Unleash the Inferno (Heart of a Dragon Book 3) Page 2

  “Found you.” Dark anger glinted in Liam's gaze as he pulled his younger brother closer. His auburn hair glistened in the light of a torch, and the gleam it cast over his eighteen-year-old face curved across the bristly shadow of a beard. “You left too early, Runt. I wasn't finished with you.”

  “Y—you told me to get out.” Sebastian hated himself for stuttering, for showing any fear. Liam would take advantage of it.

  Liam's free hand found the dagger swinging off his belt. “I said, Runt, that I wasn't finished with you.” Spittle flew from between his lips on his enunciated word.

  Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, desperately flailing for leverage. The tapestry where he'd hidden held his gaze for a moment. “I know something you'll want to know, something you'd pay your last sceptremark to know.”

  Liam's jaw hardened, but despite the vicious glint in his eyes, he asked, “What is it?”

  Regardless of Liam's capacity for cruelty to his younger brother, he would be united with him in seeing to the safety of the throne. After all, it was his inheritance. Sebastian made up his mind. “Let me go, and I'll tell you.”

  Liam hesitated for a long moment, but at last, he dropped his hand from Sebastian's sleeve, folding his arms across his chest. “What?”

  Sebastian took several steps to the hall entrance where he could see into the courtyard, and beyond that, the throne room where his father and his mother held court. Guards stood at attention along the armory walls. Sebastian relaxed. He licked his lips. “The Ongalian dignitary, Lord Adrian Fellowes, plots to invade Lismaria,” Sebastian breathed. “I plan to warn Father.” Visions of his father's reward—perhaps even allowing Sebastian into his Council chambers when he met with his Commanders and nobility—danced before him.

  Liam stared at Sebastian for a full silent moment, but Sebastian couldn't read his gaze. Even after thirteen years, he still couldn't get past his older brother's numb expressions.

  “Come,” Liam said, abruptly striding past Sebastian into the armory. He walked directly through it toward the palace throne room. Sebastian hastened in Liam's wake.

  The throne room teemed with nobility and court advisers. Diplomats from both Ongalia and Sanlia lined the dais near where Sebastian's father sat, his attention on some matter brought before him by his steward.

  Liam strode forward, interrupting the steward's commentary. “Your Grace.” He bowed, and the steward stuttered to a stop.

  Sebastian hastened to Liam's side, ready to spill his story. He spied Lord Fellowes on the fringes of the crowd, and he debated whether he should order the guards to arrest the man before he told his father what he had overheard.

  “Liam, my son.” The King nodded, his face creasing into a smile.

  “Your Grace,” Liam continued. “I beg you to lend a favorable ear. I overheard a plot to attack Lismaria just now, in the corridors of your castle, between Lord Adrian Fellowes and a soldier who has been sent to Ongalia with a message to its King. I pray that you investigate this charge and bring justice.”

  The King's eyes widened and then darted to the fringes of the crowd where Lord Fellowes had been. His yellow cloak fluttered as it disappeared around the corner of the outside corridor.

  “Arrest him!” the King shouted, and the throne room dissolved into pandemonium as guards charged through astonished nobles.

  Sebastian gaped, his stomach churning. Why had he expected anything different? Liam had always stolen his father's affections, shunting his younger brother to the side any chance he'd had.

  Never, not once, had Sebastian heard an approving word from anyone in his immediate family, and the never-healed wound blackened at the edges.

  Nearly three decades later, Sebastian's icy fingers tightened around his goblet as he motioned for yet another portion of the fiery mead. The room blurred as he plunged deep into bitter memories. But even the drink couldn't make him forget.

  He wished he could say that Liam's fascination with carving his skin had ended that day with the revelation that Bryan Andrachen had practiced the same abuse on his oldest son. But it hadn't. Time and again, Sebastian had wound up in Liam's clutches, sometimes winning an escape with well-timed blackmail and sometimes not. The etches across his stomach, back, and upper legs proved his failure.

  Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was an Andrachen—though the power of the Dragons had never manifested in him—and Andrachens carved their misery into the flesh of those weaker than they were. Liam had been right about one thing: there was a certain pleasure in others' pain. And when he'd matured past his thirteen-year-old naivete, he'd visited that pain on his brother who had brought him so much of it. He'd won his throne and victory over Liam, killing him and taking Liam's wife for himself.

