Page 10 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

Princess Serylla doesn’t seem to recognize me, which makes sense, I suppose. She and her mother did not often spend time together, so our troupe rarely performed for both of them. She did not usually attend royal parties, preferring to stay in the back halls with the servants. I always respected her for that, and for her reputation of treating everyone with the same sincere warmth, no matter what their rank or role.

Still, she and I have been in the same room several times, and the fact that she doesn’t know my face stings a little. She seems keen on helping everyone escape, though, and we spend hours trying to come up with a viable plan to return to the mainland.

The primary issue is that without the dragons, transportation to the coast is practically impossible. If there are any ships along the borders of the island, they are likely wrecked beyond repair. According to what one of the women heard from her dragon, any shipwrecks that end up on Ouroskelle are quickly looted, dismantled, and returned to the sea. The clan likes to keep their beaches clear of human detritus, so leaving the island by boat isn’t an option.

Our other escape plans include poisoning or trapping the dragons, neither of which is feasible when we’re always under guard and we have no weapons or tools to speak of.

Gweneth, a slim, dark-skinned woman with a streak of white in her black hair, suggests the most practical strategy—winning over the most soft-hearted dragons and inciting a rebellion against the two princes who lead the clan.

Serylla has been sitting on a rock, listening respectfully to the debate and occasionally contributing her thoughts; but at this juncture she rises. “There’s one problem with that plan. It would take time we don’t have.”

And then she tells the group of women what I’ve been reluctant to divulge, for fear it would start a panic—that the dragons’ ultimate goal is to transform us into their mates, the mothers of the next brood of hatchlings.

A few of the women seem to know about the plan already, but it’s clearly news to many of them, including Lady Falima, who looks furious. A couple of the other captives burst into tears at the very thought of being turned into dragons.

The rest of us debate a little longer, until Serylla declares, “Talking is getting us nowhere. We must choose. Those who wish to run, go now, while there’s only one of them watching us. Run to the beach—maybe there’s a swamped boat that’s still somewhat seaworthy. Run to the forest—maybe you can find a weapon. I’m not sure whether they need us to be present for the spell, or whether it will be cast over the whole island, but if you want to flee, do it. If you want to fight, think of a strategy. If you want to stay and try to convince your dragon to take you back to the mainland and set you free, use every charm, every persuasive argument.”

I appreciate that she wants everyone to make their own choice, but splitting us all up makes us weaker.

“It would be best if we worked together,” I say.

“But we can’t.” Serylla meets my gaze. “We don’t agree on the best course of action, and none of our schemes seem likely to succeed. For my part, I think I’ll run. Maybe if they can’t find me, they can’t include me in the spell.”

I had a few trysts with a sorcerer-in-training once, a few years ago, and I picked up a bit of magical knowledge from him—enough to know that the Princess is wrong. “Spells like that can be cast from a distance, targeted to a specific group of beings. Hiding won’t protect you from the change.”

“It’s better than nothing,” the Princess counters. “At least I won’t have to deal with the fucking Prince of Dragons anymore.”

Gweneth and several of the others decide to flee as well, but Lady Falima is not among them. She’s glaring at me as if I’m personally responsible for not telling her about the dragons’ plan.

I don’t like the idea of running wildly across a vast, unfamiliar island, especially not in the thin slippers I’ve been wearing since the dragon prince took me. Varex spoke of fenwolves, and from what I’ve gathered, something else on this island killed his mother. The younger prince is still my best chance of returning to my family, and I won’t jeopardize the tenuous hold I’ve gained over him by running away.

“I’m staying,” I tell the others. “But we’ll distract them for you, so you can slip past the wall. Maybe it will take them a while to notice you’re gone. Be careful, though. Varex has spoken of creatures that inhabit this island and come out at night—dangerous predators that occasionally bring down the dragons themselves.”

Serylla looks alarmed, but she doesn’t back down from her plan. I follow her gaze upward to the bronze dragon soaring overhead. He’s the one who’s been in charge of watching us more than any other dragon. I overheard one of the other dragons call him “Gosrik” and make some quip about how he didn’t accompany the others to war, how he’s useless for anything but guard duty. He has only landed in the courtyard a couple of times, and both times he seemed rather skittish—almost as if he’s afraid of us.

Gosrik’s primary role is to protect us from outside threats like the fenwolves, but what will he do if he’s forced to interact with us in a different way, to deal with an unexpected situation? If we’re lucky, he’ll panic.

