Heart of Steel

by Samantha M. Derr

  Paul cursed and sprinted to Aurelius.

  "You fool!" Myles shouted as the dragon turned its attention on Paul. She grabbed a rock and chucked it at the dragon. It yelped and shrieked at her.

  Aden went to Paul and Aurelius. Myles kept her movements slow and controlled as the dragon turned on her. She put a hand on her sword and slowly began to draw it.

  Pebbles shifted. Both Myles and the dragon turned to the source: Zyon had tried backing up. He winced. "Uh… this is the opposite of what I wanted."

  The dragon inhaled.

  Zyon and Myles both dove for cover as the dragon breathed fire. Myles felt her hair get singed as she rolled. When she got to her feet, the dragon was focused completely on Zyon. He backed farther away from Aurelius, Paul, and Aden. While Myles appreciated the selfless gesture, she would've appreciated keeping him alive much more.

  The dragon rained fire on Zyon.

  At first, Myles thought the smoke and heat were playing tricks on her eyes. Because it looked like Zyon's body shrank and erupted in feathers, and a falcon darted out of the line of fire.

  Myles chucked another rock at the dragon, drew her sword, and followed the rock with a charge. The dragon squawked when its nose was hit with the rock. It screamed when Myles sliced open its long neck with her sword. It was too shallow to be fatal, but it was enough. The dragon scrambled back and jumped off the mountain, spreading its wings and flying away.

  Myles sheathed her sword and hurried back to Zyon.

  Where there should've been nothing but charred ash, there was the falcon. Myles came upon it just as it was turning back into Zyon.

  They both froze and stared at each other.

  He's a changeling.

  Aurelius weakly coughed. Zyon and Myles both jumped and whipped around. Aden, Paul, and Aurelius were still occupied. Aurelius was unconscious and coughing blood. Aden was muttering incantations, stitching up the hideous gashes with nothing but words. Paul was hovering, wringing his fingers together.

  Myles took a breath and shoved the sudden revelation to the side. "Let's get Sir Aurelius to safety."

  *~*~*

  Lord Aden's magic kept Aurelius from bleeding out as they climbed down the mountain. Paul carried Aurelius himself. Myles waited for Zyon to whisper a joke to her about it (because they'd been snickering and speculating on whether Paul and Aurelius were harboring hidden feelings for each other, but Zyon didn't say a word).

  "Do you need any help with him, my lord?" Myles asked as they reached camp.

  "I can handle it," Lord Aden said, barely looking at her. He followed Sir Paul and Aurelius into his tent.

  "Lord Zyon," Myles called before he could slink off. "A word?"

  Zyon winced, but followed her into her tent.

  Once inside, Myles unhooked the sword from her belt and set it on her bed. "Want some wine?"

  "Yes," Zyon said.

  Myles filled the goblet to the rim and handed it over. Zyon took a large swallow. "So… now what?" He sounded confident, but he couldn't hide the worry and fear in his eyes.

  Myles crossed her arms. "You're still an expert on dragons, aren't you?" she asked.

  Zyon bowed his head, but couldn't quite hide the grin. "Yes."

  "You still know how to navigate out of these mountains so we don't become dragon-feed, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  Zyon chuckled, shaking his head. "You're the first knight I've met who hasn't wanted death for every malaak."

  "Malaak?" Myles echoed.

  "'Changeling' is a rather derogatory term. You might as well call a dragon a snake."

  "Hm." Myles frowned. "I do have one question: where's the real Lord Zyon Adler?"

  Zyon gave her a withering glare and set the wine down. "There is no 'real' Zyon Adler," he said, pacing the confines of the tent. The complete lack of the Em'malkuthian accent was jarring. Instead he was slipping into his native Yastabulian accent. "He's a figment. I would never steal someone's life. No respectable malaak would ever insult Xeira in such a way!"

  "You just happened to have enough wealth after fleeing your war-torn country to live in luxury and become a scholar?" Myles challenged.

  Zyon pulled himself to his full height, and unless Myles's eyes were tricking her, he added a few inches with his changeling abilities. "I am Syed Ikram Naji," he growled. "My parents were Syeda Ishtar Naji and Syed Hikmat Bakkal. I was to be betrothed to Amyr Sheyah himself before your wizards and dragons butchered our soldiers and killed the royal family."

