by Jade Lee
"Isn't your family name Mobray?" Why would he give his own name to such a haggard creature as this mount?
He didn't answer at first, too intent on guiding the beast out of the stable, casually flicking a coin to the stable boy who had just now noticed their presence. Then, when she'd nearly forgotten her question, he answered, his voice low and intent. "We Mobrays may not look like much, but we're strong and smart. People laugh at us all the time, but this I swear, Natiya, we will have the last laugh."
She did not doubt him. The intensity of his words radiated like an oft-spoken vow, one mumbled beneath one's breath, but all the more powerful for its softness. She now knew Kiril hated Dag Racho almost as powerfully as she. And more, that he had plans; probably complex, devious ones. That thought alone made her smile.
With luck, Kiril's plans would keep Dag Racho busy, taking attention elsewhere while she quietly hatched her egg and grew strong enough to gut the Emperor and his thrice-cursed Copper dragon. And with that thought firmly fixed in her mind, she relaxed back against her rescuer, feeling the tension of the last twenty-four hours melt away.
She was free from prison. Her plans were still feasible. All she needed to do to see them put into place was to hide somewhere and await the hatching.
"Take me to the edge of the docks," she said as he maneuvered them out of the inn yard. "I can make my way from there."
"You cannot go back to your room. It is not safe there."
"I know," she answered easily, though in truth she was already mentally listing all the supplies she would need and where she could get them. It was many days yet before the hatching. "I have friends."
"Don't be a fool," he answered curtly. "You have no friends except me."
She stiffened, insulted, and twisted as much as she dared on her precarious perch. "I am not a fool, Governor. Do not presume that your kindness today has—"
"Kindness!" he snapped, pulling on the reins. "Dag Racho is searching for you, Natiya. Do you honestly think Talned will help you? Or Monik? Who do you know who can stand up for you against the Emperor?"
She bit her lip, mentally reviewing her options. They were picking through the midday traffic, moving as fast as they could through the clogged streets. And as she looked at her familiar world, the truth of his statement crashed down upon her. None of her friends had the spine to stand up to a drunken soldier, much less the full weight of the Emperor. "No one," she breathed. "Not a one."
"Wrong," he snapped, the word sounding like stone splitting in two. "I have just done it. But that lieutenant is no fool. He will know I got you out of there."
She shook her head, denying his words even though in her heart, she feared he was right. "I was just one of many prisoners to escape."
"You are the one Dag Racho wants." Then, as if to emphasize his words, a dragon's cry split the air. Indeed, she had known a dragon approached. Her egg had felt it, and she through it. But she had been consumed by her escape, too distracted to consciously understand what the tremor of recognition meant.
Until now. Until she heard and recognized the cry of Dag Racho's Copper.
Kiril heard it as well. Indeed, all the city must have heard, but he was the one who identified it. "That is not an attack cry."
Natiya didn't respond, was too focused on the dark brown speck in the air. Especially as it grew larger and larger with alarming speed.
Another dragon cry tore through the air, to be followed by a heated plume of fire sizzling the clouds.
"That is a recognition cry," Kiril murmured, frowning as he, too, watched its approach. "But Dag Racho was not to come here, not for many days." He shifted uneasily in his seat. "And who would the lizard recognize?"
Kiril clearly had no answer. She could tell by the concentrated frown on his face that the Emperor's presence was both a surprise and a discomfort to him. As they watched, the dragon extended its neck, diving toward the city as a queenfisher would for its prey. It plummeted straight down.
Straight at them.
All about, people came to the same conclusion. One by one they gasped, abruptly turning away from the spectacle of a dragon in full attack. They screamed and grabbed their children and goods. They trampled one another in their haste to escape, while Kiril and Mobray skittered and pranced to avoid a similar fate.
And still the Copper came while Natiya simply stared, mesmerized by the awesome sight. Distantly she heard Kiril curse as he tried to both control his mount and move them out of the square, away from the fortress. She felt the sweat of his body as he gripped both her and his horse. But most of all she felt her egg, wild and exultant inside her.
