Page 23 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

The curtains are open.

The curtains are never open, not even on the sunniest of days. Every time I’ve tried to open a window, there’s always been someone suffering from a hangover who complains about the light hurting their eyes. But today, someone has pushed the curtains back.

The windows look out on a dingy alley, and at this time of day, not much light filters down to ground level—but there’s a faint evening glow, and the heat of the afternoon sun lingers in the air of the room.

Ethalie’s mother-in-law Scarla is in the kitchen area, scrubbing a pot. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her do such a thing.

She looks different. A little thinner, perhaps, but the biggest difference is the energy I perceive in the lines of her body—the posture of a woman with purpose.

“Back already, Lark?” she says, turning around.

We stare at each other.

“Well, fuck me,” she says slowly. “Thought you were dead.”

“I was taken by a dragon.”

“So we heard. One of the neighbors saw it happen.”

I survey the room, noting that despite its shabbiness, it’s tidy and reasonably clean. It’s been kept up the way I like it—except I haven’t been here to ensure it stays that way.

“What happened?” I ask her. “Where is everyone else?”

Scarla turns back to the sink and continues scrubbing the pot. “Lark is on an errand. Miri is napping. Ethalie is at work.”

“Work?” I exclaim. “What kind of work? And where are Loram and Bryon?”

“Gone.”

“Gone? Gone how?”

“Gone, like, gone ,” she says. “They went out looting the day of the invasion. Made Lark go along with them to this rich prick’s house, because they’d heard his lordship had fled and left plenty of booze and valuable goods behind. Turns out he was hiding in a back room with an explosive he’d rigged up. I guess he planned to take out any Vohrainians who came into his house. Instead he blew up himself and Bryon.”

A chill bursts over my skin. I can’t move, can’t fully process what she’s saying.

Scarla makes a raw sound in her throat and sniffs. “Loram pushed Lark out of the way, covered him with his own body. Best thing my useless son ever did, saving that boy. Lark dragged Loram out and pushed him back here in a wheelbarrow, but he was pretty far gone. Died the next day.”

Lark dragged him back here … My mind conjures the image of ten-year-old Lark trundling his injured father through the danger-riddled streets of the city during an enemy invasion.

“Is he alright?” I say faintly. “Lark… is he… He must be so…”

“He’s a tough kid, my grandson. Tougher than all of us.” Scarla gives me a brusque nod. “He’ll be alright. The coin he brought back that day saw us through. That, and the goods from that garden on the roof. And Ethalie’s pay.”

“Her pay?” I echo vaguely.

“She started working for one of Vohrain’s factories, but she’s got another job at a local inn now. Nothing fancy, but it’s work she can do. I’ve been minding the place and the children. There’s talk of schools being opened again. I’m thinking they should go.”

I drag a chair away from the table and sink limply onto it. Half-dazed, I reach into my bag and take out the coins I’ve kept safe, along with the necklaces Varex gave me. I spread the treasure on the table.

Scarla eyes it appraisingly. “Did well for yourself among the dragons, did you?”

“Better than I expected.”

She gives a snort of gruff admiration and sets the clean pot on the wooden counter.

A tsunami of emotion swells inside me, too much to manage at once. The one I’m most familiar with, anger, rises to the top.

“Tell me something, Scarla,” I say, low. “Why now? Why start doing your part now ? Not that I’m complaining but… maybe I am. After years of letting me carry all of you… why now?”

She sighs, wiping thick red hands on the apron she’s wearing. “Because you were gone. And then Bryon and Loram were gone. Everything was gone. I had two choices—end it, or grow a pair. And Ethalie couldn’t survive alone with those kids, so...” She shrugs.

It’s all the explanation I’m likely to get from her, though I know the truth goes deeper. She’d been living in a haze, occupying herself with liquor and food, spending her evenings gambling and guffawing with her son and Bryon, then drinking herself to sleep only to do it all over again. Their death and my disappearance was a forced awakening, a boulder catapulted into the center of her world, smashing everything she relied upon. And in the aftermath of the grief and destruction, she chose to get up , and to live. Not for her own sake, but for the sake of her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren.

I can’t help but admire her for that, even though I’m still angry she didn’t do it sooner.

Loram’s loss doesn’t affect me emotionally. I suppose my sister loved him once—after all, he contributed the sperm that produced my niece and nephew—but otherwise he was a non-entity in my life, one stone among many that weighed me down, a mouth that gobbled and drank up my money, an eager echo of Bryon’s persistent mockery.

My feelings about Bryon are more complicated. He was the poison in the wine, the viper in the nest, the one who instigated and enabled Scarla and Loram, the one who kept me and Ethalie under his control, even though I never liked to admit it. The war finally did what I could never do—purged him from our lives for good.

And yet… he was my brother. There were reasons for his behavior, years of childhood agony underlying the pain he dealt to others. Maybe that’s why I could never really hate him or excise him from my life. I endured many of the same things he endured. I have similar scars. But I didn’t let those old wounds make me cruel, or use them as excuses for being stagnant as a person.

