by May Sage
Ash was too wise to dismiss any of those possibilities. Wedding three strong, ambitious females came at a cost, and his father had paid it. Queens generally lived longer than kings, as males seemed a little less inclined to resort to murdering their wives, but in the end, no such union had been known to be peaceful.
But still, it worked. The bears and wolves were content that their interests would be looked after, the dragons were happy so long as their representative was called the "first spouse." Whatever quarrel might arise between the races, it hadn't broken into an all-out war since the beginning of the Three Weddings ceremony.
Demelza was lucky she was of Farden. That way, he was far less tempted to claim her. Had she been a dragon of his court, he wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation to take her as his dragonwife. But she was subject to Rhey; worse yet, his kin. She was no match for Ash, fate be damned.
"Trust me when I say, you don't want to tease me, Demelza. That wouldn't end well for you."
She glanced back to his right wrist, somewhat smugly, as if to remind him that he was in no position to issue warnings. Aggravating, arrogant woman. The only reason he was still in this bond was because he had no inclination to rip off her pretty neck. Not intending to claim her didn't mean that he wanted to kill his mate.
"You're very intense, you know. And grumpy, too. Stress isn't good for you, Ash. You should do something about it. Meditation, perhaps."
"Untie my wrist and I'll show you how cheerful and laid back I can be."
Lies. He couldn't manage either to save his life. She rolled her eyes, like she knew that. Like she knew him.
He didn't like that at all.
"I think not, but cheer up. We're not far now. Just behind that ridge."
Kin
Ash had long studied the kingdom of Farden, along with any other kingdom in Midgard, as any monarch should. Know the enemy, said the wise, and thus he knew of their numbers, geography, typography, the main grain they could plant in their soil, the goods they imported from the rest of the continent. He knew that, like all dragons, they lacked no gold or fineries, but they had to get silks from the Sands and tea from the High Lands.
Nothing in his studies had prepared him for Telenar.
Ash blinked, blinded by the white dome trimmed with gold. The great monuments in front of his eyes were beautifully sculpted, and from the distance, he could hear laughter and merriments.
There was no such city in Absolia. His castle was a black fortress with high walls, an arch tower, high city walls, moats. Weren't these dragons conscious of invasion? It'd take him under a week to conquer this city.
"Well, what do you think?"
Ash said the first thing that came to mind, again. It seemed natural with Demelza. "That you'd be screwed during a war."
She laughed. "Yeah, right. Humans have tried to take our lands five times. They've been pushed back, five times. Wolves come every decade, and those who can run leave with their tails between their legs."
"Absolians would be your doom," Ash stated.
She didn't have the sense to seem afraid. "If they ever march against us, do yourself a favor, and save your money: you don't want to bet against us."
Too confident. Was he missing something, or was she simply blinded by pride?
"I hear you have no riders, no powerful mages to speak of, and your defenses are laughable."
"Laugh all you will, Rogue," she retorted, without elaborating.
She wouldn't tell him about their strengths. Smart. And frustrating. And so damn beautiful.
Now he was here, he had to stick to a simple story, and get out as soon as possible. He could say he lived in another kingdom. Some loners did. The Plains, perhaps. As Absolia shared a border with them, it would not be hard to invent a life there. He had... a wolf mother, a few cousins, a rider, and a missing sister. That much, at least, was true. There was no point elaborating a complicated tale he might forget when nothing in these facts would give him away.
Ash could feel himself tensing as they approach the ridiculous fortress of his enemy. Something felt odd. As vulnerable as the city seemed to be, he felt something underneath it all, a presence that made his jaw tighten somewhat anxiously.
The paved avenue of the inner city was littered with dozens of street vendors, musicians, talents who drew or painted portraits right there in the open. Ash observed it all, somewhat resentfully. This place was too cheerful, innocent, and wondrous. In the streets of Lonefort, there were blades being sharpened, soldiers marching, and if there were any children, they were training their little arms so as to have the strength to hold a sword as soon as they could.
Absolia was preparing for the inevitable: war. It might come from Farden, from another realm, from outside the walls surrounding and protecting Midgard, but eventually there would be war. Absolia would not lose it.
A long time ago, the mortal and immortal races separated during the Rift, and the world was divided in a way that satisfied absolutely no one. Most of the High Lands belonged to the elves, and the bulk of the natural resources of their continent came from there. As the elves did not place value in material things like mortals or dragons, they had little interest in trading most of it, rendering their riches worthless.
Almost nothing grew in the Sands, and so the kingdom became the land of thieves and mercenaries. The strongest mortals, in the poorest kingdom. The Plains had once been several countries and forcing one rule over it all was madness. The system would implode eventually. The Northern Var was too cold, too snowy, to be of much relevance, and yet they harbored more mages than any other kingdom, and their lands were protected against evil. The Lakelands were rich, and so, naturally, they belonged to indolent old families that had long ago ceased to deserve anyone's fealty.
Then there was Absolia and Farden. The two dragon kingdoms were on opposite coasts, Farden to the east and his home to the west. A two-week ride, one day as dragons fly; as far apart as any kingdoms could be in their lands.
