Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) (9 page)

The dancers around them were urgent now, faces red, brows moist, lips locked and tongues visible between passionate kisses. In her close embrace she'd worried that others would stare at their impropriety, but instead it was clear to her that the party had quickly degraded to debauchery and drunkenness. Wives of Earls rubbed their thighs greedily against Lords of faraway fiefs, whilst their husbands groped young courtesans off in distant corners. The musicians played some wild and exotic tune, drums hammering in time with the movements of the dancers. The once brightly lit ballroom darkened until flickering candles casts churning, living shadows across the now grey-and-orange marble floor.

Prince Jaraz teased her with his eyes as his fingers traced up from her hips to the foothills underneath her breasts, sending goose pimples flaring across her skin. The hand that held her Elven ring surged with a pulsing electricity, sending prickles up her arm and down her spine until something raged between her legs. Her knees buckled as pleasure flooded through her body, wracking her thighs with a feeling so intense a moan escaped from her lips. Eyelids fluttering, she caught the grin on the Prince's mouth as he bent down to inspect her face.

"Is everything quite all right, Princess Sebine?" His devilish eyes spoke that indeed he knew all was quite well, and he brought soft fingers to rest along her feverish cheek. "Perhaps we should rest someplace far away from the noise of the crowd."

Sebine nodded and accepted his hand as he led her away from the ballroom. She motioned towards a resting room at the end of a statue-lined hallway, but the room was occupied by two young men and an enraptured older woman compressed together naked on a red, reclining sofa. Princess Sebine gaped at the erotic scene until the Prince pulled her away.

"Are the nobles of your Kingdom always so shameful?" Prince Jaraz narrowed his eyes in a quick glance that contained a heavy measure of scorn. "It was almost as if they wanted to be seen—the door was open."

"I'm sorry for my people...this is all new to me. Wedding feasts are infamous in our lands and open to only those nobles and courtesans of age. This is my first such feast."

Prince Jaraz cleared his throat and released a sigh. "I've heard rumors of such parties in my Kingdom as well, fortunately I've no taste for such extravagances. Though I'm certain Marquis Kalan indulges regularly as his appetite for lust is never satiated."

"And you've no such lust, my prince?" She winked at him and ran ahead to stairs that led up to the staterooms.

Blood pumped wildly through her veins as she climbed the stairs, and she could hear the Prince's footsteps and voice trailing behind her. "Of course I lust as other men! I just don't need to flout it to prying eyes. My lust is all for you."

"Prove it!" she shouted, and glanced back at the Prince's now sobered face. What was wrong? A cold chill sank into her shoulders as she turned to see the King's head poking out from a doorway, his eyes hateful and face clenched and shaking in fury. The Prince backed away—fearful—and raised hands defensively as the King barked orders to his Vizathian Knights. Two burly steel-clad knights chased after the Prince and failed to stop despite Sebine's pleas.
 

"He has done nothing wrong!" she shouted. "By our treaty with the Malathians we must not hurt him. He is Prince Jaraz...oh, Father stop them, talk to Ambassador Droman, he knows him!"
 

"Get out of my way, you filthy slut." King Braxion shoved her aside and strode down the hallway after the Prince, with streams of soldiers pouring in behind him. "Give me your sword, fool!" He wrenched a sword from a stunned soldier, and raced down the stairs.

Sebine went to chase after them but two guards blocked her way. Rage possessed her heart at the soldier's obstinate expression. How did they dare stop her? She ordered them to move, but they ignored her command.
The spell—to boil the blood of men—how did their fingers move, what did they chant?
Memory flooded her mind of a shriveled Hakkadian sorcerer casting the deadly spell. She felt the rage pulse down to the hand that wielded the Ring of Galdora. She wanted the soldiers dead. If they disobeyed, they deserved to die. She couldn't let the King kill Prince Jaraz. Her hands flourished in imitation of the hand movements, chants pouring from her parted lips. The guards took an uncertain step away from her, but as the power flooded through Sebine's hands their eyes widened then clenched in horrific pain. A burst of blood gushed from their nostrils and ears and mouth as the men collapsed to the ground like tossed aside carcasses from the hunt.

What had she just done? The scene was so revolting she turned her eyes away and felt bile rising up her throat. Had she really meant to kill two innocent soldiers? They were only doing their duty... She couldn't think about it now. If she waited another second the Prince was likely to be killed by the Vizathian Knights, or killed by the hand of the King. Lifting up the hem of her dress, she jumped over the slain soldiers and pooling blood and dashed down the stairs, not thinking, just intent on helping the Prince. In the main ballroom she heard screams and shouts and the clashing of steel as men loyal to Prince Jaraz flocked around him in a vain attempt to protect the young Malathian noble.

 
The once drunk and wild dancers now clung to each other and shrank away from the battle, fear clenching their faces. The Malathians were vastly outnumbered, but Sebine saw they had a witch in their midst: the young Princess Marei, who protected her comrades with a silver shimmering shield of light. Ambassador Droman flapped his hands, shouting words of peace and supplication, begging mercy from the King. Braxion responded with a flick of his sword and cut the fat man's belly open, bright-pink-and-purple intestines spilling out. Droman howled as he collapsed to the ground in a bloody mess, his pitiful moans and cries sinking with his slow journey to the Underworld.

 
The King turned his blade towards Princess Marei. With hands raised and fingers stretched out, beads of perspiration dripped down her delicate face at the exertion of sustaining the shield. From her observations of the Hakkadians, spells like these were very difficult to cast and were only meant for a short burst of protection—likely against a hailstorm of arrows on the battlefield.
 

