Burn (Dragon Souls)

by Fletcher, Penelope

  The screeches of denial tearing from her throat had not abated in the hours since. The crash of random objects flying into the walls as she raged at anyone who came near added to the mad woe infecting the Citadel.

  Feral and restless, Koen stalked the halls he and his Treasure had tread. She haunted him. Memories plagued him at every turn, muted by the hazy mist of fantasy.

  “Are you sulking?” he asked.

  Her ghost spun, eyes twinkling, lips curved in a smile. “Yes.” She pouted as fears of not being a good mother shadowed her dark eyes.

  He picked her up in his arms and held her warm weight close to his heart.

  The vision dissipated. The gnawing ache grew.

  Now he stood in the throne room, his soul shattering into a million pieces, only for those splinters to shatter again.

  A powerful Mage stood before him demanding an audience.

  “King Raad, our condolences.” Shukri was dressed in a sturdy travel cloak. A humble attendant kneeled at his rear, and a powerful Battle Mage with eyes of cold steel escorted them. “The time has come to end our business here.”

  Daniil glared angrily. “Your timing-”

  “Is regretful,” the Eldermon said, “but not our fault. The Princess and I disagreed, but we did not meet as enemies. You have no cause to believe me, Lord Kol, but I am saddened by this loss.” Shukri drew himself up. “It was the Princess herself who claimed this land was a haven of safety for Ryuk.” He gestured to the balcony. Below them vagrants tried to gain entry. “That is no longer the case. We are returning home, and we are taking our Prince with us. It is no longer safe for him here.”

  “How dare you,” Mikhail rumbled. “The ashes of my offspring barely settle, and here you stand, demanding what she loved most.”

  Shukri tossed him a dry look. It was not without pity. “Your decision?” he asked Koen.

  “We have run out of time,” Daniil said quietly, his eyes fixed on his weary King. “There is no sense in delaying this any longer.”

  Anastasia – the only female within the room – leisurely stood. She eyed them all with abhorrence. “I will not be part of this. I must check none of my people have become caught up on the wrong side of the fighting.” She sniffed. “Goddess knows Aleksandr will be neck-deep in trouble.”

  “Yes,” Sevastyan grumbled. “It is time to see to our vassals.”

  He stumbled onto his feet.

  Eyes glassy and balance compromised, he brushed splatters of wine from his chest plate. His reaction to the death of his niece was to drown in drink.

  He felt hollow inside, even as a part of him rejoiced it was not Viktor.

  His thoughts made him ill.

  “I cannot stay,” he said more firmly.

  Anastasia halted. “If Marina’s people are not here then I know exactly where this conversation will end.”

  Daniil scowled. “We are all her people.”

  She did not openly refute his claim. Her body language said it all. “My answer remains the same. I will not be a part of this.” She looked at him then, softening. “But I understand the practicality behind it.”

  “Perhaps,” Mikhail said slowly, understanding dawning, “I too should leave.” There would be no wining this fight. He sacrificed his relationship with his only offspring over a lusting that quickly passed. He and Cathryn could barely speak civilly in each other’s presence. Now his offspring was gone, and there would never be the opportunity to mend the breach. Dishonouring her death and furthering his betrayal was not something he was interested in. More than that, Boy was his grandchild. He could not in good conscience make a decision that befitted his station. He would speak from his heart alone, and that was not his duty as a Council Mon sworn to protect the land. “My offspring–”

  “Thought too much with her heart,” Shukri snapped. “It is why we are in this mess.”

  At the insult to their beloved dead, the males tensed.

  Daniil glared.

  The youngest Raad growled and snarled in affront, whereas the older simply stared at the Eldermon until he blanched and trembled.

  “Remain, Council Mon.” Anastasia was gentle as she advised Mikhail. She looked at Sevastyan. “You should stay too. Fight her corner.”

  With a polite bow to the males, she slipped through the tense figures awaiting the King’s next command.

  Muttering about the whereabouts of his Captain and offspring, Sevastyan moved behind her.

  Anastasia spun, and closed the door pointedly behind her.

