Leena's Story - The Complete Novellas (A Dance of Dragons Book 4)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  "I will come," Leena interrupted, eyes shifting across his bruised features, trying to read the emotions on his swollen face. "I will find you."

  "No." He shook his head, wincing. "No, Leena." He gripped her hand, moving slowly to entwine their fingers one last time. "I promised him that I would let you go. That I would never return. That I would never speak to you again. And if I defy him in any way, break that promise—"

  "He will kill you," Leena finished his sentence—solemn, stuck.

  "No," Mikza squeezed his eyes shut, letting one wet tear slide free. "He will kill you."

  I am already dead, Leena thought but kept silent. It would be no use. Mikza had already sacrificed everything for her, and she would not let him know it was in vain. The girl he knew was dead, and Leena could only guess at the woman she was about to become.

  "I love you," she whispered. That was the only certainty left in her life, a truth she would hold onto and let guide her into the future.

  "I love you, too."

  There was nothing else that needed to be said, not then, not in their final minutes together. So Leena sat back against the wall and pulled Mikza's head into her chest. Running her hands along his limbs, she tried to soothe his pain, to pour out all her love so the memory of this moment would last.

  He hugged her close and they stayed like that. Intertwined. Not moving. Barely breathing. Just being.

  But in the silence Leena's mind spun. She had a promise of her own to make. A promise to never stop fighting until her father was in the ground, buried, dead, unable to spread any more cruelty into the world.

  If he was the hard rock of their island kingdom, she was the water crashing into their shores, slowly breaking it down, slowly chipping the stone away until there was nothing left. If he believed that love had weakened her, he was wrong. If he thought this would break her, he was wrong.

  Leena felt strong for the first time in her life.

  Empowered.

  Love was her weapon.

  Love would bring the king to his knees.

  ###

  THE

  SILVER

  KEY

  A Dance of Dragons #1.5

  By Kaitlyn Davis

  DESCRIPTION

  From bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis comes the second companion novella to the thrilling A Dance of Dragons series—perfect for fans of Throne of Glass, Graceling, and Game of Thrones!

  Weeks have passed since King Razzaq discovered Princess Leena's affair and banished her lover from the kingdom. So when Mikza suddenly appears in the golden palace, chained and bound, Leena is floored. Even more mysterious is the man he travels with—a redheaded prince of Whylkin. Unable to control her curiosity, Leena follows the strange convoy, hiding in the shadows as they meet with her father. But what she witnesses will the change the course of her life, and the world, forever.

  Taking place parallel to the events in THE SHADOW SOUL, read Leena's side of the story as she teams up with Jinji to save Rhen's life and seeks to escape her father's hold once and for all.

  ONE

  Leena stopped dead in her tracks—afraid to move, to breathe, afraid that even the barest hint of reality would crash the illusion somehow coming to life before her.

  Mikza was here.

  Chained, bound, being dragged behind a strange convoy. But here. Alive. In Da’astiku, in the golden palace once more.

  Weeks had passed since she’d last seen his face—weeks of wondering, of daydreaming, of missing. Her thoughts were a constant jumble of questions—where was he, what was he doing, was he alive, was he thinking about her too?

  That last night in the dungeons seemed so long ago, a lifetime. Her father had discovered their affair and enacted his punishment by turning Mikza into an unmarked, stripping his tattoos, his very identity, away. The memories haunted her, infiltrating her sleep in the dead of the night, images she could not erase. Whispering through a shroud of tears. Holding him gently, trying to soothe the pain of bruises and wounds she thought might never fade. When Leena closed her eyes, she could still see the bloody stripes down his back, the burns and cuts circling his wrists. Could still hear the soft words rolling off his lips, I love you, You must forget me, and the worst, Goodbye.

  And now Mikza was here.

  Leena drank him in, eyes roving his tall, elegant frame. Time had not marred the grace of his proud stance—muscular shoulders square, chin straight, hands folded at the base of his spine. Still a soldier, still honorable, despite the marks of disgrace, despite the scars.

