Dragonfly Ignited

by Aimee Moore

  Then Patroma was obscuring my vision, tangling her fist in my hair, and steering me toward the doorway. My stitches and wounds sang in agony.

  “There's no need for this, let me go!” I yelled, pulling at her. She ignored me, the confidence and strength in her stride saying that she was in complete control and had no fear of me. I gave her a reason to fear me. I grabbed her strong wrist and burned it, and she jumped back with a hiss, a look of rage on her face.

  I brought a wall of fire around myself, and my flaming shield licked my skin like a sensitive lover, eager to make my desires a reality. Patroma and I glared at each other.

  “You will not touch me again,” I said in a low voice. And with a delicate raising of my hand, the fire feathered away from me and around Patroma, thick, hot, inescapable. She was trapped.

  A growl of rage came from her throat. “One word from me and the war hounds feast on your flesh. You have nowhere to go, human, and you will pay for this with your pathetic life.”

  But I began to see things clearly now. As easily as if Dal had whispered them to me. Patroma was powerless in this moment, or I would already be dead. The tables had turned, and all at once I realized what power I truly held.

  “Your bluffs are frail. I could kill you now,” I said in a slow voice.

  Patroma said nothing, but her hatred washed over me as surely as the heat from the flame did.

  “Tell me why I should spare your life,” I continued, dizzy with the power of the moment, unsure of my choices and completely sure of my power. “You have starved me, injured me, dehumanized me, and left me to the lustful advances of your warriors. You threaten my life and Dal's every time we meet.” Then I spoke in her language. “And now you wish to leave me to die in the bed of your Warlord. Tell me why I should let you live.”

  Patroma smiled at me from within her prison of fire. “Killing me will not stop the Warlord from doing what he wishes with you or your Dal. Your species is weak. If you had wanted to end me, I would not be speaking to you now. You will die sooner than you think, at my hands or the hands of the Warlord.”

  I smiled. “You're right, I'm weak. But what I lack in stature, I make up for in compassion.” And I strode toward Dal.

  “Human, the play thing belongs to me,” Patroma snarled.

  I ignored her, approaching Dal and contemplating his binds. Dal's eyes all but glimmered at me as I approached. The thick metal that bound his wrists together was a single piece, and the skin of Dal's wrists under it was bruised and torn. To remove the metal on Dal's hands would melt his flesh.

  “Is there a key?” I whispered to Dal.

  Patroma laughed. “All your power and you still need my key.”

  Dal gestured with his chin to a large chest at the other end of the room. “It is in there. But she holds the key to the chest.”

  I looked into Dal's eyes, smiling, then grasped the chain behind him. Within moments, molten metal was oozing to the bed, searing a flaming hole right through the feathered mattress. Dal stood and lumbered over to the chest. I melted away the key plate on the chest, and Dal, arms still bound behind him, kicked it open with a powerful crash.

  Patroma was silent, and that frightened me more than any noise she would make, so I hurried, rummaging through the chest and coming up with a tiny silver key. Dal turned to me, and trying not to get distracted by the marvelous backside view, I worked the key into the lock. Within moments, the metal bindings clattered to the packed dirt floor, and Dal brought his arms in front of him with a pained groan, rubbing his wrists.

  I worked at the bind at his neck and it hit the dirt with a clink. My heart soared as if I had loosed a dove to the skies. Dal rotated his shoulders in their joints a few times, rubbing and twisting all of his sore spots, and then reached for me, pulling me close.

  I smiled up at Dal, seeing in his eyes the immense pride in my actions. No words were needed.

  “Disgusting,” Patroma said.

  Dal tasted my lips with a soft kiss, then pulled away and yanked the fang from his lip, spattering blood in the dirt. Throwing the fang at his feet, he strode to the corner for his clothing. He dressed quickly, then chose one of Patroma's largest swords, the metal seeming to writhe with an inner black flame. Dal took his time looking the weapon’s length up and down as he approached her. The hole in his lip dribbled more blood down his chin, pooling into the dirt, but he ignored it.

