by Megg Jensen
"Decarian’s minions dug a tunnel. They slaved under the constant weight of chains and whips, digging until they died and others took their place in line. The tunnel is littered with the bones of the dead," Donovan said. "They will never give up. They will wait until the barriers are weakened and then they will attack."
Tressa stood, brushing the dirt off her pants. "How long has Decarian been down there?"
"More years than anyone can count," Donovan said.
Fi set her hand on her hips. "Is he immortal?"
Donovan shook his head. "Nothing is truly immortal. There is always a path to death. Unfortunately no one has discovered Decarian’s weak point yet. We know the honey keeps him at bay."
Tressa shouldered her bag. She followed Donovan, and Fi brought up the rear. "But the Red is running out of honey," she prodded.
"It's only recently their reserves dwindled to nothing. That's why the Red raised the army. They wanted to capture the bees in Hutton's Bridge. When you and your friends made it out of the fog, it raised their hopes they could get back in again. Without Hutton's Bridge, the entire Dragonlands would be in danger," Donovan said.
Tressa's nose wrinkled at the strange sulfur smell in Desolation. She stepped over rocks and cracked ground, trying to follow Donovan as fast as she could without injuring herself.
"How do you know all of this if you've been hiding in an invisible tower?" Fi asked.
Tressa wanted to know that, too. She was more than a little annoyed with Fi for not addressing these questions before following Donovan into Desolation. She was annoyed with herself, too, if she was being honest.
"I am a part of everything that happens in Desolation. It doesn't matter where I am, I know what happens," Donovan said.
"How does that work?" Tressa asked.
Donovan stopped in his tracks. Tressa caught herself before running into him. "You do not need to know."
Even though he had only one eye, Tressa felt like he was staring her down with the weight of two. The phantom sensation sent shivers down her spine.
Before she could dwell on it, Donovan spun around again, leading the way across the dead land. They walked for most of the day. The sun traveled to its peak and began its journey toward night. As the last rays washed over them, Donovan stopped.
"Here. We pitch camp in this spot. We will reach our destination tomorrow." He took a ball of fabric out of his pack. Donovan whispered to it as if it were a small animal, then tossed the ball in the air. With a pop, the ball expanded and fluttered, coming to rest on the ground as a perfectly formed tent.
"Wow," Fi said, walking around the tent. "That's quite a trick."
"It is not a trick if you have the knowledge," Donovan said.
Behind his back, Fi made a face. "I'll stand watch outside tonight in dragon form."
"No, you will not," Donovan said. "There are those here who hate dragons. Who will do anything to kill them. Changing into one will only mean the end of your life. If you thought your friend Jarrett was dangerous, then you cannot even begin to understand the evil that lies in Desolation. We shall all enter the tent. None shall leave until the sun rises, for what hides in the dark is far more dangerous than what you see in the sunlight."
"I don't see anything," Fi muttered.
"You trusted him enough to follow him into Desolation," Tressa said to Fi. "Let's do as he says until we know different."
"I'm still not sure what we're looking for out here. We need a way to defeat Decarian once and for all. I'm brave and mostly fearless, but I'm not raring to go against him." Fi shuddered. She stepped into the tent, Tressa close on her heels. "That beast is horrendous. He reminds me of the drawings on the caves under the Charred Barrens."
"Drawings?" Donovan asked. "Tell me about them."
"Well, in the tunnels leading to the underground city of the Ruins of Ebon, there are old paintings of dragons fighting strange, frightening beasts." Fi sat on the floor of the tent. "No one pays them much mind. There are stories, of course, but no one believes them. The drawings were meant to frighten children, to keep them from trying to leave the underground city. It was important for us to stay silent after the fog descended upon Hutton's Bridge."
Tressa nodded. "I saw a few of the drawings. None of them specifically resemble Decarian, though some reminded me more of kilrothgi."
"Ah yes, the kilrothgi. Demons from Desolation forced to serve the Red Queen as she protected the Dragonlands." Donovan opened his flask and took a long drink.
