Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (39 page)

Fortunately, Kiril had already been kneeling beside Natiya, so he didn't suffer the same fate. And his experience with the damned creatures allowed him to recover the quickest. Gently lifting up Natiya—d'greth, she was heavy—he strode to where he had tethered his mount. Well, perhaps he took tiny, staggering steps at first. But pain has a way of clearing away everything else, including the lingering horror of a dragon roar. And every step on his blistered feet became more firm, more assured.

Then the lieutenant showed his mettle, gritting his teeth and straightening his shoulders with obvious effort. Seeing the state of his men—and probably realizing Kiril couldn't outrun him on burned feet while carrying a pregnant woman—he began kicking and cursing his men. It took a while, but he got most of them on their feet. Kiril didn't give them time to reorganize. Especially as he saw his mount just ahead.

"Doga formation, now!" he bellowed again, and then grinned as they scrambled to obey. One even offered to help with Natiya, but Kiril denied him. No one was touching Natiya but him. Especially since he didn't know how long it would be before she regained consciousness. Instead, he ordered the helpful young soldier to run ahead and bring his mount to him. The other was dispatched to bring him his uniform, obligingly drying in the rapidly fading sunlight.

Moments later, Kiril and Natiya were neatly settled atop his mount. Kiril even had his uniform wrapped around them both. Though it still smelled terrible, at least he wasn't completely naked anymore. Before he rode off, he turned to the lieutenant.

"Guard that tunnel and kill anything that comes out," he said.

The man frowned. "Anything?"

"There's a mature dragon in there with a bonded human—and some dead soldiers. Don't wait. Don't ask questions. Just swing." He tucked Natiya close against his body. "I'll get the Empress back to the castle." And with that, he rode off, heading in the appropriate direction. Fortunately, the mountain was irregularly shaped, and within moments he was out of sight of the small band of soldiers. As soon as he was clear, he turned his horse and headed the opposite way.

He encountered little resistance from the soldiers he passed, but many uncertain stares. So he pulled on his wretched uniform, his eyes watering from the stench. His insignia was enough to forestall any questions, especially since his face was too dirty to be recognizable. As he'd covered Natiya with some of his attire, she became a huge, formless lump.

He rode fast, cursing the pain as his raw legs rubbed his mount. But he had little time before Dag Racho would launch his Copper. In fact, glancing backward at the darkening sky, he thought he recognized the black silhouette of the creature circling the mountain. Fortunately the Emperor would likely be too busy containing the Coral to search for Natiya just then. Which might just give Kiril enough time to make it with her to the Clutching Mountains. Once there, the dragon field would hide them, and he would get a moment to rest and clean up. And then to kill Natiya before harvesting her egg.

A chill coursed through his body, no doubt because of the roar that rumbled through the countryside—from the Coral. Kiril was too far away for it to fully affect him. In truth, it sounded more like distant thunder, but his body clenched nonetheless. It was followed by another sound—a booming crash—and Kiril risked a glance back to see that one side of the mountain had exploded in a rain of fire and debris. Less than a beat later, the Coral soared into view.

He was already too far away to tell if the Coral carried a rider—probably the sleeping woman if anyone, he now realized. She was the most likely candidate to be the creature's bonded pair. Either way, the Coral and the Copper flew straight at one another, fire belching from their mouths.

Kiril wished he could see more. He hadn't been around to witness Jaseen's Platinum engage Racho's wyrm. A view of the battle tactics could be of enormous value.

But then he checked his thoughts. He had no reason to view any dragon battles. He intended to harvest Natiya's egg for the poison that could be made from it. There would be no Queen hatchling. No battle against the Copper for Natiya, or anyone else to fight. The Copper would be poisoned, and Kiril himself would cut Dag Racho's black heart out of his body. That was the plan to end the rule of dragons forever.

But first, he had to get himself and Natiya to safety.

He resolutely turned his back on the struggle enacted in the sky above. From the faint flashes of red light he could tell that the dragons were engaged in earnest, and he prayed that their battle would continue throughout the night. The longer Dag Racho stayed occupied, perhaps even injured, the better for himself and Natiya.

Or rather, not Natiya. Because as soon as he found the right place, she would be dead by his hand.

* * *

He clenched his legs tighter, pushing his mount to greater speeds even as he relished the pain such an act brought to his body. Pain was good. Pain cleared his thoughts. And pain was exactly what murderers like him deserved.

Kiril stripped out of his clothes and washed in a tide pool, fouling the water beyond belief, but it was the only place available where he could clean himself and watch Natiya at the same time.

It had begun. The hatching. As soon as they'd made it into the Clutching Mountains, whatever magic clung to the earth here had begun its work. She wasn't even fully conscious, but had begun moaning. Her body had twisted and writhed like a snake coming out of its skin, and it was all he could do to keep her on his mount long enough to get to a cave. Thankfully, he'd known of one near enough to the road to make it fast.

So now she was inside, the thrice-cursed magic doing what it did best: completely skrawing his plans. But it wasn't going to succeed. He still had time, albeit not a lot. He had to kill Natiya now, harvest what remained of the egg, and then—after he finished with Dag Racho—be done with this business of dragon-killing once and for all.

Once this was over, he was going to buy a plot of land and grow flowers and corn, maybe wheat—d'greth, weeds would be fine with him. Just so long as he didn't ever have to raise a sword again. Except, he wasn't on a farm yet. He was here, naked outside a damned clutching cave, and it was time for him to kill her.

