Dragon Heartstring

by Cross, Juliette

  “We shall see,” said Aunt Asheera.

  Members of Parliament sat at the front of the room in a semi-circle with the five members of the Proposal Council at their center.

  She leaned closer and added, “After today.”

  We settled into our seats at the front table, Jessen to my left, Aunt Asheera, my father, and ten other clansmen seated to my right.

  The hearing council was made up of five senior Parliament members. And while other members had the power to sway the council, these five men held all the cards when it came to enacting new laws and doctrines.

  The council head, Tennison, cracked his gavel on the wood three times. “Hear ye, hear ye. The hearing will begin at the close of chamber doors.”

  * * *

  Shakara looked steady until she turned toward the chamber doors, her eyes widening. Aron Grayson had slipped in right before the iron doors closed, which signaled the beginning of a parliamentary hearing. He made his late arrival and sauntered forward, staring daggers at both Shakara and my sister. With Morgon senses, Lucius seemed to hone in on him. I’m sure he caught the bastard’s scent the second he arrived. But Aron had more to fear from me than Lucius in my current state of mind. Aron was fortunate I trusted my friend Max to deal with him regarding his bodyguard. I also knew that if I dared to attack Aron personally, it could interfere with this hearing and the passing of this proposal. I refused to let that happen and give the damned man a moment of satisfaction.

  Tennison cleared his throat, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he read aloud, “Proposal eight-one-nine-five—Unlawful Use of the Weapon Hydra G-66—proclaims the following. The Hydra G-66, also known as the Volt gun, is declared illegal due to its sole purpose of committing homicide against the Morgon people. The design of the Hydra G-66 is declared inhumane and discriminatory according to the Dixon Desegregation Act and is therefore unlawful.”

  Murmurs arose in the room.

  “Quiet,” commanded Tennison, eyeballing the audience. The buzzing voices settled, then he resumed reading the Proposal. “The Icewing Clan brings forth the nature of this weapon as a means to murder a race, rather than to be used for self-defense or in the sport of hunting. Because of this unlawful nature, the Icewing Clan request Parliament to enact a global ban of the weapon whereby all manufacturing and sales will cease and desist and owners will voluntarily forfeit their weapon to the state at the expense of Grayson Weaponry and Manufacturing. Close proposal.”

  The buzzing had started again. Tennison whacked his gavel several times to quiet the room.

  “Proposal eight-one-nine-five has been read. We will now begin with presentation of evidence from the Icewing clan. Ms. Asheera Icewing,” he read from another paper before glancing up, “will you begin, please?”

  “Thank you, councilman.” Shakara’s aunt stood and walked purposefully to the podium that stood at an angle facing Parliament where the audience of officials could view her profile. She was a striking Morgon woman—white hair loose around her shoulders, stunning cat-like eyes that glowed an otherworldly blue, and a demeanor that demanded one’s attention. She paused and scanned the audience before resting her gaze on the Council.

  “Morgonkind is a unique species. We are born with heightened senses, which we owe to our dragon DNA. We can smell the rain when only a whiff of cloud hovers in the far distance. We can see the hare hiding in the brush a field away. We can sense fear and excitement through the rapid heartbeat of someone standing near to us. We are not human.”

  No one moved. Not a sound could be heard. Everyone seemed to hold their breath so as not to miss a word.

  “And yet, we are human as well. We have human hearts with human longings, dreams, desires, fears, sorrows. Morgonkind is born this way. Half dragon, half human. And we cherish both sides of our nature.

  “We are also born with an electrical current running through our frames like the blood that flows through our veins. It is an undeniable part of who we are as much as the wings that spring from our backs. The Hydra G-66 uses a high voltage of current to react to a Morgon’s DNA makeup.”

  She clicked a remote control sitting atop the podium which flipped on a tall screen to the left of her. The screen remained white.

  “The reaction of this high voltage when it hits its target is immediate and certain death, but not before a painful bolt of fire shoots through the Morgon’s body.”

