Line of Fyre Page 15

  “That is not possible right now.”

  Why such resistance? “Did something happen to my friends?”

  B’kah blinked. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “You can’t tell me if they’re all right?” What could have happened? Had they been hurt? Fallen ill? What if the dragon ferrying them to the habitat had dropped one of them? What if they hadn’t received inhalers? She took a puff of hers, the stress taxing her respiration.

  “I don’t have any information for you.”

  “Then, take me to see Prince T’mar!”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “He said you could.” What he’d said was the donatta could take her to see Patsy and Henry, but that kind of implied she could fly her to see him, didn’t it?

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “At the moment, I am on an errand for King K’rah.”

  She was almost certain that was a dragon-faced lie. “How long will the errand take you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She ground her teeth. “Can you tell me where the servants’ area is?”

  “Why?”

  “Since I’m going to live here”—forever, unless I can find my way out—“I thought I’d explore my new home while I wait for you to finish your errand for King K’rah and take me to see Prince T’mar.”

  “Anything you need to say to the servants can be relayed through me.”

  “I still wish to go there.”

  “There is nothing there you need to see.”

  “Fine. I’ll find it on my own.” She tossed her head and stomped toward the courtyard.

  “It’s that one. Over there.” The donatta pointed to the arm opposite the lava fountain.

  “Thank you.” Was that so hard?

  Upon entering the courtyard, she glanced back to find B’kah watching her. For someone on an urgent errand for the king, she didn’t seem to be in a hurry. That’s because there is no errand. Perhaps it was just as well she’d stonewalled taking her to see her friends. Helena didn’t think she could trust her. What if she did fly her but accidentally on purpose dropped her?

  What if something bad had happened to Patsy or Henry? If she’d gotten an inkling something might have occurred earlier, she could have asked Rhianna to check on them. She might dislike me, but she wouldn’t hold a grudge against innocent people.

  T’mar hadn’t spared any expense in the staff area, she noted. The entrance had been furnished with large gap-backed divans, marble statues, and scary abstract Draconian wall art. Angry splashes of red and orange cut swathes across burning ochres. The artwork depicted nothing specific—that she knew of—but the dagger-like streaks of color struck her as threatening. Had T’mar chosen the artwork? Did Draconians have interior decorators? Angry red is so in this year! Helena chuckled.

  From the wide entrance, a corridor cut through the arm of the star, with rooms to the left and right. A thick haze from decorative smudge pots ensconced on the walls clouded the air. Helena coughed and took a drag on her inhaler.

  “Hello? Is anybody here?” She knocked on one of the doors. “Hello?” She paused to see if it would open, but it remained shut. Like on the ship. I have to have special access. Odds were, if she found the exit, the door wouldn’t open. Disheartened, she moved to another door and knocked. “Can anybody hear me? Hello?”

  Silence. Either the harem wasn’t well staffed, or the servants had left the premises, because the area seemed deserted. On the positive side, she could snoop.

  As she tromped to the next door, the glittering floor caught her attention. She knelt to run her fingertips over the faceted surface. No geologist, she’d swear she’d been walking over real rubies, garnets, and diamonds. This can’t be the staff area. T’mar might have more money than god, but she doubted servants would drag in supplies over a floor inlaid with precious gemstones.

  This is another concubine’s area.

  Helena rose to her feet and had turned to tiptoe back the way she’d come when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She whipped around.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded a demiforma dragoness more bejeweled than the floor. A headdress of rubies, diamonds, and fire opals nestled against her horned forehead. More precious stones dripped from her ears, encircled her neck, and wound around her wrists. She’d draped herself in a transparent scarf, leaving her mostly naked. Her abbreviated tail snapped to and fro.

  Helena gulped.

  “Is your translator not working? I asked what you’re doing here?” Her neck frill flared as she circled. Muddy ochre eyes gleamed with calculation.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your personal quarters. I was searching for the staff area, to find an exit.”

  “The staff serve me.” A rather noxious odor of burnt rubber and sour milk mixed with smoke from the censers.

  “Again, I apologize. I didn’t mean to trespass.” She moved to go around the dragoness, but the woman barred her path.

  Helena stepped to the left; the dragoness stepped to the right.

  Anxiety skyrocketed. T’mar had acted like an asshole, but she’d always felt safe with him. Even the extraordinarily unhelpful B’kah had never acted overtly threatening.

  Helena jutted out her chin. “What do you want?”

  “I am A’riel, the first and most-favored concubine of Prince T’mar, the eldest son of the mighty king K’rah. I want for nothing.”

  “I’m Helena Marshfield, and I want to leave now,” she replied.

  “Not yet, human.” The dragoness padded toward her, and Helena willed her shaking legs to stand her ground. “Prince T’mar does not wish to keep you. You are here on sufferance, solely because King K’rah has decreed it must be so.”

  T’mar had made that crystal clear, but to hear it come from one of his concubines stung. Was everyone aware of his rejection? Was that why B’kah was so rude?

  All the more reason to not let A’riel know she’d scored a hit. Besides, if she was as confident about her position as she claimed, she wouldn’t act like such a bitch. She might be the “most-favored” concubine, but she was still only one of several. And if T’mar was so fond of her, wouldn’t he have claimed her as his mate?

