by Aaron Crash
The minute Rahaab touched down on the roof, Cassius leapt up from the sofa outside and flung himself into the air. He transformed into a mustard-colored dragon with a long beard that started yellow but ended deep black. The smell of him was strong—a sweet lilac scent mixed with the bite of sulfur.
Cassius soared around on creaking wings then dove toward Rahaab, claws first. Rahaab spoke two words, “Magica Defensio,” and froze the dark yellow dragon in midair. He lowered his hands, and Cassius went flopping down onto the landing pad, a wide swatch of polished mahogany marked by the weather and by the claws of countless dragons.
Cassius’s Escort took to the skies as well, but Rahaab’s wives took care of them like a brood of mother hens handling unruly chicks. They didn’t murder the other female dragons, of course, only subdued them. The women of Rahaab’s Escort were a force to be reckoned with: Bolour, a crystalline dragon hundreds of years old; Hwedo, a dark purple dragon from Africa; and his oldest wife, Shamhat, her green skin so dark that it almost looked like ink. While Cassius’s Escort outnumbered them two to one, they succumbed to the awesome power of Rahaab’s women. He knew that Shamhat would want to kill every single one of the Primacy’s females, but he had ordered her to stay her hand.
Rahaab turned into his human form, a tall, slender older man with white hair. “Cassius Pine, my name is Rahaab.” He paused, giving the other dragon a flat, even stare. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
Cassius turned his head. “That can’t be. Rahaab is a myth. Try again, asshole.”
Rahaab put a finger to his lips. “A myth you say? I like the sound of that. Sure, I will be a myth. Perhaps only a myth could pluck you out of the sky. Perhaps only the wives of a myth could capture your Escort with such ease. I am Rahaab the mythical Dragonsoul. And I would have a word with you.”
“Over coffee?” Cassius asked.
“I prefer tea,” Rahaab replied. “The humans have done much with the plants of this world, but I would call their greatest achievement the steeping of various leaves in hot water.”
The mustard-colored dragon transformed into a human with long, thick blond hair and stubble across his chin. He was relatively young, yet compared to the years marking Rahaab’s lined face, he was but a babe.
Rahaab laughed lightly. “Why, you’re but a child yourself. Before you became a Prime, I believe you were a Ronin. Why the change?”
“I got tired of working for imbeciles.” Cassius moved past Rahaab and went to the stairs. “I knew I could do it better. And Cornelius Craygore grew weak with age and comfort. Ending him took some work”—he glanced back over one shoulder—“but I like work.”
He started down the stairs and Rahaab followed. The living room was sumptuous. Some human woman, a Magician by the scent of her, came out with her hands glowing. She quickly stopped the spell she was casting.
It was clear that her side had lost. Rahaab’s wives had bloodied Cassius’s wives. The six women that belonged to Cassius knelt on the stone. Bolour, Hwedo, and Shamhat paced behind them, eyes full of hate and promising violence.
Bolour was Middle Eastern, a beauty with striking white hair and flashing lavender eyes. Hwedo was an African woman, tall and proud, with teased-out hair and a face that men would kill to look upon. And finally, Shamhat, a porcelain-skinned, dark-haired queen, was thousands of years old but still striking and powerful.
Cassius tsked. “And I thought my bitches were tough. Oh well. Jasmine, get this mythical man some tea.”
“Not a man,” Rahaab corrected. “Not even Dragonsoul. I’m something else, something ancient, one of the first of my kind to grace the dirt of this blue-green jewel.”
“Yeah, cool. I’ll take a fresh cup of joe, Jasmine.”
The Magician retreated inside the mansion.
Cassius slipped on a robe. “I would offer your wives something to drink, but they’re on guard duty, obviously. So, Rahaab, why come out of the sky on this fine June morning? You looking to take my Primacy?”
Rahaab laughed at that. He ruled the Earth from the shadows. Why step into the light to oversee one stretch of elevated rocks? He moved to the fire and let the flames warm his skin. He might’ve been naked, but he knew his power cloaked him far better than the finest silk. “I’ve come to tell you that Melissa Craygore has been found, finally. She’s at some muddy pond on the other side of the state. At this point, she might be dead, but I doubt it.”
