The Red Dragon Girl (Firethorn Chronicles Book 3)

by Lea Doué

  Keir landed hard on the rocks, causing Mel to bite her tongue. As soon as he stopped and crouched low enough for them to dismount, she slid off. She stumbled a few yards away and threw up into a scraggly patch of grass. Orin joined her and laid a hand on her back.

  “I’m all right,” she said. Surprisingly, the wind had lessened. They stood on a scrubby ledge, like a bald spot among the tree-covered mountain, big enough to fit a half dozen black dragons. The drop off looked steep, but not deadly. She took Orin’s hand, and they joined Vanda and Baz, huddling near the rock wall. Keir spread a wing over them to block the rain, which drummed against the stretchy membrane and fell all around in sheets like a waterfall.

  “Keir spotted caves below us,” Baz said. He waited for the next peal of thunder to pass before continuing. “We’ll be more sheltered there among the trees than we are here. He’ll follow once we’ve made it down so his talons won’t dislodge any footholds.”

  “Let’s go,” Mel said, not waiting for anyone else to agree. She ran for the edge, paused for a moment, and then stepped down. Rocks and pebbles rolled under her boots, loosened by the sudden downpour, the incline every bit as steep as it had appeared. Leafy branches slapped her in the face, but she grabbed hold of the thicker ones to steady her descent.

  Orin overtook her moments later, slipping and sliding in a near run. True’s wet head poked out of the top of the basket, and she honked at Mel as they passed.

  Everyone made it to the bottom, muddy and soaked. Keir wove his way among the trees to join them and then broke a path parallel to the rocky slope, sticking his head into crevices now and then, until he finally found a good one and disappeared halfway into it. He backed out with a snort. The entrance stood about Orin’s shoulder height, well over Mel’s head. Baz climbed in first and hauled her and Vanda in after him, followed by True and the basket, and finally Orin.

  Their clothes created muddy pools beneath their hands and knees as they crawled inside. Mel bumped her head twice before realizing the ceiling was too low to stand. She found a wall and sat against it rather than stumble around in the dark. Lightning outlined Keir’s form as he walked away.

  “What about Keir?” she said.

  “There’s a hollow to curl up in not too far off,” Vanda replied.

  A soft white glow lit the chamber, coming from a flat, palm-sized oval Baz held in his hand.

  “A cave dragon scale,” Orin said. Coming from a mountainous kingdom, he would recognize such a thing. “As kids, brother and I used to make patterns in the garden using these. My full brother.”

  His half-brothers would have been too old to play such games. Mel had never seen one of the scales, as they only glowed for about a month after being shed. They weren’t much good for exports.

  “I just remembered it in my belt pouch,” Baz said. “We used them while digging the tunnel, but the others have faded.”

  Orin unpacked True and the eggs and passed out damp blankets, using one to dry her off and then make a nest. She accepted his offering of dry grain from a leather pouch, and then preened her feathers. He pulled his dry cloak from the bottom of the basket and tossed it to Mel.

  Mel motioned for Vanda to join her and spread the cloak over them both. She laid down next to True, with Orin just on the other side.

  Baz started to tuck the scale away.

  “Could you leave it out?” Vanda asked, biting her lip.

  “Of course.” He laid it near True’s nest.

  Soggy and sore, Mel fell asleep to the pattering of rain in the pines.

  *

  A grey halo of light illuminated the cave entrance when Mel woke. Baz had gone already. She gathered their blankets, except the one Vanda had become tangled in, fastened Orin’s cloak around her shoulders, and tiptoed to the entrance. True lifted her head, and she motioned for the goose to follow but didn’t expect her to leave the eggs.

  True limped over without a peep.

  Mel scrambled down to the ground, and then lifted True out. As soon as the goose’s feet hit the wet grass, she waddled off into the scrub in search of food.

