Daybreak (52 page)

Kael supposed that made sense — even though he didn’t actually have any magic, he could still protect her from it. “Rua … what is the valtas?”

You don’t know
?

“Kyleigh wouldn’t tell me.”

Rua gave him a long look before his neck bent upwards and his spiny chin pointed towards the sun.
I think this is a question better answered with the eyes than the mouth. The sun is high — you should be able to see them, now
.

“See who?”

Rua’s chin dipped until the spines hovered an inch before Kael’s face. His monstrous head filled every corner of his vision.
If I remove my claw, you must stay by my side. You must not go into the valley. Our mates need this moment alone
.

Only after Kael had sworn to behave did Rua release him. No sooner had he gotten to his feet than Rua’s foreclaw wrapped around his middle.

You move so slowly, human
, he growled as he carried Kael to the ledge beside him — which he thought was rather odd, given the fact that the dragons seemed to take their lives one century at a time.

But before he could say as much, Rua set him down.

Look
, he whispered, nodding towards the valley.
There lies everything you need to know about the valtas
.

Thick clouds rolled across the sky above them. The reflections of their darkened bottoms glided across the hills, fitting against every curve and crag — drifting through the grass like creatures beneath the waves. 

The spans of light between them illuminated the valley trapped within the jagged hills. Its bottom was covered in what appeared to be black sand. Ripples coursed along the sand and the sunlight made the grains sparkle. But there was one place inside the valley that the light couldn’t seem to reach.

Kael thought they were the husks of blackened trees at first: branches stripped of leaves and trunks burned of their bark. They were piled together in a tangle against one of the jagged walls. They seemed to grow darker as the sunlight touched them — the shadows bleeding into every line of gray until they became entirely black.

Kael followed a ray of light across the trunk of a particularly knobby tree to the tangled roots at its base … 

Wait a moment. 

Two roots curved proudly from the tangle, identical to their points. An enormous hole, almost perfectly rounded, punched its way through the middle of them. But it wasn’t until Kael saw the full set of sharp, glittered teeth at the tangle’s end that he realized he was looking at a dragon’s skull.

What he’d thought to be trees were the sloped bones of his ribs, the thin threads of his wings. His claws still shone at the end of his skeletal feet. Kyleigh was crouched before them — and each one was half the size of her body.

She kept a hand pressed against the earth while the other clung to her face. After a moment, she reached out and touched the sand between the black dragon’s claws. It was a light, ashen gray. She gripped it tightly in her fist and brought it against her chest.

Kael didn’t understand what that meant. He looked to His-Rua, but got little help. The white dragon waited some distance behind Kyleigh. Though Kael couldn’t see the dragon’s face, she lay calmly enough.

“Where is the valtas?” Kael said after a moment. He’d searched, but hadn’t been able to see anything beyond the dragon’s bones.

Rua slid one claw reluctantly towards him, just close enough to reach.
This
is
valtas, human. These are the bones of Dorcha, lying as he died — still protecting the ashes of His-Dorcha. The shamans of the Wildlands used their rituals to steal souls from animals. They would bind these souls to their own, to increase their lives and powers
. 

Most creatures know nothing beyond their food and dens. They take mates for a moment. Being chosen to bind with a human would have been an honor — a chance to live as never before. But for the dragons, it was a curse
. The fires of Rua’s gaze slunk back as he stared at Dorcha’s bones.
When the shaman of the dragon — the draega — performed his ritual, it would kill one of us. Our bodies would die and our souls would leave the Motherlands to join with the human Fate had chosen as our bond, never to return. Sometimes it was an unmated, but often it wasn’t
.

To be torn from one’s mate is to die while the body lives on — to be forced to breathe air with no smell, eat flesh with no taste
…
to rot forever in a world turned dim and gray. It is cruel, what the draega did to us
. Rua’s scales clinked together as he twisted his neck to meet Kael’s face. His eyes burned in earnest.
Dorcha was a powerful dragon. He fought with such terrible rage that no male would dare to cross his valley on wing. His hatchmates swore he carried flame inside his heart instead of his lungs
.

But on the day he lost His-Dorcha, his power left him. Her soul went beyond the Motherlands, and Dorcha was too broken to follow. Instead, he lay atop her bones until they turned to dust. Then he gathered the dust beneath him so that not even one grain would be carried away by the wind. The sky churned and time moved on
…
but Dorcha’s fire was already gone. His body wasted away, untouched by the dawn or the night
…
until his soul was called to cross the frozen seas
.