“I couldn’t care less about Mouse,” Cassius scoffed. “She’s a drunk—worthless, erratic. I was glad her old man married her off. It meant I wouldn’t have to deal with her nonsense. The minute Rhaegen Mulk ran into trouble, she jumped ship. No loyalty. Why bother bringing the news yourself?”
“Because of her Prime, Steven Drokharis. Right now, one of my friends is flying down to kill her, the Drokharis boy, and his Escort.”
Jasmine returned with a tray. She set it down on the table, gave the six wives kneeling on the ground a nervous glance, and then stepped back.
Cassius picked up his mug of coffee. “Again, so what? I heard Mulk was taken out, but this kid doesn’t have the resources to come after me. He’s been off the grid. Hell, he’s having trouble taking control of his own Primacy. Someone is funding a small army of lawyers to …” Cassius nodded. “That someone is you.”
“It is,” Rahaab said. “I’ve come to offer you a deal. If Steven Drokharis survives this fight against Jaxon Wenck, I want you to befriend the boy, get him to trust you, and keep me informed of his movements.”
“Be your spy?”
“Yes.”
“Hard to spy on the dead.” Cassius sipped his coffee. “I know about Wenck, his land in Australia, and what he can do. But why would he bother dealing with American Primacies?”
“Why indeed.” Rahaab doctored his tea with cream and sugar, but it was still some American atrocity. Americans ate like animals, wanting quantity over quality. They were a disgusting people.
“Oh, because you sent him?” Cassius asked. “Come on, who are you really?”
Rahaab couldn’t stomach the wretched liquid in his cup. He flung it into the fire. “I didn’t send Jaxon Wenck. He went of his own accord, and he has no knowledge of my visit to you. You see, I don’t think Wenck will win. I believe he will be destroyed. And so, I am going to use a different tactic with the Drokharis child.”
Cassius wasn’t drinking his coffee. He had a troubled look on his face, and it wasn’t just because Rahaab had thrown away his tea.
“What is bothering you, Cassius?” Rahaab asked.
“Wenck is powerful, old-school, he’s been able to hold onto his Primacy a long time. And in Australia, they do things differently. It’s a brutal place. You really think this kid can go toe-to-toe with Wenck?”
Rahaab nodded. “I do. Steven Drokharis killed Mulk, and now Wenck will succumb to his destiny. And I believe that eventually the scion will come for me. Just as Mouse will come for you. You killed her parents, after all.”
Cassius took in a deep breath, and when he released it, he growled. “I hope she tries. I’ll murder her like I murdered her daddy. One less thing for me to worry about. And sure, I’ll go to Steven, get all buddy-buddy with him. But the thing is, the minute I show up, he’s going to be suspicious. And I might have to fight him, which would be kind of fun at this point. Being a Prime can get boring.”
“Which is why I don’t rule,” Rahaab said. “Except when I do. As for Steven, you will tell him you know where the third volume of his father’s grimoire is. The minute you say you can help him find it, he might not trust, but he will need you. And that is almost as good as friendship.”
“Don’t have a lot of friends, do you?” Cassius asked.
Rahaab turned to gaze into the fire. The coals ate the wood and the smoldering logs squeaked and popped as they burned. “No, I don’t have friends. When you are forced to kill those you love best, you see everyone you meet as dangerous, perhaps not to you, but to your heart.” Rahaab remembered th
e blood, the Animus, the screams, the fear, the horror of the betrayal. Though it was ages ago, that memory stayed with him. But it had been necessary. What was one life in the end?
Rahaab also remembered the deaths of billions. He himself had killed millions. But that one bit of slaughter would never leave him. So be it. He’d kept himself and his kind safe from horrors worse than fratricide.
In the quiet, Cassius finally spoke. “Why get involved? If you are who you say you are, I would’ve figured you’d be retired. Or that you’d have a dozen Primacies under your control. What’s your deal, Rahaab? My dad always said you’ll never understand someone if you don’t understand what they want. What do you want?”
Rahaab turned his gaze from the fire. “I want to keep our species safe. And I will do anything, anything at all, to make sure we never have to see the skies of this planet bleed.”
“And Steven Drokharis threatens all Dragonsouls?” Cassius asked.
