by K.N. Lee
Harrow, the biggest sea port in all of Draconia, and on the border that separated the human realm from the Dragon realm.
Her home.
The wind blew at Rowen, whipping strawberry blonde hair around her face as she wrapped her pale hands around the dark bars of the gates of the palace. The cold brass was soothing, despite the nerves that burned in her belly.
Freedom.
She yearned for it above all things in the world. For as long as she could remember, she lived her life for others, with no regard for her own wishes or desires. Back at the palace, there was a silent battle she had no clue how to fight. But, beyond those gates was an even bigger battle she was too afraid to face.
The world was vast. How long before she was swallowed up by it? How long before she ended up dead?
“Are you sure about this?”
“We can do it. The guards won’t even see us if you hold my hand. See?” She peeled Rowen’s left hand from around the bar and held it within her own.
A warm sensation filled Rowen’s body as Brea held onto her. Rowen looked from Brea’s dark brown eyes and down at her hand.
“Look, I can make you vanish as well. As long as we touch,” Brea said with a smile as she used her vanishing gift.
Rowen’s hand and arm disappeared before her eyes, and Brea was nowhere to be seen when she looked up again.
Clever gift. She wished she had a power as great as Brea’s. Still, the ability to vanish could only get them so far.
There was another world out there beyond the dragon kingdom she’d grown up in. She’d read of vast oceans and mountains, human villages and fairies. Beyond the tall brass gates was a worn path that led to the center of the kingdom of Withrae.
Once they reached the city, what then?
The free clothes, room, board, and prestige were highly coveted. Rowen’s mother would call her a fool is she showed up at home before her duties had been carried out.
Rowen chewed her bottom lip, her thick brows furrowing. This wasn’t the time for doubts, but her options were limited. She needed more than a few coins to make it in their world.
“What’s wrong?”
Rowen sighed and pressed her forehead to the gate. “I can’t go back home just yet. The Duke would just send me back by first light.”
The Duke of Harrow had always hated Rowen. She was a thorn in his side since the day he married her mother. For as long as she could remember, he sent her away for every training imaginable. Languages in Summae, dancing in Dubrick, embroidery at the School for Fine Arts in Luthwig. And at eighteen, he sent her away to be a lady-in-waiting for Princess Noemie of Withraen Castle. She was merely one out seven ladies-in-waiting, yet she was singled out at every opportunity.
Brea put a hand on Rowen’s. The red shimmer of her skin reflected the moonlight. In seconds, they vanished.
“Shhh, someone is coming,” Brea whispered.
Rowen tensed and peered through the bars of the gate. A rolling cart pulled by a horse with a weary-looking old man approached the gate.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” Rowen said. “I think he’s making a delivery.”
“Come,” Brea said. “Let’s just go back. If you’re worried about Prince Rickard, don’t. The prince will grow weary of pursuing you before you know it. Beautiful girls come to the castle by the boatload. His eye will wander.”
“It’s not just that,” Rowen murmured. “I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
Rowen wrung her hands. “That something terrible is going to happen to me if I stay here.”
Together, they left the gate and headed back to the castle. Brea took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Then, we try another night. We make a plan. I’ll transform and you can ride on my back.”
“But, I’m just thinking of how lost I am. I have nowhere to go.”
“Listen to me, Rowen. My parents aren’t as bad as most Dragons. If you are a friend of mine, they would take you in with open arms. Not all Dragons are prejudiced toward half-blood humans.”
“Most are,” Rowen quipped.
Brea wouldn’t know. She was a full-blooded Dragon from high society. She couldn’t have known what Rowen had seen and experienced throughout her life. In Harrow, half-bloods were more common, and she’d witnessed the cruelty to her people. Her title saved her from most of the negativity, but it was always there in the eyes of Dragons.
“Go to my home in Kabrick. I’ll send you with a letter. My father and mother can find you a new station.”
“I don’t want that, Brea. I don’t want to be a burden. I want to be free.”
