"You're not suggesting we drink it." Vale sighed. "That's seraphim juice."
She snorted. "Oh, you think everything fine and luxurious is for seraphim. But back in the day, we Vir Requis knew how to enjoy life. I still do." She uncorked the bottle and sat down under a pomegranate tree. "Now there's a lot in here, so I'm going to need your help."
Vale glanced at the pomegranates that hung above her. "We can drill into the fruits' shells and fill them with water."
"Sit now and drink!" Tash reached up, grabbed his hand, and yanked him down.
He sat with a groan. The stream gurgled at their side, and the branches of the pomegranate tree swayed, and the sea whispered in the distance. Tash drank deeply from the bottle, then smacked her lips.
"I detect an elegant bouquet of apple flavors and brown sugar, a hint of vanilla and caramel, and an undertone of maple and oak."
Vale raised his eyebrow. "Are you drinking spirits or a perfume shop?"
She handed him the bottle. "Try it."
He took a sip, forced himself to swallow, and grimaced.
"Well, do you taste the oaky apple flavors?" Tash asked.
He shuddered. "I taste all the things you did, at least after they were burned in dragonfire."
"Now you're getting the hang of it!"
She took the bottle from him, drank again, then handed it back.
Vale took another sip and winced. "And you really call this luxury?"
She nodded. "This is living, my boy." She leaned against the tree and grinned. "Relaxing under a tree, a stream flowing by our side, a beach below, dawn rising around us . . . good drink and good company." Her smile faded, and she looked into his eyes. "These moments don't last long, Vale. Not for us Vir Requis. Let's savor this moment while we can. This memory might have to sustain us on dark paths ahead."
He drank again. This time it didn't taste quite as bad.
They passed the bottle back and forth as dawn rose, and every sip was easier, and soon Vale found himself lying on his back, looking up at the swaying branches, the pomegranates, the blue sky above, the whispering beach in the distance.
A memory to last, he thought. A good moment to savor.
Yet what did he know of such things? Tash had scolded him that he could not laugh, could not have fun, and she had been right. There was something broken inside him. Something that had broken in Tofet. Something that he didn't think all the rivers, seas, or bottles could wash away.
Why do I live? he thought. Why do I fight on when there's no hope for my life? Even if I could remain here forever in beauty, the nightmares would remain inside me. I've left Tofet, but Tofet will never leave me. I died on the ziggurat, pinned above the city. No matter how long I draw breath, I died that day.
Tash spoke softly at his side. "It's beautiful here, but more than anything, I want to see the beauty of Requiem. All those places from the stories. There are no pomegranate or fig or date trees there, but there are different trees. Birch trees that spread for miles in a great forest, the place where the first Vir Requis lived wild. There is no sea, but there's the great Ranin River, fabled in the tales for its icy fresh waters. I was born here in Saraph, and for five hundred years, we lived here, but this is not our home. Our home lies across the sea."
Vale touched his iron collar. In Requiem he would not lie under a tree. He would fly over forests, fields, and ancient halls of marble and light.
"In my dreams," he said, "I saw the sky so many times. The sky is always pale searing blue or endless black here in Saraph, the color of steel and death, and the sun is always white and cruel. But in Requiem the sky is of many colors, a painting in gold, blue, purple, and all the colors of fire. Some days there are clouds, and some days there are storms. Some days it rains and on others the sun shines. Some nights the stars are hidden, and in others, the Draco constellation shines brilliantly above. But it's always our sky, ours to touch, ours to find. Do you know the old prayer of Requiem, Tash?"
She nodded, eyes damp. Her voice was but a whisper. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."
And that is why I live on, Vale thought. That is why I fight. Issari gave me this life, not so I could live in pain, but so that I could find that sky again.
Tash hefted the bottle. Only a few swigs inside swirled. "Only two little sippies left. For Requiem!"
She drank and passed him the bottle.
"For Requiem," he said softly and emptied the bottle.
Tash nestled up against him and stroked his hair. "You will find that sky, Prince Vale Aeternum, son of Requiem. You will fly there as your forebears did, our great kings of old. You will be a king to us, and I will fly with you. Always."
