Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1)

by Tamara Shoemaker

  “Every king of every kingdom has counselors.”

  “Oh.” Sebastian's eyebrows arched upward. “So you are my counselor now? Shall I call Pomley and ask him to make a change in the lists? I grant you, Rennis is in my dungeons currently, but the last I checked, I had not interviewed you for the position.”

  “I have no wish to be your counselor, Your Grace—”

  “Then stop giving me unsolicited counsel!”

  The shout echoed off the stone walls and ceiling, followed immediately by heated silence. A searing blaze lit Lanier's dark eyes. The man's jaw clenched once, twice beneath his neatly trimmed beard.

  Sebastian broke the silence first. “You will serve on the battlefield, Lanier, but you will take your orders from Cedric. Is that understood?” His voice was as hard as nails.

  “Aye, Your Grace.” Lanier's reply ground across Sebastian's ears, gravelly with repressed anger. Sebastian wondered if perhaps he should call for the headsman and be rid of the man once and for all.

  But no, Lanier was far too valuable. Lanier's men were loyal to him. He had seen the disgruntlement when he had announced the new head general today, but thankfully, Lanier had taken the announcement professionally in front of the soldiers, which helped to turn the tide of revolt before it had fairly begun. Indeed, he had counted on Lanier's unswerving loyalty and discretion.

  Doubt whispered as he stared into his former head general's eyes. “I hope I can trust you, Lanier,” he whispered.

  Lanier inclined his head toward the King. “Your Grace knows that I have always been a man of my word.”

  “Aye.” Sebastian nodded. “That's what I'm counting on.” He turned for the doorway and swept through it, leaving Lanier standing in the dining hall, alone.

  * * *

  Sebastian descended the stairs to the dungeons. The smell of old urine and rank body odor hit him like a solid wall, and he forced himself to enter without flinching.

  Genlich hunched a bow as he passed into the second hallway.

  “Have you had any information?”

  “Nay, Your Grace,” the jailer rasped. “Only the bits and scraps of screeches when I blister 'is flesh with t'iron.”

  “I see.” Sebastian peered through the bars at Rennis as he waited for Genlich to open the cell door.

  Or what used to be Rennis. Sebastian wrinkled his nose at the heap of blood-stained clothing and matted hair. The sight and smell of charred flesh still lingered in the cell, and Sebastian's gaze moved over several angry red welts that peppered the man's neck, face, and arms.

  “Genlich tells me you haven't been very informative,” Sebastian said.

  The only answer he received was a groan.

  “You tell me, Rennis, which is better? Sitting in this cell amidst the scent of decaying flesh with Genlich and the prospect of more torture as your only companions, or moving back into your chambers upstairs, restored to my council as one of my heads of war? Which would you prefer?”

  The man eyed him through heavy lids, his black expression of hate unaffected by his obvious pain. Rennis pushed himself upright with a groan, his head leaning wearily on the wall behind him. “You will pay, you know, Sebastian.” The words slurred between his parched, cracked lips. “The Stars will see justice done.”

  A low chuckle issued from Sebastian's throat. The thought that the stars could control anything about his kingdom was perhaps the most humorous thought that had crossed his mind in a while.

  “Well, I do hate to bother the Stars when they're so busy, and I'm sure you would, too, so how about we try this one more time? Tell me where those scrolls are, Rennis, or I will order Genlich to take off your lips and your tongue by this week's end. Not only will he do it, he will do it in the public square so the people can see what happens to spies and traitors.”

  Sebastian hardened his gaze, but the man merely stared back at him, his black eyes dull and unmoving. He's given up. That was the trouble with torture. You could do so much with someone who wished to live, who wished to hurry back to the business of life, but for someone who had decided to die, torture was horrendously ineffective.

  Well, the lips and tongue could come off then. He'd done his best to give the man another chance. If he threw away the chance, that was his own problem.

  And a mute could as easily lead him to the scrolls as a talking man.

