by Anna Carven
Behind me, Trise lets out a hiss of frustration, which makes me laugh even harder.
They think they can break me?
“I hope your emperor will be happy to receive me in this state,” I whisper through my dry, cracked lips, feeling strangely powerful even though I’m bound to the mast. “Starved, weakened, beaten and whipped when I’m defenseless and can’t even fight back. It will make him look so very powerful when he brings me before the crowds, don’t you think?”
Trise doesn’t say a word in response, but the look on his face is all I need.
I’ve hit a nerve. He can’t handle it.
The Midrians mutter discontentedly amongst themselves.
“Take her below decks,” someone barks. “Get the medic to patch up her wounds.”
Through the haze of pain, a sudden thought occurs to me. The death-god’s words echo in my mind.
Now you can speak to him through consciousness alone.
Is it true? Can I really do that?
There’s only one way to find out. I close my eyes and call him in my mind.
Kaim.
Kaim.
Where are you, Kaim?
Come back to me.
Twenty-Six
Kaim
I run through dark corridors and up winding stairs. I speed past the strange sights and dark secrets of the Black Mountain, ignoring things that I would have found interesting in other circumstances.
I pass through cells and hidden torture chambers and treasure vaults and secret stockpiles.
There are people everywhere; stone-faced Ven going about their daily duties with typical efficiency.
When I pass them they’re suspended in slow motion, focused on whatever task they’ve been doing, whether it’s sweeping, or accounting, or honing and polishing blades.
They won’t see me.
They won’t even know I’ve been here amongst them.
At last I reach the lower levels of the citadel proper, my bare feet silently pounding on the ancient stone floors that have been swept smooth by thousands of disciples over the winters.
Familiar landmarks appear. A worn wooden half-door that leads to the kitchens. A windowless training room. A network of small, dark offices, used by the Ven elders who are responsible for counting the money.
Now I know where I am.
The layout of these cold, long corridors; the solidness of the three-foot thick stone walls. The earthen, damp smell of the place.
These familiar things settle into my soul, invoking long-buried memories.
I run faster.
Faster.
What has my father done to me?
This cursed body of mine is faster and stronger. My wounds have disappeared. Power swirls around my cold black fingers.
I feel lighter. My vision is crystal-clear.
I feel invincible.
Unstoppable.
As if I could destroy empires and take the world as my own.
But then a soft, familiar presence tugs at the edges of my awareness.
You.
It’s you.
How?
I stop dead in my tracks. The feeling of invincibility evaporates, replaced with pure desperation and overwhelming need. I drop to my knees.
Amali, is that you?
Amali, answer me!
Nothing.
Then I remember that I’m holding onto time. Unlike Vyloren, she isn’t immune to my power.
I release the tension. The world flows back into place around me, and her delicious presence invades every single piece of my consciousness.
But it’s tinged with bitterness… with pain.
My anger explodes.
Kaim… she whispers in my mind, and her gentle voice sinks tender hooks into my heart, burrowing, twisting, becoming an irreversible part of me.
Amali. What has happened?
I don’t bother to ask how it’s possible that she can speak to me in my mind from thousands of leagues away. My father is a god. Perhaps this is just a natural extension of my existence.
You are hurt. What have they done to you? I will tear their fucking throats out.
I know, she says wryly. I am surviving, Kaim. Don’t worry. They can’t break me. Be calm.
How can she worry about my frame of mind when she is the one suffering? They had better not even try. Where are you right now?
I… I don’t know. We are sailing near the cost, past a misty place. There are tall grey cliffs and waterfalls and lots of clouds. It’s cold here, and the trees above the cliffs are crowned with dead winter branches, but there’s no snow. It isn’t as cold as it would be around the Komori at this time. The streams are still flowing.
My mind races, my memory feeding me the intricate geographical maps and charts that I’ve been forced to memorize ever since I started my Ven training.
Grey cliffs?
Mist?
A place where the streams still flow in the middle of winter?
I think she’s sailing around the southern coast of the Rift Continent, right into the heart of Midrian territory. The timeline fits. At the entrance to the vast ocean inlet called the Oraka’s Mouth, there is a strategic port town called Lygol, where the Midrian navy is based. As it carves north, the Oraka’s Mouth becomes the deep, winding river Syal, which snakes all the way up to the capital.
I think I know where you are. Hold on, Amali. I’m coming.
Her presence in my mind is like a whiff of some highly addictive drug. My entire body trembles with need.
But what of you, Kaim? Are you well? What of the sickness?
I shake my head in wonder. Only she could worry about me like this. Vyloren’s poison is gone. My body is whole again.
Her relief reverberates through me, warming my cold heart. I don’t tell her that Lok visited me and healed me. I don’t tell her about my black hands or my returned powers.
I don’t even know what I look like right now.
I am glad, Kaim. I’m glad you’re not suffering any more.
My heart clenches. No, Amali. When you are suffering like this and I can’t do anything about it, that is the worst torture of all. I am sorry I can’t put an end to this immediately. I am coming for you right now.