He lay on his back, and she curled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her leg tossed across his leg, her arm across his chest. He stroked her hair—long, soft brown hair. His hands had always held pickaxes, stones, bricks; he had never imagined anything could feel so good to the touch. She looked up at him, pushed herself onto her elbow, and her hair draped around them in curtains, and he kissed her.
The world is full of want and pain, he thought. My homeland lies in ruin, my father cries out in chains, and my mother lies underground. But right here, right now, the world is good. Right here I am in beauty with a woman I love. Let this be a small fire that warms us for the road ahead.
His hand trailed across her body, moving down to the valley of her waist, where her skin was bare and smooth, then up the hill of her hip, where her silk trousers did not shield the warmth and softness beneath. She reached under his tunic, stroking his chest, and he hesitated, stiffened, but she kissed him and whispered softly.
"For years I pleasured men in the gardens and beds of Shayeen. I know where to nibble, to lick, to stroke, to bite, to drive men wild until they scream. But I don't want to do this to you, Vale. Those are mere tricks for petty lords. Let me love you truly. As a woman loves a man. And I want you to love me back, for I'm yours. Not only my body but my heart, my soul, my love. I've never given them to another, but I give all these to you, son of Requiem."
And at that moment, Vale loved her—loved her more than he had ever thought he could love another, loved her with a passion as great as dragonfire, as wonderful and all-consuming as flying as a dragon. He kissed her again, and their hands moved across each other's bodies, seeking, stroking, then moving faster, tearing at their clothes with an urgency only matched by their kisses.
Her body was so slender, so soft, a thing of such frailty and beauty that it seemed impossible that it should exist in this world. His hand cupped her small breast, and her hand reached down to stroke him, and she closed her eyes, lay on her back, took him inside her. He moved atop her, and it was like flying, like gliding on the winds of Requiem. They flew together as dragons, forgetting their collars, coming together like sky and stars, like prayers and song.
They blazed together like dragonfire, and she cried out, and he closed his eyes, lay atop her. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his tears.
"It's all right, my prince." She stroked his hair. "Why do you weep?"
"Because this is precious," he whispered. "Because this is good. Because I'm happy."
She kissed his cheeks again and again until his tears were gone, then grinned and bit her lip. "Let's do it again."
For the first time in his life, Vale laughed.
MELIORA
They walked through the caves, her halo lighting their way, seeking a way out from darkness.
The wounds on her cheek still stung, a throbbing pain that worked down her jaw and neck. Her belly ached with hunger, her throat begged for water, and she was so weary—she had not slept for two days and nights—that her limbs shook. But worse than all was the fear, a coiling beast inside her. A fear of the dark. A fear of losing her way in shadows, of a slow death underground.
She turned toward the others. The light of her halo painted them red and orange. Elory walked holding a fresh leaf to what remained of her ear, and she held
her sickle in her other hand. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold, and her eyes were sunken. Blood still stained her ragged tunic. Lucem walked at her side, his hand placed against the small of her back, shepherding her onward, and he held his spear.
"Lucem, have you ever walked this far deep?" Meliora asked.
The young man shook his head. "Never. I've only ever taken a few steps into these caves." He grinned. "Exciting, isn't it? We're explorers!"
Meliora groaned. "Exciting is discovering an almond in a bowl of walnuts. We need to find a way out. We cannot die here in the darkness. Not only our lives are at stake but all of Requiem."
"Cheery one, you are." Lucem nodded. "No pressure or anything. Only an entire nation depending on us. Maybe a little whistling will ease the tension?"
He rounded his lips and began to whistle an old tune when the shrieks rose behind them.
They all grimaced. The screams sounded far away, almost inaudible, but chilled Meliora's spine.
"Dark seraphim," Elory whispered. "They're breaking in."
Meliora cursed. "We need to hurry. We need to see if these tunnels lead to another exit in the mountains."
"That or find a hidden army in here." Lucem nodded. "About a thousand troops hiding away could really come in handy around now." He yanked at his collar. "Especially if they had the keys to these things."
