10
For once grateful for Jepp’s relentless drilling and my unthinking obedience to her snapped orders, I moved before I thought about it. Faster than I’d ever thought I could, I had my blade out and pressed to the soft spot at the pulse point of Nakoa’s throat. It looked ridiculously slim and delicate against his corded neck, but the glint of the words Ursula had inscribed there heartened me. I might be small and strengthless compared to this barbarian king, but I had fangs of my own that should never be ignored.
The chanting, however, did not slow, and Nakoa only dropped his black gaze to mine. He did have pupils, though so nearly matching the irises that I barely made out the delineation of them. Oddly, he smiled, ever so slightly, the tone of which I couldn’t quite interpret, but with something of that same interest he showed in my journal. Holding my gaze, he slowly and deliberately leaned into the sharp edge. I lacked the fortitude of my warrior sisters, else I would have kept it in place instead of playing the coward and not resisting. If my hand had not been shaking so badly, the blade would not have bit at all.
As it was, I sliced him. Not deeply, but enough to draw bright blood that ran in a rivulet both along my little dagger and down his throat. Nakoa spoke a few words, a hiss behind them. His arms tightened and he gathered me closer, completely ignoring the blade.
And fastened his mouth on mine.
Stunned, I did nothing at first, unaware of anything except his startlingly hot and hard lips. This was not Zyr’s artful, sensual kiss, nor my suitor’s sloppy, indifferent promise. If Zyr’s kiss had felt like a song not written for me, this one drilled to the very core of my being, filling my body and blood with a sense of homecoming, of feeding me some necessary food I’d lacked all my life. I drowned in it, overcome, forgetting the blade in my hand, my friends watching and worrying, the dire, strange circumstances in which we found ourselves.
I lost everything except my connection to Nakoa and the rumbling of the volcano around us. It thundered through me, stirring my heartbeat into a matching rhythm, as if my quiet, closeted heart had opened up and become part of a much greater, wilder one. Nakoa’s mouth seemed to feed on mine, coaxing something from me, pulling me closer and deeper. I clung to him, no longer questioning any of it, viscerally desperate to meld my skin with his. His heartbeat pounded in time with mine, synchronized. Mine. His. And something else, even larger.
The realization struck me and I started to pull away, but Nakoa slid a hand to clasp the back of my head, holding me there, even as he let me slide down his body, gradually lowering my feet to the ground, the heart of the mountain taking me under deeper, thoroughly, the avalanche of magic searing my blood with unaccustomed heat.
My feet touched the burning rock and the volcano boomed, making Nakoa stagger and wrenching apart that endless kiss, though he caught his balance and kept me upright, pressed close.
Expecting lava to rain down on us, I threw back my head to see. If I was to die here, at least I’d witness one of the greatest events of nature for myself. For once I’d be in the middle of it all. The cloud of ash and steam billowed and swirled. Breathless, my body charged with a combination of dread, excitement, lust, anticipation, and terror, I focused on the smooth peak rising just above us. Soon lava, bright and molten like the lake below, like the blood boiling through my body, would spill over the mountain and carry us with it.
So unfair, that I would meet death moments after the most interesting thing that ever happened to me. That I would die a virgin. The perfect sacrifice.
Instead of regret, however, I felt mainly the exhilaration of imminent release.
Nakoa’s heart still pounded with mine, a profound connection that linked us, that made me feel as if our bodies both circulated the liquid rock that surged up inside the volcano. It burgeoned, grew, swelling to explosive levels. The volcano itself seemed to draw in. Impossible that a mountain could move in such a way, but if rock could melt, then it could also—
Crumble.
Not an explosion, but a peeling back.
And out shot a dragon.
Glittering gold, it cut through the steam and ash, cleaving it like a knife separating flesh and leaving shreds behind. Moans of reverence and shouts of dismay followed in the dragon’s wake as it speared straight up into the sky, a glittering, vertical comet trailing ash, magic, and awe. It nearly vanished, so high above us it became like a star. The shuddering of my heart, feeding blood to the ascent, went with it. Paused there at the apex.
Then the dragon returned. It grew to the size of a full moon, diving ever closer. I shrank against Nakoa, absurdly seeking shelter from the captor who brought me to this literal and figurative precipice.
With a snap that echoed in my bones, the great wings unfurled. Zynda cried out in protest, shouting something in Tala about shattering wings. But they held, the dreadful dive converting into a glide, a great sweeping circle of soundless grace.
I became aware of the still silence then. The rumbling of the volcano had ceased. Nothing more erupted from the peak, and the fall of ash thinned, diminishing with each moment, like the last gentle edge of a snowstorm, after the blizzard winds move on.
“What the fuck was that all about?” came Jepp’s harsh whisper.
