Chapter One
She had knownall along it would only be a matter of time before they came after her. That she had evaded capture so long seemed nothing short of a miracle. Leida sat quietly on the stone bench and stared down at her hands, the pale fingers laced tightly together, the iron cuffs snapped around her wrists leaving red marks on her skin.
The cavern in which she waited glowed with a golden light from an unseen source. Dragon magic, the simplest kind, illuminated the chamber, chasing away the shadows dancing along the curved walls and high ceiling. Leida had visited these caves once before, years earlier, during the great fire festivals when the earth dragons met before the Dragon King. It had been an exciting time, one that held both fear and anticipation of seeing things few humans ever would.
She had returned, not of her own accord this time, still fearful of what awaited her. A hard shudder shook her from head to toe, and her throat closed against the threat of retching. There was no one here to speak in her defense, and by all accounts, including her own, she was guilty of the crime for which she now stood trial. Leida knew the nature of dragons, their cunning and wit, fearlessness and pride; she did not know of their mercy, or if it even existed. But if it did exist, she intended to beg for it, walk on her knees if necessary. They could strip her of her magic, flog her and march her naked through the streets. She would submit gladly, if only they let her live and live freely. Someone else depended upon her, waited for her, and she would bargain anything she had to return.
“Please,” she whispered, the soft sound echoing in melancholy repetition throughout the empty room. “Don’t let me die.”
Whatever deity heard her plea, he or she chose not to respond, and fear settle heavily on her shoulders.
The sound of footsteps from the single corridor leading to the chamber made her straighten. Her mouth was parched; whatever moisture remained on her tongue dried to dust as she watched eight men march into the room. Leida rose, bowing low in respect as they came to stand before her. They were her judges, dragon lords who meted out judgment and punishment to dragonkind and all those associated with them.
Of different ages, from white haired and lined to young and vibrant, they all watched her with varying degrees of contempt and dislike. She felt the blood drain from her face. There would be little mercy here. That she had not been killed outright upon discovery was compassion in itself, an acknowledgement of her past status as a dragon lord’s favorite and deserving of some small leniency because of it.
Her fingers knotted tighter as the eldest of the judges spoke, the fine hairs on her arms rising in reaction to the silvery, bewitching tones of his voice. She’d forgotten the beauty of a dragon lord’s voice.
“Leida of the Far Lands.”
She licked her dry lips. “I am, my lord.”
“You were once the favorite of Magnus Silverclaw.”
The truth of his statement and her response made her chest tighten. “I was, my lord.”
The judge’s words were chilly with disdain. “You stand accused of
thievery, Leida. Thievery and the illicit use of dragon magic to conceal your crime.”
He held up one hand, displaying a small ring, a creation of delicate spun gold mounted with a sapphire so deep a blue as to appear black in the cavern’s muted light. “I will ask you formally, Leida, did you steal this ring from Magnus Silverclaw?”
She had already admitted to the crime, but the urge to lie was great, her sense of self-preservation screaming out an inner warning that to admit it again would be to sign her own death warrant. Too late, she thought. Too late.
There was barely a quaver in her voice when she answered. “Aye, my lord. When I left the service of Magnus Silverclaw four years ago, I took that ring.”
Low rumbles of disapproval, sounding more like growls than murmurs, echoed in the chamber. Leida shivered, her fear slowly transforming into terror. They wore the trappings of men finely garbed, but like the light in the room, it was magic of their making. Their true forms were of great wings and scales, curving claws and huge heads sporting mouths filled with teeth sharper than sword blades. Any one of them could change, snatch her up and swallow her whole.
One of the younger judges spoke up. “Because of your previous bonding with dragonkind, we will allow you the chance to explain yourself before sentencing. You do understand that stealing from a dragon lord’s hoard is punishable with death?”
Leida nodded, nearly lightheaded with relief at the temporary reprieve. The judge scowled at her actions until she remembered protocol.
“I understand, my lord, and thank all of you for your consideration.”
The first judge addressed her again. “You are allowed to state your reasons, but you will do so before us and one other.”
A high, thin ringing started in her ears as heat suffused her body and face. She turned, peering into the shadows of the corridor from which the judges had entered earlier. The judge’s voice, once vibrant with allure and power, sounded dull and far away.
“Face your accuser, Leida of the Far Lands, and explain yourself.”
The breath died in her nostrils as Magnus Silverclaw, once her master, once her lover, walked into the chambers. Still reserved and prideful, as most of his kind, he wore the illusion of a tall, slender man with long, dark hair threaded with silver. Leida gazed at him, struck by the familiarity of his features. Their austere beauty haunted her dreams each night.
He stared back at her, the slanting green eyes narrowing to mere slits. “Thief,” he said in a deep, seductive voice filled with loathing.
His first viewof her after nearly four years struck him hard. A bitter joy, a seething anger—they swirled together in the pit of his stomach like so much sour wine. He had watched from the shadows of the corridor as she faced the judges. Her features, drawn with fatigue, went from pale to pink to pale again as she answered their charges and turned to face him.
“Thief,” he said, letting all the venom coursing through his blood leak into that one accusatory word. She stared at him, anguished, before lowering her head to gaze at her manacled hands. Magnus smiled, the facial movement now unfamiliar to his human form. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled, and now it had little to do with humor or pleasure.
He faced the eldest judge, Gersel, the dragon slated to be the next king if rumors of the dragoness votes held true. “I would take back what is mine, Your Grace.”
