The Dragon Kings, page 1
part #4 of Land of Fire and Ash Series
The Dragon Kings
Book Three
The Land of Fire and Ash
By
Sarah Dalton & Moira Katson
The Dragon Storm
Sarah Dalton
EBOOK EDITION
Copyright © 2019 Sarah Dalton
Cover design by Damonza
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations, and products depicted herein are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Map of Estala and Xantos
Tinian
Lord Tinian sauntered through the gardens at the Xanti palace, the Lord by his side. Amidst the opulence of the gold-plated palace, the gardens were a luxury of a different kind. Three long, rectangular pools with inlaid edges reflected the azure sky among a smattering of lotus blossoms. Large white fish darted below the surface. Rows of palms and sycamores provided shade, and there was an unusual profusion of greenery. Jasmine hung near the shaded walkways, and the air was always redolent with the scent of roses and poppies.
Such gardens, needing as much water as they did, were luxuries few could afford. Tinian had taken pride in them—and in his place as the man who, for all intents and purposes, owned them.
He felt he deserved them. As the First Councillor of Xantos, he had led his people not only to prosperity, but also to an enlightened age of science and art. Davead had not always been friendly to Xantos, but at least the paranoid king had shown no fervent interest in war between the two countries, and Tinian had no desire to make war for war’s sake.
War could be a boon to trade, but the chaos it unleashed made profit a tricky thing to capture. No, Tinian had not been one of the foolish men who would start a war to stroke his own ego and make himself feel like a warrior. He had more refined sensibilities—unlike every man in recent memory who had sat on the Estalan throne, he told himself a bit snidely.
Unfortunately, one of those men was now walking beside him, having conquered Gold Port easily and taken the entire council hostage—including Tinian. For the entirety of his career, Tinian had sought to establish Xantos as a nation clearly superior to Estala. Estala was backwards, superstitious, overly religious, far from being a beacon of art, science, or culture.
And yet, Xantos now appeared to be a pawn in the battle between Estala’s two heirs.
Tinian tried to steady himself. He realised that the Lord, as Stefan liked to be called, was looking over at him. Tinian met his eyes and wished he had not. He told himself firmly that he did not believe in ghost stories, yet there was something in those eyes that did not seem entirely human, something the other councillors swore had not been there when Stefan had first come to Xantos.
Childish nonsense, Tinian told himself.
“Do you know how I conquered Xantos so easily?” the Lord asked.
It would be equally childish to make a prideful retort now. Tinian was not a child; he was the First Councillor, and he was descended from merchants who had spent years swallowing their pride and saying the words others wanted them to say. Let other men squabble over the definitions of pride and truth. Merchants always won in the end.
Tinian allowed no measure of his hatred to show. He bowed his head, showing every indication of respect.
“I do not know, Lord.”
“Look around you.” The Lord gestured to the gardens and the palace, and even—Tinian thought—to the clear blue sky above. “Look at this luxury. Do you know what luxury is?”
“No, Lord.” Tinian was suddenly aware of the screaming rising from the city below. A chill went through him, and he had the urge to run to the covered walkways and peer through the slit windows.
He had returned to Xantos the night before to find Stefan—or the Lord, as he called himself now—in the council chambers, the city already conquered. It had been a bloodless coup, but that had only made Tinian wary. Stefan had many hostages, including Alberto, Davead’s youngest son—the boy Tinian had intended to keep as his own hostage of sorts.
He repressed the thought that he was no better than Stefan. Tinian would never truly have hurt the boy, but tales of Stefan’s cruelty were well-known. Still….
And now there were screams in the marketplace, telling him that something was happening—the exact “something” he had feared since he had first seen Stefan sitting in the First Councillor’s chair.
The Lord seemed oblivious to the sounds below. He strolled along the pretty paths with his hands linked behind his back, and what Tinian could see of his face behind the mask seemed at once serene and faintly disappointed by everything he saw.
“Luxury is a rot,” the Lord said, and there was a distant command in his voice that sounded very unlike the boy Tinian had once met. Tinian was forced to remind himself again that gods were not reborn into human bodies. Such a thing was ridiculous.
“Luxury is a growth,” the Lord went on. “The sort that grows unseen, unnoticed in the breast, sapping the strength of a body and crushing the vital organs.” He held one gloved hand in front of himself, staring at it almost curiously, and clenched his fingers tightly on the last word. The leather of his gloves creaked slightly, and the Lord ran his tongue around his lips. It was still as red as the rumours had claimed.
The wind changed, and the screaming grew louder, undercut by what Tinian suspected to be the beat of a drum. Fear twisted in his gut. What was happening? What was this charade?
He knew better than to ask.
“Perhaps you disagree with my assessment,” the Lord said, tilting his head toward Tinian.
“No, Lord. I do not.”
“Truly?” the Lord said, the slightly higher pitch of his voice indicating amusement. “Then have you knowingly weakened your own country? I might have overlooked a valuable ally in you, Tinian.”