  Sevastyan stared at it longingly. His armoured shoulders slumped.

  Dejected, he returned to his seat.

  Mikhail hesitated. He lowered himself onto a chair and gripped the armrests. “I will hear this proposition.”

  Shukri’s face heighted with colour. “This has nothing-”

  “She was my heir,” Mikhail said. “Ryuk inherits that honour. I have the right.”

  Koen had said nothing. He turned to his Second, a male he had always considered of his blood. He did not see the battle-brother he knew. “You cannot ask this of me.”

  “The time for thinking with your heart is done. Will you stand by the decision to reject the Eldernmoot after they declare war? All for no other reason than to cling to a memory.”

  The ghost of his Treasure stood before him. Her eyes begged him not to agree.

  Koen closed his eyelids to shut her out. “He is a part of her.”

  Daniil cleared his throat. “Eldermon, if we may have time to confer.”

  “You have had time,” Shukri said with a weary sigh. “We leave this night, Lord Kol. No more delays. We have our own problems to deal with. Our people need us to return.”

  “If you could wait in the apartments across the hall.” Daniil signalled to a guard. “Please.”

  The man was led away, no small amount of irritation stamped across his thick features.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Daniil broke the jittery silence. “We will lose, Koen. Look at us. We are divided. Queens do not sit on both thrones, and Aver will have to begin again with Chosen barely fit for the task because of it. If the Mages attack our territories will be overrun.”

  Mikhail growled. “So in your panic you seek to sacrifice a youngling?”

  “You act as if I send him to certain death. I wish to send him home.”

  “This is his home. It could be considered her dying wish we keep him here.

  Daniil recoiled. “Do not use her memory so.”

  A mean snarl tightened Mikhail’s features. “Do not use her death to forward your own agenda.”

  “You think this is easy for me? To close off my heart and speak what is necessary?” Daniil quivered. His anger was palpable. “These last hellish hours I have made myself sick trying to think of a solution that would honour her wishes and not result in our destruction. What did I come up with? Nothing.”

  “You expected this to be easy?” Mikahil’s voice brimmed with contempt. “That they would not threaten and harass us into giving them what they want? Shukri picked his moment well.”

  Daniil looked pained. “Why? Why do we risk this? Why is this child–”

  “Child,” Sevastyan interrupted softly. His sunken eyes blinked slowly, and his face heavily creased with fatigue. “Hear the word you speak. Even during Aver there are laws in place for protection of younglings.”

  “Boy is not a descendant of Dragons.”

  Many of the other exhausted males muttered in agreement.

  Koen’s jaw clenched. To some Dragon Lords blood was all that mattered. It did not matter to them that Boy was family.

  He is a Barren One to them, now and always.

  “Neither is Cathryn.” Mikhail was livid. “Are you saying she is a potential sacrifice should they demand women for their men? Is nothing Marina left behind of value to you?”

  Jakob’s growl rose louder than the rest.

  He stood from his leaning position on the wall and stalked closer, eyes promising v
iolence.

  “You twist my words,” Daniil grated, watching the silver-eyed male with wary suspicion at his sudden rousing.

  “They are already twisted. You are blinded by prejudice.” Mikhail faced Koen. “This discussion is pointless. We cannot give Boy up.”

  “Because you consider him yours?” Daniil pushed, his tone bordering disrespect.

  Mikhail slammed a fist against his knee. “To give over young regardless of its parentage is wrong.”

  “I agree with the Council Mon,” Sevastyan said.

  “As do I.” Koen’s chest felt tight. “This is not right.”

  “Why?” Daniil demanded. “Because Marina said it was not?”

  “Because I feel it is not.” Koen struggled to keep his voice emotionless. He was not ready to fall apart. Not yet. There were betrayers to execute. “He is my offspring.”

  “As much as it pains me, no, he is not. He is the bastard of the dead Grand Mage and his only heir. With his accession they will squabble amongst themselves and leave us alone so we may rebuild the bond between Houses that has been severed this night.”

  “Then peace shall reign throughout the land, and naked virgins will fall from the skies.” Mikhail’s tone was dry.