That was when she knew the truth. She knew who the dragon recognized, knew it was coming for her and the queen's egg she carried. And somehow from its place pressed deep inside her belly, the egg returned the call.
"Quiet!" she hissed to her egg. "You will get us killed!" But the egg did not listen. It was screaming silently, creating waves and waves of joy—felt, not heard. Natiya pressed her hands to her stomach, trying in vain to silence it.
"Hold still!" Kiril rasped in her ear.
"I can't," she gasped, for the egg's shrieks were growing more intense, reverberating through her entire body. She barely had the control to look up, to look death in the face as the Copper shot like an arrow toward her—larger and larger in her field of vision—while inside, the egg's screams built and crashed through her mind.
The Copper stopped. Natiya did not know how it did it, except that with a full spread of its wings and riding the invisible waves of the egg's power, it pulled back and floated in the air just above them. Then, with a deafening roar, it belched a fire plume, heating everything around it in a flashpoint of blistering agony.
Everything, that is, except Natiya, Kiril and his mount. All around them, wood burst into flame, metal glowed bright hot, and unprotected people screamed at their death. But Natiya and her companions were protected by the egg. The queen egg absorbed all that crackling energy into itself until it throbbed with life. Natiya writhed and screamed, knowing if she did not escape soon, the egg would hatch right here, right now. But she could not control her body, for it was in the egg's grip. All she could do was mentally scream out her fears. Not here! Not now! Not yet!
Fortunately, Kiril understood the danger. He could not know the cause, but he knew to push his mount to run. The way was cleared before them, still smoldering from the dragon fire. And so Mobray kicked into a gallop, flying through the city streets. Kiril leaned forward, pinning Natiya between him and Mobray's neck, his harsh breath rasping in her ear.
For Natiya, all these things remained in the background, distantly felt and even more sparsely understood. Her eyes were filled with the sight of the Copper in full spread, giving honor to the queen she carried. And above it, she saw a rider: Dag Racho, his wiry body and pinched face awash with heat and exertion as he tried to control his dragon mount.
Natiya could see him for only a moment, a split second when the Copper's wings had pushed down and before Mobray ducked between buildings too tall to see around. But in that second, she and Dag Racho found each other. Their gazes locked, their breaths caught, and they both understood.
Natiya knew that here was her enemy—a dark and twisted mind so evil that it killed not for food, but for pleasure. And she knew, too, what it thought, what it knew:
Dag Racho knew she incubated a Queen.
Chapter 6
Kiril slowly straightened, at last relaxing his death grip on one terrified and squirmy dancer and one exhausted horse. They were well out of the city now and into the Clutching Mountains. Thankfully, some rock or metal in these mountains confused dragon senses, so Dag Racho would not easily find them here. Unfortunately, they were still out in the open, easily spotted if the Emperor wished to pursue. So Kiril kept to the woods as best he could and tried to fade into the traffic from the few farming towns that clustered along the road. They stood out more and more as the tiny villages became less and less pros
perous the farther they went from Dabu'ut.
He glanced at his fellow travelers along the road. There weren't many, but he knew their numbers would soon increase. As word spread about Dag Racho's latest display, people would be fleeing the city in droves. Kiril still wondered what that had been about. Dag Racho was cruel, certainly, never truly caring whom he hurt in his quest for power, but he had never been careless with his dragon. His sense of self-preservation was too strong for him to endanger the flying lizard, for if the Copper were hurt, then Dag Racho himself would also be in pain, also be vulnerable.
So, why take his Copper into that steep dive, saved only by some miracle of flight? Both Dag Racho and his lizard should have buried their heads at least two spans deep in the city's foundation. How the creature had managed to stop like that, Kiril would never know. And then it had released a fire plume uselessly into the air, as if it were a display meant to impress. But that made no sense. Who in Dabu'ut could Dag Racho want to frighten?
