by J. D. Monroe
“We can’t leave,” Ohrena said, wincing as Pamin pulled at her scalp.
“I suppose not,” Inrada said. “But aren’t you sad?”
“A bit,” Ohrena said. Inrada swapped her brush for a dark pencil and began tracing her eyes, mimicking the queen’s fashion. “But it is an honor to bring prosperity to my house.”
Inrada raised an eyebrow. “I’m not your father. Don’t give me the answer he wants to hear.”
“Someone had to marry the prince, and if my sister had come, we would be at war with the Ironflight in a week over her wailing,” Ohrena said wryly. “Who knows? This could be exciting. Besides, I have you here with me.”
But Inrada’s offer to run was nothing Ohrena hadn’t already considered a dozen times. She should have been home in Val Legarra. It should have been her older sister, Arali, preparing to marry the much-discussed Prince Zayir. The al-Katiri clan was the wealthiest and most powerful in the nation of Firlanyn. And as the oldest, her sister Arali was the obvious choice for a marriage to Zayir.
But her sister had fallen to pieces at the notion of leaving home to marry a dragon prince; threatening to run away, to cut all ties to the family. Arali had been in hysterics for days. There were rumors that the prince also enjoyed the company of men, but her older brother Rhuz did not, eliminating him as an option. Their younger sisters were much too young. After hearing Arali and Rhuz arguing with their father for days, Ohrena threw down her book, stormed out of her study, and offered to marry the prince if that would make everyone stop arguing. If nothing else, the whole thing was worth the look of utter shock on her parents’ faces at their usually quiet daughter’s outburst.
“That’s right,” Inrada said. While Pamin layered the dozens of braids around an ornamental headpiece, Inrada dusted more of the glittering powder over her arms and hands.
“I’m going to leave a trail if I touch anything,” Ohrena complained.
“You’ll look like a dragon,” Inrada said.
“I think he already knows I’m not,” Ohrena said dryly.
Inrada glared at her and pointedly dusted a wide swath of gold over her bare arm, making her look like the gaudy golden statue in the corner of the room. “I’ll have you know that this is very fashionable.”
“I know,” Ohrena said. She swiped some of the dust from her arm and deposited it on the tip of Inrada’s nose. “Thank you for your thoroughness.”
“Did you see the display on the steps?” Zahila said. She had finished with the dress and was carefully brushing at Ohrena’s beaded slippers. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun that shone with a hint of red in the afternoon sun pouring in the window. “I counted twelve soldiers, two more as dragons, and three in the sky.”
“Five in the sky,” Inrada replied. “One each on the east and west terraces on the third floor of the palace. They were in shadow, so they were easy to miss.” Zahila’s eyes narrowed into a murderous glare, but Inrada just smirked at her.
The three women were her closest friends, but she had not brought them all the way from Val Legarra for their fashion advice or makeup prowess. They would do enough to put on the appearance of being her servants, but their real purpose here was to gather information. Each of the three shifted into small, inconspicuous animal forms with a knack for sneaking about. She’d been friends with Inrada since they were both toddlers, and Zahila for nearly as long. Pamin had served Ohrena’s mother for years but was eager for the opportunity to travel to the mysterious lands of the Ironflight.
“I’m sure that was calculated,” Ohrena said. She was impressed, as she’d only seen the three. She’d been more preoccupied with her impending marriage to the handsome prince. “It was a message.”
“One they do not need to send,” Inrada said. “But I noticed quite a few stares when we drove through the city.”
“Of course you did,” Ohrena replied. “We should be prepared for that for some time.”
“Let them stare,” Pamin said. She finished fussing with Ohrena’s hair. “You look quite lovely. He will never want to look at a dragon woman again.”
Ohrena raised an eyebrow. The mention sent a thrill of nerves through her. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”
“But don’t be too enjoyable,” Inrada said. “Or he’ll never leave you alone and you’ll get nothing done.”
She laughed. “That would be a tragedy.”
