A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) (12 page)

Sila nodded. "I
understand. You are here for the same reason I am."

"And what is that?"
she demanded.

He smiled wryly. "Because
there's nowhere better to be."

"Valien thinks there is.
And he wants to fly out and fight for it. Will you fight with him,
Captain Sila? Will you leave your haven for a chance to win this
war?"

He cleared his throat, came to
stand beside her, and placed his hands upon the railing. They both
stared at the beach.

"My people mistrust
dragons," he said at length. "Some were born here upon the
island, but most remember the war. They remember thousands of
dragons burning their homes, killing their families, and toppling
their kingdom. They might not distinguish between the Resistance and
the Legions; both are beasts to them. Yet I will do my part to sway
them. I believe we should fight with Valien. I believe he is an
honorable man."

Erry swallowed. "Maybe
I... maybe I can help sway them. Your people, that is. The Tirans
here." Her throat felt so tight, and her eyes dampened. When
she looked back up at Sila, her vision was blurred. "I can tell
them that not all Vir Requis are bad."

He smiled. "What makes you
think they'd believe you and not me?"

Now her tears did fall. She had
never told anyone here of her heritage—not Valien, not Kaelyn, and
certainly not Leresy. Yet now she blurted out the words, voice
choked.

"I'm half Tiran." She
trembled. "I'm... I'm a bastard orphan. My mother was a Vir
Requis from Lynport, a town in southern Requiem. My father was a
sailor from Tiranor, though I never met him. I can shift into a
dragon like a Vir Requis; I got that from my mother. But... I'm
Tiran too." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm one of you, or at
least half of me is. I can tell the people. I can tell them that
Vir Requis and Tirans can work together. I'm living proof."

Sila laughed softly, and Erry
sucked in her breath, sure that he was mocking her, but his smile was
kind.

"There's no shame in mixed
blood," he said. "Do not cry, Erry. Did you know? After
the great Griffin War, a massacre a thousand years ago that left only
seven Vir Requis alive, Requiem's survivors mingled with the people
of Osanna and Tiranor. Most Vir Requis today carry some mixed
blood."

Erry blinked at him, tears still
falling. "Really?"

He nodded. "Many years
ago, there was a great queen in Requiem, Luna the Traveler of House
Aeternum. She visited Tiranor and appears in our lore. They say she
wed a Tiran prince, and that her children inherited the magic of
Requiem and became princes of your realm. Perhaps all Vir Requis
have some Tiran blood deep inside them. Be proud of it, child. You
are a noble daughter of starlight and of sand."

She nodded, blinking her tears
away. That didn't sound too bad. A thought struck her, and she
reached under her shirt, slung her medallion off her neck, and held
it out.

"This is my only memento
from my father," she said. "He was a Tiran sailor. He
gave this to my mother in Lynport twenty years ago. Sila, you
commanded a merchant fleet. Maybe you recognize this medallion?"
Her voice shook. "Maybe you knew my father?"

His eyes narrowed and he took
the medallion from her palm. He examined it, turning it over and
over, and exhaled slowly. Old dreams seemed to dance in his eyes.

"I know this medallion,"
he said.

Erry trembled like the last leaf
on a tree. "Do you know who gave it to my mother?"

He nodded, placed the medallion
back in her palm, and closed his hands around hers. He smiled again,
a soft, secret smile full of pain and memory.

"Of course I do. I did."

 
 
TILLA

"The moon is new," said
Shari. "The time for his torture has come."

They stood in the Citadel's
courtyard, torchlight illuminating the falling snow. The walls rose
all around them, lined with cells. From behind a hundred oaken
doors, prisoners howled, wept, screamed, and begged. Below Tilla's
feet, she could feel the cobblestones trembling; down in the dungeon,
racks turned, whips lashed, and flesh tore. The very stones of this
place shook with pain.

Now that pain would tear through
the man she loved.

Tilla looked up at the Red
Tower. It rose into the night, wreathed in snow, a bone rising from
a grave. In that tower he waited, chained, foolish, still hoping he
could sway her to his cause. In that tower he would now scream.