  She clicked. The audience gasped. Onto the screen popped the photo of a Morgon with gray wings sprawled on the ground, his mouth contorted in agony, blood streaming from his vacant eyes, black char along the exposed skin of his arms and neck, and his fingernails blackened.

  She clicked again to a similar photo of an Icewing laid out on his back in a bar of some kind. Then another, a Huntergild. She clicked through three more, all the same depictions of horror and death.

  My heart beat wildly, imagining such a fate for my Shakara—her delicate fingers and wings singed black, her green eyes lifeless and staring. I clenched my fists tight, fury pumping through me. There’s no way in hell this weapon could stay on the market. I’d never sleep another night, worrying that my love would become another victim of such a cruel death.

  “These are the results of the Volt gun upon a Morgon. It cannot be used for the sport of hunting as the voltage would taint the game from one shot and render it inedible. It is a weapon designed for one goal only. Murder.”

  The room buzzed feverishly. A man shouted above the rest from the audience, “But we need to protect ourselves from those animals!”

  Tennison rapped his gavel three times hard. “Remove that man from this chamber at once.”

  The human guard at the door immediately went to the row to escort the man out who grumbled and sneered at Tennison.

  “I will have no one interrupt these proceedings. No. One. Am I understood?” When he glared at the audience, the voices died down. “Ms. Icewing, you may continue.”

  She bowed her head slightly then said, “I would like to call my niece, Shakara Icewing, to continue with the presentation of evidence.”

  “So be it,” said Tennison with a wave of his hand before scribbling notes.

  My heart hammered in my chest as Shakara stood, tucked her wings in tightly to her back, and strode across the room. Her aunt gave her a smile as Shakara passed and then took a seat.

  Shakara glanced at the sheet of notes her aunt must have left on the podium before facing the council. “What some humans know and some do not is that the Icewing clan is born with a specific ability, given to us by our dragon ancestry. We have the ability to heal. So it is no coincidence that it is the Icewing clan of all the Morgon clans who presents this proposal. Our entire clan holds the healing gene. It is not just a gift. It is our calling. It is who we are.”

  She paused and scanned the audience. Her gaze landed on me. I smiled with a reassuring nod. Inhaling a deep breath, she turned back to the council, her back a little straighter than before. “I run a clinic in the Warwick district on ground level.”

  Soft murmurings whispered through the room. Everyone knew that ground-level businesses and shops were meant for both Morgons and humans, especially in the Warwick district.

  “While this may come as a surprise to many, I have both Morgon and human patients. I want to help people in need of medical care. All people. And in my time as a healer, I have seen firsthand the devastation of an injury from a Volt gun. As my aunt has explained, it is always fatal to a Morgon. There is no healing power that I or my clansmen have that can bring one back from the electric fire a Volt gun inflicts within the Morgon body. However—”

  She paused and glanced toward Jessen sitting on the front row.

  “While a Volt gun can inflict excruciating pain and harm to a human, humans can be healed. Let me clarify. The Volt gun in its very essence is a weapon of discrimination. The inventor’s sole purpose was to commit murder against a race. Other weapons are used by law enforcement for arresting criminals. Citizens use
weapons for self-defense of their homes and for the sport of hunting. But the Volt gun is a weapon that could annihilate a race.”

  She sucked in a quivering breath, lifting a piece of paper on the podium to read closely. My heart was in my throat for her.

  “By the Dixon Desegregation Act, it is declared of the Gladium Province that ‘no citizen, human or Morgon, shall be excluded or barred from public buildings and private businesses, that no merchandise shall be produced to exact discrimination against either race, and that all peoples of Gladium shall be decreed the right to life and liberty.’”

  She stopped reading and moved her gaze from the council to the audience of officials. Not a murmur or a whisper could be heard.

  “All peoples shall be decreed the right to life and liberty. How can we uphold our own law, enacted by Governor Dixon through his determination to instill a society of equals, if we allow such a weapon that was specifically designed as a form of discrimination, one that targets the lives of Morgons?” She gathered her papers and directed her last words to the council. “That is all. Thank you, council members.”

