“No! I just—your dad—”
“My dad?” Holly interrupted, cut to the quick. “What about my dad? No, you know what? I don’t care.”
“Don’t hang up!”
Overriding the impulse to obey, she hit end and hurled the phone across the room.
When she finished crying, she drove over to Shannon’s house in desperate need of some ice cream and a men-are-scum session.
Entering Shannon’s room, she came face-to-face with a giant poster of Ryan in a pose from his bad-boy Cody role. Autographed, no less.
Looking at him made her throat ache, and she hated that she was still so affected by him. “Let’s burn it.”
“Wait,” Shannon said breathlessly before she could tear it down. “He didn’t cheat on you. The photo with Cassie was just a publicity stunt. He explained—”
Holly gasped. “Ryan phoned you? And you bought that load of crap?” She wasn’t being fair. Shannon wouldn’t stand a chance against Ryan’s siren voice. How dare Ryan lie to her best friend?
Shannon rolled her eyes. “He said you hung up on him. And yes, I believe him. Look, if he was dating Cassie Burns, why would he still be trying to make up with you?”
“Because I’m a nobody, you mean?” Holly asked tightly.
Shannon winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Holly lifted her chin. “I am a nobody, but my dad isn’t.”
From Shannon’s expression, she didn’t get it.
Holly sighed. The truth had become obvious as soon as Ryan mentioned her dad. “People in L.A. are always sucking up to me, wanting me to put in a good word for them with my dad. So which do you think is more likely, that Ryan doesn’t want to piss off Joseph Beecher, Academy Award–winning director”—not to mention the cosigner of his lease—“or that Ryan would pick me”—Holly waved a hand at her flat hair and blah clothes—“over Cassie Burns?”
“Uh…” Shannon looked stricken.
Even her best friend couldn’t deny it.
…
That evening Holly found herself on the beach, staring out at the ocean. The view no longer comforted her or made her feel connected to Ryan. The gray waves were cold and indifferent, the sand hard.
She dangled her pearl necklace by the chain for a few seconds then hurled it into the sea. “Take your pearl back. I don’t want it anymore.”
When she got home, she scrubbed the red lipstick heart off her mirror.
Chapter Twenty
The Queen
Back in the Aerie, Leah struggled to focus. While Gideon dictated terms to Qeturah—the hostages returned and his freedom—Leah’s ears drummed with Beulah’s parting words: you’ve always been more his daughter than mine.
It wasn’t true. Leah wasn’t cruel and ruthless like Duke Ruben, but…all her life she’d hankered after her father’s love and attention—and taken her mother’s for granted. Beulah’s good opinion was worth ten times that of the duke. The thought of her mother’s disapproval made her writhe.
“Leah, dear,” Qeturah said sweetly, “why don’t you gather some provisions?” After the first shock at seeing Leah alive, Qeturah had acted as if she’d never tried to murder her. “I sent the servants to safety,” Qeturah continued, “but there should still be enough dried fruit and smoked meat for the three of us.”
Leah focused on Qeturah. “You’re leaving the Tower?” She’d have wagered that Qeturah would have to be dragged away kicking and screaming.
Qeturah shrugged. “The dragon raids were profitable, but a good commander knows when to quit the field.”
Distrust burned in Leah’s chest. “If you want provisions, get them yourself. I’m not leaving Gideon alone with you.”
Qeturah rolled her eyes. “Very well. I’ll gather the girls while I’m at it. Gideon, I suggest you change into a dragon while I’m gone—unless you want to put on a show for them?” She sauntered out the door.
Leah turned to Gideon. “I don’t trust her.”
“I don’t, either,” Gideon said, pained. “But she’s my mother.” He paused. “I’ve offered her a ride to safety.”
Leah bit her lip, but since Gideon had risked himself to save Beulah, she could hardly say no.
Gideon squeezed her. “I’ll fly her far away to the Snoring Men. After today, we’ll never see her again.”
Leah took comfort in that thought, but it raised the uncomfortable question of where she and Gideon should go. If they stayed in Thunderhead’s valley, they’d starve, but no Volcano Lord would welcome a dragon, Thunderhead’s son. Gideon claimed he wanted to remain a man forever, but would he be able to permanently suppress part of himself?