I struggled, suddenly acutely aware of being held against Nakoa’s naked chest. With the magic releasing its hold, along with the keen peak of awareness imminent death had brought, all that remained was a grim sense of exposure. I wanted, needed, to hide away somewhere. Some of that black, remembered panic rose, and I fought the restraining arms as I hadn’t before. Nakoa frowned at me as I struck him. I’d lost my dagger and had no wit to pull another, but he set me away from him, taking my wrists in each hand and speaking soft words that made no sense and didn’t soothe. My feet burned.
“Let her go,” Jepp said, her words sharp as the edge of the blade she put between Nakoa and me. “Whatever this was, it’s over and she needs you to release her. Now.”
Nakoa ignored her, studying me with that intent expression as I tugged away from his implacable grip. He asked me a question, the tone concerned, and I nearly screamed at him that I didn’t understand his words or any of this, but my heart had fluttered up into my throat, my skin icy with sweat as cold as the rain that had dripped down the black rocks that had entombed me.
Lithe arms wrapped around me from behind, the scent of the vines of Annfwn with them, catching me when Nakoa released my wrists. Zynda leaned her cheek against mine from behind, cradling me against her as we both sank to the hard, heated rock.
“You’re okay,” she murmured in her singsong tongue. “Relax, librarian. All is well.”
I flinched at the brush of her magic, like hot water hitting a sunburn, but then it took the rawness and sting away from my soul. My blood cooled, and rational thought—something I’d never expected to fail me—returned.
“I’m all right,” I told her.
“Yes, I can feel that, but give it a moment until we see how things lean.”
Jepp and Kral were arguing furiously, her Dasnarian full of sexual insults. Behind them, King Nakoa stood, arms folded, still as a carved statue, only his dark eyes glitteringly alive as he watched not them, but me. Above, the dragon circled, enormous wings extended as it rode the air currents like a golden-scaled eagle above the heights at Ordnung.
“Let me up—I need to translate.” Zynda hesitated and I pulled away. “Seriously, Jepp is making things worse with her malapropisms.”
She stood, with that supple strength she shared with Ursula, helping me up. My feet still burned on the hot rock, but I could ignore them for a while. The last thing I wanted was for Nakoa to pick me up again. Or touch me at all, given how completely he’d rattled me. Feeling more centered, more in my realm of expertise, I put my hands on Kral’s and Jepp’s shoulders, drawing their attention and stopping the barrage of epithets.
“Jepp,” I said to her in Common Tongue, “this battle falls to me. My weapons are better. Let me translate. What do you argue for?”
She speared me with a hot, angry look. “We need to get off this island immediately, but lunkhead here says the danger is over and we should give the king the lead.”
At least she possessed enough discretion still not to use Nakoa’s name aloud. I translated for Kral, cleaning up Jepp’s opinion considerably. He eyed Jepp as I spoke, jaw clenched.
“We can’t flee for the boat,” he ground out. “It will be seen as a sign of weakness. King Nakoa already invited us to a welcome feast when we first arrived and I accepted. Given the scarcity of their supplies, it’s an enormous offer and we’ll give fatal insult if we renege now.”
“Even after he . . . all he did?” I amended, careful not to look at the man, though he’d caught his name, by the way he shifted in my peripheral vision.
Kral shifted his gaze to me, a tinge of regret there but still righteous in his conviction. “A kiss, no more, nyrri, and you are none the worse for the wear. From what I gather, this”—he waved a hand that encompassed me, Nakoa, and the circling dragon—“was an exceptional ceremony. An honor to you.”
“He accosted her,” Jepp inserted in terse Dasnarian, using the word that fell one shading shy of rape. It spoke volumes about the Dasnarian culture that they had so many words for varying levels of sexual consent. And about Jepp that she’d learned them well enough to choose the correct one.
“What he did,” Kral said directly to her through gritted teeth, “is take nothing that shouldn’t be accorded to any foreign dignitary under normal circumstances, and even you must admit these are far from normal events.”
Jepp leaned in. “We of the Twelve Kingdoms do not offer up any of our citizens, male or female, as party favors to anyone at all.”
“But we’re not in the Twelve Kingdoms!” Kral shouted.
“General Kral of Dasnaria and Imperial Prince of the Royal House of Konyngrr,” I snapped, his title cutting through his frustration as I’d hoped. “If we’re to draw new borders, as the document you recently signed designates, then these islands are within the Thirteen Kingdoms, which makes me, as adopted sister to the High Queen, and as her envoy, the ranking decision maker here.”
I surprised even myself with that. Where had that come from? Both Kral and Jepp gazed at me in identical astonishment. King Nakoa moved then, snagging my eye. He gave me a nod, then spoke and gestured down the mountain.