  A dew-draped forest spread out before her, the rocky ground sloping downward at the bottom of the small cliff they’d descended during the night. Firelight brightened the morning gloom a few yards away, where Baz sat on a large oblong rock warming his hands. Nearby sat a man with the darkest skin she’d ever seen, almost coal black. Keir.

  “Good morning.” After shaking dirt from the blankets, she draped them to dry over some bushes and then huddled near Baz on his rock rather than sit on the wet ground. She wrapped Orin’s cloak tight against the morning chill.

  Baz handed her a chunk of bread. “Your Highness, may I introduce Healer Keir of Xafila. Keir, Princess Melantha, Fourth Daughter of Ituria.”

  Keir acknowledged the formally worded introduction with a nod, so she skipped the curtsy and smiled in return.

  She bit into the stale bread. “Where did the food come from?” She’d been so tired the night before, she hadn’t thought to ask.

  “Keir carried a small bundle tied around his ankle from our field camp. Clothes and food, mostly.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Certainly useful when he changed back into a man. She studied him openly as he stared silently into the flames. He wore a midnight-blue cloak pushed back off his tightly muscled shoulders, with matching trousers tucked into black knee boots, along with a sleeveless maroon tunic. Sword, dagger, belt pouch, and leather healer’s kit, more ornate than the one her sister Junia carried around, completed the outfit. Nothing in his clothing set him apart. What drew her eyes were the pale crescent scars barely visible all over his skin, spread out in a scale-like pattern, even on his face and shaved head. She didn’t ask where they came from, assuming it was a lingering effect from his time as a dragon. Would the marks stay after the curse was broken?

  By the time Vanda joined their quiet breakfast, the grey light had brightened to a misty silver. After an awkward hello to no one in particular, she sat right on the ground in a patch of moss and held her hands to the fire.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” Keir said, rising abruptly. He walked away without another word.

  Baz handed Vanda a piece of bread. “You look cold.”

  The blunt ends of Vanda’s hair swished against her shoulders as she shook her head. “I’m all right.”

  “Here.” He removed his cloak, shook it out, and held it up. “Allow me?”

  She nodded and let him fasten it around her shoulders. “Thanks.”

  He fought to keep a pleased grin off his face.

  Mel practiced with her daggers as they made small talk. The sun tiptoed up the sky, and forest critters added their voices to the conversation. If Orin didn’t wake soon, she would check on him, despite his assurance that he’d only suffered a bruise from his fall in the clearing.

  She asked Baz if he’d ever seen the Burnt River that the mountains were named after.

  “Briefly, as we passed by in a ship. It’s both frightening and beautiful, sort of oozing rather than flowing, and there’s a cloud of steam where it falls over a cliff into the ocean. Father said it’s grown smaller over the years.”

  “Tell me about him. Your father.”

  Vanda leaned forward to throw some sticks in the fire and then rested her elbows on her knees, pretending indifference while listening closely. Her gaze shifted between Mel’s hands and Baz’s face.

  Baz frowned while collecting his thoughts. He ran a hand through his dark curls, clutched a handful of them, and then let go. “My father has always been both demanding and protective. He married into the royal family, so when Mother died and left him to rule alone, he felt like an outsider. Over the years, he’s tried to prove himself worthy of the role and to make sure I live up to it, too.” He studied his hands as he talked. “His goal has always been for me to marry well. A princess, ideally. Nothing but the best for his only son and heir. I mean, if he, a merchant’s son, could get a princess, it shoul
d be easy for me. Right?”

  “But you don’t want a princess,” Mel said as she retrieved a dagger.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve met a couple, but they weren’t for me. No offense.”

  “None taken.” She aimed for a knot on the tree. Thwack. Bullseye! “My presence won’t complicate matters too much, though, will it?”

  His gaze strayed to Vanda, who stared at a butterwing as it nosed around the base of the tree. “He’s given his word, and I intend to see he doesn’t go back on it.”

  “He’s already met Vanda’s grandmother, correct? They’re both at the palace?”

  Baz nodded. “I promised Vanda I would look after Gram when the barrier separated them.”

