Sebastian did not follow them. When Brughale glanced back at him, her brows lifted in question, he turned away.
Tempt me, Siren, if you dare. I'll have no part in it.
A movement near the back walls of the cavern drew his attention. He squinted against the dimness, at last recognizing a creature that lurked in the deep shadows. Black scales and smoky irises gave away the species; a Dragon, a Nine-Tail—or what should have been a Nine-Tail. The creature paced in the darkness, limping as he walked, dragging the stump of a tail on the mud-patterned floor.
The stump feathered the dirt, and Sebastian started toward it, stopping when he realized that the stump was divided into nine small sections, but the tail had been truncated—snipped off as though someone had taken a knife to it.
“What happened to that Dragon?” Sebastian asked a nearby Elf who adjusted a bandage that hung heavily over his eyes.
The Elf turned his head in Sebastian's direction, though his eyes remained covered. “The Nine-Tail?”
“Aye.”
“He was a casualty of the Battle for ClarenVale—one of Nicholas Erlane's. The poor creature took a hit from Sebastian's Poison-Quills, and the infection spread through the tail. One of the castle Dimn lopped off the tail to save the beast, but he's never been the same since.”
Sebastian nodded. “What happened to your eyes?” he asked.
“Blinded in battle,” the Elf said. “Took a bite from a Goblin to my neck, and had no remedy.” The Elf tilted his ear toward the King as though he were listening. “You're new,” he said. “What's your defect?”
Sebastian flinched. “Defect?”
“Aye. All of Mautach's creatures bear a defect. It is what binds us together.”
Sebastian returned his attention to the Nine-Tail. Silence fell heavily around the King beneath the weight of his thoughts, his memories, the pain of his past.
A defect. The truth sliced through him like a blazing-hot knife. He was defective—the anomaly in the Andrachen line. Liam's face leaning over him shimmered into searing memory: Simply because you're an anomaly, a misnomer who can hardly handle the heat from your bedchamber's hearth, does not mean you can forget. Words filled his mouth like ash, spewing from his lips before he could stop them. “I have no part in my family's prophecy.”
He walked slowly toward the Dragon. The creature noticed him, turning his great head toward Sebastian, smoke furling from his nostrils.
Sebastian stopped, standing perfectly still, watching the Dragon watch him.
Neither moved.
Fear cringed down Sebastian's spine, and half of him wanted to turn and run. He couldn't handle fire as Liam had. His skin would burn beneath Dragonfire. But something about the creature called to him.
A kinship, born of mutual displacement, perhaps. Each could sense it in the other.
A warning rumble shuddered through the Dragon.
“He can't breathe fire, that one. Only ash.” Brughale had finished taking Jerrus and the soldier around the circle, leaving them at the fire in the center of the cavern, and had silently approached Sebastian. “No one knows why.”
Surprise lifted Sebastian's brows.
Brughale shook her head as she, too, stared at the Dragon. “He doesn't mingle with the other creatures, but he's caused no one any harm. But... what use is a Dragon without his fire?”
Sebastian was silent, feeling the sting of her words, unintentionally directed toward him, the misfit son of the Andrachen King, descendant of Aarkan the Firebringer. Perhaps the fire only sleeps, Sebastian thought. He wasn't sure if he meant the thought to apply to himself or to the Dragon.
“What defect binds you to this Clan?” Sebastian asked before he knew he would say the words. He wanted to grab them back; he wanted no part with the Siren. Even so, he could feel her body's heat, and desire woke inside him.
He edged away before he realized Brughale hadn't answered. He glanced at her. She stared straight ahead, her lids blinking over moist eyes.
“I—cannot age,” she murmured at last.
Sebastian stared. “And this is a defect?” he asked at last.
She turned toward him, spreading her hands in front of her. “To never know the peace of eternal sleep? To never put aside the cares of this world and enter the quiet haven of nothingness? Even supposing the Stars are the souls of those gone before—” bitterness tinged her voice “—I will never take my place among them.” Her lips whitened, and she dropped her arms loosely to her sides. “I am nothing more than a ghost, stretched thin with the memories of ages.”
Sebastian hesitated. “How—how old are you?”