The tent impressed Tressa as she settled inside. A dark brown canvas, it appeared as if it could withstand both rain and wind. Very unlike the silken tents she'd stayed in during her journey through the Sands with Jarrett. "I don't understand. If the Red Queen was trying to protect the Dragonlands, then why didn't she ask for help? Why was there a war eighty years ago and another recently?"
"Because she was also protecting her homeland. Desolation and the Dragonlands should have no contact. It is... unwise," Donovan said.
"Why?" Fi asked.
"I told you, they do not like dragons here," Donovan said.
"But why?" Fi asked again.
"Because the Dragonlands were established as a sanctuary for the dragons. Without the separation of the Barrier Mountains, dragons would be extinct." Donovan lay down and swept his cloak across his body. "Now, sleep. Time slips away from us, and the darkness comes."
Tressa followed suit, burying her face in her cloak, her pack under her head. Donovan's warning chilled her to the bone. Extinct? What in Desolation could cause the extinction of dragons?
Chapter Seven
Connor landed in the village square of Hutton's Bridge. He waited for Pia to slide off his back, then he changed into human form.
"Now that's a clever trick," Pia said, a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face. "Tell me, how does that work when you're having sex? Are you able to control the dragon inside you, or does it all just come roaring out?"
"Too bad you'll never know." Hazel slipped her hand on Connor's arm. "I'm Connor's wife, Hazel. Who are you?"
Connor stood between the two women, speechless. He’d never seen Hazel so bold. She'd tiptoed around him since his return, never making a claim upon him—even though she had every right to do so.
Pia held out her perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Pia. Connor brought me here for protection. Isn't he the sweetest?" She winked.
Hazel withheld her calloused palm. "We have plenty of room at the village hall. I can find you a place to sleep."
"Thank you," Pia said. "Make sure it's comfortable. I am expecting." She rubbed her stomach.
Hazel attempted a smile. "Of course. We have healers here, too, who can attend to you when it's time for the birth." She placed a hand on Pia’s back and pointed toward the village hall. "If you go there and ask for Lily, she will be able to help you find a free bed."
"Thank you, dear." Pia swung her pack over her shoulder and made her way to the inn.
Connor watched her go. Her hips swayed side to side. Hazel’s fingers snapped in his face. He shook his head.
Hazel crossed her arms over her chest. "What are we to do with another child? Is she going to care for it after it’s born? Please tell me she's not here just to have it and leave it with us."
Connor shrugged. "I don't know. I promised Bastian I would protect the baby, and the only way I knew how was to bring it here."
"Is she really a..." Hazel hesitated.
"Yes," Connor said. "Pia is a prostitute."
"Wonderful," Hazel said with a sigh. "Perhaps the baby would be better with us than her. That life is no life for a child."
"It is her decision," Connor said. "I'm not against taking in another child. What's one more?"
Hazel glared at him, then snorted. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Sorry," she said with a laugh. "It does seem like one more wouldn't make a difference."
Children plowed through the doorway of the village hall, spilling into the square. They ran past Pia, putting her
smack in the middle of a cloud of wild children. One stepped on her dress, another grabbed her hand and kissed it, while another sneezed on her. Pia stood motionless, her mouth agape as the children whooped and hollered, beginning a game with a leather ball. She lifted her skirts and ran into the village hall, slamming the door behind her.
Hazel laughed again. She glanced at Connor, her smile bright. "She has no idea what she's gotten herself into, does she?"
Connor returned her grin. "No, I don't think she has."
"Hutton's Bridge has been a village of orphans for many, many years. It only seems fitting we continue the tradition. You're right. What's one more? I know I have enough love for anyone who needs it." Hazel looked at Connor, her lashes low.
His heart pounded as he realized she wasn't talking about the kids anymore. She was talking about them. Their marriage. The one thing he couldn't face yet. "I know you do." He patted Hazel on the shoulder, then turned on one heel and walked away.
