Magic-Born Dragon: Book Two of the Dragon Born Trilogy, Page 2

  It stung, but she could live with it. Nothing hurt more than the pain in her hand.

  “Look at you,” the woman said, looking Rowen up and down. “I wasn’t much older when I was caught in the stables. My good deed for the day is done.”

  Relieved, Rowen nodded. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m deeply indebted to you, miss.”

  “Call me, Feyda,” she said with a smile that brightened her square-shaped face. “That was quite the night for me some odd years ago. At least I got this young man out of it.”

  Rowen followed Feyda’s gaze to the slender young man standing at an open chest of garments. He nodded to her, but didn’t smile.

  “My son, Perdan,” Feyda said, heading over to the wash basin. “And, you are?”

  “Ro—,” Rowen began, but cut off her name and snapped her mouth shut. Best not to reveal her identity. She had yet to decipher if she could trust the woman and her son. “Ro, ma’am.”

  Feyda dipped a cloth in the water and wrung it out. Then, she wiped it across her full bosom, held up by a tight corset and long, gray gown. “Simple name. Where are you from?”

  “Just a small farm, not too far from Harrow’s port,” Rowen said. Her eyes went to Perdan who looked at her with distaste, as if she were a dead bird dragged in the house by the family dog. He turned his nose up at her and walked over to the bed, where more garments were piled high. She noted how his gait was graceful and somewhat feminine. With long blond hair, and high cheek bones accentuated by what she was sure was face powder. He wore a long red tunic and tight leather pants tucked into his boots.

  “You’re from a farm like I’m the Queen of Withrae,” Feyda said with a snort. “But, it’s okay. No need to give all your truths to a stranger. Especially one who saved you from a lashing and perhaps a night in the stocks.”

  Rowen pursed her lips, tensing. If the woman was going to use that against her, she’d better leave now. She did not want to owe anyone. But, being caught again was not an option. Torn, she stood her ground and listened as the woman went on.

  “But, like I said. It’s fine. I don’t need to know your past. You might want to let me look at that hand of yours.”

  Feyda dipped the cloth in the water again and walked over to Rowen with it. Her eyebrows knitted together as she took Rowen’s hand and examined it with her big, chestnut-brown eyes.

  “This is nasty. I won’t even ask how you got it,” Feyda muttered, then clicked her tongue. “Perdan, fetch my tonic, would you dear?”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said in a voice much softer than Rowen imagined. He opened another chest and pulled out a black bottle and took out the cork. He handed it to Feyda and made a face at the sight of Rowen’s hand. “What did you do to yourself?”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “You think I did this?”

  “Hush now, Perdan. She doesn’t have to tell us anything,” Feyda said, shushing her son. “What happened matters not. But, what lies ahead is what’s important. Where are you heading, dear?”

  Shrugging, Rowen watched her pour the liquid on her hand. It bubbled on the wound, and produced a white foam that stung. “I don’t know,” Rowen replied, sucking in a breath as the muscles in her hand began to burn.

  Feyda tilted her head. She searched Rowen’s face and tucked Rowen’s hair behind her ear. “Well, you could come with us. We could use a maid to help us get things done. That way Perdan can spend more time helping me and not tending to smaller tasks.”

  “Really?” It didn’t sound like a bad idea. A new life. Protection. How could she say no? Then again, she didn’t know them and that made her wary. Too many times had she been tricked and betrayed by others.

  “Yes. We both know you aren’t the kind of girl to bend her back over a spindle or milk cows before dawn. But, we won’t speak of it. Whatever you’re running from, we can help you. Trust me. I’ve been there. I was lucky enough to have someone to look out for me as well.”

  “Yes,” she blurted. “I will come with you.”

  “Are you sure, Mother?” Perdan asked, folding his arms across his narrow chest.

  Feyda gave him a sharp look that made his cheeks flush. “I am.”

  He bowed his head slightly in acquiescence and forced a smile for Rowen. “Then, I’d be happy to have you join us as well.”

  “Damned right you will. She’ll be picking up your slack so you can learn the true trade,” Feyda said and winked at Rowen. “See, dear. We all have a few tricks up our sleeve.”

