A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) (31 page)

He nodded, throat tight. He
could speak no louder than a whisper, not without chancing his voice
cracking.

"It counts for a lot."

She lay still for a moment,
watching the stars, then propped herself up on her elbows. She
placed a hand on his chest, leaned over him, and dusted sand from his
hair.

"Valien and the others want
to keep fighting," she said. "They counted over a thousand
surviving resistors on this island. They think more might have fled
into the forests of Requiem." She bit her lip. "They will
go back, and they will find new allies, and they will fight on. What
do we do, Ler? Do we join them?"

He touched her cheek, marveling
at how her features were so soft and small; she seemed made of
porcelain.

"I gave Valien the rest of
the Lechers," he said. "Three hundred battle-hardened
brutes. That's my gift to his Resistance. May they fight well. The
bloody lot stank anyway; I couldn't stand the stench." He
sighed and looked up past Erry at the stars. The Draco constellation
shone, the old gods. "But I won't join him. You're right,
Erry. I'm not a hero. I'm not a knight or a warrior at all."
His throat tightened. "I thought I was. When I ruled Castra
Luna, I thought I was a great fighter, but… I was a boy. A foolish
boy."

She nodded. "A very
foolish one. I remember."

It was his turn to stick his
tongue out. "You fancied me even then. I knew it." He
smiled weakly. "You were bad at hiding it. So what will you
do, Erry Docker of Lynport? Will you fly off with the warriors and
fight and maybe die another day? Or will you stay here with me?"

She raised her eyebrows, still
playing with his hair. "With you and what—sand?"

"Sand," he said.
"Palm trees heavy with dates and pines heavy with nuts. Mint
bushes for tea. A spring of fresh water. All the fish that we can
catch." He grinned. "I'd rather like seeing you wear a
skirt of leaves and clam shells on your breasts, a wild islander."

"I should think," she
said and straddled him, "that you should prefer me like
this—naked as the day I was born."

He chewed his lip and looked up
at her, examining her body in the moonlight. "You are damn
right."

He made love to her, the sand
beneath them, the stars of his fathers above. So many times he had
taken her to his bed, had used her, had clung to her to forget his
pain. Yet now he made love to her, and now he loved her, and for a
moment under the stars, Erry Docker in his arms, Leresy Cadigus could
forget. He could no longer see the memories.

They
will always be with me,
he thought, holding Erry as she slept against his chest.
But
so will Erry. So will this woman that I love. And that's not too
bad.

He closed his eyes, kissed her
cheek, and slept.

 
 
RUNE

They flew in darkness for a long
time.

She held him in her claws like a
mother bird clutching her young. Sometimes he heard her say his
name. Sometimes he felt the rain and the wind, and sometimes he
could see her, a white dragon under the sky. Sometimes he thought he
could hear the sea below.

He dreamed.

He had lost so much blood. The
chains bound him so tightly. A sack covered his head, leaving him
always in night, always in sleep and memory and nightmares. They
flew. They flew in darkness. They flew for a long time.

"Rune," she said
softly. "Rune, I'm here."

It was her voice. Tilla. She
stood before him on the beach, and he embraced her, and they kissed.
The waves raced over the sand and wet their feet, and she scurried
away like always, and he laughed.

The sky cackled and creaked and
clattered. Heat blasted him and he heard dragonfire storm all
around. He floated through the sea at home. He floated through a
sea of dragons in the sky. But she was here. His love. His Tilla.

"Rune," she whispered,
her claws gentle around him. "We're almost home."

He tried to open his eyes. He
saw nothing but the sack. He tried to call to her, but his throat
was too parched, and he was too weak. So many wounds. So much blood
lost.

They flew.

They flew in darkness for a long
time.

After dreamscapes and eras of
memory, trumpets sounded ahead.

"Silver trumpets will call
you home," a knight had said in eras long forgotten.

And now they called. And Rune
knew them. He saw only darkness, but he heard their song. They were
calling him to his new home. To Nova Vita. To the capital of
Requiem.

To the place where they would
break him.

"Rune," she whispered.
"Do not be afraid. I'll be with you."

Rain pattered him. Clouds
grumbled above. And the dragons roared. Thousands of throats
bellowed their rage. Dragonfire crackled and heat blasted Rune. Air
from countless wings pummeled him, and the emperor howled ahead, a
shriek like wind through canyons.

"We have captured the heir!
Relesar Aeternum is ours!" The emperor's voice rose like steam
from a kettle, a voice of demons. "Purification! The
Resistance is fallen. Requiem is pure!"

And they cheered.

Rune heard them cheer below.

A million people lived in the
capital, they said. Rune could not see them. He could see nothing
but the sack around his head and blurs of red where firelight flared.
But he heard them. He heard the million. And they howled for his
death.

"Hail the red spiral!"
the emperor shrieked, and they answered. The cry rolled across the
Legions. It rolled across the city below. It tore through Rune and
it tore through the kingdom he loved.

"Hail the red spiral!
Purification!"

The rain fell, and Tilla's claws
tightened around him, but her grip did not hurt.

She did not mean to hurt him.

She was protecting him.

"Rune," she whispered.
"You will worship him. You will join us. And the pain will
end."

The roaring swelled like an
ocean below.

Wind shrieked and his ears
popped as they descended.

He did not know where they
landed. They left the sack over his head. They left the chains
wrapped around him, binding his arms to his sides.

And they shouted.

And they shoved him.

Rough hands grabbed and tugged
him. Something sharp jabbed his side. Something hard—perhaps a
steel-tipped boot—drove into his spine, and he fell to his knees and
cried.

