FIVE
Moonlight shone silver on the circle of crypts where Alaia stood next to Lorea, fists clenched. The children are safe, she told herself. They were asleep in their crib and guarded by Galena and Maude and a few men that Zorion trusted. But the anxiety wouldn't leave her, and it wasn't only for the triplets.
No one would explain this ceremony, except to say that it was important, and the secrecy made her fearful. Not so much for herself but for Zorion. What were they were asking him to do? He’d said it wasn't dangerous, but what would happen if he failed to awaken this power, whatever it was?
It shouldn't have mattered to her. Probably she'd be better off, safer, if he didn’t. Overthrowing Imanol wasn't a trivial thing, after all. But she could no longer deny that she cared for Zorion. She had been half in love with him after Heartfire, and those feelings hadn't gone away. She wanted him to succeed, for the people who were suffering and for himself. So, she waited, the whispers of the other spectators a hum at the edge of her thoughts, and finally, Osane lit a candle, throwing strange shadows over her aged face. Silence fell as she began to speak.
“Bright Ehki, beloved Mari, and all the other gods and spirits who have aided our people since the beginning of time: The hour has come to remember our covenant. A boy comes before you today to become a man, but also to receive the power that is his birth right. Prince Zorion, the twenty-third of the line of Kemen, bears the blood of the dragon through his mother, the late Queen Aintza. Tonight, the dragon will rise again!”
The people around the fire gave a ragged cheer, and two shadowed figures emerged from one of the crypts, likely through another one of those underground passages. One of the newcomers lit another candle, and Alaia could see that it was Itzal. By the process of elimination, the other person, concealed by a cloak, could only be Zorion. Osane handed him something that gleamed in the moonlight. “Drink the draft of fire and blood and be renewed.”
Zorion lifted the goblet to his mouth, and there was a long moment where it seemed the whole world was holding its breath. The cup fell to the ground with a muted thunk, and he doubled over, as if in pain. Alaia gasped as she saw one bare arm braced against the ground, held taut with strain.
There was a sound of cracking and popping and a scream that at first sounded like a man before edging into something inhuman and terrifying. She was frozen to the spot, torn between running to his side and fleeing in terror. A shadow loomed overhead, blocking the moon, and something made a noise like the bellows for a giant’s fireplace.
“Light the fire so all may behold your new power,” Osane said from somewhere in the darkness. It didn't make sense to Alaia, in her paralysis of terror and confusion, but at the words of the priestess, there was a great rustling sound.
With a roaring whoosh of heat, a gout of flame hit the pile of logs and kindling that had been waiting for this moment. Firelight spilled out over the graveyard, revealing the wide eyes of the other spectators all centered on the spot where the huge shadow had appeared.
There was a dragon crouched next to the fire, as large as a house, its dark scales glittering and its wings half unfurled. One amber eye fixed itself on Alaia and she understood. The power of the dragon was the power to become one.
Now you know, said a voice in her mind, like Zorion's but deeper, almost smoky. I'm sorry for not telling you before. She might have reassured him, but Osane was calling the ritual to a close, thanking the gods for their presence.
It was over much more quickly than Alaia had expected, and all the while, the dragon that was Zorion sat unmoving in the half-light. Was that his heartbeat she could feel pulsing through her shoes?
“There's a feast in the house if you’ll follow me,” Lorea said, beckoning to the others. It seemed to break the spell of silence over the graveyard, and the small crowd of onlookers drifted away from the fire. Alaia knew she should follow, but she felt glued to the spot by Zorion’s gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment, until the last of the spectators was out of earshot. I suppose you must find me frightening, came Zorion's voice again.
“No,” she said, lifting her chin and taking a step forward. “Not once I realized it was you. I was afraid for you, not of you.”
You were worried about me? he said in a tone of surprise.
“Of course, I was,” she replied, pursing her lips. “You never told me anything about this ritual, so I didn't know what to expect, and you sounded like you were in pain.”
The transformation was uncomfortable, he admitted. I am sorry for making you worry, but I didn't expect… well, you were so angry when I showed up in the village. I thought you hated me, and now… I confess I cannot even begin to guess what you are thinking.
“I never hated you,” she said fiercely, moving forward until she could lay her hand on his nose. His scales were warm. In the firelight it was difficult to see color, but she thought they might be dark blue or green. “I care about you, Zorion, but after waiting so long, I suppose I had given up hope that you would ever return, and when you did… it was a bit more than I had bargained for.”
I'm sorry. I seem to always be apologizing to you. He huffed out a breath that whipped her hair like a strong breeze. I wanted to keep you safe. I thought about you every day, but my memories could not compare to how beautiful and kind and brave and strong you truly are.
The cold night air stung her heated cheeks. Her heartbeat had grown loud. “I think you're exaggerating my virtues,” she said, her voice rising to a squeak.
No, he said firmly. You're an amazing woman, Alaia. Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife.
He had not asked, but she felt that question laid out before her once again. Now that she knew who he was and how he felt, there was no real reason to delay giving her answer, but it meant that everything would change. She swallowed. “Does that mean… your offer is still open?”
