by Ava Sinclair
I do not like this, although my father, Lord Egir of Im’Ril, warned me these feelings of animosity are normal and will pass after the battle.
When Father came to the castle yesterday, we shifted together and sparred for practice. Afterwards, he said it brought back memories of how he and his brothers fought for my mother, Lady Klea.
He told me the battle between sons often stirs the fire of the long-settled rivalry of their fathers. Every Drakoryan wants first rights. Every Drakoryan father wants the same for his son.
I am faster and stronger than my father now, and even as he lamented his age, he was proud when I bested him. Still, he cautioned that it would not be so easy on the morrow. He’d reminded me that my brothers will be equally fierce, that the lust building within us will become white-hot rage as we take to the skies. Fraternal battles draw a Drakoryan dangerously close to a fully primal dragon state. Only defeat or victory can snap us out of it.
While my father spoke almost wistfully of this contest, part of me resents having to fight for Isla of Branlock. I was the one who found her. I was the one who saved her, who bore her back to Castle Fra’hir, where all the Drakoryan had gathered for Council. I was the one who’d lowered her into the healing pool.
I was the one who’d saved her life, but that does not matter. Today, I will enjoy no favor as I fight for her because this battle is a necessary tradition.
Dragons are contentious by nature, even with one another. Sharing a mate forces a house to build cooperation as one would build a muscle. The results are the same: strength.
The battle for first rights forges the path towards that cooperation. We are taught to seek a balance in combat – to balance our dragon lust for victory with the humanity that keeps us from taking the battle too far.
As eager as I am to fight, I am equally eager for it to be over.
I rise from my bed and go to the wash basin. I dip my hands in the water, watching as steam curls around them. My blood runs hot in my veins. I can barely stand still. I splash my face and the droplets instantly evaporate from my fevered skin. I am famished. I need to eat.
There is already a feast laid out when I arrive in the hall, thanks to my mother who is visiting Castle Za’vol with my fathers.
My younger brother, Zyvis, glares at me from over a whole suckling pig. Beside him, Jayx, the eldest, is starting on his second peafowl, the first reduced to a heap of bones. Even though there is no blaze in the great stone fireplace, sweat beads on their brows.
We are all heat and appetite, and on this morning communicate only through glares and glowers. I take a seat and begin reaching for food. When I grab for a beef joint, Jayx tries to snatch it away even though his plate is full. Our eyes meet and his flame with competitive rage. I pull the meat away from him and grab a second piece with my other hand, wordlessly daring him to try and take it.
“My boys have such appetites this morning.” Our mother enters the room. She is aging slowly and gracefully, retaining the beauty that Jayx’s father first saw when he snatched her from the Altar Rock of her village. He bested his brothers. Will I best mine today? I want to, more than anything.
“Good morning, Mother,” I say, grateful for the diversion. Even the inner dragons so desperate to emerge and fight are no match for maternal authority. Her presence has a calming effect. Zyvis and Jayx greet her as well.
“I have missed feeding you,” she says, settling at the head of the table. Her mouth quirks into a smile. “I’d also forgotten how much you eat. The appetites of your fathers have slowed, but don’t tell them I said so.”
“Where are they?” Jayx asks.
“Already on the wall.” She smirks. “Already arguing over who will win.”
“Why do they argue over something with so obvious an answer?” Zyvis tosses aside a freshly cleaned bone. “Of course I’ll win. By this time tomorrow, I’ll have both stoked and quenched the fire burning between the legs of our flame-haired beauty.” He smiles confidently.
“You?” Jayx scoffs. “You’ve allowed your father to fill your head with false hope. Isla requires a practiced hand to guide her to the paths of pleasure, and I have more skill than all of you combined.”
I know I shouldn’t take the bait, but I can’t help it. “Jayx, just because you have sheathed your lance in the slick scabbard of every household maid in the empire doesn’t mean you are skilled in the art of loving, only the art of rutting.” I fix both my brothers with a hard stare. “I’ll see you both dashed on the rocks before you touch Isla.”
