Page 11 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

Fortunix and I have been flying in silence ever since we left Ouroskelle early this morning.

It’s just as well… I’d rather not speak to him any more than I have to.

This mission isn’t one I wanted, but since I don’t have much choice in the matter, I want to get it over with as quickly as possible.

All I have to do is find the enchantress and bring her to Ouroskelle.

Kyreagan and Varex will take care of the rest.

Kyreagan’s only information about the enchantress came fourth-hand through Rothkuri.

The original source of the tale is the cousin of a Vohrainian soldier, one who immigrated to Elekstan decades ago and resides in the south.

He apparently saw Thelise perform a transformation at an inn near the coast a couple years ago.

He didn’t speak to the enchantress at the time, but he heard rumors that she had settled in a town called Devil’s Kiss and caused some trouble there.

The kind of trouble wasn’t specified, nor are we sure that she’s still at that location .

In the course of our alliance with Vohrain, I’ve seen a few different maps of Elekstan.

While our focus was mainly the northern and central regions, I remember noticing the town called Devil’s Kiss, firstly because it is so close to Elekstan’s border with the Southern Kingdoms, and secondly because I thought the name was interesting.

Devil’s Kiss.

I vaguely remember learning something of human religion from one of the Elders when I was young.

Some groups of humans have legends of a benevolent god and a malicious devil.

Since the devil is supposed to be wicked, I’m not sure why a town would be named after him, or why the name would be paired with a kiss, a human gesture of affection—but there’s something audacious about the combination, something transgressive.

When I spot the pale dunes and white stone buildings of our destination, a thrill of anticipation runs through my belly.

“Do you plan to land in the center of town and roar for the enchantress?” Fortunix says dryly.

I growl, offended that he thinks I’ve given so little thought to the mission. “Of course not. She won’t be living with the others. We’ll look for her on the outskirts of the village.”

“What makes you think she’s not living in town?”

“She isn’t like them. Her powers set her apart, whether she wants it that way or not. They will either crowd her with demands, which will make her withdraw of her own accord, or they will isolate her with rejection.”

Fortunix huffs a hot breath. “What do you know of rejection? You have been accepted and beloved since you hatched.”

It’s a cruel simplification, given what he knows of my past. No male dragon ever stepped forward and declared himself as my father. And then there was the tragedy of my mother …

Fortunix doesn’t seem to want an answer, so I don’t reply.

I don’t bother explaining that one can be a valued part of a group and yet still feel alone and sorrowful for no apparent reason.

He’s a hundred and twenty-five. He should know that already, and if he doesn’t, it’s not my place to enlighten him. I am only a Prime, not an Elder.

I bank upward, gaining altitude so I can survey the area around the town. There are a number of outlying farms and homes, including a mill that stands by an inlet. I peer at each building, noting the presence of livestock, children, wagons, and workers.

One cottage stands apart from the settlement, set by itself among the dunes.

There is no garden, and no children or farmhands are visible.

The only animal I see is a single horse grazing in a pasture.

There’s a small stable near the cottage, and larger stable at the edge of the property, by the back fence.

Judging by what I know of human buildings, the big stable has fallen into disrepair. If this place was ever a ranch or a farm, that purpose has long since been abandoned. It’s a solitary place, just right for a disgraced sorceress.

I sweep through the bright quiet of the morning air, finding a new angle from which I can better view the front of the cottage.

On a stone bench sits a slender figure, clad in fluttering purple garments that reveal most of her golden-brown skin. The breeze off the ocean tosses her long brown hair. She is alone, motionless, staring at the sea.

I feel her loneliness in my very soul. And yet there is a peacefulness about the scene, too—one I am loath to disturb.

I am about to crash into this woman’s life and ruin it, like I ruined the life of the farm girl by the well.

“There’s the little witch,” growls Fortunix. “There’s the spawn of the filth who killed our females. I’d like to end her right now. ”

“That is not our mission.”

“I’m well aware.”

“She will not appreciate being snatched from her home,” I mutter. “She may try to work a spell on us.”

“We must give her no time to do so,” says Fortunix. “Spellwork requires thought and preparation.”