  She gasped as Feyda puckered her lips and blew a cold gust of air onto her wound. The chill of it seeped into Rowen’s skin and cooled her from the inside out. It stung, but she held her breath as the separated flesh fused together until the bleeding and the wound were completely healed. Rowen’s eyes widened as she took her hand back and ran her fingers along the spot where Siddhe had stabbed her. There wasn’t a trace of the wound. No scarring, just remnants of dark blood.

  “How did you—”

  “Shh,” Feyda whispered, her finger held to her lips as her eyes searched Rowen’s. “We both know how magic is frowned upon. Let’s not discuss it here.”

  “Where are we going?” Rowen asked, even more intrigued by the odd pair. Her throat tickled and a tingling sensation raced along her skin, raising the tiny hairs.

  Something told her this was more than chance.

  More than luck.

  Fate—that was more like it.

  “Kabrick,” Feyda said, turning to her son and placing her hands on her hips. “Time to leave this Dragon kingdom behind for a little adventure.”

  “I’d hardly call the humans adventurous,” Perdan said, closing their chests and locking them.

  Feyda glanced at Rowen. For a moment, Rowen was sure Feyda knew her secrets, just by the look in her eyes and the sly smile that rested on her lips.

  “Oh,” Feyda purred. “But, they can be.”

  Chapter 4

  The sweet scent of a fresh soul was almost too much for Elian to handle as he sucked it into his body. He shuddered at its entry and dropped the dead merchant in a heap on the side of the road with a broken neck and soulless body.

  “Can you hurry it up?” Siddhe asked, keeping a lookout from the other side of the broken-down carriage. “We need to get out of here before Kabrick’s soldiers decide to make their rounds.”

  Elian sat down on the road and closed his eyes as he became a bit woozy. He barely heard Siddhe’s voice, or the anxiety laden within it. They were getting further and further from land, and that made for a very moody mermaid. She wasn’t the only one in a nasty mood.

  They were all out of sorts. Dirty, sticky, hungry, and tired. Climbing up the rocks of the beach hadn’t been easy, but they all made it out of the battle with the Withraen Navy alive.

  Well, not all of them. Elian hated to watch his men perish and his ship burn. He’d rebuild. That was all he could do.

  While Elian calmed his breathing, his chest expanded with the fresh soul and he tucked it away with the others for safe-keeping. A surge of energy filled his veins and his eyes popped open. Springing to his feet, he unbuttoned his shirt and took off his boots and pants. The merchant was about his size, and had good taste. He ran his thumb over the ridges of the silver buttons. Very good taste.

  Elian was more concerned with dry clothes and fresh socks to warm his chilled feet. Style was a bonus. It had only been hours since the sea monster returned them to land and they hiked from the beach of Harrow and into town.

  Gavin peeked around the corner, his dark hair matted to his face. His eyes brightened. “Can I search the carriage?”

  Elian lifted a brow. “What kind of pirate asks if he can steal something?”

  Gavin rubbed his chin. “Well…I am just a scribe.”

  Rolling his eyes, Elian nodded to the carriage. “Take what you can. But, be quick about it.”

  Elian buttoned up his new blouse and tucked it into his pants. He threw a long red cloak over his shoulders, fastened it at the neck,
and eyed the shining cane still clutched in the merchant’s pale, white hands.

  He tugged it free and ran his fingers along the rich mahogany.

  Siddhe came around the corner and looked him up and down. “You look like an aristocrat,” she said, scrunching up her face with disgust.

  Elian flashed a joyless grin as he bowed before her. “Why, thank you, my lady,” he said, sarcastically.

  The corner of her mouth twitched as she gave him another once over and glanced at Gavin who had his shirt off as he rummaged through the merchant’s chest of garments.

  For a moment, Elian was sure color came to Siddhe’s bronze cheeks as her eyes rested on the young man’s naked chest. She quickly looked away and pulled herself into the carriage by the door handle.