  Much as she would like to throw those facts into A’riel’s snout, she wasn’t stupid or suicidal. But she wouldn’t let A’riel think she had her cowed, either.

  “For whatever reason, I am one of Prince T’mar’s concubines,” she retorted. “And I’m here to stay.” Mainly because she couldn’t return to Earth, but A’riel didn’t need to know that.

  Her nasal passages and lungs burned from the smoke and rubber smell. She reached for her inhaler, but A’riel’s bejeweled finger grew a talon and sliced through the cord and snatched it away.

  “What is this?” Ochre eyes gleamed with unmistakable malice.

  “My inhaler—give it to me!” Helena lunged, but the dragoness’ shove sent her into the wall. Her head cracked against the marble.

  A’riel dropped the inhaler and crushed it with a stomp of her foot. Her snout lengthened, and her tail extended, growing a barb at the tip. Talons replaced all her fingers. She smiled to reveal a mouthful of fangs. “Now, human…let’s get acquainted…”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  T’mar paced the pavilion, awaiting his father’s grand entrance. How typical! Only with the queen and the priestess did the king relax on ceremony. All others, including his sons, had to follow the protocol of requesting an audience and then were forced to bide their time until he deigned to show up. In this case, the king had summoned him, demanding an update on the Helena situation.

  Most days he could tolerate his father’s arrogance and peccadillos, but this time he had no patience for them. Does he think I have nothing to do today?

  You don’t have anything to do, the dragon said.

  Unfortunately, that was true. He had too much time to think about Helena, a
nd her crushed, deflated scent when he’d left her in the harem. He’d ordered her quarters to be outfitted with everything a female could want, had her furniture modified for her human anatomy, and had assigned B’kah to attend to her needs and ensure she got to see her friends. What else could he have done?

  Visit her.

  The urge to seek her out grew with every passing moment. He’d replayed their coupling over and over until he thought he’d go mad. If he could get her out of his system by having sex with her, he would—but an uncomfortable hunch hinted that the more he took her, the more he would crave. He could lose himself in her.

  Fly! Fly! We must go! Our mate needs us!

  The dragon’s sudden insistence to leave made controlling his desire all the more difficult, but even if he was inclined to give in to the temptation, no way he could leave before seeing his father.

  Fly! Fly! We must fly! The dragon was getting very agitated.

  We can’t leave now. The king will arrive any second. Or not. However, if and when he deigned to appear, if T’mar wasn’t here, he could end up in the dungeon.

  His bones vibrated, signaling a shift was coming on. No! Not here! Are you crazy? Even the massive pavilion couldn’t accommodate a full-sized dragon. Pillars would topple. Mustering his willpower, T’mar fought the transformation.

  Our mate needs us! Fly! Fly! the creature roared.

  Why was he acting this way? Even for a temperamental dragon, this behavior was extreme. T’mar struggled to remain in demiforma. We’ll go see her after we meet with the king.

  No! Now! She’s in danger!

  Talons forced themselves out of his fingers. His spine lengthened. Bones broke.

  Danger?

  Yes. She is crying. She is calling for us.

  I don’t hear anything.

  You’re not listening!

  Then let me! Stop fighting and let me hear!

  The dragon’s anxiety continued to rise, but he fell silent.

  “T’mar! Help! T’mar!”

  Helena was in trouble!

  The door to the king’s private chamber opened, and two livery-clad pages marched out. “Introducing His Majesty King K’rah—”

  Go! Go! Go! T’mar ran from the pavilion.

  As soon as he cleared the building, he leaped, shifting in midair, and took to the sky.

  * * * *

  The moment the dragon landed in the harem courtyard, T’mar smelled human blood and fear and Draconian jealousy and anger. What if I’m too late?

  The dragon bellowed and shifted into demiforma. Save our mate!

  I will find our mate, and she who hurt her will pay, T’mar vowed. He could no longer hear Helena’s cries and didn’t dare contemplate what it might mean. Her scent led from A’riel’s area to her own. No one dared to trespass on another’s dragon’s territory. But she was human; she didn’t know. Why didn’t B’kah tell her? Why didn’t I?

  He bolted for Helena’s section.

  A’riel’s donatta ran to meet him. “Your Highness. Thank the sacred fyre you’re here. The physician is with her.”

  “What happened? Where is she?”

  “I put her in her sleeping chamber,” the donatta said.

  Looking grim, the royal physician stood over Helena. A respirator mask partially concealed the wounds on her face, but it was bad. A deep gash had torn into her neck. Slashes marred her arms, indicating she’d thrown up her hands to protect herself. Blood soaked her clothing. Her lips were blue as were her chipped and broken fingernails. She looked dead. Only the fast, shallow rise and fall of her chest indicated she still lived.

  Open your eyes! Open your eyes. Please.

  “I’ve stopped the bleeding, but she has lost so much volume, she has gone into hypovolemic shock. She needs blood but can’t take ours. There is nothing more I can do for her. I am sorry, Your Highness, I’m afraid she won’t survive.”