It was not enough. Occasionally, throughout the history of their kind, since the dragons had gone different ways, Farden had sneakily attacked Absolia in one way or another; Absolia had sent spies and drafted potential battle plans since the dawn of time.
The world was ready for horrors.
The child bumping against his leg as he ran, chasing a butterfly, didn't seem aware of that fact. The boy looked up, and up and up until his eyes found Ash's, and then he pointed to his face.
"Flyman!"
A werewolf, Ash guessed. Even at a young age, they always could smell the difference between shifters, would they be dragons, wolves, bears, or anything else.
And against all logic, instead of feeling annoyed at the carefree child, Ash found himself smiling.
"Yes, I can fly."
"Is it fun?"
Ash nodded. "It's the best feeling in the world. But I hear that running on all four legs comes close."
The boy pointed to his own chest and proudly announced, "Run!" before dashing out.
Ash's gaze followed him, trying to understand where his carers were. The boy must have been five, at most; surely no parent had left him alone.
"Here," said Elza.
He lifted his gaze to find her handing out a wrapped piece of food she'd just purchased from a merchant. The smell was decidedly intriguing.
"At least you can't say we're not welcoming here in Farden."
Ash lifted his bound arm. "I definitely feel welcome."
She rolled her eyes, before biting into her own food. Ash tentatively tried his, eating a piece of meat-packed hot flatbread. His eyes widened, and his second bite was considerably larger. By the fourth, he'd devoured the whole thing.
Damn. Given everything that had occurred, he'd failed to realize he hadn't eaten since morning. Now he was downright ravenous. He looked down to the empty package, feeling dejected.
Elza laughed, turning to the merchant she'd just bought the food from. "Can we have another one?"
&nb
sp; "Make it three," said Ash, digging into the pocket of his leather breeches to find his purse. He paused, remembering that his gold was from Absolia.
Thankfully, Elza was lifting her hand, stopping him from getting his money out. "On me." She dropped a few coins in the merchant's hand and they were on their way up to the castle.
Now that he'd eaten and resigned himself to having to meet the Vasili king, Ash was considerably less 'grumpy', to borrow Elza's choice of wording. But he remained very conscious of timing. He wanted to explore the coast and speak to those who might have spotted his sister, and he needed to get to Damion at once, and intercept whatever forces he might have sent after sensing his trouble. And take care of Gragnar. All things considered, this excursion to Telenar might as well be seen as a little break from everything else.
The castle was a little more protected than the outside city walls, with a moat, a drawbridge, and higher walls, but what Ash noticed was its finesse, the craftsmanship. Each wall had sculptures and well-carved stones. Ash's keep had been built in ten years, made to last and withstand any attack; this one might have taken a hundred years. Ash didn't understand the reasoning behind spending quite so much time on a building that would be destroyed at the first assault, but the result was breathtaking, nonetheless.
"Pretty impressive, right?"
He shrugged. Admiring Farden was one thing. Admitting it out loud, quite another.
"All right, spoilsport. Come on through."
Inside, it was more of the same, grandeur rather than practicality, joyfulness, merriment, carefreeness. Ash didn't know whether he should despise or envy them for it.
Elza led him through high halls and long corridors, obviously feeling quite at ease in the royal castle. None so much as stopped to question her presence or welcome her. This was her home, Ash realized.
At long last, she turned into a room, announcing, "Here we are."
Here they were indeed. In the privy council cabinet of the king. Rhey Vasili sat next to a beautiful woman with brown hair, and around them, there was a small group that seemed friendly and approachable.
Until they lifted their eyes and saw him.
The next moment, Rhey got up from his seat, lifting one arm to protect his wife, the queen. The man to his right, a long-haired noble who looked a little like him, had his sword in hand. None of them mattered as much as the woman next to that warrior. A young thing some might mistake as harmless, but Ash knew magics. Being bonded to a powerful mage had made him quite aware of the energy around him. He felt Ragnar's powers, recognized Damion's without issue. And he knew that that woman surpassed them all. She could destroy him where he stood without any effort at all.
They'd recognized him, somehow; or at least, they'd identified him as an enemy of their realm. His jaw tensed.
"Why is everyone's getting worked up?" asked a woman Ash had failed to notice at first.
On a loveseat next to a window, there was a blonde woman in cut-off leathers. She was tall, he could tell, although she was seated. She was also strong.
More importantly, she was kin.
Ashkar
He knew. The moment he saw her, he knew it to his bones. The woman was fierce. A light among them, shining so bright. He wanted to kneel and call her queen. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her until she felt it. That she was his sister.
What, how? It was obvious that she'd been well treated; she wore fine clothes and held herself like a noble.
Nothing made sense anymore. He had so many questions.
"What is the meaning of this, Elza?" Rhey asked, his eyes fixed on her.
Ash didn't like the way he was talking to her. Not at all. But now, perhaps, was not the time to let him know.
"This is..."
"An Absolian. He reeks of darkness and fire, a scent sticking to his skin."
Demelza lifted a brow, before looking from Rhey to him again. "The thought crossed my mind, actually, but I didn't think so. He's pretty nice." Now, she addressed him. "Are you Absolian?"