Think about it later. Leah forced down the panic and leaned against Gideon, until they heard voices below. “Time to change,” Gideon murmured.
Leah winced at the sounds of bones popping and skin tearing like cloth. She worried about the toll so many transformations were taking on him. But they had no choice.
Qeturah and Sabra climbed the ladder onto the ledge, but no one else followed.
“Where are Zamara and Niobe?” Leah blocked the doorway.
Qeturah’s mouth tightened. “Gone.”
“After the servants left, they ran off.” Sabra sniffed. “I told them they were fools to chance the bandits, but they wouldn’t listen.”
Leah glanced sharply from one to another. Qeturah seemed annoyed enough for it to be true, but she could’ve directed Emman to hide the hostages somewhere. There was no way to confirm their story. Reluctantly, Leah made way.
“Perhaps we’ll spot them from the air,” she said feebly, retreating to stand by the dragon’s massive jawbone.
Sabra turned pale when she saw the huge black dragon but curled her lip into a sneer.
Maybe it was just the other girl’s way of dealing with her fear, but Leah’s hands fisted with the desire to wipe the expression off Sabra’s face.
“Since the dragon can only carry two of us at a time,” Qeturah began, “I suggest—”
Leah cut her off, turning to the dragon. “Can you carry all three of us at once?”
The dragon snorted. A gust of steamy air bathed her face. She felt a hot pulse of confidence.
“The dragon says he can take one in each hand and me on his back,” Leah translated loosely.
“Are you claiming to be able to talk to it?” Sabra demanded incredulously.
“Him,” Leah corrected.
Sabra turned to Qeturah. “There may be legends of dragons communicating with pure, hot-blooded girls, but I doubt that some jumped-up serving girl is either pure or—”
Leah seethed, and the dragon hissed in displeasure. A small flame burst out of his mouth, singeing the hairs on Sabra’s head. She shrieked.
Though Leah’s own pulse had jumped, she couldn’t help smiling.
“I could’ve been killed!” Sabra said shrilly.
Qeturah eyed her with disfavor. “Yes. Take more care in future.” She nudged Sabra forward. “Now can we get going?”
Whatever Leah thought of Sabra, she could not call her a coward. Head held high, Sabra approached the dragon.
Leah felt a pulse of dislike from the dragon. She stroked his scaly neck. “We need her,” she reminded him.
Steam snorted from his nostrils, a clear warning.
Sabra stopped.
Despite Gideon’s restored memories, the dragon and Gideon weren’t the same person. Gideon understood why the hostages must be returned, but emotion ruled the dragon. All he knew was that he disliked Sabra—or, rather, that his soul mate disliked her. Maybe— “He says he won’t carry you unless you apologize to me.”
“I will not—”
“Sabra,” Qeturah said warningly.
Red flags of color appeared on her cheeks. “As you will. I shouldn’t have implied you weren’t a virgin.”
“You have more to make amends for than that.” Leah bared her teeth. “You blackmailed me into doing your work—because you were too lazy to do it you
rself. Admit it.”
Sabra opened her mouth, then caught Qeturah’s glare and backed down. “My apologies,” she said insincerely.
Abruptly, Leah wearied of the game. Sabra would never understand that she had treated Leah badly, that it was possible to treat servants badly, so what was the point?
“I accept your apology,” Leah said.
But when Sabra took a step toward the dragon, he spit more fire over her head.
“Why’s he doing that?” Sabra backed away. “I apologized.”
Qeturah sighed. “The dragon doesn’t really understand words. If you don’t want him to drop you in midflight, I suggest you do better.”
“How?” Sabra whined.
“Kneel down and kiss Leah’s hand,” Qeturah said offhandedly. “The dragon should understand that.”
Sabra’s mouth fell open.
“Now, Sabra. Time is passing,” Qeturah said.
To Leah’s astonishment, Sabra knelt. She grabbed Leah’s hand and mashed it briefly against her mouth before dropping it. “There.”
It might be petty, but Leah felt a surge of satisfaction. The dragon pulsed triumph back at her then curled his talons around Sabra’s waist.