“You want to go to the human kingdoms, don’t you?” Brea asked.
With long white hair and a hint of red scales on certain areas of her olive-colored skin, Brea was considered plain by Dragon standards. Women of beauty had a brighter shimmer to their skin, and a glow to their hair.
Like Rowen’s mother.
Rowen could never be as beautiful as her mother either. Short, thin, with dull gray eyes that never shown any light, and pale skin absent of any shimmering scales, Rowen was simply different.
Maybe that’s why Prince Rickard chose to pursue her.
Brea smiled at her. “I don’t blame you, Rowen. But, Draconia is your home.”
“It’s not as if I haven’t thought of finding the human kingdoms. They are my people. It would be nice to be wanted and accepted for a change.”
“You are half Dragon as much as half human.”
Rowen stopped on the lush landscaped evergreen grass and looked to the pale moon above. “But, your race hasn’t descended from humans in thousands of years. You hate them for betraying you. For hunting you down and trying to exterminate you.”
Shrugging, Brea looked into Rowen’s eyes. “I don’t hate anyone. That’s ancient history. Nothing to do with you and me.”
“I know,” Rowen said with a sigh, her eyes resting on the massive castle before them. She’d only been there a few weeks, but was already twisted in a web of lies and deceit, and a plan that would elevate her family.
But, only if she succeeded.
“Maybe one day I will go find the humans.”
“You can’t. You can’t fly or fight, or do anything that would keep you safe.”
Silent, Rowen chewed her bottom lip.
I can do more than you know. Sometimes she wished she could tell Brea her secret. Even though she was the best friend she ever had, she still could not trust her with the truth of her power.
“It’s too dangerous to leave the safety of the kingdom. There are beasts and monsters out there. On land and in the sea.”
“There are beasts and monsters inside as well.”
They paused on the cobblestone path as a large black dragon flew overhead from the city and toward the palace. It lowered itself to the ground just before the main entrance, and shifted back into a tall young man dressed in fine clothes.
Rowen took a step back, hoping that he wouldn’t look back and see them. Her face paled as he seemed to sense her presence and did exactly what she hoped he wouldn’t.
Prince Lawson Thorne turned and looked right at them. In the torchlight, Rowen could only make out the hints of gold in his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met.
Rowen took Brea’s hand into her own wishing they’d been invisible when the prince arrived. “He saw us.” The thought of being caught and turned in by the prince struck fear into her heart. An excuse for being out after dark is what they needed, but her mind drew a blank.
To their surprise, he simply turned away, and walked up the stairs that led into his palace.
“Well,” Brea said. “Aren’t we lucky?”
Rowen swallowed with a nod, curious as to why the heir to the Withraen throne didn’t seem to care that they were out after curfew. “Indeed, it’s all I’ve ever been.”
A Look at Bloodlust
Barbarian-Princess Ivy had circled the outskirts of the barbarian land five
times that day when she finally detected something out of the ordinary—merely a twig snapping and the stench that could only belong to a goliath.
Vile creature, what is it doing so close to Barbadia?
She lifted the flowing white skirt of her armor dress to ease removing a simple dagger from her dragonhide boot. With steps softer than a gnat’s, she hid behind an oakpine tree in the Forest of Gildersnatch before inching closer to the underbrush. Soft sounds tickled her ears again, faint but distinct, another twig snapping followed by a grunt.
Ivy gripped the hilt, the dagger one with her arm. A giant leap and she found herself standing proudly above a lowly goliatha, several years younger than Ivy’s twenty.
The goliatha dropped her collection of wild flowers. With a snort, she straightened, almost as tall as Ivy, and backed up until she bumped into a tall oakpine. Its leafy branches cast shadows on her faint pink face.
“Please, spare me.” She wrinkled her large nose and glanced behind her. “I was only—”
“Save your breath.” Ivy advanced on her, the dagger in her hand never wavering. “How many more are there?”
“N-none! I swear!” A pink tear shed from her eye. With a hiccup, she turned her head aside.