  “How did that happen, though?” She threw two daggers at once. “Weren’t you all together?”

  He sighed. “The barrier took some time to complete its dome over the kingdom, probably because of how vast it is. Vanda stood with her father a few yards away from us outside the cottage, but once the barrier fell into place, that distance was enough to trap them both on the other side.”

  “Maybe after your father meets Vanda, he’ll understand how you feel. Although, given Gram’s history as a former sorceress, even for such a short time, he might already have a negative opinion about the family.”

  Baz must have had the same thought because he winced. “Gram is certainly a force to be reckoned with. She and that weaver dragon of hers are the ones who drove Idris off.”

  Thunk. Mel’s next dagger missed its mark, bounced off the trunk, and disappeared into the underbrush. She hadn’t expected to hear that name again.

  “Idris.” She hissed the name of the sorcerer who’d imprisoned Tharius. The man Tharius hunted. “Wait. That means Idris is still alive, and he was in the area not that long ago.” How long would it take Tharius to find out Idris had been there? Did he already know? The last she’d heard, Tharius had ridden off into the sunset with some crazy girl who’d tried to kill Gwen and Hazel, but he’d only been interested in the hateful girl because of her connection to Idris.

  No wonder the invisible barrier seemed familiar, only on a much grander scale than the one she’d encountered before. She wished she’d never heard his name, wished she could go back to a time when sorcerers were just villains in children’s stories.

  “We encountered him only a couple of months ago,” Vanda said, “but it seems like a lifetime. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard the name before, and my family has suffered because of his spells and schemes. This makes the third time.”

  Vanda fetched Mel’s dagger and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She sheathed it in her belt and then paced beside the fire. Misty sunrise spread across the forest, the perfect time for catching rabbits—the only thing she’d ever been allowed to hunt. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll try to bring back something to go with the bread.”

  “Be safe,” Vanda said.

  Nodding, she backtracked to the cave to check on Orin before heading out. He slept soundly, one arm draped over his eyes as if to shield them from the sun. She grinned, remembering all the times he’d fallen asleep in the goose field back home. Keir blended in to the shadows at the back of the cave. Wrapping Orin’s cloak around her, she headed north, away from the cliff.

  She wandered about, searching for animal signs and trying to determine in her head where Keir had landed. She’d never before calculated distance by dragon-flight and could only guess how far they’d come. She flicked open her sundial ring, a gift from her youngest sister Wren, mostly out of habit, as it was useless in the shade. Surprisingly, none of the villagers had stolen it. Her compass had been left behind in her travel bags, but she didn’t need it to tell her the direction. Ituria, her home and her family, lay to the south behind her. King Lotario’s palace lay north over the mountains and slightly west, which meant more flying. The Burnt River lay even farther northwest.

  After about half an hour of walking, she spied rabbit signs: grass tamped down from frequent traffic and chew marks on tree trunks. She stalked around the area hoping to flush one out from among the brambles, stopping to listen from time to time. Warm fingers of sunlight slipped through the canopy and glinted off the dewdrops. Her mouth watered at the thought of roast rabbit.

  An hour or so later, she headed back towards her friends, having bagged two rabbits and a squirrel. Still far from camp, the brush rustled somewhere behind her. A bold deer, perhaps. Too bad she didn’t have a bow, although taking it down would be a waste. They would be at the castle before the next morning, and she doubted Keir would want to carry such a large carcass.

  The rustling increased, and twigs snapped. Not the delicate footfalls of a deer. Footsteps, then, of someone not trying to hide their presence. If Orin had awakened at last and followed her, he was coming from the wrong direction. Unless he’d walked too far while she hunted or had gotten lost. She turned around and waited, one hand on a dagger, the other clutching the animals.

  A dark-cloaked figure appeared, tall and masculine, but obscured by the trees and bushes. He took a few more steps. Then he stopped a few yards away and removed his hood. Chills raced up her spine, and her temples throbbed.

  Not Orin.

