Night of the Drakoryans

by Ava Sinclair

  I am more than ready. For the first time in my life, I am giving and receiving love. I revel in each new layer of closeness I experience with my trio of Drakoryan lords.

  They lead me back through the castle, higher still to another spire carved in the mountain top. The hallway narrows, and we find ourselves in a round room that is one of the most curious places I have ever seen. It’s ringed with shelves. Some are packed tight with bottles and vials containing leaves and liquids. Others hold all manner of rocks and gems and crystals. There are books and scrolls and a collection of curious instruments. One shelf holds reconstructed skeletons of small animals I cannot identify. The most fascinating thing I find, however, is an egg lying on a bed of straw. It’s large, with a pebbly turquoise surface. I reach out to touch it and I pull my hand back when it shakes.

  “Careful with that.” I turn to see a small, robed man in a peaked hat. He’s shorter than I am, and looks ancient until I see his eyes, which are surprisingly spry. He may be the most unusual-looking person I’ve ever seen. He taps the egg with a crooked forefinger. “Found this under the tree in the forest after a bad storm.”

  “What’s inside?” I inquire.

  “I’m not sure, but it will need mothering when it comes out.”

  I glance at the egg and then back at him. “What are you?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “What are you?” he repeats my question back to me as he quirks a bushy brow.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought maybe that you were a creature, too.”

  He chuckles. “I assume this means your lords have shown you their dragons.” He offers a wry smile. “I am Galifan, Oracle of Castle Jo’lyn. But you, my dear, are something more.” He winks. “You are Lady Syrene, dragon tamer.”

  “’Tis true,” Edrys says. “She has captivated us, and we are not ashamed to admit it.”

  “Then it is time.” The old man takes my hand in his. His skin is thin and soft as ash. He leads me to a chair and indicates that I should sit, so I do. Edrys, Nyron, and Xarsi move into a semicircle around me. Galifan takes a book from a nearby stand. The cover is of a curious texture, and it takes me a moment to recognize that it is bound in dragon scale. When he opens it, I see that the pages are yellowed and covered in a script I do not recognize.

  The oracle nods to my three lords, who lay their hands on me. Galifan begins to read from the book in a language that I do not understand. As he does, they eyes of my Drakoryan lords glow golden.

  What is happening? Before I ask, I feel a sinking sensation. It’s as if I’m falling, even though I know I am sitting in my chair. My vision is reduced to a pinprick of light before even that fades.

  I find myself in total blackness. I blink. My vision is blurry, but I am warm, my body cradled and nestled in something soft. When I finally focus, I see a face. Xarsi’s face. But no. It’s not Xarsi. It only looks like him, yet there’s a difference.

  “Hello, my son,” the man says.

  I cannot reply. I can only raise my hand. It is small and pink.

  “Lord Xarsi.” The man smiles and hands me to a woman. Her face is beautiful and kind. “Well done, my lady,” the man tells the woman as I root for her breast.

  The woman sings to me as I feed. Then she whispers that I am the firstborn of the House Kri’vin, and that she will give me brothers. She tells me that my brothers and I shall grow strong and true. She tells me that when we are men, we will have a castle of our own in Mount Jo’lyn and will take that mountain’s name, and then we will take a mate. She tells me that my kind is special, and that I will become both a great man and a great dragon. She tells me the path will not be easy, but no matter what happens, I can always be certain of the love she and my father have for me.

  I feel myself recede from her and want to cry. I know now what is happening. I am sharing a memory with Xarsi, one he has chosen just for me. Through Xarsi’s experience I have finally experienced the loving embrace of a mother.

  I want to thank him, but I cannot speak. My world brightens, and I am sitting on a stone floor. I groan and double over, clutching my belly in agony. I tear at my clothes.

  “Why does it have to hurt?” Hot tears streak down my face. I am ashamed but cannot stop my cries. I look down at my limbs. They are gangly and long, even as they bulge with my first muscles of manhood. Another wave of pain rips through me, along with a sob I try to suppress. “Why?” I ask again.

