I take a step back. I don’t want to…it’s like my body does not belong to me, and the nearness of that open flame drives my feet against my will.
“Joro never was the assassin, was he?” Alderin continues relentlessly. “It was you all along. Don’t think your charming story of tragedy and orphanhood fooled me. You are here, not to avenge your father, but to fulfill Mhoryga’s will. You are here for the heart of the princess.” He laughs again then, a dark, bitter sound. “You couldn’t do it though, could you? Because you love her. Not with the true love a man gives to a woman—no, for that is not the kind of love which a dragon queen inspires in her chosen mate. This love is consuming, compulsive. Utterly beyond control. I know; I have tasted the pleasures of such passion. She’s in your head now, isn’t she? Perhaps not even aware of what she’s doing. But she’s there.”
I back away another step, raising my knives as though to cut away his words. They are just words, after all; there’s nothing true about them. I know what it is like to have Mhoryga in my head and, more recently, Nyxia as well. I know what it is to be in the clutches of a dragon queen.
Rosie isn’t like that. Everything I feel for her—twisted, sad, and broken as it may be—is real. Freely given, without compulsion. It would be much easier if it weren’t true.
“I see your resistance,” Alderin persists. “I know what that’s like as well. How many times did I convince and reconvince myself of a similar lie? While I lay on my back beneath her, as she writhed atop me, ravishing me with ecstasy. Oh, how I lied to myself in those moments! But even then, I knew it was false.”
Anger boils in my gut. To hear Rosie spoken of in the same breath as that monster? It’s more than I can bear. What difference would it make to Rosie’s fate if I were to cut this man down here and now? If I were to exact payment for those evil words he dares to spew in my presence?
Alderin tips his head, eyeing me with interest. “I can see the rage swelling in you, boy.” He holds up his chalice then, wafting the green flame slowly before me. “Do you want to take this? I know you can. Put out your hand and summon it to your palm. Wield it as you are meant to, assheintends for you. I’ve seen you dracori in action. I know what you are capable of.”
I adjust my stance, flashing my knives. “I don’t need tricks like that to accomplish my ends.”
“But you want it, don’t you? Dracori cannot resist hellflame when it is offered. It is in your blood.” He lunges a quick step toward me, flashing the green fire at my face. “Go on, boy! Take it.”
I step back lightly, my center of balance poised on the balls of my feet. “I won’t let you hurt Rosie,” I growl, refusing to let the dancing flame distract me from Alderin’s face. “Not you nor any champion.”
“And what will you do, Prince Valtar?” The king moves with all the power of a seasoned warrior, and I feel the prickle on my skin which signals that battle is about to begin. “Will you and she ride the barges back up the river? Will you cling to the counterweights rising to the surface world?” Some surprise must register in my face, for Alderin’s mouth twists in a knowing smile. “Oh yes, I’m aware of your little plans, your comings and goings, your schemes. You can hide nothing from me. And what will you do once you’ve escaped? Two star-crossed lovers, making your way in the wide world together. Dodging dracori and warriors ofBelanor at every turn, until you find some secret valley of sunlight and wildflowers. Will you live then, happily ever after?”
I open my mouth to offer a single, succinct word of response. Before I can utter it, however, Alderin’s hand passes over the flame he carries. It ought to burn him, to eat up his flesh and sleeve in an instant. Instead, he catches the flame, swipes it free of the chalice, forming it into a ball. It whorls in the space above his palm for a moment, a green wheel of hellish energy.
My heart stops. I just have time to think,He’s a rutting dracori—
A bolt of green flame shoots straight at me. It hits me in the chest, throwing me backward. I stagger, shocked, and find my feet poised at the edge of the cliff. I wheel my arms, struggling to catch my balance, only for Alderin to move his hands, drawing the green flame back to him. With a single, fluid motion, he shoots a second bolt straight at my face. I throw up one hand for protection.
The blast hits. I pivot, tilt.
Fall.
Then I hit the water hard, caught in the vicious flow, rolling, tumbling, dragged down into darkness and oblivion.
30
Rosie
I lie in bed in the dark. It’s difficult to get any sense of time down here, with thescintilsdulled to the barest glimmer and the palace all but silent beyond my chamber door. I may have lain here for hours, staring up at that air shaft grate in the ceiling. Telling myself I need to rise, clamber up there, and get on with my escape plan.
But I don’t. I’m so heavy inside. So heavy and raw.
I am a dragon.
How long have I believed it? If I’m honest, probably for days now. The first real suspicion came the night Joro tried to kill me, and I felt that flush of fire in my veins. Even then, I’d tried to make excuses and dismiss it, but now? There’s not much use in denying it anymore. I am a dragon. I am the long-lost Princess Roselle. Hatched from a gods-blighted dragon egg in a pyre of phoenix flame.
It doesn’t make any difference though. I can accept the strange reality of my birth, but it doesn’t make me any less incapable ofmanifesting the fire they need from me. If I let that hellflame rise any hotter in my veins, it will kill me—of that I have no doubt. Something about my very being is simply unable to support the fire of my heritage.
Will that stop Alderin from force-marching me straight to the Dracor Flame and casting me in?
Groaning, I turn on my pillow, staring into the shadows of my bedchamber. All the pieces of furniture and decoration, familiar underscintillight, become subtly foreign and ominous in this gloom. The giant wardrobe stands on the opposite wall, one of its doors partially ajar, like a portal to some hell dimension. Philippa’s chair by the fire is vacant, her handwork neatly arranged on the table beside it. She waited for me to return tonight, helped me dress for bed, and retired to her own adjacent room, all in absolute silence. I couldn’t tell if it was a silence of sympathy or deep disapproval. In the end, I don’t suppose it matters. Philippa is not and never will be my friend. No one in this whole gods-damned place is. The sooner I get that through my skull, the better.
“Valtar.”
His name appears on my tongue, whispers through my lips. Oh gods. What kind of a fool did I make myself over that man? Memory of the moment we shared tonight burns even brighter inside me than the memory of rising hellfire. I could sink into that recollection and stay there forever, blissfully reliving the experience of his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his hands.
But why, oh why does the man have to be so damned enigmatic? It certainly adds to his allure, but I would gladly trade a little allure for a healthy dose of honest communication. That kiss of his certainly communicatedsomething, but what? Does he want me? Does he hate me? Why did he say he would…kill me? Itdoesn’t make sense, but then, very little about Valtar does. It’s part of his charm. What in the blighted blazes iswrongwith me?
I cover my face with both hands, curling into a fetal position. Nothing helps—I still feel the pressure of his lips pressed against my breast, just above my beating heart. That small part of my anatomy feels more alive than anything else I’ve ever experienced. My heart pulses, as though beating in response to the sudden surge of life he gave me, a pulse which echoes down the chambers of my heart into my gut. It’s undeniably pleasant…and desperately frustrating. I need him, I need Valtar. I need his hands on my body, his tongue in my mouth. I need his spirit moving in tandem with mine.
