by Shae Ford
The edge of her stare faltered as his words sank in; the line of her mouth seemed to harden. And for one fleeting moment, Kael thought he might’ve gotten through.
“Get out,” she barked. “I don’t want to see you in my presence again.”
Kael threw in a bow as he left — and had to step aside quickly when Gwen threw her chair.
He couldn’t even enjoy the sound of it shattering against the wall, or her trail of furious swears. He was far too angry to laugh … and it wasn’t only Gwen he was angry with.
It was near dawn, now. The castle’s slitted windows breathed cold air across his neck. Occasionally, a particularly strong gust would bring a flurry of snowflakes in with it. They swirled as they entered, dancing gleefully along the hidden trails of the wind. But their dance was short-lived.
The castle’s warmth devoured them quickly, and they disappeared before they struck the ground.
Though his eyes watched snowflakes, his mind saw other things: towers of flame and smoke, ships dragged into the depths, the blackened shapes of men who’d stood upon their decks for only a few seconds before the fire devoured them — their bones crumbling before they even touched the waves.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly ran smack into Silas. “In here, Marked One,” he hissed, watching as Kael climbed the last in a set of narrow stairs. “You will sleep until morning … then you will be gone.”
His exit was made far less haughty by the way he limped. Silas inched down the stairs, favoring his left foot, while Kael went inside the chamber.
It was larger than he’d expected it to be: the bed’s posts twisted over his head, and the mattress was probably wide enough to fit three people. There were heads on the walls and furs upon the floor. The hearth was grand enough to have fit an armchair and a table inside of it quite comfortably, and the heat it spilled into the room chased the cold from the stone floors.
Three windows graced the far wall, rounded on their tops. Kyleigh had the middle one shoved open. She leaned against its sill, eyes closed to the breath of the wind.
“I warned you,” she murmured as he shut the door. “I told you the wildmen would never fight against the King.”
Kael had known before they even turned towards Thanehold that convincing the wildmen would be difficult. They believed the King had charged their ancestors with the task of chasing all the monsters from the Valley — and even though their battle would have to wait until the mountains healed, he had no doubt Gwen’s great grand-devils would go marching after the wynns the moment they got the chance.
No, he’d known the wildmen would fight him. In fact, he was surprised they’d even been allowed to stay the night.
That wasn’t what he was angry about.
“We’ll have to lead the King away from here, I suppose. Then we’ll head to the swamps.”
“Why?”
Kyleigh’s eyes cracked opened. The fires within them were unassumingly calm. “It’s the one place in the realm I know better than the mountains. As long as we’re in the swamps, we’ll be safe.”
“So you aren’t planning to leave me there while you go off to fight Midlan? I’m not an idiot,” he said when she blinked. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Then you must know that I’m only doing what’s best.”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in hiding, Kyleigh —”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have left the Bay,” she growled, the fires spouting up. “I told you this was the way things would be.”
“No, things don’t have to be this way. We could convince the wildmen to join us — I had a plan! But you didn’t help me. You just stood there and let Gwen say whatever she wanted. You never meant to help me, did you?” he said, piecing it all together. “You’d rather us cower in the swamps for the rest of our lives than to ever have to risk facing Midlan.”
It was the only possible explanation, but he still regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. He waited for Kyleigh’s anger to burn him, or her tears to lash his heart. For half a second, he was trapped in the silence — imagining what horrible, hurtful thing would come of his words.
But her expression never changed. She remained unreadable and calm, as if he’d done nothing more than remark about the weather. It was as if he hadn’t said a word. It was as if she didn’t care.
And for some reason, that stung him worst of all.
“Perhaps we should sleep on it and decide what to do in the morning.” Kyleigh kicked off her spurred boots, hung Harbinger across the back of a nearby chair and slipped beneath the covers — still dressed in full armor. “Good night.”
Kael didn’t reply. He didn’t want to sleep. There was too much to do, too many worries packed inside his head. He was so furious with Kyleigh that he thought he might’ve been able to kick through the wall.
They wouldn’t need the morning to decide: his mind was already made up. He wouldn’t leave Thanehold until he convinced the wildmen to fight with them. No other force in the realm stood a chance against Crevan and his mages.
The wildmen were their only chance at living freely — and he would fight for it.
Kael stayed out of bed for as long as he could. He paced, trying to work through the tangle of his thoughts. He kept the hearth fire roaring. But no matter how furious he was with her, his eyes kept drifting back to Kyleigh.
She was turned away from him; her shoulders rose and fell with her steady breaths. She’d gone to bed in such a hurry that her hair was still tied in a pony’s tail. After a moment of watching her sleep, Kael realized nothing was worth this — there was nothing he felt or worried over that was worth going to bed angry about.
Especially when he was lucky enough to have the world lying right beside him.
He slid in next to her, careful not to stir her from her dreams. He slipped her hair free of its bonds and pressed against her as tightly as he dared. Almost immediately, his heart calmed. Things didn’t seem so desperate. And after a moment, his eyes began to get heavy.
“I love you, Kyleigh,” he said before sleep could take him.