“Then why do you keep looking back?” Ivy grabbed the girl’s green tunic and pressed her against the tree to keep her pinned there. “Give me one—”
“Your Highness, what are you doing?”
Ivy grounded her teeth. Who dared to interrupt her? She was interrogating her prisoner. Had they not eyes to see that?
Still holding the goliatha, Ivy rotated her neck to see a tall barbarian guard. He had the audacity to tsk with his tongue. “The barbaron will not be pleased.”
“To hear of goliaths wandering near our borders? Surely not.”
The guard’s orange eyes bore through her. She knew he meant none were to engage another race without backup. Proper protocol dictated she should have sounded the alarm once she suspected a goliath, or goliaths, was nearby. But who could blame a barbarian for rushing headfirst into battle?
Angar was not one to keep his mouth shut. Out of all the guards to have found her, it had to be him.
“Go and check for more nearby,” she demanded.
Her body grew hot when he remained by her side. “Allow me.” Without touching the barbarian-princess, he gripped the goliatha’s arm so tightly the goliath girl cried out.
Fury reddened Ivy’s vision to the point she could not see the tree in front of her. Once the wave of emotion passed, Angar and the prisoner were gone.
Accursed guard! He would rue the day he crossed her.
Before Ivy could inspect the Forest for other goliaths, more guards descended. The closest approached. “Your Highness, the barbaron has requested you.”
Just how long had her blackout spell lasted? Muttering curses she had learned from her mother, she rushed back to the fortress, hoping the conversation would not take long so she could join the search of the Forest. Her father sat not upon his throne, so she checked the library and his sleep room. Down in the dank, cold dungeon she found him, standing in front of the iron bars that jailed her goliatha.
“Father.” She knelt before him, so low her forehead touched the ground.
“Arise.”
Ivy straightened and fixed her gaze on his chest. This far below ground, the sun dared not risk shining, and so the emblem of their people on his royal tunic—a silvery purple dagger striking a golden heart—looked dismal and a shade of its normal glory.
“Angar told me you found her.”
“Yes. I was about to seek out the others.”
“Leave it to the guards.”
His tone suggested “those more capable,” and it took all of Ivy’s willpower not to lash out at him. Her temper had earned her a few scars over the years. She had no desire for more, especially to be belittled so in front of a lowly goliatha.
“Then I request permission to resume my interrogation,” she said stiffly.
“Angar will handle that.” Her father held out a massive hand, and the guard stepped forth from the shadows farther down the hall.
His boots clomped against the ground as he slid forward to stand beside her father.
He should move back half a step.
“Is there anything I can do?” Ivy stared straight ahead at her father’s emblem. At seven feet tall, her father was a monster of a man, just over a foot taller than she. Over the years, some of his muscle had converted to fat, but he was still strong, always powerful, and intolerant to a fault.
“Yes.”
She lifted her gaze to his face in time to see his lips twitch.
“Tower duty.”
The worst job of all.
<<<>>>
Barbarian-Princess Ivy gazed out of the fortress tower window, wishing her post was anywhere else. She craved action and adventure. ‘Twas in her blood—the cry of a barbarian.
The barbarian race was dying out, to the surprise of no one. After all, their rages and power surges tended to end badly, and with lots of blood.
She pounded her fists on the windowsill. If only Angar hadn’t seen her and told her father. Ivy had never been in any danger. Sure, goliaths were almost as vicious as barbarians, but it had only been one. And a female at that. Female goliaths were nothing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A few months ago, Javelin had thought the same as she and ended up with a nasty scar on his arm for his foolishness. Male goliaths had the potential to be more than any single barbarian could handle—but only if the barbarian was not in Bloodlust mode.
Her Bloodlust mode had been dormant, but even so, she could have easily disposed of the goliatha, had she been given cause to. Only Angar burst onto the scene. Now her father thought her incapable of true action.
She’d show him.
