by J. D. Monroe
The silence was broken by the noisy slam of Zayir’s door just down the hall. Inrada pointed to the narrow hallway that connected their rooms, with a simple door between them. She raised her eyebrows and pantomimed locking it. Ohrena shook her head and watched it for a moment.
For all his frustrating nature, Zayir seemed determined to play by some hidden set of rules. She suspected that he wouldn’t go near the door, not after Teviri told him that he was forbidden from entering.
Not long after the door slammed, it opened and closed once more, then there was silence from the other side. Pamin tilted her head toward the door. “Should I go follow him?”
“Did you hear nothing I just said?” Ohrena said. “No. Leave him alone. No spying.” She sighed. Of all the times to keep her nose in her own business. She desperately wanted to know where he was going now. “You’re dismissed. Thank you.”
Pamin left quietly, but Inrada lingered. “I am sorry,” she said. “I won’t let you down again.”
Ohrena grasped her friend’s hand. “Look into my eyes. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry that he threatened to send you away.” Her friend nodded, then kissed her cheek. “We’ll figure it out, but for now, just be on your best behavior. I need you here.”
“Thank you. Good night,” Inrada said. She bowed, then silently slipped out of the room.
When the pair had left, Ohrena let out a heavy sigh and took down one of the sketchbooks from her shelf. Her mind was a mess. Was she embarrassed because she’d been caught spying, getting her hand slapped like a child filching treats before a feast? Or was she hurt because she’d entertained the tiny flame of affection for Zayir, only to have it extinguished as he scolded her?
Her mind shied away from the realization, but she knew the nasty thing gnawing in the pit of her stomach was guilt. As upset as she was, she was not a pitiful victim mistreated by the dreadful prince. While she had no ill intentions for the queen or the prince, there was no question that spying around the palace was a breach of trust.
Either way, she’d made a fine mess of things. At first, she’d thought it would be nice to be left alone, even if Zayir’s rejection had stung initially. But there was something quite pleasant about his company. He was handsome, though lovely outer shells were everywhere here in Ironhold, just as they had been at home. But he was kind and oddly gentle for someone who was a twin to the most powerful dragon in the lands. Each tiny brush of his hand, those delightful accidents as his hand grazed hers on the way to a glass of wine, had sent a pleasant thrill through her.
She didn’t want him to leave her alone at all. And with this most recent slip, he could add untrustworthy to the list along with unattractive. She sighed.
“Get your head out of the clouds,” she scolded herself. She wasn’t here to find love. She had known from the moment she agreed to the contract what she was getting herself into.
So why couldn’t she stop thinking about how to make it right?
The next morning, Zayir wasn’t at breakfast. She felt oddly hollow as she surveyed the large sitting room where they’d been sharing their mornings. Biatir, the usual attendant, was there. He bowed politely. “Good morning, su’ud redahn,” he said.
“Good morning,” she said absently. “Where is the prince? Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes,” Biatir said. “He sends his apologies for his absence, but he had important business to attend to this morning. He was adamant that your breakfast be prepared as usual.”
She nodded and smiled to conceal her disappointment. “Thank you.”
But the savory spread of food seemed dull, and eating it was a chore as she contemplated what this meant. Zayir might have really had business, or perhaps he was angry at her. Perhaps he chose to avoid her rather than risking another argument. She picked her way through enough of the meal that she could thank Biatir for his thoroughness, then excused herself to change clothes before going to her workshop.
Sleep had been hard to come by, so she’d worked by candlelight to sketch a design for an appropriate gift. As she’d requested, Zayir had acquired several crates of wax blocks, as well as a hard mound of clay for her to work in. With her sketch laid out for reference, she cut a block of wax as long as her forearm and picked one of her carving knives out to begin working.
The morning flew by as she carved chunks of wax away to create the rough shape of a hilt for a blade. She could see the shape of what she wanted in her mind, a graceful pair of dragon wings spread wide to form the guard. Thin tendrils of gold and bronze would swirl from the guard and over the blade to suggest flames. If she could find the right stones, tiny flecks of carnelian and jasper would mimic sparks, glinting in the light.
Ohrena’s mother had discouraged her from the detailed handwork, saying it would be better for her to learn an instrument or something else more poised than metalworking. She abhorred the sight of Ohrena in her work apron, hair sweaty and frizzy around her face. Her father, however, had encouraged the practice. Not only was it good for her mind, but it had taught her a great deal about the ore and gems that had made her family wealthy.
Time seemed to freeze as she worked intently to free her vision from the wax, though there was an unusual hesitation as she made each careful pass with the knife. She had made many gifts for the other nobles of Firlanyn, but she cared much more that Zayir liked this than she ever had before. It was critically important to get this right, and that need to please stayed her hand before making several of the small, fiddly cuts.
Her work was interrupted when Inrada and Zahila arrived at the door talking quietly. Both wore their hair in ornate braids, which told her they weren’t planning to transform anytime soon. Neither of them would have made such an effort to ruin it.
“Good morning,” she said as she stretched her stiff back. She had a tendency to hunch when she got working, and never realized it until her muscles protested a change of position.
