Heir of the Dragon Read online

  HEIR

  OF THE

  DRAGON

  ANNA KATE LOGAN

  Copyright © 2020 Anna Logan

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-7343904-2-1

  For my big bro, Daniel. Thanks for all the support and the beta reading. But more importantly, thanks for always encouraging me to be confident and true to myself.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1 - Weddings and Birthdays

  2 - Time for War

  3 - Eavesdropping

  4 - The Marshal

  5 - Mice in a Barrel

  6 - Letters

  7 - Dragons and Details

  8 - Tomorrow

  9 - Dragon Fire

  10 - Family

  11 - Change

  12 - The Obsidian Woods

  13 - Ties

  14 - Home

  15 - Head of the Dragon

  16 - Schoolmates and Prison Cells

  17 - Betrayal

  18 - Asyjgon

  19 - Final Storm

  20 - The Prince’s Ruse

  Prologue

  Z OPER twirled his glass, watching the crimson liquid slide back and forth. All around him were the sounds of forks clinking against plates, chewing and swallowing, and polished voices gossiping and laughing. He had grown up among nobility, among lords and ladies who wore fine clothes and even finer facades, yet he could never feel quite at ease at these lavish parties and dinners.

  His uncle, Kaydor, was sitting beside him at the head of the table. He was always at ease. Here, entertaining Aydimor’s richest, most prominent guests, or in the arena helping Zoper train, or seated in Zentyre’s throne. The man was always poised and self-assured. Zoper couldn’t help admiring him for it, and envying it. Such confidence seemed a necessity of leadership, especially of such a role of authority as kingship. And Zoper, destined to one day wear the crown that now resided on Kaydor’s head, had none. The smaller, more subtle crown he currently wore, that of the prince of Zentyre, always felt disproprotionately heavy and awkward.

  Kaydor was tapping a knife against his wineglass, calling for the guests’ attention. Zoper looked to his uncle expectantly like everyone else, but he already knew what the announcement would be. It was the reason for this extravagant dinner hosting Zentyre’s finest.

  “I hope you are all enjoying your evening,” Kaydor began, casting his dignified smile over the table. “Allow me to share the reason for our gathering—I have an announcement.” He turned to his left, where his wife Arineema sat. She was also the perfect picture of poise, combined with an elegance and grace that made her seem a born lady of the court. Yet only seven years ago before meeting Kaydor, she had been a middle-class woman with no name, no wealth, and no consequence. “Seven years ago, I met a beautiful young woman that had suffered her entire life at the hands of her own people for her insight and intelligence. They disdained her for what they called heresy and disloyalty against their race, simply because they were blind to the truth that she understood.” He extended his hand, and Arineema slipped her delicate fingers into his palm. Her lips were curved in an inscrutable, queenly smile, her pale complexion and smooth features so serene that she could have been one of the porcelain statues in the castle gallery. “Even before that, I believed passionately in the injustice practiced by the San Quawr. But Arineema opened my eyes to the true depth of their iniquity, and I vowed that I would see justice served.” Kaydor again surveyed the table of ladies and lords. “Three years ago, I had the honor of becoming this great region’s king, and I initiated the Eradication in order to pursue that justice. But the San Quawr are not just arrogant, hypocritical, and toxic. They are dangerous. For years they had been building a rebellion against the punishment that was due them. That rebellion retaliated, and I was forced to dissolve the Eradication. Our region was too precariously situated, and our army too thin.

  “But now,” Kaydor’s smile became satisfied, “our army is a force to be reckoned with. At its head is my nephew.” Kaydor put a hand on Zoper’s shoulder. It felt as heavy as the crown on his head. “Our prince, and the captain of our greatest warriors, the Tarragon.” He paused, taking on a contemplative expression. Zoper wondered if his eloquent speech, with each of its meaningful looks and thoughtful moments of silence, was all premeditated. “And finally, Zentyre is ready to finish what it started years ago. We are ready to strike at the heart of the San Quawr’s conceit and deception, to liberate our region of their manipulation and malice.”