“He would bring revolution,” Rahaab answered. “And I’m too old for revolution and too cautious. So he needs to die.”
Cassius still didn’t understand. “Why don’t you go and take him out? You disarmed me and my Escort easily enough. You should be able to kill one kid.”
Rahaab didn’t answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was deadly serious. “When you have lived as long as I have, you know that no fight is certain. With the Drokharis scion? Fate is on his side. I understand that. But I will undo his destiny, slowly, secretly, cautiously, lest I be devoured by it.”
THREE
Mouse sat on the ice shelf she’d breathed upon the waters of Guernsey Reservoir. The ArcticWind Exhalant certainly was powerful. The snowy frozen water, several feet deep, stretched from one side of the narrow canyon to the other. The sun was in the sky, but it was going to take it a while to get high enough to shine down on her. As a result, the long, amber-colored dragon rested in the shadows.
She was rather surprised to find she wasn’t cold, but then, the adrenaline of the coming fight warmed her. Her father had raised her to be a warrior, like it or not, and Mouse didn’t like it. She wasn’t Aria. Nor Tessa, it seemed. Neither of them ever flinched, and they didn’t seem to mind the bloodshed. Mouse loathed it. She thought maybe it was her size; growing up small, pushed around, always on the weaker side, she generally wound up on the ground. Which is why she’d had to perfect her dexterity, fencing skills, and Exhalant powers.
Size didn’t matter when you were breathing a shitstorm of fire on your opponent.
She was proud that she’d mastered ArcticWind so easily. It was the Exhalant many dragons struggled with, but not Mouse. It was partly because of the second volume of the Drokharis Grimoire and Liam’s teaching, but mostly it was being around Steven. The word “impossible” wasn’t in his vocabulary. He’d never stop trying, and he’d never stop fighting.
Mouse took in a deep breath, spread her wings to stretch, and then nestled back into her body. The Slayer Blade, in its scabbard, dangled from her wrist like a bracelet. It was quite the sword, and she wondered about its history.
But she couldn’t ponder that for long. The ice on the lake wouldn’t last forever, and it would be pretty pathetic for the Australian dragon to show up just as she was sliding into the water. Yeah, so much for the badass upstarts of the Great Plains Primacy. She breathed out another layer of ArcticWind to thicken the ice.
Not a second later, a fat orange dragon, the color of an earthworm, landed on the rim of the canyon above. The smell of hot greasy smoke wafted down, like he’d been frying snakes on a barbecue. It wasn’t pleasant.
“So, Melissa Craygore, as I live and breathe,” the pudgy worm said in a thick Australian accent. “G’day, darlin’. I’m Jaxon Wenck. Is your boyfriend around?”
Oh, he was big and powerful; a yellow-orange beard dropped from his scaled chin. He’d been the Prime of Queensland for a long time, or so Liam had said. More than fifty years. Mouse was only twenty-five. So, yeah, Grandpa Worm wasn’t going to be afraid of her.
“I’m not Melissa. I’m Mouse,” she snapped back.
“And you bite,” Jaxon finished. “Yeah, Mathaal mentioned something about you saying that. Right bit of awesome, darlin’. Good on ya. Though I hear you’re a drunk and kinda slutty. Not that I don’t respect that in a woman.”
Mouse ignored all that bullshit. She knew who she was now. “You talked with Mathaal?”
“Not quite, but we got good information on that fight from a trustworthy source. Mulk’s dead. Good. I never liked that bloke anyways. A right bastard, he was.”
Mouse wasn’t sure where to go next. The plan was to lure in their enemy, but it was clear he hadn’t committed all his forces, and there was no way a Dragonsoul Prime would go into battle alone. That was why they had Escorts and vassals at their command. She was going to have to stall him until he either attacked or called in his backup. Either way, Steven wasn’t going to show his hand until then.
“Do I call you Jaxon or Mr. Wenck? Or Your Grand Primacy?” Mouse asked. “I’m terrible with Dragonsoul etiquette.”
“Aren’t we all?” Jaxon gazed about. “I don’t see him, but your boyfriend should be about. Oh, but I guess he’s a Prime now. Ha, fifteen minutes a Dragonsoul and he’s kicking ass and taking names. Respect. Too bad I have to kill him.”
