Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (3 page)

Kinna's cheeks were on fire. She faced the Elder's table, forcing her stiff back into a bow. “I—I'm sorry, my lords.” She wanted to explain, but any words she could come up with sounded like an endorsement of Hazel's passionate championship of freedom. She stood, silent, miserable, and conflicted before the gazes of everyone in the lodge.

When she raised her eyes again, the Elders' grave looks expressed what Kinna had feared for weeks.

Failure.

The ramifications painted themselves on Kinna's horrified consciousness. From her failure, there would be prison for Hazel and the poorhouse for her family if they couldn't scrape together enough denn from their savings for the next tax.

Joanna had buried her face in Tristan's neck, and her shoulders shook silently. Tristan's quiet gaze engulfed Kinna. Two of Sebastian's royal guards left their posts by the door, flanking Hazel on both sides.

The pink-haired Pixie held her head high as Sebastian's men led her from the room. To the last, she refused to meet Kinna's gaze.

My fault
. Kinna felt helpless. Her Pixie had more courage than she; Hazel had stood up to the Elders, boldly proclaiming justice. Kinna had sentenced her to prison simply by insisting that they follow Sebastian's laws.

Never again. Never again would she make such demands of a creature, not if all the laws of West Ashwynd condemned her to a lifetime behind dungeon bars.

Tears blurred Kinna's vision, and she fled for the door, heedless of Julian's voice calling her name.

A
yden heaved on the rope
, throwing his weight into the winch before looping the knots into the latches on the stone wall.

The stone gleamed with water in the torchlight; it was always wet down here. Mold and putrid air hung thick across the tunnels and the dens. It made sense, though. One would not keep Dragons where there was danger of charring a building, or people, either, for that matter.

Ayden wiped his gloved hands on his breeches and drew near the opening. Heat roasted his forehead and cheeks, and he shielded his face behind an arm.

The Mirage—a Dragon with mirrored scales that camouflaged beneath a collage of reflected images—was hard to see. Mirages were extremely rare, all but extinct. He itched to try the Dragon in the arena for himself, but Tannic would bury him in the dungeons for attempting it. Already, three Dimn sported injuries from the Mirage's fierce talons and sharp teeth.

Ayden had been the one to lead the animal from the den to the arena all three times, and the beast had given him no trouble.
It's likely the weapons the Dimn used.
He was sure the Dragon could sense the threat of the maces where they hung on the wall, easily accessible to any Dimn who entered.

He could see the beast now, all thirty spans of him swaying as he paced his den. Tendrils of smoke rose from his nostrils.

The Mirage was restless, closed in his den since the previous afternoon.

“What are ye doin', boy? Waitin' for this 'un to take a chunk from ye? Get your arse into his den and drive 'im to the arena. There's games afoot fer a passel o' King Sebastian's 'igh-rollin' generals. They're comin' t'see t'Mirage.”

“He was out yesterday, Tannic. Surely...”

“Surely nothin', ye lazy goon. This 'un's landed 'imself in a spot o' trouble, or me name's not Tannic d'overseer o' the Dragon's Keep.”

Ayden turned back to the beast. The Dragon yawned, his mouth a wide black chasm in the midst of glittering reflections. A moment later, a jet of flame shot out and up, a fireball that hit the roof of the den, licked across it, and was gone a moment later.

“What spot of trouble?”

Tannic's face reddened above his bushy overgrowth that he called a beard.

“Ter first Dimn that 'andled 'im's gone an' died o' 'is injuries, that's what, not that it's any o' yer business. Now will ye get the Dragon up to t'arena, or do I have to force ye?”

“I'm going, I'm going,” Ayden muttered. He entered the den. The heavy door had to be turned with winches; it was far too much weight for a man to lift on his own.

Keeping a careful eye on the beast, Ayden leaned into the wheel, watching the door slide up until it disappeared into the ceiling. The Dragon snuffed softly, a small spurt of flame issuing from his nostrils.

“That's right, boy. You like me, don't you?” Ayden wrapped one glove around the chain. Now came the tricky part. He blew his blond hair from his eyes, clearing his vision to search for the collar. He spotted it as the beast turned and advanced from the side of the den. The black chain blended in with the walls, and the mirrored scales gave the appearance of
two
chains.

Ayden knew he had one chance; the Dragon wouldn't let him grab for the chain twice. The beast loomed, and Ayden leaped into action. He bounded up the Dragon's leg, launching himself into space, reaching for the chain, stretching...

His glove tightened on the links. He swung to the ground, ignoring the beast's bellow. It shook the walls of the den, but he yanked the chain, and the Dragon lowered his massive head, compliant for the moment.

