Page 6

My father gave me a quick, warm smile before stating briskly, “Captain Silva, please make your report.”

I stopped at the end of the table and stood at ease with my hands behind my back. Damon continued on and claimed the chair to my left. I quickly and without emotion detailed everything that had happened with the attack on the aerie above Hopetown, and the odd cloud that had turned out to be acidic.

My father scrubbed a hand across his unshaven features wearily. “This all just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t get why they would attack the drakkons,” Jarin said. “They’ve already proven to be basically ineffectual against the birds.”

“Perhaps the riders believe that, given the effectiveness of Bryn’s attacks on them so far, that our drakkons are very much the same as their birds,” Damon said. “That is, a flighted force we can use at will.”

“That’s more than possible,” my father said. “Vaya, get word out to Hopetown immediately—tell them we think an attack is imminent.”

Vaya rose and hastened down the room to the table holding multiple quill tablets.

“If there’s one bit of good news to be gleaned from that report,” Jarin said, “it’s that the effects of the cloud—and possibly their acidic shit weapons—can be neutralized by water.”

“The latter we were already aware of, but we need to develop a means of firing the water with far greater accuracy and distance than our current hoses are capable of,” I said. “We could certainly pump water onto the walls to protect the stone, but that doesn’t help anyone manning them if those things attack en masse.”

“Using air mages to create a shield of wind and rain should certainly take care of both their riders and any acid cloud their mages send our way,” Damon said.

“Yes,” I said, glancing at him. “But these bastards are brutal enough to sacrifice one attack force to ensure a secondary assault from a different direction is successful.”

“Air mages are a finite resource,” Vaya added. “And let’s face it, it’s not like Zephrine will send us some of theirs.”

“Indeed,” Damon said, in somewhat dark amusement. “Sharing is not a word that often enters my father’s vocabulary or indeed his thoughts.”

“Which is why I’ve set the engineers the task of designing a safe means of flooding the walls while protecting our soldiers,” my father said. “It’s also why we’re re-establishing watch stations on the peaks.”

My gaze snapped toward his. “I hope you placed them well away from the drakkons.”

“I thought you said they don’t eat humans?” Jarin said.

“They don’t. But if they feel threatened, they’ll certainly sweep you up and spit you out.”

“Charming.”

“It’s a more humane fate than we probably deserve, considering what we’ve done to them over the centuries,” Damon commented mildly. “Remember, it wasn’t only the so-called threat to human population that saw their near eradication, but also the value we placed on the ivory of their horns and claws.”

And in some of the wilder parts of Arleeon, that ivory was still a greatly sought after commodity for both medicine and jewelry.

Jarin grunted, though I wasn’t sure if it meant agreement or not. His expression was more annoyed than contrite, though I think its cause was more Damon’s gentle chastisement than any real disagreement with what was said.

“We’ve only reestablished two so far,” Rion said. “One at Brimstone’s Pass, and the other at Crooked Thumb.”

I nodded. Both were situated well away from the aerie’s entrances and the drakkons’ usual hunting grounds, and the Thumb also had an additional advantage—it overlooked the Eastern Sea and the sweep of mountains past the Beak, where the riders were establishing a series of look-out points. Keeping an eye on their movements was vital.

Of course, it’d be even better to get rid of the bastards, but to do that might well prompt a full-on assault we weren’t yet prepared for. We needed as much time as we could get for our earth and air mages to find a way of countering their weapons without draining so much of their own energy that they killed themselves.

“Anything else, Captain?” my father added.

I hesitated. “What news of Jakarra?”

What news of Garran, my cousin, and his heir? is what I really wanted to ask. And the flicker in his eyes suggested he was well aware of that.

“Nothing more than what is known to date. We’ve begun evacuating women and children from the Helvede caverns, using a newly created tunnel that exits at the closest point to Zergon.”

If Rudy—who was the only earth mage left on Jakarra—had created that tunnel in the short space of time since I’d seen him, he was far more powerful than he’d let on.

