Chapter Two

Aryana pivoted toward the screams, toward the explosion of a cacophony of voices, each vying to be heard. What happened? Ignoring Fafnir and the questions in his eyes, she transported into the noise consuming the Courtyard. Fafnir appeared in the Courtyard a few seconds later and the disheveled crowd buzzed around him.

Disheveled? With their torn clothes and faces covered in blood and dirt, the crowd looked like they had been on the losing side of a battle. How could that be? Fighting was not what the Harvest ritual inspired.

“High Priestess!” Someone spotted her and as one the crowd swarmed her way. She sucked in a breath and tried to swallow, her throat as dry as a desert, her palms clammy. What a ridiculous reaction to her people, the race she served. She should not be afraid of harm. Or of them discovering her earlier wing-flapping disaster. So why did watching them rush toward her make her heart double its rhythm?

Fafnir vanished only to reappear beside her, his tail forming a scaled barrier between her and the crowd as it curled around her legs. She released the fear snaking through her veins on a trembling breath, oddly calm in the sea of terrorized eyes.

“What is wrong? What has happened?”

A sea of voices answered in a discordant melody and Aryana raised her hands for quiet.

“Not all at once. You there—“she pointed to an elderly male standing up front, blood pouring from a slash across his forehead—“what happened?”

“We have been attacked! The village of Tyne has been attacked!”

“Attacked?” How? Wards stationed at their borders protected Draconia from outsiders and in general Draconi did not attack each other. A brawl might occur now and then but nothing of this level.

“They were Watchers! None I recognized, but I saw their blond hair under their masks.”

“Masks? Watchers wore masks?” She really needed to find a larger vocabulary, but after her surprising transport into flight, followed by finding the only Draconi whose mind she could not control and then hearing a village had been attacked, she was surprised her mind conjured up any words at all.

“They hid! We need help. We transported here for assistance, but we were unable to drive them off. There were too many of them.”

Aryana felt her eyes widen. So much for her serene High Priestess look. Watchers raiding a village? Harming Draconi? Why? From the corner of her eye, she saw the priestesses running out of the Temple, a river of white in the blood-splattered crowd. She sent them a mental image of what happened and watched as they ran to the survivors.

“Please, go with the priestesses and let them tend your injuries. I will call warriors to go to your village.”

Not waiting to see if they obeyed her, she closed her eyes and sent a mental call to her nephew Thoren. He served on the Council, the group of male Draconi and Watchers tasked with the protection of the Draconi. Some protection. They hadn’t even seen the attack coming.

Thoren!

What? I’m a little busy now.

Tyne has been attacked. They think it was Watchers. You need to contact Alviss and send a group there now. I’m transporting there to see if I can help.

Wait! Ari!

She blocked whatever else he was about to say. The less she said, the faster he’d act. A subtle tensing of Fafnir’s tail against her legs caused her to put one hand on the hard scales. When she opened her eyes, Annaliese stood in front of her, Fafnir facing away from her friend. Wonder why that was. She put the thought aside, focusing on her second-in-command.

“Did you hear what happened?” At Annaliese’s nod, she continued. “I’m going to see about the village. See if I can help. I’ve contacted Thoren and he’ll contact Alviss.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Having Thoren contact Alviss?”

“No. You going to Tyne by yourself.”

She’s not going by herself. I’m going with her.

Aryana blinked and schooled her face into a calm mask. Where did he get off thinking he could just up and follow her around like a lost puppy? Somehow she doubted Fafnir would take no for an answer. But did she really want him to? She liked the way his tail curled protectively around her, liked the way he had offered to take her back to the Temple, liked his willingness to go into danger.

Someone clearly needed to slap some sense into her.

“Who are you?” Annaliese asked, her brows reflecting the curiosity in her eyes.

“This is Fafnir. Fafnir, this is Annaliese, the Temple Healer and my second-in-command. See, I won’t be by myself. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m assuming you want me to oversee all this.” Annaliese swept her arm out, the gesture encompassing the survivors.

“Of course. You are in charge until I return.”

Annaliese inclined her head, but kept half her gaze on Fafnir. He is the one Thoren freed from Keara’s village?

He is. Why?

She shrugged. He looks familiar. “Safe journey.” Raising one hand, she nodded and then turned to the huddle of survivors.