  It took Myles a minute to translate the titles. Syed was Lord. Syeda was Lady. Although one of the reasons changelings were so strange was because many of their ladies also took the name "Syed." Amyr was Prince.

  Zyon (no, his name was Ikram) was still talking. "I was lucky enough to have a knight and some servants loyal enough to smuggle me out of the country instead of turning me in. And being twelve years old at the time, it would've been plenty simple for them to betray me, but they were good people who had served my family for years, some of their families having served ours for generations! They smuggled me into Em'malkuth. My mother had a friend there, a lord who'd met her in court. He's looked after me and funded me ever since."

  Now that it was said, Ikram suddenly had no more words. He slumped, dropping onto the bed. He buried his head in his hands.

  Myles was left standing awkward as a horse in the tent. "Your parents didn't make it, did they?"

  He shook his head.

  "I'm sorry," she said, meaning every word. "For that and for what I assumed. We're taught that chan—that your kind are evil and dishonest. I know it's not true, and I still made the assumption. Please forgive me."

  Ikram chuckled. It sounded weak and watery. "There's nothing to forgive. I lied to you."

  Myles snorted, then sighed. They might as well make it even. She pulled up a chair and sat across from him. "Don't laugh."

  Ikram looked up, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

  "My birth name is Floriane Balendin."

  Ikram covered his mouth with his hands. His face turned purple as he made the valiant effort not to laugh. He giggled. "Floriane?"

  Myles glared at him.

  Strained choking noises were weaseling out from his fingers. Just when Myles thought he was going to burst, Ikram's body vanished, replaced with a butterfly on the bed.

  "That is not fair!" Myles snapped, glaring down at the undoubtedly laughing insect. "You are a dishonorable man, Ikram."

  The butterfly fluttered its wings before turning back into a human. Ikram's face was still red, but he was somewhat under control now. "What were your parents thinking?"

  "Not this," Myles grumbled, drumming her fingers against her leather armor.

  Ikram wiped a tear and shook his head, his grinning teeth almost blinding. It unraveled something in Myles's chest as they sat in comfortable silence.

  "Who's Xeira, anyway?" Myles asked.

  "Our god," Ikram answered. "Most people call It Xeir. It makes no matter." He looked up at Myles and grinned. "I'm going to assume it very much does matter which name you take?"

  Myles gave him her death glare.

  He barked a laugh. "That's what I thought." He stood from the bed and brushed himself off. "Come then, Sir Myles. I am in need of dinner."

  *~*~*

  By the time Sir Mordechai and Sir Paul had each managed to break a dragon, the party received a blood raven. One look at its red feathers, and nobody had to read the scroll attached to the bird's legs to know which nation Septimos was going to war against.

  "Vacation's over," Mordechai announced. "Marcello, Sir Paul, and myself will fly back. Everyone else, pack up and head to the war camp. Lord Zyon, you'll need this to navigate."

  Ikram took the letter. When Myles was the only one within earshot, he grumbled, "Would that I could turn into a dragon and fly back to the capital. My saddle sores have saddle sores."

  Myles grimaced and gave Ikram's shoulder
an encouraging squeeze.

  It was only for a moment, but she considered giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  The idea almost knocked her on her ass. Everyone here thought she was a man, and if "Sir" Myles did such a thing to a lord, she'd be flogged at least.

  But more than that, she didn't like men. Had never liked men.

  For a moment, Myles let herself think about it. Maybe she just… hadn't met the right man before? What would it be like to kiss Ikram?

  Itchy was the first word that came to mind. That damn beard would get in the way. As would the smell. The scent of an aroused woman was enticing, but that of an aroused man was abhorrent, at least to Myles.

  So no, there would be no kissing Ikram, or anything physical. Myles almost gagged merely thinking about it.

  But the little exercise did make one thing perfectly clear: she was falling in love with him.

  Could you fall in love with someone without wanting physical intimacy? Myles had never heard of such a thing. But she wanted to spend time with him. Hear him laugh. Hold him while he cried. Listen to his troubles. And most importantly, shield him from danger. She wanted to be with him for every waking moment.

