Page 30

Over the next week, I took care of the neglected training ground.

Sand offered better traction than the rubble and dirt.

The training dummy received a new post and fresh hay mixed with rags as the stuffing, but the mop remained on the dummy’s head since I was open to whatever motivation Senaria needed.

This morning, the sun held an unexpected warmth, a relief from the autumn storms. I stood against the stone wall, deep in shadow, while Senaria stood on the sand, moving gracefully through the exercises I’d taught her.

A blonde girl moved beside her, bending, twisting, lunging in unison with Senaria—Essabeth Valthor.

Four years ago, Essabeth had knocked at the castle gates, an orphan asking for a dragon lord’s training. Renwick Raz assumed she would leave if he set her to doing chores, but she stayed, determined. Essabeth was twenty now. She and Senaria were becoming friends, something they both needed.

Each girl complimented the other with their talents and weaknesses.

Essabeth’s confidence with mage magic came naturally while Senaria remained guarded.

But Senaria was better with a knife blade.

Her father had trained her well in self-defense.

I listened to their laughter as Essabeth tried to strike and Senaria blocked her with enough force that they both fell to the sand.

“So innocent,” Anneli Zayas purred as she joined me, polluting the air with the allure of her perfume. “The joy of children at play.”

“What do you want, mage?”

“Invite me to dinner tonight, Draakon.”

“I don’t think so.”

The mage’s dark hair tumbled around her shoulders; when she leaned in, strands brushed against my arm. She wore red today, trimmed with white animal fur. I wondered if the animal had been alive when the sorceress ripped the fur from its body, or if a seamstress had handled the details.

“The Angel of Death is afraid of a simple meal?” she taunted. “Afraid of the sins hiding in the darkness?”

“I won’t care.”

“So resistant. Was I that awful as your lover? Or did I remind you of what we have in common? We drank from the same cup of poisoned wine, you and I, only we didn’t die. We became stronger. Despite those who changed us into monsters.”

“Claim that honor if you want,” I said. “The purpose of sorcery is creation, isn’t it?”

“The dragons excel at it—they created you. You’re no longer the man you were, the man who held ideals.” Her voice grew silky. “That part of you is dead.”

“I have ideals that a witch will never understand.”

“You live to protect dragons, but who lives to protect you? ”

I turned my head until I held her fathomless gaze. “It won’t be you.”

She pouted, brushing her fingers over my cheek, pushing back a strand of my hair while I stiffened against the frisson of magic she left behind.

“What hold do you have on me, Kion?” she murmured. “Every time I’m around you, I want you more. Even when the words you use hurt me.”

“It isn’t the words, Anneli,” I countered.

“No, it’s the ice that runs in your veins. The emptiness inside you, Kion, that I once tried to fill. It’s knowing that I cannot have you. Not the way I want.”

“Life is full of failure.”

“A belief you may come to regret.”

Anneli crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. I watched Senaria work with Essabeth on defensive moves, and said, “There is much that I regret, mage.”

“And you can do nothing about it,” she agreed, then added, “Don’t look so smug because two girls follow your instructions. Pretend if you must, fill your days with pointless training because I understand you. The demons you hide.”

“Jealous?”

An easy laugh rose in her throat. “You watch her, this girl, so full of life, joy. Magic. And you wonder…is she your salvation? The one to quell the fires that burn inside you? She’s happy, innocent.

Everything you run from but crave, and I know why you want her.

She’ll grant you oblivion, while you’re lost deep inside her, pounding the emptiness away.

But the relief will last an instant. You’ll hold her, taste her, cr ush her sweet innocence with your body—but then—you’ll remember that she’s human, soon dead and gone.

While you live on in your isolation, swearing to never want what you’ll never hold longer than a heartbeat. ”

Her gaze flicked toward me with the dark energy that had destroyed more than a corrupted town. “But Senaria’s life as a mage would be limitless. Powerful. I can shape her future.”

“She has a future.”

“With you?” Anneli scoffed. “Such a bleak passage of time, when you allow no love and find enemies wherever you go. You’ve blinded yourself to a future you’re afraid to see.

But the dragons are dying out, and you are fading in importance.

Nothing more than a tired remnant, reduced to training girls and slicing up minor demons. ”

My jaw flexed. “You know nothing of my life.”

