Fidelity hung limply in his claws, maybe unconscious, maybe dead. Tears ran down Cade's scaly cheeks. He beat his wings and raced across the water, leaving the islands—and two Vir Requis—behind.
GEMINI
He took only one firedrake to the capital, leaving the rest of his retinue—firedrakes, paladins, and men-at-arms—to await his sister in Sanctus. He did not want them around him. Not now. Not anymore. As he flew over the fields, heading home, only one other person was with him: Domi.
She sat before him in the saddle, silent. Her red hair, finally cleared of knots, flew back in the wind to tickle his neck. Her body pressed against him, slender but warm and soft, clad in the white tunic the seamstress had sewn her. Gone was the raggedy doll Gemini had met on the beach; before him now sat a beautiful woman, skin pale and fresh, eyes large and green, a woman Gemini loved. A woman he vowed to never let go.
Their firedrake beat its wings beneath them, its copper scales clattering. It puffed out smoke and grunted as it flew, nothing but a dumb animal. Gemini realized now why he had always been attracted to Pyre, his old firedrake with scales the color of autumn. As a dragon, Domi had never seemed mindless. Perhaps Gemini had always seen the woman within the beast, had always loved her.
Gemini wrapped his arms around Domi's slender waist. Love . . . yes, he loved Domi. And that scared him, spun his mind. Domi was a weredragon. Diseased. She had never been purified, could become a dragon at will. Gemini's faith, his family, his order of knighthood—all were dedicated to exterminating creatures like Domi. It was too late for her to undergo purification; her sins demanded death. Yet as he held her, as her soft hair caressed him, he did not think her a creature worthy of death. She was diseased, yes. There was no doubt of that. But that didn't make Gemini want to slay her. He craved only to protect her, to cherish her. To be the strong man she needed. To save her.
"I will save you, Domi," he whispered.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I can't hear you in the wind!"
He stroked her cheek. "I said that we're almost there. Almost at the city." He pointed. "Look ahead! You can see it now."
Nova Vita, capital of the Commonwealth, sprawled ahead across the land. They flew over its thousands of clay homes, its coiling streets, its fortresses and monasteries, and finally toward the great Temple. The building shone in the dawn, its base round like a crystal ball, sending up glass shards and spikes like claws, brilliantly white in the sun. The Square of the Spirit spread before the Temple, cobbled and vast enough for armies to muster on. Gemini directed his firedrake toward the Temple gates, and they landed on the flagstones outside.
Countless times before, Gemini would lead Domi—then a firedrake named Pyre—down a tunnel here, into the dungeon beneath the Temple, the bleak chasm where the firedrakes ate and slept. For the first time, he would now take her into the palace above.
Gemini dismounted the firedrake and stood before the staircase that led up toward the Temple gates.
"Stay near me," he said, helping Domi out of the saddle. He held her waist and placed her down before him. "The palace is a place of beauty and splendor, but danger too. My sister has many ears and eyes in this place, and if she finds out, if . . ." He swallowed. "Never mind that. You know what to do. You're Domi, an orphan I met at Sanctus, hired as my servant."
She nodded, looking up at the gates. "Why can't you tell them the truth?" She looked at him. "That you love me?"
He sighed. "Domi, I was born without the disease. Ilbane never burned me. I could never become a dragon. I never needed tillvine to sear the dragon curse out of me. As a pureborn, my blood naturally clean, I'm what they call a Holy Father."
She nodded. "A stud."
He smiled mirthlessly. "Women will come into my bed. I will sleep with them. I will impregnate them. But I don't love them, Domi. I love you. You mustn't forget that. But as a stud, I'm never to fall in love, never to take a wife, never to dedicate myself to one woman. To do so would be a great heresy; the Spirit himself demanded this life of me. I dared to openly love a woman once, and—" A bolt of pain shot through him, and Gemini pushed the memory aside and held Domi's hands. "We must keep our love secret. Some Holy Fathers—studs, if you will—have been known to take concubines, lovers who tolerated the endless stream of other women into their beds. People will perhaps see through the act, know that you're more than just my servant, but as long as they have a pretext to cling to, they'll cling to it. What they must never know, Domi, is that you are diseased. That you are a weredragon. Then I could no longer protect you. Do you understand?"
