Unleash the Inferno (Heart of a Dragon Book 3)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Unleash the Inferno

  Tamara Shoemaker

  KinnAisling Presss

  Contents

  Praise

  Invictus

  Map of West Ashwynd

  Map of Lismaria

  Mists of Memory and Flame

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Index

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Tamara Shoemaker

  Praise

  “A blazing conclusion to an epic high fantasy series.”

  -Emily June Street, author, Tales of Blood & Light Series

  “In this stunning continuation of her Heart of a Dragon trilogy, Shoemaker will keep you hooked from beginning to end. If you think you know where this book is going, you're wrong.”

  — Taryn Noelle Kloeden, author, The Fenearen Chronicles

  To my little Knight in Shining Armor and my two Princesses, who, I suspect, fight alongside Dragons in their sleep.

  Invictus

  William Earnest Henley

  Out of the night that covers me,

  Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

  I thank whatever gods may be

  For my unconquerable soul.

  In the fell clutch of circumstance

  I have not winced nor cried aloud.

  Under the bludgeonings of chance

  My head is bloody, but unbowed.

  Beyond this place of wrath and tears

  Looms but the Horror of the shade,

  And yet the menace of the years

  Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

  It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate:

  I am the captain of my soul.

  Map of West Ashwynd

  Map of Lismaria

  Mists of Memory and Flame

  Thirteen-year-old Sebastian crouched in his brother's wardrobe, hardly daring to breathe. He was a coward, shivering behind Liam's silken tunics and furred cloaks like a mouse cornered in the castle kitchens by the cook's cat.

  But the repercussions of opening the door, stepping onto the cold stone floor, and looking his older brother in the eye as he explained that he'd only wanted to take Liam's favorite dagger and fling it over ClarenVale's walls into the lake far below, were too great to consider.

  So he huddled between Liam's boots, a jack digging into his ribs, and listened as his brother set something heavy on the wooden table before the hearth, dismissed the page boy, and closed the bedroom door with a thud.

  For one instant, Sebastian hoped Liam stood on the outside of that door, meandering toward the training fields, ready to undergo the grueling workouts their father required of him hours every day. But the scrape of a wooden chair shattered that notion, and Sebastian's heart thudded in his chest as he recognized the clatter of his brother's sword on the table. A loud sigh issued from Liam's lips, and Sebastian groaned inwardly.

  He could be stuck in here for hours.

  Liam spoke, and Sebastian nearly choked. His heart flipped as he heard the somber voice of his father ask, “Is that the book of which you spoke?” Suspicion coated his voice.

  “Aye,” Liam replied. Sebastian heard pages flipping. “The Amulet is a part of our family heritage; I have been curious about it. Listen to this passage, Father.

  “Aarkan the Firebringer had no plans to relinquish the terms of the Bond of Blood and Fire, because with it came prosperity and wealth beneath the Stars, so it was thought—”

  “That much is true,” said the King. “Our prosperity grows the longer we have the Amulet. Andrachen kings who allowed the Amulet to pass to another house or another possessor for a time quickly lost their fortune, their—their blessing, I suppose. The Amulet enhances the capabilities of those who hold it, and since the Andrachens are gifted with the powers of the Dragons, when we hold the Amulet, our talents are the strongest.”

  Liam's fingers rapped on the table as he considered the King's words. “Do we hold the Amulet now?” he asked.

  A long pause. “Nay,” their father answered. “It is with the Seer Fey. There was a bit of unpleasantness in your boyhood when the Seer Fey claimed that the Amulet was theirs. They led a contingent against our family, and—rather than allowing our city to go to war against these fearsome taibe wielders, I relented, and allowed them to return to the mountains with the Amulet, with the understanding that they would return it to my vault should it ever be needed.”

  “And have they?” asked Liam, his voice tight.

  “The need has never arisen.” Footsteps paced to the outer door and paused. “I must return; I have business with my steward. You only wished to show me the book?”

  “Aye, Father. Thank you.”

  The outer door opened and closed once again. Sebastian gulped. His legs were cramping, but he dared not come out, not when he could hear the scrape of Liam's chair at the table again.

  Liam's voice, muttering quietly, still reached his ears. “The Amulet enhances the power of the Andrachens when we possess it. So why—why—would Father have given it away? When our line had such blessing beneath the Stars? I wonder...” Sebastian heard Liam turn more pages in the book, and then his voice monotoned as though he read aloud: “The Amulet has graced the Andrachen line for centuries, but dark rumors of the Amulet’s powers corrupting certain members of the Andrachen family persist. As the corruption spreads, the rumors say, the Amulet degrades, turning into something altogether different. Fathers and sons—”

  Abruptly, Liam cut off, and his boots once more scuffed the floor as he paced. “Fathers and sons, yes, a degradation indeed. If it is true that such corruption stems from the Amulet, then the powers within the Amulet darken, and while growing more evil, may release greater power. Hmm...” He subsided into silence.

