Bolt after bolt struck Kiera. The sword began to crumble by the time she reached Pol.
He groaned at her, managing to raise his head to look at her as she drew near.
“Rest,” she told him. “Just one more person needs killing and I’ll be back.”
Jorga struck her with two bolts at once, then began to pull the roiling stormclouds into the throne room, blasting Kiera with wind and lightning at once. Her gauntlets disintegrated as she took a step forward through the whirling morass, then her gorget clasp lost its strength and fell from her neck.
“A fucking vai Ullan of all people!” raged Jorga. “Your family has stood for decades against the Guild’s control, and now you’re their lapdogs. I could have broken them. I could have freed you from Guild rule!”
“And made us thralls to the Dragon Clan?” screamed Kiera back. Half her breastplate was gone, and one of her greaves gave way, before being swept into the air, quickly transforming into a green wisp as the magic ate it. She had almost made it to Jorga but it felt like she was trying to run uphill under water. The maelstrom behind him was weakening as he fed it into the throne room against her. Behind him, blue sky began to peek through.
“The Metropolitans and the Clans would have lifted each other to greatness! Led by great Sorcerers like Pol there. And like me. Just look at me, Lady vai Ullan. Look at how much power I command. I can call down the heavens, I can raise the dead, I can move a person from place to place, if I want. I can—”
Kiera gripped him by the collar of his robe. Her armor was nearly gone, and even some of her gambeson had begun to be eaten away. She placed both hands on his chest, pushing him backward as hard as she could.
“Can you fly?” she asked.
Jorga went over the edge of the balcony, the red eyes widening in surprise as his footing disappeared. He made a grasp for the bannister, the fingertips of one hand closing around the edge, and for a split second Kiera thought he’d managed to secure himself a grip.
But the slick marble itself seemed to reject him, and his fingers slipped across the surface, his face a mask of shock and anguish as he fell past her feet.
Kiera collapsed to the ground, breathing heavy. Blue sky and sunlight shone through off the balcony, as though it were merely a pleasant day with a whole wide world of promise await it.
“Kiera?” came Pol’s soft call.
“I’m here, Pol,” she called. She hauled herself to her feet, finding her way back to the dias where Pol lay. The cut in his chest wasn’t as deep as it had looked when Jorga was trying to tear his heart out, and the rib would set. She dragged him sitting upright, trying to help him settle himself.
And then she realized she was kissing him as hard as she could. Pol’s grabbed her—half holding onto her for support, half pulling her into him—returning the kiss with as much strength as he could muster. When she finally remember herself, she broke the kiss, but Pol held her close.
“Thank you for saving me,” he said.
“I owed you,” she said.
He kissed her again, and she smiled into his mouth.
“Then we’re even,” he said.
“You need a shave.”
“Will you do it for me?”
“If you’d like. If you can find a river.”
“There’s a big one close by.”
Kiera laughed at him. She tucked his arm over her shoulders, taking his weight onto her.
“Come on, let’s get you down those stairs.”
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she caught Olene standing just below the dias. Uli must have found her a bow, a massive horn thing that the chief drew to her chest, then let the string go.
Kiera pushed Pol away, dropping to the ground. There was a dull sound, like someone slapping mud.
Pol gave a grunt of annoyance. His right hand grasped a shaft of arrow protruding from his left shoulder, his left arm hanging limp. He fell forward, catching himself on one hand and his knees, screaming in agony as the feathered end of the arrow touched the marble and wiggled the tip inside his shoulder.
Kiera grabbed him, rolling him onto his back, cradling him in her lap.
“Don’t move,” she told him.
“This really hurts,” he moaned up at her. “I just got shot with an arrow.”
“It’s okay,” Kiera told him. “It’s okay.”
It was clearly not okay, she could see that. Pol’s breath came on a bit too heavy. She looked up to see Olene nocking a new arrow, pulling the bow back to her chest. The jade tip pointed straight at Kiera’s face.
“Do it!” Kiera shouted at her.
Olene didn’t have time to respond. The doors opened, admitting Lord Cail, Aren, and Mistress Heldi into the throne room, a phalanx of Vashili axemen pouring in with them.
“Don’t move or I’ll kill the girl,” Olene screamed at them.
Lord Cail raised a fist, holding his soldiers in place.
“Surrender,” Aren demanded.
“Never.”
“You’ve lost, there is no dishonor in surrendering when you’ve lost.”
“I was betrayed by you Sea Clan cowards.”
“You lost long before I betrayed you, Olene, daughter of Korth the Grim. You lost when you let your necromancer feed your hunger for glory. Those of us with more practical considerations have won. I promised you I would eat the Sky, and I have. And the Earth, and the River, and the Forest. There is one clan, now. Sworn to me. You will die a traitor to your people.”
Olene’s face was stone, and she stared at Aren, before turning to look down her bow at Kiera, holding Pol’s head in her hands.
“Mistress,” came Uli’s soft voice, from just over Olene’s shoulder. Olene turned her gaze to look at her.