“I know what to do,” I say. “They want us for breeding, right? Which means they want us healthy, uninjured. So if we start a fight, and make it vicious—” I slant my gaze over to Lady Falima.

Her mouth is set, her eyes blazing. She pulls all her blonde braids together and winds them up in a knot. “I will gladly help you make it look real.”

She’s been wanting to hit me for years, and truth be told, I deserve it. I won’t begrudge her a few good blows.

I step toward her, cracking my knuckles. Falima faces me, her arms rigid and fists curled, but she doesn’t strike. She carries more true nobility in her soul than Lord Neran ever had in his bloodline, and despite her long-standing anger, she can’t bring herself to attack me without provocation.

A strand of my hair has slipped out of my braid, and I twirl it around my finger, giving my hips a saucy tilt as I smirk at her. “Your husband always preferred my hair down.”

“Former husband,” she hisses.

“Did you know I fucked him a few nights ago?” I flash her a wicked smile. “He told me my cunt felt so much better than yours—”

With an angry cry, she lunges, and I let her strike me full in the face. Pain pounds through my jaw. My teeth cut the inside of my cheek on impact, and I spit out flecks of blood onto the dirt before launching myself at Lady Falima with a scream.

We grip each other’s arms, grappling, straining. Falima shoves me, then kicks my shin so hard I stumble. Before I can recover my balance she knocks me bodily to the ground, her weight on top of me, pinning me down. I grip her wrists to keep her from hitting me in the face or grabbing my throat.

We’re both panting, screaming, grunting, muscles taut, our bodies already coated with sweat and dirt. But after that first blow, the fight isn’t about us anymore. Nor is it about the girls who are sneaking through the barrier and racing into the forest. Nor is it about the bronze dragon who lands hastily in the courtyard, calling out to us first in Dragonish before switching to the Eventongue and ordering us to stop fighting.

None of that matters to Falima or to me.

She could bite me, but she doesn’t. I could reach up and stab at her eyes with my fingers, but I don’t. We were never each other’s true enemies. It was always the others—the lords and counts and captains, the males who thought they owned us, who considered it their right to take everything they wanted while we schemed and struggled to keep what we had.

Falima is crying, tears tracing darker valleys in the film of dust on her cheeks. My throat is swollen tight with the sobs I’m holding back.

I ram the heel of my hand beneath her jaw and apply pressure. She breaks my grip and pins me down, but I’m far more flexible, and with a kick and a twist I manage to flip us both over so I’m on top of her instead.

We have to keep fighting long enough to give the others a head start. If we stop too soon, Gosrik will realize several of us are missing.

I haul back for a blow, exaggerating the movement so Falima has time to shift aside and avoid it. I pound the dirt with my knuckles instead.

“Enough!” Gosrik bellows. “Stop this at once! You’ll injure each other!”

I exercise daily and I’m strong for my size, but Falima is tougher than I expected. I ease off her a little, and she takes the advantage, throwing me aside and scrambling to her feet. We circle each other, eyes locked.

Gosrik places a large clawed forepaw between us. “There is no cause for a quarrel.”

Ignoring him, I lunge at Falima again. She greets me with a punch straight to my breast, and I double over wheezing. Then I’m on the ground again, with her forearm across my throat.

“It’s enough,” Falima whispers, her dark eyes glittering with tears. “I’ll hold you like this a few more minutes, and then this ends, do you understand? They got out. It’s over.”

I nod slightly, pretending to struggle against her hold. “I’m sorry,” I gasp out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Neran should be sorry,” she replies viciously.

“Well…” I choke out a hoarse laugh. “He probably is now.”

“I doubt it.” She shakes her head. “He’s a slimy one. He’ll find a way to ingratiate himself to the King of Vohrain.”

“Fuck him.”

“We both fucked him, and we both regret it.” She leans back, removing the pressure from my throat. “Never again.”

“His dick looks like an old tree root,” I whisper. “Maybe that’s a recent development.”

“Oh no, it has always looked like that.” Falima laughs hoarsely and rises, extending a hand to help me up.

The bronze dragon stares at us, dumbfounded. “What was that all about?”

“My husband wanted to fuck her,” Falima replies.

“I fucked her husband even though I didn’t want to,” I add.

“You…” The dragon looks at Falima, then back to me. “And you… did what?”

