A Dawn of Dragonfire

SOLINA



The city of Nova Vita, fair capital of Requiem, burned below her.

Solina flew above the carnage, woven of fire. The marble columns and towers undulated in the heat waves. With every thud of her wings, sparks flew and light flared like the beat of her flaming heart. The sound and fury pounded through her, crackling, buzzing, roaring for eternal pain and glory. She had been burned. She had lain for days in a temple, bandaged and crying for vengeance. She had tamed her fire, and now she soared through it, a goddess of inferno.

Bodies littered the streets below, the fire stripping flesh from bones, leaving blackened skulls that gaped. A scattering of dragons still flew, only for her phoenixes to hunt them, tear them down, and feast upon them. The rest huddled in the tunnels below, but Solina knew she would burn them too. She knew every twist and cavern in those tunnels. She had spent so many hours in their darkness, stoking her fire with Elethor.

Do you hide there now, my prince of tears? she wondered. Will we meet again this night, after all these years?

Elethor. The very name sent pulsing memory through her. She still remembered his birth. She had been only five, an orphan raised in the king's court, a timid girl still so scared of the world. When King Olasar let her hold the babe, she vowed to forever love him.

And I love you, Elethor, she thought. I loved you when I held you as a babe. I loved you in our youth, when our lips touched, and our hands felt, and our naked bodies pressed together. And I still love you now, even as I burn your home.

She dived toward the palace. It shimmered between the flames, its columns like bones. Her claws hit the cobblestones, splashing fire. She shifted, sucking the flames into her. Her wings drew in, forming arms. Her fire twisted, formed flesh and bones, and soon she stood upon human feet. The last tongues of fire pulled into the firegem around her neck, where they danced. She clutched the amulet and smiled, looking around at her old prison.

Requiem's palace. The place where they raised me… and where they burned me. She ran her finger across her line of fire, the scar that snaked down her face, between her breasts, and along her thigh. But their fire can no longer hurt me.

The columns rose around her, two hundred feet tall, carved of white marble. Between them, the birches blazed and crackled. When Solina was young, these columns had seemed so large to her, colossal monuments kissed with starlight that would never bless her. Orin and Elethor, like brothers to her, could become dragons, fly above them, soar so high the columns were as mere twigs to them. They had offered to carry her upon their backs, but Solina had always refused.

To ride you would mean I'm a cripple, she would think, fists clenched. I am a proud Tiran, a desert daughter, a princess of the ancient Phoebus Dynasty. We do not ride dragons.

"We kill them," she whispered.

Several phoenixes landed beside her, flaming and shrieking, their fire pounding the cobblestones. They shifted, flames pulling into their firegems, and soon stood before her as men clad in pale armor. They saluted, slamming their fists against their breastplates. Acribus stood among them, chief of her warriors, his armor bloody and his arm bandaged.

"My lady Solina," he said and bowed his head.

She stared at his blood. "The wound Princess Mori gave you is still bleeding. You need it stitched."

He bared his chipped, yellow teeth. "Princess? You mean a lizard whore. She will bleed worse when I catch her."

Solina shrugged. "Call her what you like. Hurt her how you like. You can cut off her freak finger, if it pleases you. Just don't bleed to death first."

Seven years had passed since she'd set foot in Requiem, but Solina had never forgotten Princess Mori, or the Lady Lyana, or any of the other girls who would torment her.

Mori was only a child then, Solina thought, but I remember how she'd pity me, a mere Tiran who could not become a dragon.

Lyana, meanwhile, had been only a snotty youth, a bookish girl whose nose was always upturned and whose father—Captain of the City Guard—would pamper her. Lyana too always looked down upon me, Solina thought. She saw only an orphan, an outcast, a cripple.

She clenched her jaw. Acribus will hurt them well. They will hurt like I hurt. We'll see how they pity me when Acribus thrusts inside them, when he cuts them, when he feeds their fingers to the dogs.

As if he could read her thoughts, Acribus licked his lips with that ridiculous white tongue of his. It always looked to Solina like a snake nested in his mouth.