  So that was what Myles did. That night, when camp was set, she went into Ikram's tent. That in and of itself was not unusual. They would spend hours talking long into the night before they parted to get some sleep.

  Ikram already had the wine poured. He beamed when she came in and sat in the chair. She found herself smiling back.

  "So, Miss Myles," Ikram said, handing her a goblet of wine. "If I may be so bold as to ask: how in the freezing hells did a girl named Floriane become a knight?"

  Myles sipped the wine, a deep Tieraustrian red. She raised her eyebrows at it. "Isn't this technically treason?"

  "Oh, as if King Scipio doesn't have a cellar full of it in his palace," Ikram snorted.

  "Hm." Myles took another sip, thinking about the question. "My father's a blacksmith. A good blacksmith. And a war dog. At the start of the Changeling War we lived in a modest house on the edge of the city, with enough money for decent schooling. By the end of the war, we had a manor in the Vesper Highlands."

  "He let you play with his weapons?" Ikram asked.

  "Helios's beard, no. He and Mother wanted to marry me off to some lordling to pull the family into nobility. Every time he caught me in breeches practicing swordplay, I'd get caned."

  Ikram stiffened and glared into his wine. "You should've been raised in Yastabul. Children aren't beaten there. Especially not for something so trivial."

  Startled by the vehemence in Ikram's voice, Myles kept to the topic. "My brother taught me. Not my eldest brother, Calvin. Dominic taught me. He was five and a half years older than me, and when he was done with his lessons with the quartermaster, we'd sneak out and he'd teach me everything he'd learned. We did it for years until…"

  "The war," Ikram finished.

  "Calvin stayed in the backlines, like a good little lordling. But Dominic was made of different stuff. He was at the frontlines at every battle…" Myles realized that she was saying her brother had killed Ikram's countrymen, and had volunteered for it. She winced. "Sorry."

  Ikram waved it away. "He was serving his country. And I don't imagine he gets a happy ending for doing it."

  Myles shook her head. "He was stabbed in the shoulder near the end of the war and sent home. By the time he got back to the manor, it'd festered. We all knew he was going to die."

  "How old was he?"

  "Sixteen," Myles said. "And of course, he used it as a lesson for me: fighters get hit back. We get hurt and scarred and sometimes killed. So you can't fight for something you don't believe in."

  Ikram handed Myles a kerchief, and she realized she was crying. She quickly wiped her face and crumpled the kerchief in her fist. "I knew I couldn't stay. I'd go mad, snap, and kill whatever poor snob my father would try to saddle me with. I stole some weapons, money, clothes, and a horse and rode off."

  "How old were you?"

  "Nearly eleven. I was smart enough to dress as a boy for safer travel and after a few months, I served as a stable lad at a war camp in the Bloody Mountains. The Tieraustrians were being troublesome. That's where I met Sir Magnus."

  Ikram blinked. "He knows?"

  Myles chuckled. "He caught me while I was taking a piss in the middle of the night and needed his horse. Thought the old man's heart would give out by the look on his face. I would've left then and there, but we were in the middle of the mountains. I would've been dead in a day." She made a face. "Not that it would've mattered. I thought I was dead anyway.

  "Magnus didn't say a word to anyone for two days. He was in a black depression. I avoided him as best I could. On the third day, he pulled me away from the horses and into his tent. I feared the worst. Some of the men in these camps… if they can't get their hands on a woman, they'll settle for anything. Even a child. I hadn't heard of Magnus doing any of that, but…"

  Ikram's face was… rippling. His skin darkened and his hair was flashing red. The amount of unchecked rage on his face made Myles lean away. "Are you angry?"

  "Am I angr—!" Ikram choked, his hair flaring blood red. "Why wouldn't I be angry?!"

  She rolled her eyes. "It's not as if Magnus actually did any of that. I thought at that time that he might and was preparing for a fight. Even drew my knife. But that's not what happened."

  "Oh." Ikram's hair went back to its regular dark brown and his skin went back to its olive tone. "Then what did happen?"