The blade flashed across Olene’s neck as Uli’s arm swung up, like an artist at a canvas, spreading paint from one corner to the other. The bow twanged as Olene released the string, but the weapon slid from her grasp before she could fire, the arrow bouncing harmlessly off the stone floor.
Olene sputtered and spun from the tiny thrall. Her hand reached for her throat, the blood pouring out of the wicked gash that ran from one side of her neck to the other. Her eyes clouded and her legs turned to jelly, and she toppled forward, landing in front of Uli’s feet with a dull smack of flesh on stone.
Everyone in the room stared at the thrall, their mouths open in shock. All but Aren, whose face was beaming with pride.
Uli threw her dagger onto Olene’s corpse, using her foot to push the chief’s body over on her back, so that all could see she had been killed, and none could doubt who had done the killing.
“Will you accept this gift as my dowry, Chief Aren?”
“It is the finest gift you could have given me, Uli. Given from a fine woman, one I will be proud to call my wife.”
“Heldi!” Kiera cried at the sorcerer, and the Guild Chair ran up the dais, her dress flowing behind her. She knelt, and Kiera realized with a dull terror that the red splotch the sorcerer was kneeling on wasn’t a design on the tile but a pool of Pol’s blood. Heldi bent, examining the wound.
“Fetch a stretcher!” she shouted. Soldiers hurried to comply with the Chair’s order, like it was the word of Vash herself. They moved Pol carefully onto it, taking him from Kiera’s grasp. She reached out to take his hand as they lifted the stretcher away, but his fingers slipped through her grasp.
* * * * *
When Pol awoke, a set of slender fingers were entwined with his own. The world resolved itself slowly, appearing to be his quarters in the Guild Rock, and there was a hot, damp breeze on his neck and he thought he might be sweating.
He tried to shift his weight and his left arm exploded into fire. He gave a strangled shout. The fingers slipped out of his, the breeze on his neck disappeared, and the bed creaked.
“Don’t move,” said Kiera.
“I won’t,” said Pol. He sighed. “I used to like beds.”
“You don’t anymore?”<
br />
“It seems like I’m always waking up in them in pain.”
“But with beautiful women.”
“That’s true. What happened with the battle?”
“We won.”
“Tia Joi’s safe?”
“With an army of Dragon Clan at the princess’ beck and call.”
“Did you throw Jorga off the Tower?”
“I did.”
“Oh, I thought I’d dreamed that.”
“No, that happened.”
He looked up at her. She’d pushed herself up on one arm, her legs resting on top of the bed covers next to his. She reached out a hand and brushed his face, her thumb rubbing against a patch of long stubble. She bent down and kissed him, and Pol was surprised to find it felt sad. Hungry, passionate, hard, deep, but overwhelmingly sad.
Kiera lay down next to him again, her head resting on the pillow, her nose just a breadth from his. Her green eyes were hard jade pools.
“Something else happened,” he said.
“You got hurt,” she said.
“I can feel that. I was shot with an arrow.”
“With a jade tip,” said Kiera.
“Would it hurt less if it was something else?” Pol laughed. Kiera wasn’t smiling, though.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m still here.”
Kiera nodded.
“So’s the jade tip,” she said.
“What?”
“The arrowhead shattered on your shoulder bone,” she said. “They tried to pick it out without magic, but there’s still a lot of it in there. If you try and use magic…”
“The jade will crumble,” said Pol.
“And Heldi said the jade dust will poison you.”
“You’re saying if I use magic, I’ll die?”
“I’m saying you can’t be a Sorcerer anymore, Pol.”
Pol didn’t say anything, just turning his head away and staring up at the canopy over his bed.
“I’m sorry, Pol,” said Kiera. “I didn’t see Olene until it was too late.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Pol. He smiled at her, but it lacked the life that usually accompanied his smiles.
“This changes nothing,” she told him. “You’re still the same man I met in Lowvale, magic or no magic.”
Pol shook his head a little. His eyes felt like they were going to brim over.
“I had magic when you met me,” he said.
“That’s not who you are.”
“It’s who I became. I was... no one, Kiera. My father isn’t the Exarch of Tia Vashil. I don’t even know who my father is. I... I wasn’t someone important, someone who lived in a mansion on the hill. I was a thief in a town with nothing worth stealing. I’ve never been important until I met you. Until I had magic.”
Kiera squeezed his right hand, hard enough that it hurt a little.
“You’re here with me,” she said.
“Will your father let you marry an ex-Sorcerer?” asked Pol.
Kiera didn’t meet his gaze.
“Will he, Kiera?”
“No. He’s already been mentioning Tau to me. We’re to be married at the same time as Jin and the princess. And Aren and Uli.”
“So we’re just biding time, then, aren’t we?”
“I guess so,” said Kiera.
There was a long silence as each of them digested their new reality. Finally, Pol spoke.
“Aren and Uli? Who’s Uli?”
“Olene’s personal thrall. Or, she was. She killed Olene, slit her throat in the throne room at the Tower of Joi. Apparently, she was one of Aren’s warriors. When Olene was made Chief, Uli volunteered to be made a thrall and sent to Olene as a gift, on the condition that, when the time was right, she would kill Olene and Aren would marry her.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Years.”