  * * *

  Sebastian entered his bedchamber. The night was nearly spent, yet his eyes were far from sleep. Plans revolved in his head like the never-ending, water-powered carousel in The Crossings, and he couldn't exit the ride. He needed distraction, but he was well aware that his usual distraction would soon need to be removed as his queen took up residence in the suite of bedrooms next to his.

  Lianna was not there yet, and he couldn't help himself. After a moment of internal debate, he returned to the hall and roused the guard. “Fetch me Selena.”

  The guard hurried down the hall, and Sebastian returned to his bed to brood about the scrolls.

  Selena appeared in the doorway minutes later, her dressing gown loosely knotted in the front. Her eyes were cloaked in sleep, her slick mahogany hair slightly mussed.

  “Your Grace called?”

  “Aye, come keep me company until the morning light.” He stripped off his elaborately embroidered vest and flopped onto the bed in only his light linen tunic and breeches, his bare feet sliding across the smooth covers. He threw the heavy furs open in an invitation for her to join him.

  Her face was pale and rigid, and it took a moment until Sebastian realized she hadn't moved. “Selena?”

  She flinched as if his voice had punctured her ears. “Your Grace?”

  Sebastian sat up, his gaze darkening. The fear in her eyes struggled to hide. He sincerely hoped she would not give way to it. He rather enjoyed the games they played. “I wish you to come to me, Selena.” He worked to keep his voice soft, persuasive.

  That's when he saw it.

  The single dark glint of unrequited love.

  It shimmered in a solitary tear that broke free from the rim of her eyes, tracing a streak of silver down her cheek to rest in the dimple next to her supple lips.

  He'd won.

  A sense of disappointment seeped through him; it had been too easy. After a paltry few years, she was already a pawn in his hands, willing and ready to be his tool. Ambition had given way to emotion, and she could no longer offer him the tantalizing scent of adventure.

  A foreign feeling of pity settled over him. He could afford to be generous, could he not? After all, he'd won.

  With a deep sigh, he swung his feet out of bed and advanced toward her, taking one of her hands in his, the other sliding around her narrow waist, spreading his fingers across her warm back. He pulled her to him, and she did not resist.

  “What is it you would have me do, Selena?” he whispered.

  “You ask advice from your servant, Your Grace?” Her voice wavered.

  “Put all that aside for a moment.” He brushed his lips across hers. “In a land where things were turned on their heads and servants did give their King advice, what would you have me do?”

  Her breath fanned his neck as she tried to pull away. “Your Grace does not play fair. There is no such land.”

  “Aye, but there is, right now, Selena, because I have decreed it. Will you not go with me there?” His lips trailed across her jaw, and he lifted her in his arms as he carried her to the bed.

  The richest nobleman in Sebastian’s kingdom could understand the merits of making love—the beauty and the pain of it. So, too, could the servant girl who slopped the barnyard pigs with her brats squalling about her skirts. In pleasure, the divine and the depraved joined. In pleasure, the commoner and the King could dance their bodies into one flesh.

  When Selena finally lay exhausted beside him, another tear slipped from her eye and dropped, unheeded, onto the pillows.

  He reached over and wiped it with his finge
r, gazing at its tenuous shape as it beaded on his skin. “It's a strange world where a palace seamstress falls in love with the King.”

  The drops continued to flow from her eyes. Her chest heaved with silent sobs as she fought to control her emotions. “I—I do not love you, Your Grace. You know this; we've agreed upon it.”

  A slow smile slid across Sebastian's lips. “Is that the truth, my sweet?” He enjoyed watching the inner struggle in her dark eyes. “Would you swear your life upon it?”

  She made no answer. The tears flowed thick and fast as her expression crumpled.

  Sebastian did not let up. “What if I told you that I could use my taibe to make a truth serum—an agent so powerful that one drop would admit the truth to me in a moment?”