Rumors abounded that the prince took a different lover every night. And once the agreement had been finalized, every gossip in the city took it upon themselves to tell Ohrena the most lascivious rumors they’d heard of him. He wouldn’t be her first, but she was certainly not as experienced as he was if even a fraction of the rumors were true. And while she was not so naïve as to expect love from their arrangement, she wanted him to be pleased with her. If he was pleased, then the alliance between their lands would be a good one.
With her hair and makeup finished, Ohrena obediently stood still while Zahila and Pamin maneuvered the complicated scarlet dress over her body. They argued ferociously over the proper placement of the long, sheer sleeves and the golden chain that overlapped her bare stomach.
Even with the nerves tickling in her belly, she didn’t dread the wedding, though her friends thought this was a grave burden. As a daughter of a wealthy clan, she had imagined it might eventually happen, though she’d expected to marry an Edra noble, not a dragon prince. Her own parents had wed to join two powerful houses, and while they had grown to care for each other, they were not passionately in love. That had never been Ohrena’s expectation.
What she feared more was the loss of her people. Having her friends nearby, her own small Flock, would help, but she was a stranger in this land. Few Edra lived in the lands of the Ironflight. She would not celebrate their holidays anymore, nor would she eat the familiar foods or hear their music. That filled her with sorrow more than anything else.
“How do I look?” she asked as Pamin and Zahila finally finished battling the dress.
“Like a queen,” Pamin said. “So pretty.”
“Like a princess,” Inrada said, her lips pulling into a smile. “Careful saying such things. His sister won’t like it.” She kissed the air next to Ohrena’s cheeks. “Speaking of the dragon herself, you have an appointment.”
With a pair of the Ironblade guards in their impressive bronze armor to guide her, Ohrena was led to a spacious sitting room with a balcony that overlooked the city. She had to lift the skirt slightly to walk but was careful not to wrinkle it and risk Zahila’s wrath.
Inside the sitting room, the queen was poised on a plush couch. Ohrena’s heart pounded as she walked into the huge room, surveying the lavish furnishings and high ceilings. Cold air filled the room, carrying the noisy bustle of the city into the room.
“Come, sister,” Queen Tarim said quietly without rising from her seat. Ohrena bowed politely, hesitating as she tried to decide where to go. “Please, come sit.”
She followed the queen’s gesture to sit on a cushioned stool near her. “Good afternoon, su’ud redahn.”
“Your Kadirai is so lovely,” the queen said. She had exchanged her extravagant red dress for a simpler copper-colored dress and matching jewelry. Ohrena smiled faintly as she noted the hand-made bronze bangles on the queen’s wrists. She’d made them as a gift from the al-Katiri clan, though the queen thought they were the work of an unnamed house artisan. Her father had returned from their negotiations, bursting at the seams with pride at how pleased Tarim was with the gift.
“Thank you,” Ohrena said. “I have studied for many years.”
The queen nodded. “I spoke with your father of our traditions, and we have agreed to a melding of our peoples’ ways. I hope this is acceptable to you.”
Ohrena had a feeling that it didn’t matter whether this was acceptable to her. “It is,” she said. “Thank you for your consideration of our traditions.”
“I will serve as the oath-keeper for my brother.”
“O
h,” Ohrena said, her cheeks flushing. “I had assumed that it would be…”
“A man?” Tarim said, her voice sharpening slightly as she extended her bejeweled hand. “It is traditional but not required. There is no one better suited to hold the oath for my brother.”
Ohrena took the queen’s hand and met her intense gaze. The queen’s eyes were a deep honey color, the same color as her brother’s. “I give my oath before the Skymother and before the spirit Finera, the keeper of promises, and to you, that if it should ever be broken, I will answer for my dishonor and treachery.” The queen nodded slightly. “To this union I bring a gentle nature and a keen mind. I bring the support of a powerful clan and a promise of loyalty against our common enemy. I will do whatever I can to bring prosperity to his kind and mine.”
The queen’s hand tightened on hers as she leaned forward slightly. “And you will not betray him,” she said, a clear statement rather than a question.