He was convinced he would always love her — even if his plan failed and they wound up having to live in hiding. It wouldn’t be so bad, as long as he had her by his side.
But it didn’t matter how he felt. The things he thought to himself must not have mattered a whit. For when Kael woke the next morning, he woke alone.
Kyleigh was gone.
*******
The world outside was magnificent.
Oh, how the skies chilled him — oh, how the mountains roared. Great bursts of wind raced down from their spiny tops and swirled inside the Valley’s heart. Their power sharpened his eyes and brought new life to his flesh. His blood raced twice as fast. But the most interesting things of all were the little messages hidden inside the wind.
They whispered of change: the winds would stay here for a while, they would bellow through the Valley and try to rip the snow from its hills. These were the last breaths of winter — the cold’s dying gasps. The struggle at this change of the seasons was always fiercest. But spring, with her gentle warmth and cloak of green, would eventually win out.
The scent of roasting meats drifted in from the village behind him. He turned his head to follow the sweet trail of a deer’s flesh as it whipped beneath his nose.
There weren’t many things the humans were good for, but the way they prepared their food was magic. The meat sang beneath their hands — and that was almost worth all their weakness.
Silas paced through the drifts. His weight sank him to his elbows, but the span of his paws kept him from touching the bottom. It was dawn: the quiet hour of the morning when all of the little, scratching things felt safest. They believed the hour too gray for predators, the light too feeble for a hunter’s eyes.
But Silas’s powers were far greater than the common cat’s.
He paused as the wind blew across his ears — bringing with it the noise of frant
ic chewing. He followed the sounds, his nostrils flared to catch the first scent of blood.
A rabbit was crouched at the base of a shrub. The wind had worn a slight dip into the drifts, revealing its withered bark. Silas sank until his chin brushed the snow before him. His eyes settled upon the rabbit and held him tightly.
The rabbit stripped away at the shrub and crushed the bark between his flat teeth. He thought his white fur was shelter enough. For a moment, he seemed unaware of the eyes upon him.
But then all at once, he froze.
This was the game between predator and prey: both of their bodies were coiled, both prepared for the chase. Silas watched the rabbit’s whiskers bunch against his nose. The rabbit sat still as a rock, set to bolt at even the slightest twitch.
Silas waited a moment more, relishing the pause before the hunt. Then he charged.
His powerful limbs barreled him through the snow. Stinging waves of white flew up from the rabbit’s feet. He darted to the left, to the right, to the left again. But Silas knew better than to stay on his heels. When the rabbit cut right, he was ready for it. He was already there.
And the chase ended just as suddenly as it’d begun.
There was a red stain on the rabbit’s neck from where Silas’s jaws had crushed him. But the rest of his fur was untarnished. His coat was especially thick to guard him from the winter — and his flesh would be tender.
Yes, he would make an excellent gift.
Silas turned back towards the village. The great stone den hung in the shelter of the mountains. Sheer, jagged cliffs crowned it like the spines of a deer’s horns, their flesh adorned with snow.
The dragoness was gone. Silas had woken to the news … though he was disappointed that she hadn’t taken the Marked One with her. He’d been in the kitchens at first light, stuffing a pack with food for his journey. The air around him was clouded and hot.
Silas had lingered in the doorway for a moment, reveling in the fury that wafted from the Marked One’s flesh. He deserved his bitterness. How dare he think he could return here to bark orders at their Thane. How dare he speak to her in such a way. She would not bend; she would not be bullied.
The Marked One brought nothing but trouble with him. Yes, he deserved his anger.
Silas had only managed to take a few paces towards the great den when a familiar scent struck his nose. It was hot and dry — the smell of a stone beneath the summer’s heat. There was sweetness to it that made his tongue curl between his teeth.
His jaws froze against the rabbit. His head turned to a set of cliffs beside the village and his eyes sharpened. There, just visible between two faces, was a small hole. It was so slight an opening that the shadows nearly hid it from view. But Silas wasn’t fooled.
No … it isn’t possible.
But even as he thought this, his legs carried him towards the cliffs. He would search them once, just to make sure he was only imagining things. And then he would return to the den.
There wasn’t a thing that rose from the ground that Silas couldn’t climb. Even the cliffs hid a secret path. He held the rabbit tightly as his powerful body sprang him from one jut to the next, careful not to crush its little bones.
In a few short minutes, he’d climbed his way up. The scent had only grown sharper: the sweetness behind the muggy heat was far too strong. It sickened him. Still, he wasn’t prepared to believe it.
Silas slid through the crack, into the blackened mouth of a cave. It was much larger than he’d expected it to be. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the ceilings were as tall as a tree, the floor easily the width of a pond. But for all that, Silas didn’t blink.
No, it was the thing lurking at the back of the room that finally dropped the rabbit from his mouth.
“What are you doing in my lands, dragoness?” he said after he’d hurriedly donned his human skin. This flesh was not as strong against the cold. His bare feet began to ache almost immediately. But he was far too angry to care. “I warned you to be gone by morning.”