  He spoke in low, careful tones, strength accentuated in every word. “Seraphine may not be a creature of war, but I was bred to it, molded by it.”

  Patroma smiled from her prison, perspiration shining in beads on her forehead. “Then you know that I fear death far less than the task before you, should you kill me.”

  “Do not mistake fear for regretful wisdom, woman, for those meant to lead have it in abundance, even at cost to themselves.”

  Patroma laughed. “Then kill me, you pompous toy. Drive that sword through me and see just what the Eyes and the Ears of the Warlord is meant for. End what we've shared, end the pleasures only I can bring you, and take up the task that no traitor can fulfill.”

  Dal's jaw clenched at the mention of pleasures, and with slow and deliberate motions, he put the sword in the flame, watching it heat. “The task is no longer your concern. You chose your fate when you chose desires over logic, and cruelty over compassion.”

  Dal raised his dark lashes to the powerful woman scowling at him, and stuck the sword further into her cage, the searing tip hissing on the skin of her chest. “If you truly care for your cause, then share with me now what I must know of this battle. Let your legacy live on in the saving of this world and the preserving of the balance.”

  Patroma laughed, pain dancing in her eyes. “The Warlord will be here soon. Today, tomorrow, I care not anymore. End me so that his desires are no longer my pains. Die on this world, die on the next, better it be at the tip of a Kraw blade than at the hands of the Warlord.”

  I glanced up at Dal, heart racing, wondering if he, too, pitied Patroma and her lot in life.

  “End me, you pitiful fool,” she hissed. “Do what you were born to do. Do not disgrace our proud race by losing courage now. If you do not end me I will end your plaything as surely as the Warlord will.”

  “Dal,” I said, “she suffers as we have, perhaps we should—"

  “End me, coward, before I tell her everything we've done. She's mated to you more surely than moonlight is mated to the falling sun, her heart will break when I tell her of the things you've done to me. End me before I tell her your—"

  Patroma's eyes went wide, and I jumped back on a muffled scream as I held my hands over my mouth, listening to the sizzling flesh of Patroma's chest become one with Dal's sword. I snuffed the flame around her, and tears blurred my vision as the chaotic sea of emotions that had rocked my existence like a boat at storm nearly capsized me.

  She fell to her knees, twitched as much of a smile as she could muster, and gave a final jolt of death when Dal removed the sword in one swift motion. The Warlord’s Eyes and Ears fell on her face in the dirt, next to the spatters of Dal's blood, and did not stir again.

  Chapter 24

  By My Bootstraps

  “What have we done?” I whispered.

  Dal cleaned the sword and found a sheath for it, belting it around his waist. The sword blade was longer than my entire arm, and he wielded it as if it were a willow branch.

  “You have become the conqueror,” Dal said, swiping away the last of the blood on his chin.

  “Dal, what does this mean? By the gods, look at her Dal, she was the most powerful woman on the planet.”

  “She was only ever second best from the moment she set foot here. The only difference is that now the most powerful woman on the planet has taken Patroma's army.”

  He stormed past me.

  I whirled to keep up. “What are you saying?”

  Dal sorted through Patroma's things, glancing at me now and again, scowling, and turning back to the fabrics and furs h
e was pulling out of various chests.

  “Dal, for heavens' sake, talk to me!” I yelled.

  Dal stilled, looking up at me. “Sera, you are to be the new Eyes and Ears of the Warlord.”

  I stepped back, as if he'd kicked me in the chest, shaking my head. “No, I can't be. They'll eat me alive, Dal. They'll overwhelm me and the most horrible things imaginable will become my new reality. They'll destroy you. You heard what Patroma said of being his Eyes and Ears. No, we have to leave.”

  “Leaving is weakness. Patroma was right, they'll never follow a traitor, which I am. But they'll follow a creature so powerful that she bested Patroma herself. They can see your power, and they will never trust me. This is a logical course.”

  “Dal, she has a sword wound, and I can't use a sword. You heard what she said about the Warlord doing things to her, I can't possibly fend that off. Dal, let's just leave. Let's cut a hole in the back and leave.” Even I knew it was stupid, the tent was surrounded.