  I loosened the clenching hold I had on my knees. I inhaled a deep breath, the tension tightening my shoulders and back.

  “We call a representative of Grayson Weaponry and Manufacturing for a rebuttal to the proposal.”

  All eyes swiveled to the front bench where Aron Grayson and his attorneys sat. Expecting one of the latter to stand, another rumble disrupted the quiet when Aron himself stood and hobbled to the podium, clunking his cane against the marble floor with each heavy step.

  He did not have notes of any kind, and he spoke facing the audience, not the council.

  “I am Aron Grayson, son of Byron Grayson, the owner and inventor of the Hydra G-66. It is true, our former governor enacted the Desegregation Act to build a society where both Morgons and humans could live cordially amongst one another. But have you ever wondered why we, the citizens of Gladium, are the only province who is not segregated? Have you wondered why the rest of the world understands something that we do not? Because we weren’t meant to live together.” He leaned his cane behind the podium and began to unbutton his shirt. Not a soul moved. “Because of the very reasons the Icewings say they are different is the reason we should not coexist together. One of their gifts is the power to produce flame and to use it at will. I’ll show you what comes of a confrontation between a Morgon and a defenseless human.”

  He opened his shirt to reveal the ghastly burn scars rippling the skin of his chest and torso and up the side of his neck. It had the effect he intended. Gasps erupted, and one woman stifled a scream. But, apparently, Aron thought my sister gutless.

  Jessen stood and approached the council. “Permission to address the platform?”

  Tennison waved a hand for her to move forward. Jessen stood away from Aron to the right of the bench.

  “Aron Grayson is a liar. He was not defenseless when he suffered these wounds. As a matter of fact, he held a Volt gun pointed at my now husband and mate, Lucius Nightwing. I caught the voltage upon my shoulder that was intended to kill him.” Jessen slipped off her white cardigan sweater. Her sleeveless dress revealed the iridescent swirling pattern of her scar. “Shakara Icewing healed me that day, leaving behind this scar. She took away the pain of a wound created by the very weapon intended to kill my husband. Aron Grayson may say that we are not compatible, but he’s wrong. So very wrong. Take a look at my family.” She smiled at Lucius with Julian on his lap. Julian’s eyes grew round as everyone swiveled their heads in his direction. “Our son is a prime example of the love between a Morgon and a human.”

  Jessen waved to Julian. He perked up and waved his hand excitedly. “Hey, Momma.”

  The audience laughed. Julian slunk back against Lucius who patted his son on the head comfortingly.

  Then Jessen faced the council. “If we are to be the civilized society we claim to be, the most enlightened province above them all, then we must uphold this proposal and ban the Volt gun.”

  “And what about our investments?” Aron charged in a grating tone. “And our family holdings? This proposal will ruin the Grayson family. There will be a trickle-down effect in the economy as well. Don’t think there won’t be. Layoffs and job reductions. Families will sink into poverty over the passing of this one proposal. The people of Gladium will suffer because of it.”

  The burning in my belly lit a hot flame up through my chest. Right as I burst to my feet, my father did the same, calling out in a booming voice, “Then send them to Cade Enterprises. I’ll gladly give them a job.”

  A chorus of laughter rippled through the room. It took Tennison a full minute pounding his gavel to simmer everyone down.

  “That’s enough, that’s enough,” said Tennison, turning to the Parliamentary members on either side and whispering before saying into the microphone. “We will recess until tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. when we will report our decision on Proposal eight-one-nine-five. Adjourned.”

  Chapter 14

  Demetrius was a head taller than the rest of the crowd that filtered out of Parliament’s White Chamber. He spoke down to his father, who was watching Lucius escort Jessen and Julian out of the chamber. His eyes appeared to be on his grandson, and I wondered what he was thinking when his gaze softened.

  I corralled with the rest toward the exit.

  “Well done, my dear,” said Aunt Asheera.

  “Thank you, aunt. I just hope it was enough.”

  The reporters jostled their way, pushing to get out, certainly eager to get back to their press and post their stories first. I finally found myself standing in front of Demetrius, his father still beside him.