  The guests raised their glasses and called cheers and approval.

  When it settled down, Kaydor laughed a little, as if to himself. “They call me the Dragon. I have no scales and wings…but I do intend to rain fire upon the San Quawr.” He raised his glass. “To the Eradication.”

  Every guest raised their glasses in response. Zoper belatedly reached for his own to join them, nearly knocking it over in his nervous haste. “To the Eradication!” He barely heard his own voice, echoed by a dozen others. He did hear Arineema’s, soft and smooth, and watched her sip the wine in her glass. Her gray eyes were shadowed and unreadable, like stormclouds building in the sky.

  After the dinner, Zoper gratefully pulled the golden crown from his head, stashing it safely once he was in his quarters. He stripped off the sumptuous vest and boots he wore, feeling a bit more comfortable without the finery and frill. Kaydor was aware of his discomfiture when it came to the luxury, decorum, and convention of being Zentyre’s prince. He’d assured Zoper that he understood, and that it was alright to be a little overwhelmed or even disturbed by the artificiality and etiquette of court life—that he understood Zoper’s true responsibility and purpose was as a warrior. A defender of Zentyre, a deliverer of justice.

  Zoper had wanted to be honored by his uncle’s words. And he was, he supposed. Kaydor placed a great deal of faith in him and always expressed support and encouragement. For that he would always be grateful. He admired his uncle, really. Respected him. The man was determined, cunning, and powerful. An incredible leader and king, a loving and devoted uncle.

  Sighing, Zoper went to the window of his bedroom, looking out on the city of Aydimor. Night had covered it in darkness, torches and lanterns flickering like orange pins on a black canvas. Tomorrow, the Eradication would begin in Zentyre. It had raged through the region almost two decades ago when Zoper was just a toddler, led by Kaydor, who was then a young, up-and-coming military commander. It had briefly struck three years ago, led by Kaydor as the brand new, self-appointed king of Zentyre. And now it was back. Zoper suspected that this time, it would stay longer, and kill more.

  There were few if any San Quawr in Aydimor. It was the most dangerous place for their race, so any survivors of the last two Eradication onslaughts had probably fled. Any that still resided there were unlikely to be around much longer.

  And the rest of Zentyre? There were thousands of San Quawr intermingled in its villages, towns, and cities. How many would need to die to complete Kaydor’s mission?

  Zoper wandered to his dresser, picking up one of his cutlasses. A year ago, when he’d been officially made the captain of the Tarragon, he’d decided to start carrying two cutlasses instead of a single sword like most warriors. He’d felt the need to stand out, to somehow appear…compelling. Distinguished. To not just be a kid whose path was paved for him because his uncle was a king. And to not be seen as the orphan trying to honor his parents and carry on his father’s work…even as he ignored his final words. “Don’t trust him, Zoper.”

  His father’s voice, once so vivid and convincing, had faded with time. He couldn’t hear it anymore. Whenever he thought of his father’s last words, it was as if Zoper was saying them to himself. Because his father was gone—mu
rdered four years ago by San Quawr ruffians because he’d been an advocate for their subjugation. Kaydor often reminded Zoper of his father’s conviction that the San Quawr were unruly and vain, and needed to be checked. Yet…however hard he tried…Zoper could never remember his father speaking approvingly of the Eradication.

  Zoper put down the cutlass, tracing his finger over the curved blade. His entire life, he’d been judged by his father’s politics. Now he was judged by his uncle’s rule. As much as he admired and loved both men, as much as he wished he could be like them…part of him wished to be judged by his own actions and beliefs.

  But what were those?

  Tomorrow, the Eradication began. And he, Prince of Zentyre, Captain of the Tarragon, was to be its leader. Its deliverer of justice. Kaydor was the Dragon, Zoper was the Dragon’s fire. And starting tomorrow, the San Quawr would burn.

  WEDDINGS AND BIRTHDAYS

  T ALEA woke smiling. Not just because of the warm sunshine filtering through the window—a rarity this time of year in Calcaria—or the luxurious comfort of her bed, not just because of a good night’s sleep, or a delicious breakfast to anticipate.