Meliora groaned and began walking quickly, and the others followed. No, they would not find a key here in the darkness. The Keymaker still lived many miles away, and Meliora's hope for ever finding him began to fade. Even should she escape these caves, how would she make it across the mountains with the dark seraphim in pursuit—the most dangerous criminals to have ever lived in Saraph?
I was a foolish girl, she thought. Just a foolish princess with delusions of grandeur, sure that I could become a savior, a messiah to Requiem. She lowered her head. Just a silly girl. I won't even make it to the Keymaker, let alone return with salvation and lead my people home.
Perhaps sensing her turmoil, Elory walked closer. The young woman hung her sickle from her belt, reached out, and took Meliora's hand in hers. The hand was so small, like the hand of a child, and Elory didn't stand taller than Meliora's shoulder, and yet there was comfort here, there was strength that Meliora knew she could lean on.
"We'll find a way out." Elory's eyes shone in the firelight. "I know this. You did not fly through fire to die in darkness. When I saw you fly above a nation, a great dragon all in silver and gold, I knew that someday you would lead us home. I believe in you, Meliora. You led us this far. You will lead us onward."
Who says I want to be a leader? Meliora thought. Her eyes stung and her chest constricted. I'm just a princess, that's all. Just a pampered princess, innocent, naive. I'm no heroine like the great Priestess Issari or Queen Gloriae. I cannot become the leader you want.
Yet when Meliora looked into her sister's brown eyes, she saw such hope there, such admiration, that Meliora could not bear to crush that light, even if that light should soon fade. She nodded and squeezed Elory's hand.
"We'll find a way out, Elory. I promise you."
The scream sounded again behind them. It seemed closer now. The dark seraphim had entered the caves. Meliora tightened her lips and walked on.
The tunnel soon forked, and Meliora hesitated for a moment. One tunnel seemed wider, sloping upward; the other was narrow, sinking deeper.
"Which way do we go?" Elory asked. "The wider tunnel is a more natural choice, but the dark seraphim will know this. They'll follow us there."
Meliora thought for a moment. "Wait here." She stepped into the narrow tunnel that delved downward, tore off a strip of her cloak, and placed it on the ground. Then she walked back to the fork. "We take the wider tunnel."
As they walked onward, Meliora frowned and stared at the tunnel wall. She paused, moved closer, and let her halo illuminate the stone. The surface was smooth, and engravings appeared upon it.
"We're not the first ones to enter here." She placed her hand against the wall. "Look."
Figures were engraved onto the wall, life-sized: a goat, a lion, an eagle, and a man. Runes appeared around them in a language Meliora did not recognize. In the crackling firelight, the figures seemed almost to move.
"Who would enter so deeply into these caves to engrave these?" Elory asked.
Meliora frowned. "I'm not sure these are caves." She shuddered. "They might be man-made tunnels."
Lucem examined the engravings. "Man-made? The lion might have helped a bit." He clawed the air. "Claws and all."
They kept walking, and the tunnel grew wider, the walls and floor smoothing out. The firelight revealed engravings on the ceiling, these ones of flaming wheels. An acidic smell filled the air, and distant shrieks echoed like ghosts.
"Look at that." Elory pointed.
A towering engraving appeared upon a wall, showing a mountain of corpses. Men, women, children—all lay dead, eyes closed, mouths open in anguish, and above them blazed a fiery wagon wheel. More runes appeared here, coiling around the mountain of the dead.
"I know this symbol," Meliora whispered. "The flaming wheel." She shuddered. "The wheel of the Living Creatures."
"The Living Creatures?" Lucem asked. "Doesn't sound so bad. Better than the Living Monsters or the Undead Creatures." A shriek rose from behind, and Lucem winced. "And better than the dark seraphim that follow."
Meliora wasn't so sure. "There's an old legend of them in Saraph, but few ever repeat it. It's said that after the fall from Edinnu, when the seraphim lost the rebellion against the gods, we wandered this world, hurt and afraid and alone. It's said that the Eight Gods—the ones we rebelled against—sought to slay us in our new world. A wheel of fire appeared in the sky that day, and creatures descended from it." Meliora shuddered. "It's said that the Living Creatures were four, but that their wings were connected, so that they had to always walk together. It's said they killed many seraphim."
