Dragon in the Blood (Vale of Stars Book 2) Read online

  “Wren!” shouted Bastien down the table. “How about a song?”

  The stoic Morgon man with hair black as pitch and a blue streak running along one side, a telltale birthmark of their clan, stood and moved to the hearth. Razor twitched his brow but didn’t move. I angled my chair for a better view, having only heard a Starfell sing once in my life at a wedding in the Feygreir Mountains near Gladium when I was very young. The Starfell clan were gifted with bewitching song, their lyrics divinely inspired and sometimes even weaving a prophecy or premonition of what was to come.

  “What kind of song are we in the mood for tonight?” asked Wren, a man of quiet countenance like Bowen, but with an edge of darkness. He, too, had been touched by evil in his past.

  “How about the Sisters of Sorrel Sea?” shouted Rafe.

  “No,” said Sven next to him. “You just want to hear about sexy girls falling to ruin.”

  “Yes, and what’s wrong with that?”

  A hail of laughter echoed in the room.

  “Yes, give us a bawdy one!” shouted Madera. “Maybe I’ll get lucky yet.” She winked at me with a tip of her cup.

  “Why don’t we let our guests decide?” suggested Bastien.

  I glanced at Bowen who gave me a shake of the head. Valla shrugged.

  “How about a tale of the Vale of Stars?” I suggested.

  “Ah, well done, Rowanflame,” said Bastien. “Let’s have the Vale of Stars, Wren.”

  With a bow, he prepared to sing.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wren Starfell was a striking, but stone-like, Morgon. He didn’t have the charming smile or suave exterior as Conn sitting next to me or this band’s chief, Bastien. Even Bowen held a kindness in his eyes, though he was a quiet, grave man. Wren looked more statue than flesh…until he began to sing.

  He opened his wings, a colorful gradation beginning with pitch black at the top ridge fading to midnight blue then a swathe of indigo and finally lightening to starlight gold, tipped with silver-white. Their clan’s name mirrored the colors of the night sky emblazoned on their backs. But their song…heavens, nothing could compare to such a sound.

  He began with a sonorous melody, no words at all, before singing the tale of the mythical vale.

  “Dragon wings and dragon fire

  ruled the sky from here and far.

  Humans reigned on land and sea,

  all was right, the world lived free.

  But Fortune ensnared the dragon king,

  tying his soul to a human queen.

  Crowned and heartbound as his mate,

  tied by love and a tragic fate,

  she loved him long and died at his side,

  leaving a son who’d turn the tide.

  For the first Morgon who walked this world

  felt hatred, dominance, and evil unfurl.

  More beast than man within his heart,

  ne’er taming the dragon, ripping the world apart.

  Murder of father and mother would begin

  a wicked war spreading hatred and sin,

  till divided the Morgons sheltered apart,

  hating land-walkers who gave us human hearts…

  And so the world turned, spinning without reason,

  awaiting the time for another foul season,

  when war and famine and death would reign,

  fire and rape and sorrow would stain,

  blighting the good with loss and despair,

  all would fall prey to his menacing air.”

  Tears welled my eyes, but I managed to blink them back. The melody pierced me straight to the heart. I’d heard the story told dozens of times. But not like this. An ethereal glow haloed Wren. One might think it a reflection from the fire silhouetting his frame, but he was a Starfell. The supernatural glow meant only one thing—prophecy. His words were no longer just a song or a tale, but words of truth and premonition, words that would come to fruition in real life one of these days, one way or another.

  Somehow I had the sense of mind to click the audio recorder on my wrist comm. I knew whatever he was about to sing would hold meaning, and we’d need these words later.

  He hummed a beautiful tune, closing his eyes, though he was not done. His body glowed brighter than ever before, pronouncing the truth of his words.

  “But hope resides in a faraway land,

  in a place no human has yet to stand,

  where Morgons tell tales of its golden prize,

  where monsters must fear their mortal demise.

  For in the Vale, there is a Shining One,

  who will end the war that the son has begun.