  She ached to run her fingers over his smooth, olive skin. To lace them through his onyx hair. To kiss his velvet lips. To wrap her arms around him, to have his wrap around her. Even now, her hand outstretched, reaching toward him.

  And then the truth sunk in. The harsh reality.

  Mikza was not here for her.

  Ever her protector, Mikza had made a promise to her father on that fateful night when his tattoos had been carved away. He swore he would let her go, would never return to this golden city, would never speak to her again. And in return, her father had made a promise to him—if Mikza broke his word, Leena was the one who would die.

  No.

  Leena shook her head, elation fading away as she took a step back, pulling her wayward palm into her chest, letting it hover over her broken heart, a weak shield.

  No. Mikza was not here to find her, to save her from this place, to take her away. He was a man of his word. He would never break his promise, especially when it was her life on the line.

  Leena blinked as the realization hit, drying her wet eyes, and searched for an explanation. Her gaze drifted, slipping to the three other men bound with Mikza, to the servant in golden robes leading the men slowly through the halls, and then finally to the curious man in between the five Ourthuri.

  Red hair.

  That was the first thing Leena noticed, eyes widening in shock. And then she picked out his pale coloring, his freckles, his wide build.

  A man of Whylkin. In Da’astiku. Alone.

  He was either stupid or crazy, and she had a feeling only time would tell which. Curious, Leena followed as a servant led the group between rows of columns, across the courtyard, away from the entrance of the palace and deep into its core—to the throne room. Her gaze flicked constantly between the foreigner and Mikza, two men who could not be more different.

  Mikza’s umber eyes were solemn, downcast toward the floor, desolate.

  The foreigner’s were wild, roaming the halls, jumping this way and that, alert.

  As they reached the throne room, Leena tore her gaze away, hating even for a moment to lose sight of Mikza. But her father could not see her out of her rooms, especially not now with Mikza bound and such an easy target. King Razzaq was not a merciful man. Leena had no doubt that Mikza along with the other three prisoners would be covered in lash wounds by the end of the day, cut and bleeding, left to writhe in their pain. But if the king saw her there, the punishment would surely be worse. Loss of limb. Blindness. For her father, the gory possibilities were endless.

  Leena ducked behind a column, breathing quickly as the thought of Mikza in so much pain tightened her chest, sent trembles across her body. Inhaling deeply, she calmed herself, stilling all of her muscles before moving through the shadows to the one spot Mikza might find her.

  Their spot.

  His spot.

  Countless times Mikza had watched her from the corner of this room, standing guard while she sat on her gilded throne, hidden behind a veil, silent as a statue. Whenever her father became too much to handle, all she had to do was look—second column to the left from the center—and Mikza was there, giving her strength, calming her tumultuous emotions. Now she hoped that for once, maybe she could do the same thing for him.

  All he had to do was look.

  Look, she silently pleaded, head peeking out from behind the stone. All she wanted was to gaze into his eyes once more, to see his soul, to touch their love, to let it fill he
r for a moment. Even if it were futile, the stubborn hope wouldn’t fade. Distance had only made it stronger, a twisting knot in her stomach, a gut-wrenching need to be with him.

  But Mikza’s head did not turn, did not even move. His eyes were locked forward, locked on the king, and Leena found her gaze slipping sideways. First to the guards on either side of the throne, then to the golden robes billowing down the steps, up to the ebony tattoos circling his arms, farther to the gleaming headdress crowning him as king.

  And finally to his face. Her father. King Razzaq.

  The sight made bile curl in her stomach, made her blood boil with hate, made her fists clench in fury. Right now, he was smiling, a sinister sort of smirk. And that made another emotion rise to the surface—dread.

  “Prince Whylrhen,” her father’s voice echoed across the hall. “Welcome to Da’astiku. What brings you to Ourthuro?”