She bit her lip and nodded. "They will not know."
He stroked her cheek and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'll look after you here. I promise. It's a dangerous place, but I'll protect you. You're always safe with me. I love you."
She nodded, silent. She was shivering. Gemini felt his heart melt, and such pity and love and lust for her filled him that his head spun. He held her hand in his.
"Come," he said.
They walked up the stairs together, stepped through the pearly gateway, and entered the halls of splendor.
They walked through the glory of the Cured Temple, the heart of their faith, the dwelling of the Spirit himself. Priests and priestesses in white walked among them, golden jewels hanging around their necks. All around spread the splendor of the Spirit: ceilings of gold and azure, mosaics inlaid with gemstones, columns of precious metals, statues, chalices, and murals in pastels. Here was the greatest cathedral the world had ever known, the heart of a god.
As they walked, Domi gazed with wide eyes, and her grip tightened around Gemini's hand. The precious thing was scared, he thought. She was like a wandering pup lost in a world she'd never known. He moved to walk closer to her, their bodies brushing together.
"I will take you to my chambers," Gemini said. "A far finer place than the old room in Sanctus. I—"
A voice rose behind, interrupting him. "Who do you bring into the sacred hall of the Spirit?"
Gemini turned around and felt the blood drain from his face.
All across the hall, priests and priestesses knelt and bowed their heads.
A hundred yards away, standing between columns of gold and amethysts, stood High Priestess Beatrix.
Domi pulled her hand free from Gemini's grip and knelt, head lowered.
"Mother!" Gemini said. "Since when do you wander the halls? I thought you'd be in the Holy of Holies, kneeling before the Column, praying for the Falling."
Beatrix walked toward him, white robes swaying. A cold, dangerous fire lit her blue eyes. Her thin lips frowned the slightest, tugging wrinkles across her pale skin.
"My service to the Spirit is not your concern, son," she said. Her footfalls clattered across the hall's mosaic as she approached. "Who do you bring here?" Beatrix reached them and stared down at Domi, her frown deepening.
"A serving girl," Gemini said. "And she is none of your concern—"
He yelped as his mother backhanded him.
"Silence your slithering tongue!" Beatrix said. "If you talk back to me again, I'll have that tongue cut off and burnt in the kitchen fires. You don't need a tongue to breed pureborn babes."
Gemini clutched his cheek, glaring at her. "Mother!"
She snorted, stared down at the kneeling Domi, and placed a finger under the girl's chin. She tugged Domi's face up toward her.
"Pretty little servant." Beatrix snickered and looked back toward Gemini. "Did you choose her because she's adept at washing your underpants, or because she has precious green eyes and probably precious teats under her tunic?"
Now rage flared in Gemini, replacing the fear. "Mother, I ask that you do not pry into my affairs. I'm a grown man, and—"
"You are nothing but a child. An errant child who's good for nothing but to breed like a barn animal." She snorted. "Your older sister is a true servant of the Spirit. You don't see her collecting pretty little servants to fulfill her carnal desires. Even n
ow, as we speak, Mercy hunts weredragons in the lands of the Horde. Meanwhile, you bring whores onto holy ground."
"I will not have you call Domi a whore." His voice shook with rage. "I will—"
"Domi, is it?" Beatrix barked a laugh. "Your whore has a name? Do me a favor, boy. If you'll stoop to sneaking a woman in behind the priests' backs, at least impregnate her. Give me another pureborn grandson. If you can't thrust a lance like your sister to rid the world of weredragons, at least thrust your manhood."
With that, the High Priestess spun on her heel and marched way, leaving the hall.
The priests and priestesses across the hall straightened and resumed their business, lowering their heads as they passed by Gemini, pretending not to have heard the altercation.
Gemini stood for a long moment, still and silent. Domi looked up at him, and again he saw it in her eyes—pity.