Her gentleness surrounds me, calming my savage heart. She is the only one who could have this effect on me. Don’t be sorry, Kaim. There is no need for that.
How can she be so calm?
It’s because I know beyond a doubt that you’ll come for me. And when you do, the ones that have mistreated me will wish they’d never ever laid eyes on me in the first place.
That is true, I rumble, yearning to caress her beautiful face so badly. Now see what is about to happen. I’m going to move the heavens and the cursed earth to get to you.
Oh, I know, my love. And I can’t wait to see you again. I’m so excited.
How can I resist her when she speaks to me like that, her mind-voice filled with perfect goodness?
Twenty-Seven
Kaim
Amali’s call consumes me whole, infecting me with madness.
It is a madness that won’t be extinguished until I reach her; until I can touch her, until I can taste her sweet lips upon mine.
Cursed hells. I need to get out of here.
I seize time again and run and run, until I reach the vast armory of the Black Mountain, where I find exactly what I need.
Ioni-made hunting garb made of the highest quality wool and leather is neatly arranged on wooden shelves in the garment room. I dress myself quickly, donning a black woolen tunic and supple leather trousers and high black boots that are made of the rare, fine leather from a horse’s rump—they will not creak or make a sound when I stalk my victims from behind.
A pair of long Inshadi steel blades is sheathed at my back. I don’t bother with the vast array of small throwing knives and vicious serrated daggers that can be used to tear a man’s throat to shreds.
I don’t need any of those things anymore.
I have time.
Once I’m satisfied that I have all I need, I start to run, climbing endless flights of winding stairs. At one point, I pass Vyloren’s rider, the young Ven called Raki, who is suspended in mid-stride. The bandages have fallen away from his shoulder, revealing a puckered, healing wound where Amali shot him with my crossbow.
At last, I reach the entrance to the Nightstar Spire. I’ve never entered this hallowed tower, which has been the domain of successive Grand Masters over the millennia, but I know how to get there.
Everyone knows where it is.
Two heavily armed Ven guards stand at the entrance. In slowed-down time, they stare blankly across at the grey stone wall.
I run past them and push open the heavy wooden door, entering a tall, cylindrical tower which is lined by a winding spiral staircase.
It’s just another set of stairs to climb. The first hint of fatigue seeps into my legs. Apparently, the muscles in this half-immortal body of mine can still get tired.
I take the stairs three at a time until I reach the uppermost chamber, a wide room bordered on all sides by arched glass windows. Fine, ornate furniture is artfully arranged against the walls. A crackling hearth in the wall provides pleasant warmth.
Suddenly, I’m greeted by a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of the northern end of the Talamassa mountains.
The snow-capped mountains are spectacular, especially with the winter sun setting behind the peaks, casting a reddish glow onto the snow.
But I’m not concerned with the view right now.
Not when there’s a sobbing naked dragon sitting on a sheepskin rug in the center of the room, bleeding all over the infernal floor. She’s hunched over, her shoulders heaving up and down as she cries.
Do dragons cry?
Apparently, they do.
“Vyloren,” I snap, desperation making me sound a little harsher than I intend to. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” she says between choked sobs, confusing the hells out of me.
Shit. I don’t have time for this right now. “Did you get the egg?” I snap, praying there is a happy ending to all this.
“Yes, I got my egg back.” She lifts her head and sits up straight, revealing a golden egg about the size of a man’s head.
It’s perfectly intact.
“Then what is wrong?”
Her reptilian eyes shimmer with tears. “Emotion comes from the strangest of places, Kaimeniel. When I exist in this almost-human form, I feel things more strongly. I am crying because I am relieved and angry and happy. I feared Khelion had destroyed my egg. I am angry because I have not been there to give my hatchling warmth as she incubates. They stole that away from me. My first and only hatchling. I am the last surviving dragon in this world. She is the future of dragonkind.” Vyloren starts to tremble. “An old dragon like me… we do not lay eggs very often; perhaps once every thousand winters or so. Do you know what this egg means? Now, son of Lok, I am sorry if I have wronged you and endangered your mate, but I had no choice.”
I walk to her side and drop to my haunches, placing my hand on her shoulder. My fingers glide over half-dried purple blood. “My anger isn’t for you, Vyloren. You were used as a pawn, and I am not mindlessly vindictive. But all of this has led to that which I cherish above all else being taken from me. Amali and her people are in danger, Vyloren, and I am calling in a favor. It seems that time stands still for the entire world except us, and right now, I need your wings.”
Pull yourself together, Vyloren.
I need her to fly me to Daimara in slowed-down time.
She looks up at me and slowly shakes her head. My heart pounds faster. No!
My fingers tighten just a little, squeezing her injured shoulder. I glare at the dragon. You will submit to my will.
Gently, she places the egg on the floor and rises to her feet, extending her arms.
For the first time, I am able to appreciate the full extent of her injuries. Vicious stab wounds and cuts line her arms. Tendons severed, muscles lacerated, bleeding puncture wounds in her upper arms.