"Fetch the Hakkadians," King Braxion shouted at a soldier. The man clapped his sword against his breastplate and charged off with a retinue of royal guards. The King turned his attention back to the Malathians. "You'll all die from daring to oppose me. Only your young Prince offended me by trying to seduce my daughter. My palace, my Kingdom, my rights!"

Spit dribbled down the King's dry, wrinkled lips and Sebine recognized the drunken-haze in his eyes and the red flush of his cheeks. Did she dare interfere with him in this state? Intoxicated, he was capable of any kind of violence, even against his own family.
 

"Pray to the gods for pity on your soul, witch. Even now you are weakening—you sweat as a wench at work in a whorehouse."

Prince Jaraz pressed his way through the protecting arms of his fellow Malathians to face the King. "You dare speak such vile words against my sister?"

"The witch is a princess? It gets even better! When the Hakkadians come they'll disarm your shield and I'll command my knights to fuck your precious sister all night, even after her body is cold. And I'll make you watch—I'll force your eyes open if necessary—until she's dead."

The Prince's face reddened as he clenched his fists, but his friends held his arms back as he tried to make his way towards Braxion. The King interrupted him just as he was about to speak.

"I'm sick and tired of hearing my ministers and ambassadors grovel to you haughty Malathians... You and your superior attitude—your ancient, royal bloodline and rich history. Let's see how your desert cities fare against the fire of my dragons."

Prince Jaraz aimed a finger at the King. "I have come to your Kingdom seeking peace and a mutually-beneficial trade agreement—and you reward me with treacherous words of violence against me and my sister? Instead of peace your actions will bring war upon your Kingdom and a curse on your name. It's clear to me that the rumors surrounding your monstrous character are true. You may have dragons on your side, but we Malathians possess an ancient magic capable of defending our cities against any attack you would be stupid enough to bring. My sister has given you but a taste of our power—"

King Braxion scoffed mockingly. "The dragons will feast on your power. Have you never heard the tale of the magic of dragons? Sword and fire and stone you may be able to defend against, but there is little hope of your surviving against dragon sorcery. If you had bothered learning anything about me you would known better than to set your eyes on my daughter—especially on a feast night."

"Who says I didn't set my eyes on him first?" Sebine said, and stepped out amongst the soldiers, who quickly parted when they heard her approach.
 

"Why are you here?" The King's face reddened in fury as he stormed over to her. Even though he was angry, Sebine thought for a moment that he almost looked embarrassed.
He should be embarrassed for what he said about Princess Marei.
"I had not wanted you here to witness such a scene."

Sebine softened her expression and reached out to the King's arm in an attempt to placate him. "I never meant to make you angry, Father. This was my first wedding feast and I was lonely tonight. The Ambassador"—Sebine couldn't help but glance at the fat man's bloated body bleeding on the floor—"came to our table and introduced us to Prince Jaraz and his sister. And I was the one who asked him to dance... I flirted with him. It's not his fault."

The King studied Sebine for a moment, then looked at Prince Jaraz, suspicion in his eyes. "But the Prince failed to resist his lust for you. I heard the words from his own mouth. It is the duty of every royal to respect another's family and property."

Property? That's all I am to the King? Chattel to be sold and bartered with?
Sebine fumed and in that instant was almost unable to stop the urge to cast the blood-boiling spell on Braxion. The King must have read her furious expression because he softened his tone.

"In addition, when I ordered the Prince to surrender himself, his sister interfered."

The Prince was about to speak but Sebine silenced him with her raised hand. "Personal protection when bodily harm is threatened is allowed by the laws of our Kingdom, Father. The Ninth Canon of Valance states this clearly, especially in regards to visiting royals."

This point caused a reddening along the King's neck, a reaction similar to the times Sebine had seen him make blunders at court. A wave of uncertainty flashed over his face for a moment, then he cleared his throat and pointed his sword at the Prince. "I will not allow disrespect towards me during visits to my Kingdom. You and your party will make haste—"

Blackness flooded the ballroom and hundreds of small explosions like the crackling of fireworks rang out. Voices Sebine recognized as Hakkadians sorcerers chanted their spells. The only remaining light—the incandescent, crystalline shield surrounding the Prince and his friends—quivered and faltered under the barrage of black bursts, globs of some substance sticking along the surface—demonic mouths sucking and biting at the shield of light.
Gods! What spell are they casting?
Sebine had never heard those words spoken by the Hakkadians, and she spun around, trying to spot the diminutive sorcerers.

Screams and shouts were silenced by a spell until there was no sound and no light other than the fading shield that illuminated Princess Marei's struggling, sweating face. Sebine pushed her way through the soldiers and stepped in front of the Princess, trying to protect her. Sickening orbs of blackness rushed around her, wiggling, writhing wraiths bent on devouring the shield. She tried to speak but found her voice unable to break through the gloom caused by the Hakkadians.
Why are they still attacking?
With her raised hand towards the origin of the Hakkadians, the casting ceased, light gradually returned to the room, but no sorcerers remained.

Princess Marei collapsed to the ground, the shield falling with her.

Chapter Nine

TAEL WOKE THE next morning to the sound of water lapping against the hull of the ship. Faint light filtered in through sparse trees drooping lazily over the river. They had traveled a great deal in the night, farther than he had expected. Perhaps the boatswain felt a fire in his belly to get as far away from the troubles in the north as possible. He glanced around and caught the calm eyes of the Bishop, who bowed his head in response and mouthed a morning prayer.
 

With a wink he withdrew a wooden tube from a leather carrying case, and proceeded to unfasten the tube's cap. Inside was a finely crafted fishing pole, which he assembled with deft, expert precision. He threaded the silk lines with meticulous attention to detail, sat back, and admired his work. Next he retrieved a small box filled with various shiny lures and handcrafted flies, the variety and ingenuity of which caused Tael to gape in amazement.