There was no point in lying in such company. With some luck, he might get away with a few omissions, but that was the extent of it.
"Yes."
She blinked and shrugged. "All right, one point to you," said she, with a shrug. "To actually be fair, he didn't say he wasn't. Look, I found him in the Durandan, hurt, and he's been pretty nice all the way here. Hasn't tried to hurt me once. Least we can do is give him a chance to talk, right?"
Rhey didn't seem so inclined. The other male still had his sword out. But the woman behind the king put her hand on Rhey's shoulder.
"I will hear him."
She wasn't asking for permission, there was no hesitation in her voice. This wasn't a pretty wife meant to spread her legs open and pop out a few children. The woman was a rider, and a queen.
"Very well," said Rhey, between his teeth. "Let us hear what an Absolian does on my lands."
He repeated the same thing he'd told Demelza. "A long time ago, my sister was taken from my family. I've spent the last hundred years listening to any rumors, any talk, that could give me clues to her whereabouts. A recent report suggested that she might be here in Farden. I believed it to be a trail worth exploring."
He certainly did now. Ash couldn't believe he was here, in the same room as her, breathing the same air.
"The man, I believe, is not giving the entire story."
The cultured, slow, and deep voice came unexpectedly, as Ash had failed to notice the rest of the company, but now that he paid attention, there was an ancient dragon—an erudite, rather than a warrior, if one was to read his persona. Most dragons of a certain age could effortlessly destroy any opponents, but some chose to focus on their studies. Not many, in Absolia.
"Nathos?" the king prompted.
"Well, I could very well be mistaken, but I do not believe in coincidences. This is the king in the west, Ashkar Dracul. And he's saying the truth, as far as he knows, no doubt."
The elder sighed and got to his feet. "Your sister was not taken from you. The night of your birth, she was smuggled out of the castle where your father had just been murdered, for her safety. I've made enquiries since. There was a price on her head, from one end of the continent to the next. It is but a miracle that she made it safely here, with no escort but a determined nursemaid."
Ash absorbed each word, trying to make sense of them. Could he believe it? It rang true, but what worth did the words of a Fardenian weigh?
Then again, here she was, safe, and well cared for.
"Here," Rhey repeated, eyes narrowed at his advisor.
The dragon they'd called Nathos inclined his head. "When I found her, your father was still king, and there is no doubt that he would have killed her on the spot, so I kept her from him. Hid her darkness under certain spells. As nothing occurred for a hundred years, I saw no reason to inform you when you became king. The woman is no threat to this realm."
Rhey was not even remotely satisfied with the answer, but the elder seemed not to care. His attention was fixed on the beautiful blonde who hadn't moved from her loveseat. After a beat, she snorted.
"So, I'm not your niece? I'm that random dude's sister?"
As the dude in question, Ash chose not to take it to heart.
Nathos inclined his head. "What the hell! That's not fair. Dude's hot, and I can't even bang him 'cause we're related." She pouted. "And no wonder I look nothing like you."
That was, apparently, all the woman had to say about it. She went back to filing her long nails.
Rhey wasn't so easily satisfied. "So, that's it. You came here to see if your sister was alive, and that was all?"
There was an edge to his voice. Ash did not care for it. He entirely ignored the king, stepping in front of his oblivious sister. "You're the firstborn daughter of Karash. You should be queen."
She laughed in his face. "No offense, but I'd suck at it. You do not understand how much I'd suck at it." She looked behind his shoulder, to Elza, and ask
ed, "Tell him how much I'd suck at it!"
The other woman promptly complied. "I've just seen her idea of politics. Your kingdom would be in cinders within a week, tops."
Ash was so very frustrated. Didn't she understand? He was a usurper; and probably a usurper with a murderous mother, if Nathos' story was to be believed. No one else would have had reason to want the heir dead.
"Wait, Nathos said daddy dearest's dead...do I have a mom? Siblings? A name? Gosh, that would be weird. Another name."
"Kara. That was your name."
She blinked. "So, you're Ashkar, the dad was Karash, and I'm Kara? You guys have zero imagination."
The corner of his lips twitched. "What are you called now?"
"Sass. Saskia," she amended.
"I like that."
"Good. Sticking to it." She patted the seat next to her, inviting him to take a place right next to her.
He did so, wondering if that was how an out-of-body experience felt. So surreal.
"Right, Ashkar..."
"Just Ash."
"Ash. I get the whole firstborn thing, and the royal thing; believe it or not, I actually even joined the Claiming to be queen here, because I didn't really like the idea of the realm being run by idiots. Rhey was a bit loony for a while, and the other contenders sucked. No offense," she said, waving at Elza.
"None taken."
"But honestly, I would have hated the role, here, in my home. I'm not interested in taking your throne. Now, if I happen to have extra family—particularly a family that brings presents—that sounds great. But keep your throne."
Very slowly, he nodded. "I don't know much about your mother. She left court right after our father's funeral. She's a bear."
"No way!" Saskia exclaimed happily. "I love bears. Great fighters."
"As for presents..." he winced. "We do celebrate birth centuries?"