  But in the end, even the feel of the marble Lismarian throne beneath him in the echoing, pillared chamber of ClarenVale wasn't enough to erase the pain of the knife and the flames. Nor could his triumphs negate the memory of his brother's green eyes, those misted cesspools of hatred and pain.

  Chapter One

  Kinna

  It seemed a fitting day for the birth of a war. The sun hid behind a relentless gray blanket, and the cold northern wind blew from the Channel of Lise across Kinna's gathering in the rear gardens at The Crossings. The gardens were gray and aged yellow, and the hedges and flower beds, well-tended in the spring, hid beneath their wintry shrouds. The walls around the gardens stretched far into the distance, dotted with dry vines and flaking lichen. Kinna could not see above their battlements from where she sat; she rubbed her fingers over her hare mantle as her gaze followed the guards she and Cedric had posted atop the walls. Behind her, the castle loomed like a turreted, stone Colossus, dwarfing her into insignificance.

  How much longer could they hold out? Theirs was only a small contingent of hope, pulling together a fractured kingdom, the remains of those who had not followed their powerful enemy across the Channel of Lise. They needed allies and supplies, and the more, the better. Their foe, Sebastian Andrachen, Kinna's uncle, sat upon Lismaria's throne across the Channel, no doubt as angry as a mother bear stripped of her cubs. Kinna and her brother Cedric had dared to take West Ashwynd's capital, The Crossings, for their new post, and Sebastian would not easily let it go.

  She fidgeted with the wooden armrests of her chair, eyeing the assembly that spread across the dry grass. The quiet murmur of the gathering undulated as creatures and Dimn spoke among themselves. They sat in a wide circle, gathered at Kinna's request. She was touched; they had offered her loyalty and little else, but even that much was a gift. They expected nothing of her but leadership, and she counted them all her friends. Still, dread twisted her stomach. So many things go could wrong. Their tiny kingdom and their efforts for justice could easily end in failure.

  A hand squeezed her shoulder. “Have no worries, m'lady,” Lincoln whispered from his position behind her chair. “We all believe in this.”

  “Aye,” Kinna whispered back. “But is belief enough?”

  Lincoln didn't answer. At that moment, Cedric, co-heir to the Andrachen throne, stood, calling the meeting to order. His cheeks were scarlet from the cold, and his fists clenched his fur mantle tightly. He looked so serious, dark foreboding shot through Kinna. She knew her twin had been hesitant about his role as one of the Andrachen heirs, but would he give up what they all considered so important?

  “Clans of West Ashwynd,” he began, his voice clear in the chill autumn air. “Good friends, we meet today in an historic move to break the chains of oppression that have bound us for decades. We gather to shed light on Sebastian's tyranny, to overthrow his abysmal rule. Too long, we have allowed his cruel mandates to order our kingdom, and today we take back what should have belonged to us all along: our rights as people, as citizens, and most importantly, as creatures living alongside humans.”

  The Clan leaders pounded their fists on their chairs. Representatives from every Clan had traveled from the far reaches of West Ashwynd to be there, accompanied by va
rious creatures. In Kinna's peripheral vision, Chennuh, her Mirage Dragon, rumbled his approval next to Cedric's Dragon, Ember. Ember dipped his flaming muzzle to the ground, his smoky irises carefully fixed on Cedric, his psuche partner, the one with whom he shared his thoughts. Kinna wondered if Ember shared Cedric's reluctance to assume his position of leadership. It was likely; psuche partners were usually close enough to share thoughts and emotions. She cast her mind to Chennuh's and found his feelings mirrored her own: reflective, and a little nervous.

  Kinna's mother, Joanna—the Pixie who had adopted her as a four-year-old refugee fresh from Lismaria and from Sebastian's edict to dispose of the Andrachen twins—stood between two other Pixies from the Glades. Her worried gaze rested on Kinna's face, and Kinna offered a small smile. In the month since she had returned to West Ashwynd, she had hardly seen her parents. She missed the days when she and her mother could spill secrets for hours over washboards and clotheslines.