She was awake and knew what was coming; he could see it in her eyes as she watched him approach. There was little she could do against him. Her body was no longer her own. It had been given over to the damn egg. All she'd managed to do was struggle out of her clothing, ripping it when she couldn't undo the fastening. Hell, he'd even helped her, cutting some of the worst of the bindings while they were still on his mount.

So now she was naked on the sandy floor of the cave, her entire body clenching as it tried to dislodge the damn pulsing egg from her belly. The egg was a bright, glistening gold now. In fact, if he looked very hard, Kiril could even see the dragon inside, twisting, pushing, doing everything it could to break out of its opaque shell.

But he didn't really care about it; his eyes were on her. D'greth, she was in agony. Her body wasn't designed to push the egg out this way. It could only writhe and twist, the contortions doing what they could to break the threads—like a human umbilicus—that connected the egg to her. When those broke, the egg would roll free and it would be up to the dragon to crack its shell—assuming the breaking process hadn't already saved it the trouble.

Damned, lazy-assed demons.

Kiril knew just how to help her—and wasn't he just the biggest bastard for even thinking it? It was plain as the ocean behind him which of her muscles needed to contract to help oust the cursed thing. Plus, she needed to contract her body in a clear pulse, one wave coming on top of the other in a systematic, powerful way. And wasn't he just rock hard thinking about it?

It was the dragon magic affecting him; he was sure of it. And yet, he couldn't deny that he had a nearly overwhelming urge to bed the woman rather than chop her head off.

She was long gone. He knew that. The Natiya he knew was dead, replaced by the beast all dragonborn became. And she was vulnerable now. Didn't it make sense—wasn't it more merciful—to kill her now instead of waiting until she destroyed half of Ragona in her bloodlust?

Of course it did. And so he raised his sword, holding it high above her head. She hadn't the breath to argue with him. In fact, she was floundering, gasping out in pain. And yet, as he watched, she began to speak, her words stuttering. He understood her nonetheless.

"The worst thing... that Rashad... has done. He... takes away ideals." She straightened as best she could, pushing herself upright against the cave wall as she looked at him. "When did you last try to better things? Rather than just survive? Think, Kiril. When did you... last believe in the goodness of your cause?"

He knew better than to listen to her. A woman as resourceful as Natiya would say anything, do anything to delay death. And yet, he could not deny her words. When was the last time he'd believed in what he did? When had he truly believed that what he was working for was good rather than simply not-evil? When had he last picked up his sword and believed he worked for something right? Never?

His parents had believed. And they had died for their cause. His father's conviction had burned inside him like a beacon, even when he was walking into the Copper's open maw. Had Kiril ever felt as strongly? About anything he had ever done?

No. Because from the moment Dag Racho had dropped him in the middle of court politics, Kiril had worked for survival, not success. For compromise, not victory.

And where had that gotten him? To this cave, about to kill Ragona's only hope. He felt his shoulder muscles begin to quiver, but that was nothing compared to the turmoil in his mind. Could she be the one to bring down Dag Racho? It wasn't possible. All logic argued against it.

And yet, how many people had such fire in their eyes, with the will and the intelligence and the skill to back it up? He flashed on a memory of her in the prison, facing off with Dag Racho. The dragon egg had made her body unwieldy, and she'd been surrounded by soldiers while the Emperor decided her fate. Kiril was hard pressed to imagine a more vulnerable position, and yet she had squared off with Racho as if she were the one with the upper hand.

He couldn't think of anyone with that type of nerve. That she was also a woman of poor background with the intelligence to maneuver successfully in such a situation made her remarkable indeed. More than remarkable. Absolutely unique.

He groaned, indecision making his sword arm shake. She was an amazing woman, no doubt about it. And yet, for all that, Sabina's words echoed back to him.

She is crafty, I will give you that. And resourceful. But she is still an amateur in this game.

And in games against the Emperor, amateurs died. And worse, if he didn't go through with this now—with what he and Sabina had planned—Bina would take everything. He would be penniless. Powerless. And completely lost. He simply couldn't risk everything he'd worked so hard for—his financial security, a governorship with real power, his real chance to make a difference—on an amateur, even if Natiya was intelligent and resourceful and so damn beautiful it broke his heart.

He couldn't give those things up. And so, with a curse that blistered his lips, he slammed down his blade with all his strength.

Chapter 18

Kiril cursed himself. Over and over, with every sobbing breath, he cursed himself. Cursed the dragons. Cursed Natiya for beginning this in the first place. But most of all, he cursed himself. For being a fool. For being weak. For slamming his sword down into the sand beside her head, not even close enough to cut her glorious blond hair. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill her. And worse, he couldn't watch her suffer either.

He knew what he had to do, bastard that he was. He knew, and he didn't hesitate. Having already thrown away all of his convictions, why not go for broke? Or perhaps, having risked everything on her, why not make sure he helped her every way he could? So he did.

According to his mother, Jaseen's egg had been cut from his arm. The worst his cousin experienced was a torn muscle, which healed within a day. But Natiya had incubated the egg in her belly. Cutting the egg out of there could very well kill her. She had to push the thing out on her own. But her contortions were doing nothing. They were disorganized and weak, unable to wrench the egg from her belly. She had to have a rhythm, damn it, an overriding wave of contractions until she tossed the damn dragon from her body like so much bad meat.