“You’ll see nothing!” Jayx is on his feet. His eyes burn gold. I stand too and lift a goblet, flinging it to the side. Fury pounds in my ears and I am aware of Zyvis’ chair falling over backwards as he rises as well.
“SIT!” Our mother’s voice is like a dash of cold water thrown in our faces. “Sit,” she hisses again. Her arms are crossed. We obey.
Mother frowns at us until we turn our attention to her. “I did not come all this way to see you fight before your time. I came to advise you, in the hopes that what I have to say will be remembered after this battle.” She looks from one of us to the other. “There will only be one victor today. One. There will be two losers.”
She glares at us until she’s sure we’re listening.
“One of you will take Isla to your bedchamber tonight. The other two will seek your lonely beds. You will all eventually have your time with this woman, but as one who was once in Isla’s place, heed my advice. It is not your body, nor even your heart that should lead this dance. Follow your heads, my sons, not your cocks. There is more sex between a woman’s ears than between her legs.
“Your little virgin survived for days in a well,” our mother continues. “She is strong willed, and strong minded. Embrace the all of her; as you seek to teach, make yourself a pupil of her passion. Do this, and she will embrace you in return. Do this, and forge the way for the Deepening, and with it the kind of bond you will all need to carry you through these dark times.”
Her words are sobering. Our focus on Isla has nearly made us forget why we’re being allowed to take her now. War is coming. The ShadowFell who burned the villages of Kenrick and Branlock have stirred awake. By now they must know the villagers have been relocated to the Drakoryan Empire. How long before they bring the fight here?
“Our fathers expect the War Council to be called any day,” I remark grimly, drawing glances from my brothers. “Should the council be assembled, King Vukurcis will expect all lords to travel to his castle. He will not allow delays, not even for a mating. We may not all have time to claim our maiden.”
My brothers and I turn our energy back to our food, feeding ravenously, the line between human and dragon as thin as a membrane, the tension as thick as the brown bread we eat with our meat.
The meal is exhausted all too quickly. So is the time for waiting. My mother rises. We stand in deference and watch her leave. She is going to fetch Isla, to take her to the flanking wall where she will join our parents to watch us battle for first rights.
With Mother gone, my brothers and I remain alone at the table. The room is filled with the sound of breathing which grows more ragged by the second. I feel hot sweat pouring down my face. My heart bursts with the desire to fly and fight. My brothers feel it too. We rise and leave out different doors. When we next confront one another, it will be as dragons.
Chapter 3
ISLA
I’m standing in a line of strangers, cloudy sky above, a craggy gorge below. To my left is Lady Klea, as distant and regal as a queen. She wears the same stoic expression as her trio of mates, the Lords of Im’Ril. They stand to my right, and in them I see a resemblance to the men who will soon take to the skies as dragons and battle for the right to claim me.
I pull the fur collar of the cape up against my neck. The cape and the high-necked green gown it covers were both gifts from Lady Klea, who came by my room to greet me this morning. I’d just finished my solitary breakfast of salted beef and stewed pear
s when she arrived.
I’d braced myself upon meeting her, expecting her to condescend, to tell me how fortunate I was that her sons had chosen me. But she delivered both her gift and the accompanying compliment with an aloofness that I suspect is born of natural reserve.
“You’ll need to become accustomed to having nice things. It is an adjustment of its own kind, the Drakoryan generosity.” She’d nodded towards a maid who approached to hold out the finest garments I’d ever seen. “You’ll wear these today, although I’m not sure anything could do your beauty justice.”
She’d turned then and departed without another word. The maid was about my age, a sturdy girl who introduced herself as Sal before flashing me a nervous, gap-toothed smile.
“I’m to fix your hair. And dress you.” She issued these statements as if they were settled matters, so I assumed she was acting on Lady Klea’s orders. Until that moment, I’d refused all offers of a personal maid. I’d considered sending her away, but when I saw the lacing on the gown, I realized I could not fasten it alone, so I’d allowed Sal to direct me to the dressing table.