“True, but as you know, sorcerers can prepare defensive and offensive spells ahead of time, then cast them in the heat of battle,” I remind him. “She may have such things ready in case of an intrusion.”

He snorts. “If you’re afraid, I’ll go fetch her.”

“I am not afraid. But I don’t believe we should simply grab her without warning.

We need to speak with her, to make sure we have the right woman.

She’ll need time to pack her things and to collect supplies for her spellwork, or she won’t be able to perform the magic we require.

Perhaps we should offer her something in exchange for her cooperation. ”

“You want to bribe her?”

“I want to pay her.”

“With what? Treasures from the clan hoard? Kyreagan did not authorize that.”

“I’ll compensate her from my personal hoard,” I reply.

Fortunix chuckles gruffly, almost mockingly. “I say we grab her first, then talk to her once she’s in our power. Humans are treacherous, Ashvelon. Never trust them. Never give them the chance to harm you, or they will.”

Even as he says it, the woman in purple rises, stretching her arms lazily above her head. Then she picks up a cup from the bench.

“She’s moving,” I exclaim. “Did she see us?”

“I don’t think so.” He watches her open the gate and enter the pasture. “It looks as if she’s heading toward the horse. Open ground, no cover. Now would be the perfect time to snatch her. ”

“I think we should land over there, by that dune,” I tell him. “That way our shadows won’t give us away when we get closer.”

“You want to approach her on the ground ?” exclaims Fortunix. “No wonder Kyreagan sent me along for this mission. Your strategic instincts leave something to be desired.”

My jaws tighten. I remind myself, once again, that he is an Elder. I must respect him, no matter how many times he disrespects me.

The woman is crossing the pasture, heading for the larger of the two stables.

Her pace is slow, unhurried, and she sways a little as she sips from her cup.

I’ve seen movements like that among humans who have partaken of too much wine or rum.

Their judgment, balance, and reactions are usually affected by the liquid, much like mine are affected by alethia.

I’ve also learned that among humans, it’s frowned upon to drink too much early in the day.

By nightfall, it becomes more acceptable.

Clearly the enchantress doesn’t care about drinking in the daylight—if indeed this woman is the enchantress.

She’s nearing the stable.

“This is our chance,” I tell Fortunix. “When she enters that building, we descend. The doors appear large enough for a dragon to enter with wings folded. We’ll block the entrance, trap her in there, and speak to her.”

“As you say.” Fortunix gives his great wings a lazy flap to stay aloft.

The woman opens first one of the stable’s great doors, then the other. Judging by her movements, the doors seem quite heavy. I’m not sure why she’s opening both of them when she could easily enter through one. Perhaps she wants the morning air to flow into the building.

The moment she disappears inside, I dive.

Fortunix follows me, but he drops faster, like a giant gray boulder from the sky. He lands with terrible precision and ponderous weight, slamming down onto the back of the lone horse in the pasture.

The animal is crushed instantly. Dead in a moment.

Fortunix steps off the corpse and gobbles it up, tossing his head as he swallows the animal whole. Most dragons wouldn’t be able to accomplish such a feat, but thanks to the horse’s crushed bones and the size of his maw, he manages it.

Dragons often hunt animals smaller than us, but we only kill for sustenance.

The destruction of the horse seems unnecessarily cruel, and I hiss savagely at Fortunix when I land near him.

I suspect he destroyed the animal because he thought it might whinny and give away our presence, but surely the thud of his landing has already done that.

Swiftly I move into the entrance of the stable, blocking the enchantress’s way out. My head and neck slither forward into the space. When I don’t see the woman anywhere, I move inside.

Where the fuck did she go?

She’s in here. I can smell her. She smells like jasmine and sunlight, like gold and honey. In the back of my primal, predator’s brain, I wonder what the flavor of her skin might be. Judging by her scent, she’s delicious.

Fortunix enters the doorway behind me, his bulk blocking most of the light. Dragons have differing levels of night vision, and mine happens to be excellent, but sometimes it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to a blend of light and shadow within a cave, and it’s the same in a building like this one.

It strikes me that this is my first time entering a building. The war conferences took place outside or within large tents. I’ve never crawled inside a wooden structure like this before. It feels rather confining.

Like a trap.