“It’s a human thing,” Falima offers helpfully.

“I don’t understand humans at all. Not at all.” Gosrik backs away, eyeing us warily. “Are you going to fight again?”

“No, we’re done,” I tell him. “The matter is settled.”

“You both already have mates?”

“No,” we exclaim in unison. Then Falima adds, “Out of curiosity, would that matter? If one of us women had a husband—a mate—would she be taken home?”

“I’m not sure.” Gosrik retreats farther. “I would have to ask Prince Kyreagan. But I suspect the answer is no. In such a case, you would have to renounce your former life and embrace your new one here on Ouroskelle. In times of crisis, sacrifices must be made.”

He nods as if he’s pleased with himself for that speech, and he takes off, returning to his circular patrol overhead.

The other women approach Falima and me.

“He didn’t even notice that some of us are missing,” whispers one of them excitedly.

I don’t take my eyes off the dragon guard. “Wait for it.”

Gosrik circles a dozen more times before he descends again. “Weren’t there more of you before?”

Falima and I blink innocently at each other, then at him. “No.”

“I’m quite sure there were.” His head swivels on his long neck as he surveys the group, counting. When he comes up short, he heads into the cavern to see if any of us are hiding in there.

“Several of you are missing,” he declares upon exiting the cave. “What happened?”

None of us answer him, but he begins to prowl the perimeter of the barrier, sniffing. Within moments he identifies the breach and snuffles around it, muttering in Dragonish before growling, “Fuck,” in the Eventongue. He shifts several logs to close the gap, then mounts into the sky again and roars so loudly we all cower down, covering our ears.

Within moments, two other dragons arrive, and the trio briefly consult together before the newcomers fly off, presumably to hunt for those who escaped.

The women who stayed behind are beginning to regret their choice. I can feel their distress and their growing panic, so I begin assigning all the chores I can think of, from digging a new latrine pit to rearranging our stock of firewood. When a couple of the women drag their feet, Falima leads by example, throwing her strength into retying some loosened pallets while I help two of the women scrape the hides of the animals we slaughtered and stretch them on wooden frames to dry.

Hours pass. Every time the shadow of a cloud falls across the ground, my belly jumps and I look up, dreading and anticipating Varex’s return.

At last I head for the back of the cave to splash cool water on my arms and my face after the heat of the work. I lay my slippers aside and bathe my feet as well.

As I’m washing up, I hear an angry roar from the courtyard. “What do you mean she’s not here?”

I recognize the deep voice instantly. Kyreagan, the eldest dragon prince. He seemed intrigued by me earlier, but I suspect his show of preference had more to do with infuriating Serylla than actually wanting me for himself. The emotion thundering through his voice seems to confirm that. Behind his anger, there’s genuine concern for the Princess.

When I come to the mouth of the cave, Varex lifts his head and turns, as if he has caught my scent. He stalks toward me, head lowered, ears pinned back, a threatening rebuke in every line of his slender, scaly body. He sits down right in front of me, forepaws together and tail thrashing. I cross my arms and stare him down while Kyreagan chides Gosrik for his carelessness.

Then Kyreagan glances at me. “ She masterminded this,” he snarls.

“It could just as easily have been your woman who planned it,” Varex retorts.

Kyreagan doesn’t disagree, but he says, “Remove Jessiva from this enclosure, where she can’t cause any more trouble. Take her far from here, but remember what the enchantress said. When she transforms, she won’t know how to fly yet. She will need you there to teach her.”

“I heard,” Varex says sharply. “I was there. Fortunix and Ashvelon are already spreading the word that everyone must roost on the ground tonight. Don’t you think it a strange rule—”

“I think it strange that I am still here, talking to you, when Serylla is roaming the island unprotected.” Kyreagan roars at the cringing Gosrik, then leaps into the air and soars away.

“He’s so rude to everyone,” I say. “You shouldn’t let him speak to you like that.”

“His behavior is not the issue here,” Varex replies, his amber eyes fixed on mine.

“What do you mean?”

“You arranged this, didn’t you? I must confess I’m disappointed.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I vent a disbelieving laugh. “Did you expect we would all stay here quietly and not try to escape?”

“I expected you to understand that humans roaming defenseless and unprotected on this island is a stupid fucking idea.”

“That’s why your brother is so furious,” I say acidly. “He’s afraid you’ll lose some of your precious breeding machines.”

