Forged in Dragonfire (Flame of Requiem Book 1) by Daniel Arenson Page A

was still
beautiful, Meliora thought. Wondrously beautiful. The most beautiful woman to
have ever lived in this palace—no, the most beautiful to have ever lived
anywhere, at any time. She was a seraph, an immortal being of light, a princess of seraphim—a deity among deities, a goddess of gods. Her golden hair flowed
like molten dawn down to her hips. Her eyes shone, just as golden and bright,
the pupils shaped as sunbursts. Her lips were full, pink, pouty. She was short
for a seraph, standing just over six feet tall, but still tall enough to tower
over her weredragon slaves. Most beautiful of all, she thought, were her wings.
They spread out from her back, their feathers snowy white, gleaming in the
light that shone through the windows.
    I am magnificent ,
Meliora thought, gazing at her reflection. Yet now this legendary beauty
will be caged, broken. Now I will become but a womb, a garden for my brother's
seed.
    Tears gathered in her
eyes and flowed down her flawless cheeks, coming to rest on her flawless
lips—lips her brother would soon be kissing.
    "Your
Excellence!" Kira cried. The slave rushed forth, her cotton shift
rustling, and held out a silver jug and cup. "Would you like me to pour
you more wine?"
    "No," Meliora
said. "I've had enough of wine. Enough of you. Enough of this life!"
    Her lips quivered, and
she swung her arm, knocking the jug and cup out of the slave's hands. They
clanged onto the floor, spilling their crimson liquid. Meliora felt as if her
own blood were spilling.
    "Clean it
up!" Meliora said. At once Kira and Talana grabbed towels, knelt, and
began soaking up the wine. Easy lives. All those two had to clean up was some
spilled wine—not the mess of a royal family. All they had to do was serve her,
not serve a cruel brother, not serve an entire empire.
    She was cursed, Meliora
thought, fingers trembling. Cursed to be born to the Queen of Saraph. Cursed to
be the younger sister of a prince returned from a war. Cursed to have this
royal ichor coursing through her veins, pure blood that must be passed into an
heir.
    Those damn tears kept
falling.
    "Wine," she
whispered. "I want wine. Bring me new wine!"
    "Of course, Your
Excellence," said Kira. The little slave—oh, so innocent, so
sheltered!—rose to her feet, rushed to fetch another jug, and poured Meliora a
cup.
    Meliora drank. The wine
was awful. Too acidic; it must have been sitting in the open for a day at least.
But she guzzled it down until the warm haze coated her thoughts. When the cup
was empty, she tossed it to the floor, wobbled forward, and stepped between
porphyry columns onto the balcony.
    The sunlight fell upon
her, and Meliora gazed at her realm. She placed a hand on her belly.
    They want my womb to produce an heir for this land.
    The hot wind blew across
Shayeen, scented of frankincense, sandstone, and the distant pits of bitumen
that bubbled on the horizon. The breeze caressed Meliora's hair, kissed her
lips like a lover, and ruffled the long white feathers of her wings. Her kalasiri ,
inlaid with jewels and golden disks, chinked like laughing spirits. The muslin caressed
her skin, soft to the touch, almost sensual.
    If my mother has her
way, Meliora thought, it will be my brother who kisses my lips, who
strokes my skin, who removes this muslin from my body and plants his heir
within my womb. She clenched her fists. I will not allow it!
    She studied the city
below. Shayeen. City of Kings. Jewel of Saraph. The capital of an empire. Her
birthright, the city this marriage would let her rule someday as queen.
    The eight Holy Paths flared
out like sunbeams, lined with statues of the Eight Gods. Between these cobbled
boulevards rose columned temples, lush gardens, bathhouses, amphitheaters, and
menageries. Here was a realm of opulence, of pleasure, Edinnu rebuilt upon this
world of exile. Standing upon the ziggurat in the city center, a thousand feet
above the surface, Meliora could see all the way to the city's outer wall. She
felt