  “There has to be something in here that I can wear,” she muttered. “If everyone is going to pretend to be upperclassmen, I don’t want to be the dirty slave running behind you.”

  Elian took the merchant’s money bag and slipped it into his pocket. From the weight of it, there was at least enough for them to be comfortable for the week.

  Dry clothes, money, and a flask of dry red wine.

  Things were looking up.

  Still, he was absent one very important map, and one very clever daughter. He needed both if he was going to survive.

  Elian walked away from the carriage and stood in the center of the road that cut through the lush forest. Just ahead was Billingsport, the port town of Kabrick.

  An all too familiar pain stabbed him in the chest. He kept his balance and composure as his heart raged with a stinging ache that threatened to double him over onto his knees.

  Instead of showing weakness, he walked ahead.

  “Hurry it up,” he ordered over his shoulder as he clutched his chest. “I need a bath, some supper, and more dark souls.”

  As Siddhe jumped from the carriage, dressed in men’s trousers and an oversized shirt, which she tied tight with a belt and Gavin joined her in the merchant’s slacks and tunic, he failed to mention one more thing he needed.

  The thing he needed most.

  Time.

  Billingsport was bustling with merchants, sailors, and humans roaming the streets for their shopping.

  The air smelled different here. Elian never liked the Dragon realm or its snobbish society. Here—even though he was weeks away from his birthplace—he felt at home. Wearing a rich man’s clothes didn’t hurt. Even though they all still smelled of sweat, dirt, and the sea, their clothes alone helped them command attention as they walked the crowded streets of the central marketplace to the local inn at the end of town.

  By nightfall, they were well-fed, clean, and Siddhe lay naked under the covers of his bed. The Purple Blunderbuck was an inn he’d frequented during his travels. Somewhat clean, with an abundance of young sailors looking for a new opportunity. He always found a new pirate recruit during his stay. This time, the thought turned his stomach. Those men put their lives in his hands, and he squandered them away.

  He left the open window and its sweet breeze. He sat on the edge of the bed while Siddhe slept with a faint smile on her face as her eyelids fluttered with dreams. He’d never been this close to the Red Dragon before, and the fact he let his chance for its treasure slip through his fingers was infuriating.

  With an exasperated sigh, he pressed his fingertips to his temples. He tried to remember every detail of the map, and the new lines drawn by Rowen’s blood. Images filled his mind as he recalled the last details he’d seen before the Withraen Navy interrupted him. Imagining the map was laid out before him, he traced over the newly-revealed route Rowen’s blood revealed. It went through Kabrick and into the vast Wastelands that lay between Kabrick, Harrow, and the far, forbidding range of the Malcore Mountains.

  That was forbidden territory, wild and uninhabitable. Traveling there without any direction could get them killed.

  After a few minutes, he knew it was useless. Gavin memorized what areas had appeared before Rowen bled onto it, but he’d have to find her if he wanted the Red Dragon.

  Fate was a cruel creature. To send his daughter, tease him with her power, and use her to ruin him was unfathomable. A knock came on the door and Elian reached for his dagger. He threw on a shirt and stepped to the door.

  “What?”

  “Sir,” Gavin’s muffled voice called. “I need to speak with you. If you don’t mind.”

  Elian lifted the lock on the door and stepped out into the dimly-lit hallway. The smell of sweet cigar smoke and roasted lamb wafted into his nostrils. He winced at the loud roar of cheering that came from downstairs.

  “What are they celebrating?” Elian asked, trying to make out what was shouted by the men below.

  “I don’t know if it’s safe here. Everyone seems to know about our scurry with the Withraen Navy,” Gavin said. “There are a bunch of sailors and pirates down there talking about it.”

  A smirk curled the corner of Elian’s mouth. He placed a hand on Gavin’s shoulder and leaned in. “We’re safer here than anywhere else. Those men down there are human. They’re probably just glad to hear of the Withrae vessel’s sinking. It’s not every day that Dragons get what’s coming to them.”

  Gavin’s brows knitted together. “No, sir. I think you have it all wrong. Those men down there,” he said with a nod toward the stairs. “They are not celebrating the defeat of the Withraen Navy…they’re celebrating your death.”