Lucem sighed. "Nothing but trouble since you two showed up. I was enjoying my little hill and carob trees, and now it's dark seraphim, Living Creatures, and stars know what's next."
They continued walking, and the tunnel kept curving, branching off, a dark labyrinth. At every fork, Meliora placed a scrap of her cloak in one way, then took the other path, trying to remember the way, soon realizing she was lost. Yet no matter how winding the path, the screeches rose louder behind them. Soon Meliora could make out voices.
"They walk into darkness, comrades! Our meals scurry ahead."
Laughter rolled through the caves.
"They seek to trick us with cloth!"
"We smell them, comrades! Smell their fear. Follow the scent! Drink their blood."
Lucem grimaced. "They're getting closer."
Meliora glared at him. "We're in a tunnel. The sky is up. The sun is hot. Any more obvious facts you want to remind me of?"
He groaned. "Yes—we need to move faster. Come on!"
They began to run. The tunnels twisted madly, and Meliora no longer bothered leaving scraps of cloth; pointless, if the seraphim were tracking their scent. The tunnels widened, soon the size of temple halls. Meliora's halo barely lit the shadows here, but she thought she made out engravings of battles across the walls and ceiling. She glimpsed an eagle's head, a lion's, a goat's, engraved larger than men upon the walls, and everywhere the stone corpses and flaming wheels. Here was a great tomb for the memory of that ancient slaughter, the Eight Gods' last vengeance against the seraphim.
"We smell them ahead, siblings!" rose a cry—the shrill voice of Leyleet. "We smell them, those who slew one among us. We will split them open! We will pull out their ribs! We will saw them in half! We will keep them alive so they scream!"
Lucem cringed as he ran. "Wow, they can saw you in half and keep you alive? That's talent!"
"I'd rather they picked up painting," Elory said, running at his side. "Maybe flower arrangement?"
Lucem flashed her a grin. "You made a funny! That's
great."
"Shut it, you two, and run!" Meliora said, racing down the shadowy nave.
As the laughter of the dark seraphim rolled behind, they ran on down the chasm. In the darkness, Meliora could only see a few steps ahead, and she skidded to a halt when she reached the dead end. Elory and Lucem stopped with her, panting and drenched with sweat.
A stone wall towered ahead, and upon it was engraved a massive wagon wheel, taller than Meliora, stony flames rising from it.
"Damn it," Meliora said. "A dead end."
Elory spun around and drew her sickle. Lucem hefted his spear, and Meliora raised her sword. In the darkness the screeches of the dark seraphim still sounded, coming closer with every heartbeat.
"Blood!" they cried.
"Bones!"
"Organs!"
"Kill, crush, eat!"
Meliora took a deep breath. "We fight. Here is our final stand." She raised her chin. "There are fifteen of them, only three of us, but Requiem has always faced unsurmountable odds, and we've always overcome. For Requiem! For a memory of dragons. For—"
"Will you be quiet and help me?" Lucem said.
She spun around to see him grabbing the stony wheel engraved onto the wall, tugging at its spokes. "What are you doing, Lucem?"
He groaned. "Thought I'd plant a flower bed. What do you think I'm doing? It's a door, Your Highness! Help me open it."
Meliora's eyes widened. Indeed, as Lucem tugged, the wagon wheel engraving shed dust, creaking on the wall. She grabbed another stone spoke, and Elory grabbed another, and they pulled together.
The wheel creaked, then turned an inch. Another inch.
The wall trembled. They kept tugging, and the wheel gave a great turn, a full foot, and then loosened with showering dust. A lock clicked somewhere deep in the wall, and the great stone wheel swung inward like a door.
A chamber awaited beyond, awash with golden light. Elory entered the chamber first, followed by Lucem. Meliora entered last, then shoved herself against the round door, pushing it shut with a thud.
The sound of the dark seraphim faded behind the stone.
Crown of Dragonfire Page 16
