The Dragon's Betrayal

by Martha Woods

  The Dragon’s Betrayal

  Book 4 Of the Dragon Prince Series

  Martha Woods

  Contents

  FREE GIFT FOR YOU!

  1. Iammarth

  2. Keya

  3. Iammarth

  4. Keya

  5. Iammarth

  6. Keya

  7. Iammarth

  8. Keya

  Chapter 9

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  © 2018 Romance Books 4 U

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Iammarth

  “A hundred and one... A hundred and two... A hundred and three... A hundred and four...”

  My muscles burned. My stomached ached. The blood was beginning to drain up to the very top of my skull, making me dizzy. Sweat traced itself through the lines and crevices of my body, at last seeping into my half open eyes, causing them to burn and to sting. I drew an arm down and cleared away the sweat, shaking my head, trying to play through the pain, so to speak.

  Yes, it was painful. But that was entirely the point. I needed to be ready. I needed to be in peak physical condition, at all times. Prepared for whatever eventuality, whatever obstacle life decided to lay down in my path. Had I not just seen, with alarming clarity, how abruptly, how completely it all could change, in a heartbeat? In the blink of an eye?

  Of course, I had known this as far back as childhood– these recent disturbances had been like icing on the cake, a renewal of what I had once known. It was always in my mind, following the horrors of the past, that my continued existence, a sustained future, hinged upon my constant vigilance. And the moment I lost sight of that fact, was the moment that I was as good as gone.

  “A hundred seventy-five... A hundred seventy-six... A hundred seventy-seven...”

  My legs were wrapped around the high branch of a tree. My arms were crossed over my ink-blackened chest, writhing across my body as symbols of allegiance to a past I had never truly answered to. A part I had played for decades, ever since my childhood, but that I'd never accepted was a true indicator of my identity. Was it, though, I wondered? Could I have conformed to such a role for so long, and simply shed myself of the moniker the moment the coast was clear?

  My father wouldn't have said so, and therefore, I couldn't wholly believe so, either. Right now, those twisting black tattoos, dragons and serpents twisted together, devouring one another, across my sweat-shining flesh, were like a freshly open and profusely bleeding set of wounds to me. It was true, perhaps, that the wounds would close up with time. That they would heal over, as would I... But could I ever truly consider myself healed?

  On that point, I couldn't really be certain.

  Heal though they may, or may not, I feared that the scars which arose in their place would come to define me forever more. That I would be forever haunted by them, by the sins of my past, and that all in all, I was simply going to have to find some way of trying to live with that.

  So far I'd been doing that up to the present point, simply by convincing myself not to think about it. By fighting my way through the pain and the haunting recollections, the horrors of the things I'd done, the person I'd become– or at least, the person I'd for so long pretended to be. Though in truth, was there really any difference when you got right down to it?

  I told myself that this constant preparation, this chiseling of myself into something greater, stronger, superior to what I had once been, and perhaps still was, would strengthen me against judgment– the judgment of the world, and that of my own relentless thoughts. In truth, I knew, the pain to which I subjected myself was what I considered penance. The much-deserved punishment for my straying footsteps. Each tearing and reforming muscle in my body like a jump start to the scarification process. Artificially speeding up the healing, not caring how it might deform me to do so, but needing desperately to seal off the wound, for fear of subjecting myself to even more pain. A much more serious pain than that of the physical variety. A pain that went much deeper, and was nowhere near as easy to drink or medicate away than that of the physical variety...

  “Two hundred and fifty-six... Two hundred and fifty-seven... Two hundred and fifty-eight...”

  I wasn't exactly sure why I was counting. I was doing hanging sit-ups, with the intention of continuing on this uppermost branch until exhaustion overcame me, and I dropped clean to the forest floor with fatigue. I had no real need to know the number of repetitions I'd performed, given that my inability to go on for a single additional rep would be the only finish line I allowed myself. It was useful, however, I supposed, to know how many, or how few I'd done so far, for the sake of keeping myself going. Of telling myself that the number was still far too small for me to quit, and that doing so now would be unforgivable.

  The number was always too small to quit, no matter how high up I got. My record, so far, had been over a thousand, and that, at the very least, was what I tended to aim for. Today, for some reason, the heat in my blood was such that I thought I might go up to two thousand, or ten thousand, or a hundred thousand. Hell, today might be the day I just kept going until it killed me, so intense were the tearing and reforming of my muscles, and so sweet was the racing of adrenaline as it thudded in my temples, making me feel alive with pain, weakened and torn down to my very foundation, and yet somehow stronger for the fact, stronger than Atlas himself, balancing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “Four hundred twenty-two, four hundred twenty-three, four hundred twenty-four...”

