A Shade of Dragon 2 (6 page)

W
hen I awoke at daybreak
, my body had stiffened into a state of extreme vulnerability, but I supposed I should have expected that. During our sleep, our temperature naturally dropped, and we became susceptible to the cold.

Michelle was tangled around me, fast asleep. It was obvious that she was used to long and languid rests, while my body typically maintained a sunrise-to-sunset schedule.

I cleared my throat. I would not be able to rise with her atop me. It was questionable whether I would be able to rise at all.

“Michelle,” I addressed her firmly. “Michelle, wake up.”

In response, Michelle shifted slowly, luxuriating in the motion, and wrapped her arms tighter around me. I grimaced.

“Morning, Daddy,” she purred.

“Don’t call me that, first of all.” Augh. “Second of all, I need you to help me get up. I seem to have stiffened in my sleep.”

Michelle giggled. My grimace deepened.

“Could we be adults about this, please?” I requested acidly. “We must check the weather outside. If the snow is not falling too heavily, and has not become too deep, we can make movements toward the castle again… even in the sunlight.”

“Oh?” Michelle extracted herself from me, propping up onto an elbow. I was jealous of how supple her own muscles appeared to be, in spite of the cold. Although her body temperature was much lower, the cold also damaged her much less—or so it would seem. “Because the last time I checked, you were still the most wanted prince in this village.” Her eyes trailed over me. “I already know you’re the most wanted prince in this bed.”

Dammit. We were clearly going to need to discuss that kiss at length before things could return to normal… not that any of this had been normal. Did she not consider the possibility of context playing a role? Circumstance? That perhaps last night’s kiss hadn’t been about her as much as it had been about me?

Not considering herself the central axis in all human motivations was not one of the lady’s strong points.

When one became invested in the heart of a dense girl, perhaps they deserved the repetitive conversations about “us.”

“Look… Michelle…” I took a deep breath and forged ahead. The way she was stroking my chest made it quite clear that this was not avoidable. “About last night.”

At the mere phrase, the woman recoiled.

“I knew it!” she wailed, leaping off of the bed. At least that would give me the space to slowly work my muscles back into order. It required several minutes of gentle, then deeper, massage, followed by an intense set of stretches. “So many rebound red flags, but do I ever listen, nooo,” Michelle berated herself, scrambling out from beneath the bearskin mantle we had shared. She was still wearing no shirt—it was after she had peeled it off that I’d recoiled, and informed her that the men of fire culture did not move with the speed so oft associated with the element.

“It has naught to do with you,” I reassured her. At least, I thought I was reassuring her.

“Yes, we have that one, too,” she snapped at me, scrambling into her shirt. “It’s called ‘it’s not me, it’s you’!”

“Michelle, please,” I pleaded, wincing as I forced myself into the upright position. “Don’t take this so personally. This is a very difficult time—”

“And you really need to find yourself?” she shrilled, whirling and storming from the room. The woman had no stealth in her nature whatsoever. It was as if she had forgotten entirely that we were in hostile territory.

I
t was
after I sat up and performed my morning stretches that I advanced onto the sales floor again and found that the windows showed a still porcelain blanket laid over everything. The snow, mercifully, had abated.

And the shop was empty.

“Gods damn it!” I cried, scouring the crowded racks of clothing in the hopes that Michelle was there, engrossed in some threadbare shawl that she could call “adorable.” But she wasn’t there. I didn’t see her anywhere. Gods…

I had infuriated the unreasonable woman and sent her storming off into unfriendly territory. Who knew what might become of her? She was, after all, so hot-headed and proud. It would be easy for someone like that to find trouble and dive into it.

My sweating palm raked through my hair. Michelle was gone; I would need to accept that. Now I was alone. It was only me… and my satchel with a few belongings. Some pelts of fur, jars of preserved meals, and a few light blades. The magical mirror and the fantastical treasures of the Oracle, gifts in exchange for my brief trial companionship with Michelle. The love letter: enchanted papyrus which sent messages only to loved ones. The skeleton key, willful and psychic. It would only unlock the doors which destiny had not sealed. And finally, the poisonous bottle. It did not have poison in it. It had nothing in it. But any liquid with which it was filled would become some gradient of death.