Ayden glanced back and paused. The Dragon's eyes were open, watching him, their smoky gray irises at least half as tall as he was. In them, he read haunting desperation and despair.

The poor beast lived in a cage, in the middle of man-made walls, beaten into submission until his spirit bent to the will of the Dimn. Ayden knew exactly how he felt. Perhaps this one was the Dragon for which he'd been searching. If he could connect with this Dragon...

He gathered the longer chain from the wall and connected it to the links dangling from the collar. He eyed the stone-wheeled contraption in the dark, arching hallway—Tannic's own invention, the overseer often boasted with pride. The axle had an anchor to which Ayden could attach the chain, and then, with a heft, Ayden could push the axle forward. It was heavy, far heavier than Ayden, and usually quite safe for leading Dragons.

Ayden set his shoulder to the axle and hefted. Once it was moving, it was easier to continue. The Dragon plodded along behind him on heavy feet, closing in on the massive doors of the Dragon arena, where excited conversations and impatient shouts erupted.

What was so special about
this
Dragon?

W
hen the doors
opened into the arena, Ayden detached the heavy chain from the axle, pulling backward into the shadows of the hall as four other Dimn gripped their maces, hurling the spiked ends at the back of the Dragon. The beast roared as he moved into the arena, smoke hissing from his throat as he confronted the armored Dimn. An awed hush dropped over the crowd.

“'E's somethin', in't 'e?” Tannic's voice growled in an aside to Ayden. “One o' the rares. Mostly we gets the Nine-Tails and the Poison-Quills, and ever now and then, one of them Embers—the ones that burn all the time. But it's been a long sight since we 'ad a Mirage.”

Ayden said nothing. He'd glimpsed the Dragon's eye, seen the cry of pain inside, and felt a kinship. He boiled in fury as he watched the Dimn drive the Dragon into the arena, their maces ripping off bits of scale, littering the floor with shiny pieces. The scales regenerated within seconds, but the pain that resulted from their flaying sent the Dragon into an ear-piercing roar.

“'Ey, daft boy, get a move on.”

Ayden jumped at Tannic's command. The winch had to be turned and the huge door shut, trapping the beast inside for the training session. Normally, Ayden loved to watch the Dimn and the Dragons enter the conflict and dance their steps as they tested and prodded, each feeling out the other. Since he'd been working at the arena, he'd seen
psuche
achieved three times, but from mutterings amongst the King's guards, he knew that was a far cry from what King Sebastian wanted for his army.

Of course, not every Dragon in the King's armies had achieved
psuche
with its Dimn—if that were the case, few Dragons would fill the lines—but if a Dimn achieved
psuche
with a beast, together their effectiveness in battle increased a thousandfold. Greater rewards were offered for those who could achieve
psuche
; harsher punishments attended those who were too cowardly to try their hand at it.

If I just had a chance, I could do it.
Ayden slammed his shoulder into the winch, listening to the heavy groan of the doors as they rumbled shut. As soon as the two doors met, he bounded for the stairs, taking them three at a time to his spot on the loft where he could watch the training session.

He nearly plowed the girl over at the top. She was crouched in the very corner that he always used, her flame-red hair running like rampant fire down her back, brushing the floor. His glove knocked into her, and he jerked back, cursing.

She leaped to the side, her crouch wary, her wide eyes watching him.

“What are you doing here?” Ayden's voice whipped across the space. His heart pounded. It was only his glove, but if he hadn't caught his balance...

“I beg your pardon?” She rose to her full height, which was still nearly two orlachs shorter than he was. Her hands traveled to her hips, which were encased in leather leggings shoved into knee-high deerskin moccasins. A thick leather belt cinched a loose indigo tunic over her lithe form. Her green eyes spat emerald fire. “I'm sorry, do you own this corner?”

Ayden refused to let the little minx intimidate him. “Listen, wench, I work here. I'm the one who gets to cart the Dragons to and from the arena, and I need to keep an eye on the Dragons at all times. This is the best spot from which to do that, so yes,” he took a step toward her, his gloved hands balling into fists, “this is my corner.”

The girl glanced significantly at a spot nearby where several men leaned on the railing, watching the Dragon. A wide gap opened on the other side of them. “That place affords just as good a view as this corner.”

Ayden quashed the impossible urge to grab her wrist and yank her from his spot, but the anger roughened his voice. “It's my corner, and I'll use it. Get out of my way.”

The girl opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment, two men bypassed them along the back of the loft, and the girl shrank against the cold stone, making herself small against the wall.

In that moment Ayden knew he'd won. “I've not seen you around here. Are you a Dragondimn?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she returned her gaze to the arena. “Does it matter?”