"I will begin with my
punisher," Shari said. "I will burn every inch of him.
His skin will crack and fall." She sucked in her breath.
"Every day I will introduce a new instrument. Tonight the
punisher. Tomorrow the rack. The third day the hammers. I wonder
how many days he will last."

Tilla returned her eyes to her
princess. It was the first time she had seen her commander without
armor. Shari had not dressed for battle today; she had dressed for
torture. She wore tall boots over black leggings, a leather apron,
and thick gloves. Her mane of dark curls cascaded down her
shoulders, and her eyes shone with bloodlust. Her punisher crackled
in her hand, red energy racing across its tip.

Today
she does not look like a warrior,
Tilla thought and shivered.
Today
she looks like a butcher.

"Commander,"
Tilla said, "I need more time. I am beginning to sway him.
I—"

"You've had long enough,"
Shari said and caressed the dagger that hung on her hip. "Are
you softening to his cause, Lanse? Whose side are you on—ours or
his?"

Tilla's heart pounded. Her
voice was weak. "Commander, a flayed, beaten, broken man cannot
fight for us. He cannot break the spirit of the Resistance, only
embolden them. If I can sway him with words, and he joins us
willingly, the Resistance—"

Shari snarled, reached out, and
grabbed Tilla's throat.

"The Resistance is
scattered!" she said and squeezed. "They fled into the sea
with their tails between their legs. Most likely they all drowned."
Shari growled like a feral dog. "I grow tired of your excuses,
Lanse."

Tilla gasped for breath. The
fingers were crushing her. She thought Shari would snap her neck.
Stars, the woman was strong. How could anyone be so strong? She
grasped at Shari's hand, trying to pry her fingers off, but could
not. She was seeing stars and her legs were wobbling when Shari
finally released her.

Tilla clutched at her throat,
wheezing, and stared up with burning eyes.

I
saved your life!
she
wanted to say.
Rune
almost killed you, and I saved you from him!

Yet she could not speak those
words, even if she had breath for them. To speak them was death.
Shari was too enraged now.

I
am her groom,
Tilla thought, sucking in air.
And
I saved her life. And I fought at her side in battle. Yet if I
cross the line, she will still kill me. And she will enjoy it.

"Commander,"
she managed to say, voice raspy. "Let me do it. If I cannot
sway you, let
me
hurt him."

Shari laughed, the laugh of a
madwoman. "A moment ago, you were pleading for him."

Tilla took a deep breath, unable
to conceal its shakiness. "I thought I could sway him with
words. But if we must use pain, we must hurt him fully. We must
break him." She allowed herself a small, crooked smile. "What
would hurt him more than his dearest friend torturing him?"

Please
let her agree,
Tilla prayed silently.
Please,
old and new gods, let her agree.

If she could torture Rune
herself, she could perhaps hurt him less than Shari would. She could
make him scream, but not cause permanent damage. If Shari tortured
him, she would drive all her malice into her work; she would break
his mind. Tilla could still save him... save him by burning him
herself.

Shari reached over and touched
Tilla's punisher, which hung at her hip. Her gloved fingers caressed
its leather grip.

"You will torture him,"
she said and sucked in her breath. "Yes. That will hurt him,
and it will harden you. We begin. Now. We enter the tower."

They crossed the courtyard, a
chorus of screams rising from the cells alongside. They entered the
Red Tower, climbed its stairs, and emerged into his cell.

Oh,
Rune,
Tilla thought, and her eyes stung.

He stood bound, arms chained to
the ceiling. He met her gaze and did not break it. He knew what was
coming. He had been waiting. He was ready.

"Begin," Shari said.

Tilla wanted to flee. Yet if
she fled, Shari would give him a worse fate. She wanted to plead
with Shari again, but if she did, she too would suffer this pain.

I'm
sorry, Rune,
she thought.

She drew her punisher.

She did as she was trained.

At first he withstood it. Then
his screams joined the rest of them.

"You don't have to do
this!" he cried, voice torn, as her punisher burned his flesh.
"Tilla, you don't have to—"

But his voice drowned in his
agony.

And she kept working.

It seemed an hour, maybe more,
before Shari nodded and placed a hand on Tilla's shoulder.