  A man kneels next to me. “Edrys, the best transformation is borne of pain. The fire you feel will refine you, make you stronger.” He dips a sponge in a basin of water and puts it to my brow. There is a sizzling sound as the water evaporates.

  Everything fades and now I am standing on a cliff, seeing the Drakoryan empire through Edrys’ eyes. My brothers are beside me. We exchange terrified looks. The heat in my body is so intense that I can barely breathe. I hear a scream and realize it is coming from my throat. Everything dissolves in a copper flame, and feel myself flow and drift. I hear the fathers calling to me and my brothers, telling us to control the fire, to bend it to our will, telling us to become. I feel something cooling, condensing, coalescing. I am reforming, but not as a man. I am looking down at great, clawed feet. To my side are huge leathery wings. To my right and left are two other dragons— one amber in hue, and the other pewter. Our triumphant roars shake the valley below as we lift from the ledge. We fly instinctively, naturally. After years of waiting and weeks of pain, we have fulfilled the other half of our birthright. We are more than lords now. We are dragon lords.

  Again, I am pulled back, drawn now out of Edrys’ memory. This, too, I regret. The image of the landscape passing below, of the air currents beneath my mighty wings. This, too, will I carry with me. I will also carry the pain, and the knowledge that I am not the only one who has endured pain on my path to strength. They have, too, even if their pain was different.

  I know what the Deepening is now. My lords are letting me into their minds, allowing me to live their memories so that I may better understand the men who would be my mates. They are sharing what they believe is relevant to me, to us.

  There is one more brother yet to share. The darkness swirls and I am in a vortex. What I see next is unexpected. I am looking at…myself. I am lying on the bed in Nyron’s bedchamber. I am seeing myself through his eyes, and feel a mixture of protectiveness, sadness, and rage.

  Then I am running through the castle, up the spiral stair. On the ledge I shift. It is easier than it was in Edrys’ memory. The transition from man to flame to dragon is seamless. There is only a moment of blistering pain and then something like pleasure as I spread my wings. I am flying. The moon glows bright in my eyes as I glide over the Drakoryan Empire. I pass castles and plains. I pass forests and fields. I leave the endless night and enter twilight. There are clouds below me, and through the gaps I glimpse villages. I see farmers driving their carts from fields surrounded by ash. This is not the village I seek. I pump my wings and fly on.

  And there it is. My childhood home, but through Nyron’s eyes. There is my stepmother, heading in from tending the cow that she and my father acquired after I was sacrificed. Beyond that are the crops my father will soon harvest. By the crops is a patch of fresh land where before there was only ash. I know this is the extra land my father and stepmother are preparing to plant. It is the other part of their reward for sending me to what they thought was my death.

  I see this all through Nyron’s eyes, and now I feel what he feels. Justice. He will have justice for me. He inhales, gulping in air. There is a sudden sensation of hot fluid in the back of my throat. I feel the cool rush of air as I inhale it. And then I breathe it out to a symphony of screams below. Satisfaction fills my chest as the crops below burst into flame.

  The man and the woman who did me wrong look up in horror. My stepmother is screaming and wringing her hands. She is demanding my father do something, but he stands there, gelded and powerless as I remember him. She tries to run back to the
house, desperate to reach my two half-brothers who are running out. I watch through Nyron’s eyes as he lays down a wall of fire. I feel the heat of it rush from within. The tower of flame keeping my stepmother separated from her sons, from the house. I am able to watch as they witness everything they value being stripped from them.

  I swoop down and snatch the cow from the field. The animal bellows as I carry it away. I clasp it gently, having no cause to harm it. There are worthier villagers. In the dark of night, I swoop down and make a gift of it to a kindly family I know is good to their daughter.

  I fly home to the woman I love.

  I feel wetness on my face. Tears. My tears, but not tears of sadness. They are tears of joy and gratitude. I know what it is like to be a Drakoryan. I know what it is like to be a dragon. I know what it is like to be loved. And now, I know what it is like to be avenged.

  The veil slips away, and my vision clears. I am still in the chair. The lords kneel before me. I take their faces in my hands, kissing them one by one. Xarsi, my loving father figure. Edrys, my wise counsel. Nyron, my passionate champion.

