Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (31 page)

The Dragon lowered his head, pushing into her touch like a kitten. In spite of everything, Kinna laughed. “You like that, do you?”

She ran her hand up between Chennuh's eyes, massaging the scales. A whiff of smoke combed over her as the Dragon sighed in contentment.

She reached for the topmost spike on top of Chennuh's head and twisted it lightly into the hide.

At once, Chennuh disappeared altogether.

Kinna's gasp of shock sounded loud in the room. “Chennuh!” The Dragon rumbled his reply.

She could still feel his scales beneath her fingers, but her hand had also vanished. Chennuh moved his large head, and her invisible hand went with it. She could see nothing but the dirt and rocks on the floor of the den.

Slowly, she pressed her whole arm against the Dragon's scales and sucked in another gasp of air. Her arm disappeared as well.

“Chennuh, why didn't you let us know about this?” Her hand still cupped the spike on the top of his head. She twisted it again.

Suddenly, there was the Dragon, visible to her eyes as always.

Kinna stepped back, stunned. She stroked the Dragon's snout as she tried to think through how this new information could help her in the forthcoming match. “We're pretty close, Chennuh—we've spent a whole winter together in the Ridges of Rue. You've saved my life several times. Don't know how I would have survived without you.”

The Dragon lowered his head, his nostrils nearly touching Kinna's feet. Kinna rubbed along the Dragon's snout. “You do know, Chennuh, that I won't ever ask you to do something you don't wish to do?” Her mind flashed to the last evening she'd stood in the Pixie lodge, wrapped in regret as she'd watched Hazel disappear through the doorway with the King's guards. She'd promised herself then that she'd have nothing more to do with training unwilling creatures.

But with Chennuh, she’d come to understand what her father had told her so long ago, about how
psuche
wasn't forced.
When you achieve psuche, it is only because the creature desires it and the human desires it.
An inner pull wrapped Kinna in an unbreakable connection with Chennuh, and Kinna didn't
want
to lose that link. But the Dragon had to feel it as well.

“Can we try something? Chennuh?” Kinna leaned down and wrapped her arms under the Dragon's chin, tugging upward until Chennuh's snout was directly in front of her face.

“Can we try
psuche?
”

The Dragon seemed to understand her words, for a moment later, she felt his intake of breath. Her first impulse was to run, to flee the heat that she knew was forthcoming, but she willed her feet to stay planted.

As the fire burst from Chennuh's mouth, Kinna released her own breath.

Instead of the searing pain she'd expected, warm goosebumps rippled over her skin like she'd dipped into a bath.

All around her brilliant colors burst into bloom, mirrored in Chennuh's scales across his entire body. The sight weakened Kinna's knees, and she leaned heavily on the Dragon's snout.

She could hear the Dragon's thoughts strung together in a chain, not in words, for the Dragon, of course, could not speak the Common Tongue, but the thoughts were intelligible nonetheless.

“So
that's
what the connection's like,” Kinna breathed. She felt Chennuh's amusement and excitement and knew without asking that the Dragon could also understand her thoughts. She searched through the Dragon's mind, amazed at the intelligence she found there, the near human understanding of his situation. “I underestimated you, Chennuh,” she murmured. “I apologize.”

Chennuh nudged her with his nostrils, knocking Kinna off-balance onto the floor. She glared up at him, reading the laughter in his thoughts.

And suddenly, the realization hit her. “I'm a Pixiedimn. And I—I've just achieved
psuche
with a Dragon.”

Chennuh's nostrils sniffed at her, curiosity running through his thoughts. He was confused by the connection, too.

Kinna came to her feet, her mind moving on to the competition tonight, and she felt Chennuh travel there with her. Their feelings grew darker as they dwelt on the upcoming possibilities.

Kinna glanced up at Chennuh, her form mirrored in his smoky eyes. “Chennuh, it occurs to me that the King is an arrogant, high-handed monster of a man who has ruined many lives with his manipulative dealings.”

She rubbed his snout again.

“So let's teach him a lesson tonight, shall we?”

Chennuh snorted, enveloping her in fire without burning her even a little.

