louder. He seized me in razor talons and clutched me to his chest. His wings fought to lift us airborne, but I wrapped him up in my magic, chained him with my heart, my love. “Come back to me, Jalan.”
He didn’t fight me. Sinking to his knees, he curled wings around me. Once again, he accepted me. He accepted my love. And I drew him back. I stifled his Fire, I willed his scales, his wings, his claws to recede.
Until I held my stone warrior in my arms once more.
Chapter Six
Jalan stumbled into his tent with Chanda clutched in his arms and lay her down on the carpets and cushions. Smoothing her dark hair out of her eyes, he caught her tears on his fingers so he could drink her offering.
Laughing softly, she reached up to wipe his, too. Tears he didn’t even know he shed.
“Chanda, my love, what you did... No one has ever been able to bring a dra’gwar back once he succumbs to the beast within. It’s a —”
“Miracle,” she breathed against his lips. “Magic.”
He spread her hair out like a fan on the cushion and buried his face in the silken tresses. Her scent rolled over him, so warm and lush and wild. Yet her heart beat in tandem with his. Her thoughts were his. Her mind and heart were completely open to him, singing with love where only rage had dwelled before.
For a while, he simply held her, listening to her heart, drinking in her scent. He never dreamed to hold her in his tent. The sepah bustled with dinner preparations, warriors drinking and laughing about the fire, relieved that they lived to face another day. They didn’t know that this courageous, magnificent woman wouldn’t have another day. Unless— “Have we broken your curse?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I hoped if I could earn the fierce White’s love that would be enough.”
She tightened her arms around him, drawing his face closer and rolling on her side so she could stare into his eyes. “I love you. That’s miracle enough.”
“But how can I—”
“You can’t, Jalan. Only I can break this curse.”
“Then break it, my love.”
She smiled, a sad, broken smile that sliced his heart in half. “I can’t. Besides, you still plan to sacrifice me to save your people. Don’t you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering with horror and dread. How could he even think to kill her? He would rather wade into the
Venom
Sea
than harm a single hair on her head.
Someone scratched at the tent flap. “Tal?”
Jalan crawled over to the flap and peeked out. His heart plummeted. “Yes, Shaddad?”
Completely dressed in black with the taamid pulled up to veil his face, Shaddad’Yama offered a tray containing a large bowl of stew, a tea pot, and a flask of wine. “It must be done at dawn as her dragon comes.”
Grief wracked his heart. “Is there any other way?”
Sympathy flashed in the priest’s eyes. “No, my son. Yama has spoken. This is the only way to save the Kraits. That you love her so well makes her a worthy sacrifice. If you can’t do it, let me wield the blade for you.”
Jalan closed his eyes, struggling to breathe.
“No.” Chanda said in a flat, hard voice. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him back toward the cushions. “I want it done in love.”
She took the tray from his trembling hands. “Sit, tal, and let me serve you one time as your mate.”
It was the least he could do, he decided, watching as she moved about his tent. She found the low table hanging from a rope in the center of the tent, and the cups and bowls in a small chest beneath. The Krait weren’t a wealthy people as far as the Keldari were concerned, but he felt pride that his cups were fine china brought over the wild seas from a land far away; to a Green Land port across those rich, fertile fields to Far Illione, the borderland on the desert fringe; and finally across endless miles of sand and dune, of marauding tribes and dragons, to
He didn’t fight me. Sinking to his knees, he curled wings around me. Once again, he accepted me. He accepted my love. And I drew him back. I stifled his Fire, I willed his scales, his wings, his claws to recede.
Until I held my stone warrior in my arms once more.
Chapter Six
Jalan stumbled into his tent with Chanda clutched in his arms and lay her down on the carpets and cushions. Smoothing her dark hair out of her eyes, he caught her tears on his fingers so he could drink her offering.
Laughing softly, she reached up to wipe his, too. Tears he didn’t even know he shed.
“Chanda, my love, what you did... No one has ever been able to bring a dra’gwar back once he succumbs to the beast within. It’s a —”
“Miracle,” she breathed against his lips. “Magic.”
He spread her hair out like a fan on the cushion and buried his face in the silken tresses. Her scent rolled over him, so warm and lush and wild. Yet her heart beat in tandem with his. Her thoughts were his. Her mind and heart were completely open to him, singing with love where only rage had dwelled before.
For a while, he simply held her, listening to her heart, drinking in her scent. He never dreamed to hold her in his tent. The sepah bustled with dinner preparations, warriors drinking and laughing about the fire, relieved that they lived to face another day. They didn’t know that this courageous, magnificent woman wouldn’t have another day. Unless— “Have we broken your curse?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I hoped if I could earn the fierce White’s love that would be enough.”
She tightened her arms around him, drawing his face closer and rolling on her side so she could stare into his eyes. “I love you. That’s miracle enough.”
“But how can I—”
“You can’t, Jalan. Only I can break this curse.”
“Then break it, my love.”
She smiled, a sad, broken smile that sliced his heart in half. “I can’t. Besides, you still plan to sacrifice me to save your people. Don’t you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering with horror and dread. How could he even think to kill her? He would rather wade into the
Venom
Sea
than harm a single hair on her head.
Someone scratched at the tent flap. “Tal?”
Jalan crawled over to the flap and peeked out. His heart plummeted. “Yes, Shaddad?”
Completely dressed in black with the taamid pulled up to veil his face, Shaddad’Yama offered a tray containing a large bowl of stew, a tea pot, and a flask of wine. “It must be done at dawn as her dragon comes.”
Grief wracked his heart. “Is there any other way?”
Sympathy flashed in the priest’s eyes. “No, my son. Yama has spoken. This is the only way to save the Kraits. That you love her so well makes her a worthy sacrifice. If you can’t do it, let me wield the blade for you.”
Jalan closed his eyes, struggling to breathe.
“No.” Chanda said in a flat, hard voice. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him back toward the cushions. “I want it done in love.”
She took the tray from his trembling hands. “Sit, tal, and let me serve you one time as your mate.”
It was the least he could do, he decided, watching as she moved about his tent. She found the low table hanging from a rope in the center of the tent, and the cups and bowls in a small chest beneath. The Krait weren’t a wealthy people as far as the Keldari were concerned, but he felt pride that his cups were fine china brought over the wild seas from a land far away; to a Green Land port across those rich, fertile fields to Far Illione, the borderland on the desert fringe; and finally across endless miles of sand and dune, of marauding tribes and dragons, to
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