  My men. My mates. My dragons.

  Chapter 14

  XARSI

  In the end, it did not take so long as we’d feared to claim our mate. Yet as we see her standing there clad in a gown of our mingled copper, amber, and pewter dragon colors, it feels like a lifetime ago that she chased Edrys from his own bedchamber.

  For us, the long night is nearly over, although in the hall below the other lords still enjoy what, for them, feels like the first night’s feast.

  We are presenting our mate in a non-traditional manner. For a race that prizes tradition, this is reason for concern.

  The hall falls silent when we enter with Syrene on our arms. The other lords shoot us quizzical looks. They had expected Edrys to enter with Syrene on his arm, clad only in his color. They are expecting this to be repeated for two more nights as Nyron and I claim her next.

  All remain quiet as we surround our mate and walk to the head table. Curious glances turn appreciative as the other Drakoryans fix their eyes on our beautiful, raven-haired mate.

  At the head table, we turn to face the room. Although I am a man of few words, as the eldest, it is my place to speak. I will find words tonight, for this occasion.

  “Since the beginning of time, we Drakoryans have not been afraid to fight for what mattered,” I say, “whether it was the glory of the Empire, the protection of the villagers beyond the mountains, or for our own legacy.

  “When Edrys claimed our virgin from the Arkney’s Altar Rock, we expected a challenge. There is always a challenge when introducing an untouched human to this new life, to the mysteries of what she is being asked to embrace. But Syrene tested us more than we anticipated. She tested us so, in fact, that we worried that the choice may have been in error.”

  I look down at Syrene and give her a reassuring smile before turning back to the room.

  “But the witches are never wrong. In their infinite wisdom, the Wyrd sent us a mate that made us reach beyond both our carnal and dragon natures, one that reminded us that the deepest strength is in patience, and gentleness.” I pause. “It required a charm to bend time for us to make the journey we made. We needed a long night in which to claim her. To that end, there will be only one feast, one glorious celebration, for we have not only achieved the mating, but the Deepening as well.” I feel my chest puff with pride as I stand back. “Lords of the Empire,” I say, “my brothers and I are proud to present Lady Syrene of Jo’lyn!”

  Shock is quickly replaced by thunderous applause that rocks the hall. Men lift cups high or slam them on the table. We move in close to Syrene, who seems overwhelmed by the raucous celebration. Then she smiles shyly and nods, indicating that she is well.

  As we promised her, the feast is lavish. There is a whole roast boar on each table, huge stands of ribs, roast pheasant, goose, and swan. Tureens brim with chowder made with cream and freshwater mussels or root vegetables swimming in savory stock. Meat pies with golden crusts are replaced as quickly as they are consumed. The maids carrying them dodge to avoid others ferrying baskets of bread, bowls of fruit, or flasks of wine.

  “Eat,” I tell Syrene. “This long night was just the beginning. With three lords to satisfy, you’ll need your strength.”

  She colors prettily, but a knowing look accompanies the demure smile she gives us. Her lush body is as addicted to us as we are to her. My brothers and I wolf our food down as we think of the pleasures that await.

  The only thing we’re not looking forward to is having to share. No Drakoryan household is the same. In some, the woman prefers for her lords to decide who will have her on any given night. In others, the lady decides. I glance at Syrene. Her fear is rapidly being replaced by confidence. She has survived her own fire to find her strength. If I had to hazard a bet, it would be that she will choose who she lies with and when.

  But we do not think about that now. Tonight is for celebration. Tomorrow we will begin a new day and when our first dusk falls, one of us will have her for the second time.

  The feast continues on.

  “Do you feel cheated, my lords?” Syrene nods towards the crowded hall. “I have robbed you of three celebrations.”

  We all shake our heads. “One perfect night calls for one perfect celebration,” says Edrys.

  It pleases me that she wants to please us. We want to please her, and as happy as we are to finally be able to feast, my brothers and I look forward to once again having privacy with Syrene. This finally happens hours later, and we take her to her room where she will spend this night alone to rest.