  Fear mixed with the tears on Selena's face. “Your Grace, I've heard of such serums, but creating one takes very dark magic. Surely you wouldn’t—”

  “Do you doubt me, Selena? Do you doubt what I'm capable of?” Sebastian's voice grew deceptively soft. His thumb traced a circle on her upper arm.

  “Nay, Your Grace, but surely the kind of dark magic it takes to create a truth serum involves more than you would want to give.” She propped her arm beneath her and swiped her wet cheeks with slender fingers. “Dark magic will take your soul, Sebastian—please, tell me you are not considering it.”

  “I'm not only considering it, Selena, I'm determined to do it. I have other uses for such a prize. But, my sweet,” he moved his finger up to her hair and tucked a strand of it behind her ear, “perhaps I will not use it on you. Do you know why?”

  Tumult now clouded her expression. Trouble, fear, and sheer panic shone out at him. “Why, Your Grace?” she whispered.

  “Because I already know that you love me. And it's that love that is going to part us.” He stroked her cheek, and she reached up, placing her hand on top of his. “You love me, Selena.” He grasped the skin of her neck between his thumb and forefinger and pinched, hard.

  She jerked backward, a cry of pain rupturing from her throat. Sebastian continued, his voice steady and calm. “We've played our game and reached its end. Only one of us will emerge unscathed.”

  “Sebastian.” Her choked sobs grated against his ears, but he pulled her close, stroking her hair. “I could still serve you...”

  “Nay, sweet one.” He shook his head and rested his chin atop the waves of her hair. “If you were to remain, you would perish forever. No, it is better this way. You must go.”

  His beautiful queen awaited him, and in a few short days, her blonde plaits and Lismarian backing would take the place of the mahogany tresses that had blanketed his pillows these past years.

  * * *

  Sebastian left Selena sleeping in the early morning hours. His glance lingered on her profile as he dressed swiftly. The Tournament's morning competitions would start after a late breakfast, but Sebastian wanted to find a certain book first.

  He bypassed his guards out in the hallway and hurried down the stairs to the secret chamber he kept locked. He'd been here three times since the Tournament's opening ceremonies the day before, staring around at the books, straightening up some of the tools he'd once used. The room still smelled dusty, but he'd beaten the dust out of what he could and opened the sealed shutters to let in some light. The room was beneath the terrace at the rear of his castle, and through the window, he could see the feet of sentries as they kicked up clods of dust on their way toward the steps.

  He peered through the window, gazing across the expanse of lawn and fields. Already servants cleaned and prepared the stands for the next competitions.

  The Tournament closed in one week—a week until he wed, a week until he sent Cedric and the armies off to the Channel of Lise and Lismaria. He had split his fleet into three divisions, per Lanier's counsel, and he had plans to do the same with his armies, with Cedric heading the central body.

  This time, the creatures would be going as well, and Sebastian had plans ... plans and more plans, but none of them did any good if he could not get Rennis to tell him where the maps were.

  He slammed his palm against the table, cursing. Rennis would hold everything up, would tear apart all Sebastian's perfectly placed plans.

  How had Nicholas Erlane turned Rennis, anyway? The thought made his spine prickle with a thousand points of fear as he remembered the many secret meetings in his council chambers with Lanier and Rennis and others. For years, Rennis had been faithful. Why had he turned?

  Sebastian walked to the shelf of taibe books, his hands brushing the edges. The bindings were long since worn off; most of the pages were held together by ribbon and twine. It was here somewhere, the one he sought, but—ah, along the top shelf, pushed far back into near-obscurity, he found it.

  He pulled the volume out and walked over to the table, opening it with a dull thud on the heavy oak. Dust motes flew into the air, shifting in the shaft of light from the window. Sebastian waved them aside and bent his head over the words.

  Ancient script had faded and bled across the yellowed parchment, and it took several turns of the pages to find what he wanted.

  He didn't know if it would work. It had been far too long since he'd practiced his taibe, and formulas like this one took patience and time, practice and more practice.

