Dragons Reborn Read online

  Roen spun around and gasped.

  "Fidelity," he whispered.

  She stood in the forest, her clothes tattered, her skin scraped and bruised. Her spectacles hung crookedly on her nose, and her eyes were red.

  "It's Cade," she whispered, trembling. "They captured him. Please. I need your help."

  GEMINI

  His mattress was stuffed with softest down, and his sheets were woven of purest silk, and Gemini would have stayed forever were his bladder not protesting. The damn thing felt ready to burst.

  "Ggreehhar!" he called out, voice slurred. That was the name of his servant, was it not? It usually sufficed. "Grerehhuuu. Wherema chamer pot?"

  He opened his eyes to slits and instantly regretted it. The damn sunlight was too bright, burning his eyes. Why had the servants not drawn his curtains? Why weren't they answering? Gemini pushed himself up in bed and saw the chamber pot all the way across the room. No servant was in sight.

  His heart sank.

  He'd have to walk.

  "Spirit damn it."

  He wanted to sink back into slumber, and for a moment he even tried to let sleep reclaim him, but his bladder wailed in protest. Grudgingly, he left the bed, stumbled nude toward the chamber pot, and proceeded to fill it. The damn thing was ridiculous. Was he the son of the High Priestess, or was he some peasant?

  With a groan, he stumbled back into bed, pulled the sheets over him, and reached for the lump at his side.

  "Domi," he whispered, stroking her. "Domi, I'm awake. Let's make love."

  He reached down to caress her curves and kissed her, then winced.

  What the Abyss?

  He pulled the silken covers off to reveal not a gloriously nude Domi in the morning light . . . but a pillow. It was a fine pillow, to be sure, embroidered with sunbursts and stars, but it could hardly compare with the wonderful woman who had gone to bed with him last night.

  This was not Gemini's morning.

  He groaned, grabbed a bathrobe, and shoved his arms into the sleeves. This whole day was torturous so far. It didn't help that the damn palace was a hub of noise. From outside, he heard footsteps thumping, armor clanking, and priests chanting. It was louder than a den of firedrakes.

  "Shut the bloody Abyss up!" he shouted.

  Think, Gemini, he told himself. Think. You'll get through this.

  "What do I do now?"

  His eyes fell upon his table, specifically the jug of wine that stood on it. Yes. That's what he needed to do first. To drink a little. To clear that damn headache and think clearly. He shuffled forward, grabbed the jug, and drank deeply, letting rivulets of wine flow down his chin and chest. When finally he slammed the jug down, the pain blessedly left his head.

  "Domi," he said. "I need to find Domi first."

  It was unlike the girl to leave his chamber, not so early in the morning, at least. What time was it, anyway? Gemini frowned at the window. Judging by the position of the sun, it was . . . three in the afternoon, perhaps four. He groaned.

  He opened his door, prepared to march outside and scour the Temple, only to knock into Mercy.

  "Donkey bollocks!" he shouted. "Bloody Abyss, sister, what are you doing lurking outside my door?" He moaned. "Your armor is damn hard, and I think I bruised my elbow."

  She stood before him, a statue of steel. "I've come to wake up your arse." She snorted. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?"

  Gemini blinked, struggling to bring Mercy into focus. Spirit damn it, he needed more wine. "I know exactly what's going on. You're being a damn pest who needs to get out of my way. I'm looking for something very important. So move!"

  Mercy sighed, refusing to budge. "If you're referring to your little redheaded strumpet, you won't find her."

  Gemini was trying to shove past Mercy but froze, stepped back, and stared at her. Rage flared inside him. "What did you do to Domi?"

  She laughed. "Does the whore have a name now?"

  He swung his arm, prepared to backhand her. Mercy caught his wrist, blocking the blow, and twisted it painfully.

  "Where is she?" Gemini hissed, baring his teeth. "Tell me, sister. Tell me, or I swear I'll bring every firedrake in this city down upon you, and their fire will roast you alive. Your precious armor will melt across your flesh as you scream." He shook his arm free and balled his hands into fists. "Where. Is. Domi?"