  This is the night Syrene gets to see her private bedchamber, a beautiful room with a lattice archway leading to a balcony with the view of the river winding below Mount Jo’lyn.

  “For me?” she asks.

  The bed is carved from rock that rises from the floor, the posts sculpted to look like vines. They join and interlock across the top. The mattress is stuffed with the finest down. Her coverlet is velvet and silk. A huge wardrobe holds a rainbow of gowns we’ve had made just for her. Soft furs cover the floor. Specially scented wood from a Paradise Tree burns in the fireplace; the blaze scents the room with the odor of flowers and spice. There’s a dressing table with a looking glass, and as any lady’s room should have, a private bath with a depression in the floor that fills with heated water from a naturally warm spring rising through the wall.

  “All for you,” I say. My brothers and I grin like boys as she walks around as if in a dream.

  “It is no less than you deserve,” Edrys says. “Welcome home, my lady.”

  Tears glitter in her eyes.

  “There’s something else,” I say, picking up a box.

  This gift was Nyron’s idea. During the feast, he slipped away to request a favor of Galifan, who was all too happy to grant it.

  “You’ve given me so much, already,” she says.

  “Please.” Nyron nods at the box. “This gift needs you as much as you need it.”

  Syrene looks puzzled but opens the box. Instantly her face softens, and she looks at us with warm gratitude.

  Her hands are gentle as she picks up the hatchling, which is nearly half the size of a duck. It’s already sprouting the beginning of pearlescent plumage, including the long ivory feathers that will eventually become the crest on its head. The bird looks at Syrene with deep black eyes and squawks.

  “Oh, you sweet thing.” She looks up at us. “What is it?”

  “It’s a WraithWing,” Nyron tells her. “They are born knowing all the songs and stories of every tribe, man or beast that their kind encounter. They were prized by the mystics of old. If the keeper of a WraithWing gains its favor, the bird will give her prophetic dreams or even the gift of clairvoyance. Galifan says it is a good omen that the egg hatched for us. But the creature needs someone to feed it, to keep it warm, to care for it.” He puts his hand on her head. “Perhaps this will make up for the loss of
the pet taken from you.”

  The bird squawks again and lays its head against Syrene’s breast. She is so overcome with emotion, she can barely speak. She doesn’t have to. Her eyes say it all.

  “We will send someone up with some meat for the bird,” I tell her.

  We turn to leave, but she calls after us.

  “My lords? One more thing?”

  We turn back.

  “You’ve done so much, but would it be possible…” she says, smiling through her tears of gratitude,“…to watch the sun rise together?”

  “It would be our pleasure,” Edrys says.

  Epilogue

  SYRENE

  The long night of my claiming by the Lords of Jo’lyn has been followed by what feels like the fastest year of my life.

  As I requested, I watched my first sunrise as a Drakoryan lady with my lords. We selected the ledge as our vantage point, and this experience was no less magical than the marvelous events that preceded it. As the sun cast its glow over the empire, my mates shifted and glided through the first light of day, and my heart swelled with pride that has remained ever since.

  The other Drakoryan lords were still in attendance that morning, and there was another surprise waiting for me as I was inducted into a sisterhood comprised of other Drakoryan brides, each with their own story to tell. I never had a sister. I was shunned by the other village women. Now I have dozens of women to relate to, and they gifted me with a stone that flamed copper, amber and pewter. The little fire, they told me, would remind me that I was now one of them—a Fire Bride, a dragon mate.

  After they left, I was not lonely, however. If my lords did not keep me company, my WraithWing did. I named her Fryst, and Nyron carved her an ornate perch, which still sits at my bedside.

  By the second month in my care, Fryst began to appear in my dreams. But these dreams were unique. If I dreamt of a ring, I might wake to find that ring on my pillow. Sometimes she would sing to me in the dream, and I would wake knowing songs in languages I’d never spoken. She gave me the gift of sight, and although the Deepening has allowed me to communicate with my lords, Fryst’s generosity has enabled me to predict what others are thinking. I regularly know what others may say or ask before they speak it.