  My teeth were clenched, my mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a sneer– the whole of my being buckling beneath the pain, yet seeming to dominate that same pain, unwilling to offer up my surrender.

  It was just then, however, that, my second wind came to an abrupt stop, my whole body freezing halfway through a rep. I froze, my elbows up to my knees, my ears piqued.

  I'd heard a sound.

  I listened closely, and combed through the ambience of the forest. The scurrying of life. The calls of birds. The light, silver sounding trickle of a nearby stream.

  Footsteps.

  Human footsteps.

  Three individual pairs of feet, I thought, and already I was fairly sure of who it was before they'd even approached. I'd been expecting such a visit for some time now, and honestly, I was surprised that it had taken them as long as it had for them to come and track me down. Not that I was disappointed, mind you– I would have just as soon as preferred them to have waited another week or two or an eternity to come calling. The world would have been so much better off if people would just mind their own damn business, I thought– or, in any case, maybe I wouldn't feel ablaze with this sense of guilt and betrayal. Maybe I would be able to live with myself...

  I distinguished the sound of the trio's voices in the far-off distance, confirming what I already knew. I sighed, and continued wit
h my workout, not willing to let myself be slowed down by their approach. Not until it became unavoidable for me to do so.

  “Five hundred and ninety-eight... Five hundred and ninety-nine...”

  They emerged, upside down, in the clearing. Three brothers, adorned in flowing, kingly robes, the eldest and tallest among them wielding a gleaming gold scepter in hand. A scepter in hand that had once belonged to his father, but that had only very recently fallen back into his possession.

  Of the three of them, I found that I could most relate to this man's story– it was well known among both the Dark Ones and the Protectors. A story of subjugation and redemption, though admittedly with some key differences between our respective narratives.

  Be that as it may, I still could hardly characterize myself as overjoyed to see the three of them. And so, as they made it up to the clearing beneath me, and stood there expectantly, I refrained from acknowledging their presence for as long as possible, waiting until it was absolutely necessary for me to do so.

  “Six hundred and thirty-two, six hundred and-”

  “Good day, Iammarth! We wondered if we might have a word...”

  I sighed, and fell limp on the branch, breathing heavily. It was the middle brother who addressed me, yet I looked down at all three of them with equal weariness.

  I waited a moment to catch my breath, emptying my mind, thinking I would approach the encounter like a man shooing away a fly, and then get back to the business at hand. They may have been royalty, but they did not owe me. I was a truly free man, for the first time in my life, and I wasn't about to let them take that away from me.

  Even I, however, saw through this for the bullshit that it was...

  After dangling a moment longer, I unhooked my legs from around the branch of the tree. I toppled down, free falling for several moments, the rush of the air, and the sensation in my belly as I raced toward my impending destruction, making me feel alive. But then, a few yards away from the ground, I twisted on the spot. A wholly separate body bursting from my human facade. A long, serpentine beast, erupting in golden scales, flaked slightly around the edges with black, like chipping paint– the remnants of a past I had yet to fully escape.

  A huge set of bat like wings expanded out on either side of me, and I broke into an easy glide from my dangerous fall toward the earth. I soared along like a paper airplane, never once beating my wings, but letting the webbed flaps wobble on the air as I made my descent. Finally, my massive, talon feat touched down upon the undergrowth, claws digging into the earth for support. I sat mere feet from the three men, fixing them in my golden eyes, looking from one, to the other, to the other of them.

  They didn't seem at all perturbed by me as I leered at them, and after a moment I deigned to transform back again, my body shrinking, and the burning of my previous efforts making its vicious return to my exhausted limbs.

  “King Ynder,” I said with a curt nod to the central brother. “Prince Fri. Nol.” Nol, too, was a Prince, but I made a point of not addressing him as such– well aware of his hotheaded reputation, and that such an oversight would be sure to piss him off. He indeed scowled, and I couldn't help but smile.

  “Any chance you might have been thinking of putting on some clothes?” asked Nol, surveying my sweat drenched nakedness.

  I pretended to consider this request for a moment, putting a hand to my chin, then promptly decided, “No, actually, I'm quite enjoying the breeze out here today. Why? Afraid you'll start liking what you see too much?”

  Nol seemed irate at this, and got halfway to taking a step toward me, when the middle brother, Fri, put an arm out and stopped him– wisely deciding that his doing so would prove counterproductive toward achieving whatever it was they so clearly had in mind for me with this little visit of theirs.

  I smiled again, feeling strangely powerful over these three royals.

  My attention turned back to King Ynder as he spoke, his golden eyes peering at me, at once polite, commanding, and imploring.

  “Am I correct in assuming you've been anticipating this conversation for a while now?” he asked, as though reading my mind fluently.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Anticipating? I don't know about that. I've been expecting it, if that's what you mean...”