His breath came in ragged bursts. Connor couldn't remember his wife in that way. Every time he tried, only one image came to his mind. Stacia. The things she'd done to him and the things she'd made him do to her. His stomach turned. Those were the memories he wanted to banish forever from his mind. But they wouldn't stop. Any time he thought of holding Hazel, of trying to see if there could still be something between them, his nights with Stacia would get in the way.
He made his way through the village to where the apiary had been. He'd spent most of his life working there, tending to the bees and the gardens where they collected pollen. Tressa and Bastian thought the honey had something to do with the Red's interest in Hutton's Bridge all of those years ago, leading to the magical fog surrounding their village, cutting them off from the rest of the Dragonlands. After the fog lifted the village’s people were lured away by the Red, and the apiary disappeared along with them. The bees were gone with the villagers, but if the Red had managed to produce honey with what they stole, no one was the wiser.
"Do you remember when you used to bring me bouquets of soter flowers?" Hazel had come up behind him quietly.
"No," Connor said as he sat on the grass. "I'm sorry." And he was. He wanted to remember, but he couldn't. Once he'd asked Jarrett if his memories would ever come back, but the man couldn't promise him anything. Jarrett had lived among dragons and been the consort to the Yellow Queen. He should have known better than anyone else Connor knew. His anger bubbled even at the thought of Jarrett. The man had slaughtered his passel of dragons before they'd been old enough to defend themselves. Yet Tressa swore Jarrett was under some kind of enchantment. That, Connor might be able to sympathize with. Maybe. Someday.
Hazel settled next to him on the ground, her legs close, though not touching his. "Often you would bring me a bouquet on special days. The bees needed the flowers more than I did, but you always made sure I knew you were thinking of me."
"Was I a good husband?"
"Yes," Hazel said. She looked at the bright flowers. Connor got the impression she was remembering something very important. Something he should remember too. "I don't know how much you remember... In Hutton's Bridge, we did not choose our mates. They were chosen for us. A basket was filled with ribbons and each man had his own color. I chose your ribbon. We were then given three moons to get with child. If we did, then we would be married. If not, I would be given another man to mate with. When I chose your ribbon, I was disappointed."
Connor glanced at Hazel, unsure what to make of that statement.
"But soon I realized your quiet ways weren't an insult. They were an indication of a deep well of strength that resided in your heart. You were a good man, Connor. You are still. I couldn't be more proud to be your wife, despite everything. I have held back since we reunited. I have given you the space I thought you needed to deal with your new life. I am afraid it wasn't enough. Perhaps you don't know how much I still care for you. How much I miss you when I'm taking care of our boys. How much I miss you at night." Hazel leaned closer, resting her head on Connor's shoulder.
"I betrayed you," Connor said. "It is that simple."
"No," Hazel said, sitting up straight. "It is not. I know you. I know your heart. I don’t believe for one moment that you betrayed me or our family."
Connor stood, brushing dirt from his pants. "I did. Vatra is the product of that betrayal."
Hazel gathered her skirts and stood too. She grabbed Connor's hands and looked him directly in the eyes. "What happened was against your will. I will not blame you for that. I still love you, Connor. I love Vatra and Fotia as if they were my own. When you are ready to believe me, you know where to find me." Hazel stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Connor's surprised lips.
As she walked away, Connor almost reached out for her, but a rustle in the foggy woods behind him tore his attention away.
Chapter Eight
Connor took a deep breath, reminding himself there couldn't be anything in the fog that could harm him. Gaia, the tree guardian, and her brothers had promised to keep them safe. He stood still, silent.
Crack.
There it was again. Something was out in the woods.
Connor advanced on the fog. As he stepped into it, a memory flashed in his head. Holding hands with Tressa. Everything going dark. Losing his grip on her hand. They were separated.
Connor shook his head. It was the same now. He couldn't see. The fog was so thick it covered him like a shroud. He remembered Hazel calling his name. Except it hadn’t been Hazel. It had been a beast using her voice.