"My lady," he said, "the weredragons have crowned a new king. He fights at the entrance of a nearby tunnel, and he wishes to treat with you." He laughed, a sound like snapping bones. "Would you like to hear this boy king beg for life before we kill him, or shall I gut him now?"

Solina felt like a bellows blasted hot air against her. She froze, fingers tingling, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"Elethor," she whispered.

Acribus barked a laugh. "Yes, that was his name. A soft boy; looks like he never swung a sword in battle until today. I will break him. I will shatter his spine. I will crush his limbs with a hammer, sling them through the spokes of a wheel, and hang him to die upon the palace walls."

She glared at him, baring her teeth. "You will not touch him, Acribus. If you do, you will be the one broken. Show me to the weredragons' new king. I will speak to him."

They marched down the streets, leaving the palace behind. Ash swirled around their boots. Trees and bodies burned at their sides, raising black smoke. Phoenixes soared and screeched above; the sky itself seemed to burn. The sounds of battle came from ahead: swords clanging, battle cries, and the shouts of dying men calling for mothers, lovers, or the mercy of death.

Soon Solina saw an entrance to a tunnel. The stone archway rose ten feet tall, its keystone engraved with dragon reliefs. The bodies of Tirans and weredragons littered the cobblestones around it. Living soldiers fought above the bodies, clanging swords. Blood puddled and flowed toward Solina's boots.

A memory thudded through Solina, aching in her chest. Come on, Elethor! she had cried, laughing, and pulled him down the streets. She had been twenty, maybe twenty-one, a young woman blooming into her beauty. He had still been a youth, awkward and gangly, but she was determined to make him a man. They explored the tunnels that day, moving between wine cellars, libraries, silos, and finally finding a nook full of rugs where they made love—fiery, passionate love that made her scream and scratch her fingernails down his back. We returned to these tunnels most nights after that, she remembered.

"Tirans!" she shouted. "To me. Form rank. Leave the weredragons to cower in their burrow."

With a few last sword swings, the men fell back and formed rank around her. Blood splashed their armor, and they glared at the tunnel archway. Weredragon warriors stood there, panting over the bodies of their fallen. One man clutched a hole where his ear had been, and another sat against a wall, cradling an arm that ended with a stump. The place seemed strangely silent without the clash of steel and cries of battle; Solina heard only the fire of phoenixes above and the moans of the dying.

"Elethor," she said, speaking to the gaping shadow of the tunnel. "Elethor. Come see me."

Flames crackled. Smoke unfurled. From the blood and shadows, the pain and hope of her youth emerged. All that sweet pain—the secret kisses, the forbidden taste of love—flooded her, made her fingers tingle, and she stared in silence.

He had been only eighteen when she last saw him, a tall and gaunt youth; she would poke him and laugh at how thin he was. He had grown into adulthood since then, a man of twenty-five with dark, haunted eyes and brown hair that fell over his brow, caked with blood and ash. And yet those were the same lips she would kiss, the same eyes she would gaze into—hound dog eyes, she would call them.

"Solina," he said softly.

Her eyes stung. She had not expected this to be so difficult. She had not expected to still feel so much, hurt so badly. She remembered him speaking her name so many times—as a child growing up in her arms, a lover in her bed, and that last time he called her name, shouting it from the walls of Nova Vita as she fled into exile, her line of fire burning down her body.

"Elethor," she whispered. She beckoned him closer. "Come. We will speak." She snapped her fingers, and her men formed lines around her. "Follow me; we will find someplace quiet."

He stood still, staring at her between strands of damp hair. "We will speak here."

She couldn't help it; she laughed, tears stinging her eyes. "I won't harm you, Elethor. And my men will not hurt yours until we've spoken. You have my word." She stepped toward him and took his hands. They were bloody and hot. "Come with me, Elethor. Let's work out this mess."

He stared into her eyes, scrutinizing her, and she saw the same memories and pain pound through him. He still loved her, she knew then. That soothed her. This will make things easier. She did not want to hurt him. Finally he nodded and took a step forward.