"Good, Lanse," she
said. "Good." She admired the welts that rose across him.
"You did well for tonight. Tomorrow you will continue. You've
made me proud."

Tilla stood shaking. Sweat and
tears burned in her eyes. She looked at her commander.

"Will you not ask him to
join us?" she whispered. "Will you not ask him to hail the
red spiral?"

"In time," Shari said
and smiled. "When he's suffered enough. Not this night. Not
until my vengeance is sated. Your work here only begins."

With that, Shari turned and left
the chamber. Tilla remained in the tower. A moment later, she heard
a roar and, through an arrowslit, saw a blue dragon fly into the
distance.

"Tilla..." Rune spoke
in a choked whisper.

Now she could not curb her
tears. They stung her eyes and streamed down her face, and she took
two great steps toward him. She wanted to embrace him but froze;
embracing him would only double the pain in his wounds. Instead she
stood trembling and touched his cheek, the only part of him not
scarred.

"I will heal you," she
whispered. She rummaged through her pack for bandages. "I will
bring you laceleaf milk for the pain. I—"

"I don't want you to heal
me," he said, hanging from his chains. "Will you heal me
only to hurt me again? Tilla... flee with me."

She shook her head, tears
streaming down her cheeks.

"I cannot," she
whispered. "He would hunt us. He would kill us. I have to
make you serve him. I have to save you."

His eyes softened, and alongside
the pain, she saw pity in them. Despite what she had done, he pitied
her.

"And I must save you,"
he whispered. "I must save you from what you've become, what
they turned you into. My body is burned. But worse is the pain of
seeing your soul broken."

Tilla closed her eyes and
trembled. She remembered Nairi burning her a year ago; that pain had
only lasted for several minutes, and it had left Tilla in an
infirmary for days. Now she had burned Rune for an hour, maybe
longer, and still he only thought about her. Still he cared for her
soul more than his pain.

She opened her eyes and kissed
him, a kiss deeper than any they had yet shared, and she loved him
more than any love she had felt.

"You are noble," she
said through her tears, "and you are brave, and you love me.
But you are wrong. My soul was never broken. I do what I must to
survive. Please, Rune. Tomorrow when Shari returns, hail the red
spiral. Worship Frey Cadigus. And this pain will end."

"It would only begin,"
he replied.

She looked at his manacles. She
had the keys on her belt. How easy it would be to unlock him, to fly
with him again! They could fly like in the old days, find some
distant beach, heal together, kiss in the sand, and—

No,
she told herself and tightened her lips. Those were the dreams of
youth. She had to follow this path—for Requiem, for herself, and
for his life.

She left him in the tower.

She returned to her home.

She sat upon her bed, pulled out
her string of seashells, and held them all night.

 
 
ERRY

She sat on the islet, eyes
burning, and stared out across the sea.

"Pissy pig-shagging
maggots," she said, eyes burning, and clenched her fists—small
fists no larger than a child's. "Damn bloody gutter shite."
She snarled and shouted to the waters. "Damn you, you
latrine-licking dog's son, and damn all of you beef-witted
cockroaches, you... damn..."

Her throat tightened. Her eyes
watered. She pulled her knees to her chest, lowered her head, and
let her body shake.

"My father," she
whispered. "He is my father. Damn him. Oh stars, damn them
all."

She looked at the sea. The
waves shimmered through her tears. It was easy to remember like
this. It was easy to pretend that she still sat at home, on the
beaches of Lynport.

Her belly rumbled with the old
hunger, and she remembered rifling through trash for scraps, eating
live fish when she could catch them, dead ones that washed ashore
when she couldn't. She remembered all those men who had taken her in
the sand, all those times she had spread her legs for a meal, a roof
in a storm, or a broken promise. And most of all, she remembered the
demon inside her, the icy tendrils that clutched her belly and heart
and mind, pulling her into shadows of loneliness and gloom worse than
any blow. So many times she had lain in the sand, stared up at the
stars, and prayed to die. So many times she had walked into the sea,
sunk under the water, and tried to drown but never found the courage
to swallow the water.