“Because he’s a Drokharis?” Mouse asked, like she had no idea what was going on. Primes liked it when you played dumb—then they could do all the mansplaining they wanted.
“Right. Nasty family. I was there to take out the old man with Mulk, and it was a slaughter all right. But we had to keep our kind safe. You might not be much for Dragonsoul etiquette, but it’s kept us alive and well these past fifty thousand years, to hear Rahaab tell it.” The orange worm looked left, right, left. He sniffed at the air.
Mouse had to keep his attention and keep him talking. This was their opportunity to get the information they so badly needed.
“So every Dragonlord on Earth wants Steven dead?” she asked.
“Nah,” Wenck grunted.
“But the Conclave, twenty years ago, there was a vote.” Mouse didn’t sweat as a dragon, but this next part was critical, and she so wanted him to answer.
“Oh, you know about the super-secret Conclave?” Wenck asked. “Not surprising, since you have ties with the Yellow Ronin. I hear he calls himself Liam Strider nowadays. Don’t trust that bastard. If you knew what I knew, you’d keep yourself far away from him.”
Mouse couldn’t let him derail the conversation. “Yeah, so the Conclave was all the Dragonsoul Primes, right? They all voted to kill the Drokharis family. Do they all want Steven dead?”
Wenck rumbled laughter. “Primes only want one thing—to protect their territory and gather new primacies. Most of them could give a shit about anything other than finding a new hole for their peckers. But not all of us. Some of us have what you call vision. Twenty years ago, there were five of us … Me, Mulk—”
Wenck abruptly stopped talking. Mouse’s heart fell in disappointment. Dammit.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing.” Wenck growled laughter. “You’re stalling. So, maybe the boyfriend ain’t here or won’t show until I take the bait. Well, I’m gonna love me some Mouse meat. You say you bite? Well, I bite harder!”
He flung himself off the cliff and dove at her, opening his mouth. The dark inferno in his throat was pure hellfire.
ShadowFlame.
“Magica Defensio!” Mouse shouted. Though she was new to spellcasting, she didn’t cast a normal shield spell, but one that protected against all heat-based attacks. Another gift from Steven’s father’s spell book and lessons from Tessa and Liam.
She launched herself upward. The midnight fire swept around her shield, but she still felt it scorch her scales. Even though she was slender in her dragon shape, she wasn’t small enough. She could change that.
She transformed into a human, protected from the ShadowFlame by her shield spell. In the same moment,
she unsheathed the Slayer Blade. Green flames flashed up the broadsword’s steel.
Riding the momentum of her leap, she lashed out with the blade, slashing through Wenck’s plump orange arm, severing it at the elbow. He bellowed and went to bat her out of the way with his tail. She dodged the blow, barely. Still, she rose above him. Jumping as a dragon and then turning human really kept her speed up.
Below her, Wenck’s wings were out, stopping his descent. She could take care of that.
Mouse morphed into a dragon and then unleashed a cold blast of ArcticWind, aiming for Wenck’s back. Bingo. A thick crust of ice covered the membranes of his wings, and in an instant, he lost his ability to fly. He fell toward the sheet of ice below and crashed into it, face-first. Her ice platform cracked but didn’t break. Good thing she’d added another layer of ice.
When Mouse went from human to dragon, she’d lost her grip on the Slayer Blade. It went streaking through the air and slammed down into the back leg of the orange worm, pinning him to the ice platform. He let out a roar that was part fury, part fear. Well, that was lucky.
Problem was, Mouse had used ArcticWind three times, and her Animus was low. Worse yet, half a dozen dragons broke from the surface of the lake, about fifty feet from the southern edge of the skating rink Mouse had created. Wenck’s Escort had approached underwater, waiting for their time to attack. One dropped a human onto the platform—a woman with dark skin, dressed in white robes. The other five shot through the air, breathing a variety of Exhalants at Mouse, who suddenly felt very outnumbered.
But she’d done her part. She’d drawn out the enemy and had even gotten him to confess a bit. If only he’d told her everything. For the love of biscuits, they’d been so close!
She just hoped she survived the next few minutes. And she needed to get her damn sword back. She’d grown to love the Slayer Blade.
She might not like fighting, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t wickedly good at it.