“Does it matter?” When Sebastian didn't answer, she gave a tiny sigh. “I have seen eight centuries come and go and the birth of a ninth.”
“What—how—?”
She shook her head sadly. “A curse.” She did not go into detail. “I don't remember my beginnings, and hardly a childhood—it has been so long. All I know is that I will always be this way, unable to find my final rest.”
Sebastian dropped his attention to her hand, which reached for his and touched his fingers. “Now and then, over the centuries, one stands out among others as someone worth knowing, perhaps.” Her thumb traced the outside of his palm before she turned away.
Sebastian watched her go, saw the dance of firelight off her nearly black hair that was like a river past her waist. His pulse thudded in his ears as his blood surged hot.
He wouldn't. Not a Siren. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned back to the Dragon, who regarded him with a curious gaze. Sebastian pulled his thoughts away from Brughale, settling onto the floor only six spans away from the Dragon, his whole attention on the creature.
The Nine-Tail without tails angled his body so he paced perpendicularly to Sebastian, careful never to turn his back. The tail stump swung to the right and left, nearly comical in its concerted attempts to restore balance to the stumbling, clumsy Dragon. The hazy, gray irises eyed him warily, and if Sebastian moved at all, the Dragon flinched.
Sebastian sat for a long while, watching the Dragon, and when at last, he stretched out to rest, it wasn't near the fire with the other creatures, but spans away from the misfit, misshapen black Dragon who mirrored Sebastian's soul.
Sebastian slipped into sleep, and in his dreams, a dark-haired Siren spoke to him without the enchantment of her kind, simply baring her own soul to his.
“Mautach sent word via the eagles and the trees, Your Grace,” Jerrus reported the next morning as he climbed into the cavern opening through the steep entrance. “Kinna and Cedric are absent from The Crossings—”
“Where are they?” Sebastian demanded, pulling his brows low over his forehead. If they should be in ClarenVale while he was here...
“Cedric has gone to Lismaria, though I've had no reports that he has been seen in or around ClarenVale, so we can assume for the moment that ClarenVale is safe—”
“We can assume nothing,” Sebastian growled. He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing on the muddy cavern floor. “My nephew is treacherous, and it does not benefit us to overlook his Dragon-speak. If he uses it against my Dragons...” He trailed off, stopping his pacing. “And Kinna? Where is she?”
“We have just received word from your spy, Mautach; a message arrived via the Dryads. Your niece is in Ongalia, Your Grace. The word is that she is seeking an alliance with the Great Dragons and the Ongalian nobility.”
Dread twisted Sebastian's stomach. Not only Dragons... but the Ongalian nobility. The lords of Ongalia were numerous and wealthy, holding vast lands, each boasting a small militia solely under his own command. Combining their forces, the Ongalian nobles manifesting war on Sebastian's northeastern borders while his attention was focused on the rebel uprising in West Ashwynd could be fatal to his hold of the Lismarian throne.
He stroked his beard, irritated by the thickening growth on his neck. He hadn't been able to shave it since leaving Lismaria.
“I'd hoped to stay to overs
ee the spy network I have put in place in The Crossings,” Sebastian murmured. “We've hardly begun, but we must return. My throne is not safe while I remain across the Channel.”
“Your Grace, my men are strong. They can maintain ClarenVale during our absence, I am certain.”
“Only one thing is certain during our existence, Jerrus, and that is death.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted to Brughale, who bent over the fire, stirring a large pot of steaming concoction. Death, for all but Brughale. “Do not speak to me of the certainty of my hold on the Lismarian throne when I have endured twenty years of exile from it.”
Jerrus's face beneath his drooping mustache turned a blotchy shade of crimson at Sebastian's reproof. He had “lost” Sebastian's former commander, Lanier, at the battle of ClarenVale, and though Sebastian had reinstated Jerrus to a high position, the Commander hadn't yet learned to live down the ignominy of such a mistake.
“Your Grace.” Brughale's low voice filtered over Sebastian and Jerrus, and Sebastian turned his attention to the woman. She held two bowls filled with corn porridge. She handed them to Sebastian and Jerrus. Jerrus held the bowl to his lips and blew on it before taking a sip.