A
yden entered
the stone archway to the courtyard. Dimn practiced in their battle gear, brandishing swords and shields, lunging at one another. The place echoed with grunts and clashes, reeking of sweat and leather.

The Tournament competitions for the afternoon were nearly done, and the evening festivities were about to begin. Ayden's stomach twisted at the thought of Kinna in the arena. He wanted to stand in her place to keep her safely on the sidelines, but even if Sebastian hadn't denied him the ability to save her, he knew she didn't
want
to be saved.

She was like a wildfire, and she could not be tamed. He could try to smother her spirit, to douse it, to hold it at bay, but, like a blazing inferno, the more he fought it, the more strongly her fire would dance.

If he were truly honest, he didn't
want
to hold her back. He liked the fierce tempest of her nature. He thought of her once again on the terrace, the overhead sun lighting her hair until it looked like a river of flame plunging across her shoulders and down her back.

Then he thought of Julian, to whom she was now betrothed.

He glanced down at his gloved hands. No matter what, he had to do what Helga had told him to do.

He edged along the perimeter of the courtyard toward the weapons room he had seen earlier.

He was nearly there. Racks of swords and axes lined the walls; shields leaned against the stones. Those would be too large, but he could make use of an extra dagger.

“Oy!”

Ayden twisted in time to see a burly man striding toward him, his leather greaves murmuring with each step. He stopped in front of Ayden. “I've not seen you before.”

“I've not been here before.”

One of the man's dark, curly eyebrows rose. “Who be you?”

“No one in particular.”

“Have you a handle?”

“My name is—Rickard, from the Clan Dragon.”

The man's lips split into a smile. “Well, Rickard, of the Clan Dragon, let us see how ye fare against some of us lowly vassals. Take a sword, boy, and come best me.”

Ayden's inner timer resisted the man's request. His planned confrontation with Sebastian quickly approached, and he had a limited window of time before he had to meet the King. However, he did not wish to draw attention to himself, either.

After a moment's hesitation, he entered the weapons room and advanced to the wall of wooden practice swords, drawing out three before he was satisfied with the heft and grip. The other man had entered behind him, laying aside the axe he had been wielding and choosing the longest sword in the row, the blade rife with notches. He glanced at Ayden's weapon and laughed heartily.

“Think you to best me with a sword half the length of this great beast?” He held up the massive weapon.

Ayden shrugged. “Never judge a weapon by its size.”

The man gave a shout of laughter as Ayden chose a shield and then passed by the table where an arrangement of daggers lay spread. As the man turned for the doorway, he slid one blade free of the table and pushed it into his boot. Grasping his sword tighter, he squared his shoulders and followed the man outside again.

“What is your name?” he asked as the man turned to face him in a cleared portion of the yard.

“Cherlen.” Cherlen hefted his shield in front of him, his legs tensed and ready. “Of the Clan Griffon.”

Ayden struck first, his sword thudding against Cherlen's shield in a hard hit, crossing upward for a quick deflection of the longer weapon. “You're a Griffondimn,” Ayden grunted. “I've met one or two of those in my travels.” He leaped to narrowly dodge the man's sword as it whistled by his ear.

“Tell me, Dragondimn.” Cherlen thrust again, his sword landing heavily on the edge of Ayden's shield. The leather straps that Ayden gripped nearly flew from his arm beneath the force. “What be that amulet you wear about your neck?”

Ayden glanced down at the pendant Helga had given him, which he'd only placed around his neck after he'd arrived at the palace. It nearly cost him. Cherlen's sword swiped at his legs, and he jumped. The blade whistled beneath the soles of his boots.

Ayden pressed his attack, slashing with hard, quick slices, seeking a gap in the man's impenetrable defense. “It's nothing. A trinket given me by a friend.”

Cherlen shook his head as he ducked behind his shield. Ayden's sword nicked it, and a splinter flew through the air. Cherlen reappeared. “That's no trinket. The symbol on that necklace goes back to the ancient Seer Fey, the ones who lived in the mists of the mountains along the western edge of Lismaria. They were said—” he struck a glancing blow off of Ayden's shoulder with the flat of his blade “—to possess powerful magic, to foretell the future thousands of years in advance, to be a dark sort of people who lived in secret and who were rarely seen.”

