The Dragon's Queen (Dragon Lords) (3 page)

Cynan came close and leaned in. He was a beefy warrior with a fierce demeanor and the playfulness of a naughty child. “
What are we whispering about?”

“
My brother still wants to meet Mede but she refuses,” Rolant said, before turning his grin to Mede. “He’ll be king someday. You can’t avoid him forever. I think you two would—”

“
Don’t make me rip your throat out of your neck,” Mede warned.

Cynan laughed. He, too, had tried to claim Mede as a child bride.
In fact, she was pretty sure all the Dead Dragons had. To the others, he stated, “I don’t envy any man who’s unlucky enough to have to claim this dragon.”

The men laughed
harder and began their good-natured taunting. Since they teased her about her warrior’s fierceness, Mede didn’t mind it so much.

“
He’s a good man,” Rolant said when Cynan wandered off and could no longer eavesdrop—unless he really wanted to. Shifters had excellent hearing, so it was hard to keep secrets in a small encampment. However, they were honorable dragons and they would respect each other’s privacy with little effort. “You can’t keep ignoring invitations to the palace forever. You’re the only female, Mede. That’s—”

“
I’ve never laid eyes on our future king and I don’t want to. I have a hard enough time when people with power over me are trying to control me. I don’t want to have to defy the orders of your parents, but I am not a pet to be put on display. I respect King Tared and Queen Lorna greatly, from a commoner’s distance, but I have no interest in life at court. As for meeting new men, you sound like my mother. She constantly tries to trick me into the presence of new males in hopes their crystals will twitch in my direction, so I’ll know before the ceremony who my future is. The men all take alien brides. Why would my fate be different? It’s possible that my crystal would have glowed for an offworlder, but I broke it and do not regret doing so. I still have no interest in knowing a husband. Give me a weapon, a good bottle of Qurilixian rum and—”

“
Gods’ bones, woman,” he swore in aggravation. Mede knew he was struggling with the Draig need to protect their females. However, most of the females needed a man’s protection because they were humanoid. She was a shifter, and this was her chance to prove it once and for all. At least Rolant, and the others in the ancient Dead Dragons order, treated her more equally than most. “Are you sure you want to do this? No one expects you to prove yourself.”

“
Why?” She stiffened. “Because I’m a woman?”

Rolant turned his eyes away. That was answer enough.

“I’m doing it. I have completed every grueling task demanded of me by the order. And when I get back, you will make me a full member of the Dead Dragons.” Mede reached to pull a lock of his light brown hair, forcing him to look at her. At her hard expression, he nodded. Mede let him go. “Good.”

Due to the three suns
and a single moon revolving around the small planet at different angles, the land was always cast in light, except for once a year, when all suns set at the same time. The light had a green tint that would dim into a bluer hue, in what they considered the evening hours. However, near the border marshes, the trees were much thicker than they were by her mountain home and the green leaves soaked in the many suns’ rays becoming wide enough to wear as a hat. This created a false darkness in the shadowed marshes and nearby forest. Her eyes shifted as she looked into the trees, cutting through the shadows as if her gaze was made of light.

“
Stay to the east, away from the shadowed marshes and black castle. Givre nests are bad this year. Keep moving. Sniff out a marsh farmer. One should be easy enough to detect. Most of them will be in a dead sleep by now. Stay quiet,” Rolant instructed.

Mede
nodded.

“
I vouched for you. Don’t disappoint me.” He handed her a knife. Loudly, he proclaimed, “You know what you have to do. Back here by dawn.”

The group of Draig all shifted fully and began growling in excitement, cheering her on.
They would continue to celebrate as she went off alone.

Mede felt the
anticipation of her task pumping in her veins, the danger of it, the thrill, the rush. Her shift came over her like a shiver. Dark brown flesh replaced her tanned skin, growing over her body like a shield beneath her loose pants and tunic shirt. A ridge pushed out from her forehead, shielding her nose and brow, and fangs extended from her mouth.

“
Flying would be faster!” Saben yelled.

Lifting the knife in a taloned hand, she grinned. Her words were the gruff
sound of the dragon as she declared, “Time to skin a cat!”

Mede darted into the forest, leaving the roars of the men behind her. She couldn’t fail. This was her one chance to prove she was worthy of being a dragon. No one would treat her like a mere woman again. And with luck, they’d let her out of the upcoming marriage ceremony.

Mede sprinted through the unfamiliar forest. T
he danger of being on Var land thrilled her. The marsh air filled her lungs, as it tinged the forest with its nearby decay of plants and animals. If she was to cut to the west, she’d find herself in stagnant water. Her shifter hearing focused on her surroundings, sharply tuned to the environment. An animal slithered in the muddy soil before gliding on the water. Insects buzzed and hummed.

Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet.
The noise drew her attention back to her course. The sound created a steady beat, punctuated by her even breath. Mede raced through shadows, leaping over logs, ducking under branches, dodging past hanging moss that clung to the overlarge leaves. Threads of light shone through the thick tree limbs to create tiny dancing spots.