  "He gave me this look when I pulled the knife," Myles said, trying to mimic Magnus's unimpressed glare. "And he said, 'If you want to swing a sword so damn bad, you need to learn how to do it right. And that won't happen if you're a stable boy. So from now on, you're my squire.'"

  Ikram stared at her. "You're telling me that this knight finds out his stable boy is a girl, and makes her his squire, no questions asked?"

  "Oh, he asked questions, all right," Myles said. "But the fact that Magnus helped me, that's not a shock."

  "Why not?"

  Myles gave him a look, then realized, "That's right, you haven't been at court for long. You've never heard of Minerva."

  "So then tell me."

  Myles smirked. "Pushy pushy. You're quite spoiled, Lord Zyon."

  "Myles, I swear to Xeira and all of Its holy creations, from the mortal world to Al-Janna, if you don't start talking right now…"

  She chuckled into her wine and took a nice long sip while Ikram simmered before starting the new story: "During the Changeling War, before Magnus was knighted, he befriended a cavalryman named Arian. Not a noble, but the family was well-off. Over the course of the war they saved each other's lives countless times. They were never seen apart, and most people mistook them for brothers. But then one day Arian was injured. The healer revealed her to be a woman named Minerva, the daughter of a hedge knight. She'd hidden herself so well that not even Magnus had known.

  "Minerva was publicly humiliated and sent home. They say that her father broke her legs to keep her from escaping, but that's just a rumor. In any case, her father was furious and the family shamed. Even Magnus was subject to investigation. He was lucky to be knighted at the end of the war.

  "Because Minerva had saved his life Helios knows how many times, Magnus tried to relieve some of the stain on her reputation. They ended up married within two years."

  Ikram laughed. "He married her for the sake of honor?"

  Myles sipped her wine.

  Ikram's jaw dropped. "No. It wasn't… really?"

  "Mm-hm."

  "It was a love match?!" Ikram gasped, then squealed. "That's adorable!"

  "Helios's beard, you're a romantic."

  "Don't ruin this for me."

  "I have to," Myles said gently. "She died within a year. Childbirth. The baby didn't make it, either."

  Ikram groaned. "You are an evil, evil woman."

  "And a thirsty woman. Where's the pitcher?"

  I
kram refilled her goblet, giving her the evil eye while he did it. It lessened as he filled his own glass. "Does anyone else know? About your sex?"

  Myles paused. She lowered her goblet and stared at the blood-colored wine. "There was a ward living with Magnus and the rest of us, named Janus Petri."

  "Related to Lord Kato Petri?" Ikram clarified.

  "Mm-hm. His son. Lord Kato asked Magnus to train him. We became good friends. Good enough that I told him."

  "And?" Ikram pressed.

  I need more wine for this, Myles thought, draining half of her goblet. "He tried to force himself on me. I broke his arm in three places and gave him to Magnus. I don't know what he did, but whatever Magnus told him guaranteed that I didn't have to worry about being exposed. Not by the Katos."

  Ikram's face fell. "Oh, Myles. I'm so sorry."

  Myles grunted and finished her wine. She decided against elaboration. Janus hadn't minded the fact that she was a woman, much. The problem had come when she'd admitted that she didn't want men. She liked women. Janus had tried to "fix" her.

  "What about you?" Myles asked, to take her mind off of things. "What was your family like?"

  Ikram gave a small, sweet smile. "Not that I ever would've admitted it at the time, but they were the best family a child could ask for. I was the only child, and they indulged my every whim. Mama was the people's favorite, and Asli was always in the library. She taught me how to read."

  "Asli?" Myles echoed.

  Ikram straightened. "My biological father's soul was a woman. She used women's bodies. 'Asl' is the sexless term for 'parent,' so I called her Asli."

  Myles heard the unvoiced, "Do you have a problem with this?" She didn't know why it was even asked. She wasn't one to judge someone for dressing as the opposite sex.

  "What kind of woman did she present as?" Myles asked.

  Ikram gave a relieved smile. "She changed it every day. When spring came, she would have long green hair with pink streaks, and for autumn it'd be red. She'd be short and fat in winter—easier to keep warm—and tall in the summer."

  "How would anyone know it was her if she changed her form every day?"