  Daniil was exasperated. “Skirmishes between fire and ice breathers are inevitable. We are territorial beasts. Do not try and compare battles between ourselves with world war.” He pivoted to face his liege. “Without the child here you will heal. Keeping him will be nothing but a constant reminder of what you lost.”

  Heart squeezing, Koen’s eyes closed.

  He gripped the edge of his throne for support. The responsibility of his birth crushed him even as the grief of losing his love hollowed his insides.

  “Heartless fool,” Sevastyan muttered drunkenly.

  “How dare you,” Mikhail snarled after regaining his voice. Anger had shortly robbed him of speech. “To stand before me and speak so callously.”

  “There is no time for delicacy. Do you not think I would wallow with you if I could?” Daniil’s eyes blazed and his lips whitened. “I have a responsibility to ensure peace prevails. It is my duty to advise my King, and I will do no less.” Daniil turned to Koen. “You know this must happen. For all our sakes, Koen, decide.”

  “Do not do this,” Jakob said. “Do not.”

  Daniil spun on him. “Do you have a better solution? No? Then be silent!”

  Unable to say the words, Koen Raad closed his eyes.

  His world might have shattered, but others lived on. Life went on. He had his vengeance. The innocent need not suffer a war for the love of a ghost.

  He jerked his head.

  “Say it aloud.” Daniil’s voice at last lost its harshness. “There can be no misunderstanding.”

  “Yes,” he hissed. He would lose another part of himself, but no innocents would suffer. His eyes opened and he did not care if they saw his tears. “Give them Ryuk. Let there be peace.”

  Defeat slumping every line of his frame, Mikhail gazed upwards sadly. “She will never forgive us. In the afterlife she looks upon us.”

  “This was always going to happen,” Daniil said, face haggard. “Even if she lived. It was a matter of time.”

  The old male aged centuries in that moment. “She sees us.” Shaking his head, he covered his face. “She will never forgive.”

  A chill made them shiver.

  The doors slammed open, and Regent Myron burst into the room. Seeing the edgy group lurking the shadows, he reined his panic, and lifted his chin. “What is happening? The Eldernmoot is across the hall instead of guarded in the upper levels. Shukri is all but frothing at the mouth. The male is rabid.”

  A quietly worried Council Mon Isaak followed him. The Dragon Council leader had cloaked his beast in human form to walk among the general populace without adding to the frenzy.

  “The decision has been made to return Prince Ryuk Noor to his people,” explained Daniil.

  Myron stared blankly, shocked, and then narrowed his eyes.

  The Regent’s golden robes swept about him as he strode deeper into the shadowy room. Soft-soled feet whispered quickly across the hard floor. Beads of sweat gathered on his temples, and his customarily groomed hair was knotted, the long white stands tangled about his aged face and shoulders. “Koen Raad. Attend me. Is this true? You have given the youngling up?”

  Looking out into the courtyard, Koen remembered his Treasure training.

  She skilfully swung her Bo and laughed heartily when she managed to land a blow on Daniil. She looked up, saw him watching, and blew him a kiss.

  The vision was blown away with the smoke tinted winds.

  Disenchanted, Koen faced his mentor. The accusation and disappointment he heard from the male was anticipated. “It is, and yes I have.” His hand waved listlessly. “Everything else of value has been stripped from me. Why not him?”

  “Think about what you are doing.”

  “Advice? It is ignored.” He retuned to staring at the starry sky. “Until I have rooted out those who betrayed me, I am of no use to you.”

  “There is looting and rioting in the streets.” The announcement cut the low murmur of conversation rimming the chamber. “Guards are abandoning their posts. Palaces that have stood for generations are being burnt to the ground.”

  “I noticed.” Koen spoke evenly his attention never wavering.

  He stared out the window into the smoky night. He had given these people everything. His life, his love and now the only offspring claimed as his own.

  What more is there to give? Have I not sacrificed enough?

  Streets were on fire. Gangs of people roamed the maze of pathways. The market place was a seething mob of violently thrashing bodies. Screams were frequent, and the bellow of angry accusations rose in a thunderous clamour.