The stretch of her muscles felt so good
that she wanted to run forever. But tonight wasn’t about a run. It was about freedom—freedom from being special, freedom from the Breeding Festival happening in a couple of months’ time, freedom from destiny and fate and marriage. This was her chance to prove herself a peer of some of the most daring of Draig men.

Dead Dragons were an old
brotherhood that started as a secret society. Members were protectors of the crown, trusted to perform any task set before them. They were called Dead Dragons because they were as good as dead, dubbed so for the chances they took. Often those chances were risks that, by all rights, should have killed them. Like most secrets, time and rumors spread and soon stories arose of their noble deeds. The secret society wasn’t so secret anymore, though admission into the fold was still challenging and rumors still circulated about their ancient rituals. In reality, since they weren’t at war, most of those mystical ceremonies boiled down to drinking and stupid dares.

Running alone through Var territory, the unfamil
iar terrain, an unauthorized border crossing, all to take a trophy from an unknown catshifter? Yeah, she was pretty sure that counted as insanely dangerous.

Her mind echoed with the resounding beat of a primal rhythm
, an old song played in campsites to while away the hours. It urged her on. Only when she’d run miles inland did she finally stop, leaping up in the air to land in a crouched position hidden by a shrub. She tilted her head, listening for a hint of prey. When she heard nothing, she ran another mile and stopped again. Mede repeated the process until finally she heard the soft, deep snore of a man.

She still clutched the curved knife in her hand.
Tracking her prey to where he slept was easy. First, she caught the scent of strong liquor. Next, all she had to do was follow the glow of firelight coming through the forest. The encampment was small. The fire shone from beneath a large metal alcohol still that reeked of poor quality liquor. That’s where the smell came from. She covered her mouth. It was overwhelmingly pungent to her shifter senses.

Mede let her human form take over her body. The smell remained strong, but at least now she could breathe
without her nose and throat burning quite so badly. Near the fire a Var man slept. It would have been easy to tell what kind of shifter he was, even without knowing she was in Var territory. He stunk of cat and old liquor sweat. It was almost with a sense of disappointment that she crept forward to claim her prize. This beast wasn’t a challenge. He was a drunkard passed out in the forest.

Mede stood over him, knife in hand, while glancing over her surroundings. This would never do. She needed him shifted.

Nudging him with the tip of her boot, she tried to wake him up. The Var man grumbled and slapped at her foot. She sighed. Why couldn’t she have found a warrior, someone worthy of a fight? With this sad piece of givre dung she wouldn’t even get a good scar to show off.

She nudged him again, much hard
er. “Come on, wake up.”

Nothing.

There was no guarantee she’d find another catshifter before dawn. She had to take what she could get. She walked the campsite looking for tracks in the dirt. She found several by the dented, old still, but they seemed to go in circles. Frowning, she took the tip of her knife and lightly tapped the metal side. It made a light
tink-tink
noise.

“
Gar-umph-arr!”

Mede jumped in
surprise as the Var flailed up from the ground like a wild man. His body shifted into a mangy dark brown cat, then back to dirty man, then to cat once more as if his body couldn’t decide which it wanted to be. He breathed heavily, intimidatingly lifting his arms out to the side.

“
Not again, dragons. You’ll not take a piece of Owain!” Deciding to remain a shifted cat, the drunkard swung his arms violently, claws wielded. He turned in circles, as if a group of Draig surrounded him. Mede noticed the cat had several tufts of fur missing from various parts of his body. Apparently, she was not the first Dead Dragon nominee to find him in the forest. No wonder Rolant pointed her in this direction.

“
I just need the fur, Owain,” Mede said.

“
Get your own, dragon,” he slurred. “I know you’re after my gold.”

Mede looked at the still and then ba
ck at the catshifter in disbelief. She wasn’t sure what the gold was—the liquor or his matted coat.

“
Try to knock it over again,” he challenged, the gruff words slurred.

Before she could answer, a female scream sounded through the trees. Mede stiffened, instantly shifting to sniff at the air. The liquor once again assaulted her. That
’s when she realized it was also radiating from the ground. Apparently, the other dragons had knocked his still over on their visits. Okay, that was just mean. The still was probably all this pathetically drunk man had in the world.

“
I knew it!” the catshifter screeched. He turned his claws toward her as if to point with all fingers.

The female
screamed again, sounding terrified. Like the Draig, the Var’s genetics were affected by the blue sun’s radiation and they normally only had male children. As far as she knew, she was the only female shifter currently on planet. That meant the woman was most likely an alien. Mede thought of her human mother. There was no way she could defend herself from a shifter attack.

The decision instantly made,
Mede ran from the campsite to help. The mangy cat yelled taunts at her back, celebrating his fierceness and bravery in scaring her away. “That’s right. Tell your dragons not to tussle with Owain!”

She ignored him
, knowing he was too drunk to give chase. A new hunt was afoot. Three people ran in the forest. The sound of stumbling feet came from the same general direction of the screams, with two stronger gaits giving chase.