“I know that Magda’s death still eats at you,” Anneli purred.

“You believe it’s your failure that drove so many to leave the Faded Lands, and you can’t make it right.

I know that if you fight an enemy and cannot kill him, you won’t stop fighting until he kills you, and you are committed to that outcome.

But you continue to hope your sacrifice will be enough for the dragons. ”

She turned and ran a comforting hand along my arm. “You wait for forgiveness, Kion,” she said softly, genuinely. “When it is beyond the dragons to forgive—and neither of those girls will ever become dragon lords when the dragons refuse to fight. Their lives will remain…human.”

“Your envy is showing,” I said.

“I speak the truth, and that pricks you.” Anneli settled back against the wall, her shoulder brushing mine.

“I have seen Senaria’s destiny, and if you insist upon this course, you’ll bring more danger to her than anyone she has ever known.

She is not equipped to handle the dragon energy, and you’ll end up destroying her. She cannot survive you.”

I glanced at Anelli. “But she can survive you?”

“I will not break her heart.”

“You would pull her into the dark.”

“A darkness you willingly embraced. You run from the wounds that won’t heal. You tell yourself you aren’t a slave to those dragons, but you can’t resist their endless demands. They have turned you into an abomination the humans hate, and I’ll be the fool who grieves while you burn in those flames.”

I stared at her. “Are we enemies, sorceress, or just disagreeable friends?”

Anneli Zayas pushed away from the wall and said, “If you’d invited me to dinner, I might have answered that question. The men have the gauntlet repaired. Let’s go have a look, see what men once did to please dragons.”

I motioned to the girls; they followed while I walked with the mage. We didn’t go far. Centuries ago, men wanting to prove themselves had to survive a challenge called the Nithe—the dragon—a set of obstacles designed to test intelligence and reflexes. Simple in design, but controlled by mage magic.

Steps led to a railed wooden stage. The first challenge was easy, but the Nithe offered more difficulties, and the farther a man went, the worse it got.

A rolling log threw the unwary onto the sand.

Then a series of platforms with gaps between forced the contestant to run and jump while dodging the random pendulums swinging back and forth.

The weighted pendulums mimicked a small dragon attacking, and if a contestant reached the last platform without falling, he had to face a new challenge.

Two rotating spindles. Blades and padded clubs swung around at differing heights, simulating armed fighting and required a man to anticipate, attack, and avoid.

The last challenge consisted of upright logs, set at various heights.

Each man, or woman, had to leap from log tip to log tip, working through the pattern without missing a step.

Greater distances and precarious heights made reaching the end a true test of strength and courage.

Few men made it through on the first try. Or the fifth try.

The men were already cheering as Fennor posed, announcing that he’d go first and test the repairs.

I rocked back on my heels, grinning as the brash dragon lord mounted the steps. Senaria had her arm linked through Essabeth’s, and Anneli’s soft laugh turned seductive as she moved closer to my shoulder.

Fennor danced across the spinning log, his feet skipping, his arms outstretched in an exaggerated show of balance.

He reached the first platform, made a little bow for the audience, then took a moment to study the swing of the pendulums. His first step across the gap to the second platform was relaxed.

He bent back, then skimmed around the pendulum as it swung past…

stepped…decided to play around for the audience.

I smirked as he stood on one leg with the other swinging upward, pretending to lose his balance. It would serve him right if he actually fell with that antic.

The audience agreed; jeers went up from the crowd.

Fennor jumped to the next square of wooden decking, stepped back to miss a pendulum, calculated, then raced over the next three platforms, taking the mighty leap to the last. He turned to face the spinning blades—padded clubs that either hit at knee height, or took off a man’s head if he wasn’t wary.

Fennor moved through the first set, ducking, jumping, spinning toward the second set when his foot actually slipped and the padded club knocked him over the edge.

He landed on the sand while cheers echoed—not for Fennor. The men were proud of their prowess in repairing the gauntlet, enough to trick a dragon lord.

“Well done,” Anneli shouted, “even though you’re out of shape.”

Fennor shouted something back, but I was watching Essabeth. She stood at the bottom of the steps, drawing in a deep breath. Then she climbed to the platform.

The amused chuckles and hoots had her scowling.