Inrada raised an eyebrow. “It’s past noon,” she said. “What are you making?”
“Just a trinket,” Ohrena said. She frowned. “Where’s Pamin?”
“At the market. She says the cold here is making her skin dry up and she needs some sort of ointment,” Zahila said with a shrug. “She also said to assure you she’s not transforming.” She leaned against the stone table, inspecting the workshop. “This is nice. The prince did this?”
Ohrena nodded. “He did a good job.”
Inrada paced, then let out a sigh. “I need something to keep me busy,” she said. “You know I can’t sit still.”
Zahila chuckled. “She’ll be in trouble again if you don’t.”
Ohrena fixed her with a stern look. “This is serious. It’s not a joke.”
“I know,” Zahila said, her smile evaporating quickly. “Seriously, though. Give us something to do. You don’t need us hovering around you all day.”
She smiled. “You could bring my books and materials down here. And then I’d like to catalogue the tools and materials that are already here.”
The two women nodded to each other. “It will be done,” Zahila said. She bowed politely as they headed out the door.
A few minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the workshop door. “Come in,” Ohrena said without looking up from the rough-hewn block of wax. She leaned in and blew a tiny green shaving away. “Did you forget something?”
“No, su’ud redahn,” Teviri said.
Ohrena frowned and turned to see the guard standing at the door, her posture straight and proud. “Oh, my apologies.”
“The prince requests your presence on the western terrace,” Teviri said. “Shall I tell him you still don’t want to see him?”
“No,” she blurted. “I’ll go see what he wants. Just give me a few minutes to clean up.”
Ohrena’s heart pounded as she walked onto the open expanse of the western terrace where she’d previously met with Tarim. The sun was high in a cloudless sky though the air was chilly, as it always was here. Zayir stood a
lone on the terrace. A long crimson robe covered him, skimming the floor. The shapeless garment was a stark contrast to his usual tailored apparel.
He turned as she approached and bowed slightly. His expression was inscrutable; he did not smile, but there was no hint of anger either. “Thank you for joining me.”
She bowed in return. “It is my pleasure,” she said. He offered his hand to her, and she cautiously stepped forward to take it.
“Would you do me the honor of taking a short trip with me? I’d like to show you something,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
Shedding the heavy robe, he turned away from her. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of his nude form, beautifully carved with lean muscle flowing over the graceful curve of his back. His frame was smaller than most Kadirai males, but there was clearly a warrior’s form beneath the ornate clothing he favored. She could imagine a sculptor chiseling out the fine lines along his strong calves. Without turning around, he said, “Grab the robe, please.”
As she knelt to pick it up, a flash of fiery light emanated from Zayir’s back. A seam of fire split down his spine, surging out into the shape of wings. The smoky scent of Kadirai magic overwhelmed her as his form expanded in a series of percussive pops. Blood-red scales appeared on the rapidly-expanding form, and she felt the slight tremor in the stone as his heavy front limbs slammed into the ground. It was a beautiful and terrible transformation, a reminder of the sheer power contained within the Kadirai.
His wings snapped free with a resounding thump, and he turned slowly to regard her. His amber eyes were still familiar, though the pupils were elongated. “Come,” an impossibly deep voice rumbled. Taking a tentative step closer, she touched the scaled bridge of his nose. He let out a rumble that was almost like a cat’s purr. “Fly with me.”
Then he surged onto his hind legs and scooped her up. She yelped in surprise, but his powerful forelimb held her tight to the sleek scales on his chest. It made her feel impossibly small, yet sheltered as he rose into the air, flying away from the castle.
Cold air whipped around them, but Zayir sheltered her from the chill. He emanated heat, and she felt like she was lying on sun-warmed stone. Nerves tickled in her belly as they flew. While she wanted to enjoy being close to the prince, she couldn’t help wondering if he was flying her into some dangerous situation. Perhaps he’d thought better of his decision and decided to deal with the problem once and for all. He might fly her out to the sea and simply drop her.
Well, he wasn’t the only one who could be dangerous. She could transform quickly if she had to. In his human form, she could kill him easily. Even as the thought went through her mind, she felt guilty for contemplating it, but it was her nature. She did not hate the Kadirai, but she was not such a fool to think that she was entirely safe at any time.
They flew away from Ironhold and toward the coast. Smooth white beach met the crashing surf in an undulating pattern, then eventually hardened into dark stone that rose into sheer cliffs. Zayir flew along the cliffs for a while, skimming just above the water. He dipped his back foot into the dark water, throwing up an icy spray that made her laugh. Finally, he rose sharply and veered into a yawning black cavern. Tilting his wings forward, he landed hard. Her teeth rattled as he jolted to a stop. He growled, as if to apologize, then carefully set her down.
Inside the mouth of the cavern were two pinkish lights, each a glass globe filled with everlight. She whirled to see Zayir tuck his wings in tight as fiery light enveloped him. Within seconds, the red dragon was gone, and the prince—quite naked—was in its place.
He rose, standing up tall as he sauntered toward her. Now she had a full image of his naked form burned into her memory, verifying that the front was just as lovely as the back. Her eyes drifted down, then back up to find a smirk on his face. Her cheeks burned as he held out his hand. “My robe?”