Mede couldn
’t disguise her approach, so didn’t bother to try. She only hoped the pursuers would be so focused on the hunt that they wouldn’t hear her until it was too late. The scent of fear filled her nostrils. She was close.

It was not lost on her that she was alone on foreign soil, deep enough inside that the other dragons wouldn
’t hear her call for help. No one would even think to look for her until well after dawn. She was on her own.

* * *

The thrill of the chase hammered in Attor’s blood, heightening the effects of the stout liquor he’d consumed before starting their games. The woman made a good show of being scared and he almost believed it real. He smelled her adrenaline pumping, heard her cries as
Myrddin toyed with her. Though the Syog female had much physical strength, when it came to running in the darkened forest the catshifters could have overtaken her by now.

The smell of her was in his nose, fueling his ardor
. He had yet to take the nef, not wanting to dull his senses too soon. All the stress he felt inside the palace, watching his father make a fool of himself, melted away. Myrddin knew him well enough to know Attor needed this release.

Everything was heighte
ned. He felt the air moving in his lungs. The earth kissed his feet as he ran over it. Branches poked his hands as he grabbed them to swing over thick fallen logs. This is what a Var lived for. Hunting. Running. Freedom.

A sound caught his attention
and he slowed before changing course. Someone joined their hunt. The fact irritated him and he turned to stop them. What better way to fuel his desires than with a fight?

Whoever it was came toward
him at full speed. Within seconds they met as they both leaped through the air into an old campsite clearing. A Draig passed by him and he swung his claws in automatic defense. The move was not well aimed and it glanced off the dragon’s arm. The contact would do little damage against the armor of dragon skin.

He
landed on the ground and spun to face his opponent. What was a Draig doing in his forest? The dragon mimicked his stance, facing him. Attor breathed deeply, anticipating the fight. No one would fault him for killing a Draig in the Var forest—that was if anyone discovered what he was about to do.

Something stopped Attor from attacking.
The dragon smelled of liquor, but beneath that was sweetness.

Attor felt a shiver work over his body. “
What are you? You do not stink like the Draig warriors. What was your mother? Are you a hybrid? What are you doing on my land?”

The Draig didn
’t answer. A stream of light shone from above, revealing long hair. Attor sniffed again. Something about that smell caused his desires to stir, like when a woman was in heat.

A woman?

“You’re the dragon girl,” he exclaimed, lessening his challenging stance.

The Syog screamed, the sound
coming fainter than before.

The dragon woman
stiffened. “Release the female.”

“
The female?” Attor laughed. Now that he knew he didn’t face a real threat, he relaxed. He let the shift fade from his features and he stood before her as a man, hoping she would do the same. He wanted to see the rare creature for himself. “Take off the dragon. Then we can have a civilized conversation.”

News
of the female dragon’s birth had filtered its way to the palace when he was a child. He’d always been curious to meet her, but never thought the opportunity would arise. Attor liked rare things, liked collecting them. He thought of the black castle’s dungeons.
Myrddin would let him keep the dragon woman there like a pet.

“
Where are your wings? I thought female dragons could fly.” He looked her over. Yes, a fine pet.

She merely stared at him.

“Do you seek asylum here?” he asked. Her capture might be easy indeed. She’d walk right into her cage.

The Draig woman relaxed. The dark armor of her body rippled, turning from hard shell to supple flesh. The liquid gold in her eyes lessened to reveal grey beneath.
Once the ridge pulled back into her face, her brow smoothed. Attor’s breath caught. He had not been expecting beauty, yet she was one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen. That surprised him. The Draig were strong, but he didn’t expect he’d ever be attracted to one.

“
Asylum?” She laughed at him. Her human voice was pretty, but tinged with a hint of mocking sarcasm.

Attor frowned, not liking the reaction.
People laughed at his father, not him. “Then why are you here?”

She lifted her knife and touched a long, tapered finger to the tip of the curved
blade. “Maybe I’ve come to skin a cat.” She pointed the blade at him. “And maybe you’re that cat.”

No woman had ever dared
speak to him like that. He was a prince after all.

Even so, h
er boldness excited him. He would never be frightened of a female. Then, glancing around the forest, he realized she might not know who he was. “All these years no Var has claimed to see you. It’s speculated they keep you locked away performing strange Draig rituals. Is it true you lay eggs filled with power?”

The woman gave him an unpleasant look. “
Is it true Var eat their young?”

It was his turn to express distaste. He grimaced. “
Then you need help. That is why you are here.”

“
Do I look like some damsel locked in a castle?” She stared at him, her grey eyes glinting with gold only to fade again.

“
You have a toughness to you.” He lifted his hands as if taming a wild animal. “I’m not judging. I just wonder if there is also softness in you.”

“
You have a softness to you, cat. How about we stop talking and you shift?” She wiggled the blade meaningfully.

He frowned, not liking that she called him soft.
“It couldn’t have been easy being raised around men with no women like you to teach you gentler ways. A woman who looks like you can’t possibly be all hard. Put down the blade and stop trying to threaten me.”

She held her arms out to her side
s, not dropping the knife but no longer pointing it at him. “Fine. Speak.”