  Liam's booted feet paced nearer the wardrobe. Cold sweat trickled down Sebastian's temple. He could already feel the point of Liam's dagger if his brother found him.

  “The Seer Fey currently keep the Amulet. However, if I called it, by taibe, perhaps—it is the rightful Andrachen inheritance, after all, and if I could gain the tru
st of a Seer Fey... Mother would say it is evil, that it would further taint an Amulet that already grows darker through the generations. But what I could do! The line of Andrachen kings would grow more powerful than before!” Liam's voice rose in excitement. Sebastian could picture him, his handsome, tanned face flushed with discovery, his latent cruelty so well hidden with years of practice.

  Sebastian's leg cramped again, and he shifted as silently as he could, pain curling his toes. He gritted his teeth, but he couldn't quite strangle his gasp of pain.

  A loud thud slammed against Sebastian's ears, and a shaft of bright light blinded him; a squeak issued from his adolescent throat as Liam hurled open the door. He reached in, wadding the front of Sebastian's tunic in his grasp, and dragged him onto the cold stone of the bedroom floor, fury flaming in his eyes.

  “What rat is this that I find skulking in my wardrobe?” Liam hissed. Sebastian clawed at Liam's hand, but he may as well have been clawing at stone.

  “Please, Liam,” he gasped. “I—I was looking for... for something for Mother. She—wanted one of your shirts.”

  Liam's green eyes blazed brighter. “Liar.”

  Sebastian couldn't deny it; it wouldn't have done any good. Liam already reached for the dagger Sebastian had sought earlier. With one quick fling, Liam jerked the blade free of its sheath, pressing Sebastian against his bed, yanking the belt free from Sebastian's tunic. He raised the loose, white linen, angling the point of the dagger on the skin above Sebastian's navel.

  “Please, Liam,” Sebastian begged. “Please, don't.”

  “Don't what? This?” The point grazed Sebastian's stomach, just enough to break the skin. Liam pulled the knife to the side, his gaze tracing his artwork almost tenderly as he carved a circle. His green eyes darkened, his face relaxed. A shudder ran through him, as though this moment, this cut he made in the flesh of another, had raised him above the level of mortal wakefulness, had taken him to another plane.

  Sebastian thrashed, but Liam's larger body pressed hard against Sebastian's, pinning him against the furs.

  A scream tore from Sebastian's throat.

  Liam smiled. “Did you hope for help?” he asked as the knife returned to its starting point. “There's a reason I send my guards away, you know, particularly when I know there's a chance you'll be prowling around.”

  “I—I'm sorry; just let me go, Liam,” Sebastian sobbed, tears tracing his temples. He lay exhausted on the furs. Liam tossed the knife to one side, and his hand glowed orange with the fire of the Andrachen Dragon blood. He settled it against Sebastian's stomach. Smoke and a sickening scent wafted upward as he cauterized the blood, pulling fresh screams from Sebastian's throat. “Why?” he cried, reaching the end of his endurance. “Why, Liam?”

  Liam released Sebastian's stomach, leaning over his brother until his breath cooled Sebastian's face. “Because, dear brother, it's what Andrachens do to sniveling little eavesdroppers who cower in closets. It's what we do to weaklings to make them strong. Take it, Sebastian. Take it and learn.” Old pain flared in his eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Sebastian gasped, shocked at Liam's brittle expression.

  Tears formed in Liam's eyes, silent, like misty green cesspools, dark, shadowed, and secretive. Though the weight of his body crushed Sebastian, his gaze was no longer present. His face turned a deep blotchy red as he suddenly wrenched to the side, yanking his own tunic out of his belt, his trembling fingers holding the bunched material high on his chest.

  Sebastian gulped as he stared at Liam's scar-etched stomach, faded lines running everywhere in every direction across his skin. “This, Sebastian,” Liam gasped, the words wrenching from his mouth, “this is what Andrachens do.”

  “Liam—” Sebastian could not comprehend the pain blazing across Liam's face.

  His brother dropped the tunic again, burying his face in Sebastian's neck, crying, actually crying. “As my father has done for me, so I must do for you. It is—what—Andrachens do.” His shoulders shook for a moment, and then, abruptly, he sat up, his hand still pinning Sebastian on the bed. His face turned rock hard. “Andrachens bear the blood of the Dragons from Aarkan's time, Sebastian. Simply because you're an anomaly, a misnomer who can hardly handle the heat from your bedchamber's hearth does not mean you can forget. Even a dolt like you should remember a simple history lesson.”

  Stung, Sebastian snapped, “Of course, I remember. I'm not stupid.”

  It was a mistake. The knife was back in Liam's grip again, and he leaned over his brother. “Then it would be well for you to learn what every Andrachen father has done to his heir... the ritual that marks a son of the Dragons.”