  The dragon Black will seek the Vale,

  but his brother Red may still prevail.

  The fate of humanity and Morgonkind,

  rests on a maid, all-seeing and blind.

  But she will need aid from one and all,

  or Evil will rule, and the Good will fall.”

  By now, Wren beamed with an unnatural luster. He snapped from his trance, chest heaving, folded his wings demurely, and bowed. We all clapped mightily. I was shaken to the core for witnessing such beauty in this dark place and for hearing a prophecy that wrapped the fate of an evil one, who must be the Blood King, with the mythical vale.

  Every one of us sitting at the table knew we’d witnessed a remarkable premonition. I didn’t miss the fact that the Icewing, Lyla, had also recorded Wren from the moment he began to prophesy. She used an older model handheld comm.

  No Starfell ever told the same prophecy, which meant that our small group was the only one who knew how the Blood King would fall. The fact that the three of us—two officers in the Morgon Guard and one from Nightwing Security—happened to be present at the hour of foretelling was more than coincidence. It was fate.

  A tingling sensation trickled up my spine. I glanced at Bowen, then settled my gaze on Conn. We all knew what this meant. We had to get this information to headquarters. But it could be intercepted if transmitted by comm. Fortunately, I had other means of communicating with the Captain of the Morgon Guard, my brother.

  Everyone drifted away from the table, a few helping clear plates and platters through an exit which must have led to the kitchen. Rafe settled on a stool by the fire with a pipe in hand.

  “How”—I turned to Conn—“can this be true?”

  Conn wore a deep frown, as did Bowen across from me and Bastien to my left. Apparently, all of us were puzzled by Wren’s song and prophecy.

  “The Vale doesn’t exist,” I stated. “It’s a fairy tale for children of golden treasure and a precious prize…right?”

  “That is what I have always believed,” admitted Bowen.

  “It is what we have all believed,” said Conn. “This night has revealed something our enemy may not know.”

  “Your enemy?” asked Bastien, gaze assessing.

  Conn sighed, glancing at Bowen, who nodded. He looked to me. I did the same, understanding his questioning look.

  “We are on a mission to the Syren Sisters Coven. We believe they may have information to help us. Information about the one they call the Blood King. I believe, and I think my comrades would agree, that this war your Starfell mentions, this ‘foul season’ has already begun. We seek information to find and destroy an upstart army calling themselves Larkosians. Led by this so-called king.”

  Bastien nodded, his jaw clenched tight. “We’ve heard of him. Though we’ve never seen this Blood King, a large troop—a very large troop—of his soldiers passed through here not too long ago. And small bands pass through Aria from time to time.”

  My heart leapt into my throat. “That means his lair is near here, or this is a passageway to one of them.”

  We’d been fed intel that he kept more than one encampment. The limestone caves, where Moira had been taken, had been completely abandoned.

  Bowen tensed, fury lining his brow. “Where have you seen these soldiers? Which route did they take?”

  “The larger band of Larkosians skirted from
the south of Brilla’s Crag toward Harrowmir, but my contacts there say very few of them stop when they pass through. I know the blacksmith of Harrowmir. We supply him steel from the south. Several weeks ago, he mentioned that a Sunsting he’d never met before, wearing all black like the foreigners you call Larkosians, brought him a strange request.”

  Bastien paused, staring down at his hands as if disturbed.

  “Tell us the request,” demanded Bowen.

  Bastien cleared his throat. “It was an intricate design for a set of chains.”

  “Chains?” Conn shifted closer to me, leaning forward, his forearm brushing mine.

  “The smith deduced they could only be used for one purpose…a harness for a Morgon to carry large and heavy freight on a long flight. The design included the leather harness attachment which a Morgon could wear like a vest. The linking chains were to be hooked to something not attached to the plans, but they were designed in a way to distribute weight evenly for a strong Morgon to carry something heavy.”

  “Like…to carry a human?” I asked, knowing the kind of freight Larkosians had carried away from other provinces.

  “Could be. Or perhaps more than one at a time,” said Bastien, the firelight dancing over the sharp angles of his hard expression. “The order was for one hundred.”

