Forged in Dragonfire (Flame of Requiem Book 1) by Daniel Arenson Page B
Authors: Daniel Arenson
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like a goddess, a deity among deities, an immortal ruler . . . yet one who
was afraid. One who felt chained—as surely as the slaves beyond the horizon
were chained in the land of Tofet.
"I wish I were a
slave," she whispered into the wind. "I wish I were not born into
this bondage, the daughter of a queen."
She envied her slaves.
Envied them! She had never been beyond the horizon to Tofet itself, the land
where thousands of slaves dug for bitumen and built bricks. But Meliora knew that
their lives were easier than hers. They walked free in the open air, basking in
the sunlight, singing as they dug and built. How Meliora wished she could join
them! How she wished to spread her wings, flee this palace, join the
weredragons in Tofet, live free in the open air! Far from this ziggurat. Far
from these golden chains, this gilded cage.
A long time ago, they
said, the weredragons had lived in a distant realm, a place called Requiem, a
land her brother had crushed. Back then, the weredragons had worn no collars,
could become dragons at will. Millions of them had flown in the skies.
Sometimes, on long dark nights, huddled under her silken blankets, Meliora
would dream that she herself lived in Old Requiem, could become a dragon too,
that she flew in a cold sky under distant stars. Sometimes, even during the
days, Meliora remembered those dreams, wished they were real, wished she could
become a dragon, fly away to a distant cold kingdom, escape this life of
torment.
Her fingers curled into
fists. A rage boiled within her.
"Why should I allow
my mother to torture me?" Meliora snarled. "I'm strong. Wise. Fair.
I'm the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world. I won't do anything I
don't want to." She stamped her feet. "I won't! I'll tell her. I'll
tell Mother I refuse. And if she doesn't like that, I swear I'll just fly away.
I'll fly so far that I'll die of starvation in the wilderness, and then they'll
be sorry." Her tears flowed. "Then they'll all be sorry for torturing
me."
She turned away from
the view. She left the balcony, reentering the ziggurat, the palace her dynasty
had ruled since the great uprising five hundred years ago, the year her family
had crushed Requiem, taken the weredragons captive, and overthrown the old
dynasty to usher Saraph into its golden age.
I will tell her, Meliora thought, fists clenched. I will tell Mother that I refuse. That I'll
run away and die in the wilderness!
She walked through the
palace. Columns rose alongside, inlaid with silver and gold, their capitals
jeweled. Frescos covered the ceiling, depicting scenes of Old Edinnu, the realm
that was lost. Mosaics spread across the floor, forming a great blue river
where swam stone fish of every kind. Ferns grew from painted vases, rustling in
the wind that flowed through the skylights.
Seraphim soldiers stood
at attention between the columns, clad in steel breastplates, their wings
folded at their sides. Gripping spears and shields, they bowed their heads as
Meliora walked by. Slaves scurried about the palace, bearing jugs of wine,
trays of fruit, fresh linens, and ointments and spices. Clad in simple white
livery and metal collars, they knelt before Meliora, whispering praises of her
glory.
"Move!" she said.
The damn slaves—such lazy creatures—were blocking her way.
The slaves scuttled
back, letting Meliora pass. She left them behind, moving down the glittering
corridors, seeking her mother.
Finally Meliora reached
the Ivory Chamber, her mother's favorite place in the palace. A portico of
columns spread across the northern wall, leading to a balcony lined with potted
palm trees. Beyond spread the blue sky and distant, golden mountains. Light
flooded the chamber, shining on a mosaic floor, walls painted with scenes of
ibises and crocodiles, and vases full of sweetly scented rushes. Ivory statues
of La'eri, feline goddess of royalty, rose along the walls, giving the chamber
its name.
A heated pool steamed
in the middle of the
was afraid. One who felt chained—as surely as the slaves beyond the horizon
were chained in the land of Tofet.
"I wish I were a
slave," she whispered into the wind. "I wish I were not born into
this bondage, the daughter of a queen."
She envied her slaves.
Envied them! She had never been beyond the horizon to Tofet itself, the land
where thousands of slaves dug for bitumen and built bricks. But Meliora knew that
their lives were easier than hers. They walked free in the open air, basking in
the sunlight, singing as they dug and built. How Meliora wished she could join
them! How she wished to spread her wings, flee this palace, join the
weredragons in Tofet, live free in the open air! Far from this ziggurat. Far
from these golden chains, this gilded cage.
A long time ago, they
said, the weredragons had lived in a distant realm, a place called Requiem, a
land her brother had crushed. Back then, the weredragons had worn no collars,
could become dragons at will. Millions of them had flown in the skies.
Sometimes, on long dark nights, huddled under her silken blankets, Meliora
would dream that she herself lived in Old Requiem, could become a dragon too,
that she flew in a cold sky under distant stars. Sometimes, even during the
days, Meliora remembered those dreams, wished they were real, wished she could
become a dragon, fly away to a distant cold kingdom, escape this life of
torment.
Her fingers curled into
fists. A rage boiled within her.
"Why should I allow
my mother to torture me?" Meliora snarled. "I'm strong. Wise. Fair.
I'm the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world. I won't do anything I
don't want to." She stamped her feet. "I won't! I'll tell her. I'll
tell Mother I refuse. And if she doesn't like that, I swear I'll just fly away.
I'll fly so far that I'll die of starvation in the wilderness, and then they'll
be sorry." Her tears flowed. "Then they'll all be sorry for torturing
me."
She turned away from
the view. She left the balcony, reentering the ziggurat, the palace her dynasty
had ruled since the great uprising five hundred years ago, the year her family
had crushed Requiem, taken the weredragons captive, and overthrown the old
dynasty to usher Saraph into its golden age.
I will tell her, Meliora thought, fists clenched. I will tell Mother that I refuse. That I'll
run away and die in the wilderness!
She walked through the
palace. Columns rose alongside, inlaid with silver and gold, their capitals
jeweled. Frescos covered the ceiling, depicting scenes of Old Edinnu, the realm
that was lost. Mosaics spread across the floor, forming a great blue river
where swam stone fish of every kind. Ferns grew from painted vases, rustling in
the wind that flowed through the skylights.
Seraphim soldiers stood
at attention between the columns, clad in steel breastplates, their wings
folded at their sides. Gripping spears and shields, they bowed their heads as
Meliora walked by. Slaves scurried about the palace, bearing jugs of wine,
trays of fruit, fresh linens, and ointments and spices. Clad in simple white
livery and metal collars, they knelt before Meliora, whispering praises of her
glory.
"Move!" she said.
The damn slaves—such lazy creatures—were blocking her way.
The slaves scuttled
back, letting Meliora pass. She left them behind, moving down the glittering
corridors, seeking her mother.
Finally Meliora reached
the Ivory Chamber, her mother's favorite place in the palace. A portico of
columns spread across the northern wall, leading to a balcony lined with potted
palm trees. Beyond spread the blue sky and distant, golden mountains. Light
flooded the chamber, shining on a mosaic floor, walls painted with scenes of
ibises and crocodiles, and vases full of sweetly scented rushes. Ivory statues
of La'eri, feline goddess of royalty, rose along the walls, giving the chamber
its name.
A heated pool steamed
in the middle of the
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