Varex rises and moves a step closer. His height and the purple heat flickering in his nostrils make my heart beat faster. “He’s furious because he loves the Princess. And she could die, because of you.”

It’s the first time he’s ever been truly angry with me. Much as I hate to admit it, his disapproval makes me doubt myself. “Serylla chose to run. I warned her and the others about the predators you mentioned—”

“You warned them, and yet, according to Gosrik, you created a distraction so they could leave without his notice.” Varex’s slender muzzle approaches my face, and his tongue flickers out to taste the bruised flesh of my jaw. “You have been damaged.”

“I’ll heal.”

“You’ll do it elsewhere. As my brother says, you are too dangerous to be left here with the others.”

I retreat a step, half-inclined to run from him, but he moves with snake-like speed, snatching my body in his front claws, whirling around, and pushing off with his strong back legs. He springs to the barrier and uses it for leverage to get airborne.

We fly low through the valley, over the forest. I spot four dragons, two of whom are holding recaptured women in their claws. Then Varex speeds through a pass between two mountains, angling his wings to carry us west, then south.

“Where are you taking me?” I shout.

“Does it matter?”

“I want to go home.”

“I considered taking you home,” he says. “But Kyreagan and I had a good conversation today, and a good flight together, in which he shared more of his heart. I will not endanger my relationship with him, nor will I undermine his authority before the clan. He is my blood, and though I care for you deeply, he must come first.”

Every word he says infuriates me, more so because I understand the bond of family and of blood, the responsibility that comes with those ties. But what angers and thrills me the most is a single phrase: I care for you deeply.

It’s what I wanted—to gain emotional and sexual leverage with him. I’ve achieved both, and yet he still won’t take me home. He is still just as steady and principled and upright as he has always been, willing to sacrifice his desires, my happiness, and everything else on the altar of his clan’s future and his brother’s will.

I can’t help admiring him for that, even though I wish I could usurp Kyreagan and the clan in Varex’s heart. I want to be the most important thing in his life… but only so I can use that position to get back to Elekstan. Nothing else matters.

Varex glides over a sharp ridge and dives down the cliffside toward the foaming water below. I manage not to scream, even though I’m terrified at the sharp descent. He pulls up just before we hit the water, then wheels around the cliff and darts into a seaside cave, his claws scrabbling against pebbles and shells.

Afternoon light pours into the cave, revealing that farther in, there are several shallow pools, stretches of flat, smooth stone, and clusters of crystals, both pink and purple. The crystals have an unusual luster, an inner glow that’s faintly visible even in the daytime. I suspect they shine even more brightly at night.

“This cave is part of a network that runs throughout the island,” Varex says. “Fenwolves cannot access it, nor are there any voratrice dens nearby.”

“Voratrice?”

“Underground monsters. Like the one that killed my mother.” He uncurls his claws so I can disengage myself from his grip.

“Your mother,” I repeat, watching him closely.

He chuffs and tosses his sleek black head. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t look at me with that scheming expression, like you’re going to use her death against me.”

“I wasn’t,” I protest. But I was. I would have, and he knew it. He knows exactly what I’m doing, how I’m trying to manipulate him, and yet he still confessed, I care for you deeply.

“I have something to take care of,” he says. “I will return soon. Do not attempt to leave this place. There is no way out except the ocean, and I doubt you are strong enough to swim the lengthy distance between the cave mouth and the nearest beach.”

Whirling away, he bounds out of the cave and disappears.

And now I have nothing. No shoes, no food to eat, no chores to do, no one to talk to… and I left my bag in Varex’s cave.

This new cave sits well above the water at low tide, though judging by the shells and sand at the entrance, I would guess that at high tide, the water comes a little way into the space.

I peer over the ledge, watching the ocean dash itself incessantly against the cliffside and fling sheets of spray across the cave mouth, sprinkling my bare legs with cool saltwater.

I find a spot to sit where the rocks and shells don’t poke my ass too sharply, and I watch the intermittent spray, basking in the afternoon warmth.

How long has it been since I’ve been alone like this? Not at night, but during the day? Alone, with no distractions, far from a city, far from everything. The usual guilt and anxiety gnaws at the back of my brain, but it’s distant, muted. My mind fills up with sunlight, with salt spray and bleached white shells, with the ongoing susurration of the sea, until I am calmer than I have any right to be, given my situation.

I am, strangely enough, at peace.