“I will not,” Ohrena said. The queen’s eyes narrowed, but Ohrena’s gaze never wavered.
Finally, Tarim nodded and took a small knife from the cushion next to her. Light glinted off its sharp point as she jabbed it downward to prick Ohrena’s palm. She bit back a yelp as blood beaded from the tiny wound. The queen pierced her own hand, then clasped them together. “So it is sworn and may the Skymother strike you down and cast you eternally from her sight if you break your word.”
An ominous chill prickled down her back. “So it is sworn.”
Then a coy smile spread on the queen’s face, as if she hadn’t just sworn holy vengeance on Ohrena. She stood and shook out her voluminous copper skirt, then offered Ohrena her hand. Together, they walked onto the open terrace and silently surveyed the city. She had thought her home city of Val Legarra was huge, but Ironhold dwarfed it with buildings of a thousand hues of stone spreading as far as she could see.
The queen paused at the railing. “This is my city. Your city, too.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” she said proudly. “This is the greatest city on Ascavar.” She touched Ohrena’s hand lightly. “My people are slow to change. I hope that you will not hold that against them. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Because I’m Edra,” Ohrena said.
The queen nodded. “I accept you and welcome you without reservation, but I do not wish to give you a false idea. I will tolerate no disrespect toward you, but they may take longer to understand. Please do not take their ignorance into your heart.”
“I understand,” she said. “That’s kind of you.”
She had expected the queen to be much more harsh, but her expression was open and sincere. Tarim nodded. “Vicious rumors have spread of my brother and I for many years. There is little to be done other than to be yourself and to uphold your own honor. My brother always tells me the best revenge is to be the best version of myself I can be, so they will have to choke on their own words.”
A shadow loomed over the terrace suddenly, and they both looked up to see the onyx-scaled hide of a dragon hovering overhead. The queen smiled at her. “Are you ready?”
Not at all.
“I am, su’ud redahn,” she said politely. The queen clapped her hands, and the black dragon landed on the terrace, almost silent except for the rhythmic click of its talons on stone.
“We are ready,” Tarim said. She gestured to the dragon. “Alkena will take you.”
“Take me?” Ohrena murmured. The dragon grasped her shoulders gently, then lifted into the air again. She gasped in surprise as the palace shrank beneath them.
“It’s all right,” the queen said. “I will follow.”
Her heart threatened to crawl up her throat as the dragon soared over the city, heading west toward a cliffside. There, a lone white stone building with a spiraling roof rose against the expanse of pale blue. On the horizon was the blue-black expanse of the sea. Her heart soared at the sight of it.
Distant figures moved around the grassy plateau in front of the building. The black dragon landed further down the hill, setting her down with impressive gentleness. The creature bowed its head politely to her, then ran a few steps downhill before leaping into the air again.
Her Flock was already there, hurrying to meet her on the path. Pamin instantly began fussing with her hair, brushing loose strands out of her face while Zahila adjusted her dress. “Your head is still attached to your shoulders, so it seems your discussion with the queen went well,” Inrada said mildly.
“She was much kinder than I expected,” Ohrena said. “How did it go with the prince?”
Inrada was her oath-keeper, who would hold the prince to his promises to their union. Her friend nodded, but her expression betrayed nothing. “He seemed genuine enough.”
“What did he say?”
Inrada’s brow furrowed. “Part of the oath is that I’m not supposed to tell you. But he was kind. He seemed a bit nervous.” She leaned in and whispered in her ear. “I will kill him if he looks at you wrong. He may be a dragon, but I know where to put the blade.”
Ohrena just smiled at her. “Keep your eyes up,” she said quietly in Edra. She glanced back to Zahila and Pamin. “You too.”
Inrada offered her hand. “They’re ready for you.”
The Kadirai didn’t often have weddings, as she’d discovered. The actual wedding would be quite small and private, while the celebration feast that followed would be open to hundreds of guests. In a matter of hours, she would see for herself how the dragons of Ironhold felt about her.