Tinian summoned all of his skill as a merchant and swallowed down the bitter dregs of his pride, trying to ignore the Lord’s obvious jibe.
“I am a merchant, Lord. I supplied whatever the rich desired. In such simple transactions, I believed I could find a certain moral equity. It was only trade, or a bit of silk, or a gold plate. Where was the harm? And Xantos and Estala both flourished from it.” He lifted his chin, trying to summon the pride he had felt so long ago, but it was not there to be summoned. He continued with his false flattery. “And yet, as you say, you conquered Xantos easily. There must be merit to your words.”
The Lord stared at him for a long moment, and Tinian bowed his head. In truth, he was not certain his words were just an act. The Lord’s description of luxury made sense in a way. There were so many things a society needed: food, shelter, roads. If its energies went to frivolous items like silks and paintings, did that not starve the rest of it?
Tinian would have said no—and yet, here he was, a captive in his own palace.
“You would not be planning to betray me, would you, Tinian?” The Lord’s voice was soft, inviting confidence, but the cold hint of danger in it sent a chill down Tinian’s spine.
“No, Lord.” He spoke from fear alone, no longer the confident First Councillor.
“Good,” the Lord said, his voice still soft. “That is good, Tinian. I hope that together, we can build a new world. You will be able to explain to my Xanti children why change has come to Xantos. You will be able to explain why it is a kindness to purge them with fire.”
“With fire—” Tinian’s throat restricted.
“Come see.” The Lord climbed the stairs to the upper wall, his steps unhurried, as Tinian fought the urge to push past him and run to the battlements.
Smoke billowed into the air from the marketplace. Tinian squinted to see the Lord’s soldiers throwing bolts of silk and scrolls onto the flames. People were screaming as they were held back from the fire, squirming against their captors. For a moment he did not understand what was going on. Goods were the lifeblood of trade, yes, but they could be replaced. The people should not draw the Lord’s ire yet, not for this.
Then the smoke cleared a bit, just for a moment, and he saw why they were fighting. His hands clenched on the gold-dipped stones. The Lord was burning the weavers and tailors along with their goods. Drums were beat and a chant was carried on the wind: Anios, Anios, Anios…
“Through fire they will be redeemed,” the Lord assured him. “In the next life, they will be shriven, and those who are left will see the truth and can be saved. Rejoice, Tinian. Your people have the chance to escape damnation.” He smiled. “I hope they will embrace it. The world needs—I need—their worship.”
Tinian turned his head sharply toward the Lord before he moved away again. He rid his face of any expression, remaining as impassive as he could despite the anger seething within him.
For a fleeting moment, the veneer of the kindly god had slipped, and Tinian had heard the raw need in the Lord’s voice. It shook him to his core. What was this man now? Was he a madman, or was he something darker? Something more?
Tinian turned back to the pyres, fear and despair choking him. He must help the people, he knew that—but he did not know how. He suspected he was already defeated, and he very much feared he would watch the whole city burn, then be fed to the flames himself, and still the Lord would endure.
Karine
On the first night, Karine and Reva hardly spoke. They had been given everything they might need to stay safe: the sort of carriage a noble might use, and a retinue
“I will make sure that Luca is searching for two young women travelling alone,” she had said. “Leave it to me. Many of the guards here are still loyal.”
Reva had clasped her hand, frowning so deeply that lines appeared on her usually lovely face. “Be careful who hears you say such things. If Luca fears that you are attempting to take his place—”
“We both know that he already fears I am.” Serena’s smile was sad. “I will not stop doing what I can for Estala simply because my brother jumps at shadows. Luca is confused, but in time, he will understand that I would never attempt to take his throne. I could not in good conscience cause such a war.”
“When it was Stefan…” Karine began.
“Luca is not Stefan,” Serena said at once.
But Karine noticed that she did not seem very sure of that. She was a princess born and trained, however, and before the conversation could veer any further into dangerous waters, she led them out to the stables, where the carriage was being made ready.
Serena faced the guards who had been summoned and surveyed them as if she were a queen. “You know who this is.” She gestured to Reva. “This is Lady Reva Avalon, once betrothed to my brother Luca. All of you here have been selected for your discretion and your sympathies to the Menti. You will have heard rumours, and now I tell you the truth: both of my brothers are Menti, but Stefan is a dragon. When he comes for us, we must have defences—and that is why Lady Avalon is so important. She, too, is a dragon shifter.”
The men drew in their breath and murmured amongst themselves. Karine had shot an incredulous glance at Serena, but Reva, like the courtly lady she had been trained to be, was waiting to see what Serena’s plan was.
Karine did not think much of it. In her opinion, nobles and royalty did not have any idea how the world truly worked. This was a terrible risk. But she followed Reva’s example and kept her mouth shut.