I’d ignored her curious glances in the looking glass as she’d brushed and plaited my hair in a thick braid down my back. Sal had been efficient and detached as she’d replaced my shift with Lady Klea’s gift. Made of heavy velvet lined with satin, the gown seemed more fit for a princess than for a simple girl from Branlock. The cloak was so sumptuous that were there any room for joy in my aching heart, I’d surely have felt it. But I’d only felt numb as I stared into the looking glass.
“You’re so lucky.” Sal had uttered the words as she closed the jeweled clasp at the top of the cloak.
“Lucky?” I was barely able to get the word out, so great was my shock. “My village was burned, and my family killed save for my sister, who was taken.”
My maid had just shrugged as she’d turned to pick up my nightdress from the floor. “Still lucky,” she’d muttered. “You’ll be a lady now.”
I consider her words now as I look out over the wall. What does this place do to human women?
At my side, Lady Klea stands in thoughtful silence. She’d once been stolen away by a dragon, but accepted her fate, abandoning all that she knew. Sal, who belongs to a serving class not claimed as Drakoryan mates, sees my circumstance as good fortune. Even Lady Lyla urged me to adapt.
As I look down and see the Lords of Za’vol each emerge from the mouths of three different caves, I know it will be more of a challenge than anyone realizes. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I feel a chill run through my body despite the richness of my fur cloak.
I know what these men are about to become.
Chapter 4
ZYVIS
I expect you to win.
The words of my father still ring in my ears, intensifying the pressure I feel as I walk out onto the ledge.
Yesterday, I’d been on one of the western battlements watching Turin spar with his father when my own had approached. I’d immediately felt the tension draw and tighten the cords of my muscles.
My father, Lord Udra, had once been a regimental commander. I’ve spent my entire life trying and failing to live up to his expectations.
Drakoryans age far slower than humans, but like great mountains, even dragon lords wear over time. There is more gray than blonde in my father’s beard now, and while he is still strong, he has slowed more than his younger brothers, and walks with a slight limp he tries to hide. When war comes, it will grieve him not to take to the battlefield. He lives through me now, and I do not allow myself to resent it. He is my father, and must be respected.
He’d been silent as we stood on the windswept battlement watching Turin and Lord Egir practice.
“You’re faster than Turin,” he’d finally said. “You’ll easily beat him.” He’d waved dismissively towards the scene below, as if his words made this settled fact. “Now, Jayx—he’ll be your competition.” My father had puffed out the broad barrel of his chest. “But even Jayx will be no match for my son. He lacks the cunning and strength you inherited. Preparation still matters, however.” He’d turned to me then, his voice gruff. “Have you watched Jayx spar?”
“Of course,” I’d said.
“And what did you learn?” He barked the question like the commander he used to be, so I’d answered as the son he expected.
“He favors the left, Father, so I should watch my left flank. Jayx also rolls to escape an attack, so I should hem him in when I can.
“Drive him towards the ground if you have to.” My father’s tone was hard.
That advice had given me pause. “If I do that, and he’s still rolling…” I’d looked down at the jagged rocks, imagining how this strategy could end. “If he doesn’t pull up…”
“You want to win, don’t you?” I could feel his glare, as cold and sharp as the wind. “Or would you bring disgrace to my legacy? He’ll pull up, Zyvis. He’s too smart to bash himself on the rocks, but too proud to pull up soon enough to keep his bearings. He’ll be disoriented from the roll. Use your fire to force a landing. That’s how you’ll prevail.”
Jayx’s father, Lord Orys, had bested mine in the battle for our mother and now the mighty Lord Udra would have vengeance through his son. He’d had me repeat the strategy back to him, word for word, until he was satisfied that the moves I made were his moves, that my victory would be his.
As I stand on the ledge, I still feel a sting of shame over my moment of worry for Jayx. My father is right. With so much at stake, now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time for glory.
For myself.
For my father.