  Today was no ordinary day. It was her eighteenth birthday, as well as the other wards’.

  Even more extraordinary...it was Yhkon and Jaylee’s wedding day.

  Unlike most days, she didn’t have to be to the arena for training by a certain time. She didn’t have anywhere to be for several hours, meaning it was an opportunity to sleep in not likely to be repeated any time soon...but who could lounge about in bed, on a day like today?

  After a hot bath and a breakfast tray delivered by her maid, Mirea, she dressed in trousers and a simple shirt, complete with boots she’d worn almost every day for the past three years, and a cloak for the cold. Then it was time to soak up more of the warm morning sun than the window could offer.

  Out of her apartment, down hallways and flights of stairs, all in enough of a rush to make Yhkon laugh if he were around and scold her for acting like a village girl, not the Aysa of Calcaria. Outside, there was snow on the ground and a nip in the air that allowed her to see her breath. The sun sparkling on the millions of tiny ice crystals was both dazzling and blinding. If Skyve were there, he would likely recoil as if he’d been slapped and flee back inside. He liked cold weather about as much as a dragon.

  A half-mile walk brought her to the Elikwai stables. Though she lived in the palace, she doubted she spent as much time there as she did at the Elikwai base. Training. Almost every day of every week since they’d come to Calcaria, all those years ago. It felt like more than three.

  Sleek heads popped out of stalls as she entered, large eyes following her and wondering if she came bearing food. When it was concluded she didn’t, most of those heads vanished again. Except for a black one with eyes of mahogany and a velvety muzzle of greenish-gray. That muzzle bumped her shoulder repeatedly as she stopped in front of the stall, begging for a treat. Talea took half an apple from her pocket and held it to the mare’s lips, grinning. “Don’t you tell Yhkon, he’d accuse me of fattening you up. Come on.” She slipped into the stall and began saddling the celith, then took her out. “We’ll make up for it by burning some of that fat off.”

  When Talea was thirteen, still living in Vissler and entirely ignorant about San Quawr and wards and Wardens, Yhkon had bred his stallion, Eclipse, to one of the best mares available. Once the foal was born, he’d made sure she was given the best possible care and later the best training. On Talea’s sixteenth birthday, the three-year-old filly, Ember, had been his gift to her.

  Now, Ember was fully-grown and fully trained, and few could boast a better celith. Or a prettier one.

  Outside the stable, Talea mounted and cued the mare into a canter toward the woods. Eclipse’s stall had been empty. Meaning, her Warden had probably isolated himself somewhere in the eerie, magical-seeming forest behind the palace. She slowed Ember so that she could watch the ground, and eventually found what she was looking for: tracks. Made by the shoes of one of the Wardens’ celiths. Each division of the San Quawr had a unique shoe for their mounts, so that in the field, they could find and recognize each other.

  Following the tracks for half an hour brought her to a meadow she’d never been in before. There weren’t many meadows in Calcaria—there were forests, there were mountains, there were a couple stretches of tundra, and there were rocky cliffs and beaches along the coasts. Nothing so peaceful as meadows.

  She eyed the span of glittering snow, framed by the woods, with a frozen-over creek carved through it. The little meadow, a tiny bit of serenity in the wild awe of the rest of the region, reminded her of Zentyre. And sure enough, Eclipse was grazing in it. Yhkon was sitting on a log, watching her approach. Grrake had mentioned that he had some spot he always disappeared to in the woods when he wanted to be alone...maybe this was it.

  Talea dismounted and set Ember loose to graze with her sire, while she sat down next to Yhkon. “Is this your spot? Grrake said you had a spot. Wouldn’t tell me where it was, though.”

  “Yep.”

  Good, he couldn’t have been in too bad a mood—he didn’t use casual language unless he was relaxed. “I thought maybe you were having a Silquije-Eun-episode.”

  “Episode?” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “Moods, conniptions, doldrums, spells, tempers, fits...your choice.” As she finished, he gave her shoulder a shove. Making no effort to withstand the force, she let herself be pushed off the log, into the snow. “Rude.”

