She was a Blood-Wraith. But was she the Blood-Wraith? The one Huru’s people prophesied would defeat the Queen’s dragon? Looking at this girl, Morley didn’t believe it.
“Did that . . .” He gestured to the yellow cloth in her grip. “Someone you know?”
She lifted her eyes and nodded.
Morley closed his eyes. Another added to his sins.
“Sometimes it—the dragon—brings someone home to . . .” He bit his lip and sighed. Explanations wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said finally.
She wrapped the fabric around her wrist, knotting it tightly. “You serve her. The Queen.”
Morley nodded. “I do.”
“Why?” The question snapped against the wall. “Why do you serve her and her dragon? They have murdered women, children, innocent people. Everyone I care about is dead because of them. So, why? Why do you serve them?”
It would take far too long to explain. The years and years he spent watching over and guiding a young princess engendered a love and loyalty that even when tested at its breaking point, held firm. How could he explain that watching that princess become a just and benevolent Queen brought him more joy than he could possibly contain? And that watching her descend into madness with a dragon on a leash brought immeasurable sorrow? How could he explain? He didn’t try.
Instead, he stood and opened his cabinet, retrieving some wine. He poured it into two tin cups and handed one to the girl. He sat down at the desk and took a small sip. The girl watched warily, so he took a bigger draught, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. She glared, but still did not drink.
Morley leaned forward and laced his hands together, elbows propped on his knees. “I am looking for redemption, for me and my Queen.”
The girl slid her legs off the edge of the bed and mimicked his pose. “And I am looking for revenge.”
Morley nodded. “Then perhaps we can help each other.”
He held his breath as the girl stared at him, examining his face and deciding whether or not to trust him.
Finally, she nodded and, with eyes fixed on him, took a sip of wine.
And Morley’s heart sank.
Chapter Eleven
The Blood-Wraith walked to the throne room in chains.
The shackles on her wrists chafed and, as Morley pulled her along, finally broke through her skin. Blood appeared and oozed down her wrists, staining her hands. Morley pretended he didn’t see it and the girl made no sounds of distress.
Morley glanced back at her to see her eyelids heavy and her limbs weighed down. She had yet to fully wake up from her drug-induced slumber. He had stripped the girl of her sword and, more importantly, of the pouch of poison on her belt. But he left the ash and blood. The Queen would want a good show.
For a moment, he thought about turning back. He could go back to his room, let the girl recover, and set her free. There was no need to go through with this.
And then he thought of his Queen, carelessly striding through puddles of blood and around piles of bones to stroke her dragon’s cheek.
The story in the Draxoni book had ended badly. He had finished translating it last night while the girl slept. He couldn’t leave his Queen to that fate.
He tightened his grip on the chains. He told himself that it was better this way. He told himself that she wouldn’t feel anything.
He’d tell himself anything to make this seem like less of a betrayal.
The two guards outside the door stepped in front of Morley, blocking his way.
“What have you here, Morley?” Connor asked, his voice pitched low.
Morley tugged the Blood-Wraith forward, ignoring her stumble and slurred curse. “A gift for the Queen and her Dragon.”
Connor stared at the girl, his face paling. He never could handle the sight of blood very well, and with the stains on the girl’s face and the new blood dripping from her wrists, the guard looked positively ill. Morley always thought it odd that he became a palace guard instead of a blacksmith like his father. He jerked his head at Nicko, the other guard, and stepped back to his post.
Morley, his heart pounding in his chest, tugged the girl forward.
The throne room was full. Courtiers lined the walls, their expensive, finely-wrought garments muted and plain. The Queen’s soldiers and guards stood in a ring just in front of the courtiers, their uniforms dusty and stained from battle.
The Queen stood on the dais in front her throne, addressing the room. Behind her stood her dragon, wings folded across its serpentine body and arched neck stretched high. Its golden eyes scanned the room, passing quickly over Morley and his prisoner, and its tail twitched and curled around the dais steps.
And lined in rows and rows in the middle of the room stood the dirty, bloody, beaten soldiers of Huru’s army.
Skirting the edge of the room, Morley led the Blood-Wraith through the courtiers, earning a few wide eyes, but no exclamations. No one dared make a sound while the Queen spoke. As they approached the throne, he could better hear the Queen’s words.
She always did have the talent for diction.
“--who have thought to murder me, you who have longed to destroy my kingdom, you traitors, look where your general has led!” She flung back her long sleeves and walked to the edge of the dais. “Do you believe in mercy?” Her harsh whisper echoed through the room.
Morley halted at the edge of the dais. Huru himself was in front of his army. He knelt, clutching a bleeding wound in his side, but his head was held high. This man had pride and it would take more than a dragon to take it from him. His Sibyl knelt at his side, her left side badly burned. Most of the hair on her head was missing and she wheezed when she drew breath.
“Mercy?” the Sibyl croaked. “Mercy will never be had from one such as you.”
The Queen paused and her Dragon lowered its head, drawing even with its Queen. She reached out a hand and placed it on the Dragon’s cheek, eyes pinned to the Sibyl. “You are right.” She addressed the entire room. “Anyone who opposes me will not receive mercy!”