I can see all of them standing on the wall. My father, the largest, looks confident. Lord Egir and Lord Orys stand at his side. My mother is at the end. Between them is Isla, the prize I must win.
When my brothers emerge onto nearby ledges, I allow my hatred for them to rise in my blood like poison. Despite the icy winds, I am burning inside. I throw my head back and let the fire overtake me.
It is time.
My blood is a river of heat. I can feel it coursing through me, burning my human form from inside out. As the flame consumes me, I know I should cling to my humanity, to balance my rage with rational thought, with mercy. But my father’s face invades my mind and something slips. The human voice in my head is a whisper as I am obliterated by a violet flame. Rage fills my chest as I solidify into my dragon form. I inhale, catching the sweet scent of my prize on the wind. I stretch out my neck and whip my head around, golden eyes seeking my brothers.
And there they are. Jayx is now an indigo dragon; Turin one of sunset orange. I open my mouth and emit a roar that shakes the valley. Ravens lift from the trees below and take flight, winging their way from the impending danger.
I drop from the ledge and spread my wings, banking west and heading towards the wall where the woman I plan to win stands with our mother and our fathers. I will woo her with my might. I will show her that I am the strongest. I will show them all. Isla is ashen-faced as I fly towards the wall. I veer at the last minute, a violaceous streak across the sky. From my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of deep blue. Just as my father warned, Jayx is approaching from the left. Hatred for him and Turin, who is above and to my right, thrums through my body.
I pump my wings, shooting high through the clouds. I inhale gulps of air as I rise. It slows my ascent, but there is a strategy to what I do. With my massive lungs filled, I am ready to release the fire venom into my throat. I arc, diving back toward the ground. As I break back through the clouds, I see Turin heading towards Jayx. It infuriates me. I have planned to expend the bulk of my strength on Jayx—our eldest brother, and my strongest opponent.
I change tactics, banking to the right and releasing enough venom to ignite a flame I direct at the annoying Turin. I am rewarded with a scream as fire catches him on a wing joint. It is not a direct hit, but enough to make him veer away.
I head for Jayx, imagining Isla marveling
at my speed. I think of my father’s pride. I think of how I hate my brothers. I bear down on Jayx, giving him no time to move above me. I drive him towards a crevasse. As predicted, he starts to roll. I have seen him do this before. He seeks to roll into an upward spin, gaining an advantage once he’s above me. Yet when I’m almost upon him, I spread my wings, cutting off the room he needs to ascend back through the narrowing passage.
Jayx begins to spiral. Somewhere in my mind, I hear a human voice – my own – telling me to pull up, to give him room to rise. But the louder voice of my father screams for me to wait, lest Jayx recover with an advantage. I am lost in my rage. I continue to follow the spinning form of the indigo dragon downward as the jagged rocks rise to meet him.
I’m so focused on Jayx that the glancing blow from the side takes me by surprise. I feel all the air I’d reserved for flame forced from my lungs as I slam into the side of the crevasse. I slide down the slope, snapping off trees and dislodging boulders before rolling from one ledge and slamming into another below. The world spins around me.
As I struggle to reorient myself I realize what has happened.
Turin. As I’d focused on Jayx, our middle brother had flown down and under my spread wing to sideswipe me, allowing Jayx to recover from his spin moments before he would have hit the ground. I see a blue flash as our eldest shoots past where I lie, back up through the crevasse.
I suck in enough air to roar in indignation as I clamber to my feet.
To regain enough speed to rejoin the fight, I need room to dive and rise, but the ledge I’ve landed on is not high enough for that. I can only take off by ascending, and before I can, Jayx is above me. He’s diving into the crevasse, his gold eyes narrowed in determination. I see the white daggers of his teeth, the open cavern of his mouth, and the fireball forming at the back of his throat a split second before a wave of intense heat hits me, searing my scales and fracturing the thin rock beneath me. I am falling again, and this time when I hit the ground there is no recovering. I am too burned, too broken, too bruised.
