Page 1 of Of Blood and Fire
CHAPTER
ONE
Grief.
It was a never-ending sea in which I was drowning. It broke my sleep, haunted my days, and sat like a stone in the middle of my chest, making it hard to breathe, to think, to function.
But function I must. I was Princess Bryn Silva, the only child of Rion Silva, Esan’s king and commander, and now that he and Mom were dead…
A faint sob escaped, and I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms in an effort to battle one pain with another.
I could survive this.
Iwouldsurvive this.
There was vengeance to be had.
I drew in a deeper breath that didn’t really help, then turned at the sound of steps and watched Jarin Maese approach. While my father had had a council of advisors that included both the day and night division generals, the explosion that had taken my parents’ lives had also taken out all but one of his advisors—Jarin. He’d been my father’s night general, and he was now my direct second-in-command. It meant that when I was aloft, he could take full control of the armies—both mounted and foot. As such, he was temporarily residing here in the palace complex—in the quarters reserved for the multitude of advisors that often came with overseas dignitaries—so he could be available whenever needed. The military quarters, positioned as they were near the lower curtain wall, were simply too far away to be practical in a crisis such as this.
And it was a crisis. We were facing enemies on two fronts—on the ground and in the air—and while our drakkons now had flame, their numbers remained too few.
The palace’s grand hall had been made into a temporary command center after the Mareritt—the warrior race who ruled the northerly half of our shared continent—had orchestrated the explosion that had not only taken so many lives, but also destroyed a good ninety per cent of the administration and war room buildings five days ago. The rather forlorn-looking section that remained atop the upper curtain wall had been strengthened by our earth mages only days before the attack, but it wasn’t large enough to accommodate any of our tactical or admin sections. We weren’t intending to immediately rebuild those areas, either. Aside from the fact it was pointless to do so until this war was over, it was far better for everyone if the mages concentrated on making the two curtain walls—especially the lower one, which was our main defense—impervious to the acidic substance that had caused so much damage. If they destroyed the lower wall as they had destroyed the war room... I thrust the thought aside. It would not fall.Esanwould not fall. Not on my watch.
Of course, it was damnably inconvenient not to have the immediacy of the war room’s long views over Mareritten, but we’d lost over one hundred people in the explosion, many of them our most experienced veterans, and we could not afford to lose any more. Not when I had so little experience in the practicalities of war and tactics.
I needed help. I needed advice. I needed my husband….
But he, like almost everyone else I cared about, was gone. Not dead, in his case, just gone. I had no idea where, no idea why. All I knew was that it involved his sisters and that it was a matter of life and death.
Trouble was, Damon Velez didn’t have sisters. Not full-blood ones, anyway. He had plenty half siblings, because apparently his father—Aric Velez, king and commander of Zephrine, Esan’s fortress counterpart in West Arleeon—couldn’t keep his fucking cock in his pants and liked to spread his seed far and wide. And yet, I’d gotten the distinct impression Damonhadn’tbeen talking about half sisters.
It didn’t make sense.Nothingwas making sense right now when it came to the Velez line.
But Damon and I were definitely going to have words when he got back.Ifhe got back.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead wearily. “What is it, Jarin?”
He stopped and saluted crisply. He was a stout man in his late forties, with leathery brown skin and a thick braid of steel-gray hair. He’d survived the war room attack due to good timing; as night general, he’d just retired to his quarters in the military section when the attack alarm had sounded. Like the rest of us who’d been there at the time, he’d gone to the main curtain wall rather than make his way back through the many levels that divided the military section from the second wall and the war room.
Being on the front line had saved his life, just as it had saved mine. If I’d been here, in the palace, I would have gone to the war room to be with my parents and would have been killed as well.
Thatwould’ve had far-reaching consequences, not just for Esan, but also for our drakkons. And, more particularly,mydrakkon.
“Commander,” Jarin said, his voice a low rumble that matched his stout figure. “The falconers have just reported that a gray hawk came in from Reydia with a message.”
I frowned, momentarily confused. “Why are they sending messages via gray hawks rather than?—”
I stopped. They were using hawks simply because there was no other way to contact us directly. The destruction of the war room had taken out our quill network. We did have more scribes—which used magic to pair one quill with another, meaning what was written on one tablet was copied onto the other—but we were concentrating on getting fresh pairs out to all locations with logistical or military importance within Arleeon first. It was a slow business given the great distances involved.
But if Reydia had sent a message via a gray hawk, it meant that, in those final few moments before Vahree’s hand had claimed their souls, someone had scribed a warning to the entire network, telling them contact might be reduced or even cut off and to use the hawks.
I couldn’t help but wonder if that someone—orsomeones—had been my parents. They wouldn’t have given anyone else the task—not when it was basically a guarantee of death....
I held out a hand that shook just a little—a result of tiredness and grief combined, but there was nothing I could do about either right now. “You have the message?”
He placed a small piece of the specially treated paper used to etch messages onto my hand. I frowned and held it up. It didn’t drip water, but it was nevertheless waterlogged. “What in Vahree’s name has happened to it?”
He grimaced. “The cylinder holding it was somehow damaged during transport. With all the rain we’ve had, I’m betting much of the missive is unreadable.”