  Elian’s smirk faded. Everyone thought he was dead. His eye twitched as he squared his shoulders. “Don’t worry yourself about that. Get back to your room and stay out of trouble. We’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “Whatever you say,” Gavin said with a shrug. “I just thought you should know.”

  With one last glance at the staircase, Elian nodded and stepped back inside his room.

  He closed the door and pressed his back to it. What did he care if a bunch of dumb sailors celebrated what they thought to be his death? He had a mind to go down there, show himself, and consume all their souls.

  No. Best to let the world think he was dead. That at least gave him an edge on his enemies.

  And, right now, Rowen was at the top of the list.

  Chapter 5

  A week went by with Feyda and Perdan, and with each day Rowen started to question her judgment. The two were kind and giving, feeding her three meals a day and not working her too hard. She washed their clothes and tended to the horses when they traveled. But, their dealings worried her.

  Feyda and Perdan always did business in back alleys, or under tables where no one could see their exchange of money and secret notes. Rowen only wished she could read minds. To know what Feyda had hidden up there would ease her own mind. She still trusted no one.

  Despite her fears, Rowen kept her head down and her mouth shut. She didn’t need any trouble, and if being with those two would keep her safe, she’d do whatever it took to stay in their good graces. At least she didn’t have to worry about money, shelter, or food.

  The trio never stayed anywhere for long, and she wasn’t sure where they were heading.

  North. Always north, but what lay there was a mystery.

  Each night, Rowen rolled onto her side on the floor beside Feyda’s bed. She kept the covers over her head and examined the treasure map she’d stolen from Captain Elian. It was in a language she did not understand, but one thing she did know was where it led: north. After years of studying, she also knew the geographical shape of their part of the world. Kabrick was key, and Malcore was where she had a feeling she needed to be.

  She’d try to make sense of it all, and would tuck the map back into the front of her dress where it was safe, and fall asleep where visions of the Red Dragon returned to her. It was like a comforting memory despite the death and destruction her last prophecy had foretold. The Red Dragon promised to wait for her, and she would do whatever it took to reach him.

  One evening, while eating supper in a port village named Chroix, Row
en overheard a name that made her blood run cold.

  Rowen sat on the floor of the tavern near the fire, her legs tucked under her as Feyda whispered to a pirate captain and one of his crewmen. Her hearing was sharp, and there was no mistaking what she heard.

  “No,” Feyda said, her eyes widened in shock. “Tell me you’re lying, Captain Blackthorn. I never thought I’d live to see the day…”

  “That’s right. Captain Elian Westin is dead. Sunk by the Withraen Navy right off the coast of Harrow,” Captain Blackthorn. “Can’t say that I didn’t see that one coming. He had a list of enemies as long as the red road to Reeds.”

  “Shark bait,” the crewman said with a laugh, his bony cheeks tight with a wide grin. “That’s what he and his crew are right now, right Captain?”

  Captain Blackthorn shot him a glare. “Shut it, Grimble.”

  Grimble’s smile faded and he lifted his heavy mug to his bearded mouth. He downed its contents and slammed it onto the squat, wooden table.

  Rowen quickly looked away as Captain Blackthorn’s eyes rested on her bosom. She folded her arms across her chest and fixed her gaze on the fire.

  “What’s her story?” he asked, Feyda.

  Rowen couldn’t resist another glance back.

  Feyda took his face into her hands and turned it back toward her. “None of your business,” she hissed with such venom that Rowen tensed.

  A chuckle came from his lips. “Fine,” he said. “I just thought we were sharing is all. Haven’t seen breasts that ripe in weeks.”

  Feyda stood. She turned to Rowen. “Come, girl. We have to be up early, let’s prepare for bed.”

  Captain Blackthorn stood as well. The room went quiet and Rowen swallowed as he towered over them. With the build of a Dragon, it was hard to believe the man before them was only human. He had crystal-clear blue eyes and dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders. Dressed in all black, and with a scar going across his neck, he looked sinister. Even more sinister than Captain Elian.