  The unrest was oddly soothing to the monster lurking in his heart.

  Koen Raad spared a glance over his shoulder at the sound of agitated voices.

  Sevastyan’s offspring passionately argued with Daniil. His tremulous, stuttering voice rose in protest when his Sire violently shook his head.

  Face stony, Daniil signalled to a guard.

  The struggling youngling was escorted bodily from the room.

  Koen ignored the scuffle and trained his fracturing attention on Myron. “What concern is so great, old one,” he asked, “that you would bother me?”

  Myron spluttered. So great was his distress, he rocked unsteadily on his heels. Isaak steadied him with a hand to his elbow. “Boy, you vex me. Impudent, whelp. Ask me what my concern is will you?” His arms lifted aggressively, baring his front in challenge. “Our society tears at the seams. People are terrified. They call for you. You do nothing but sit here until you hear word of where anyone from House Ja and Tyr hide.” Yanking free of the Council Mon’s grip, Myron scuttled forward. His cheeks puffed as he laboured to breathe. “Then you set out to murder whole households in cold blood. You have the gall to ask what my concern is?”

  Satisfaction coiled in Koen’s gut. Let them feel pain. “They know my wrath.”

  “You are King. Your place is out there calming the people, grieving with them. Not inciting panic and encouraging a violent frenzy.”

  “My people have a right to express their anger with their Courts.”

  “Pah.” Disgusted, the Regent spat. “You know it more than that. They love you.” He jabbed a crooked finger to the window. The sounds of anarchy raged. “They do this for you. They do this because the entire Kingdom feels your hurt, but it is wrong, Koen. With riots such as these come consequences. Females are being ravaged in the gutters, younglings beaten within an inch of their lives. Innocent males strung up from the battlements.”

  “All direct descendants of Houses Ja and Tyr.” Koen crossed his arms and rest his boot on the lower dais step. “I made a vow to Lord Tyr that I would wipe his bloodline from the face of the earth. I keep my vows.”

  “Tyr and Ja are two of the largest hous
es in Tzion,” Myron thundered. “You speak of slaughtering hundreds for the crime of one corrupted female and her demented Sire.”

  “Many knew of their plans,” Koen said dismissively.

  He thought of Artur Tyr’s wife. There was little doubt in his mind she had known what her husband and offspring had plotted. A split second away from burning her alive, he’d looked into her frightened eyes, remembered the bottomless depths of Marina’s compassion, and the power of that memory alone had stayed his judgment. The woman had fled shrieking into the night. She might have known about her husband’s plotting, but what could she have done to stop it?

  Koen wondered if they all deserved the same benefit of doubt. He crushed the thought. He was a hard male with a harder heart.

  Myron clapped his hands together. “I command you to come back to yourself.”

  Coolly dispassionate, Koen studied him. The organ miraculously still beating in his chest festered. The burning ache spread through his limbs and poisoned his voice. “What would you have me do?”

  “I would have the male I know rise up and end this madness.” Myron shook. His wrinkled hands clutched his ceremonial dress in a white-knuckled grip. The coverings were the same from the day before. Bravura silk was dirtied. Blood smears and a mud soaked hem showed the male had not hidden in the Citadel. He had been out amongst the rabble trying his best to calm them. The Fire Kingdom officially remained his charge until Anastasia’s coronation. Myron would give everything to save it, as was his duty and honour.

  Duty and honour, I had them both. Koen wished he could burn the words to ash. Where have they gotten me?

  “I would have you grieve for the love you have lost,” Myron continued, sensing a crack in the emotional barren inside the traumatized male before him. “The longer you run from the pain the worse it will be. Let me help you.”

  Koen’s mouth wrenched open to frigidly deliver his response. Anguish choked from his throat. The cry strengthened into a harsh bellow of pain that grew terrible in its strength.

  He lifted his gilded throne and hurled it across the room.

  Dragon Lords scattered as it crashed into the wall.

  He spun and drove his fist into the wall, punching past solid rock. Useless. The blow did nothing to lessen the hurt.