I would need to at least look for Michelle. I could not merely assume the worst. I would need to scan the perimeter, no matter how dangerous it was, because it was my fault that she was here at all. I had delved into her soul and hypnotized her with a false memory, convincing her to come with me to The Hearthlands. She had not made the decision to come, though she had made the decision to stay here. Even still—it was not her fault. She was only a human girl. She had lived in a world where she was invincible. To be here was such a shock to her paradigm, it could lead her to her death.

And I could not return to the shelter—much less the portal to Earth—with the body of an innocent young woman. A young woman I had convinced to come just to ensure the aid of the Oracle. No; it wasn’t fair. I would need to find her and take her back to her home alive, no matter what she—

The front door blew open and I whirled, sword drawn.

Michelle stood in the doorway, amused and otherwise unaffected. She entered the shop and secured the door, then glanced over her shoulder at me.

She had changed clothes. Gone was the stole of fox fur which had once adorned her shoulders, replaced by the low brim of a thermal hat, one tattered shawl and a patchwork scarf over her mouth and nose. A thick sweater disguised her nubile figure, and corded slacks gave her an almost masculine lack of curvature.

“Dear gods, Michelle,” I sighed. I couldn’t disguise the vast relief which swallowed me entirely. “You’re alive. You’re still here.”

“Uh, I think I know a thing or two about being incognito,” she replied, whipping the hat off of her head and shaking out her dark curls. “I have seen Never Been Kissed.”

“I apologize,” I said. “I did not realize your people had films regarding the elements of warfare.”

“It’s basically the backbone of the rom-com genre.” Michelle unraveled the patchwork scarf next. “And in spite of how insufferable I found you to be this morning, I’m going to go ahead and share some excellent news with you.” Her eyes sparkled, and although she tried to hide her genuine pleasure with herself, she could not. It bubbled over into a smile, and she had to clamp her lips together to suppress it. “I found a hidden entrance to the palace!”

“Really?” Had she discovered the rose bramble door?

Amazing.

No one had even seen that door in over fifty years.

“Yeah, it was crazy, it was just there,” Michelle blathered on excitedly.

The fire roses had once hidden that point of entry to all but the most proficient fire-wielding dragons. They were poisonous to ice dragons, and would burst into flame at a single touch. The seeds had been planted immediately following the last war. None had even laid eyes upon that door in my lifetime. But Michelle had…

“But it’s totally locked,” Michelle finished. “Theon? Are you even listening?”

“Yes,” I assured her, shaking my head. “You found the fire rose door. It was hidden behind a thicket of fire roses for all of my life, in fact. I myself have never seen that door.”

“Well, it was pretty awesome. But again, it is locked.”

What if that door, viewed for the first time by this woman, Michelle—the very door planted after the last war, as a symbol of our enduring right to the castle and natural victory over the ice people—is a sign?

Is Michelle the natural choice for queen, given future victory?

The thought left my throat raw. It was just too soon to consider that. To consider anything. I’d never opened up my heart to a woman as I had to Nell. I’d never chosen someone… and to be betrayed by the very one I chose? What did that mean?

There was only one way to find out.

The skeleton key.

A thoughtful key,
Pythia had informed me.
You may unlock any door which the key deems fit. This key was forged by the hands of fate, as was I.

If I could unlock the fire rose door to reach Nell, to reclaim her from the ice people… would that not also be a sign? A sign that my mission was pure?

“All right,” I told Michelle, going to rifle through the hanging racks of peasant clothing. I selected for myself a low-brimmed cap, a black knit scarf, and a frayed jacket stuffed with wool. The luxurious bearskin mantle would need to stay behind, lamentably. Lifting out the skeleton key from within my leather satchel, I said, “This will open the door… if it is the will of the gods that we enter the castle this morning.”

I left the mirror behind in the clothing shop, telling myself it was because it was too heavy and unwieldy, and we might need to do battle… though I knew it was not the whole reason.

T
he palace lay
near the shops of the city; now that day had risen in the marketplace, ice dragons had entered the foray to “shop,” although it resembled looting and pillaging. Luckily, the ice people had always been self-centered and materialistic. Unlike the fire dragons, they cared nothing for their fellow man, and so they allowed two peasants to pass without so much as a glare.