  Mercy sighed. "You poor, piss-drunk fool." She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder. "Just make sure you're awake and sober tomorrow, will you? We'll be executing the weredragon at noon. You'll probably want to see it."

  With that, she turned and marched away down the hallway.

  Gemini stood in his doorway, shock pounding through him. His belly twisted. His fingers trembled. He could barely breathe.

  "They know," he whispered. "Oh, Spirit, they know about Domi."

  His eyes stung with tears. How could they have found out? How could Mercy and the others have discovered Domi's curse? Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  You vowed to keep it secret, Domi! You promised me. You promised you'd hide your magic.

  Gemini's knees were trembling now. How could anyone know? Only he had known her secret! Only he had seen Pyre, the great firedrake, shift into a woman named Domi, a woman who had become his servant, his lover. Only he—and Domi herself—had ever known.

  Mercy's words echoed in his mind: We'll be executing the weredragon at noon.

  Bile rose in Gemini's throat.

  "No," he whispered. "No." His voice rose to a howl. "No!"

  He began to run down the hall, his robe swaying around him.

  I'm going to find you, Domi. And I'm going to save you.

  He kept racing through the hall, seeking her. His robe flapped around him, and he wished he had taken the time to don his armor.

  "Stop!" he cried to a guard. The man was marching down the jeweled hall, clad in chain mail. Normally only paladins—noble warriors in white steel plates—were allowed within these halls, not the scummy cannon fodder of the lower classes.

  "My lord!" The man knelt.

  Gemini grabbed his shoulders. "What are you doing here? Since when are common guards allowed into the palace?"

  Sweat beaded on the man's brow. "My lord, since the weredragon was captured. The High Priestess commanded us to patrol these halls."

  Gemini's heart wrenched to think of such brutish, foul guards grabbing his beloved. "Where is she?" he shouted, shaking the man.

  "She? My . . . my lord?"

  "The weredragon!" Gemini shoved the guard backward.

  "In . . . in the dungeon, my lord. I—"

  "Give me your sword."

  The guard hesitated, then gulped and handed over the weapon. It was a crude sword, the hilt wrapped in leather, and not a single jewel shone upon it. The blade was a coarse hunk of steel, not engraved or filigreed. It disgusted Gemini, but it would have to do for now, at least until he had time to return to his chambers and grab a proper sword. He marched on, leaving the guard behind.

  Gemini had not been to the dungeon in years, not since he'd been a child. His mother used to take him there, force him to stare at the broken, tortured prisoners, force him to hear the screams, to watch the bones shatter, the whips tear into the flesh, the rats feast.

  "If you misbehave, Gemini, I'm going to place you in one of these cells," Beatrix would say. "Be a good boy, or you'll scream here among them."

  Young Gemini would weep, have nightmares of this place, wake up in terror, unable to move, thinking himself down in the cell, hammers breaking his bones, rats crawling over him. In panic, he would hide the sheets he wet during his nightmares, sure that wetting the bed would doom him to this fate. When he grew older, Beatrix had stopped taking him to the dungeon, but Gemini had never forgotten that place, never forgotten the way there.

  Now a grown warrior, he made his way down the staircase . . . and into the underground.

  "Please!" the prisoner screamed in his memory. "Please, no, not the pa
in!"

  Gemini winced and froze halfway down a dark staircase. His breath quickened and his heart pounded against his ribs. Cold sweat trickled down his back. He forced himself to take a deep, ragged breath.

  Domi is down there. She needs me.

  He took another step down. Then another.

  It seemed like he descended forever, plunging miles underground, until he reached the Temple's dungeon. The hallway loomed before him, lined with cells. The screams rose. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. The nightmare of his childhood stretched ahead.

  Gemini ground his teeth, trembling. His eyes stung. The cold sweat no longer trickled; it now drenched him. Again he saw all those old prisoners, tortured, dying. Did some of the same wretched souls still hang here in their chains, still screaming after all these years?

  We'll be executing the weredragon at noon.

  Gemini raised his chin, clenched his fists, and stepped into the dungeon.

  Several guards patrolled the hall, holding maces. They spun toward Gemini, narrowed their eyes, and raised their clubs.

