his chronicles that when you were irked as a child, your hair turned to flame,” he dared to say.

  The princess, to his relief, laughed a little. “You don’t remember?”

  “Of course not, Highness. You were a wyvern fully grown by the time I was born.” He rose from the couch, bowed, then turned on the lights. He gestured to the seating area by the window and the princess inclined her head with grace before entering his home. He hurried to don a robe of brocade, hoping it was sufficiently fine for her view, but knew there was no time to dress properly. “May I offer you refreshment, Highness?”