  “No! You have to do something!”

  “I had her human friends brought over from the habitat for a possible transfusion—”

  “Do it!” He knelt at her bedside and took her pale hand in his. Her skin was cool and clammy. A’riel would pay for this, but T’mar knew he carried most of the blame. He’d abandoned her. Not told her what she needed to know.

  “Neither of them match her type.”

  Princess Rhianna, the dragon said.

  A long shot, but it was all they had. “Try Princess Rhianna!” he told the physician. Would Rhianna do it? Would K’ev allow it?

  They would if they wanted to live.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What about regular reports did you not understand?” Biggs said. He’d not heard from his contact since the dragon ship left Elementa. The situation with the president had become challenging. He needed to tighten his control.

  The assassin’s image flickered on the vid-screen. “We were contained in one area of the ship, and I couldn’t get a signal out. They would have intercepted it if I had. For security, I disassembled the comm unit so the ship’s intelligence couldn’t detect it. This is my opportunity to get transmission through. I had to jury-rig—”

  “I’m not interested in excuses. Have you been able to get close to King K’rah?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “We only arrived a couple of days ago. They separated us, putting me in the old ambassador habitat and sending Helena to T’mar’s harem—where an incident occurred.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “A dragon attacked her. Her situation isn’t good. She nearly bled out. They transported us to the harem, and by they, I mean dragons picked us up and flew us. We were asked for a blood sample.”

  “She has a very rare type.” He made it his business to learn everything about his opponents.

  The assassin nodded. “I know. I doubt either of us matched.”

  “Give her blood anyway.”

  “It would kill her.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “And your point is?”

  “The dragons haven’t asked us for a donation yet, so my hunch is they rejected us.”

  Biggs linked his hands behind his back. “Marshfield has become less…compliant. I’m getting pushback. He assumes Helena is out of reach, so he’s begun questioning my strategy.” The president needed a reminder who the enemy was. “If Helena doesn’t expire from her wounds, find another way to kill her. Just make it look like death by dragon.”

  The assassin nodded. “I got the impression she was cut up pretty bad. A little knife work should mimic…”

  “I don’t need details. Just do it. Then move on K’rah. I’m losing patience.”

  * * * *

  “Stop pacing. You’re scaring the doctor.” Rhianna perched on a high stool next to the bed as her blood flowed from a vein in her arm into Helena. A regulator measured the quantity being taken.

  “This will save her, won’t it?” T’mar demanded.

  “I think so,” the physician replied.

  “You think so?” he snarled.

  “Princess Rhianna is a perfect match, but she can’t donate as much blood as Helena lost without endangering her own health. I’m reasonably confident the transfusion will be enough to save her life. Her own body will finish healing itself, create more blood.” He shook his head. “Humans are so fragile.”

  “What about the cuts? She won’t be scarred, will she?”

  Male dragons wore scars like medals, but humans prized flawless skin. He remembered how silky smooth Helena’s skin had felt. He loved her. She would still be beautiful to him no matter what she looked like, but she would see the scars as imperfections.

  “I applied derma-seal to the lacerations so the injuries will heal, but I’m guessing many of them will leave noticeable traces.”

  First the royal physician “thought,” now he “guessed”—had he been trained at all? Glowering, he struggled to keep from lashing out. The doctor was doi
ng the best he could, but understanding didn’t make the uncertainty easier to bear.

  “Please, sit down,” Rhianna coaxed.

  “I can’t.” He paced, torn between snatching up Helena and flying away with her, and hunting down A’riel and torching her. Only the guilt drilling into him prevented him from doing the latter. He was responsible for this tragedy. He’d repudiated her in front of another concubine and abandoned her. She is just a human, he’d lied, inviting others to treat her with disrespect, practically giving A’riel tacit permission to attack. She was human, but she was his human—his mate. After denying the truth for so long, he would shout it from the tallest spire if he could.

  He looked at his brother’s mate. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “It was the least I could do,” she said. “I came to visit her earlier. I acted rather…unforgiving.”

  “That is the Draconian way,” he said. “We never forget a slight.” Would Helena ever be able to forgive him?

  “What happened between the time I left and now?” Rhianna asked.

  “I’m going to find out,” he said. Why would she have ventured into a dragoness’ territory? According to A’riel’s donatta, he’d found Helena bleeding and near death in A’riel’s area. The dragoness herself was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of B’kah, either. He had dispatched his guardian force to locate them both.

  K’ev had volunteered to explain to the king why T’mar failed to appear at the appointed time. T’mar didn’t dare send a page to deliver the message; the king would toast him on the spot. Only one of K’rah’s children could approach him and survive.

  The physician rounded the bed and peered at the gauge then clamped off the tubing. “This is all I dare to give her.”

  “Will it be enough?”

  “Time will tell,” he said, exuding a frightened odor. The doctor worried T’mar would kill him if he delivered bad news. The Draconian saying, “Don’t toast the messenger,” was often ignored. “Her coloring is better—for a human.” The physician extracted the IV from Helena’s vein and sealed the wound before removing the IV from Rhianna’s.