"Move him forward!"
rumbled a deep voice.

"Get him into the
darkness!"

Tilla's voice rose too. "Leave
him! He is mine. He is my catch. He is mine to break!"

Steel hissed—blades being drawn
from sheathes. Swords clashed. Hands grabbed him and tugged him to
his feet.

"You will have your chance,
Siren," spoke another voice, and Rune recognized it; it was
Princess Shari speaking. "He tore off my wing. He will be
yours, but first I will have vengeance."

Boots kicked him. He fell
again. Fists landed upon him. Something heavy clashed against his
head, and his cheek hit the ground, and laughter rose, and voices
screamed. He screamed too. He screamed louder than them all.

He fell into darkness.

He floated on the sea.

He flew under the stars with her
at his side.

They stood again on the beach,
and he embraced her, and she kissed him, and her fingers touched his
hair.

"Rune," she whispered.
"Rune, I'm here."

Her lips were soft. Her hands
caressed his cheek. The waves rolled around them, the stars shone
above, and the cliffs of Ralora rose behind them. He was home.

"Rune," she whispered
again. "Rune, they're gone. Open your eyes. Look at me."

I
can see you,
he thought.
We
stand on the beach again. Your face is pale like moonlight, and your
black hair is waving in the wind, and you are mine. You are the
woman I love.

"Rune… Stars, Rune, can
you hear me?"

He opened his eyes.

And he saw her.

Dream melted into pain.

She knelt above him, no longer
the pale youth he'd known, but a woman with haunted eyes, her face
smeared with ash, her cheek scarred with war. Brick walls topped
with battlements rose behind her.

"Tilla?" he whispered.

He could not rise. He could
barely keep his eyes open. They had broken his body. They had shed
too much blood. She squeezed his hand, but he could not squeeze
back.

"Rune," she whispered,
and a trembling smile found her lips, and her tears fell upon his
face. They stung.

She was here. This was real.
She was with him again, and he wept.

"It's over now." She
kissed his lips. "You saved our people. It's over. They will
no longer hurt you. You only have to do what we say. You only have
to join us, to hail the red spiral, to serve the emperor." Her
tears ran along her lips. "And we'll be together again."

"I…"

I
can't do that, Tilla,
he wanted to say.
I
can't. Let me die. Let me die here in your arms.

But his throat felt too tight.

"Come, Rune, you must stand
now," she said. She placed her arms around him and tugged. "We
have to go. Quick, before they return."

He rose to shaky feet and leaned
against her. Chains still wrapped around him, slick with blood. He
wore nothing but rags beneath. Tilla stood clad in fine armor,
holding him up.

"You'll be with me now,
Rune," she said. "You'll be safe if you obey."

They limped across a courtyard.
All around them, the brick walls rose in the night, topped with
battlements. Clouds hid the stars. They stood in the courtyard,
alone.

"Tilla," he whispered
hoarsely. "Tilla, fly. Take me in your claws and we'll fly
from here."

She helped him walk, her arms
around him.

"There is no fleeing him,"
she said. "There is no fighting him. You must join us. That
is all you can do. You must serve him like I do."

He looked ahead. A barred door
stood open in a wall, leading to a cell. Inside he saw a pile of
straw, a hole in the floor, and chains dangling from the ceiling.
Old blood encrusted the walls.

"Tilla," he said,
nearly too parched to speak, "what is this place?"

"You won't have to stay
here long," she whispered, guiding him toward the cell. "Only
until he thinks you're broken. Only until he hears you worship him.
Rune… it doesn't have to hurt. Your pain can end."

The courtyard swam around him.
He would have fallen were Tilla not holding him. He tried to break
free from her, but he was too weak. He tried to shift into a dragon,
but couldn't muster the magic.

"Tilla," he whispered,
and his voice cracked, and his eyes stung. "Please. They're
gone now. The legionaries. The dragons. The emperor. They're
gone. Shift into a dragon, Tilla! Shift and hold me in your claws
and fly from here."

She shook her head, and her
tears fell, and she kept moving forward, pulling him with her.

"I cannot," she
whispered.

"We can escape," he
said, looking above. The sky cleared. He could see the stars. "I
can fly myself, maybe. Let's fly from here. Let's fly home."

They reached the cell. She
paused. She released him, and he stood on shaky feet before her, the
world spinning.

"Rune," she whispered,
and she was beautiful in the starlight, a statue of marble. "Do
you remember that night on the beach? Our last night?"

He nodded, a lump in his throat.
"I never forgot."

She embraced him. She touched
his cheek, and she kissed him. They shared a long, deep kiss, a kiss
like that last night, a kiss of goodbye. It tasted of tears and of
memory.

She pulled back, and her lips
shook.

"That
was our home," she whispered. "But it's gone now. The
city burned. There is nowhere left to fly to." She gripped his
arms. "Rune… you
are
home."

She shoved him into the cell.

He fell to the floor, landing on
old blood.

"Tilla!" he shouted.
"Tilla!"

He rose to his feet and stumbled
toward her.

She gave him a last look, her
eyes large and haunted, eyes that reflected the sea, the stars, and
the city that was no more.

She slammed the door shut,
leaving him alone in darkness, hurt and cold and mourning the burning
of his home… and the breaking of her soul.

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading
A Birthright of Blood
. I hope you enjoyed this novel.

You can keep following the story in
A Memory of Fire
, the sequel. Click
here
to grab your copy or search for "A Memory of Fire" at Amazon.

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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

Standalones:

Firefly Island
(2007)

The Gods of Dream
(2010)

Flaming Dove
(2010)

Misfit Heroes
:

Eye of the Wizard
(2011)