Page 20 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

“Fuck you, dragon,” I whisper, struggling to keep a smile from overtaking my face.

The venison smells delicious as it’s roasting, and once it’s done, the blue dragon Rothkuri volunteers to deliver portions to the women in other caves. He takes a sizable portion to his girl, then returns and approaches me. “Could you wrap up a fine piece of the meat for the Princess?”

“The Princess?” Shock rushes along my limbs, raising goosebumps. “You mean Princess Serylla of Elekstan? She’s here on the island?”

“Indeed.” He dips his head. “Prince Kyreagan took her to his cave.”

“Well, fuck. That’s interesting.”

“They are not getting along at all.” Rothkuri blinks at me. “I would like to make her feel more welcome.”

“How considerate of you.” I carve a piece of venison and wrap it in a scrap of cloth. Fabric and clothing are in short supply, but we can spare a bit of it on behalf of the Princess.

I shouldn’t continue the conversation with Rothkuri, but I’m too curious to resist. “Your captive seems happy with you. Why is that, do you think?”

“She was never appreciated by her husband,” he says. “Not the way that I appreciate her. With my tongue.”

“With your—oh.” I swallow hard. “And where do you… appreciate her?”

“Between her legs. She has such plump, soft legs, and the genitals between them are so pink and wet and delicious—”

“Oh god—I’ve heard enough.” I shove the wrapped venison toward him. “Take this to the Princess.”

Rothkuri departs, and I place both hands over my cheeks, conscious of how hot and flushed they are. Taking a portion of meat, I limp a short distance away from the fire and sit down.

I’ve been on my feet most of the day, and my ankle is complaining with a continuous ache and occasional stabs of sharp pain. Once I’ve finished devouring the delicious venison, I massage my ankle a bit, trying to ease the taut muscles.

One of the women approaches. She’s taller than the rest of us, with light brown skin, hair braided along the crown of her head, and the toned body of a warrior. She was wearing armor earlier, but removed it during the course of the afternoon.

She crouches beside me. “I have something for you,” she says in an undertone. “Please don’t mention it to the others—I can’t spare much. But I noticed you’re in pain. It’s your ankle?”

“Yes.”

“If we have to run at any point, you should have a fair chance. Take this.” She places a tablet in my palm.

“What is it?”

“A healing spell.”

“What?” I whisper, shocked. “These cost more than most people make in a year. I can’t accept this.”

“Do you really think money matters now?” She rises. “Chew it thoroughly before you swallow it. You’ll be good as new within the hour.”

I stare at her back as she walks away. Part of me is deeply grateful, and part of me feels oddly resentful that this type of generosity has only entered my life now, when everything has gone to shit, rather than sooner. My family and I could have usedthe purchase price of this single healing tablet to better our lives. We could have paid our rent for months.

For some reason, catastrophic circumstances tend to bring out latent generosity in people who have been hoarding resources for years. If more of Elekstan’s nobility had been generous with their wealth, would our kingdom have fallen to Vohrain? I suppose the answer is yes, thanks to the dragons. Although if the nobles really cared about the rest of us, perhaps they would have forced the Queen to surrender to Vohrain before so much of our population was fed to the furnace of war.

If the woman who gave me the tablet was a warrior, she must have been an elite one, perhaps a knight. I’m experienced enough with palace politics to know that expensive healing tablets were not standard issue for the Queen’s army—and she had two of them.

Whatever her role might have been, one of her tablets is mine now. I place it in my mouth and crush it to chalky powder between my teeth. It tastes horrible, so I fetch a couple of tiny radishes from the food stash and rub off the dirt before crunching them. They’re fairly effective at erasing the foul taste of the pill.

I return to my seat, a little apart from the others, and wait for the healing tablet to take effect and the pain in my ankle to abate. Without realizing I’m looking for him, I locate Varex’s slender form by the barrier. He’s with two other dragons, pinning the carcass of a goat in place with his front claws, tugging at a strand of raw red meat with his sharp white teeth.

A rushing sound overhead catches my attention, and the campfires gutter as a great black dragon lands in the courtyard. He speaks a few words to Varex, gathers a clump of firewood in his claws, and takes off again without acknowledging anyone else.

Varex glances toward me, and upon catching my eye, he paces over, licking the blood of his dinner from his scaly lips.

“Who was that?” I ask him quietly.

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