A Dance of Dragons: Series Starter Bundle (24 page)

Strange images, shadows flying, dancing.
Spirits chasing after them.

The caress of a hand across her stomach, up
her arm, down the back of her spine. Chills. Pressure on her lips.
Pleasure.

And then pain, a knife stabbing her back,
crying out. Dropping to the ground, helpless, knowing death was
near, knowing she could not stop it.

A room. Large white columns, arching into a
vaulted ceiling, rock. Other people. No faces, no names. Children,
men, women. All looking at her. All falling before her. Red
spilling out onto the floor.

Holding a hand, squeezing it, praying,
knowing her other half was slipping away, was leaving her, was
gone.

And then flying, soaring over land and sea.
Wind whipping her scaled body, large yet graceful, different yet
familiar. Wings fanned out on either side catching the breeze,
drifting higher, sinking lower, floating over rock and river.
Free.

Jinji rolled in her sleep. Her eyes flicked
back and forth beneath closed lids as she moaned and thrashed. She
pushed sheets onto the floor only to reach down and wrap them
around her body once more.

A fight had risen within her; some foreign
body had awoken and was trying to take over. All she could do was
resist.

Resist and hope it would end soon.

10

Rhen

~ Da'astiku ~

They had arrived.

Da'astiku. The capital city of the Kingdom
of Ourthuro. Home to the king's palace.

"Raise the royal flag," Rhen told Captain
Pygott. They had been waiting for the perfect time to call out his
princely presence, and this was it.

Looking ahead, the ship was just close
enough for Rhen to make out the great pulleys of Da'astiku, the
Mountain City. Unlike the cities of Whylkin—flat on the plains,
settled beside a bay, or nestled in a river bend—Ourthuro cities
were built on the top of island mountains, none more so than this
one.

Rising above, gleaming like the sun itself,
was the golden palace, visible from all parts of the city as it sat
on the highest mountain peak in the center of everything. From that
level, metal bridges connected mountaintop to mountaintop,
cascading down the side of the cliffs from plateau to plateau. The
homes shrunk in size and fine materials the lower you went. The
Ourthuri were a people of metals—gold for the king, silver roofs
for the highest classes, and nothing but dull iron for those in the
lowest. Everything about their society denoted class—the lower on
the mountain, the cruder the metal, the simpler the tattoo.

All the way at the base of the city were the
docks, holding ships of every shape and size. And rising from the
floating docks were the giant pulleys. Huge platforms that hung
from metal chains, lifting to bring supplies from the ships to the
different layers of the cityscape. They were operated from large
wheels beside the palace manned by the unmarked, who strained
themselves almost to death, pulling and pulling all day long in an
endless cycle—their punishment.

It was no wonder, Rhen sighed, that no king
in the history of Whylkin had been able to win a battle against
this city. Even Whyl the Conqueror had been stopped, his last
attempt at expanding his empire.

"Still a sight to behold," Captain Pygott
said beside him. Rhen just nodded. He had been here before, but
still his throat was trapped in awe. "Poor Jin, too sick to see it.
The boy is missing the best part of the journey."

Poor Jin was right. Rhen had returned to his
cabin late last night, too dark to make out the boy's features, but
the sound of painful gasps had made him wince. Still this morning,
when Rhen had briefly glanced over before getting dressed, the boy
was curled in the hammock—hands covering his face, knees balled
right up to his chin. So small Rhen could barely make him out in
the dull morning light. But the groans had stopped. Perhaps that
was something.

"Surely he'll wake today," Rhen said, "at
least in time to catch a quick sight before we leave for
Rayfort."

"Ay, I hope so." The captain paused, rubbing
gloved hands together. "Have you thought on what I advised last
night?"

Rhen nodded. "I know what you're saying, but
I must go alone. Nothing can be perceived as a threat, not so close
to their home territory. If what I suspect is true, even arriving
unannounced will make King Razzaq wary. I am going on behalf of my
father to return the four men we found on an abandoned ship
floating in the middle of the sea, nothing more."

"Will he kill them?"

"The prisoners?" The captain nodded. "King
Razzaq is a notoriously harsh man." Rhen looked to the side where
the four Ourthuri sat, hands chained behind their backs and ankles
locked to one another to keep them from running once the boat
docked. Their faces were stoic, unreadable and hard like their
mountain homes. Storm clouds brewed in all eight eyes. "But I hope
we have not brought them to their deathbeds."

"And you will not stay the night?"

"No." Rhen shook his head once. "I will use
the news of my nephew's birth as an escape if I must. I will engage
in conversation, stay for the meal he will offer, and try to
uncover as much as I can from the sights around me. But too much
foul play happens under the cover of darkness, I won't risk
it."

"That is something at least." Pygott sighed,
worry weighing his bones down into a slouch that wasn't normally
there.

Rhen slapped his back.

"Getting soft old man?" A teasing glint lit
his eyes. A grin picked up the left corner of his lip.

Captain Pygott raised his brows, blue irises
going crystal clear. "Still young enough to whip you into
shape."

"A futile effort I'm sure."

"That's what they tell me." He shrugged,
lips fighting to keep from laughing. "In serious though, the queen
will kill me if you leave an Ourthuri bastard behind. Bad enough
I'm assisting another reckless adventure. Try to keep on the
mission, for my head?"

Rhen cracked, breaking his calm composure. A
second later, the captain did too.

A horn sounded across the water, announcing
their arrival at the port. Both Rhen and Captain Pygott turned.
Somehow, the city had snuck up while they weren't looking, towering
over their heads, sparkling to an almost blinding degree.