  After a few moments of silence, Dal rose, striding to me with a handful of things. He took my fur cloak in his large hands and stripped it away, leaving me naked except for my treasured necklace.

  “Where are your clothes?” Dal asked with a scowl.

  “I was told they were gone.” I crossed my arms over myself.

  Seeing the gesture, Dal stepped closer and brought a strange animal skin shirt over me, large hands spanning my skin with warm, protective care. He ran careful fingers down my injuries, frowning.

  “Who has tended you?”

  “Chatska.”

  Dal gave a slight nod, understanding in his eyes, and helped me into leather pants with lace up sides. On Patroma they would have laid bare the entire side of her legs, but on me they left scant holes in which my pale skin shined through. When I was dressed as a war queen, Dal's adept fingers attached a sword sheathe at my waist and handed me a dagger.

  Only on me it wasn't a dagger, it was a short sword. “What am I to do with this?”

  “Become comfortable holding it. You used it to kill Patroma.”

  This was all too real, too fast. I gave the short sword a tentative swing, then looked up at Dal. “I'm terrified,” I whispered.

  A small smile ghosted Dal's face. “You would be a fool if you weren't. You must trust me. Together, we are untouchable,” Dal whispered.

  I nodded.

  Dal stepped back, examining me with a frown. “You are too clean.”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “I don't think mud will save me this time, Dal.”

  Dal smiled. “No, Sera, you do not look a Warlord's second in command, you look a butterfly with mismatching wings. Show me the dragonfly.”

  I sighed, looking down at myself. “Is there a mirror?”

  Dal gestured to the corner of the room, to a gilded mirror that was angled toward a spot on the bed.

  I pushed down disgust and turned the large glass toward me, frowning at what stared back at me. My skin was still mostly clean, my hair was soft and neat, red streams of it feathering down my back in waves. Even my hands were neat, timid and gentle in this war costume I wore.

  Everything about me screamed impostor. I glanced over at Dal to see him approach Patroma's corpse. With one swift move he removed his sword and detached her head, and I turned away and ran to the wall to wretch.

  I shook afterward, wondering how much water I could bring up, and why the sight of blood was making me sick. The large, calloused warmth of Dal's hand was on my shoulder then, steadying me. I turned blurry vision to Dal, whose brow was knit together in concern.

  “You are not well,” he murmured.

  “No, I'm fine, really. It just overtook me.”

  Dal let out a long exhale. “I had hoped that your species was not too different from Kraw, but it appears I was wrong. I confess that I do not know what to expect of you now.”

  I sat back, running a shaking hand over my mouth, giving Dal a tentative smile. “Some of us become ill with child, but not for long. I imagine humans aren't so different from Kraw in these things. I'll be better soon.”

  Dal gave a nod. “You need food. We will address that after you have established that you are the Eyes and the Ears. You will need to show my people Patroma's head as a symbol of your superiority.”

  I paled. “You cannot expect me to—"

  “I do.”

  I snapped my mouth shut. After a moment I gave a nod, and Dal rose to help me up. He lumbered off to finish his task, and I returned to the mirror to try and look the part of the dragonfly, the fierce predator of the insect world that ruled the sky. I searched Patroma's smaller boxes and tiny chests and found sharp little bones and fangs, carved with an intricacy of designs I had not noticed before.

  I shook my hair out, formed my fingers into claws and messed it as if I had been to battle. I took small bones and wrapped long pieces of hair around them in strange places, before taking one large bone and using it to secure all of my hair. I found a tiny vial of black mud and applied it around my eyes with careful precision, making the brown of them stand out against my pale skin.

  I looked at my scrawny, bare arms. I scooped up dirt and mixed it with a little of Patroma's black mud and some water, spreading it over my arms and chest and wiping off the excess. Now I was marbled in brown, bits of creamier brown showing through in places where I had pressed too hard with my fingers.