He grabbed her hand. He tugged her along the hallway, almost roughly. The pain simmered inside him, a humiliation mixed with rage. He took Domi up staircases, climbing story by story, until they reached his quarters. His chest felt tight and he could barely breathe. His eyes stung. Clutching Domi's hand, he led her into his chamber and closed the door behind him.
He leaned against the door, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.
The chamber was as opulent as the rest of the Temple, the walls, ceiling, and floor covered in gold and gemstones. A nubile young woman lay in his bed, smiling at him, awaiting him, sent here by the priests.
"Get out of here!" Gemini screamed. "Out!"
The woman fled the room, and Gemini fell onto his bed. He lay on his back, struggling for breath, his fists clenched.
Domi stood in the corner, hugging herself. "Would you like me to leave too?" she whispered.
He sighed. The poor little thing was trembling; he had probably scared her half to death. He shook his head.
"Come sit on the bed," he said.
Domi obeyed, and he pushed himself up and sat beside her. She stared at him, eyes huge green pools. When he opened his mouth to speak, he hesitated, not sure what he wanted to say.
She placed a hand on his knee, and her eyes were soft. "You don't have to say anything." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "You warned me about this place. But I'm glad to be here with you."
He wanted to kiss her then, to remove the tunic he had bought her, to make love to her here in this place—not the emotionless, functional act he performed with the other women, but a true act of love. But he dared not. Something about Domi was too pure for that, too innocent, too fragile to taint with the carnal acts he had performed a thousand times in this bed.
Instead he simply grabbed a blanket and lay on the floor, leaving her on the bed.
"Goodnight, Domi," he said softly.
For a moment she was silent. Then she climbed off the bed, knelt above him, and kissed his cheek.
"Goodnight, Gemini," she whispered, hopped back onto the bed, and soon sank into sleep.
He lay for a long time on the floor, and sleep did not find him. Again and again, he replayed the scene in his mind: his mother backhanding him, berating him, humiliating him. Again and again, he thought of Domi's eyes, of her kiss. His mind was a storm.
Finally he could bear it no longer. He rose from the floor and gazed at Domi. She slept in the center of the bed, looking very small, but she did not seem peaceful. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, and she kicked as if suffering a nightmare.
Perhaps neither one of us will ever find peace, he thought.
Gemini hesitated for a moment, not wanting to scare her, then nodded and climbed into the bed with Domi. She mumbled and stirred but did not wake. He crawled under the covers and lay near her.
"Fire," she mumbled in her sleep and winced. "Spurs . . . hurt."
He moved closer to her and placed his arm around her. In her sleep, she nestled close to him, slung a leg across him, and laid her head against his chest. He stroked her hair until her mumblings stopped and her face smoothed. Soon she was sleeping calmly, and finally Gemini too sank into warm, peaceful slumber, holding her close and never wanting to let go.
CADE
When Fidelity opened her eyes, clutched in Cade's claws, she began to squirm at once.
"We have to go back, Cade." Still in human form, the librarian grabbed his claws, trying to loosen his grip. "Cade, we have to go back!"
Gliding over the sea as a golden dragon, Cade exhaled in relief. "Thank the stars, Fidelity. You're alive. Rest."
She wriggled madly, trying to free herself. Her pack dangled across her back, containing the heavy Book of Requiem. "We have to go back! Release me. Let me shift." Tears streamed down Fidelity's cheeks. "Father might still be alive."
Cade kept flying, a golden dragon, holding the young woman like an eagle holding a hare. She tried to shift in his grip—her body began to grow in size, and scales appeared across her—but his grip was strong enough to knock her back into human form.
"I'm sorry, Fidelity." Cade's voice was hoarse as he kept flying westward. "I can't let you go back. If you fly back, Mercy will kill you. I can't lose you too." He lowered his head. "He's dead, Fidelity. I saw the lance pierce him, saw him fall . . ." Grief filled his throat, and he could speak no more.
"I don't care what you saw!" Fidelity screamed in his grip. "Release me, Cade! He might still live, or . . . at least I have to find his body. And Amity! Stars, Cade, what of Amity? How can we just abandon them?"