  "Get out of here!" Gemini shouted. "Leave this place." He tightened his housecoat around him. "Don't you recognize a paladin without his armor?"

  The guards' eyes widened, and they knelt. "My lord Gemini!" one cried out.

  Gemini marched forward and grabbed a heavy ring of keys from a guard.

  "Now leave!" Gemini screamed, hating that his voice cracked. "I'm here to inspect the weredragon, and I won't have common scum in my way. You stink more than the prisoners."

  The guards rushed out of the dungeon, faces pale. Once they were gone, Gemini squared his shoulders, took a shuddering breath, and began walking down the corridor.

  The cells stretched along the corridor, full of the rotting, languishing vestiges of men, women, and children. The screams danced around Gemini, a chorus of nightmares. Gemini wanted to close his eyes, to flee, anything but see these terrors again, the terrors that still haunted his nightmares. But he had to find her. To find Domi. The only woman he had loved since . . . since that horrible day when . . .

  He pushed the thought aside. That was a memory he would not conjure here.

  I will save you, Domi.

  And so he walked, and he looked.

  He stared into every cell—at the broken, mocking remains of humans, only half-alive. At the mad eyes. The tears. The blood. The broken bodies. The terror Gemini had seen as a child, that made fresh tears spring to his eyes.

  The Spirit never wanted this, he thought. The Cured Temple is about gold, light, splendor, not this.

  He dug his fingernails into his palms. His thoughts were heresy, he knew. If the Spirit heard him thinking this, the god would doom him to an afterlife in the Abyss, a place even worse than this dungeon. He would not contemplate his faith now. He would focus on finding Domi, on saving a pure light trapped in shadow.

  He kept walking and finally, in a cell coated with blood and cobwebs, he saw her.

  His heart shattered in his chest.

  Domi lay curled up on the rough stone floor, her legs and wrists bound in chains. Her red hair spilled across her face, and bruises and cuts covered her white limbs. She wore nothing but tattered burlap, and welts rose across her.

  The guards had beaten her.

  Gemini's fists trembled with rage, and the keys jangled in his grasp. He would kill them! He would kill them all—the guards, his sister, his mother, the whole damn Temple! Hot tears burned in his eyes, and a lump filled his throat.

  But not before I save you, Domi.

  With shaking fingers, he began to test key after key in the lock. He had to hurry, he knew. If his sister found out . . .

  Finally one key fit. He tugged the barred door open and entered the cell.

  "Domi!"

  He rushed forward and knelt above her. She lay on the ground, moaning. Her eyes fluttered open—those huge, green eyes that he had first seen on Pyre, that pierced his heart, that melted his heart, that were forever his beacon. Her cheek was bruised, and she whispered his name.

  "I'm going to get you out of here," he said, tasting his own tears. He began testing keys in her chains' padlock.

  She stared up at him, and she whispered, "Gemini . . . she hurt me, Gemini. Your sister."

  Such rage and pain filled Gemini that he could barely hold the keys. He forced himself to breathe deeply.

  Mercy will pay for this, he swore. She will scream in pain.

  Finally a key fit and the padlock opened. Domi's chains fell to the floor.

  "Oh, Domi." He gathered her into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Domi. I'm getting you out of here. We're going to leave the Temple. We'll find a new place to live, a safe place, you and me." He touched her bruised cheek. "I should never have brought you here. We'll find a new home, you and me, I promise. Can you walk? We must hurry."

  She nodded.

  Gemini's knees shook as he held her hand, as he led her out of the cell. He didn't know where to go. Mercy would hunt them, he knew. The armies of the Cured Temple would scour the world, seeking Domi, a weredragon.

  "We'll take the firedrakes," he whispered, walking down the hallway. "We'll build our own army! We'll . . . Domi?"

  She had stopped walking, feet planted firmly on the floor. He turned toward her, and he saw her staring into another cell. Inside lay a young man with brown hair, chains binding him.

  "Domi?" Gemini whispered. "Who is—"

  She turned toward him, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Gemini," she whispered . . . and drove her fist forward.

  Pain and white light exploded across Gemini's face.

  His keys clattered to the floor.