  Tharius.

  Chapter Seven

  Mel’s jaw dropped at the sight of Tharius. He had made clear his goal of finding Idris, so his presence shouldn’t have shocked her. After all, Idris had created the barrier around Mazereon. But how did Tharius get in? He must have gone ahead of them through the tunnel—it was the only explanation that made sense.

  He took a step forward.

  She dropped the animals and drew a dagger in each hand. Probably useless against him, but they helped her stand taller. He wanted something, otherwise he wouldn’t have shown himself.

  He glanced at the daggers and stopped. Smirking, he leaned casually against a tree, studying her. She stared right back. Dust and mud splattered his clothes—all black, except for the long tunic, which might have once been dark blue. As always, his black hair fell into his eyes. Black eyes, weary and wary. Gwen said he’d been sunburned when she’d seen him, but his skin was now tanned, the sorcerer’s tattoo standing out sharply on his cheek. He looked… older than the image in her memory, although nowhere near his age. He’d never told anyone for certain, but she’d done the math and determined he was nearly old enough to be her father. She dared hope he’d become wiser since she’d last seen him.

  He didn’t move, but his very presence posed a threat. The dagger and sword at his side alarmed her less that what hung around his neck—three leather cords, each holding a small globe the size of her thumbnail and emitting a soft blue glow. Gwen had told her of an oddly reflective cut-glass bottle he carried, but she saw no sign of that. No doubt this was some new form of sorcery or spelled objects he was working on. She was interested only in keeping her distance from that unnatural glow.

  Birds chirped all around them, unconcerned about the face off. She refused to speak first. Let him be the one to break the ice.

  He finally obliged, his deep voice rippling through the air between them. “It appears you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in another curse.”

  Of course. Assume it was her fault. And speaking of curses and spelled objects. She nodded to his gloved hands. “Show me what’s on your fingers. If you please.” The strange girl he’d traveled with possessed a ring that could change a person’s appearance. The man before her might not be Tharius at all.

  He raised an eyebrow, but obliged with a smirk. He removed the gloves, tucked them under his arm, and displayed both hands with palms facing inward. The mourning ring with his mother’s hair glinted on one hand. On the other winked a silver ring with a golden dragon surrounded by six stones: five pale and dull and one bright red. Sissi’s ring, just as Gwen had described it. Sissi had used the spells stored in all but one of the six rubies.

  “Now take off the ring.”

  He slowly slid the ring off
his finger, holding her gaze the entire time.

  Nothing happened.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, glad he’d taken it from Sissi. She’d love to know how he convinced the girl to part with it. “So now that I know it’s really you… what do you want? Did you get trapped, too, and now you need our help to get out?”

  Dropping the ring into his belt pouch, he chuckled and put on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about me. As I told your sister, I’ll never be trapped again. I was simply in the neighborhood and thought I would offer my assistance.”

  Her fists tightened around the daggers. “Don’t toy with me. I know you’re after something, but I won’t play your games. And I won’t give you anything.” She had nothing that would be of any use to him.

  He waved away her protests. “What I want is not important at the moment. You, however, might wish to think twice before refusing my aid. You have a long way to travel before you get to the palace.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped and pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t ask him how he knew where they were headed. He always seemed to know things, probably some spell or other that provided information. But she had no desire to learn any details about it or any of his other tricks. She could accept that he knew things, but he likely didn’t know everything.

  “We’ll get to the palace long before you get where you’re going, and you’ll never see us again. We don’t need your help.”

  He crossed his arms. “And how do you like flying?”

  “Fine,” she said, probably too quickly because he smirked again. “I’ll assume you know what’s going on. We already have a plan, so how could anything you have to offer help us—especially when none of us would trust you enough to take anything from you?” Taking anything from the hand of a sorcerer was a good way to get cursed. Accepting any other kind of help could be just as risky.

  He raised his eyebrows and gave her a look as if she’d missed something obvious. “You are aware than not everyone has the same opinion as your father?”