  “A hundred!” I couldn’t help exclaiming.

  Bowen stood so suddenly his chair fell backward, clacking against the stone floor. Razor lifted his head and growled.

  “Easy now,” said Bastien.

  For a moment I wasn’t sure if he spoke to the hound or to Bowen who stormed to the hearth. With shoulders bunched and arms folded, he faced the fire, giving us his back.

  “I take it,” started Bastien quietly, “that these Larkosians have hit him personally in some way.”

  “They have,” I admitted with a tight nod.

  Bowen snapped his attention back to us. “With a hundred carrying harnesses, they’re planning a large scale attack on a human colony or city. They must be.”

  “Do you know when the order was picked up?” asked Conn.

  “When I spoke to the smith, he said it was too much work for him and his two men to finish within the timeframe the Sunsting wanted. So the Sunsting gave him another pouch of gold and said, ‘Hire more men.’” Bastien scoffed. “The smith said it was more gold then he’d need to last a lifetime. With a family to support, it was too much to refuse. He took the offer.”

  “But do you know if he delivered the harnesses?” Conn persisted.

  “I don’t. But I imagine I could find out.”

  “Would you do that for us?” I asked.

  “Yes.” No hesitation. “You may think us nothing more than a lawless band of miscreants, but we care for Morgonkind. And humanity as well.”

  Lyla appeared in the doorway, her soft voice reaching out to us. “Your rooms are ready. If you would like to rest now.”

  Conn stood. I followed suit. Bowen had turned his back to us once again, brooding by the fire.

  “After your meeting with the Syren Sisters, come back this way on your return. I’ll have news for you then.” Bastien extended his hand to Conn. “I’ll say farewell in case we miss you in the morning. If I remember correctly, the Guard operates early.”

  I frowned, wishing his hair wasn’t quite so long so I could see whether he had the official MG tattoo on the nape of his neck. His demeanor reminded me of a Guard officer. Or a former one.

  Conn simply shook his hand and replied, “We’ll be gone before the sun breaks.”

  “Lyla”—he turned toward the door, walking with us—“will you prepare a satchel for them to take when they go?”

  “Of course.”

  Bowen remained at the hearth. The roughened Woodblade, Rafe, joined him.

  “Leave him,” said Conn, picking up his thermal suit he’d left on the floor before dinner. I nodded.

  “I’ll bid you farewell then,” said Bastien with a shake of my hand and one of his pleasant smiles before heading in the opposite direction.

  “Bastien,” I called. He stopped. “Thank you…for your hospitality. I was unkind in my presumptions of you and your people.”

  His smile broadened to something utterly bewitching, and I worried for the woman who was caught by this man. “No offense taken, fair Valla. My hospitality is yours, should you ever be in need.” With a sweeping bow, a formal gesture of Morgon aristocracy, he disappeared down the darkened corridor lit by only two flambeaux.

  “Come,” said Lyla softly.

  Before walking on, I touched Conn’s arm. “That man didn’t murder his family.”

  “No,” he agreed. “He did not.” Conn urged me to follow Lyla with a light hand on the small of my back. It didn’t escape me that his wing brushed mine as we moved down the dimly lit hallway.

  Lyla made two more turns, then gestured toward an open doorway. “Here you are.”

  Conn let me enter first. In the grate, a fire crackled, casting long shadows on the stark room.

  “We don’t have plumbing here, I’m afraid. The castle is much as it was centuries ago. But I’ve left you water in the ewer for freshening up. I’ll have food for you to take with you by the door.” She stepped closer to Conn. “May I please see your arm?”

  As healers, Icewings felt an innate need to mend those who were wounded. Rather than blow her off and send her away, Conn paused, assessing Lyla. I knew that look of his. He understood she needed to heal him whether he wanted it or not.

  “Here. Turn around,” I told him.

  He did as I asked without complaint or sigh and set his thermal suit on the large bed with a simple white coverlet. In the room, there was only one bed, certainly large enough for two. There were other blankets stacked in the corner, which could be used to make a palette on the floor. But I didn’t want him to sleep on the ground. I wanted him near me.