"Because they'd want us to keep going!" Cade said. His wings beat with more fervor, and they streamed across the water. "Your father died so that we could live, so that we could carry on the word of Requiem. Amity died so that we could escape. And she's dead too, Fidelity. I grieve for her too, but she could not have survived that many firedrakes." His voice was hoarse, his eyes damp. "They gave their lives so that you and I could escape, find the printing press, and spread The Book of Requiem across the Commonwealth. So that we could rebuild Requiem. If we fly back to fight Mercy, we're dead, and the book will fall into the sea, and their deaths will have been in vain, and the last memory of Requiem will fade. I know you grieve. I know you hurt. I do too. But we can't let our hearts rule us now. We must fly. For Requiem."
Fidelity hung limply in his grip. "I can't just leave my father."
Cade winced, eye stinging. It hurt to push the words out of his throat. "I had to leave my parents. And my sister."
Fidelity looked up at him, silent and pale. She closed her eyes. "So what do we do?"
"We keep flying." He stared ahead, chest feeling too tight. "We keep fighting. If Korvin and Amity are fallen, we will honor their memory and fight on for them. If they're alive, we must trust that they're fighting their own battle now. Our mission lies in the west, in the city of Oldnale back in the Commonwealth. We will print our books—hundreds of books." He looked down at her. "I'm going to release you now—slowly. Shift before you fall. And I hope you keep flying with me."
Slowly, he opened his claws. She shifted as his grip loosened, becoming a blue dragon beneath him, absorbing her clothes, spectacles, and pack into her dragon form. For a moment, Cade thought she'd fly back to the east to find her father. For a moment, the blue dragon seemed to hesitate, turning back and forth in the sky.
Finally, she flew westward with Cade. She flew silently, eyes damp.
For hours, they said nothing.
Finally, when Fidelity was weary, Cade let her ride on his back as a human. Hours later they switched, and he resumed human form and rode on her.
They flew through night and dawn. Clouds thickened overhead, and faded patches of lightning glowed in the distance, followed by rumbling thunder.
Finally, when evening fell again, they reached the coast of the Commonwealth, of this land once known as Requiem.
On the coast, hundreds of lanterns and campfires burned.
Thousands of soldiers were mustered below, and dozens of firedrakes took flight, blasting up pillars of flame.
"Spirit damn it!" Cade hissed, breaking the silence for the first time in hours. "They're waiting for us. Oh, bloody Abyss!"
He beat his wings and soared higher. Fidelity soared at his side, fire flicking between her teeth. The soldiers below cried out, and firedrakes shot up in pursuit, their riders firing arrows.
Lightning flashed.
The sun vanished beneath the horizon.
Cade and Fidelity shot higher and vanished into storming clouds thick with hail.
They flew through the cloud cover, thunder booming, firedrakes screeching all around. Arrows shot through the storm, quickly vanishing; the paladins were blinded by the clouds, shooting randomly. The only light came from the fire the drakes spewed across the sky. Cade could barely see Fidelity by his side, only flashes of her blue scales. With her bad eyesight, he doubted she could see him at all.
"Fidelity!" he said, keeping his voice just loud enough for her to hear. "Fly with me. I'll keep tapping you with my wing. Be quiet and don't blow fire!"
She looked toward him, blinking furiously, brow furrowed. He knew she couldn't see a thing within the clouds; he himself could see little more than hail, flying arrows, and blasts of fire as the firedrakes sprayed their jets through the storm.
Cade tapped Fidelity with his wing, guiding her onward. They flew, heading west—or at least Cade thought they were heading west. The wind buffeted them, nearly knocking them into a spin. Cade had to keep his wings stiff; the storm kept threatening to pump them so full of air he'd whirl. The firedrakes flew all around, appearing and disappearing among the clouds. Their flaming jets rose like the columns of fiery cathedrals, only to quickly vanish under the rain and wind. Cade flew onward, silent, whizzing around the pillars of dragonfire. He kept tapping Fidelity with his wing, guiding her way.
They flew for what seemed like hours before the cries of the firedrakes finally faded, and the beasts no longer blew their fire. The two dragons flew a few miles more before emerging from the storm.
Dragons Lost Page 15