Teal grass stretched for miles until it met the darkness of the Forest of Gildersnatch. She had watched the other guards scourge the Forest for the past two hours, glimpses here and there between the trees. No other goliaths had been found. Beyond, the Mountains of Flyerdales loomed higher than the fuchsia-tinged sky, the drooping violet sun nearly ready for its slumber.
Unbidden, Ivy’s eyes closed. How her body craved for rest—peaceful slumber unlike the restless non-sleep she’d been suffering through for months. She dreamt not, or perhaps nightmares spoiled her sleep and she woke without remembering them. Mayhap not remembering them was a blessing, considering how much they disturbed her. At least her days were somewhat peaceful.
Whether the peacefulness would last—ah, now that was the reason why Ivy had not been relegated to a more docile activity like tempering steel or hammering iron. Even so, tower duty, so far from the possibility of battle, was the one job Ivy hated. Every available barbarian not in the midst of weapon-making remained on full alert. The trolls had been on the move lately, and trolls never brought about good tidings.
So Ivy forced her eyes open by pinching the soft underskin of her arm. The bruise marred her tanned skin, an ebony marking. She welcomed the pain, embraced it, became one with it. The faint stirrings of anger welled in her chest, and her fatigue fled. Her pupils contracted, and her breathing hitched. Her eyesight heightened to the point she could see every leaf on the tallest oakpine tree in the Forest.
On a branch sat a vulture. Its yellow eyes hardly blinked, seeing everything.
Without thought, Ivy snatched her silverbow and fired off a steel arrow. Having accurately anticipated where the vulture would fly, the bird’s attempted flight to safety instead ensured its death. The arrow pierced its chest, and the vulture plummeted to the ground.
Ivy scaled down the side of the tower with ease despite the almost perfect smoothness of the stone walls. A meter above the ground, she released her grip and jumped. Her heels and ankles did not appreciate the jarring sensation, but she straightened, shook them out, and rushed over to the vulture.
Angar, in full barbarian gear, the glint of the dagger’s hilt on his chestplate glitter
ing in the waning light, rushed over. “A vulture.” His wad of spit landed two inches from Ivy’s boot.
She stared at the offending liquid then the bird. The vulture was massive, far larger than she had first thought.
The guard reached for the carcass.
“Return to your post,” she said, her voice cold.
Angar had the overconfidence to blink and then glanced at the tower she’d abandoned.
“I shan’t tell you again.”
Still he lingered.
She raised her hand, ready to land a blow that would knock him back. “You dare defy me?”
“I dare to follow my barbaron’s orders,” he answered, his tone matching hers.
Ivy’s shoulders slumped for only a second. Her father truly did think her inferior. Expecting a rush of rage to fill her and banish her sadness away, she was most annoyed when that did not happen.
“And what orders are those?” she demanded.
He glanced at her dragonhide boots, for the first time, the traces of shame flickering on his features. “I did not mean to step out of line—”
“You sold me out.”
“I followed my duty.”
“Same thing.” She grabbed the carcass, but the guard snatched it out of her hands.
“Please, Barbarian-Princess—”
“Don’t make me run back to your daddy,” she said, mocking his tenor.
His square jaw jutted toward her, and his cold eyes told her he would do just that.
Beyond annoyed, she half-wanted to remove the dagger hidden within her boot to chop off his smirk. “Run off, Father’s pet.”
Angar had started to walk off, but he turned back. “I am no one’s pet.”
She stepped forward, her fingers tracing the dagger on his emblem. “Ah, but you are.” Ivy shoved him back with enough force a human male would have been flung back yards. Angar did not move an inch, but the telltale twitch of a vein in his neck proved ‘twas only because of great effort on his part.
To assault a barbarian guard was to court death. No one survived it—not even other barbarians. Without another word, or a backward glance, Ivy started back toward the tower. After a few seconds, she whipped around, darted forward, and reclaimed her prize from Angar’s grasp. The next moment, she cut open the vulture’s stomach.