Within a block or two, using only alleyways as passages, we had woven through the crowd and come to the castle itself. The main entrance was, naturally, heavily guarded. But there were too many potential points of entry to install a guard at every terrace, every lattice. At least, with the depleted ice population, it was not possible.

Though the staff of the fire dragon palace must have also lacked in some respects, or else the ice people wouldn’t even be here.

The palace was composed of a pearlescent white stone, built in large, square bricks, cemented with mortar. Round towers protruded from its sides, and verandas trimmed the space between towers. Now that I peered at the castle as a hopeful fugitive seeking entry, I realized how laughably simple it was. There were a hundred places to slip through.

Along the western wall was a tower which housed our library and an arsenal. Once a thick bramble of blood-red roses as thick as my fist had sprouted along the rock’s path like a swath of blood. Every now and then, a hummingbird or a bumblebee would land on one of the incandescent rose petals, and the entire thing would burst into flames. Of course, fire children were much more capable of withstanding fire than any other variety of child, and so we’d often triggered them for sheer fun. If you got caught by one, it was no worse than an electrical shock… for us. For an ice dragon, you might lose the use of that limb for a few weeks. It was emblematic, mostly; emblematic of the fire dragon lives lost in the last war, and how it would never happen again.

The western tower now stood barren, with the exception of the brittle, skeletal shawl it still wore: a shawl of twisted dry veins where fiery roses used to glow, just begging to be touched, now destroyed in the snow. And there, heavy and rusted shut, was the secret door. An entrance into the castle which could only be used by fire dragons—until now. Until the death of the roses.

Although the likelihood that we would be spotted by a guard was low, as the castle was huge and we would not be standing at this wall for long, it was still not safe to be here. At any moment, someone might have yelled, “Intruders!”

Intruder. Into the only home I had ever known.

I extracted the skeleton key and closed my eyes, willing the fates to bless my mission. To bless the throne of the fire kingdom, to bless the safe return of my father and brother, and to bless even Penelope, however unknown her heart. Bless her still.

I inserted the key and twisted.

No click came. No tumblers fell into place. No bolt slid.

The thoughtful key, forged by the fates themselves, had denied me entrance to the castle.

F
eeling numb
, I pulled the key from its lock and stared at it as if I had never seen a key before.

“What is it?” Michelle asked off to my side. Her voice brought me back to the present.

“The key,” I replied, my voice unusually low. “It should have opened this door. But it—didn’t.”

I glanced over to find Michelle grimacing at me, a dark heat glowing in her eyes. “Well, don’t just stare at it,” she snapped. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I hated to admit that the woman had excellent instincts, and when she whirled and stomped through the tundra, it was me who followed her.

B
ack at the shops
, we settled in an alleyway to regroup. Ice dragons milled past us, none the wiser for our disguises. My face soured as my eyes followed an ice dragon female, unquestionably beautiful—and yet somehow hideous to me—sauntering through the destroyed storefront of a butcher shop. She had a length of boar sausage wrapped around her forearm, one of the links inflating her cheek and causing her lips to gleam with grease.

At least Gordon’s Instruments could not be stolen and strummed by their treacherous hands anymore.

“So, what else do you have in that magic sack of yours?” Michelle asked, her voice chilly. I should not have returned her kiss that night. But telling her such things would do nothing. She’d proven that already.

“Two extra swords… a length of rope, not long enough to reach the parapets… Ouch! One throwing star… some canned vegetables… youthberries,” I said, digging through the mason jars which lined the bottom of the satchel… until I came to the final glass jar: the empty bottle of poison with a scroll of papyrus tucked within. “There is a love letter.” I took the bottle from the satchel and examined it. “It can be written to anyone whom you love.” I slid the paper from the satchel and gazed upon it more closely. Was it useless now? Was the only possible recipient of its messages—Penelope O’Hara—in love with someone else? Would she, even if I breached the castle walls, demand to stay? “And the poison bottle,” I noted, as I continued to stare at the love letter. What would I write her—

“Poison bottle?” Michelle snatched the glass cylinder from my lap. “There’s nothing in this.”

“Whatever liquid fills it becomes poisonous. It’s quite dangerous, I was told. It could put a man to sleep for a few hours, or it could kill him instantly.”