“Remind me not to accept gifts from the Dragon Clans.”
“You’re telling me. There’s one outside the door right now.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Varomar, the Warmaster. He says he’s sworn to me. He also says we have to seal the accord ‘with our bodies’ or something like that.”
“See, I told you it was a cultural thing! You said Olene was making it up!”
“I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“I’m sorry too,” said Pol.
“You don’t need to apologize to me for anything, Pol.”
“I’m sorry we fell in love.”
“I’m not,” said Kiera. She stared at him, her gaze searching his eyes.
“Do you really regret loving me?”
“I regret the trouble it’s caused you.”
“I made that trouble, Pol. I could’ve just as easily not fallen in love with you.”
“Oh?”
“Okay, I guess I couldn’t have,” said Kiera. “But I made it complicated. I participated in the Rite of Renewal, I came and found you after you showed up with the villagers. All you had to do was lie there.”
Pol laughed. “I don’t think I was just lying there, but I get your point.”
He smiled at her, and it wasn’t the usual cocky grin he liked to give her. It was the loving joy of a man who’d heard someone say everything he’d wanted to hear.
“Will you lie here with me for a bit longer?” he asked.
“Sure, Pol,” said Kiera, smiling back.
Chapter 19
The dress was Vashili blue, a little too dark, if Kiera was honest. Her bridal crown was made up of silver gryphons set with emerald eyes that danced around her hair, finally long enough to be cut into a bob. The dress started just under her shoulders, the stiff cups divided, giving a clear view down her generous cleavage. The skirt hinted at an old-fashioned Vashili style, slit up one side, nearly as high as Kiera’s waist. She turned one way and then the other in front of her mirror, trying to gauge how she looked.
It wouldn’t matter much, she supposed. Tau would take her dressed in rags, and all eyes would be on Princess Fione marrying Jin. She might as well wear a bedsheet to her own wedding.
“That blue doesn’t suit you,” said a voice from her window.
Pol was leaning in through it, his elbows firmly planted on the sill, looking for all the world like he was comfortably ensconced at a table. Only he was quite a few stories off the ground.
“What are you standing on?” she asked him.
“There’s an outcropping that’s just wide enough for my toes,” said Pol. “I’m standing on that.”
“Would you like to come in?”
“Very much.”
Kiera grinned at him, extending him a hand to help him clamber into her bedroom. He swung his left arm around, rubbing at the shoulder.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as it did a few months ago,” he said.
“Good,” she said. She looked back at her reflection in the mirror. Pol came and stood behind her, looking at her as well, but he didn’t touch her.
“You really think it doesn’t work on me?” she asked.
“No, it works, it just doesn’t suit you,” he said.
“Oh? What would?”
“I thought you looked very fetching at Aren and Uli’s wedding.”
“I was wearing nothing but jade,” she said.
“I’ve always liked you in nothing but jade.”
Kiera shook her head at him.
“Speaking of which, look what Aren gave me as a wedding present.”
Kiera walked to a corner of the room where a sheet was covering something. She pulled the sheet away, revealing a new set of dragon jade plate mail, the chest carved with a gryphon dancing with a dragon while thunderstorms raged behind them.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“It’s great. Where’d it come from?”
“Aren recovered the jade from the dead warriors. She gave most of it to the Guild and to Princess Fione, but she also had some melted down and forged into armor in Tia Joi for me.
> “It came with this,” she continued, reaching behind the armor and pulling a jade longsword out of its sheath.
Pol looked at Kiera, standing before him, sword held at the ready, instinctively dropping into her fighting stance, even in a dress and heeled shoes.
“I don’t envy Tau,” he said. “He’s got a dangerous bride.”
Kiera blushed, slightly, and turned away, sheathing the sword and putting it back down.
“Why’d you come here tonight?” she asked.
“You’re getting married tomorrow,” said Pol.
“I am.”
“I won’t be here,” said Pol.
“Why?”
“I have to go, Kiera.”
“Because I’m getting married?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” said Pol. “I’ve been reading. Heldi gave me a position in the archives with Praella. She doesn’t really have a use for me, so I’ve been free to wander the stacks. I’ve been reading about dragons.”
“What does that have to do with me getting married?”
“It doesn’t. None of this does. I read how Kiera the Wilder killed the last of the Western dragons.”
“That’s kind of an old story, Pol. Eight hundred years old, in fact.”
“There are reports that, across the Farthest Sea, there are still living dragons.”
“So what? You’re going to book passage across the Farthest Sea and go sightseeing for dragons?”
Pol didn’t look at her.
“I’m going to get my magic back,” he said.
“What?”
“The books say that Western dragons had a magic greater than any known save for Kiera the Wilder. They say that the Eastern dragons are even stronger, and that they get more powerful as they age. I’m going to find a dragon and convince him to heal me.”
“The books also say dragons eat men, don’t they?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? So they only get a little eaten?”
“They say the Western dragons chose the Clans, so they ate Metropolitans. But the Eastern dragons didn’t work together. They’re all isolated from each other. Some are friendly, some are dangerous, some are both.”
Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior Page 49