  Leena found her focus shifting to the red-haired man standing in the center of the room, gaze narrowed and uncertain at the scene before him. He was a Whylkin prince. Leena recognized the name Whylrhen, the youngest son of their enemy king, and now that it was spoken, she couldn’t believe she had not placed him earlier. A bright red overcoat adorned his chest, decorated with a black horse. And that deep red hair, it was as sure a sign of Whylkin royalty as the tattoos naming her a princess of Ourthuro.

  Stupid or crazy? Leena thought again, disbelief spreading through her veins. But then another thought came unbidden. Or brave?

  “King Razzaq,” the Whylkin prince began. Leena couldn’t help but notice how strong his voice sounded, not at all afraid. For a moment, she was in awe of this prince, to face her father without a hint of concern.

  Then he tugged on the prisoners behind him.

  As Mikza was forced forward, unable to fight the pull of his chains, Leena covered her mouth to keep from speaking. Nerves coiled tight, painful, as she watched her father’s eyes scan their faces, pausing on Mikza, before returning to the prince.

  Look at me, Mikza, she thought, heart beating faster. Look at me.

  Fear formed a pit in the back of her throat.

  But Mikza did not hear her silent pleas.

  Prince Whylrhen continued. “My king thanks you for your kindness in welcoming his son to your grand home. I am overwhelmed by the bountiful city I have seen thus far. A true masterpiece.”

  “We thank you,” King Razzaq boomed. His deep voice spurned Leena on, made the terror surge even greater.

  Something was not right.

  Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

  Look at me.

  If she could just meet Mikza’s eyes for a moment, Leena knew the urgency would fade. The dread would subside. Calm would wash over her as it always did when he looked at her.

  But Mikza was stone. Immobile.

  Look! She wanted to shout.

  Instead, Leena dug her fingernails into the column and her eyes grew wide.

  The foreign prince kept speaking, unaware. All of his words washed over her, wrong, wrong, wrong. “I have traveled far to return these four men to your person. We found a ship floating aimlessly through our waters, adorned with the flag of your great kingdom, and took it upon ourselves to search for survivors. Locked below deck, we found these four men alone in the dark. In a show of no bad will between our two kingdoms, peaceful now for over a hundred years, I, a Son of Whyl, came to deliver them unharmed.”

  What was Mikza doing on the ship?

  What was he doing near Whylkin?

  What was her father up to?

  More and more questions floated to the surface, leaking through her panic, bubbling with suspicion.

  She couldn’t blink.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Look at me.

  Look.

  Mikza!

  Look!

  Her father bade the prince step forward, but Leena could not tear her eyes from Mikza, silently shouting at him to look at her.

  One glance and she would be all right.

  One glimpse and the irrational terror would fade.

  One…

  Mikza’s head whipped violently to the side.

  For a moment, his deep umber eyes landed on hers. For a moment, warmth filled her chest. For a moment, she could see the love twinkling in his irises.

  The moment passed.

  His gaze grew blank.

  For the first time, Leena realized he was falling, tipping, toppling to the side. For the first time, she noticed the spear embedded in his chest, the blood slipping to the floor, bright red against the golden tiles.

  “Mikza!”

  The sound tore free from her chest, ripping its way up her throat, incoherent as her voice cracked, rose higher into a shriek. Sharp as a spear, the scream echoed back, stabbing her in the heart.

  Dead.

  Lifeless.

  Leena sank to the floor, eyes glued to the pool of blood widening against the tile, spreading through the cracks, slipping toward her. To the vacant eyes still turned in her direction.

  She had wanted him to look. Now she could not look away.

  Her mouth opened. Closed. No sound came. No cries. Tears burned the back of her throat, but they would not come. Sobs ached to be released, but Leena was in shock. Shaking her head this way and that, unable to comprehend the sight before her.

  Mikza, her one beacon of hope, had faded away.