“Oooh.” Michelle held it at a distance, examining it with renewed attention. “All right. Let’s try this one.”

“Just… try it?” She spoke so casually of murder. But then, had I not murdered a man—an ice dragon, but a man—just the other night? And when I had hesitated to murder another, had I not regretted it and seen the death of an old friend in recompense? Perhaps it would behoove a leader to react more like Michelle.

“It’s the only way to know,” she said, scooping some snow into the bottle and then handing it to me. “Here. Melt this.”

I glowered at her, but tucked the frigid bottle against my side nonetheless, and within a minute, it was sloshing with water at my slightest movement.

“Oh, that is funny,” Michelle commented, gesturing down to my feet. “Your body heat is so intense, it melts the snow around you if you stand still long enough.”

I glanced down, disbelieving, and sure enough found myself surrounded by a ring of brown and sodden grass.

I had never been mired in a snowfall like this. It would be a dead giveaway as to my position. All an ice dragon would need to do would be to look out a western window which peered onto the fire rose vine, and they would see the snow pressed to the side…

I pulled the poison bottle from within my shirt and saw it was now burbling with gas bubbles.

I could relate.

Even the fates seemed resigned to my downfall.

“Um, bro, you need to get a grip on your feelings. Nell is just a bitch, all right? So she cheated on you. Everybody cheats. Get that look off your face and let’s get into that damn castle already.” Apparently sensing my melancholy, Michelle snatched the poison bottle from my hand and sauntered out of the alleyway, passing the demolished storefronts and weaving her way toward the front gates.

It was madness, but I wasn’t surprised. Michelle was obviously insane. She would make a great dictator.

I followed her, but when she reached the guard staff itself, I shrank back behind some barrels of ale lined up outside one of the fire dragon breweries. The barrels were untouched, as our brand of ale could very well put an ice dragon into the hospital, gods be willing.

Yet lately it seemed that the gods were definitely not willing…

I watched Michelle pass the bottle to the first of three guards, praying that he would not clutch his throat and fall immediately. I imagined the guards springing away from Michelle, drawing their weapons, and blasting her with knives of ice. But instead the guard who drank from the bottle burst out laughing and then leaned closer to Michelle, clearly flirtatious. I was not made jealous by this. I was, however, jealous of how the gods seemed to favor this mortal woman in every situation she undertook. How was her luck so strong?

Another guard shoved the first and demanded that he relinquish the bottle, according to his body language. The first guard gave up the bottle, and the second and the third both drank deeply. The third offered the bottle of poison back to Michelle, but she raised her hands in the air and laughed. It was while she was laughing that the first guard collapsed.

The second and third guards drew their weapons. I moved forward, certain that this would end in bloodshed. Our cover had been blown.

But then, as quickly as they had taken the poison, the second and third guards also dropped to their knees and crumpled into the fetal position, leaving only Michelle still standing, one hand braced on her hip. Even when they had drawn their weapons, she had remained impervious.

I could see why the gods would favor her. I really could.

I left the ring of melted snow and dead grass to join Michelle at the front gate.

She turned to face me and smirked.

“Are they dead?” I asked as soon as I reached her.

“Who cares? Why don’t you give me a tour of our new castle, stud?” She furnished me with a wink and stepped over one of the guards to enter the sweeping foyer. I stared after her in disbelief. She hadn’t even considered what might become of us if the guards were to awaken in a matter of minutes with only a mild headache.

I stooped down and checked their pulses. All three were dead.

Grimacing, I stood and lunged after Michelle, who had strutted across the open marble floor of the foyer as if she really did own the place already. “We need to get out of sight,” I reminded her, wincing at the echo of my voice. “Come on.”

Off to either side of us were wide, carpeted stairwells, and I pulled her along the left one, which would lead to the royal family wing. If Nell was on the third floor, that would make the family wing a likely target to check first. If Lethe Eraeus had, for some reason, given her a bedroom, it was almost certain that bedroom would have been in the family wing. If it was in the chambers of the help, it would have been on the first floor.