“Fine,” Jepp said. “You rank. What’s your call, Lady Mailloux?”
I ignored her sarcasm, figuring it justified and deserved. “Let’s do the feast. Do what we came here for. Especially as it seems at least one danger has passed. No one seems concerned about the dragon. Let’s get through tonight and put this place behind us in the morning.”
She accepted with ill grace, giving Nakoa a baleful glare, which seemed to amuse the man, if I read his expression correctly. I shifted, one burning foot to another, and he noted it, stepping forward with clear intent. I held up a hand to stop him. I couldn’t bear to be so near him, even as part of me felt that our hearts still shared the same blood, along with the impossible monster winging above. I needed time to assimilate this. Surely there would be tales to inform me?
“You can’t walk down the mountain barefoot,” Jepp said, considering my reddened feet. “Perhaps one of Kral’s men?”
“I will carry you,” Zynda decided. “A demonstration that we are not helpless, should escape become necessary.”
“Thank you,” I told her with heartfelt gratitude. She shimmered beside me, that sense of nighttime magic, of the shadows, glints of moonlight and animal eyeshine washing over me. Like and yet not like the magic of whatever had happened with the releasing of the dragon. I watched Nakoa carefully, so I caught the flicker of surprise when Zynda became a gray mare beside me. No more than that from this controlled, savage man, however.
A murmur ran through his people, not shock so much as that sound of reverence. Of course, we’d just seen a dragon emerge from a volcano, so a woman shape-shifting into a horse might seem commonplace. Zynda knelt down to make it easier for me to climb on, which I did quickly to forestall any contradiction from Nakoa. He simply gestured down the mountain again, then took position beside me, walking close enough that his bare arm occasionally brushed my calf. I tried to pretend that the brief points of contact didn’t send sparks through my blood.
As we descended, I lost sight of the dragon, though that newly opened sense in me still tracked its presence. Perhaps it had landed somewhere. The Nahanauns sang as we walked, an eerie, multilayered harmonic that seemed to speak of joy and triumph. Glimpses through the thickening foliage showed the vista clearing, the water gaining sparkle. Freed of the sulfurous stink, the air carried other scents—of flowers, the loamy soil, and cooking food. My stomach rumbled, reminding me how long it had been since I’d eaten—not since dawn, and now the sun declined to the horizon—and Nakoa, nearly at head height with me, glanced over at the sound and very nearly smiled. The language of the body, indeed. In that we managed to communicate. He patted my calf, a caress that slid down my leg, where his fingers lingered briefly, easily encircling my ankle.
I tore my gaze away, wishing fiercely that I dared put on my stockings again.
We could get through this feast. I could get us through this. If I’d managed to survive Uorsin all those years, I could find my way around this unpredictable king with his dagger-sharp eyes and lingering touches. Why he’d picked me of all people for his ritual that freed the dragon, I didn’t know. I might never know, which—much as the possibility rankled—I’d trade for putting distance between me and this island. I’d done my part, so he should have no reason to prevent my departure.
Goddesses make it so.
We passed the way to the harbor, heading down another branching pathway that led around the curve of the island. A fresh breeze off the water greeted us, cool on my sweat-damp brow, where my hair clung in soaked curls against my temples. The Dasnarians in their armor must be sweltering, but they showed no sign of it, striding along in stoic silence. Jepp, walking on the other side of Zynda from the king, gleamed with sweat also, though she looked good with it, brown skin shining with golden light. She’d calmed on the walk, though I knew from keeping company with Ursula that this was the peace of preparing herself for battle, not of conflict resolved.
We traveled through a tunnel of trees, clearly tended so their branches wove together in an arch overhead. They dripped with panicles of flowers in soft hues of lavender, pink, and buttercup, like a rainbow at a rainy sunrise. As we emerged, a golden palace came into view. Not at all what I expected from a king who went barefoot.
Where the cliff city at Annfwn rises vertically, built into both human-made and natural caves, this place sprawled out over ledges and terraces. Columns held up balconies that contained only gardens, and large expanses of the polished gold stone, big enough to be ballroom floors, led to steps that descended directly into the crystal blue water of the sea. In the gloaming, torches and candles gleamed from the interior, reminding me of Annfwn with a kind of nostalgic homesickness.
Under me, Zynda shifted and huffed out a long breath, making me wonder if she felt it, too. Though Annfwn was her home and never mine. Thus it shouldn’t feel like homesickness. Odd that I connected that feeling—that lingering ache of loss for my family home at Columba—with Annfwn and now here. Maybe because I’d been happy in Annfwn and had come to associate that feeling with this sort of sight.
Nakoa touched my ankle and gestured at the palace, asking me a question, eyebrows raised. Did he ask what I thought?