“The ones you have designated as spies are in place in the castle; Commander Jerrus went over the specifics of your plan last night.”
Sebastian glanced toward the back of the cavern where he'd slept near the Nine-Tail. The Dragon was missing this morning. The Elf had explained that the creature usually hunted by himself before sunrise. It's when the Dragon feels most like himself, the Elf had said. In the air, while he still flies clumsily, his awkwardness is less pronounced, and he needs only his teeth to kill his prey. Dragonfire isn't necessary against deer and wild elk.
Brughale lowered her voice. “It was not difficult as the spies already had avenues into the castle in one way or another—a washer-woman, two hunters, a chambermaid, and more. There are none on the twins' inner Council, but it will be less difficult to gain access to the Council chambers with our Clan members inside.”
“Once Kinna and Cedric return, you mean,” Sebastian said, taking a sip of the porridge. It was hot but comforting as it slid down his throat, warming the icy chill beneath his skin.
“Aye. You are free to remain if you wish, Your Grace,” Brughale said, “but you must not feel as though you cannot trust Mautach's Clan. We will see you through. Mautach will be sure that the spies stay true to your cause.”
Sebastian longed to see the castle that he had called home for twenty years, but the danger of doing so far outweighed the desire. If he entered the doors of The Crossings, he would do so as King, setting himself upon the throne and claiming the power over this land. Sneaking in, skulking in shadows, was not his way.
“Aye. We shall return to Lismaria. I will need to send word by the trees to my boat's captain to meet us at the shore of the Channel.”
“Nay, Your Grace.” Brughale's crimson lips curved in a sultry smile. “Am I not a Siren? You shall return across the Channel from The Crossing's own port, taking the skeletal remains of the Andrachen twins' naval fleet with you. It can be done, Your Grace, I swear it.”
“That's three bateaus, Brughale,” Jerrus burst out, “those remaining from the Channel battle. Surely your voice will not cover such an expanse?”
“Need it?” Brughale's brow lifted. “I have access to the Captains' barracks where they bunk when they are not at sea. If you catch all the fish with one net, you leave the wide waters free of their scales.”
“The plan is not without risk, Brughale,” Sebastian said. “Lanier's patrols still sweep the Channel in fishing boats. Who shall see us safely through them?”
“I shall accompany you, Your Grace.” Brughale's words came just as Sebastian took a sip of the porridge, and his lungs surged into a hacking, coughing fit.
“Nay,” he said when he'd regained his possession. “You are needed here.”
“Mautach is the leader of this Clan, Your Grace. Not I. I will be of more use to you.”
Sebastian stared at Brughale, waging a war between his mind and his heart. “I wish to take the Dragon back with me, not you.”
“The Nine-Tail?” Brughale's brows lifted. “Taking the Dragon does not preclude me from coming, Your Grace. On the contrary, you will be more powerful with both of us.”
Powerful. The word spoke to Sebastian. All his life, he'd grasped for power. He hesitated. “When is Mautach to return?”
“Mautach moves at will. None of us knows. It could be soon, or late.” Brughale stepped closer to Sebastian, her wide black eyes gazing up into his face. “Please, Your Grace. Allow me to help you.”
Her lips smelled sweet, like freshly harvested sugarcane from the southern fields of Lismaria. Sebastian closed his eyes against the sight. “Very well. We leave at the evening's turn of tide.” He opened his eyes, his gaze hard. “All three bateaus, Brughale. You swore it to me.”
“Three, Your Grace.” Her mouth, much too close to his, curved upward in a delighted smile. “It shall be done.”
Chapter Nine
Kinna
Kinna stopped at Lord Fellowes's gesture when they reached the eastern gates of Allande. The livery stood to their right, the stalls full of horses. “Each of you can ride?” Lord Fellowes questioned. “It will take too long to walk to the Valley.”
“Can we not take Chennuh?” Kinna asked.
Lord Fellowes eyebrows arched. “Chennuh?”
“My psuche partner, Lord Fellowes. A Mirage Dragon,” Kinna explained. “He waits outside the western gates of Allande, as the gate sentries would not allow a Dragon entrance to the city.”