“Your mother,” he continued, “is helping to register and settle the first intake.”

No doubt hoping to get news of her sister, Glenda, who was Garran’s mother. “Was Hanna in the first intake?”

“No. She wished to remain on the island until news is had of Garran.”

While that was understandable, it was also very risky given she now had their infant son to worry about.

I stepped back, then hesitated yet again. “Could a message be sent to Hannity Gordan this evening, asking if she’s interested in becoming a drakkon rider? If she is, can you order her to meet Kele and me at the stables an hour after sunrise? Our new queen has decided Kele is to be her fire weapon, so Rua will need another rider.”

“New queen?” Vaya said as she returned. “We’ve more drakkons?”

“Kaia brought the Hopetown aerie back here for safety reasons,” my father replied before I could. “What response from Hopetown?”

“They’ve begun evacuations. Their earth mages spent the day hollowing out the hills surrounding the city and will continue to do so during the night. They should have multiple shelters done within two days.”

And if they’d started the shelters when they should have, they would have been ready to be used by now. “The earth mounds won’t stop the acid.”

“No,” my father replied. “But it should conceal their presence and, for the moment at least, the riders seem more intent on wiping out supply chains and any means we might have of a sea response than erasing entire populations.”

Tell that to the people of Eastmead , I wanted to say, but held it back. He was in truth partially right as, aside from the initial attack on the refugees in the Helvede caverns, they’d basically left them alone. And besides, he was my commander rather than my father right now, so I could not backchat.

“If there’s nothing else,” he added, “you’re dismissed. Go rest, Captain, before the morning’s tribulations begin anew.”

I nodded, saluted, and left.

Damon rose and followed me. Once we were back in the hall, I said, “I take it you’ll make the report to your father while I bathe?”

He nodded. “Gayl took the tablet so she could have a message relayed to her sons, so I’ll have to head across to her room.”

“We can just send someone around to grab it from?—”

“A move that would not be successful. Gayl can be... difficult.”

“You’re a prince of Zephrine and your father’s heir—relation or not, surely she could not ignore a direct order?”

He raised his eyebrow, amusement dancing through his lovely eyes. “And how often does my wife follow her own advice and order people about?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Well, rarely, but I’m not the heir, am I? For Túxn’s sake, husband, there is sex to be had, and time is a-wasting.”

He laughed, caught my cheeks lightly between his hands, and kissed me hard, in full sight of the guards standing at the door. I should have objected to the breach of protocol but didn’t. I wanted this man with a ferocity I’d never experienced with anyone else, and this kiss at least went some way to blunting its force.

And if I ignored the blooming ache deep within, I might actually believe that.

“Shall I order us a meal and a pot of shamoke on the way back?” he asked.

“Does the sun set in the sky every evening?”

He laughed again, then released me and motioned me forward again. Once we left the building, we clattered down the metal steps and ran through the rain to the palace. It, like most others within this main keep, was a squat and rather sinister-looking building, thanks mainly to the fact it was made of the same black stone as the mountain that soared above us.

The two vast and rather ornate metal doors that stood atop the stone steps were closed, but the right side opened as we approached, the guard obviously spotting us through the spy hole. I thanked him and continued on, footsteps echoing in the small but lofty entrance foyer. By day it was filled with light thanks to the heavily fortified light wells cut into the ceiling and the multitude of bright tapestries that adorned the stone walls, but at night, it was all shadows and flickering torchlight. I’d always loved nights here in the palace—loved the atmosphere and warmth the black stone seemed to exude once the sun went down. A grand stone staircase dominated the central space, sweeping up to the accommodation section—our private quarters to the right and guests to the left—but the ground floor held the grand hall, and to the left, the kitchens, buttery, and stores. Tucked behind the staircase was the private chapel where we’d been officially married.

Damon lightly touched my arm then, when I glanced at him, said, “I’ll head into the kitchens first, then go see my aunt and contact my father. That’ll give you privacy for a bath.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And what if I don’t want privacy?”