The sharpening of his attention was almost a physical thing. Every particle of her being seemed to align like a magnet to the force of his presence. Always. If that's something you would want.
She nodded, struggling to find words. “I'm not sure I'm… adequately prepared to be the wife of a prince or a king, but I want to be your wife. I believe the gods brought us together for a reason.”
He was silent for a long moment. Her palms began to sweat. I'm trying to get a hold of myself. If I let my emotions get away from me, I might accidentally burn down the house.
Alaia laughed, relief making her giddy. “Maybe you should change back,” she said, and then she frowned, a new fear taking root. “I mean, you can change back, can't you?”
A deep rumble from his chest vibrated the ground, and smoke issued from his nostrils. It took her a few seconds to realize he was laughing. Did you think I was going to live in the garden for the rest of my life?
“There's no need to be rude. It was a natural question,” she said, slapping his shoulder and then pulling her hand back with a wince of pain. He probably hadn't even felt it.
I apologize. Just give me a moment. He took a deep breath, and once again the air was filled with the sound of cracking and popping. Only now Alaia realized that it was his body, the muscles and bones complaining as they rearranged themselves into the form of a man. This time, he didn’t scream, but he groaned through clenched teeth as his body shrunk and his scales disappeared.
Then he was just himself, crouched on shaking hands in the grass. Alaia felt strange; she wanted to run to him, but it was all so new. And she was pretty sure he was naked, which was interesting and mortifying all at once.
She moved forward slowly, putting her hand on top of his sweat-damp hair. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, just a little tired,” he said, and he looked up at her, wide-eyed in the dim light. One of his arms wrapped around the back of her legs in an awkward embrace. “Did you mean it, when you said you wanted to marry me?” His voice was quiet but full of hope.
“Yes,” she said, her heart surging with warmth at his expression. “I want us to be a family. I know things are difficult, but I think we can make it work, together.”
He pushed himself to his feet, and his arms moved around her waist, tentative at first, but more firmly when she didn't pull away. “I can't tell you how happy that makes me.”
She could feel his heart racing against her palm, and his eyes seemed more golden than usual, as if they were lit from within. They moved together as one, their lips meeting softly. It was a different sort of kiss than the ones they'd shared at Heartfire, unhurried and tinged with relief.
It felt like coming home. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. Considering Zorion's state of undress, things might have got out of hand after that, but they were interrupted by the sound of someone loudly clearing his throat.
“Just came to see if you were planning on coming to your own party,” Itzal said, his grin visible even in the dim light. “I've got your clothes.”
“Right,” Zorion said, releasing her with obvious reluctance. He dressed quickly with his back to her, but it took some effort not to stare.
“The children are safe and asleep,” Itzal said, and Alaia let out a sigh at the easing of her unconscious fears. “You two seem to have reached an understanding,”
She could feel her cheeks coloring, but she decided not to give him the satisfaction of embarrassing her. “We have,” she said firmly, nodding for emphasis.
“Does that mean we have an announcement to make?” he asked, pitching his voice to include Zorion, who paused in the act of buttoning his jacket.
“Yes,” he said, but then he looked to Alaia, “if that's all right with you, of course.” She appreciated the consideration. Getting engaged to a prince, even one in effective exile, was no simple matter, she was sure. But now that they were both open about their feelings, tentative and turbulent though they sometimes were, she didn’t feel like hiding her intentions.
“I think I’m ready,” she said. Zorion took her hand and squeezed it.
“I'll be with you,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. It was enough. She returned the pressure against her fingers, and they walked back to the house hand in hand.
**************************
Dinner was a blur. Zorion sat at the head of the table, and she sat to his right. After thanking his guests, a few powerful lords who were his particular allies as well as Osane and some older priestesses, he cleared his throat. Alaia could hardly keep from shaking.
“After the success of today’s ritual, I have another piece of news to share with you all,” he said, taking hold of Alaia’s hand and lifting her to her feet.
She could see the eyes of those around the table taking her in, wondering who she was and where she came from. Part of her wanted to shrink away from their searching gazes, and another part wanted to stare back in defiance. “I have asked Alaia to be my wife, and she has accepted. The ceremony will be sometime after Heartfire.”
There was a heartbeat of absolute silence before everyone began talking at once. The atmosphere was generally celebratory, which was a relief, but after the sixth congratulations and a long succession of toasts, Alaia was quite ready to make her escape. Zorion escorted her back to her bedroom.
“I thought you would tell them about the children as well,” she murmured once they had reached the relative privacy of the doorway.
“I considered it, but I was afraid they would demand to see them in person. Itzal says there's no rumors as of yet. If we can keep the children a secret until the marriage, so much the better. It just might throw Imanol off balance.”
Alaia nodded. She did not doubt that Zorion cared about her and the children, but there was also a political angle to consider. Taking back the throne was important to him, and now to her as well. Everything she had seen, from the death of her brother to the suffering of the people in the city, made her believe that Imanol deserved to be deposed. “When will you move against him?”