Kiril had no answers to his questions and no way to find them right now. He had a task to complete with a terrified dancer. His best hope was that Sabina would ferret out the truth when he returned. And that bothered him more than anything else—this reliance on Bina as his sole source of intelligence. A lack of information in Dag Racho's court could spell not only disaster, but death. Only a fool relied upon a single person.
Thank the Father, his magic had protected them. At least he didn't have to deal with painful burns and bleeding sores right now. All that money he'd spent on fire protection—for his weapons, his mount, and himself—had finally paid off. He had never truly believed in the magic, but he had faith now. Though he'd felt the heat, not even his hair had been singed. And Natiya was equally unharmed.
Kiril had no explanation for that. The magic was for himself and his things, not for the people with him. He could only surmise that she had benefited from proximity. She had been on his lap, held fast between his body and his mount's for all that she had tried to run away in her panic. Thankfully, he was stronger, and she had remained in his protective circle. Who knew what would have happened to her if she'd escaped his hold.
He glanced down at her now, seeing her pale face as he cradled her limp body. She had the look of a woman in shock, and he could well understand the feeling. He leaned down and tucked her tighter against him.
"You know," he said, "many men freeze at their first sight of a dragon. Baby dragons even. A mature Copper is a terrifying sight. And today..." He shook his head. "That was truly unusual."
She didn't answer. Indeed, he wasn't even sure she heard him. He kept speaking nevertheless, hoping his tone might sooth her.
"There is no shame in your fear. Just try not to panic next time. I promise you, your safest place is with me." He tried not to wince as he lied, and he was sure he kept his expression flat, but inside he cursed himself. Natiya's safest place was as far from him and court politics as she could run. But she didn't know that, and he couldn't tell her. He needed her too much. Now that Dag Racho was in Dabu'ut, the pressure increased a thousandfold. Kiril had to find that egg now before the Emperor did. And that meant he had to get Natiya to lead him to the Queen's clutching cave.
"How are you feeling?" He shifted her again in his arms, hoping the movement would spark a response in her.
"Am I too heavy for you?" Her voice was thick with disuse, but he heard her clearly enough.
"I like holding you," he answered truthfully. "But how are you feeling?"
She shook her head, and he wondered what that meant—that she didn't know how she was feeling, or she wouldn't tell him? He sighed. At least she was talking to him. That was more sign of life than she had shown for the last hundred beats. And, better yet, she appeared to be looking around, seeing her surroundings for the first time.
"Where are you taking me?"
He smiled. He had been waiting for the question. He was lucky that it came when she seemed too weak, too defeated to argue. "Actually, Natiya, you're taking me. To the clutching caves. I know they are in the northern mountains. Tomorrow morning we will be near enough for you to guide me."
She let her head drop back onto his chest. "I don't know where they are."
"You are a wanted criminal, Natiya," he said, investing his voice with all the worry within him. In truth, he exaggerated the danger. Dag Racho was likely too busy to worry about one lost pawn in a complex political game.
"He will not stop until he finds me," she said dully.
Kiril hated the sound of dread in her voice, knowing he had put it there. Even so, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, hoping she understood his gesture as one of tender concern. "There is hope, one way to avoid him."
She nodded, seeming to accept his statement without question. "Hide."
He released a dramatic sigh. "For how long? He has a dragon's memory, Natiya, that forgets nothing." He shook his head. "You must try to think beyond the present moment. Your only hope is to help me. We must find what the Emperor wants before he does."
"Why?" She shifted uneasily in front of him, unaware that every time she moved, she set fire to parts of him all too aware of her presence. "Why does he want the clutching caves?"
"He doesn't. He wants the egg that was found there: a golden egg. A Queen."
She released a soft laugh. "But if it was found, it is no longer there."
"True, but that is where I come in." He inhaled deeply, letting her scent fill his mind with pleasant fantasies. "Once I am in the Queen's cave, once I find where the egg sat, then I can use my sword to find it."