At once, two more wereragons emerged from the tunnels, making to follow him. Both held drawn, bloodied swords. Solina recognized them. One was Lord Deramon, Captain of the Guard, a burly man with a red beard now grizzled. He is the man who caught me with Elethor, she remembered, a deep rage simmering inside her. The man who doomed me to exile. The second weredragon was his daughter, the Lady Lyana. The girl Solina knew had been overbearing, an imperious brat. Today Solina saw a woman with fear and grief in her eyes. We hurt her. Good.

Solina held up her hand. "No. You two stay here. Elethor and I speak alone. Just me and him."

They began to object.

"She'll kill you, Elethor," Deramon said, eyes dark.

"We go with you," said Lyana and bared her teeth at Solina.

Elethor's eyes never left Solina; they were narrowed, seeking answers, reliving old years. He hushed his companions with a raised hand.

"Just me and her," he repeated softly. "They won't touch me. Deramon. Lyana. Stay and tend to the wounded. I'll be back soon."

They walked through the streets, she and Elethor. Her men snaked around them, forming a hallway of steel. Phoenixes circled above, bodies lay scorched, trees burned, and columns lay smashed. The battle had surged; for now it simmered.

The smell of burnt flesh filled Solina's nostrils. She remembered that smell from seven years ago; she had smelled it on herself. She felt her line of fire tingle across her body. She clenched her teeth and smiled.

"Here," she said to Elethor, gesturing at a gazebo rising from a stone square. "We will talk here."

He stared at the gazebo, eyes dark. He knows why I chose this place. The gazebo rose upon a dais, fifty steps leading toward it. Its columns were white marble engraved with dragon reliefs. The roof was domed and set with frosted glass panes. Solina remembered sitting here with Elethor at night, watching the stars and moon glimmer through that glass, a shower of fireflies. It was the first place she had kissed him.

He nodded. "We will talk."

She left her men below in the square. They stood at attention upon the flagstones, fists against their breastplates. She climbed the stairs toward the gazebo, Elethor at her side. When they stepped inside, she could see firelight through the frosted glass roof—countless phoenixes diving through the night, casting orange dapples upon her and Elethor.

She turned toward him, placed her hands in his hair, and pressed her body against his. She kissed his lips, and for a moment, their heat mingled like in the old days.

"Elethor," she whispered, eyes stinging. "I missed you. I love you."

He turned his head away, breaking their kiss, and pushed her back. His bloodied hands stained her breastplate.

"Solina, did you bring me here for that? You killed my father. You killed my brother." His voice shook. "How dare you kiss me now?"

She glared at him, teeth bared. Her line of fire blazed. "Your father?" She snorted. "He banished me, El. You remember. He banished me because of our love, cast me out into the desert." She clenched her fists. "Your brother? Orin burned me. He blew his fire upon me and left me scarred, deformed." She ran her finger along her scar, from her forehead, across her face, and down her neck. "But I tamed fire, El. I told you I would." She clutched his arms. "They can no longer banish me, no longer burn me. I did this for you. So we can be together, with no fear, no pain. No more hiding." She tried to kiss him again. "I've returned to kill those who hurt us and to be with you again. I love you."

He stared at her, and something filled his eyes… something dark, shocked, frightened. He shook his head. "Solina… what have you done?" He clenched his fists and looked aside. "Stars, Solina, how could you do this?"

She snarled and slapped his face, hard, driving all her strength into the blow. "How dare you speak of your stars here? Your stars are worthless." She laughed bitterly. "Starlight never blessed us, Elethor. It never protected Requiem. But fire…" She breathed heavily. "Fire is strong. Fire burned me. Fire is now my ally." She felt it burn inside her, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. "You do not know the power of the Sun God, Elethor. He cured me from Orin's flames." She grabbed her firegem. "He gave me his power, so that I could become a phoenix, a deity woven of his flame. He has given me so much. He can give this fire to you too."