  Ynder smiled, but his little brother scowled.

  “Is that how you were able to live with yourself all these years, then? Flipping words around, until they meant what you wanted them to mean? God, that must have been so convenient for you...”

  Fri shot Nol a dirty look, but Ynder's eyes remained on me, as if intent on disregarding his young brother's insolence.

  “Oh, so is that why you're here, then?” I said in a tone of feigned politeness. “To insult me? Chastise me?”

  “You were one of the Dark Ones' greatest warriors, in their time. And a damn fine collector of information, from what I've been told.”

  My heart pounded faster. “I was never loyal to them,” I spat. “I did a job, and that's it. I never killed for them. I never spilled blood, any more than I had to, to survive...”

  “Yeah, you just brought people in so that Ryl and his goons could finish them off on their own! There was no sense in getting your hands dirty when they were only too happy to handle that part themselves...”

  “Nol!” Ynder finally snapped, losing his patience.

  “I'm not an idiot!” I said, glaring daggers at Nol. “The strongest man alive could have stood up to the Dark Ones during the era of their reign, and would surely have perished before he had the chance to tell the tale! Hell, you come in here after all this time, acting all high and mighty... Where were you, I wonder, for the past twenty years, while the Dark Ones were fucking up everything? The only reason you weren't enlisted to work for them was because they never would have trusted you! You lived like prisoners, like slaves on your own land for all this time! And now you're accusing me of being complacent in their destruction? I was right there, fighting alongside you, once you finally found the balls to stand up and fight back against Ryl and his men! I would have been killed long ago had I tried to resist them on my own, before the tide of resistance had at last rolled in...”

  “And how many more died because of your actions?!” spat Nol. “How many Protectors, how many humans were crushed beneath Ryl's heel because of men like you? It's inexcusable that my brothers and I spent as long as we did doing nothing in defense of our people. But at least we never contributed directly to the Dark Ones' system of oppression, you cowardly– “

  “Get him out of here!” said Ynder Darkly, and Fri nodded, grabbing Nol by the arms.

  “Get off of me!” said Nol, swatting away his brother's hands. There was a scuffle among the two brothers, and finally Nol turned on his heel and stomped off, still fuming. Fri gave Ynder a weary look. “I told you we should have left him at home...”

  Fri followed after Nol, leaving Ynder with me.

  I almost felt sorry for Ynder after that whole display, but I didn't want to appear too sympathetic.

  “Whatever it is you're trying to recruit me for,” I said dryly, “I have to say, you're off to a rather piss poor start...”

  “Nol is... Spirited,” said Ynder cautiously. “His heart is in the right place. Hell, if it wasn't for him, this chain of events would never have been put into motion. We might not even be having this conversation right now had he not had the courage to stand up to the Dark Ones.”

  “And what a shame that would be,” I said.

  “I know, I know. He has the most unfortunate habit of seeing the world, and everything in it, through a black and white prism. Failing to see nuance, or shades of grey in anyone or anything. He doesn't appreciate circumstances, or the reasons some people may act in the way that they do. A braver man, I'm not sure I have ever known. But a more judgmental one than Nol, I think you would be hard pressed to find...”

  “Look, I don't need him or you or anyone to tell me I'm a fucking bastard for what I've done,” I snarled. “You th
ink I don't live every day judging myself, wondering how much devastation I might have caused just to save my own neck? It's a dog eat dog world, and especially for us. So many times I thought about giving it all up. Fighting back. Renouncing the Dark Ones and their ways. But I saw what happened to those who did. You should know that firsthand, yourself. I wasn't about to let myself be killed for a lost cause. To go down like a rat on a sinking ship. What the hell good would it have done?”

  Ynder gave me a long, appraising stare. Then he said calmly, “Whether I agree with you or not, I'm wondering by the look in your eyes whether you actually believe that? Or whether it's something you merely tell yourself...”

  I scowled at him. I was beginning to lose my patience.

  “Look, your highness, the only reason I'm still standing here, talking to you, is because I thought you were different from your brother the zealot. But if you're just here to insult me, and tell me how wrong I was, you might as well just join him and fuck off...”

  To my surprise, and my annoyance, Ynder smiled, and shook his head.

  “No. You misunderstand me. I'm not here to say whether what you did was right or wrong. I know, as well as anyone, the frustration of trying to survive under the Dark Ones' rule. The hellish necessity of moral compromise, and feeling as though you have no other choice. If it was my job to go around to judging every former Dark One for actions performed under duress, I fear I wouldn't be presiding over a kingdom of much...”

  I softened a little bit at this, but I kept my eyes narrowed at him, not wanting to surrender to whatever this was too easily.

  “What, then? What do you want from me?” I demanded.