  Leadership demanded everything.

  Kinna sighed, shifting her gaze to two Trolls who moved restlessly on the outer edges of the circle beside the Goblins and Ogres. One of the Trolldimn, a youth named Jakkob, frowned beneath her speculative glance. He'd arrived at the Crossings the night before, raising his sword above his head at the city gates. “I come for war against Sebastian,” he'd shouted to Kinna and Helga, the Seer Fey Kinna had met last spring before Sebastian's Tournament. The pink-haired woman had come out with Kinna to welcome the new contingent. Jakkob had continued, “I do not come out of loyalty to the Andrachens.” When Kinna had motioned the cluster of travelers into the gate, he had spit on the drawbridge, his hostile gaze fastened on Kinna.

  “Ignore it, Kinna,” Helga had murmured. “I know Jakkob. He will not betray us. He is a hero among the Troll Havens, known for his swordsmanship. The Troll he was training was killed in the battle at ClarenVale, and Jakkob lives to fight against Sebastian. Or so he told me.”

  Beneath the youth's baleful glare in the garden gathering, Kinna wondered if Helga had spoken truly. The Seer Fey never acted without reason, however, so she pushed the thought aside. She focused her sympathy on the creatures behind Jakkob, feeling their discomfort—here among the creatures and humans against whom they traditionally fought, the ones who normally despised them—but they had assured her they were behind the uprising—even Jakkob. It was what Kinna wanted to do—unite the people and creatures of West Ashwynd. Here, at least, was a start.

  The Clan ambassadors numbered nearly a hundred, and each represented many more in the various Clans across the country. Since Sebastian's war against Nicholas Erlane of Lismaria had ended, many creatures had returned to West Ashwynd, seeking escape from Sebastian's armies. Many others had been forced to remain in Lismaria to maintain Sebastian's might.

  “Now there is a weak point,” Cedric had pointed out only that morning in the Council room of The Crossings. “Sebastian holds little loyalty among those troops he took from West Ashwynd, particularly now that Commander Lanier has defected to our side. As long as he can pay the Lismarian soldiers from Nicholas Erlane's coffers, he'll hold their loyalty, but if we can intercept those payments, he'll lose it.”

  “Sabotage the postal carts that carry the army payroll?” Helga had asked as she'd studied the plans Lanier had drawn up. “Aye, the idea has merit.”

  Helga sat now on the wooden chair to Kinna's left, her pink hair plaited and slung over one shoulder, her worried gaze surveying the Clan representatives.

  Kinna stirred uneasily. In the short time she'd known Helga, the Seer Fey had gained her implicit trust and respect. Soon after Kinna had arrived on West Ashwynd's soil after the battle at ClarenVale, Helga had appeared in the darkness of the woods where they had gathered, her face grave. Cedric had immediately asked what was wrong, but the Seer Fey had said nothing. In the four weeks following, her spirits had not improved. If anything, she had grown even quieter and more troubled.

  Kinna turned her attention back to her brother. When Cedric sat down, Helga thumped on her wooden armrest, but no trace of a smile appeared on her face.

  The meeting dispersed, people and creatures crowding into smaller groups, discussion running in quiet undercurrents: Sebastian dethroned, Sebastian dead, Sebastian's reign ended. Throughout The Crossings's back gardens, the words rang sharp and clear: The Andrachen twins to rule.

  Kinna shivered. The task overwhelmed her. She'd done a great thing—she'd brought together people and creatures and united them under one banner, but the hardest part was yet to come.

  She missed Ayden; how she missed him. He had been the one to push her forward, to encourage her to go where she was most afraid.

  But Ayden was dead, torn from the walls of ClarenVale before they could escape Sebastian's long reach.

  She shut her eyes against the pain, but all she could see was the white, foaming circles of lake water where Ayden and his Mirage, Luasa, had not come up, the dead Poison-Quill on the lake shore, and the broken castle wall that had crumbled beneath the force of their fall.

  “My darling, I wish I could stop the pain.” Joanna's soft voice murmured in Kinna's ear. “I am thankful that you are safe, but I know you miss him.”

  Miss him? It seemed such a shallow term. She ached for him. Nearly four weeks had passed since that fateful day, but it still felt as though it had happened only yesterday.