  I unzipped the backflaps beneath his wings. He pulled his shirt off, revealing the gash made by Madera’s lance. Lyla dipped a cloth in the ewer and joined Conn where he sat on the edge of the bed so she could reach the wound more easily.

  Dabbing the smeared blood away, she asked, “Have you ever been treated with coldfire before?”

  “No need,” he shook his head. “No one has managed to cause an injury too deep.”

  Lyla smiled. Like most Icewings, she was fair with pale eyes and hair, not unlike my own. “Madera knows how to cut deeply. But I hope you will not hold that against her. She has been cut deeply herself.”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  The sincerity in his tone warmed my heart. Conn was more than an arrogant, swaggering know-it-all.

  Lyla set the washcloth aside and held Conn’s arm in both delicate hands. “This will sting a little.”

  “I can take it.”

  She blushed at his watchful gaze. How could she not? The man was captivating, and it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore he had other fine qualities beyond his good looks.

  She sucked in a lungful of air and blew a stream of coldfire, the blue flames licking neatly up his arm where the cut slanted across his bicep. Conn winced and clenched his fists, but continued to watch as the healing flame did its work. White sparks spit up into the air as she stopped the stream of coldfire. She stood and glanced at her handiwork.

  Coldfire left behind a unique mark on every wound. Glittering like scales, a scar, iridescent in a shape similar to an arrow, shone in place of Madera’s slash.

  “There,” said Lyla, smiling for the first time since we’d met. Her healer’s heart was happy now.

  “Thank you,” said Conn.

  She blushed again before taking the soiled rag and headed out the door, closing it behind her. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. Conn had that sort of effect on women. His smile could knock the breath right out of you, whether he intended to or not.

  I finally acknowledged the fact she’d left us in a room with only one large bed, both sides turned down. Conn had his eyes on me now,
sitting on the bed shirtless and studying me with intent. I understood Lyla’s breathlessness all too well.

  With a gulp, I gestured to the bed. “I suppose they think we don’t mind sleeping in close quarters…as fellow officers.”

  Conn glanced at the bed behind him then steadied back on me. “They think we’re lovers, Valla. Because we are.”

  “No, we’re not,” I managed to say with a shake of the head.

  “Well, only in my dreams so far. But I hope to amend that.” He patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”

  I shook my head.

  He chuckled. “What? Do you think I’ll ravish you against your will?”

  “No…yes…maybe.”

  His expression softened into serious lines. “Then you don’t know me very well. Come lay down and relax. You need to contact Kol and let him know about the blacksmith.”

  “Oh. Right. Of course.”

  I walked to the other side and kicked off my boots onto the multi-colored woven rug at the bedside. It looked like one Kol had brought back for me from Primus one summer. I tucked my wings flat and lay on my side facing Conn, readying myself to contact my brother. Dreamwalking was less like sleeping and more like deep meditation. Closing my eyes, I sensed Conn’s weight shift closer on the bed.

  “Valla,” he said in that way that made my stomach somersault.

  “Yes?” I peeked one eye open.

  “You might want to remove your thermal suit. You’ll sweat to death in here with that fire going.”

  “Oh.” I laughed. “Right.”

  Well aware my tone had reached an unnatural pitch, I hopped out of bed quickly, pretending I wasn’t rattled. But I was more than shaken lying in a nice, warm bed next to Conn Rowanflame. Unzipping the backflaps myself and shimmying out of the suit in haste, I jumped back in the bed under the covers and sank down farther. Closing my eyes, I pretended to relax, but I could feel the man’s eyes on me.

  “Valla.”

  That voice again, resonating on some invisible key that had a direct line to my libido. How could his voice make my body react in such a way? This was ridiculous.

  “What?” I asked in frustration. For I was truly frustrated. He grinned. Damn it. “What do you want, Conn? I’m trying to relax. I can’t reach Kol if you’re just lying there, staring at me.”