I feel as if the universe—or the Bone-Builder, as the dragons would say—has let me off too easy. The two greatest obstacles to the children’s happiness and mine have been removed, and the way ahead feels more open and hopeful now. I shouldn’t feel that way—shouldn’t be so callous about death. But they did it to themselves, after all. Went to rob someone for his liquor and his money, and ended up dead. Risked Lark’s life along the way, too. He’s better off without those fuckers. They would have ruined him.

I refuse to feel guilty about my conflicting emotions. I refuse to give the sliver of the Mordvorren inside me another reason to hold on. The people I care about most are alive, and they’re doing better than I expected. That’s all that matters.

Maybe Scarla sees the relief on my face, despite my attempts to look stoic. She pulls out a chair and settles her large form onto it with a sigh.

“I wish they’d gotten their shit together, both of ’em, before this happened,” she says. “But I can see how we were all goin’ down together, and dragging those children into the muck with us. That won’t happen again. I ain’t sayin’ I’m going to be perfect—hell knows I did a shit job of parenting my boy—but I intend to do better by Lark and Miri. And I know Ethalie’s got the same goal. It’s a second chance we got here. A new start.”

Her fingers tap the table nervously for a few moments, and then she gets up to fill the kettle. “I’m building new habits. Making tea when I feel like gettin’ a drink.”

I don’t know why that pushes me over the edge, why it unlocks something inside me, but my relief and my grief suddenly gush out in a flood of tears. I bend over the table, my face buried in my arms, and I sob.

While I’m weeping, I feel the shadowy wisp of the Mordvorren let go of my mind and wash away with my tears. I cry harder then, for Varex, for myself, for all the pain everyone in this region has endured for so many months.

Scarla doesn’t comfort me or interfere. She lets me cry until I’ve gone from shoulder-shaking sobs of anger to tears of pure sorrow to faint hiccups of exhausted acceptance. Then she sets a mug of tea in front of me and sits down in her chair again, watching me calmly as I collect the mug with trembling fingers and take a sip.

We drink the tea together in silence for a while before she finally says, “I got to admit, I’m curious about those dragons.”

I tell Scarla the story of my time on Ouroskelle, and I tell it again to Lark, Miri, and Ethalie once we’re all together that night. Miri keeps herself glued to my side, and though Lark is too proud to do the same, he sits very close to me and glowers far less than usual.

In the course of my tale, I mention the mating season briefly, but I don’t speak any further about the sexual component of my relationship with Varex until after the children have gone to bed. At that point, Ethalie and Scarla press for additional details, and I confide in them. It’s a relief to be able to discuss those events, especially since I haven’t been around other humans much since Varex swallowed the storm.

In the quiet of the apartment, I tell my sister and Scarla what Varex did—how he saved me and everyone else on the island from impending starvation. I tell them about the hold the Mordvorren has on him, and how I’m afraid it will never let him go, how terrified I am that the sweet soul he used to be has changed forever, and things will never be the same between us.

Ethalie hugs me and Scarla offers grunts of commiseration. And then I turn the conversation back to them, back to the losses our family suffered and the aftermath of it all.

My sister has undergone changes, too. I’m glad to see that she has put on weight and looks physically stronger. Now that she isn’t submissively scurrying to fulfill every wish of her husband and her brother, she carries herself differently. Her head is higher, her eyes are brighter, and her voice isn’t quite as soft and cautious. She’s grieving both Bryon and Loram—or at least the best parts of them—but she isn’t broken. Far from it.

In my absence, she has proven herself stronger than I ever thought she could be. And I can’t help wondering if, in some ways, I was responsible for holding her back, too.

After Scarla is asleep, as I’m climbing into the bed I’ll share with Ethalie, she whispers, “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

“I am. Varex needs me.”

“The children need you too,” she says. “When we found out the dragon had taken you, it broke them. They love you, Jessiva.” She hesitates, then confesses, “Sometimes I think they love you more than they love me.”

“That’s not true. It’s just a different kind of love,” I tell her. “And I think their love for you will grow even stronger now.”

“Will you stay a while, though?” she asks. “After everything we’ve survived, it would bring us all comfort.”

I don’t answer immediately. But the next day I tear up an old red gown and fasten strips of it to the corner of the roof. When Hinarax arrives at sunset, I ask him to give Varex a message—that I’ll be back on Ouroskelle in two weeks’ time, and that I promise to come back earlier if he needs me urgently.

Maybe I should return to Varex at once. But he’s not on East Fang anymore; he’s back on Ouroskelle, with Kyreagan and the clan there to help him. I’m sure he went immediately to Kyreagan and told him about the Mordvorren. Kyreagan can support him as needed, and escort him back to the Twin Fangs if Varex becomes volatile or dangerous.

Maybe this time apart is exactly what Varex needs. He’s clearly not ready to talk to me about his past. Maybe he needs time to come to terms with it on his own so he can dispel the Mordvorren’s influence. At least that’s what I tell myself each night, when I lie in bed, missing him.