“The nobles wanted proof of my power, and now that they have it, I hope they'll start mustering their troops, but they won't really be able to move until the weather warms. In the meantime, I'll be keeping him busy with diplomacy at court. Hopefully he won't expect anything aggressive until the army is at his doorstep. I'll also be working on developing my abilities as a dragon. My being useful in battle is an important part of our strategy.”
The image of the enormous shadow, the fire, and the glistening scales were graven on her memory. She wasn't afraid; on the contrary, she wished she'd been able to see more. “You will be careful, won't you?”
“I will,” he replied, “I'm more concerned about your safety than my own, but that's part of the reason I wanted us to be married first. If anything happens to me, you and the children will be protected and provided for.”
The mere idea of Zorion's death made her cold inside. “And the other part?” she asked, trying to think about something, anything else.
It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the hallway, but she thought she saw color darken his cheeks. “I…” He swallowed, and his thumb brushed over her cheek. “I meant what I said before. I’ve been thinking about you ever since Heartfire.”
She didn't know what to say to that, and then he kissed her, gently, on the corner of her mouth. The tenderness was more enticing than any more passionate gesture would have been. Before she knew what she was doing, she pulled him close, fingers twisting in his shirt, and kissed him again.
His lips were warmer than she remembered, almost hot, as if the dragon’s fire was flowing through his veins. Maybe it was. He fell against her, startled and fervent in equal measure, and their bodies thudded against the door. The cry of a hungry infant sounded from within.
They pulled apart, breathless. “I suppose I'll see you tomorrow?” she asked. Part of her ached to invite him in, and not just for herself. She knew he longed to spend more time with their children, and there was nothing more warming to her heart than watching them together.
But they had guests, of course, and for now, their children were not a subject of public knowledge. He nodded. “I have to go to court tomorrow to be officially congratulated on my birthday and all that, but I should be back before evening. Lorea and Maude will surely want to talk to you about the wedding.”
Her heart lurched at the thought: a wedding for a prince. Could she really do this? He sensed her unease and squeezed her hands. “You're going to be fine.”
********************
Court was exhausting. Not that it wasn’t always a long and tiring affair, but it was more so today because of the tension that underlay every gesture. His twenty-first birthday had come and gone, and Imanol had not retired from the Regency. Of course, Zorion hadn’t expected him to; he’d been calling himself King far too long for that.
But now that his intentions were out in the open, the two factions were at each other’s throats, and Zorion himself had to do his best to walk a middle line. If his plans came to fruition, he’d be ruling them all soon enough. He couldn’t afford to make too many enemies.
He and Itzal didn’t escape the palace until well after nightfall, but as soon as they got in the carriage, he felt the wild joy that he’d been keeping buried welling up within him again. Alaia would be there waiting for him. She wanted to be with him. Itzal took one look at his face and laughed.
“I’m glad things are going well between you and Alaia. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this happy,” his spymaster said. “She did take the dragon thing rather well.”
“She’s a strong woman,” he said, sighing. “I couldn’t ask for better.” He could have waxed poetic about her virtues, but he had a feeling that Itzal didn’t want to hear about it, so he kept his romantic thoughts to himself. Alaia was already in bed by the time they returned, but she wasn’t asleep.
He tiptoed into the room to tell her goodnight, leaning down to kiss her cheek, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. He wanted to kiss her again, to crawl into bed with her, but he could tell she was exhausted, and he had things he needed to do. It was a wrench, leaving like that, but he promised himself it wouldn’t be forever. Soon, they would be married, and there would plenty of time for kissing and other things.
He was ebullient when he made his way to the roof. This had always been his favorite place to think since they had moved into this house seven years ago. Now it was the perfect place to transform. In the dark, if anyone actually bothered to look up, his shape would blend into the irregular peaks of the roof, and up here, he didn’t have to worry so much about how vulnerable he was during the change.
Itzal had consulted with several carpenters and stonemasons, who had assured him that the roof would support his weight, as long as he didn’t bounce around too much. The sky was clear, the stars twinkling above him like scattered diamonds, as he stripped off his clothes.
The transformation came more easily this time, the pain fading quickly. He unfurled his wings and flapped them experimentally, but he could hear the glass shaking in the windows. No take-offs from up here. Instead, he crawled down the side of the house like an overgrown lizard and walked through the gravestones until he found a relatively clear space.
He stretched his wings wide. There was no one left to teach him, but a dragon had to fly. Osane had told him it was instinct. He ran and jumped, flapping his wings wildly, but his first attempt left him with a bruised nose and a lot of uprooted grass. He’d felt something, though, the air catching in his wings. If he could just duplicate that…
It took two hours, but when he finally soared into the air with his muscles on fire, it felt like the greatest triumph of his life, aside from the one the day before when Alaia had agreed to be his wife. It was a good week to be alive. That night, everyone still awake in the city swore they heard thunder, but there wasn’t a drop of rain to be seen.