  “But I'm not the heir!” Sebastian pleaded, eyeing the knife on his chest.

  Liam smiled. “Makes no difference. You will learn, in time, that there is pleasure in others' pain.” He licked his lips in anticipation, his gaze fastened to the point where the knife met the skin.

  “Please,” Sebastian begged, his mind whirling. “Please, Liam, if—if you let me go, I won't say anything to anyone about this... the—the knife.”

  Liam ignored him, settling the blade just beneath Sebastian's left rib.

  “Or—about the Amulet.”

  Liam froze, and his eyes hardened into green emeralds. “What did you say?”

  “I won't tell anyone that you—will try to use taibe to draw the Amulet, and,” Sebastian's confidence grew as the color receded from Liam's face, “to gain the help of a Seer Fey—”

  “Go!” Liam shoved Sebastian off the bed, swinging a booted foot at him. Sebastian stumbled out of the way. “Get out of my sight!”

  Sebastian didn't need to be told again. He fled down the hall as if all his father's Dragons hurtled after him.

  Hours later, Sebastian still huddled in the stone alcove in a side passageway between the armory and the courtyard, unable to shake off his encounter with his brother. He'd hidden here before; it was an ideal spot, sequestered behind a tapestry in a narrow alcove where he could fit, but Liam could not.

  Sebastian hated his brother, not only because of what he forced Sebastian to endure, but also because he turned a dazzling smile on the rest of the world, treating their mother with respect, their father with humility, the courtiers with charm and charisma, and the Lismarian people with firm, but kind, leadership. Everyone was blind to the crown prince's faults, everyone but Sebastian.

  And no one listened to Sebastian the Runt.

  A man's raspy voice—not Liam's, Sebastian breathed gratefully—beyond the tapestry caught his attention. The treasonous words could end the man's life, if Sebastian chose to tell. He held his breath.

  “Take this to the Ongalian King,” the man said, and though his voice was low, Sebastian recognized it as Lord Adrian Fellowes's, a young Ongalian ambassador living at the Lismarian court, sent to supposedly improve relations between their countries.

  Sebastian bit his lip as the man continued. “Inform him that his window for attack is open, but it will not stay open beyond another two weeks. If he wishes to attack, immediacy is key.”

  Saliva dried in Sebastian's mouth. He dared not move, not even breathe lest he be discovered.

  A hand brushed the other side of the tapestry and footsteps shuffled as a second voice murmured, “Aye, m'lord.”

  One set of feet departed. The other remained. The man pivoted, paced, pivoted again.

  Fear and excitement burned Sebastian's fingers. They twitched to the tapestry, but he pulled them back. Not yet. Though Liam was too large to enter this alcove, Lord Fellowes was a small, lean man. He could enter it and trap Sebastian inside. Sebastian pressed his lips together, considering.

  He could tell his father of Lord Fellowes's treason, perhaps finding at last the favor he'd always sought. Perhaps the King would see that Sebastian was as fit to be considered for a dukedom when he came of age as Liam was to inherit the crown.

  At the moment, no one considered Sebastian worth the seat he sat upon at the royal table
.

  He'd show them. He needed only the right opportunity, and here it was, delivered to him on a platter.

  The man hadn't left yet, and Sebastian settled against the stone wall impatiently. Pain still lanced his stomach from Liam's treatment. His brother always chose places that were well-hidden—small scars decorated both armpits where his brother had hung him by a steel wire for hours. Two x shapes etched above and below his navel where Liam had reminded him beneath the point of his dagger that he held absolute control.

  And yet, Liam claimed that their father, Bryan Andrachen, had done the same to him. Anger flooded Sebastian, both at his father and at Liam. He would find his own power, and he would not be subject to their control any longer.

  Sebastian gathered his courage, edging toward the tapestry. Lord Fellowes's footsteps at last moved down the hallway, stopping again some distance away. Sebastian slid his cheek along the cold stone wall, eyeing the slice of corridor past the armored statue that protected the alcove from the dark passageway.

  It was confirmed. The slight man's dark beard and curly hair were bowed as he stared at his boots for a long moment. Lord Adrian Fellowes.

  How angry Sebastian's father would be—the Ongalian dignitary who had graced his court for months, sent to improve relations between the two countries, creating treachery within his palace walls.

  Sebastian stared at the man where he stood stock-still near the end of the corridor. The Ongalian's hands gripped each other behind his back, tension lining his arms.

  All it would take would be one word from Sebastian to end this man's tenure beneath his father's roof.

  Lord Fellowes straightened at last and strode out of sight. Sebastian slid from behind the curtain, dodging the suit of armor, and ran the other way down the corridor.

  A large hand reached from behind a stone pillar, gripping his forearm, pulling him to a stop.