"Better change your clothes, Whylrhen, it's
time to become a prince once more. There are royal silks in my
chamber left over from our last journey."

Rhen looked down at his chest, bare, as he
liked to be on a ship, so the sun sank right into his skin, searing
him like fire. It was the only way he felt connected to the flames,
the only way that wasn't in the least magical or noticeable.

Sighing, he nodded and made his way below
decks. Steering clear of his room, trying to give Jin the peace he
needed, Rhen walked to the captain's rooms, pulling open the closet
until he saw the bright red silks of Whylkin. Throwing a white
undershirt over his head, he shrugged into the royal jacket,
embroidered with diamonds and secured with pearl buttons. He found
a pair of thick black leather breeches, dyed from the best hides in
the kingdom. Next came his boots, tall to his knees and lined with
secret pockets for the few small daggers he would bring as a
precaution. Belting his scabbard around his waist, Rhen secured his
golden sword. This palace was the only place in the world where it
would be unimpressive, but still, Rhen felt more secure with his
weapon at his hip, especially without Ember by his side.

Taking a deep breath, Rhen prepared
himself.

He had never been alone with King Razzaq.
And it was still not the safest plan to venture into the Mountain
City without guards at his side, but the sailors on this ship were
not guards. It would be more suspicious to bring them, more
alarming, more aggressive.

Rhen thought of Awenine, his brother
Whyltarin, and their newborn baby boy. The future of his kingdom.
Was the baby's hair shocking red like his father's? Or brown like
his uncle's? Amber eyes like his grandfather or emerald like the
queen's?

Would he act like Whyllysle did as a
newborn? Chubby and full of laughter? Never silent and commanding
the attention of an entire room? Would he grow to a toddler who ran
around the castle playing with wooden swords and talking of
legendary battles?

No matter what, Rhen's nephew would not
share the same fate as his younger brother. Rhen had come so far to
keep that child safe, to keep his family safe, and though the path
was uncertain, he could not stop now. Not when answers might be
within reach.

Besides, attacking a Son of Whyl would be
seen as an act of outright war. Surely, King Razzaq would not take
it to that point, not after being so careful to keep his tracks
hidden thus far.

The ship shuddered, wood screeching in
protest.

The anchor dropped.

The ship was docked.

Rhen cracked his knuckles, balling his hands
into fists, squeezing tightly, getting all of the anxiety out of
his muscles, before relaxing and straightening his spine.

It was time.

He emerged to the craze of the docks—men
shouting, ropes whipping, carts rolling, goods shifting from
platform to platform. Almost like Roninhythe, but this dock was
made of metal, not wood. And its people spoke a guttural language
mostly foreign to Rhen's ears.

As he expected, farther down the metal
walkway a servant in the bright gold robes of Ourthuro was
sprinting toward the ship, jingling as his metal jewels clanked
together. Rhen moved beside Captain Pygott, waiting for the man to
scurry within hearing distance as the crew lowered a bridge to the
dock.

"Son of Whyl," the man bowed as he reached
the edge of their bridge. His clothes were long and free flowing, a
slight band of gold secured around his waist, suggesting armor but
more decorative. His wrists bore three straight black tattoos
surrounded by delicate swirling patterns that wove a few inches
above his wrist, denoting his membership to the palace house.
Silver and gold dripped from his ears, circled his neck, and even
jingled around his ankles. Definitely a messenger—a show of the
king's power. "Our king bids you welcome to his city."

"On behalf of the Kingdom of Whylkin, I,
Prince Whylrhen, Son of Whylfrick, thank your king for his
kindness." Rhen put his hand over his heart, nodding his head in
greeting. "I hope our unexpected arrival has not caused any
trouble, for King Razzaq is nothing but a friend to my house and my
people."

Beside him, Captain Pygott released a light
breath, holding in laughter for only Rhen to hear.

"Dear Prince Whylrhen, quite the opposite.
My king bade me bring our finest carriage to carry you to the
palace. He is most glad to see you and wishes to hear of your
father, King Whylfrick." He spread his arm wide, indicating an
enclosed gilded box near the end of the dock.

"I send my thanks to your king for his
overwhelming kindness and will gladly visit with him. I must also
request that my four guests gain passage with me." Rhen turned
behind him, motioning for the four Ourthuri on the ship to step
forward. Clinking from the chains, they moved to the rail. The
servant gasped, eyes widening, before recovering his stoic
pose.

"Of course. A guest of Whylkin is a guest of
Ourthuro." He licked his lips, fingers twitching, before adding,
"Please, follow me."

Rhen turned, picking up the end of the chain
to lead the prisoners with him. Before stepping onto the bridge, he
looked at the captain, whose blue eyes were dark with worry.

"If I have not returned by nightfall, you
will know my plan has gone awry. If that happens, you must notify
the king immediately—of everything we have found." He reached with
his free hand, gripping the older man's shoulder. "Can you do this
for me?"

"Of course, my prince." The captain nodded,
clasping Rhen's arm quickly. "Of course."

Rhen nodded, squeezed his fingers in
farewell, and stepped onto the ridged incline, bringing both him
and the prisoners securely onto Ourthuri territory.

A few more steps and he was in the carriage.
The prisoners were chained to the back, to be pulled like cattle
behind him. Rhen didn’t like it, but he was in no place to demand a
change. This was not his kingdom—these were no longer his
rules.

The servant sat beside the driver, leaving
Rhen alone. The carriage rocked back and forth as the horses began
the long journey up the steep incline of the Mountain City, and
even the plush cushion beneath his bum was not enough to provide
comfort.

Rhen pushed the curtain to the side, opening
the view by a few inches—just enough to gaze out at a city still as
foreign to him as its people.