The dragon’s lips peeled away from its teeth and Morley stepped forward, dragging the Blood-Wraith with him. He bowed, placing a hand over his heart.
“My Queen.”
She paused and the dragon turned to stare down at them.
“Morley, what do you have?”
Morley raised his head, tugged the chain, and flung the girl to the floor. “I have your Blood-Wraith.”
Chapter Twelve
Eva’s knees hit hard, drawing blood. She caught herself on her hands and struggled to lift her head. The man, Morley, had drugged her, and she couldn’t shake the dense fog clouding her mind. She heard the Queen and Morley exchanging words, something about the dragon and a Blood-Wraith and a celebratory drink.
She blinked at her gray hands, wrists shackled and bloodied. Everywhere she looked was gray and red. She stretched out her fingers on the stone and the shackles shifted. A scrap of yellow caught her eye. She focused on it, noticing the embroidered roses soaking the blood from her wrist.
The fog cleared.
Cara and Hamar. One of her sisters was eaten by the dragon and her skirt used to line its bed. Her village was burned to the ground, taking her family, her friends, and her life with it. And she was here, a prisoner in chains on the cold floor.
The Queen and Morley laughed above her and she heard the clink of silver on glass. The dragon’s hot breath blew down, flattening her hair and clothes. If she looked up, she would see the maw of the dragon. She wondered if her sister was frightened when she faced those teeth. Did she shriek and cry? Or did she submit to her fate?
Eva bowed her head to the floor and felt the knot in her chest burst. Emotions poured out of her. Guilt, grief and anger swirled together and became rage. She hated the Queen and her dragon. They would both suffer.
She was here as a prisoner, but she was also here for revenge.
With her head bowed and her eyes squeezed shut, she screamed in fury
and grief.
An answering wail echoed above her, combined with the cries from the crowd and the shriek of the Queen’s Dragon.
Eva lifted her head.
There, between her and the Queen’s dragon, stood another dragon, ashy gray, with red eyes and snout, snarling in rage.
Chapter Thirteen
Morley dropped the pitcher of wine and it shattered against the stones. At the sound, the smaller dragon leapt.
The entire room held its breath as the gray dragon latched onto the larger dragon’s neck. The golden dragon roared and flung itself into the air, crashing against the ceiling.
One dragon was frightening, but two were terrifying. The crowd descended into madness, clawing at each other to exit the room.
Morley dragged the Queen off the dais and hurried to the wall, positioning his body in front of hers. She stared upwards, her wine-stained lips parted, goblet in her hand.
“Morley, what . . . what . . .” She was again a bewildered child.
This was the second time Morley had observed her like this. The first was in the Before, when she lay curled against her husband and child’s tomb, wondering what happened. Then, Morley had the painful task of explaining to the young Queen that her King and husband had been loyal all along and that the real traitor was the snake of a chamberlain whispering in her ear. Morley told this wide-eyed child that the traitor had confessed hours after the King had succumbed to the poison his wife had carefully slipped into his wine, unknowing that he sometimes gave sips to their child.
And now, he had another unenviable task. His chest caved as he slipped the now empty pouch out of his pocket.
“My Queen.” He shouted to be heard over the screaming crowd.
She ignored him, staring at the dragons raging in the rafters above her. “My dragon is injured. Look!” She pointed a finger at the golden dragon.
Morley spared a glance at the battle above them. The gray dragon had positioned itself on the bigger dragon’s back, claws digging into scales and its teeth latched on the back of the golden dragon’s neck. Droplets of blood rained down on the crowd, sizzling where they landed. He dropped his gaze to the Blood-Wraith. She stood still, her hands outstretched, eyes closed, ignoring the dragon blood dripping down her face and hair, burning away the ash rubbed into her skin.
The Queen dropped the goblet of wine and grabbed his arm. Morley closed his eyes at the feel of the red wine soaking his trousers. One more task. One more explanation.
“Stop them, Morley! Stop them!” The Queen shrieked as loud as her dragon.
Morley grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “My Queen! Listen to me! You don’t have much time!”
She froze, her eyes widening on his. “What . . . do you mean, Morley?”
“You’ve been—” He swallowed once, twice, then managed to get the words out. “You’ve been poisoned, my Queen.”
She stared at the pouch in his hands, then touched her tongue to her lip. “The wine.”
He nodded, blinking away tears.
The Queen sagged and Morley stretched out a hand.
“Why?” she whispered.
“I had to, my Queen. I had to.” He gathered her into his arms and sank to the ground. He cradled her as he had for many years, tight against his chest, with her ear pressed to his heart. “Do you believe in mercy, my Queen?”
She coughed, wet and bloody against his chest. “For you?”
Morley bent his head to hers and let the tears fall, flowing down his cheeks and washing her face. “For all of us.”
The Queen convulsed in his arms, her hands clawing at his shoulders. When she spoke, her voice was broken and small. “I thought you were mine, Morley. I thought you were mine.”
He tightened his hold on the child he had loved for so many years and ignored the dragons raging above them.
“Always, my Queen. Always.”
But she was already gone.