“It’s very beautiful,” I told him and he tilted his head, listening.
We started forward again, winding down the hillside. When we reached the land-side entrance of the palace, another broad expanse of polished stone, Nakoa spoke to Kral, making it clear that he and his men should wait. Kral halted, giving us a warning look that we hardly deserved. Nakoa walked the three of us forward. At least he allowed Jepp to remain.
His warriors peeled off to the sides, taking up stations around the perimeter, holding their spears butt-end down before them. Then the doors opened, spilling light into the fading evening, and children came dancing out. Unlike Nakoa’s warriors in their scaled armor, the children were dressed in pastel scarves, like the panicles of blossoms in the arbor. They sang as they moved, creating a complicated pattern of color, and dropped handfuls of white flower petals, perfuming the air.
A group of young women followed, all luminously beautiful and dressed the same way. The foremost carried a wreath of white flowers with exotically trailing petals. She smiled at me, a reserved, closed-mouth curve of her lips very like Nakoa’s. Family resemblance or cultural? Nakoa gestured to the young woman, who stopped before him.
“Inoa,” he said, then put a much-too-proprietary hand on my knee. “Dafne.”
She inclined her head, saying something much longer with my name, then handed the flower wreath to Nakoa. He lifted it, making it clear he wished to place it over my head. The children halted their dance, holding whatever pose they’d been in—a fantastic demonstration of athletic skill—their song falling similarly silent.
“I don’t like this,” Jepp grumbled. I was beginning to wish I had a jewel for every time she said it.
“And I don’t see a way to refuse this without insult,” I replied. I leaned down, and Nakoa, catching and holding my gaze, placed it over my head. “Thank you,” I told him, hoping that’s what this was about.
Inoa clapped her hands together over her heart and bowed, the children bursting back into song and movement at the signal. The other women added their voices to the song, augmenting the sweet sopranos with darker harmonies and languid hand motions that seemed to go with the song. It all seemed directed at me, a kind of joyful welcome.
When they finished, Nakoa spoke and the other young women approached, concern on their faces. He touched my ankle again and Inoa moved to look at the bottom of my foot. They exchanged words and seemed to come to a conclusion that involved Inoa sending the other women on an errand. Nakoa held up his hands to lift me down and Inoa stepped back.
“Do you think you can stand?” Jepp came around Zynda to be ready to guard my back. “The sole of your foot looks pretty torn up from here.”
“I don’t know. They ache but are mostly stiff, I think.” But I couldn’t ride Zynda into the lovely palace. The floors seemed to be inlaid with intricate wood patterns that her hooves would likely scar. Bracing myself, both for touching Nakoa and in anticipation of pain, I swung a leg over Zynda’s neck, making sure to keep my skirts tucked between my thighs as I did, then set my hands on Nakoa’s shoulders. He put his hands on my waist and nearly encircled it, they were so big. With great care, he lifted me, then lowered me to the ground, Inoa giving him advice the whole while, by the sound of it.
My toes touched the ground. Thankfully Nakoa still held most of my weight, because I nearly blacked out from the sudden shock of pain. It rolled over me in a nauseating wave—far worse than I’d been prepared for. Vaguely I recalled reading somewhere that foot injuries hurt the worst of any. And here I was, living the reality I’d only read about.
Had I longed to be in the center of events instead of at the periphery? A wish I’d take back at that moment.
Nakoa instantly swung me up in his arms again and carried me into the palace, while Inoa trotted alongside, speaking nonstop in a chastising tone. He looked blackly angry and I longed for the words to point out that if he hadn’t taken off my shoes and stockings, this wouldn’t have happened. Jepp and Zynda—back in human form—brought up the rear. By the set of Jepp’s jaw, she blamed herself for this.
After a maze of hallways, we entered an enormous bedchamber, ringed by nearly a full circle of balconies that looked out over the tranquil sea. I didn’t see much, what with the pain and concentrating on not being physically ill on the king of a foreign nation. With more gentleness than I’d have credited him for, Nakoa set me on the bed, laying me against a mound of pillows and keeping one arm braced under my calves, so my tender feet wouldn’t touch the covers.
Inoa slid a cylindrical pillow under my legs, replacing Nakoa’s arm, and, edging him out of the way, adjusted the pillows under my head. Worried about crushing the gorgeous flower garland, I moved to pull it off over my head, but she stayed my hands and gave me a small shake of her head and an unmistakable warning look. She smiled when I subsided.
Then, speaking sharply, she indicated that King Nakoa should leave. He lingered a moment, paying no attention to her, but studying my face. He said something to me and touched his index finger to his full lower lip. Inoa answered in a tart tone. With one last scowl for her, he left.