He shoved her back again, more roughly this time. "Do not speak to me of this Sun God. I know of him. I know that he destroyed Requiem once, driving the evil of Dies Irae the Tyrant. I know that his flame will burn everything it can consume."

"It will not consume those who serve it." She was panting now, and she touched his cheek. "Elethor. Oh, my Elethor; you were the fire of my youth. Now join your flames to mine. I will grant you a firegem; you will become a phoenix, a great firebird, no longer a lizard of scales. Join me in Tiranor and worship my lord at my side. We will rule together. We will cast our flames across the world and watch it burn." She held him, pressed her lips against his ear, and whispered. "Elethor, don't you love me? Don't you remember all those nights we spent here?"

He let out his breath slowly, and his head lowered; suddenly he felt so sad to her, the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

"I remember," he said softly. "Solina, I loved you more than anything—so much that it ached. For seven years since you left, I thought of you every day." He laughed bitterly. "Every minute of every day. I never loved another woman since you. I don't know if I ever will."

She held him tight, eyes stinging. "So come with me, El. Come south with me. They can no longer hurt us, no longer drive us apart. I will kill anyone who comes between us again."

She trembled, remembering those years so long ago, her life in the courts of Requiem. The pain flooded her, memories like rivers, streams of faces and words and feelings.

She had been only three years old when the dragons of Requiem burned her home. Their claws toppled the white towers of Tiranor, and their flames burned their oases in the desert. Solina had been too small to understand why the war raged. She did not understand why her parents would not wake, why their blood covered her. The dragon who slew them, the vile King Olasar, pitied her that day. He kidnapped her from her home, brought her to his cold realm of snow and birches, far from the warmth and light of Tiranor.

She grew in his court. A freak. An outsider. A Tiran girl not blessed by Requiem's stars. She could not shift into a dragon like Prince Orin, like King Olasar, like all the Vir Requis she grew up among.

Deformed, the children of the court would call her. Freak. Cripple. They would shift into dragons, slap her with their tails, and blast fire at her feet and make her dance. How she tried to shift too! How she dreamed of becoming a dragon! Yet she was a southerner, a desert child, doomed to be weak, scared, tormented.

And then… then her life changed. Then Elethor was born. A pure baby, younger brother to Orin and like a brother to her. Solina vowed to protect this soft, beautiful child, to make sure he never felt loneliness or pain like she did. She watched Elethor grow. He was her treasure, her foster brother, her reason to live. Even when he grew old enough to become a dragon, she still loved him. She would run her fingers over his brass scales and kiss him, and he was her dragon, her protector.

He was only fifteen when she kissed him in this gazebo. She was twenty, but still clinging to all the fear and rage of youth; in her mind, she felt no older than him. They conquered their fear together. For three years, they would hide in this gazebo, or in the forests, or in the tunnels beneath Nova Vita, and they would love each other. A forbidden, secret, wonderful, horrible love. For three years Solina felt pure joy… until Lord Deramon caught them in the forest, and told his king, and Requiem's rage rained down upon them.

"Solina of Tiranor!" King Olasar shouted in his court. She stood before him, head lowered, tears on her cheeks. "Despite the crime of your parents, who attacked our borders and sacked our temples, I raised you as a daughter. I sheltered you, taught you, protected you. And yet you cast your sin upon my son." His fists trembled at his sides. "Elethor is like a brother to you. How dared you seduce him? He is only a youth, five years younger than you. How dared you bring such perversion into my hall?" He pointed a shaky finger at her. "You are banished from Requiem! Leave this place now, and wander whatever lands you may please; if you are caught within our borders, your life is forfeit."

Rage bloomed within her. She drew her dagger and screamed.

"You will not speak of my parents!" Her voice was hoarse, torn with years of pain. "I know what you did to them. I know that you killed them, framed them for stealing jewels from your temples. Liar!" She ran toward him, knife raised. "You cannot know how Elethor and I love each other. You will not tear us apart!"

She almost killed him that night. A few steps more, and she could have plunged her blade into his heart. Yet Orin—brutish, cruel Prince Orin—stood as a dragon by the throne. Like a coward, he did not face her as a man, but blew fire upon her. The flames shot toward her, a screaming inferno.