  An instant later, Gemini followed the keys, banging his head, and all went dark around him.

  FIDELITY

  They walked down the cobbled road, heading toward the city of Nova Vita—a father, a son, and a woman with terror in her heart.

  "I swore I would never set foot in a village again," Roen said, eyes dark. "Now we walk toward the greatest city in the world."

  Fidelity looked at him. Here on a paved road, no trees around him, the tall, bearded woodsman seemed out of place. His dark eyes glanced around, nervous as a bear stepping into the territory of lions, and his hands were tight around his staff. He wore pelts of fur, not the burlap tunics most city folk wore, and the forest still covered him—soil under his fingernails, fallen leaves in his dark hair, sap on his clothes. He looked and smelled of the woods he had spent his life hiding in, and now she would take him into the streets of the Cured Temple where no flower or blade of grass grew.

  "It'll be all right, sonny." Julian reached out to pat Roen's arm. "We're here with you. We'll save that boy and be back in the forest by dinnertime."

  Fidelity turned to look at Julian next, and she felt some warmth, some comfort, fill her breast. The old man had always been a comfort in her life. She had never seen Julian mad or nervous, and even now, walking toward the capital and the armies of the Cured Temple, Julian seemed calm as if strolling through a meadow. Beads were strewn through his long white beard and hair, and the lines of many years of laughter crawled across his face. While his son was tall, Julian was short and stocky, and his fingers reminded Fidelity of tangled oak roots. He too wore fur pelts, and large muddy boots held his feet.

  "And don't you worry, lassie." He turned to look at Fidelity. He patted her hand. "The boy will be all right. We won't let him come to harm."

  Fidelity looked back toward the city ahead. Her belly clenched, and her eyes stung.

  You're there somewhere, Cade, she thought. Imprisoned. Hurting. Waiting for death. You need me.

  Along with the fear, guilt flooded Fidelity's belly. Tears filled her eyes.

  "I feel so guilty," she whispered. "I let him enter the paper mill alone, even though we knew Mercy might be inside. And then I just . . . just stood there. Just stood there like a coward as Mercy carried him away."

  Roen placed an arm around her and pulled her close to him, silent and
warm. Julian, meanwhile, kept patting her hand, and his eyes were soft.

  "You did the right thing, lassie," said the old man. "No good would have come from chasing the paladins alone. You came to us for aid, and we're glad to help. Cade's a good lad, and we'll bring him home."

  Roen nodded. "Aye, we'll show the paladins a thing or two." His jaw tightened. "We've hidden for too long maybe, my gaffer and I." He allowed himself a smile. "We'll show those paladins how dragons fight."

  "They command hundreds of firedrakes," Fidelity said. "How can we stop them, just three?"

  "Three of the finest Vir Requis in the land!" Julian said, chin raised. "Well . . . three of the finest among only a handful in the world, but fine nonetheless. We're no mindless beasts like the drakes."

  "And we've got the element of surprise," Julian added, gaining confidence with every word. "Beatrix doesn't know of my son and me. The witch's eyes will pop right out of her sockets to see new dragons attack."

  Fidelity reached into her pocket and closed her hand around the small metal R she kept there, one of the letters from the printing press.

  "Sooner or later," she said, "Beatrix will bring Cade out to the Temple balcony to show him off to the crowd. She'll try to purify him before the multitudes, a sign of his submission. If he refuses the tillvine . . ." Fidelity shuddered. "I want us in the crowd. Close to the balcony. Ready to shift, soar as dragons, and grab Cade, then fly as far and fast as we can."

  Roen nodded. "When will they bring him out?"

  She lowered her head. "I don't know. It might be tonight. It might not be for months. But I know who will have the answer." She swallowed. "Domi."

  Roen raised an eyebrow. "Your sister?"

  She nodded. "She serves the Cured Temple as a firedrake. She hears the paladins speak. If we can somehow reach her, Domi can help us."

  If she hasn't become a full servant of the Temple, Fidelity added silently. She had not spoken to her sister in years, not since Domi had run off, shouting that she'd rather serve as a dragon than live free as a human. Did Domi still hold Requiem any love, or was she fully a beast of the Temple now?