Heat and amusement rolled through his eyes, and a wave of desire hit me, thick and needy. “The little understanding I have gained of my wife tells me her need for shamoke will take precedence over any other need, no matter how fierce.”

I laughed, kissed him, then grabbed my pack and quiver from him and ran up the stairs. My suite was at the opposite end of the hall to my parents’, close to the thermae bathing facilities generally reserved for guests. It was large and bright, consisting of a bathing and dressing area, a sleeping platform big enough to party in, and a seating/eating area. Having spent well over ten years in military accommodation, many of them shared with five other soldiers, I’d certainly gained a new appreciation for the luxury of space and privacy in which I’d been raised.

Once I’d secured my sword, bow, and quiver, I hung the pack on the nearby coat hook, then ran a bath and stripped off, tossing my leathers and undergarments into the laundry chute to be washed. While the tub was filling, I grabbed a scented soapweed—the verum, because I knew Damon loved its intense, spicy aroma—and a couple of towels, placing them near the bath in readiness, then undid my plait and ran my fingers across my scalp. Small bits of grime fell around me like rain, though I wasn’t sure where a lot of it had come from, given I’d been on drakkon back a good percentage of the day.

I turned off the tap, stepped into the hot water, and began the long process of washing the grime and drakkon scent from my skin and hair. Once done, I dried myself, then donned a pretty robe—one that was basically sheer aside from a few discreetly placed panels. Something else Damon loved.

The food arrived before he did, so I poured myself a cup of shamoke and sat down, crossing my legs, then tugging the gown over them—a brief nod to the decorum I generally ignored.

He appeared ten minutes later, his expression less than pleased—which was something of a common occurrence whenever he’d been speaking to his father, I’d discovered.

“Problem?” I asked.

He stripped off his jacket and slung it over the top of the sofa, then poured himself a shamoke and sat down opposite.

“Not really.” His gaze scanned me appreciatively. “I do love what you’re almost wearing, but you didn’t have to make such an effort. Nakedness would have been fine.”

“Ah, but imagine the fun to be had slowly peeling away the silken layer to expose the goodness underneath.”

“Wife, I want you so bad I doubt I have the restraint to peel.”

“Then perhaps, husband, I should first peel away your layers before you get to mine.”

“Because that isn’t going to increase the intensity of my need at all, is it now?”

“Probably not, but it’ll nevertheless be fun.” I paused. While I was well aware of how little he wanted to talk about his father and their relationship, I also knew how important it was for ours that he did. Still, it was dangerous territory, given I might well destroy whatever harmony we’d developed if I kept pressing. Of course, it wasn’t part of my nature to just ignore it, either. “If your relationship with the man is so fraught, why not just walk away? You’ve already said he prefers Tayte over you, so why not step aside and let your brother take the throne? Or do you actually want the role?”

“I do not and, given the choice, would certainly walk from all of this. But as I have said, things are complicated.” He motioned to the food. “Let’s eat, before my appetites are spoiled by such a discussion.”

Annoyance slithered through me, but as my father was wont to say when confronted by seemingly insurmountable problems, Esan wasn’t built in a day. I would uncover the mystery Damon was hiding, no matter how long it took.

When the last of the shamoke had been drunk, I unfurled my legs and rose. His gaze skimmed my length and came up heated, but he didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to. His desire was a force that echoed through every bit of me.

I hitched up my gown and sat astride his legs, my knees either side of his thighs. A tremor ran through him, and he caught my hips, holding me still against him.

“I wouldn’t be moving too much over that particular area right now, because I might well lose it.”

I tsked. “And where is the man of legendary control and stamina I heard so much about before our wedding?”

“He never had a hope against the nubile force that is his wife.”

“I’ve been called many things over the years, but a nubile force is definitely a new one.” I caught the laces on his undershirt and started to undo them. “And not one many past lovers would agree with.”