  And suddenly all Leena felt was disgust. At her father. At her culture. At herself. What had she promised deep in those dark dungeons? That her father would pay. That love would bring him to his knees. That she would end him. Yet in all the weeks Mikza had been gone, she had done nothing but wallow in her own despair.

  That time was over.

  Without realizing her actions, Leena rose into a crouch. Animalistic. Lip snarling. Legs ready to stretch into a pounce. She had no weapon, no hope of harming her father, but she was filled with a desperate need to act, to attack, to do something with the rage. So Leena let go, releasing the hold on her muscles, and jumped blindly forward.

  Arms crashed into her chest, catching her, dragging her back into the shadows.

  A hand clamped over her mouth, smothering the frustrated scream.

  Leena kicked and squirmed, growling in anger, demanding to be let go, put down, freed.

  “Princess,” a voice whispered, “please.”

  She recognized the kind tone belonging to her only friend in the world, the only person she had left—Tam. He had been Mikza’s best friend in the guard, protecting their secret, helping their romance. And even after they had been found out, it was Tam who helped smuggle Leena into the dungeons, Tam, who had given her and Mikza one last goodbye.

  Tam, who she hadn’t spoken to in weeks.

  Tam, who now risked his life saving her from herself.

  Leena stopped fighting, relaxing her muscles as her chin began to wobble and the ache rose past the fury, too great to handle. In one motion, she dropped her feet to the ground and spun, hugging her friend close, crying into the metal chain covering his shoulder.

  Unused to her touch, Tam was stiff at first, but then he relented and hugged her back. Below her hands, Leena felt his skin tremble, a quiet sign of pain. They had both lost someone dear.

  “You should not be here, Princess,” he whispered a few minutes later.

  Leena sniffled, drawing back. The gold on his clothes glittered with her tears. Now that the dam had broken, she could not find her voice, could not reach below the hurt.

  “Go,” he gently urged, “you’ve seen too much already.”

  But she was frozen.

  Looking past Tam, Leena’s eyes found Mikza, still on the floor, and she did not want to leave him.

  “Princess,” he tried one more time. Leena looked into his warm eyes, friendly with concern, and shook her head. Tam closed his lids slowly, trying to hide his wince, and for a moment she wondered what he saw in her face. Pain? Sorrow? Defiance?

  Before she could answer her own questio
n, an anguished scream filled the throne room, an echo of the one burning inside her chest.

  Leena pushed past Tam and he spun around, following her movements, as both of their gazes fell on the Whylkin prince storming the throne in a blind rage. Golden sword gleaming in the sun, as though made for this palace, the prince zeroed in on their king.

  Go, Leena found herself urging, wringing her hands, watching in disbelief. She had fantasized about killing her father, ending his reign by placing a sword in his throat—but her thoughts were just that, dreams. In real life, no one dared defy King Razzaq. No one dared attack him. No one.

  And yet, this Prince Whylrhen was.

  Completely alone.

  Hopelessly outnumbered.

  Leena cringed as guards seized his ankles and the prince fell hard, cracking his forehead against the steps at the base of the throne. For a moment, she thought maybe he was dead. But in the next instant, he flipped over, stabbing one of her father’s guards in the stomach.

  Then he rolled to the side, nimble in a way that reminded her of Mikza, and Leena found herself cheering for her enemy. Cheering for a prince of Whylkin. He wiped the blood from his brow and kicked, slamming his foot into the gut of another of her father’s soldiers, almost severing the man’s arm as the prince slashed his sword deep.

  And then he was on his feet.

  Leena could not believe her eyes.

  “Kill him,” she mouthed, afraid her father might somehow hear her if she spoke the words aloud.

  Beside her, Tam ran forward, joining two-dozen other guards who stepped free of the columns, like ghosts emerging from the shadows.

  Prince Whylrhen remained defiant, holding his sword aloft, turning. He was a caged animal, surrounded on all sides, but unable to admit defeat.