Chapter Fourteen
They buried the Queen next to her husband and child in the chapel, an effigy carved out of pure white marble atop her tomb. The remaining lords and ladies attended, each one wearing somber grays and blacks, with white roses in their grip. The funeral didn’t last long and even the Bishop exited the chapel when it was done.
Eva watched the funeral procession from atop the southern tower, her dragon at her side. The aerie had been cleared of the gold, scraps of fabric, and bones, but remained a perfect perch for the ashy gray dragon with the blood-red eyes.
Eva stretched out a hand and her dragon bowed its head, leaning into her touch.
She was afraid to learn her name. She was afraid it would be her own. They were connected in ways that she didn’t understand. Every time she touched the smooth gray scales she felt boiling emotions just under the surface, but Eva herself felt calm and detached.
It didn’t make any sense.
But nothing about this made sense.
The door in the roof clicked open and the dragon turned its head. General Huru held out a placating palm.
“Easy, dragon.”
Eva placed a hand on her dragon’s neck and she settled. “She won’t eat you.”
Huru winced as he climbed onto the roof. “I was talking to you.”
Eva scowled, then paused. Irritation was the first real emotion she had felt since the dragon appeared.
Huru carefully picked his way across the roof and then stepped into the nest, sitting down next to Eva. He watched the chapel for a moment, then turned and stared at the pyre in the bailey. They had gathered wood and cut down trees for three days to make one big enough, piling the wood high on top of the dragon where it had fallen. Eva’s gray dragon would light the pyre later this evening, when the people had gathered to watch. It wasn’t every day that the soldiers and courtiers and village-folk received vengeance for the death of their loved ones.
“My people will finally have peace.” Huru said, his face hard.
Eva thought of Rose Haven, burned to ashes. “So will mine.”
“Your Queen became a monster, Blood-Wraith.” Huru turned, eyeing her and the dragon at her side. “My Sibyl may have passed through the veil of death, but I learned a great many things from her. Namely, how to kill a dragon.”
Eva nodded, but her fingers curled against her dragon. The beast hissed at the General, then returned its gaze to the chapel.
“I know,” Eva said.
Huru ran his hands down his face, smearing the blackened stripe around his eyes. “And I will know where to find you.”
“That you do,” Eva agreed.
He nodded and clapped her on the shoulder. “Good luck, Blood-Wraith. I hope we never meet again.”
Later, as the pyre burned, Eva leaned against the wall in the bailey. Her dragon lay curled at her feet, tail twitching as it watched the fire. Morley approached from the shadows, giving the dragon a wide berth, and stood next to her.
“They want you crowned.” He watched the blaze for a moment, then said, “The title of Queen comes with many responsibilities.” He turned toward her. “Your people come first. No matter what.”
Eva nodded in agreement. “I will remember.”
She examined him, taking in his somber clothing and the white rose pinned to his jacket. She thought of the Sibyl throwing herself in front of a dragon to save the life of General Huru. And she thought of Morley taking the Queen’s life to save her soul. And a phrase rolled around in her head. She tasted the words in her mouth, disliking the flavor. But she said them anyway.
“Are you mine, Morley?”
The old man froze, his eyes drifting to the chapel doors. In the flames reflected in his eyes, Eva thought she saw a deepening sorrow.
“No,” Morley finally answered. “No, I’m not.” He met her eyes and took a deep breath. “But I will help you. To the best of my abilities, I will help you become a good Queen.”
Eva nodded and his honesty warmed something in her chest. She squatted beside her dragon and ran a hand down its crest. Emoti
ons boiled beneath the scales, but the rage was fading. She stood, squaring her shoulders and the dragon lifted her head.
“Then let’s begin.”
Therapy for a Dragon
Sam Knight
The dragon would creep into my room every night and whisper to me,” Majorie said distantly. It was strange to be able to look back on such terrible times fondly. She had never dreamed those nights, filled with such fear and danger, would be the ones she treasured most, the only ones when she had been allowed to be a little girl.
“And what would it say?”
The bespectacled man impatiently tapped his pencil against the side of his clipboard. The rapid ticking sound echoed in the small green-tiled room, making it feel even more closed in than it had before. They had been over this many times before. He didn’t even ask her about the dragon anymore, only the words.
“That words were magic,” she finally answered. “That they had power.”
“What kind of power?” he asked. It was one of his standard questions. They had been over this a dozen times at least.
“Every kind of power that matters.” One of her standard answers.
The man sighed heavily, blowing the air out through pursed lips. His frustration was showing through. Today, for the first time, he had sat where Majorie could actually get a good look at him.
But she didn’t bother.
She had been in this room too long to care. When he had first come to ask questions, weeks or maybe months ago, she had strained to see him at the edge of her sight, fighting against the restraints to turn her head far enough to see his form in her peripheral vision. But now she didn’t care what he looked like. It wasn’t worth irritating the bedsores to turn her head and see.
“Your words didn’t have the power to save your family.”
Majorie blinked, becoming aware again of the crack in the ceiling that looked like a wilted lily. Though she had stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, she hadn’t actually seen it for a long time now.
He had mentioned her family before, but never so directly. So . . . accusingly.
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