Connor! Connor!
No. Not now. That was before. Past and present melded together. Connor stepped backward until he left the fog and stumbled back into the flower patch.
"Hazel!" he called out, but she had moved past shouting distance. He wanted to tell her what he remembered. It wasn't much, but it was something. A start. And if that memory was still in there, maybe the rest of it was, too.
Crack.
It had to be an animal. Maybe a squirrel. Or a raccoon. It certainly wasn't a kilrothgi. Bastian and the villagers had slain all of them. Nothing else could have gotten through without a warning from Gaia. No, Hutton's Bridge was still safe. It had to be.
A shadow moved across the ground. It paused next to Connor's feet. He looked up in the air, but saw nothing. Connor looked down again. The shadow was gone.
Strange. It must have been a bird. Or a trick of his mind. Maybe another piece of memory slipping into the present.
Connor shrugged and headed back to the village square, following the joyful shrieks of the children playing ball. He jogged up to the edge of the square next to Hazel. She smiled and slipped her arm through his. They stood there together, as if it was something they'd done every day for years.
Fotia ran with the kids, kicking the ball with her taloned feet as easily as the kids did in their leather shoes. Vatra hung on the sidelines, bouncing up and down and hooting. Connor was happy to see they were all getting along so well.
"We can do this, Connor," Hazel said. "Give us a chance."
He thought of the memory he'd had at the edge of the fog. If touching the fog like that brought back his memories, then maybe there was hope. He looked at Hazel. He was still attracted to her. That was an urge that never seemed to go away. But was it love, or just a part of being a man?
Connor wrapped an arm around Hazel's waist and pulled her close. His other hand found its way to her cheek. Hazel's eyes widened. She pressed up against him, her arms snaking over his shoulders.
Connor leaned toward her upturned face. His lips rested on hers. It wasn't familiar, but felt good. And it elicited a whole new emotion when Hazel returned the kiss with vigor, her lips moving against his in a way that seemed natural, as if they'd done it a thousand times before.
Perhaps they had. Connor gave in to her affection, his eyes closing as they kissed.
"Ew!" It came from behind them, followed by a chorus of giggles.
Connor and Hazel broke apart. He
felt a blush creep up his cheeks, but Hazel looked pleased. "Married people are allowed to kiss," she said to the children. "Go back to your game."
Hazel grabbed Connor's hand. "Let's go back to our cottage."
Connor's eyebrows knitted together. "I'm, um, I'm not sure—"
Hazel laughed. "Not for that. I want to show you where we used to live. I thought it might help your memory."
"Okay." As they walked, Connor told her what happened when he stepped into the fog.
Hazel smiled. "Good. Then it's possible visiting our home will help, too." She tugged on his hand, urging him faster.
The cottage didn't look familiar to Connor, but maybe that would change when he stepped inside. It was conceivable he was on the verge of remembering everything. The thought excited him. He had been afraid of his past, nervous, even. But today it felt like anything was possible. Like past and present could come together, making him whole again.
He might have died and been brought back to life as a dragon, but maybe he could also be the man he was before that fateful day. Though he hated Stacia and how she had forced a new life and her body on him, he loved Vatra, his own little dragonling. He loved Vatra's half-sister Fotia. Connor couldn't imagine his life without either of them.
"Are you ready?" Hazel asked him. She bounced on her toes like a child. Her enthusiasm was contagious.
"Yes, let's go in." Connor took a deep breath and followed his wife into their cottage.
Hazel pulled back the curtains. Light streamed in, illuminating a home similar to Tressa's cottage. Connor's eyes swept over the simple wooden furniture. He ran a hand along the back of a chair. The books on the shelves didn't look familiar, nor did the copper pots hanging above the fireplace.
He clenched his fists, searching for anything familiar. But there was nothing. He looked at Hazel as he fought back angry tears. Why couldn't he remember? It was all in there. He was sure of it after what happened at the fog.