  Well, he could practice. He had until the Tournament's end, and then it would have to be ready. He needed the truth serum before Rennis lost his tongue. Rennis could lead him to the scrolls even without his tongue, yes, but the steely determination with which his former court counselor had been enduring torture impressed even Sebastian. It was possible the man might resist leading him, or even try to deceive him, even after he lost his speaking parts. Or he might die in the process. Sebastian needed the truth serum to loosen Rennis' tongue.

  He read through the list of ingredients. It was difficult, for most of the book was written in the Old Tongue. There was enough of a common semblance to the modern language that he could make out what it said with careful study, but it slowed him down considerably.

  He would need to visit the kitchen for necessary herbs, and the stables would have to provide him with the horse intestines. He shook his head as he pored over the page, shuddering at the idea of the horrendous smell this serum was sure to unleash.

  Well, he'd set his hand to the task, and he wouldn't turn back now. He'd never found this sort of thing pleasant, but the power that resulted from the practice had once captivated him ... before he'd found that controlling the creatures offered a more certain dominance, and he'd lost himself studying the Dragons and Trolls and Direwolves and Valkyries and myriads of other creatures that he could command through others.

  Shouts outside the window drew his attention, and he straightened, striding to the opening.

  Far to the south, a mass of his guards ran toward something. A large crowd had already gathered, but from this distance, he couldn't make out what the distraction was. He squinted, but it was no good. The sun's morning glare was too brilliant across the fields.

  He strode across the room to the door and yanked it open, taking care to close it solidly behind him, turning the key in the lock before sliding it on its twine back up his wrist. He took the stairs two at a time to the main level of his palace.

  Pomley was sprinting, actually sprinting, across the main entry hall when Sebastian turned the corner. His steward nearly flew right by him before he saw him and jerked to a stop. “Y—Your Grace,” he panted.

  “Calm yourself, Pomley, whatever it is can wait until you've learned to breathe.”

  Pomley nodded, but seemed agitated, his hands grasping his sides as he took huge gulps of air. In a moment, he was able to continue.

  “Your Grace should come see this.”

  Sebastian glanced at the open archway with an eyebrow raised. “What can have made my sedate steward go mad?” he asked, half joking. Pomley shook his head and hurried ahead of Sebastian, leading the way to the back terrace.

&nb
sp; The huge crowd of guards and castle servants had grouped around something out there, but now that something moved closer to the palace. Sebastian began to see outlines here and there, glistening, reflective.

  It was a Dragon. Not just any Dragon.

  It was a Mirage.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kinna

  Kinna could have cut glass with the sharp edges of her nerves. Chennuh seemed anxious, too. His great head whipped from side to side, and it took all of Kinna and Ayden's soothing words to keep him from blasting the crowd with fire.

  None of the crowd dared come too close, certainly, but they ranged in a wide circle all around the Dragon, and Chennuh quite obviously felt trapped.

  Ayden gave the command for Chennuh to settle onto the ground. It took two repeats, so restless was the beast, but finally, he sank down, and Ayden launched himself free onto the earth to confront the mass of guards, groundskeepers and palace servants.

  “Get back!” he shouted. “You're making him nervous.”

  Chennuh's great wings punctuated Ayden's words with a single beat. People stumbled over themselves to back up.

  Lincoln clung to the sharp fin in front of him, his face pale as he watched Chennuh's writhing neck. “He's going to blow, Kinna. Poof, firedust.”

  “He's not going to blow, Linc.”

  “It's been nice knowing you, just saying.”

  Kinna narrowed her eyes and surveyed the crowd. More people were running their way, their fascination overcoming their fear. Near the ramparts of the palace that erupted through the city's skyline, a smidgen of bustle emerged from the garden below the terrace. A moment later, she could see several people approaching.

  “Calm, Chennuh, be calm.” Her touch on the heated scales sent a tremor through the great beast, but his head stopped turning and held still as he looked alertly at the crowd.