Ari took a deep breath, readying herself to transport when she felt her body disintegrate into a loose dance of particles. Not again. But this time, when she reappeared, she remained in human form. Thank the Goddess. Fafnir’s tail remained wrapped around her legs and it took her mind a second to process he was the one who had transported them here. To Tyne.

Shadows cast from flames flickered across Fafnir’s scales, which gleamed like rubies in the light. His tail uncurled, removing his protection, leaving her alone. Although how she could be alone with him still standing beside her, she didn’t know. Didn’t care.

He looks familiar. Ari heard Annaliese’s words again, heard the longing, the surprise, as if the Healer stood by her side. While Fafnir didn’t look familiar to her, he felt familiar, his touch drawing out memories she thought she’d forgotten. Memories of when she longed for love, for a family, memories from a time so long ago she had a hard time remembering. Goddess, she had been all of what? Ten? Eleven? She’d become an acolyte at twelve, her dreams of a mate forgotten in the excitement of serving in the Temple.

But one touch of Fafnir’s tail against her legs and those buried, forgotten dreams rushed out of hiding like they wanted to see the light of day.

What was wrong with her today?

Getting out of her own mind, she focused on the scene before her.

Tyne.

Or what was left of it.

The remains of a bonfire, a typical occurrence for the Harvest ritual, jumped into the air, casting elongated shadows like clawing fingers across the houses surrounding it. The stench of burned flesh and death mixed with sulphur and charcoaled wood. Did she know a spell to keep breathing but not inhale the scent? It wouldn’t do for the High Priestess to arrive with one hand firmly planted over her mouth and nose.

Since nothing came to mind, she continued breathing the stench with the hope her nose would become accustomed to it and stop wrinkling in protest.

Tyne was nothing more than a farmer’s village, a group of homes surrounding an open area where gatherings and rituals took place. No walls surrounded the town, just as no walls surrounded any place in Draconia with the exception of the Temple. The wards set around their land kept out attackers, visitors, and other unsavory guests.

Except the one time several weeks ago when a band of humans simply walked through the wards. But, they had been led by a rogue Draconi, who escaped. Despite the Council’s efforts, the Draconi hadn’t been found. Maybe he was behind the attack tonight?

While the thought of blaming all the destruction on the nameless Draconi gave her warm fuzzy feelings, the reality was, he couldn’t have committed this atrocity alone.

Which brought her back to the report of Watchers being behind the attacks.

Why? Why would Watchers attack a Draconi village?

“It’s the High Priestess!” a shout snapped her attention to the right, to a female hiding in the doorway of a building.

As if her appearing was the all-clear signal, villagers began streaming from buildings, some looking at the destruction, others clustering around her. Aryana turned to Fafnir, only to blink into an empty space beside her.

Where had the dragon gone?

****

Fafnir removed his tail from around Aryana’s legs and disappeared. Invisible, he walked around the outside of the houses, looking for…something? Someone to pop up and say, I caused this destruction, come and get me?

He’d do better sticking by Aryana’s side.

Where he wanted to stay.

Now was not the time to search his inner feelings. He needed to concentrate, to find evidence of the perpetrators.

Shadows flickered across the houses, fingers of pain digging into the darkness. He heard a female shout, “It’s the High Priestess!” and then confusion reigned, as a cacophony of voices rushed the last place he saw Aryana.

He almost missed the whimper in all the noise.

Behind one of the houses sat a small shed, obviously a storage building of some kind as he didn’t catch a whiff of privy-scented air. As nothing moved in the shadows, he assumed the whimper came from the shed and headed in that direction.

Only to come to a stop.

Lying in front of the shed were two Watchers, both dead from the smell of things.

Fafnir’s nose wrinkled. He hated the stench of death. Of decay. Which was why he never became a reconnaissance specialist.

He’d rather teach hatchlings how to fly.

Or High Priestesses.

He shook his head. Stay in the present, not in your imagination.

Having never worked for the Council or overseen investigations of the type lying in front of him, he couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as if one of the Watchers tried to defend the shed. Something about the angle of the bodies, the way one looked to be slumped protectively in front of the door.

A half-sob escaped the shed, smothered as if by a hand. Fafnir dropped his invisibility spell and used mind-speak to project his thoughts.

Who’s in there?

Who are you? A young one. Female. Scared.

Fafnir’s teeth ground together, his nostrils flaring. I am Fafnir. Close your eyes and open the door.