Qeturah stepped forward. The gleam in her eye set off a warning bell.
“Wait!” Leah said sharply. “Give me your bag—and any mirrors on your person.”
“I’m a sorceress,” Qeturah said. “Mirrors are the tools of my trade.” She handed a small silver mirror to Leah—who promptly threw it out the window.
“That was unnecessary!”
Leah eyed Qeturah with cold disfavor and held out her hand. “Give me the bag.”
Qeturah passed it to her in silence. Leah upended it on the floor but found only a water skin and the promised provisions. Qeturah smirked.
Where else might she hide a mirror? “Disrobe,” Leah ordered. “Your jewelry and underthings, too.”
Fuming, Qeturah unhooked obsidian earrings and yanked her green linen dress over her head.
Leah took her time searching the dress for hidden pockets or things sewn into the hem, but found nothing.
“May I dress now?”
Leah stared suspiciously at Qeturah, but she only smiled blandly back. Leah threw her clothes at her but kept the jewelry. She waited until the dragon had Qeturah in his grip before mounting the dragon’s back.
Eagerly, the dragon leaped from the window. Leah clung tight to the sheet, taking immense satisfaction in Sabra’s scream.
…
In the hours they’d been gone, the army had advanced three-quarters of the way across the desolate lava plain, skirting Thunderhead’s flank.
The men marching under Grumbling Man’s black-and-green pennant clumped together on the right while the Cinders soldiers filled the middle. They had the largest force, including supply wagons. Leah couldn’t make out the insignia on the yellow-and-blue pennant at the far left.
The armies could obliterate Emman’s group of outlaws ten times over. Leah spared a thought for Cook, hoping she and the other servants had hidden themselves away.
A cry went up as the dragon flew into sight. A few archers loosed arrows, but most held their fire, waiting for the range to fall.
The dragon landed partway up Thunderhead’s slope and released Sabra.
Leah wanted to fly away, but she felt obligated to tell the Duke of Cinders the whereabouts of his daughter and niece. She expected the dragon to object, but he only moaned softly when she slid off his back.
She and Sabra had barely reached the lava plain when the three dukes rode out to meet them.
Leah looked in vain for a glimpse of her mother but saw neither her nor Jehannah—nor Captain Brahim, either. She hoped he’d been sent to escort Jehannah and Beulah back to Grumbling Man.
The blond bearded duke dismounted. “Lady Sabra, how do you fare?” He took her hands.
His interest took Leah aback. Was he Sabra’s father? But Sabra had said her father was dying; this man appeared robust.
“I am well. And Yakob?” Sabra asked eagerly.
Ah. This must be the father of the boy Sabra wanted to wed, the Duke of Poison Cloud.
“Where are Zamara and Niobe?” the portly Duke of Cinders asked, visibly anxious.
Leah winced. “They had already escaped the Tower when I arrived. They should be on their way to join the army.”
“Should?” His voice rose.
An unwelcome voice interrupted before Leah could explain further. “The girls are perfectly safe, I promise you.” Qeturah strolled down to join their group.
Anxiety tightened Leah’s chest. Why had the dragon let Qeturah go?
“Safe, where?” the Duke of Cinders demanded.
“She won’t tell you. She still holds them hostage,” Duke Ruben said, eyes glittering.
“I prefer the term ‘honored guests,’” Qeturah shot back. “Or ‘protégées.’”
“The dragon carried you here,” Duke Ruben said impatiently. “There can be no doubt now that you’ve been waging war on us for months.”
Qeturah smiled and didn’t deny it.
“We’re here to end this,” Duke Ruben said. “The lives of two girls can’t be allowed to outweigh the fate of entire duchies.”
“Do you agree?” Qeturah asked the Duke of Cinders. “It’s your daughter and niece at risk, not Ruben’s, you notice. He sent his bastard in place of his true daughter.”
Once the insult would have made Leah burn with humiliation, but she kept her head high. She wasn’t ashamed of her mother, and she didn’t want to be one of the nobility anymore.
The Duke of Cinders’s expression tightened, but he didn’t give in to Qeturah. “We cannot risk losing control of our Volcano Lords. What happened to the Snoring Men must not happen again.”