“I, for one, am mighty glad for their lack of appreciation, because it has ensured you are and forever will be mine.”

The final lace came undone; I caught the bottom of his shirt and, motioning him to raise his arms, pulled it up and over his head. “That would suggest my lack of womanly assets wasn’t behind your resistance to meet me at the altar.”

“I do believe it was mentioned, but the man who decried the lack is a fool.” He slowly ran a finger down the outside of my thigh then back up the inside. “ I am not a fool.”

My breath hitched when his fingers brushed the top of my mound. A knowing smile touched his lips, but he didn’t say anything. He simply continued his agonizingly slow journey down the inside of my other thigh.

Two could play that game.

I slowly ran my hands down from his shoulder to his chest, paused briefly to play with his nipples. “Then why such a long delay?”

“Reasons I cannot explain right now.”

“That appears to be your go-to answer to every question right now.”

“It is also nothing but the truth.”

“And an incredibly frustrating truth it is too.”

I slowly slid my fingers down the sculpted magnificence of his abdomen until I reached the sharply defined V that led down to his groin.

“You’re playing with fire if you go any further,” he murmured lazily.

I undid the first fastening on his pants. “In case you haven’t noticed, husband, I enjoy playing with fire.”

“Then you will be aware that there are varying degrees of fire, some more satisfying than others.”

The second fastening came undone. The force of his erection was threatening to pop the third, but I didn’t immediately release it, instead running my fingers down his long, encased length.

“I, dearest husband, am of the opinion that all fires can be satisfying, whether they flame hard and fast or long and slow.”

His fingers moved up my left thigh again, but this time, he brushed past hair and found my clit. I shuddered, a deep moan of delight escaping my lips.

“And I,” he said, in that same lazily heated tone, “believe that for any fire to burn satisfactorily, the fuel must be fully primed.”

I laughed softly and popped the final fastening. His erection sprang free, gloriously thick and glistening with precum. The man really did want me so very badly. “Fires burn best when the fuel is dry, and I’m thinking that’s not the best analogy to be using here.”

“Ah, but is the fuel dry? I rather suspect it is not.”

And with that, he slipped down through my wetness and thrust inside. I gasped in pleasure, then leaned forward, claiming his lips, kissing him hard even as I rocked against his fingers, wanting his touch and yet needing far more.

He slid his free hand through my hair and deepened our kiss, all the while continuing his gentle stroking, causing all sorts of havoc to my breathing and heart rate. His thumb grazed my clit, and another gasp tore past my lips. I reared back, my hands on his shoulders, bracing myself as his stroking intensified. Then he caught one aching nipple between his lips and sucked hard; it was almost my undoing. Almost. As the low-down tremors began to take hold, I pulled away from his fingers, rose onto my knees to position myself above his erection, then thrust down on him, taking him in, all the way in. He was hung like a stallion, and it felt like he was spearing through the very heart of me. But it also felt so very perfect. Like I’d been specifically designed to sheathe this man, and only this man.

In the sheer and utter perfection of that fragile moment, neither of us moved. I stared into the glorious blue of his eyes, seeing the heat, the hunger, and perhaps even caring. But there was also power in those deeper depths, and shadows, and secrets, and it was the latter two that scared me.

They had the ability to destroy this perfection.

Something flickered through the blue—an emotion too fast to pin down—then he lightly ran a finger down my cheek and across my lips. I caught it, drawing it gently into my mouth, and he sucked in a sharp breath. The heat and hunger surged, erasing the shadows and the danger, and he began to move, not slowly, not gently, but fierce and hard, all control gone.

I moved with him, just as needy, just as desperate.

When release came, it was explosive, wrenching a cry from my lips as his body went rigid against mine and his seed exploded into me. I shuddered and shook, riding that wave until the very end, then slumped against him with a sigh.

“You must admit,” I said softly, trailing my fingers down his muscular right arm, “that there is something to be said about a fire that burns hard and fast.”

