Twenty-Three
He stood in silence,wrapped in the dark shadows of the garden and the heavy perfume of waterblossom. For a moment, he’d thought Luka could sense him somehow, but he’d shrunk deeper into the depths of the shrubbery, and the knight commander had turned away. No one could see him.
Even so, he held in the curse that wanted to escape as he watched the drake leap from the walls with the healer on his back. Gods of darkness, he hated them. Luka especially.
They had played in the same dirt, once. And then the old king—dead now, thank Chaos—had seen the beast in Luka and plucked him from poverty straight to the privileged, entitled world of the castle.
Luka had somehow won the favor of the gods. He was the chosen one. Taken from the grime of Naos to sleep on soft beds and eat hot food, while everyone else was left to shiver and struggle and starve and slowly grind their way toward some kind of safety. All because of an accident of beast and birth.
His own birth was nowhere near so fortuitous, as Gebhard had spent his childhood reminding him. His mother’s husband had been obsessed with the drakes, with the idea that if the sonhe didn’t want could fucking force out a pair of wings, everything would be different.
And then, when his stepfather died—beaten to death over a hand of menace—everythingwasdifferent. It was even worse. Especially as his mother’s obsession with the Pyre grew. They were a tiny breakaway sect of Chaos followers, and walking through the fire occupied their every thought.
For years, he’d wished there was a way to force a dragon out of his skin, so that he could move to the castle and escape her obsessions. He’d tried everything—begging and pleading with his beast, shouting and deriding it. He’d taunted and threatened and hurled abuse at his beast until it fell utterly silent within him. And then he’d realized the truth: he didn’t need to become a drake. Hehatedthe fucking drakes. They were only humans, after all. Humans with claws.
Benja came into his life at exactly the right time and showed him a different path. There was a way to make enough money that he never had to go hungry again, and it came with a side helping of “fuck you” to the drakesandthe Pyre.
He scowled, remembering Izabel climbing onto the drake’s back. To think that Benja’s apothecary shop had gone toher. Sister to a drake and now lover to a drake. Fucking Luka.
It was sickening.
He slipped out of the shadows, dusted off his tunic, and strode smartly away, blending in as usual. But his thoughts churned. Why hadn’t the knight commander fallen on his sword yet? The Kwanam knew Narya was murdered—the entire castle was abuzz with rumors of her death and whispers that Shanrick was with her before she died—and the archthane had to be throwing his weight around and making impossible demands. The treaty was supposed to have collapsed by now, taking Luka down with it.
He’dstarted the rumor about a drake flying Narya’s body to her room—how else could they have done it?—andhe’dmade sure that everyone remembered Shanrick sneaking off with Narya before she died.
It should have been enough to get the war restarted. At least the treaty signing hadn’t gone ahead—all celebrations were canceled for the day—but he was starting to worry, nonetheless.
Izabel had spent the day with the physiks. Why? What did she know? Had she and Luka made the link to Rayan’s death? And if they had, what did that mean for him?
He paused on a narrow stairway, thinking about Rayan. He’d realized Rayan suspected him the minute he saw his knowing gaze in the clinic in Naos. And when Rayan followed him onto the Nabaspath, he knew it was his chance to act. The thick-tailed rock scorpion venom was supposed to knock him out. It usually worked within seconds… but not on Rayan. Perhaps it was so slow because Rayan was a full drake? Whatever the reason, the fucking idiot had escaped… only to partially shift and fly directly into the sea.
It still burned like a firebat bite. For a few moments, he’d thought he’d solved all his problems and finally found the perfect way to make enough gold to live comfortably for the rest of his life. But then he’d lost it.
Since then, he’d had to lay low, take down most of his supply chain, and do everything through contacts removed two or three times. But he’d also made preparations, just in case. Rayan’s death had taught him a valuable lesson: drakes go in a cage.
He hummed to himself. His plan hadn’t quite unfolded as he’d hoped, and it never hurt to have a backup. He changed direction, heading toward the pigeon tower in the outer wall of the castle and the tiny, very special bird he kept there. The baron in Gunab—his main distributor in the rainforest lands—had been clear that he would pay dearly for a live dragon for his menagerie.
Maybe Luka and the healer were an opportunity, after all.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Izzy stumbledas she climbed off Luka’s back, and he immediately put out a wing to balance her. She grinned up at him, bubbling with delight. The flight had been one of the most thrilling of her life. The rush of air, the distant twinkle of the stars, and the spray of salty water as Luka dipped his claws in the sea. The rough purr of his beast as it showed her its world still filled her.
She unbuckled the soft saddle, unclipped the harness, and slid them both away. Then she stepped back and looked around. As glad as she would have been to fly with Luka all night, she was also fascinated by where he’d brought her. He’d landed in a small clearing on the northern side of the mountain range, several miles away from the Nabaspath. The ground rose and dipped in peaks and gulleys, and a surprisingly dense forest—almost a jungle—surrounded them. Night creatures sang and whirred, and the rush and burble of moving water added its own melody.
“Wait here a moment,” Luka rumbled.
Izzy was more than happy to stand still. It was dark, even with the starlight filtering into the clearing, and her legs still wobbled from their flight.
A rush of energy and a pained groan from behind her told her that Luka had shifted back. His breathing was ragged, and she knew he was hurting. She turned, searching for him in the dark. “Luka, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He paused for a moment, and then added more quietly, “Thank you.”
There was a rustling sound from deeper in the shadows, then she heard the squeak of old hinges and a scrape. Light flared, and there was Luka, standing in only his boots and breeches, holding a small, smoky torch. A dirty iron box sat at his feet. “It was Rayan’s idea to keep a bunch of resin torches here,” he explained. “I’m glad at least one still worked.”
“Where are we?” Izzy asked. “I don’t think I’ve been here before.”