“We’re here to kill the dragon,” Duke Ruben said harshly.
Leah glanced nervously at Thunderhead. Didn’t they realize whose son they spoke of killing? Her stomach churned, old habits trying to reassert themselves, but she yelled, “Enough!”
They all stared at her, as amazed as if a beetle had suddenly gained the power of speech.
Their shock made it easier to keep speaking. “Qeturah no longer controls the dragon. I do.” It felt wrong to say “I” instead of “we,” but she couldn’t betray Gideon’s identity. “Qeturah is the one who forced the dragon to attack. You can take your armies and go home. There will be no more raids.”
Duke Ruben snorted. The blond Duke of Poison Cloud studied her with icy contempt while the portly Duke of Cinders puffed out his cheeks in astonishment.
“I know you have no reason to believe me,” Leah said, clenching her fists, “but in time, you’ll learn that I speak the truth. The dragon and I will fly away and trouble you no more.” Since Qeturah had left the safety of the dragon and lied about Zamara and Niobe, she could stay here and be hanged for all Leah cared.
“A dragon is not a horse, child,” the Duke of Cinders said. “What will you feed it? We cannot permit it to prey on our flocks.”
Gideon would eat bread and cheese—but Leah dared not hint that the dragon had another form.
“Do you think us fools?” Duke Ruben demanded. “We won’t free you on the mere promise of good behavior.”
“What proof do you offer that the dragon heeds you?” the Duke of Poison Cloud sneered.
“She has no proof because she’s lying,” Sabra said. “She can’t control the dragon.”
Leah felt a rush of dislike. “The dragon hasn’t burned you to ashes. Isn’t that proof enough?”
“Qeturah?” Duke Ruben asked.
Qeturah had been oddly silent, fiddling with something. Leah’s heart lurched when she saw Qeturah held a flake of polished black obsidian. She must’ve found it on Thunderhead’s slope, but Qeturah couldn’t control the dragon without the talisman. Could she? Leah didn’t know enough about mirror magic to be sure, but she suspected any mirror could be dangerous in the hands of a sorceress like Qe
turah.
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Qeturah said absently, as if she’d just been reminded of an important task. She tilted the black mirror shard toward the dragon where he crouched on Thunderhead’s slope. “Dragon! Attack!”
With a keening cry, the dragon launched himself into the air, black wings spreading like a shroud.
No. Not again. Leah threw herself bodily at Qeturah. Her weight knocked the smaller woman down onto the rough basalt.
She clawed at the mirror and closed her hand around it. Qeturah grabbed a handful of her hair. Tears sprang into Leah’s eyes, but she didn’t let go. She smashed her head back into Qeturah’s face.
Qeturah cried out and released her. Leah scrambled away, clutching the mirror.
“Give it back!” Qeturah said thickly. Her nose was bleeding.
Duke Ruben stepped between them, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Leah hid behind him gratefully.
“It won’t do you any good,” Qeturah spat.
Instead of trying to use the mirror, Leah dashed it against another rock, shattering it.
While they fought, the dragon had flown the mile separating Thunderhead from the army. He dived down straight into a volley of arrows. Leah watched the arrows bounce off, her fingernails digging into her palms, waiting for Gideon to come to his senses, to break off the attack—
The dragon gouted flame on the Cinders soldiers. They raised their shields, but the shields melted, unable to withstand the heat. The ranks, already ragged, broke. Clothing caught fire. Men burned like torches. Smoke and screaming and running men with the dragon in gleeful pursuit…
“No,” Leah said numbly.
“Yes,” Qeturah said smugly. “The mirror you smashed had already activated the true control, which is tied around the dragon’s forelimb. It’s spelled so he can’t remove it.”
How? She’d searched Qeturah— Realization struck. She hadn’t searched Sabra.
Leah’s legs folded under her. She watched helplessly as the dragon snatched up two men on his next pass and dropped them, screaming, from a height of thirty feet onto their fleeing fellows, using them as missiles.
“It’s not his fault,” Leah whispered. “She’s controlling him with black magic.” No one listened. She wasn’t sure she believed it herself.
Through Fire & Sea Page 22