Ayden's arm throbbed. He pushed forward, swinging harder, dodging blows and parrying with his sword. Cherlen gave ground step by slow step. “They foretold the future by thousands of years?” Ayden's voice was dry while he panted for breath. “Amazing.”

Thud.

“How did anyone ever—”

Thunk.

“—live long enough to know—”

Whack, whack, thump.

“—if the prophecies came true?”

With a final blow, Cherlen's shield flew free of his arm, and Ayden slammed the sword against the man's wrist. The great broadsword dropped to the ground, and Ayden held the point of his own sword to Cherlen's throat.

Both men breathed hard, and a grin creased Cherlen's face. “Well done, young one.”

To Ayden's surprise cheers broke out around them. He was the center of an avid group of men who had gathered around to watch the sparring match. So much for not drawing attention to himself.

Ayden dropped the sword to his side, and Cherlen bent and picked up the other, holding it up. “It's not every day that there is a match for this lengthy beast, but your quickness and agility serve you well.”

Ayden inclined his head and accompanied Cherlen back into the armory. As Cherlen laid his sword back in its bracket, he turned to Ayden and fixed him with a steady stare. “Take care, Rickard of the Clan Dragon. There is power in that pendant of yours. Do not use it lightly.”

The big man strode out of the room, and Ayden stared after him, his fingers moving upward to clutch the pendant with his glove.

T
he noise was deafening
as the crowds returned to the Tournament fields, buzzing with excitement and curiosity about the change in scheduling. The Dragons were one of the most popular attractions, and the vibrancy in the air and the noisy shouts of the crowd served only to heighten the atmosphere.

Ayden stood between two palace guards with his arms crossed, his mind dark as he searched the gate for any sign of Kinna or the Mirage. A shiver ran up his spine. Chennuh had shown his fierceness and skill several times over the winter. He was certain, almost, that Kinna and Cedric could come out successfully from this match. If it was played fair.

Then the first of the Poison-Quills appeared. The beast was huge, at least fifty spans in length. The quills were more numerous than he had seen on any other Poison-Quill in all his years with Tannic in the Dragon Clan. The roar the beast let loose as it stalked into the arena on the end of at least twenty chains shook the earth.

He glanced at the royal box, where Lady Lianna Erlane—rumored to be Sebastian's betrothed—sat in her chair, her face frozen and still. A moment later, Sebastian stepped from the hangings at the back, raising his arms for silence.

Ayden backed up a step as he checked the walkway from the palace. The spectators clustered thickly around the arena. Only two sentries guarded the doors into the castle from the balcony, but there was no sign yet of the man whom Ayden hoped to see. His stomach curled into a tension-filled knot. The dagger in his boot chafed his leg.

Sebastian raised his voice as the crowds quieted. “Tonight, citizens of West Ashwynd, marks the final night of the Tournament. You see before you four of my fiercest Poison-Quills!”

One of the Dragons roared. Sebastian waited for the noise to subside, and then continued. “In a moment, they will pit themselves against an Ember and a Mirage in one of the fiercest battles these grounds have yet witnessed. The stakes are high. With the end of the Tournament will come the end of either four lives or eight lives. We fight to the death!”

“No!” Ayden's panicked shout preempted the stunned silence that swept the arena. This was no mere tame Tournament. With the promise of blood as an offering, the people flocked with horrified fascination to the altar. Confused chatter erupted through the stands. Impending disaster never fails to attract the morbidly curious.

Ayden's stomach twisted and his jaw cramped. Kinna appeared at the gate, Chennuh's mirrored form behind her. Beyond them, he could see the flaming scales of the Ember and Cedric next to him.

The gates dragged open, and the four entered. Chennuh and the Ember looked impossibly small next to the huge Poison-Quills Sebastian had brought out.

The four royal Dimn stood ready at the release levers, and at Sebastian's nod, they plunged the levers downward. The chains that captured the Poison-Quills' ringed necks dropped to the ground with deafening clangs, and the Poison-Quills screamed in exultation. The Dimn scrambled to the side, their arms up as they motioned to the beasts.

Kinna clambered onto Chennuh's back, and Cedric did the same to his Ember. Dumbfounded expressions slackened the faces of the royal Dimn. Few had ever ridden Dragons, even those rare ones who had managed to achieve
psuche
with their beasts.