The Ven have thrown everything at her. A human would have died long ago from such wounds, but then again, Vyloren is a dragon.
She walks to the far side of the room and drops to her knees. A gentle golden glow starts to radiate from her skin. It grows brighter, and the distinct line between her body and the surrounding air begins to blur, morphing into golden scales.
Limbs elongate. Her body enlarges. Her human head shifts and distorts, nose morphing into a snout, ears becoming long and fanlike, eyes enlarging, hair disappearing, replaced with scales…
Claws grow longer.
A tail appears.
Spines extend from her back.
Before my very eyes, the humanoid dragon shifts back into her true form, crushing a wooden table that rests against the wall. At this size, she takes up at least half the room.
She shakes her head mournfully and raises one wing, revealing the same injuries that were there on her human body. Only now, the wounds are scattered across her vast wing, tearing through membrane and bone alike. She speaks in my mind. Would that I could, Kaimeniel, but I cannot fly in this condition. It is impossible. I need to feed… and then hibernate.
I stare at her wings in anger and disbelief, feeling my chance to save Amali slipping through my fingers.
No…
Even time can’t speed up a dragon’s healing.
My anger grows.
Amali is suffering at the hands of these fucking delusional Midrians.
They’ve sent an army to eradicate her people.
And the god who fathered me has returned across the veil to his cold hells, unable to lift a finger help me in this world?
Unacceptable.
The air around me snaps and crackles with cold, but I barely notice it.
“How long will it take for you to heal?” I demand, stalking toward the dragon. My voice still has that strange inhuman ring to it. Hastily, protectively, she curls her tail around her golden egg and draws it toward her body.
I don’t know. I have never been this badly injured before. I need to eat… and sleep. It could take a moon, or even an entire season until I’m strong enough to fly again.
That long? With this half-immortal body of mine, which has supposedly been unsealed, could I truly hold onto time for that long?
I know your father has visited you, Kaimeniel. Now you know that you have divine magic in your veins. You are infinitely more powerful than any magical being that exists in this world.
“Supposedly,” I say bitterly, my words etched with cold fury. “But no matter how powerful I might be, my magic can’t heal a dragon, it seems.”
I stare out across the vast Talamassa Mountains; at the suspended sunset that rages against the creeping darkness.
The snow-covered tips of the mountains are tinged with blood.
The world stretches out before me; cold and beautiful and silent, cruelly offering me no answers at my greatest moment of need.
But this world…
It is mine.
“Then I will go to her on my own,” I say simply, walking across to the great glass doors that face the pink star of the God of the Infinite Night.
I push them open, and walk outside into the cold air, striding across the balcony until I reach the edge.
I stare down past stone walls, past jagged cliffs and the smooth glassy black rock of the bare mountain. I peer into a dark chasm that’s so deep I can’t see the bottom.
There’s water at the bottom, but it’s been hidden by the creeping night.
And still, the world is frozen in winter, held there by my power.
How long will it take me to climb through the mountains, to run through the forest and across the plains and past the farms and small towns that dot the Midrian empire?
With this newfound power of mine, how long can I hold onto time?
Days?
Moons?
Seasons?<
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It will be whatever I desire.
I make the rules now.
I’m the son of a god, and Lok has given me his blessing.
If I don’t get to have her, the entire world will stop.
When it comes to my mate, I am selfish.
It’s as simple as that.
I glance over my shoulder at the dragon, who is cradling her egg. “Heal, Vyloren,” I say, my voice deepening, taking on the timbre of my father’s. “If you can’t take me there, I will go on foot.” My breath mists the air with shadows as I pull time tighter and tighter, embracing this deathlike power.
What is the catch to all this?
I don’t care.
I just want to get to Amali.
The dragon nods her great big head, staring at me with her blind eye. I will. But I need you to release time for a short while. I am too weak. I need to eat. Raki will go down into the pens and bring me milk-goat.
I stare out at the mountains again, considering Vyloren’s request. Tendrils of power curl around my fingertips, waiting for release.
Suddenly, powerful beings are asking for my benevolence. First Andoku, and now the dragon.
It can’t hurt to have allies in this uncertain world.
Who knows what the future will bring? I can’t forget that my father once fought Morhaba here.
“You have from now until I reach the river entrance,” I tell Vyloren, and her massive shoulders drop in relief. “After that, time will be suspended until I have my mate safely in my arms.”
I walk inside. As I pass the dragon, she pulls her egg close to her belly, watching me with a wary gaze.
She almost seems… afraid of me.
Not that I care. I have bigger things to worry about right now.
“And as soon as you are healed enough to fly, Vyloren, you will notify me straight away. I still have use for you. Do not evade me, do not try and hide. If you do that, I will find you, and your existence will become very unpleasant.”
I am not that foolish, Kaimeniel. Once I am healed, I will notify you immediately.
“Good.” I release time.
Vyloren lets out a deep, smoky breath of relief.
The sunset flares red-hot over the mountains. The shadows deepen a little more as the sun sinks deeper toward the horizon.