During the day, I’m more confident that I’ve made the right decision. I’m careful not to take over the routine they’ve established or usurp the authority of Scarla or my sister. I help out where I can, I read with the children, and I take my turn cooking meals. Thanks to a reputable jeweler I know from my days in the palace troupe, I manage to get a fair price for the necklaces, enough to get Ethalie and the others out of the smelly apartment.

Two weeks stretch into three as I help my little family find a new place to live in a city that is slowly rebuilding itself. It’s comforting to see dragons coming and going, flying to and from the palace.

A couple of times I spot Kyreagan soaring overhead, with Serylla on his back. The sight reassures me. If Varex wasn’t doing well, they wouldn’t be visiting Elekstan.

By the time the new apartment is ready for my family, I’ve already been on the mainland for nearly a month, and I plan to stay another few days to help them move their belongings and settle in. I send another message to Varex, and Hinarax promises to return with a reply from the prince.

But the days pass, and the bronze dragon does not visit again, nor does any word come from Varex.

We manage to get everything moved into the new place, which is spacious, clean, and fully paid for, thanks to Varex’s treasure. No one will be able to displace Ethalie and her children again, and there’s a city school around the corner where Miri and Lark will be able to attend classes. With the money I got from Lord Neran, I paid for their tuition for the next year.

Ethalie’s job at the inn is a steady one, and Scarla is taking on small jobs like laundry and mending as well.

I should be able breathe easier, knowing that I’ve done everything I can to help them and to set them up for a better future. But even though I’ve purged myself of the Mordvorren’s presence, a restless anxiety aches in my bones, an uncertain torment that grows worse the longer I have to go without seeing Varex or hearing from him.

Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe my absence is a relief. Maybe he prefers not to have me there, confusing him, challenging him, demanding that he dig into his tortured past.

Maybe something has happened to him since I left. Maybe he’s miserable and sick, rendered helpless by the effort of fighting the Mordvorren’s influence. Maybe it has already taken him over, and its evil has eradicated his love for me. Maybe I’ll never see him again, never touch his scales or his skin, never hear his deep chuckle or the whimpers he makes when I’m stroking his cock.

Maybe it’s over.

One bright afternoon, I return to the impoverished part of the city where we lived for so long, and I climb all those flights of stairs to the very top of the tenement building. With no one to see to its upkeep, the garden has deteriorated. I thought perhaps someone in the building might take it over and cultivate it for the good of all the residents, but that doesn’t appear to have happened.

I drag the bundle of red streamers out of the greenhouse where I stored them and tie them to the iron post at the corner of the building. The wind whips them out and they dance like long scarlet tentacles.

I sit on the flat, sun-soaked pavers of the roof and watch the streamers flutter and snap. If Hinarax doesn’t come today, I might go to the palace and try to find his lover, Meridian, one-time leader of the rebels. I need a dragon, any dragon. I’ll ride a fucking war balloon back to Ouroskelle if I have to.

Footsteps scuff against the stone, and I turn, alarm flaring in my chest. After all, it was on this very rooftop that I was nearly raped, before Varex saved me. I’ve come to realize that I’m more scared of men than dragons.

But there are no ruffians to be seen, only Lark. He sits down beside me, his bony knees tucked up to his chin and his skinny brown arms wrapped around them.

“Did you follow me here?” I ask him.

“Yes.” He gazes at the streamers, then at me. “You want to go back to the dragons.”

“To one particular dragon, yes.” I wince. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” He nods soberly. “You’re happier now. If the dragon prince makes you happy, you should be with him.”

When he puts it like that, it’s so simple. And it’s what Varex himself told me, back when everything felt unbearably complicated.

“I’ll visit as often as I can, I promise.”

“I know you will.” He looks up at me, and there’s a smile in his eyes even though it doesn’t reach his mouth. “You always keep your promises.”

“Look out for Miri and your mother,” I say. “And your grandmother,” I add as an afterthought.

“She doesn’t need anyone watching out for her,” he replies. “She’s tough.”

“Sometimes the tough ones are the trickiest,” I tell him. “They’re good at pretending they don’t need help, until finally they’re so hurt they can’t pretend anymore. You have to watch the tough people more closely. That way you can tell when they need you, before they know it themselves.”

He gives a contemplative nod. “That makes sense.”

The roof is swallowed up by sudden darkness, and both of us whirl around, crouched and ready to flee—two creatures who are far too used to being prey. But this time we’re not in danger, because I recognize the dragon who’s settling onto the rooftop, crushing garden beds under his gigantic claws. It’s the great black dragon, leader of the clan, prince of Ouroskelle. Kyreagan himself.

He glowers down at me from his immense height. “Jessiva.”

“Kyreagan,” I reply breathlessly. My interactions with Kyreagan have always been fraught with tension, but today I’m overjoyed to see him.

“Hinarax is off on an ‘adventure’ or some such nonsense, but he told me to look for this place, for this sign.” Kyreagan ducks his head toward the red streamers. “You will come with me now. My brother needs you.”