“Oh,” she blurted. She held it out for him, hoping the dim light concealed her blush.
“I don’t particularly mind, but I’d rather avoid shards of rock in my soft bits,” Zayir said. He draped the robe around himself, fumbling his arms into the billowing sleeves. It was a shame to cover that up. After tying the belt, he took her hand. “I hope flying like that wasn’t too uncomfortable.”
“It was nice, actually,” she said. “You’re very warm.”
He smiled. “I want to show you something.”
With his free hand, he produced a flickering orb of flame and held it out as she might have held a lantern. Dark stone formed a natural tunnel around them, and her heart thumped at the thought of going deeper into the rock. Each footstep reverberated in the cavern. Behind them, she could no longer see the glow of daylight, and it felt like they had descended into another world.
Eventually, the path ended at a steep wall. Zayir seemed undeterred. “Wait here,” he said. “It’ll be dark for a moment, but I’m right here.” The flame in his hand went out, leaving her in pitch darkness. Her heart raced, but he called, “I’m still here.”
“I know.”
“Your heart is pounding,” he replied. There was a scrape, then a grunt of effort. A warm hand closed on her wrist, and she squealed in surprise. “It’s me. Get close to the wall and then jump up to my hands.”
Trying not to let the fear get to her, she stepped forward until she bumped into the wall. “Coming up,” she said. She crouched, then jumped as high as she could.
His hands closed firmly around her wrists, then hauled her upward. As her feet found the solid ground, his arms slipped around her waist to balance her, pressing her tight to his body. Her pulse accelerated, with only the thinnest layer of fabric separating them. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she breathed.
Without releasing her waist, he turned her slowly to see what awaited. A large cavern opened ahead of them, its walls covered in outcroppings of translucent crystal. Another globe of everlight burned in the center, casting a glittering display as its light reflected from the facets of crystal. A rainbow of soft color cascaded over the dark stone. “Oh my,” she murmured. “This is beautiful.”
“They call it Viarak dar Isinaa,” Zayir said. “The Skymother’s Crown. It’s a well-kept secret.”
She wandered toward one of the walls, which was farther away than it seemed. The distance had dwarfed the crystals; the one she approached was easily as long and wide as her arm. The surface was smooth and cool to the touch. Zayir followed, his warm aura preceding him. He cast the globe of fire toward the crystal, and the light split into a thousand dancing spots on the walls. Each crystal had an opalescent surface, reflecting an endless rainbow of color.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s incredible,” she murmured.
His hand drifted to her shoulder. “Come with me for a moment.” At the center of the room, a small quilt had been laid out on the stone, with two large cushions arranged around a basket. “Can we sit and talk?”
She nodded, then tilted her head as the realization struck her. “Did you come here to set this up? Is that why you weren’t at breakfast?”
“Maybe,” he said. He gestured to one of the cushions and waited for her to sit, then followed by sitting across from her. “I wanted to speak openly to you, with no one else around. Right now, we can just be Zayir and Ohrena. No titles, no formalities.”
Her heart kicked against her ribs. “Why is that?”
“We have been dancing around one another since we met,” he said. “And I tire of it. I do it all day, every day. People think they know who I am, and I am satisfied with that most of the time, but in just one place, I would like to be straightforward.”
She nodded. “All right. What do you need to say?”
“I want to apologize,” he said. He took her hand. “I was unkind to you, and I wish to make it right.” His large hands covered hers. Warmth oozed up her arm from his grasp, and she realized with a start it was the longest he’d ever touched her.
&nb
sp; She shook her head. “No. I owe you an apology. I meant no harm, but I breached your trust by sending my maids to spy on the castle.”
“Oh,” he said. He smirked. “Well, that, yes. We’ll discuss that. But I meant before. On our wedding night, when I refused you.”
Though it had been more than a week, her throat still threatened to close at the memory of the stinging rejection. She instinctively pulled her hand away, but he kept it held firm. Her eyes drifted downward. She didn’t want a detailed explanation of why he didn’t want her. “You had a right.”
“I know I did. Look at me.” She lifted her gaze. “I was needlessly harsh. I thought I was sparing you from harm, but I realized that it made you feel unworthy or unattractive, and neither of those things are true. You looked very beautiful.”
“Then why did you reject me?”
His lips pulled into a mischievous smile. “It certainly wasn’t because I’m more interested in my sister.”
“What? Of course not,” she said, though her cheeks flushed.
“Veia kalo no Edra metisar,” he said. Her belly flip-flopped as the perfect cadence of Edra spilled over his tongue.
“You do not,” she murmured. Oh, spirits below. How many conversations had she and Inrada had with him in earshot? “You can’t.”
“Oh yes,” he said in Edra. “I dare say I speak your language almost as well as you speak mine. And for what it’s worth, I like your hair just as it is. Don’t color it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you understood us,” she said. “It was just a rumor. I didn’t believe it.”
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “It’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, and it certainly won’t be the last. But since we are speaking openly, I will defend myself just this once. I love my sister but have no need to express my love in that way to her, and the feeling is mutual. Regardless of what you may hear among the rumor-mongers of Ironhold.”