He wondered at his lack of envy. He had “found” Chennuh and followed him with the intent of training him, returning with him to The Crossings and wreaking havoc on King and castle. He had wanted to achieve
psuche
with Chennuh. And yet, despite Kinna's clear intimacy with the creature, he begrudged her nothing. In fact, he was terrified for her.

Kinna leaned forward and spoke softly to Chennuh, and a moment later, his massive wings beat resounding claps of thunder across the arena. Both the Mirage and the Ember rose into the air. Cedric shouted directions to Kinna.

The Poison-Quills were distracted as they watched the Dragons fly toward them. At another touch from Kinna, the Mirage opened his mouth and fire lit the air, mushrooming over one of the Poison-Quills, sweeping sideways toward a Dimn and enveloping him in fire.

When the smoke cleared, Kinna was on the other side, and the Dimn was struggling to claw his way up to a standing position, shouting angrily over his shoulder at his Dragon, who looked bemused.

“Fool!” Sebastian raged from his platform. “Don't sit there and let them roast you. Do something about it!”

The curtains at the back of the royal box moved, and the King’s steward appeared, his face white with strain. A scrolled parchment rested in his hands. Sebastian turned with an irritated jerk to face his steward and then impatiently held out his hand for the parchment.

Ayden stayed long enough to watch the King open the scroll. Then he backed out of the crowd, heading for the side entrance to the Dragon's dens, and the interior of the palace. He cast one more glance over his shoulder at the arena. Kinna and Cedric had thrown the four writhing Poison-Quills into an uproar. The last sight Ayden had of them was Kinna flying on Chennuh to the east, and Cedric on his Ember to the west, dividing the opposing Dragons' attention and setting them off balance.

They'll be fine
, Ayden reassured himself, though nervous shivers crawled up his spine. The guards had left the doors to the dens open in order to quickly return the surviving Dragons for any needed attention from the apothecary. Ayden slipped inside, sprinting down the corridor to the stone passageways that led to the staircase where he knew Sebastian headed.

He heard Sebastian's echoing shout down the hallway as he entered the palace. “Leave me. See that I'm not disturbed.” The hurried shuffle of the guards' feet announced their departure.

Ayden raced down the steps, three, four at a time until he reached the bottom, and then slid into the darkened corner behind the stairs, calming his frenetic heartbeat. He slipped his dagger from his boot. The King's footsteps descended in a measured tread. It wasn't long before the boots moved into view, followed by the cloak, the sword, and the parchment where it flapped open in the King's hand.

Ayden waited until the King stepped off the last step. His dagger pricked through Sebastian's robe, the tip of the blade pushed into his back. Ayden held his grip steady. “If you call out, you're a dead man.”

Sebastian didn't move. “Who are you?”

“The one who holds your life in my hands.” Ayden gripped the hilt of the King's sword and slid it from its sheath. Sebastian stiffened at the metallic ring of steel.

Ayden backed up two deliberate steps, his dagger and the King's sword pointed at Sebastian's back. He cleared his throat. “The door. Open it.”

Sebastian turned, his eyes burning holes of fury. After a long pause, he said, “I have no key.”

“You do, and if you don't open the door, I'll cut off the hand that keeps the key from sliding off your wrist.”

Sebastian stared at him, and after another long moment, he jerked back his sleeve and worked a single key up his forearm. He inserted the key into the lock and twisted.

The door opened with a heavy grate against the floor, and Ayden pushed Sebastian inside. He nudged the door shut with his boot. “Key,” he said, holding out his glove.

Sebastian placed the key in the glove, and Ayden inserted it into the lock, twisting it so the lock ground back into place. He slid the key into his pocket.

Sebastian eyed him. “What now? Why are you here?”

Ayden flipped the dagger in his hand, refusing to answer. He walked to the wall and leaned the King's sword against it, a tempting offering he knew Sebastian would be unable to resist. It was dangerous, but Helga had specified that he must overpower the King, and what better way to do that than to best him at sword play? He turned back around, gazing at the books that lined the shelves, taking in the crate in the corner that held the spiders, eyeing the table that charted the stars.