by Simone Pond
Table of Contents
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26
Author’s Note
BY SIMONE POND
Fire and Blood
Dragons of Galicia Series
Book 3
By Simone Pond
simonepond.com
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Author’s Note
BY SIMONE POND
1
When the dragon carried Evelyn off toward the Vindius Mountains, she had only two things on her mind. The first was whether or not Doran would reach Aine before the girl left the village. The other was how desperately she wished the spear of Gorias was in her possession. The dragon flew through an opening in the side of the mountain and into the pitch-dark cave. Evelyn realized only a rookie dragon slayer would get captured without the one weapon that could kill the beast.
The tunnels were vast caverns wide enough to accommodate the dragon as it continued deeper into the heart of the mountain. The creature dropped Evelyn onto an island of flat rock that was surrounded by a lake of boiling magma just a few feet below. It then flew off into another tunnel.
“Perfect. This is just perfect …”
The air was thick with humidity, and the bubbling lava made the temperature almost unbearable. Her clothes—drenched with perspiration—clung heavily to her sweltering skin. Breathing was becoming difficult and claustrophobia threatened to soon kick in. She quickly removed her boots. The pants were next. It felt nice to be free of the suffocating weight of the material. She pondered removing the tunic. Modesty seemed ridiculous in such insufferable heat, but she didn’t want to be nude when the dragon returned. It served as a symbolic shield from complete exposure to the beast. And so the tunic stayed. Her mother’s locket remained around her neck as well, although the hot gold chain seared her skin.
Evelyn fell into a stupor as the minutes rolled into hours and hours possibly into days. It was impossible to know precisely how much time had passed because she was certain hallucinations were kicking in. She lay on the flat stone, her body and mind melting into a puddle. How much longer could she withstand the high temperatures? If Prince Kieran had planned to use her for the summer solstice sacrifice—still a week or so away—she’d never survive without proper hydration.
The puddle of sweat had become a pool, and eventually she had no more water in her system to expel. Complete dehydration had set in. She blankly stared at the lake of orange lava, watching the bubbles make their intricate and ornate patterns. She considered rolling off the side and plunging into the hot pool below to be done with it …
Evelyn opened her eyes and murmured, “I must be out of my gourd …”
There on the ledge sat a jug of water and a basket of fruit. Had someone delivered the items? Or was it a hallucination? She reached out to touch the glass jug. It sure felt real. She propped herself up on her elbows and mustering her remaining strength, she tipped back the jar. Cool, refreshing streams of water flowed down her parched throat, chin, and neck. She set the jug upright and sighed with immense relief. Her wilted cells burst back to life.
Obviously someone wanted to keep her alive—even if barely. But that someone had grossly underestimated Evelyn. She’d use the boon as an opportunity to gain her second wind and escape from that fiery hell.
She bit into an apple. The crisp, juicy flavor shot vitality back into her body. Bite by bite, Evelyn recalled how the dragons of Galicia had once tried to destroy her mother’s family and failed. She thought about Prince Kieran keeping her father prisoner all those years, trying to kill his spirit, yet Lugh of Gorias lived. Somehow both of her family bloodlines were tied to the Galician dragons. Despite the dire circumstances, she had ended up in the cave for a reason … And it was her fate to slay the winged demon before the summer solstice and keep the entire clan from being reawakened—forever.
“I might not have the spear of Gorias, but I am still a dragon slayer.”
A familiar charge surged through Evelyn as she stood up. She was ready to face the dragon. To slay the beast and get out of that abominable cave. But as she scoped the area again, it seemed hopeless. The only way off of that rock was swimming through the lava and boiling to death. Well, there was another option …
Evelyn gathered up her items and laid them out, carefully scanning over each one. Boots with laces, pants, the rope she had used to keep them from falling down, the jug of water, and the basket of fruit. She clasped her mother’s locket, trying to channel some of her mother’s cleverness. Think. Think. Think! The temperature seemed to increase by another twenty degrees and concentrating had once again become difficult. Thirst returned with a vengeance.
When she reached down to grab the jug, the gleam of her gold locket caught her eye, and she was struck with two ideas …
Evelyn sat down and dumped out the fruit from the wicker basket, then began smashing up the thin pieces of wood. Once it was dismantled, she tightly wove the pieces together into a long rod. Satisfied with her work, she then removed the laces from the boots and tied them together, making one long strand. She chugged down a bunch of water and poured the rest over her head, hoping she wouldn’t regret that decision. She tied the strand of boot laces around the neck of the empty jug and set it aside.
Sweat dripped down her back, and droplets stung her eyes, blurring her vision. Her fingers were wet and everything was slippery, including the gold locket. It took deep focus to unclasp the chain and secure it to the end of the long rod. She secured the necklace to the end and carefully inched the rod over the lake of lava toward the front of the tunnel opening. Once the tip reached the other side, she set it down and gently placed her end onto the rock. The gold locket—though small—would hopefully be enough temptation to lure the beast into the cavern. Dragons were gluttons for gold.