  The odd animal skin I wore, deep brown with splotches of orange, was matching well. I painted my face with the mud mixture, using careful precision in the lines that accentuated my cheeks and my nose. When I looked in the mirror, I startled at the wild the woman staring back. I was no longer a clashing butterfly.

  I straightened my spine, raised my chin, and fisted my hands. This was how I was to carry myself from now on. I was second in command. The world was mine to burn.

  I clutched at the table in front of me for support and trembled again. What if I couldn't do it? What if I failed at this and the Kraw only saw weakness? What if the Warlord killed both of us? Oh heavens, this was too much.

  “You will do this far better than Patroma ever did,” Dal said, reading me as easily as ever.

  I turned to him. His muscles bunched with tension as our eyes met for the first time since I had painted myself. I recognized the lust that lit his face, the desire in the set of his jaw, the smoothing of his movements, and the lids of his eyes.

  “This is okay?” I asked, straightening.

  Dal gave a single nod, striding toward me. “More than okay,” he said. “You are more stunning than any war queen I have set eyes upon.”

  I laughed, looking down at my dirty hands. “I'm tiny compared to the rest of you.” I lifted my lashes. “How can I fill this large role if I am so small?”

  “You must show them that you are not small.” And with that he ran wet fingers over my collar bones. I looked down when he drew away to see red shining on his fingers.

  “Blood?” I asked in a faint voice, nausea welling up again.

  “Patroma's. Kraw will smell her blood on you and respect you.” Dal moved to my arms, drawing careful lines with more blood.

  “Dal,” I asked in a shaking voice. “You said that I smell different now that I'm...” I put my hand to my belly again, still unsure and a little overwhelmed.

  “Only to me,” he said, the deep rumble of his voice in my ear as the tips of his fingers blazed down my skin. “I am very familiar with your scent. But you should know that your scent is enticing, and male Kraw will make advances. Some will challenge you, male and female alike.

  “You must make every effort to be stronger than any of them, stronger than Patroma. Kraw expect the cruelty of a winter freeze,” his fingers traveled over the back of my neck as he stepped behind me, “the strength of a mountain, and the keen intelligence that made the very world they stride upon. You must be more than all of those. Unstoppable, unquestionable.”

  I quivered again. “I don't have any of those, Dal, I'm just me. A silly girl from Lambsto
n.”

  Dal rounded to the front of me and hooked my chin toward him. “You have not been that woman for some time. You must kill without question and you must rule as if all the world exists only to serve your purposes.”

  My eyes went wide. “I can't kill people, Dal. Not on purpose.”

  “You will, because you are a mother protecting her child.”

  “The thought of war being anywhere near the child terrifies me,” I whispered.

  “The child is half Kraw, Sera,” he said in a soft voice. “War is in his blood.”

  I smiled and looked down at my feet, clad in spiked leather boots that came up to my knees. It was time to start thinking like a Kraw. I took a deep breath and stepped back, examining Dal's work in the mirror. He had traced the blood in intricate lines that resembled his tattoos, all over my arms and chest. The blood seemed to make the mud on my skin more alive, more carnal and purposeful. More nauseating.

  “What of the Warlord, Dal? In the end, I have to answer to him.”

  “He cannot harm you if you do not let him. Kraw are strong, but our flesh cooks the same as yours. If he does not know of our bond, he cannot use us against each other.”

  I looked away from the mirror and met Dal's eyes, the glittering hazel in them watching, reading my open book.

  “Our bond,” I whispered. “Patroma said we’re mated; more surely than moonlight is mated to the falling sun.”

  “She surmised our connection.” He stepped closer, running a hand down my arm.

  “Just like that? I’m your mate? No ceremony or anything?”

  Dal’s gaze warmed to me. “War tribes learned to forgo the frivolity of mating rituals long ago. The bond surpasses affection and lust, a rare force of its own. A call to the blood, a oneness with only one other.”

  My lips parted as I watched him.

  He gave me a small smile. “Unless you would use different words for what we have.”

  I bit my lip, looking down for a moment, then meeting my warrior’s eyes again. “I’m yours in every way, no matter what you call it.”