  “I believe you’re the one that aimed I was having an episode. Some would consider that offensive.”

  “Claimed. Well, aimed almost works, but not really, and I’m assuming it’s not—”

  Yhkon rolled his eyes. “You become more impossible every day, I swear.”

  She grinned, then became more serious. “And you become happier every day, I thought...so what I really wanted was to make sure that that was still the case. I mean, I think you’re supposed to be extra happy today...”

  He smiled at her. Looking at him, at how his icy eyes were soft and not bloodshot, at how he looked younger instead of older than he did three years ago, she knew it was still the case even before he answered. “I am happy. Just…” He went back to looking at the tranquil little meadow. “Nostalgic, maybe.”

  “Whoa. Did you just use a feeling-word?”

  “What?”

  “A feeling-word.” She made herself keep a straight face. “Like, a word that conveys emotion. I didn’t know you—”

  “Why do I even talk to you.”

  Grinning again, she rested her head against his shoulder. Took a deep breath of the frosty, clean air. She knew what he meant. “I know.”

  He adjusted to put his arm around her. “Good, because that was the extent of feeling-words I know how to pronounce.”

  She laughed. “But hey, you pronounced pronounce right. Last time you just said pronoun.”

  “Yes, yes,” he poked her in the ribs, “thank you for the reminder, as if I’d forgotten I have a speech impediment. I’m thinking about it enough as it is, having to say vows in front of an audience in five hours.” The truth was that his speech had improved considerably, with time.

  “Don’t say them to the audience.” She poked him back. “Say them to Jay.”

  “How sage.”

  “Yep, that’s me.” She got off the log and let herself fall backwards into the snow, and began sliding her arms and legs in and out, making a snow angel like she and Brenly had as children. “Sage and mature and—”

  “How old are you again?”

  “Eight.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He made a snowball and threw it at her. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She sat up. “So. This is your spot. Pick it because it’s peaceful?”

  He laughed a little, wistfully. “Back when Ash was my celith, and I was about your age...when I was having an episod
e, as you called it, I would just let him go where he pleased. He always came here, for the grass.” A shrug. “So I let him, and Grrake started looking for me here whenever I rode off. And now it’s ap-pa-parently my spot.”

  “Good old Ash.” She smiled. “Crankiest celith I ever met. No wonder both you and Wylan liked him.”

  “You really are an impudent, disrespectful girl, for all my efforts to train you into a decent human being.”

  “Well, I learned from the best.” With a wink, she stood up. “Shall I leave you to sulk in solitude, or would you care to accompany me back to civilization?”

  “You’re exhausting. I do believe I’ll stay and sulk.”

  “Fair enough.” She retrieved Ember from her grazing, mounted, and gave him a final smile. “See you at your wedding.”

  There were still four hours to kill. Since so much of her time was consumed with training, there weren’t many other pastimes to choose from. After returning Ember to the stable, Talea went to the large library in the palace, which also served as an informal lounge, furnished with board games, snacks and drinks, and cushy sofas. Picking a book she’d started last week, she made herself comfortable with a cup of coffee. She’d initially been unsure about the bitter, black liquid that the Calcarians had adopted from the Canadise, but it had grown on her—unlike Rikky and Terindi, who refused to touch the stuff without a hearty dose of milk and sugar. Skyve, on the other hand, practically lived off it, despite all his claims that one should maintain a healthy, balanced diet.

  The time passed slowly, before she finally felt it reasonable to go change into her dress. It was a slim satin gown, violet with a yellow sash and matching flowers embroidered along the neckline. Jaylee’s choice. Bright, energetic, pretty—not surprising. The other bridesmaids; Ami, Kae, Jaylee’s sister, and Terindi as the maid of honor; would be wearing the same.

  Mirea came in to do her hair and cosmetics. Talea put on the useless slippers that matched the gown and a fancy shawl that would do little in the way of warmth, thanked Mirea, and tried to keep herself to a sedate pace so she didn’t tear the snug-fitting waist or sleeves.