“Which is not to say long and slow is without its merits. I believe it is only fair that we test both statements before any real conclusion is made.”

“I would not be against such an exploration.” Especially when the man inside of me was already thickening for another round. Those who’d whispered of his legendary stamina and resilience had definitely understated fact, in my experience.

I rose and moved into the bathroom, quickly cleaning up while he fully stripped off and moved over to the sleeping platform. I joined him under the covers and, for the next couple of hours, we explored, touched, teased, ultimately proving that not only were slow fires as equally satisfying as fast but also that Damon wasn’t the only one with legendary stamina.

* * *

I woke just as the first strains of pre-dawn color were beginning to paint the bit of sky visible through the light tube above the bed. There was little sound to be heard, either within the palace or without, though the latter wasn’t really surprising given the thickness of the walls. Still, something had woken me, something that had unease stirring, and I wasn’t entirely sure what.

I carefully slid out of bed, then padded naked into the bathroom to use the facilities.

“Problem?” Damon said, voice rumbly and deep with sleep.

“Right now, only a full bladder.”

“Suggesting something other than a full bladder is worrying you.”

“It’s a niggle, nothing more.”

“Then I had better order us shamoke and breakfast, just in case that niggle becomes a full-blown problem.”

“It probably won’t, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“So says my drakkon-riding, sword-wielding wife.”

There remained a small part of me that still wanted to rage against the unfairness of our marriage even if it was becoming more and more obvious that we were not only compatible sexually but emotionally as well. “Neither of which she’ll be doing once she moves to Zephrine.”

Blankets rustled as he climbed out of bed. “What if she could?”

I frowned. “Could what?”

“Still wield a sword.”

Confusion stirred. “I can’t see your father allowing that, especially given he no doubt wants his bloodline secured and grandsons born.”

“Right now, I’m not worried about what he wants when it comes to our marriage. Honest answer—given the choice, what would you do?”

I finished my business, then moved over to the washing sink, quickly rinsing my hands before switching over to the hot water so I could clean up. “Aside from stay here? Continue scouting for as long as is feasible.”

“Then perhaps we could make that happen, given I, too, have no desire to vegetate within the red halls of Zephrine.”

“I can’t see your father allowing that, either.”

“Oh, you would be surprised what my father would and wouldn’t allow when it comes to me.”

It was once again said with an edge of bitterness and only served to sharpen my determination to uncover what the hell was going on. Maybe I needed to talk to Mom again. While her seeress abilities might be hit-and-miss, it was possible that if she used something personal of Damon’s, she might be able to more accurately pin down what was going on between father and son.

I walked into the dressing area to don clean undergarments, leathers, and boots, then strapped on my knife. It, like my sword and the arrowheads, was made of Ithican glass, but I tended not to wear it when I was astride Kaia, simply because its length made it decidedly ineffectual against the riders or their mounts.

Damon’s gaze scanned me as I came back out, and his eyebrows rose. “That niggling is obviously strengthening if you’ve come out dressed for war.”

“I do have several new riders to introduce to their drakkons, remember.” I sat on the sofa and slathered butter over a piece of fruit-and-nut bread from last night’s meal.

“You never don the knife when you patrol on Kaia. Besides, you’re not meeting Kele and the new rider until an hour after dawn.”

He walked past the sofa and headed for the bathroom. My gaze lingered a little longer than necessary on his taut butt, and a soft sigh escaped. The man really was magnificent.

“Yes, but by the time I have a good breakfast, it’ll be time to go. What are your plans for the day?”

“A not-so-subtle attempt to shift the conversation, but I shall play along for the moment.” He ran water into the washer basin and then moved across to grab soapweed and a towel. “I’ll be accompanying the cutters out to the Helvede caverns to help secure the evacuation there.”

Alarm cut through me. “That’s dangerous?—”

“No more so than you going out on drakkon back. Besides, my ability to shield others is a more useful gift in this circumstance than your fire.”