Elethor shouted and pulled her aside. He saved her life, she knew… but dragonfire burned bright, and tongues of its flames still seared her. She screamed, ablaze, and fell. Welts and smoke rose across her. Never had such pain filled her. It made her weep, roll on the ground, and claw the air.

For days she lay abed in a temple, bandaged and feverish. The priestesses tended to her in darkness. She cried for Elethor, but they would not let her see him. When finally she rose from her bed, and her bandages were removed, she bore her line of fire. The scar split her face, snaked down her torso, and crawled down her leg. A reminder, she knew. A pledge. A battle scar.

"Solina!" he shouted from the walls as they cast her out, goading her with spears, sending her into the wilderness with nothing but a waterskin and loaf of bread.

She dared not look back at him. She walked, barefoot, leaving the city behind. She heard his dragon roars calling her name, but she did not want to remember him this way. She would remember the Elethor who held her in the tunnels, laughed with her, whispered with her. She walked south for days, leaving Requiem, heading into the swamps of Gilnor. All of autumn she walked, until in winter she reached a land where no snow fell, and heat rose from sand.

Tiranor. Land of her parents. Land of the Sun God, of flame, of power. Her people welcomed her with joy—the last, lost daughter of the great Phoebus Dynasty. They crowned her with ivory and raised her to be their queen. In desert temples of stone, she worshipped her new lord the Sun God. She swore that if he gave her the strength, she would kill his enemies in Requiem.

"He gave me so much."

A chest of firegems, crystals that held flames from the sun itself. With them, she could become the phoenix. With them, her followers could soar as beasts woven of sunfire. Soon all the temples of Tiranor praised her name, flew with her to battle, and vowed to destroy the weredragons who worshipped night and stars.

"But you, Elethor," she whispered in the gazebo as Requiem burned, "you don't need to die. Come south and rule with me. We will be together again… like we were born to be."

She saw in his eyes that he had relived their lost years too. He removed her hands from his shoulders, took a step back, and stared at her.

"You come with fire," he said. "You come with death. You murdered my family and you burned my home. How can you now ask me for love? Did you do all this from some… some mad notion that if you destroyed everything I have, I would be with you?" Pain cracked his voice. "I loved you so much, but I don't understand this."

She shook her head sadly. "Elethor, oh Elethor, how to make you understand? I did not kill and burn for you alone." She touched her scar. "I killed for this. For how they hurt me, and how they hurt you. I killed for my lord, the Sun God, and all that he's given me. But I do not wish to kill you." She took a step toward him, breathing heavily. "But if you refuse me, Elethor… if you fight me, I will hurt you. Turn me down and I will kill you. I will kill everyone who huddles in your tunnels."

He stared away from her, watching Requiem burn between the gazebo columns. "I am king of this land now. I never wanted the crown. I never imagined that I'd wear it. But I am King of Requiem, and I cannot abandon her. I cannot abandon all those who still live here."

"You will abandon them." She grabbed his shoulder, digging her fingernails into it, and spun him around. She snarled. "You will surrender this land to me, Elethor. You will return with me to Tiranor. Do this, and I will spare your life, and I will spare those of your people who still live. Refuse me, Elethor… and you will all die. You will die in fire."

He stared aside, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. She saw the turmoil on his face.

"You know my answer," he said.

She pulled his face to her and stared into his eyes. "You are loyal to your friends. That is admirable. How would you serve them by refusing me? Would you watch me burn them? Because I would make you watch, Elethor. You would watch them die in agony before I killed you." She turned her back to him and spoke through clenched teeth. "Go to your tunnel, weredragon, and think. Think of those you love. Return here at sunrise to surrender to me. If you still choose to fight me, my fire will consume the world."

With that, she left him and walked downstairs to the courtyard. Her fingers tingled and a trembling smile found her lips.

I love you, Elethor, she thought, breathing hard. But if I cannot have you, I will destroy you.