It took Lord Fellowes only a moment to process this information, but he seemed pleased. “It would certainly save time; Dragons cover territory much faster than horses.” He glanced at the livery with a rueful grin. “One of the drawbacks of living in a wood-built city: we cannot have Dragons within the premises. The risk of fire is too great.”
“Then Chennuh will take us, Lord Fellowes.” The four exited the gate, and Kinna asked, “Why have the Ongalians set up a wood city so near the Valley of the Dragons? I would have thought they'd have built it of stone because of those very risks.”
Lord Fellowes checked the darkening sky. Above the high hills where Allande was built, Kinna could see a rippling distortion against the sky. Chennuh was nearly there.
“It is not that the Ongalians built their city so near the Dragons, but that the Dragons nested in their Valley so near the Ongalian capital. You see, when the Ongalians settled this country many centuries ago, it was entirely forested. Wood cities made sense. The Dragons did not settle until much later. In those days of peace, during and after the reign of Aarkan, they were spread all over. It has only been in the last hundred years of Andrachen rule that the Great Dragons moved to the Valley and brought many of their kinds with them. As time went on, the Andrachens used Dragons more and more for their own purposes, refusing to see the Dragons as equals and more as a strain of creatures to be used or abused. The Bond of Blood and Fire turned from its original purpose—peace among Men and Dragons, overseen by the Seer Fey—and slowly, insidiously, Dragons were subjugated by Man.”
Chennuh landed just outside the eastern gate, and Kinna crossed the drawbridge and moat. Lord Fellowes nodded to the sentries as they passed. Hazel followed, nearly treading on Kinna's heels, and Jakkob walked close behind her, both hands resting on the hilts of his swords.
Chennuh lowered his head, and Kinna climbed aboard, waiting while the others clambered up, Hazel and Jakkob settling onto the makeshift saddle Kinna had rigged before leaving West Ashwynd. Neither looked happy about their proximity to one another.
Kinna began, “Helga said that it has only been recently that the Amulet has been degraded, turned evil, by the Andrachen line. Until that time, we were given to understand that the Bond of Blood and Fire was a good thing, a peaceful thing between our kinds.”
“And so it was,” Lord Fellowes nodded from his p
lace behind Kinna. Chennuh lurched into the sky, and Lord Fellowes waited until they were high in the air before continuing. He had to shout; the wind snatched his words away as he spoke. “But the Andrachens had long ago begun to corrupt the Amulet and the Bond before the cascading effects seeped across the nation and the rest of Man and Dragon-kind. It was why I fought so hard against your mother's betrothal—one reason, anyway. I felt she was being endangered, entering marriage to a man of a known corrupt royal line. True, Liam was not generally known to be reprehensible—his own people loved him—but I knew the truth, because I knew Olivia.”
His eyes sparked with feeling; Kinna knew it could not have only been that reason, but she didn't want to delve too deeply into what seemed a pain-filled past. Tentatively, she asked, “How well did you know my mother, Lord Fellowes?”
Lord Fellowes raised his eyes to the clear stars above them, saying nothing for several moments. At last, he shook his head. “If you aren't your mother all over again, Kinna.” The scarred side of his face seemed to sag lower, and he wiped a track of moisture that trailed backwards over his temple from the whipping wind. Tenderly, he pressed his fingers to his lips and raised them to the stars above them.
Kinna's heart softened. She said nothing, but twisted to the front again, feeling it only right to give the man a little privacy.
A moment later, he spoke again. A small smile crossed the man's lips. “We grew up together, your mother and I. I was taken from my father's house and made a ward of the King of Ongalia until my elder brother was killed in a skirmish with Sanlian traders and I had to return to take my father's name and place in the nobility. But Olivia and I did everything together. She was—she was special.” His face was soft with remembrance, and Kinna had to lean closer to hear his next words. He smiled and called, “My first and only love, she was. We had known for years that she would be wed to Liam of Lismaria. It was her duty, her responsibility. She could not think of love when she had a kingdom to consider.”
Unleash the Inferno (Heart of a Dragon Book 3) Page 17