  He pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You were wonderful,” he whispered. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

  “Please.” I wrapped one arm around his waist beneath his suit jacket.

  “Father, we’ll talk more at the office tomorrow.”

  He grumbled something, glancing at me. His scowl was so familiar. I’d seen Demetrius wear the same expression so often it hardly had an effect on me.

  KORC was in full swing as we exited the glass doors onto the courthouse steps. The man who’d shouted in my face when I entered now yelled at a Greyclaw a foot taller than him. The man pushed the Greyclaw, who backhanded the man against his chest, flinging him into the crowd. A swell of raw emotion erupted, fists and arms flying. Demetrius pulled me tight against his side and pushed his father through the crowd, but the horde seemed to be falling inward on us.

  Sirens wailed as cop cars rushed on scene and police officers lined the steps. Someone fell into the back of me, crushing a shoulder into my wings.

  “Ow!” I jerked away and pressed myself against Demetrius.

  He gripped my waist tight. “Look at me, Shakara.”

  I did.

  “I’m going to toss you high into the air. You take flight and get out of here.”

  “No! What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine. Can you do it?”

  I was good at short take-offs. “Yes. I can do it.”

  His fingers tightened on my waist as he bent and threw me high, the force of his strength sending me several feet above the crowd. I opened my wings and beat them rapidly, breaking free of the turmoil. Rising higher above the mayhem of fighting, I could only stare straight down at Demetrius. He was perfectly still among the chaos, his father pulling on his arm to leave, but he kept his eyes skyward, a content smile and expression of peace fixed in place.

  I loved him.

  These were the words drifting through my mind when a man flew through the crowd, arm raised high, the glint of silver in his hand, aimed at a Morgon who swept out of the way. Instead, the sharpened knife thrust into Demetrius’s chest. The attacker toppled forward, Demetrius falling backward onto the concrete, the blade still protruding from his body.

  “No!” I screamed, rocketing down to earth.

  Another woman screamed. “
He stabbed him! Help!”

  Police were now pushing through the crowd, dispersing the riot. Max, Demetrius’s friend I met that horrible night at the clinic, fell to the ground on his knees next to Demetrius. Just as I did a second later. Pritchard Cade knelt as well, calling to him. “Demetrius! Can you hear me? Son?”

  I put my hand to his cheek. His eyes were shut, but possibly from the blunt force of hitting his head against the pavement. I heard and felt his pulse beating rapidly. Too rapidly.

  “Maxwell, help him,” said Mr. Cade, speaking to the out-of-uniform policeman.

  “I will, Mr. Cade,” he said, checking his pulse and speaking into his wrist comm. “Pull the ambulance to the curb. We’re bringing him out.” He moved to Demetrius’s shoulders and lifted, calling out, “Jackson! Blake! Help me here.”

  Two uniformed officers at his back knelt to help him carry Demetrius. “Excuse me, ma’am,” said one.

  I followed with Mr. Cade to an ambulance and stepped inside next to Max.

  “I can heal him,” I said.

  “He needs a doctor,” said Mr. Cade, red-faced and desperate with worry and fear.

  “Mr. Cade,” I said, placing a gentle hand on the man’s arm, the man who for whatever reason despised our kind. “I know you are afraid. I am as well. I care for your son more than you can possibly know. Let me heal him. I can save him. Right now.”

  Mr. Cade, dark eyes wide and chest heaving, held my gaze a moment before he said with a trembling voice, “Okay. Heal him. Please.”

  “Close the ambulance doors.”

  Max stood and pulled them closed, blocking the din of the boisterous crowd. I knelt on Demetrius’s left side. The knife had missed his jacket, penetrating through his shirt.

  “Please. Help me get this off.”

  Mr. Cade lifted Demetrius’s head and shoulders as Max and I struggled to remove the jacket.

  “Pass me those scissors.”

  There was a suture set on the side table. Max reached over and passed me the scissors. I quickly cut through his shirt and pulled the fabric free from around the wound. Blood still streamed in small rivulets.