He speak truth , came Kaia’s thought. You ask about flame share?

No. Did you just wake up?

No. Ask.

You are a seriously bossy drakkon.

Am queen.

I snorted softly. “Kaia wishes me to ask you something.”

“Ask? Not demand?” He grabbed a fresh undershirt and pulled it on, the blue somehow deepening the color of his eyes. “Should I be worried?”

“No, although technically, it is a demand. She wants to know if there is any sort of spell that will allow the sharing of my witch fire abilities with her.”

He came out of the bathing area, tucking his undershirt into the waist of his pants. “Theoretically, yes. I believe they’re called competency transfers, and while they were done in the past, it’s a spell that’s not been performed for a very long time. I suspect there’s a very good reason for that. Why?”

A gentle knock on the door stopped me from answering. Damon walked over to unlock it, then ushered in the small woman carrying a large tray of food. She was followed by a man carrying a pot of steaming shamoke and fresh cups.

I thanked them both and, once they’d collected the remnants of last night’s meal and had left, said, “My flames have proven capable of bringing down the gilded riders and their mounts, but it’s restricted by my strength. If we could find a way to give fire to the drakkons, their size, bulk, and strength will prove a far more formidable weapon.”

He sat down opposite and poured us both a cup of shamoke. “Any sort of spell involving the transfer of powers?—”

“I don’t want to transfer. I want to share. We need both drakkon and rider to be flame armed. It’s the best defense against them swarming us.”

He slid the cup over to me, then grimaced. “Again, that’s theoretically possible, but any such merging might have greater consequences than the mere sharing of your fire skills.”

I lifted the lid on the pottage, filled a bowl with it, and handed it to him. “Like what?”

He nodded his thanks. “The sort of spell you’re talking about is basically a merging of beings. Of souls, almost. It could bind you to each other in ways we simply can’t understand.”

“If we can’t find a means of combating the gilded riders, that may well be a cost we will have to pay.”

“It’s not one I’m willing to pay. The risk to life is too great and I?—”

Don’t want to lose you . He didn’t add that. He didn’t even look at me, in fact. But it nevertheless skimmed through my mind, clear and fierce.

Dhrukita , an inner voice whispered.

That inner voice was obviously shamoke starved. Dhrukita was a tale told to little girls growing up and a belief that while not everyone would achieve happiness in their lifetimes, everyone did have a perfect partner. A destiny of heart and soul, if you will, that echoed down through every life, every rebirth. It was also a belief I’d never really subscribed to. My mother and father were perfectly matched in almost every way and loved each other dearly, but there was nothing magical about their match. Nothing that suggested a meeting or merging of minds, or even the ability to catch one another’s thoughts.

Although even if they could , it was probably nothing more than a bleed over from her strega abilities. It wasn’t unknown for those of us who could connect with animals to sometimes have it bleed over onto people. It might not have happened to me before this man, but that didn’t erase it from being a possibility.

I served up another bowl of pottage, then leaned back in the chair. “If war comes to this land, I will not hide in this palace and watch others fight, Damon. I’ll be in the thick of it. It’s what I was trained to do, and I will do it.”

“I’m well aware of that, and I will be by your side every step of the way.” He paused, a wry smile teasing his lips. “Well, at least when you’re on the ground rather than astride your drakkon.”

“We have a far better chance of winning if those drakkons have a means of protecting themselves.”

He studied me for a second, then nodded. “I’ll scribe Angola and see what can be found in the old libraries. No promises.”

Angola was the largest of the floating islands in the Black Claw Sea near Zephrine, and the place where he’d been taught to use his blood magic. “But you will tell me if they do find a spell?”

Something flickered through his bright eyes. Annoyance, and something else, something that seemed akin to regret. Which was a very odd emotion in the circumstances.

“Yes, I will tell you.”

“Thank you.”

The words barely left my lips when a siren rang out—two short blasts.

My pulse rate stuttered briefly, then leapt into overdrive.

Esan was under attack.