Evelyn waited for the sound of flapping wings. She draped the rope that had been holding up her pants over her shoulder. Her heart hammered away. Sweat poured from her body in torrents. She tried to pull in deep breaths, but the air was too hot and stuffy. Time seemed to stand still as she waited. Her legs grew wobbly and weak. And though she had put back a lot of water, she was already feeling dehydrated again.
A sense of hopelessness crept in, and she was about to give up and sit back down when she heard the distinctive thwack, thwack, thwack of dragon wings. She carefully pulled the rod back over to her own side and removed the gold locket. She fumbled, putting it back around her neck. Then she picked up the strand of boot laces she’d attached to the jug and began swinging it in widening arcs above her head.
A gust of cool tunnel air rushed in as the enormous scaly dragon burst into the cavern. Its nostrils flared and sniffed. Evelyn’s heart lunged into her t
hroat, but this was what she wanted. This was her only way off of that rock.
The dragon swooped closer, its eyes aflame and teeth gnashing. When the beast got close enough, Evelyn swept the jug across the surface of the lava, splashing some of the fiery liquid into the dragon’s face. It shrieked and jerked its head about. She lassoed the rope up around one of the golden-tipped spikes along its back and was immediately whipped off the ground. The dragon screeched and flapped its wings as Evelyn dangled from the rope, slamming against its scaly body. The beast shook and twisted its head, trying to shake Evelyn off as it flew in manic circles above the boiling magma. She kept a sturdy grip, ignoring the scorching pain in her palm. Dropping into the lava was not an option.
During the fitful loops around the cavern, she gauged the location of the tunnel opening. When the dragon circled over the spot she’d deemed closest to the tunnel, she let go of the rope. She dropped and hit the dirt pretty hard, nearly knocking the wind out of her. She got to her feet, still clinging to the boot lace tied to the jug. She waited for the dragon to circle back around, once again spinning the jug above her head. When the creature came back around, she whipped the jug up against the dragon’s skull, stunning it.
The dragon lost control and slammed into the cave wall. One of its wings dipped into the lava, singeing a decent portion. It began flapping wildly, releasing ear-piercing shrieks. It flailed about the cavern erratically in haphazard flight. One of its talons brushed across the hot lava. More screeches thundered through the cavern. But as its flapping became more frantic, it could no longer control its flight. Its tail whipped into the boiling magma. Despite the beast’s efforts to regain control it could no longer escape gravity. It screeched and thrashed about even as it began sinking into the lake of lava. It was a pathetic sight. Evelyn might’ve empathized with the creature had she not known the history of the Galician dragons or the scorching trail of death they left behind.
A moment later the lava shot upwards and a blast of heat launched Evelyn backward through the tunnel. The air had created a funnel that carried her all the way through the darkness toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
2
On the ship the night after Ciara’s horrendous encounter with Prince Kieran, she made a promise to never let the monster treat her like that again. She checked to make sure the dragon slayer’s journal was still safely tucked inside the pillowcase at the bottom of the pile. Then she got to work preparing for her meeting with Queen Boudicca. She had decided on an exquisite gown of lustrous ivory satin decorated in pearls that she knew would be a striking contrast against her raven hair. The dress was probably something reserved for a wedding ceremony. Precisely why she had chosen this one specifically for her negotiations. She thought it symbolized what she hoped would be an alliance with the queen of Eshlan. Impressions left permanent stamps, and Ciara wanted the queen to know she meant business.
When the ship arrived at the port of Eshlan, Ciara made her way up to the deck and stood poised by the railing, staring off to the grand estate perched on the seaside cliffs. She longed to have her own possessions to rule over one day. People from near and far would bow down to Queen Ciara, fearing her power and reign. She would rule the world … one day.
Kateline rushed onto the deck and stopped abruptly when she saw Ciara. A strange emotion shuddered across her face that Ciara couldn’t discern. Was she taken by her beauty? Did seeing Ciara so boldly recovered stir a deeper desire? She hoped that was the affect she would have on anyone who gazed upon her that day. Kateline made a slow approach to where Ciara stood. As much as Ciara didn’t want to feel anything, she couldn’t stop her heart from thrumming faster.
“My lady,” whispered Kateline as she curtsied before Ciara. “You are … stunning … beautiful … I’ve never laid eyes on anything so wholly divine.”
Ciara reveled in Kateline’s gushing, but she lifted her chin and looked away. Kateline needed to learn her position as a chambermaid to the soon-to-be queen of Galicia.
“My, my …” Prince Kieran’s voice startled Ciara as he stepped onto the deck.
Though her stomach twisted into a knot of fire, she held her composure.
The prince sauntered over and brushed her cheek with a kiss. He whispered into her ear, “Last night was something special, Lady Ciara. I look forward to many more such occasions.”
She kept her icy gaze aimed at the queen’s estates—holding on to the endgame at all times. She avoided the required curtsey. This blatant disregard for the rules resulted in the prince digging his fingers into her arm, but she remained still and ignored the bruise he’d leave behind.