The door creaked open, a small figure highlighted in the flickering shadows, her face screwed up as she squeezed her eyes shut. One hand rested on the door, as if to slam it closed at any moment. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, as if she had run a distance.

Between one breath and the next, he transported her to him, avoiding the Watcher’s bodies her young eyes did not need to see.

A tear-streaked face stared at him a second before thin arms wrapped around his leg. Trusting him. A small piece of his heart broke. So this is what it would feel like to have his daughter touch him. To trust him. To look up to him as her savior.

But he wasn’t her savior, now was he? If he ever saw his daughter, his only offspring, she would have nothing to do with him. How could she after the great loss he caused her?

This little one didn’t know his failings, she only knew he saved her.

Come. Let’s try to find...He almost said her parents, but thought the better of it in case her parents were among the dead. Let’s try to find someone you know.

She nodded, still holding his leg with a death grip. Taking a deep breath, he transported them to where he last saw Aryana, in front of the village.

Keep your eyes closed. Last thing he wanted was for the young one to see the destruction, the death. The stench of it was bad enough.

Aryana stood in the middle of the town, next to the bonfire, surrounded by the villagers. What would his life be like now if he hadn’t avoided her as a hatchling? One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t be trapped inside a dragon’s body, living life with the cloistered males.

A series of small pops sounded as a group of warriors, both Watcher and Draconi, appeared beside him. None of the males looked too happy to be there, especially the Draconi.

“Do you know what happened?” one of the males asked.

Tyne was attacked.

“So you don’t know why either.”

Would I be standing here if I did?

The male snorted. “Let’s go.” He gestured to the crowd surrounding Aryana. Eyes narrowed, the warriors marched into the center of the confusion.

Another pop to his right had him turning in that direction. Thoren and Enar. He made an effort to keep the snarl off his face.

“Hey, Fafnir. What are you doing here?” Enar walked toward him.

“Who do you have there?” Thoren asked, following the blond Watcher.

“I’m Elspeth. Do you know where my mommy is?” Elspeth poked her head out, disobeying his keep-your-eyes-closed order. Young ones.

“I do not. Why don’t you stay here and we’ll find out for you?”

“All right.”

Thoren patted the girl on the head and walked into the crowd, leaving Fafnir with Enar.

“Where did you find her?”

Fafnir pulled his gaze from Thoren’s retreating back and focused on Enar. In a storage shed.

“When the bad people came in, Mommy told me to run and hide. So I did. Lief followed me to keep me safe, but a bad person attacked him before I could hide. Do you know where Lief is?”

Enar looked at him. Fafnir shook his head.

“I don’t know. I’ll go help Thoren look for your mommy, all right?”

“Thank you.”

Enar grinned and turned to follow Thoren.

How’s Lily?

Enar glanced over his shoulder at Fafnir. Good. She’s really good. Stop by sometime.

Only if you aren’t around.

Enar made a gesture Fafnir hoped Elspeth didn’t see. A chuckle escaped his lips. He might actually be learning to like that Watcher.

Stranger things had happened.

Like discovering he had a daughter.

He shook the thought off. Too much going on to get caught up in his own thoughts.

“Elspeth!” a female cried, her shout cutting through the cacophony of voices.

Small arms loosened their grip around his leg. “Mommy?”

The female took two steps forward, disappeared, and with a pop reappeared in front of them. “Elspeth!”

“Mommy!”

Fafnir backed away, giving the reunion space. He wished for the same thing Elspeth had, for his family to embrace him into their fold. For their forgiveness. For their acceptance.

For a life that didn’t involve a youthful arrogant attitude.

Good thing Elspeth and her mother didn’t know what a sorrowful excuse for a male he was.

A touch on his flank knocked him out of his morose thoughts. Elspeth’s mother stood beside him, clutching her daughter to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t know what I would have done...” Her words faded into sniffles.

You are most welcome.

As if she felt his sadness, she offered another stroke on his flank before walking to where the bonfire leapt into the air, disappearing into the crowd. His scales felt lighter from her touch, as if all his troubles vanished with the removal of her hand, a feeling that rippled across his hide, burrowing deep inside his heart.

His prior actions might have branded him a failure, a coward, a poor excuse for a male, but he’d found Elspeth and reunited the young one with her mother.

Maybe there was hope for him after all.