“Okay, I’m going to go ahead and say it, this place is nice,” Michelle said as we rounded the second floor. Along the wall hung artifacts of victory the Aena dynasty had boasted over the years: the armor of soldiers, tapestries given to our family by other noble creatures, paintings of great leaders and advisors come and gone. And Michelle called it “nice.” But, coming from Michelle Ballinger of the Boston Ballingers, I had a sinking feeling that “nice” was about as full-hearted and genuine as her praise ever got.

We landed on the third floor, and I moved swiftly from door to door, stooping to gaze through every keyhole. Many of the rooms were empty. When I reached the master bedroom, however—the room my father and mother had shared my entire life—I heard the muffled back-and-forth of voices even before placing my ear to the door.

Inside were two ice dragons, and I recognized them both immediately. One of them was the son of beheaded Bram Eraeus—the insurgent leader of the ice people, Vulott Eraeus. I had never met the man before, but my father had spoken of him on occasion, comparing him to a starving white wolf. Vicious. Desperate. Cold. The other “man” in the room was his son Lethe… the would-be prince. Of course, I recognized him from my own magical mirror… the same mirror in which I had witnessed him passionately kiss my beloved.

Their conversation was heated.

“—give up on the past several decades of my life?” Vulott demanded. “We prepared for this, my son. We bled to bring our dreams to life. And now you wish to turn the throne of The Hearthlands into a mockery?”

“It is not a mockery!” Lethe insisted, his pitch childish in comparison with his father’s. How could Nell have kissed him? “If it’s a mockery to the throne to marry a human—no, not just any human, but Nell, Penelope, Penelope O’Hara, that is her name—then—then why was Theon going to do it? He must know something about her that you do not!”

My throat clutched. Marry her? Lethe wanted to marry Nell? He had barely known her for two days! The boil in my gullet intensified.

“Or perhaps it is me who knows something that he did not,” Vulott responded. “Consider that the fire dragon females were executed by your grandfather, Emperor Bram.” Both paused to salute his memory, and my nose crinkled with rage. That man had slaughtered children, and they saluted him as they would have saluted a hero! “Did you ever think that Theon was, in his princely wisdom, making the most of an unfathomably bad situation? That perhaps, my son, he had no other options?”

My jaw clenched. Vulott was both right and wrong. Yes, the fire dragon males had resorted to searching foreign worlds for potential mates, but I had not selected Penelope solely based upon her fertility! I had selected Penelope because she was noble, and pure, and valiant, and reliable! She was soft but strong, and kind but fair, as a queen needs to be!

“I don’t care about Theon. I’m just saying that he picked her for some reason. He thought she was good enough for his throne. And you—you’ve never even met her, Father! What if I told you…” Lethe hesitated.

Michelle tried to squeeze next to me at the keyhole, but I kept my shoulder firm and blocked her.

“What if I told you that I might love her?”

In the corridor, the candles in the sconces streamed and flared with white-hot flames. It was the natural response of fire in the presence of a fire dragon with dangerously elevated blood pressure.

Beside me, Michelle whacked my shoulder, but had the intelligence to not make a sound.

The roaring of blood in my ears quieted, and the blackness tingling at the perimeters of my vision faded away to reveal Vulott Eraeus laughing.

“You love her?” He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. I felt the draft from beneath the doorway intensify. “Oh, Lethe… so inexperienced. You poor bastard. We should have let you dally more than we did! Ice dragons cannot love, Lethe. We cannot. It is a capability we simply lack, as the fire dragons lack resistance to the cold.”

At this, Lethe turned his head, and I was able to see his profile, white on white against the master bedroom window. “That’s not true,” he said. His voice was heavy with sorrow, and blades of frost fanned from his feet as he turned.

“Oh, Lethe, my boy.” Although Vulott’s voice sounded like consolation, the expression on his face remained one of mirth. “You will have a queen. You will need a queen. But the queen to steer this wondrous island onward to greater and greater heights cannot sully the throne with soft-heartedness and gentleness. We demand a warrior queen for our warrior people. And humans? Humans are soft. You must look elsewhere than our own dungeons for your queen, son.”

The dungeons.

Yes. That was all I needed to know.

Standing, propelled by a silent and smoldering rage, I gripped Michelle’s shoulder and, with the slightest yelp from her, pulled her to her feet and down the corridor, back toward the stairwell, down, down, down into the dungeons. Behind us, the candles in the sconces continued to burst with flame like a welder’s torches.