Watlington slogged his way onto the deck, looking mauled from the previous night—the passionflower had gotten the best of him. The prince grumbled something rude about Ciara. The heat from his breath scorched her earlobe. Her disgust for the monster was indeed limitless. She’d find a way to destroy him once they were married. That would be the only way to achieve her goals. What good would ruling all of Galicia be if she were miserable.
“Watlington, call for the watchmen,” ordered the prince. “It’s time to go to this frigid queen and get through these negotiations. I must return to Verubri in time for the summer solstice.”
“Men!” shouted the pudgy bulldog. “It’s time!”
Two men lugged a large wooden trunk onto the deck. Ciara recognized one of the watchmen from the first time she’d gone to visit Prince Kieran’s chambers. He was the fellow who saved her life when the lunatic tried to strangle her to death—the first time. A warm feeling wrapped around her shoulders knowing he was close by. Not only because he could offer protection, but perhaps he could offer something else … A secret alliance against the prince. What better person to have on her side than one of the prince’s closest watchmen. The watchman glanced at Ciara, and she gave him an alluring smile and held her gaze just a bit too long. Light flashed in his warm brown eyes and he stumbled.
“Careful, Olen!” Prince Kieran scorned the watchman.
Olen then slipped on a wet spot and lost his footing. He tumbled backwards and hit the deck. Ciara felt an urge to rush over and help him up, but remained steady. She needed to be strategic about forging a relationship with the watchman.
Olen couldn’t keep the trunk balanced from his position and it came crashing down. The lid unlatched and gold coins scattered everywhere. Ciara froze upon seeing so much gold—she had never seen so much currency in all her life. Why in all of Galicia would the prince be prepared to hand over such a large sum to the queen?
Watlington toddled over to the mess and kicked Olen. “Idiot! Pick this up, post haste.”
Ciara didn’t like the way the swine treated Olen and added another demerit to Watlington’s growing list. She looked at Olen, giving him a smile of sympathy. Olen and the other watchman began scooping up the gleaming gold coins and dumping them back into the trunk.
She turned to the prince. “What is this for?”
“A gift for Queen Boudicca.” He lifted his chin.
The prince’s arrogance made him a fool—at least in the financial sense. Maybe he was accustomed to riches beyond the imagination and parting with one trunk of gold barely made a dent in his fortune. But this wasn’t only about gold. It was about showing weakness. It was reckless and irresponsible.
“I don’t agree with this approach,” she said.
He scoffed, glaring at her. “I don’t care.”
If she didn’t have the dragon slayer’s journal back in her possession, she might’ve backed down, but now things were different. Leverage was a powerful weapon.
Ciara laughed mockingly at the prince. “Handing this much gold over to the queen prior to negotiating makes us look weak. As though we don’t have enough confidence in our ability to forge an alliance without offering a bribe.”
The prince grabbed Ciara’s wrist and yanked her behind one of the large masts. “What are you blathering about?”
She wanted to slap his smug face, but c
omposure needed to be maintained. The puppeteer didn’t toss his puppet against the wall if the story fell apart. “I understand you have reservations about me handling the negotiations. But if someone of your stature arrives with a trunk full of gold without at least attempting some sort of discussion, you automatically show her your hand. Currency is power. We want to walk into this meeting with the advantage. You must let me start off the negotiations before bribing her.”
The prince’s dark brows unfurled and a coy grin appeared. He clasped Ciara’s chin and stared into her eyes. “You are a clever one, indeed. I’ll have to keep my eyes on you, lest I forfeit the kingdom over to your reign.”
Ciara tilted her head back and let out a gentle laugh, indicating his suggestion was a ludicrous notion. Though this was her precise plan.
He kissed her with a fiery savagery that sent jolts of nausea down her throat. When he finished raping her mouth, he laughed and said, “Let us finish this thing so we can get back to Verubri with our new army and begin our plans to destroy King Oren and his beloved Russex!”
The smile Ciara forced onto her lips felt like breaking through a stone wall, but she managed to pull it off … for appearances.
Watlington instructed the watchmen to secure the trunk on the back of the second carriage that would follow the first one transporting the prince, Ciara, and Kateline to Queen Boudicca’s estate.
For the duration of the ride up the cobblestone mountain road, Ciara remained quiet. She stared at the waves glistening on the White Sea and planned out the conversation she’d have with the queen.
Prince Kieran busied himself by pressing up against Kateline, whispering into her ear. Kateline emitted soft giggles, pretending to enjoy the flirtation—but Ciara knew she was cringing inside … and Ciara forced herself not to care. She could no longer allow herself the futility of emotions for others. This was war and in war only the cutthroat survive.
3
Had she not grasped for the tree branches surrounding the cave’s opening, Evelyn would’ve been spat out over the side of the mountain and fallen into the river hundreds of feet below. She dangled from the branches, clinging for life, but soaking in the joy of victory. She had killed the dragon on her own … without the spear of Gorias.