“Is it morning already?” He could see the little fires dancing in her eyes from across the cave. The way her lips bent at him was a taunt worse than a roar.
“The Thane said you were to leave at first light.”
“If I ever start caring about what Gwen says, I want you to slap me,” she retorted, and the taunting bend only grew more severe.
A pool gathered deeper within the chamber: he could smell its sweet waters from where he stood. There were several deer laying on the ground about her. The scent of their flesh made Silas’s middle growl in protest. But it was odd. “Why have you killed so many? You can’t make a den here, dragoness. You’re supposed to leave,” he snarled. “Your presence will only bring the swordbearers upon us.”
“You understood all of that, did you? Yes. If I stay, the King will come for me.”
“Then leave!”
“I will … but I’ve got to do something for Kael, first.” Her eyes slid over to the rabbit. “What a handsome creature. Who’s he for?”
“That’s none of your concern — because it isn’t for anybody,” Silas added quickly. His face burned as if the sun had bit it, even though he stood in the dark. The dragoness’s stupid smile was all to blame.
Fortunately, she went back to cleaning her kills. “If I were to tell you something, would you keep it a secret?”
Silas had no intention of keeping any of her secrets. After the way she’d defied him, he should do nothing for her. Still … he couldn’t help but wonder what her secret might be. It itched him like blades of grass beneath his nose.
He couldn’t help it. “Certainly, dragoness,” he purred.
Her story was far more interesting than he’d been expecting. Even when he moved deeper into the cave, bumps still rose across his skin — as if the wind had bitten him.
“Another dragon? More of your kind? And why did you keep this from your mate?” he asked when she nodded. “These wild humans love to hunt the dragons. One word, and they would have knocked him from the skies.”
“I know that.”
“Then why didn’t you speak?”
“I don’t want him dead. I … remember him, somehow. I think there’s a part of me that cared for him, and I don’t want to see him killed.”
She twisted her fingers through her hair — hair as black as the shadows. Her lips had fallen from their taunt. Silas didn’t know what those gestures meant. But he understood her words.
And he thought she deserved no less.
“I warned you, dragoness. When you first told me of your feelings for the Marked One, I warned you it was Abomination.”
She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with that.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Her eyes wandered up to him. Uncertainty thrived within her stare.
“The ritual changes us,” he said. “My kind never keep their mates for long, of course. But when I roamed the mountains as a beast, there was one lioness I liked better than all the others. She was a powerful thing — a fearsome hunter. I admired her strength … and she bore me several litters.
“After I was called to bond with this human,” Silas scraped a hand down his bare chest, “I was determined to find my lioness once more. I escaped my captors before they could curse me and began the long journey to the mountains. I even forsook an offering to join the other shapechangers, so great was my passion. But when I finally returned, nothing was the same.”
It had been a raw wound, once. But now Silas watched the memories with a clear vision of what they’d meant. “Through my mixed eyes, the fearsome lioness who’d once thrilled me was no more than a common beast — a creature too simple to be a match for the thing I’d become. I remember thinking this as I watched her stalk through the wilderness, and I did not go to her. Instead, I let her be.
“The Marked One may thrill your human half, but the dragoness longs for something greater. You desire a mate who knows your mind and your wings. That is why to bond
with anything less than your own kind is Abomination.”
Her face twisted suddenly; her eyes grew bright with anger. She knew the truth. She knew he was right, whether she wanted to admit it or not. The great dragoness who thought she was always right had just been shown how wrong she was.
Silas couldn’t help himself: he laughed when she got to her feet. “You’ve brought this upon yourself, dragoness,” he called as she stalked to the cave’s mouth. “It would be better to leave the Marked One now rather than cause him further pain. Humans have such a tendency to get attached to their mates.”
The dragoness stopped just before the cave’s opening and spun around. Her arms were crossed over her chest — a feeble human attempt to guard a thing she knew was weakness. “I love Kael. He’s my match in every way — nothing will ever change that. But I’ve walked the earth for hundreds of years and have never come across another halfdragon. I want to speak with him, to free him from the curse, if I can. No matter what he’s done, I think there’s … goodness, in him. I feel he’s good. But there’s no way Kael or the wildmen will ever understand this. I need to capture him, myself. And while I’m away, our humans must be ready to battle the rest of Midlan.” Her lips bent again, and her eyes flared brightly. “That’s why I’m going to need your help, Silas.”
Hairs rose down the back of his neck. He suddenly felt as if a chasm had opened behind him and the dragoness stood in his only path of escape. Still, he forced himself to be calm. “I would rather die than help you.”
“I’m afraid you’ve got no choice, kitten. The King’s army is already on its way. Kael can talk until his lungs turn purple, but Gwen will never listen. There’s only one voice in Thanehold that can reach her, only one creature whose instincts she trusts. And if he were to suddenly go missing … well, I think that would be a greater warning than any amount of words.”
Silas’s mouth went dry. He sprang to his feet and tore for the opening, screaming: “No, dragoness!”
But it was too late. Her second form burst from her human skin and her great, scaly girth blocked the hole — sealing him inside the cave.