“Why yes, as a matter of fact, it does.” Ayden loomed over her, trapping her in the corner. His gloved hand gripped the railing. “It's interesting that I've never seen you in the Dragon Hollow, as it's against the King's law for those from surrounding areas to watch training sessions of the creatures.”

She had turned her profile to him, her gaze on the Dragon.

“Let's see your mark.” His gaze touched her collarbone. He could see the tip of the mark where the wide neckline of her shirt had slipped to one side, showing a slim white shoulder.

Her hand pulled the material closer to her neck.

Ayden was shocked to see moisture in her eyes. She blinked, twice, and slid past him, whirling around the corner to the stairs. He had not meant to make her cry. Still, she had no right to be there, and he'd nearly scared himself witless when he'd run over her. Thankfully, no harm had been done, but the possibility had been there.

A roar shook the arena, followed by a shout. A new Dimn faced the Dragon, a heavy iron shield over his arm and a five-tailed whip in hand. The man shouted every time he lashed the Dragon.

The beast raised himself to his full height, and his mirrored wings beat the air, sending great draughts of wind crashing against the walls.

The Dimn circled the beast, sending his whip against the Dragon's haunches. Bits of mirrored scales again pulled loose. Small pieces of rock and glass lined the man's whip.

“That's not right!” Ayden cried, his gaze winging to the door, searching for Tannic. Though maces were used to corral the beasts in the corridors and dens, the Dimn weren't allowed shredding weapons for their dance with the Dragons in the arena.
Psuche
came only through trust, and a Dimn who destroyed the hide of a Dragon would never achieve it.

Ayden hated the idea of using
any
sort of weapon on the beasts anyway; in his experience, Dragons responded well to non-threatening advances. He flinched whenever he saw a Dragon jerk away from a mace. A tiny part of him could understand the fear that made the Dragondimn use the weapons—the fire-breathers
were
intimidating—but the larger part of him cried out for sympathy with the creatures. How much more effective would their training be if they offered friendship rather than subjugation?

Ayden had tried to reason with Tannic, suggesting the possibility of dispensing with the whips. Tannic, however, wouldn't hear of it.

“If we did it your way, boy, no tellin' 'ow many dead Dimn we'd 'ave to bury. Best not to risk it, lad.”

At least he's against shredding weapons.
The fact that the Dimn in the arena before him so blatantly disregarded Tannic's rule sent the blood rushing to Ayden's head. He glanced along the loft, and down at the entrances that lined the arena.

Tannic, however, wasn't in any of those spots, and Ayden returned his attention to the Dimn, who coiled his long whip for another strike.

The air in the room swirled around Ayden as the Dragon sucked in an enormous draught. The torches that lined the loft waved wildly in the disturbance. The Dimn lifted his shield none too soon as the Dragon released a maelstrom of fire across the metal. His roar shook the arena and the loft where Ayden stood, and mass confusion won out.

The four mace-wielders burst through a side door, circling the beast, giving a wide berth to the Dimn who lay inert on the dirt floor with smoke rising from his body.

Ayden leaped down the stairs, throwing himself at the winch, turning the chains as the doors slowly groaned open again. It was none too soon; the Dimn had already herded the Dragon to the door.

Ayden grabbed a long pike from a bracket on the wall, snagged the dangling chain hanging from the Dragon's collar, and attached it to the wheels and axle. Slowly, steadily, he pushed the wheels down the dark hallway, the Dragon bringing up the rear.

Two of the Dimn walked on either side of the Dragon.

“Will he live, do you think, Band?”

Ayden rolled his eyes as he gave the axle another heft with his shoulder. Of course the Dimn would live. Any true Dragondimn could resist Dragonfire, providing it was only a blast and not a full submersion for long minutes on end. This Dimn had been mostly protected by his shield with an unlucky blast to his legs and back.

“I don't know. He took it bad,” Band's partner called back. “I didn't think he got his shield down soon enough.”

Band cackled. “Aye, he was a pussy willow. Like the daft kid up there.”

Ayden liked neither Band nor his companion, a Dimn named Carn. Generally he tried to distance himself from everyone around him. It was safer.

Carn hooted at Band's humor. “Oy, idiot, we should've put
you
in that arena. Supper for the Dragon, right, Band?”

“He's too puny for supper. The Dragon would need thirty of him.”

“Eh, you're right. Best let him stick to what he does best. Kid, muck out the three Nine-Tails on hall four tonight. Keep company with your kind.”

Band laughed. “Meaning the dung, not the Dragons, right, Carn?”

They'd reached the Mirage's den, and Ayden stopped, sweating as he hefted the door open far enough to enter. A moment later he turned the winch and hauled the heavy portal upward into the ceiling.