  Kinna faced Joanna, blinking to relieve her stinging eyes. “Mother, does love ever die?”

  “No,” Joanna answered immediately, firmly. “It may change after a while, perhaps even sweeten with memory, but that seed of love he planted in your heart will always remain. Even should you find someone else to love—”

  “Never.”

  “—that portion of your heart will always belong to him.” Joanna's gaze drifted over Kinna's shoulder. Kinna glanced behind her at her father's long, dark hair where he stood, speaking gravely with several other Pixiedimn.

  “Did you wonder if Father would die in Sebastian's prisons before we freed him last month?”

  “Every day,” Joanna murmured. “It was my love for him that kept me going when my world was falling apart.” She smiled, tilting Kinna's chin upward, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Your love for Ayden will do the same, Kinna. I know it. I believe it. I have to.”

  As she walked away, her image blurred behind Kinna's tears. Kinna stood and entered the dark chambers of the The Crossings to be alone. Finding a niche behind a pillar in the throne room, she sank to the ground and pulled her knees up, burying her face on them, allowing herself to sob. The tears eased the pain in her heart, emptying her of the bitterness and agony she had borne alone for the last month.

  Ayden was dead, and no amount of taibe would return him to her. But no matter how much she needed to mourn him, she had to focus on the people of West Ashwynd and their protection more.

  After Sebastian's victory in Lismaria and Kinna and Cedric's subsequent escape to West Ashwynd, the Andrachen twins had stormed The Crossings. Aided by Lanier's presence and the squadron's loyalty to Sebastian's ex-Commander, they had soon freed the prisoners from Sebastian's cells and begun to rid the country of his ruthless regime.

  The threat across the Channel in Lismaria had not lessened, however. Dark menace prowled the horizon as Sebastian's navy chartered the Channel of Lise, making its way into the Camaran and North Seas. The few bateaus that remained to West Ashwynd presented a feeble defense against Sebastian's superior naval might. Kinna had no doubt Sebastian would attack; he would not easily surrender his country to them. Sebastian had begrudged Nicholas Erlane the kingdom of Lismaria for twenty years; why would he be forgiving of the plot for his West Ashwynd throne?

  The question remained: when would the attack come?

  The Council room was once again crowded, but this time only with those closest to Kinna: Cedric, her father Tristan—now Lanier's second-in-command—Lincoln, Lanier, Helga. Ashleen had come, too, at Kinna's request, but Cedric's friend had submitted reluctantly. �
�I will do you little good, Kinna,” she'd said. “My place is outdoors, with nature and the creatures, not stuffed into a Council room planning strategies.”

  “You know as much as any of us about ClarenVale, Ashleen,” Kinna had pointed out. “You lived there most of your life. Will you at least come and hear our thoughts?”

  Ashleen had at last agreed, but Kinna wondered what had happened in the intervening month between her brother and the maid. There had previously been an undeniable attraction between the two; Kinna had assumed it would only be a matter of time before they announced their betrothal.

  Instead, for weeks, they had avoided one another's presence.

  Kinna moved to the Council room door to close it. The castle corridors were dark and quiet; the evening chill had driven many of the Clan representatives into city inns below the castle, while others remained in the castle itself.

  Kinna sought her own seat, turning her mind to the earlier events of the day. “The message from the Clans today was unanimous and positive,” she began. “Was it not so?”

  “It went well,” Cedric nodded as he sank into his own seat. “The Clans are behind you, backing you with their full support.”

  “Backing us, Cedric.”

  He grimaced. “I misspoke. That was what I meant.”

  “Aye, I felt it went as well as could be hoped.” The unease that had gripped Kinna's stomach still twinged. She blew out an exasperated breath. “I cannot help but feel that we are in trouble. We have a skeleton of a navy, not nearly enough troops, and our armories are virtually empty. The blacksmiths have forged swords and shields within the last four weeks, but is it enough?”

  The silence around the table spoke volumes. Sebastian's enormous army across the Channel of Lise taunted them with its strength. Kinna cleared her throat. “We need access to more armories. The Dragondimn and Griffondimn Clans have the majority of the forges in West Ashwynd. What if we were to send a contingent—”