“Submission was never one of my better attributes,” I growl.
He catches hold of my other hand, gripping both my wrists so hard, I fear the bones will break. “I am well aware of your stubbornness, child,” he says, shooting puffs of vapor in my face.His breath is hot, unexpectedly so. Despite the sharp, cold wind, I begin to sweat. “I had hoped I could convince you to do what you must out of the goodness of your heart. I had hoped you would prove to have all the traits necessary for the task before you: compassion, nobility, truth of purpose. All those attributes which I myself gave to you.”
For a moment, I can make no sense of his words. They seem like mere noise in my ears, beating in time with my thundering pulse. Then something shifts in my head, and I realize. I realize the truth which I should have guessed ages ago. The truth which has been staring me in the face from the moment I first arrived in this gods-forsaken place, thrown at the feet of this man.
“You’re…” The words won’t come. They stick on my tongue, unwilling to be spoken out loud. “You’re my…”
“When the plan was first formed to take one of Mhoryga’s eggs, we all knew it could not be just any egg. Mhoryga’s evil could not be counterbalanced by any but the noblest blood from the purest line.” Alderin tilts his head, staring at me from beneath the ledge of his stern brow. “I was chosen. Out of all the worthiest knights and princes of Belanor, it fell to me to journey to Khylmira and present myself as consort to Mhoryga. It was well known that she liked to collect pretty lovers for the purpose of generating her dragon spawn. But she chose only the best, most select specimens for the creation of a queen egg.” His teeth flash in a bitter smile. “She looked upon my face and form and found both pleasing. So she made me her consort, her king. Her plaything and thrall. Her love. For five long years, she possessed my mind. I belonged to her, and in that time, I all but forgot what it was to be a man.”
He looks away then, his expression momentarily stricken with grief. “Were it not for Durona, I would have remained withher. With Mhoryga. So great was the passion of fire she ignited in my heart. Only Durona had the strength, the will to pull me free.” He faces me again, his fingers tightening around my wrists so that I gasp with pain. “Thus, we succeeded in taking the precious egg. In taking you—my child. My only child.”
Horror churns, a maelstrom in my heart. I stare into the face of this stranger, this father. My captor and my enemy. The man who inspires loyalty and loathing with every other breath he takes.
“I sacrificed everything to bring about your existence,” Alderin says, shaking his head slowly. “To offer the world its one and only chance of salvation, I gave up my honor, my soul…my very humanity. But I received other gifts in exchange.”
With that, he releases one of my wrists and snaps his fingers. Fire erupts at his fingertip—a steady green flame.
In the same instant, I hear his voice. Not with my ears, not in any audible sense. It’s in my head, louder and more forceful than any spoken word could be:“You are mine. You are mine, Roselle. Bred of my blood and bone. If I cannot have your willing heart, then I will make do with your unwilling mind. It might even be easier in the end.”
No. No, no, no, this cannot be! Not him, not the High King, not the great legendary hero of Belanor. He cannot be dracori! And yet, he is in my head, speaking to me in a dragon’s voice—a voice of flame and heat and pure power.
“It’s time to let your fire rise, Roselle,”he says and spreads his fingers. Now five flames burn, one from each fingertip. Soon the flame encompasses his whole hand, a blazing gauntlet.“It’s easy! I survived the process, and I am but a man. Mhoryga pumped my veins full of dragon blood to enable me to bear it. You, however, are a natural dragon. You can wield hellfire as easy as breathing. A tremendous gift, if only you would claim it.”
“I can’t!” I whimper, shrinking before him. “I will burn!” If I could collapse into myself and become nothing to hide from his gaze, I would. But he holds me fast.
“Only because you fear too much,” he says, speaking out loud in the gentlest, most patient tones. “Be brave, Roselle. The hour is nigh. It is time for you to rise to your destiny.”
He stretches his hand toward my face, those flames licking with hunger. A scream bursts from my throat, ragged and raw, as I twist and writhe, desperate to break his grasp. My own fire, deep down inside, rises in response to perceived threat, just as it did when Joro strangled me. Heat floods my veins, so vicious and consuming, it will incinerate me from the inside out. But not before Alderin burns my face off.
“Stop struggling, child,” Alderin growls through his clenched jaw. “It will be easier if you—”
A deep voice rumbles from the darkness behind him: “Get your hands off her, you rutting bastard.”
The king’s eyes widen. He turns just as a shadowy form looms behind him. Moonlight illuminates the face of Death incarnate, carved from white stone. Then a blade flashes, poised to rest just at Alderin’s throat. A thin line of blood trickles where the edge just slices into taut flesh.
I twist in the king’s grasp, staring up at that apparition. “Valtar!”
He’s here. Alive, in the flesh, and yet…and yet nothing like the man as I last beheld him. He is transformed, become once more the monster I saw standing over Joro’s dead body. A creature of blood and darkness, a dealer of death and pain. He is utterly terrifying and yet, in that moment, utterly beautiful to my desperate gaze.
He does not look at me. His eyes remain fixed on his prey with deadly focus.
“Is that…” Alderin swallows. “Is that ameoriseblade?”
A smile slashes across Valtar’s lips. “Did you think I’d be foolish enough to go without one?”
Alderin lets out a slow breath. Then his fingers uncurl from around my wrist. I fall back from him to the paving stones and scoot away awkwardly, feet tangling in my skirts. When I am beyond his reach, I scramble to my feet, eyes flicking from Valtar to the king and back. I know Alderin is my enemy, but Valtar? Were the things they told me about him lies? Or is he truly everything they said? Mhoryga’s agent, a deadly assassin. Dracori.
It’s all a little too easy to believe.
“Rosie,” he says, and the sound of my name uttered so harshly startles me. “Get the boy.”
His voice shocks through my system like a bolt of lightning. I drag in a rough breath, then turn to the tunnel entrance where Rhyo still stands, frozen under Alderin’s command. I concentrate my voice, instilling all the force I can into it. Now is not the time to worry over the rightness or wrongness of controlling another’s will. “Come here!” I say, holding out my hand.
His little body quakes. Then, as though released from some terrible grip, he shakes himself hard and rushes to my side. I put an arm around him, pulling him to me and placing myself between him and the other two.
“Stand back from him, Rosie,” Valtar says, shooting a sharp glance my way.
My heart jolts to my throat. “What are you going to do?”