Ohrena’s heart pounded as she followed her Flock up the hill, to the plateau where the small gathering of Kadirai waited. Not including her Flock and the handful of Ironblade soldiers, there were no more than a dozen people present, arrayed in a semi-circle facing a stone altar. High above, a single dragon flew overhead in a wide, slow circle. As she crested the hill, it let out a long, deafening roar.
Her legs trembled as the gathered guests turned to watch her, but she kept her head high and watched for Zayir’s reaction. He wore a handsome outfit of dark red and gold, matching hers perfectly. When he turned to see her, his lips parted slightly, and his amber eyes widened. A warm shiver ran through her. Was he pleased with what he saw?
Behind him, a stone altar holding a large bronze basin stood at the edge of the cliff. Clad in light blue, a woman stood in front of the altar. The blue patterns tattooed on her brow indicated a priestess of the Brood, the Skymother’s faith. Her voice was loud and clear. “We meet in the gaze of the Skymother, that we might see two spirits bound together,” she said. As she spoke of the Skymother’s design, her model of generosity and protection, Ohrena’s heart pounded.
This was it. No turning back. She was at the edge of the cliff, clasping hands with the prince that would be her husband in mere moments. Her apprehension must have shown, as the prince gently squeezed her hand. Her gaze flitted to him, and a faint smile crept over his lips.
“Ohrena al-Katiri, what oath do you speak before the Skymother?” the priestess asked.
“I swear that I will honor her child, that I will give the best I have to weave a prosperous fate for my husband,” she said quietly.
“Well-spoken,” the priestess said. “And you, Zayir Moltenheart, what oath do you speak?”
He knelt, staring up at her while still clasping her hand. His deep, resonant voice seemed to vibrate through her. “I swear that I will honor the divine in my betrothed, that I will serve her as I would serve the Skymother and my own queen. From today forward, it will be my sacred duty to protect her.”
Six hours was hardly enough to know the prince, but there was something fervent and sincere in his words. Perhaps he was putting on a show for the handful of observers. Perhaps not.
“Your oaths are worthy,” the priestess said. “Will you join your flames?”
Zayir rose and leaned in close. His lips brushed her ear with a warm touch. “It’s just symbolic. I can do it for you.”
“I am prepared, my p
rince,” Ohrena said. His eyes widened in surprise.
Without releasing his hand, she turned to her father, who reached down to hand her an ornate iron lantern with a flame flickering inside. “The light of our hearth,” he said in heavily-accented Kadirai. His dark eyes creased as she took the lantern from him.
The metal cage held a small pool of everlight, a long-burning substance that the northern dragonflights used to light their dwellings. On the morning that she left Val Legarra, Ohrena had carried the lantern to the temple of Finera and lit it with a spark from her shrine, keeping it carefully guarded through their days of travel.
Zayir’s head tilted, an expression of wonder crossing his face as she presented the lantern to him. His graceful fingers unlatched the cage and drew a tongue of blue flame from the lantern. She started to warn him to be careful, but realized she was hand-in-hand with a creature of fire.
With her flame wreathing his fingers, he opened his palm wide and produced a brilliant orange orb. He closed his hand, then reopened it to reveal a single flame that he released into the basin. As the flames surged high, he announced, “Our flames become one, made stronger in unity.”
Suddenly, the dragon above them roared again, releasing a massive cone of flame. She jumped in surprise as the heat billowed back on them, but Zayir chuckled. “As you can see, my people like fire,” he said. He turned slightly, and she followed the gesture to see the gathered Kadirai with arms raised high, flames entwining around their hands. Even the queen’s arms were raised high with fiery sparks radiating from her bejeweled fingers.
“As it pleases the Skymother, you are now bonded in her sight,” the priestess said.
Her heart thrummed as Zayir brushed a kiss over her lips. It was awkward to have an audience for a first kiss to her now-husband, but her racing heart didn’t seem to mind. His hand barely grazed her waist, as if he was afraid to touch her. The kiss was all too quick; by the time she registered the pleasant warmth of his skin, he was already withdrawing. She rose on her toes, instinctively following as he pulled away. Her cheeks flushed as she composed herself.