“As Reva is one of the only people in Estala who can face Stefan in combat, she must be kept safe,” Serena explained. “There are whispers that some of Stefan’s agents remain in the palace. Tonight, we are removing Lady Avalon to safety, and you are an integral part of this plan. On the morrow, King Luca will pretend to discover Reva missing and will send up a hue and cry. There may be messengers on the roads, and all manner of people in royal livery saying that they seek her and her friend. At best, when you see those agents, it will be a ruse. At worst, it will be Stefan’s agents. Do not answer them. Admit nothing to them. Hide from them if you can, and follow Lady Avalon’s orders in everything. She is privy to details you may not know. Whatever she does, she does with good reason. Do you understand?”
The soldiers nodded, and Karine realised that she had misjudged the princess. Serena had cunningly ensured that the soldiers would not be alarmed when Luca started a search—and that whatever Reva must do to stay safe, the soldiers would follow her orders.
Though even Reva appeared impatient now, Serena spoke to each of the soldiers in turn, asking them personally for their loyalty. When it was done, she drew Reva and Karine aside.
“I have given you the best chance I can,” she told them, her voice quiet. She squeezed Reva’s hands. “Reva, one day I thought I would call you my sister, and I was glad of it. Your courage and your kindness have inspired me. I know that you will do what you can for Estala, wherever you go, and I will always remain your friend. Karine, I hardly got a chance to know you, but I see that there is much beneath the surface. You are a true friend to Reva, and a courageous, clever woman in your own right. I wish you safety, and I hope selfishly that you will stand by Reva, whatever comes.”
Before anything else, Serena was a princess, Karine reminded herself. No matter what she said, there was always a world of difference between her and the woman who stood before her. Karine had to remember that she probably did not truly care about her wellbeing at all. Were her words any more than flattery? Serena wanted Reva kept safe, and Karine was a useful tool for that purpose. But at the same time, Karine could not shake the suspicion that Serena had a good heart, and perhaps her kind words were not so much of an exaggeration. After all, Karine never would have guessed that Serena would even acknowledge her.
She sheepishly offered the princess a little curtsy, and when Serena drew her up to kiss her on both cheeks, Karine was surprised by her gentleness.
“Go now,” Serena said. “Quickly. Get as far away as you can, and I will do as much as I can to delay the search.”
Then they had left, well-provisioned and snug in their carriage, and Karine reflected that much had changed, only for a great deal to stay the same. They were no longer starving, scavenging berries and stealing potatoes, but they were still running away.
They travelled into the early morning before Reva asked the coachmen to drive off the main road and stop in the first small town they found which had an inn. It was the first time she had spoken all night, and though she was gracious and kind, the effort seemed to drain her. She sank back into her seat when she was done and was silent once more, her skin sallow and her expression drawn.
Karine herself was consumed with doubt. What if Luca had intended something more to be a part of his plan? Perhaps he had been luring the Ulezi into a trap, and he would have told Reva everything. What if Karine had made a mistake in telling Reva about Luca’s betrayal, and their escape from Reyalon had been too hasty? Perhaps Karine had broken Reva’s heart for no purpose.
Then she remembered Luca’s face and shivered. She remembered the desperation in Luca’s eyes. He had tried to veil it, but it was there. He was so obsessed with Stefan now that she had believed he would sacrifice Reva in order to defeat his brother.
She could not shake the feeling that they might have made a mistake. Perhaps they should have delayed for a day. Would it not have been a better course of action to show caution and wait? With the Ulezi hunting Reva, their travels could end in catastrophe. Still, she knew that with the coach and the soldiers, they had as good of a chance as they could expect.
Around and around her thoughts circled, in the way of someone who was afraid and yet helpless, and Karine was relieved when the carriage drew to a halt. She heard the rough voices of the guards negotiating rates for stabling the horses and renting rooms. She pushed the curtains aside to obtain a better look at the small inn.
Finally, Reva came to life. She reached over to take Karine’s hand, her eyes shining and glassy.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Your cleverness has saved my life, Karine—and your kindness. More than once. Without you, I do not know what I would have done. I have an idea, though. I will tell you when we are alone.”
Karine waited, intrigued, as the door of the carriage opened and one of the soldiers helped Reva down. None of them were wearing livery, and the carriage was unmarked.
“My lady,” one of them said. “How should we address you in the inn?”
“I will be Evelyn,” Reva said without a flicker. “A merchant’s daughter. My father hoped to wed me to a noble in Reyalon, but after the chaos in the city, he thinks it would be safer to send me to the country. You are bringing me to an estate he has purchased. This is my cousin and companion, Hannah.”
It was a clever lie, Karine thought, and she wondered whether Reva had been thinking about what story to tell as she had remained silent in the carriage. Reva was smart, and she knew wealthy merchants were always trying to pass themselves off as nobility. No one would question why there were so many guards, or why Reva’s clothing was so nice.
Karine mentally chastised herself for thinking that Reva had been moping over Luca. Instead, she had been considering their aliases for the journey.
“And I will come to see you before we leave,” Reva said. “Luca’s plan will require some of you to set out as runners very soon. I will explain it all.”