Natiya tilted her head back to see him more clearly. "How?"
He looked down at her, seeing her sparkling light eyes, her lush pink lips. He even had an excellent view of the soft white skin below her neck. What was it about her that drew him? From the moment he'd seen her, there had been a pull between them. No, more than a pull, it was a physical ache that dragged his every thought to her. It was a power he usually only felt in battle, but this time it consumed him as a man for a woman.
He moved before he realized what he was doing. He dropped his head and kissed her. He pressed his lips to hers, tasting her as he had wanted to for so long a time—at length and at leisure. She murmured a sound, neither protest nor hunger. Simply a gasp of surprise like fire in his blood.
He released the reins. Mobray would follow the track. Indeed, Kiril and Mobray had taken this route to the mountains many times in search of the Queen's cave; he need not concern himself with direction. Which left his mind and both hands free for the lush woman in his arms.
He deepened their kiss. Her gasp had allowed his tongue entry, and now he penetrated her mouth with a fervor that stunned him, especially as her head dropped back against his supporting arm, giving him greater access, greater depth.
His free hand moved without his conscious direction, caressing the long column of her throat before pushing aside the collar of his jacket that she wore. She had raised her own hand and now began to mimic his motions. Her tongue touched and teased his. Her fingers stroked his hair, his neck. And all the while, his free hand delved down and along her collarbone, slipping beneath the loose fabric of her shirt until he held the soft, perfect mound of her breast.
She shivered in his arms, unconsciously moving against his hand, his arms, his loins; and he tightened his grip, squeezing and molding her nipple to further the sensations—or that would have occurred if his mount had not chosen that moment for a good scratch.
Kiril cursed, suddenly occupied in keeping Natiya balanced while Mobray decided to scratch against a tree. She, of course, helped out by twisting forward—away from him—leaning forward over Mobray's neck, murmuring soft words into the beast's ear. Mobray quieted immediately, and Kiril was able to guide him back onto the track from where he'd strayed. But when the beast was finally headed back the way he should, Natiya rigidly refused to sink back into Kiril's arms.
He sighed. Sometimes rescuing beautiful dancers just didn't pay off.
Then again, he thought with a slight smile, they had a long way to go and plenty of time for Natiya to relax again.
"How?"
Kiril blinked, wondering if he had heard his companion correctly. "What did you say?"
She straightened, twisting the tiniest bit to look over her shoulder. "How do you find dragon eggs?"
"That's a long story," he said.
She shrugged, turning back to look at the road ahead. "We have plenty of time."
That they did. So he gently settled his free hand on her thigh, letting it rest there as if he'd casually dropped it. And if the movement of his mount slowly shifted his hand higher, that wasn't his fault, was it? He was involved in telling his story.
"Did you know," he began, "that dragons are magic? Their eggs can change color and they have intelligence long before they are hatched. They speak to their bonded partners and to each other in ways that we cannot hear." He paused, wondering what she was thinking, but also taking a moment to enjoy the ripple of her thigh muscle beneath his hand. She was certainly aware of his touch, but hadn't rejected it.
"Go on," she prompted.
He nodded, recalled to his story. "Dragon blood is equally magic. Anyone who touches it absorbs some of its power."
"What power?"
"Resistance to fire, for one. But more importantly, an extra sensitivity or perception. Metal, too, can sometimes absorb this magic, if it is soaked long enough."
"Metal things like your sword. And the silver decoration of your saddle." She turned again toward him. "You have soaked them in dragon blood."
He smiled, though her expression was appalled. "Natiya, I am a dragon-hunter. My sword and I have swum in the creatures' blood. I have smelled it, swallowed it, breathed it, been baptized in it... That is what it means to be a dragon-hunter."
"You sound as if you have no love for the task."
A humorless chuckle wracked his body. "Oh, no," he said, his words more an extension of the tremor than actual thought. "I have a great love for the task. I will not rest until I have buried my sword in the last of the evil beasts."