Kael couldn’t think to draw breath. Rua’s words echoed inside his heart. This wasn’t only a matter of feelings or pain. Kyleigh shared … everything, with him. They were bonded down to the threads of their lives. If he were to die, she would waste away, as Dorcha had.

And Kael
would
die.

Now he understood her completely. He knew why she sobbed. It wasn’t her past that’d drawn out her tears: it was her future.
This
future — this reflection of the truth that awaited her at the end of Kael’s life. 

The valtas isn’t always tragic. It brings great meaning to our lives, as well
, Rua went on, clearly oblivious to the fact that Kael’s heart had ground to a complete and utter stop.
Our mates make us better. They make us whole. Tell me, human: what color is My-Rua
?

It was a silly question, but Kael would’ve done anything to take his eyes from the dragons’ bones. “She’s white.”

Rua blinked slowly.
To you she is, because she is not your heart’s bond. But when I look at her, I see red — fiery scales that spark at her every twist and turn. She shines in all the places I am dull. But it is more than her scales that I love. Before I met My-Rua, I was an aimless thing
, he said with a groan.
My heart had no purpose, my wings carried me in wide arcs all around the world. But My-Rua had her father’s fire, though she was far too small to bear it
.

I am told her fire often got her into trouble. But I am big enough, strong enough to carry all of the passion her heart can’t hold. That is why the valtas brought us together
, he said, his scaly lips twisting ever so slightly upwards.
It knows the things we lack and brings us mates who make us whole. And when we were newly mated, My-Rua brought a warm fire to my life. But after her mother, His-Dorcha, was taken from us so cruelly
…
the flames turned furious
.

This is the other side of the valtas: to share in joy and in sorrow. I have been carrying her anger many years, and I have not always borne it well
, Rua admitted gravely.
But even so, I would rather carry a thousand years of her sorrow than spend a moment alive without her. She is My-Rua because she is
me
, my most perfect self. I would be lost without her. Tell me, human
… His thorny snout came closer. Impossibly close.
What color is Your-Kael
?

“Her name is Kyleigh. And she’s exactly as you see her,” Kael muttered. It was difficult to listen to Rua talk about the valtas and not feel cheated. This was just one more place where they didn’t quite match.

No matter how much he loved her, it would never amount to this. He could never care for Kyleigh the way she cared for him.

Nothing he did would ever compare to the valtas.

There was no end to it. Even if Thelred sat for a hundred years, he was certain not a thing would change. Oh, the chair might crumble out from beneath him, and the seas might rise over his boots. The Kingdom itself might very well be gone.

But even after a hundred years of chaos and decay, the council would still be at war.

It’d all begun to fall apart shortly after their last meeting. Thelred wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, and the rumors made uncovering the truth all the more difficult. Some of the councilmen claimed that Chaucer had been deposed, while others insisted he’d merely resigned.
 

There were some nasty stories involving Countess D’Mere, as well — most of which had to do with poisonings or beheadings. But though the grisly details made them difficult to forget, Thelred tried not to give them a second thought. The rumors about the Countess were too outlandish to have been considered truthful. He had a feeling their only intent was to distract the High Seas from the corruption in its ports.

But even if they couldn’t agree on anything else, all of the councilmen swore upon their trades that they’d settled a treaty with Midlan. Thelred had comforted himself with this thought. For the last several weeks, knowing that the seas were safe had kept him from losing his mind while the council dragged on.
 

Now, even that one small relief had been taken from him. He felt as if he was a moment from hurling a chair across the room.
 

“Quiet, please! Would you please be
quiet
!” a councilman at the head table barked.

Makeshift camps littered the back of the council’s chambers. The villagers had arrived a little more than a week ago, packed aboard a small group of vessels that’d limped in from Copperdock — the last handful of a spell-ravaged fleet. They’d spent days edging down the coastline towards the chancellor’s castle, afraid to sail too far or stay out too long.
 

Now that they’d finally made it to safety, they weren’t going to be shoved aside. They’d set up camp in the council’s chambers: there were bedrolls wedged into the aisles and children running wild absolutely everywhere. But the noise they made was nothing compared to the shipbuilders’ fury.

 
“We’ll quiet down when you answer Midlan!” one of them cried. He cradled a screaming infant against his chest while he thrust a finger at the head table. “You told us the council settled things with the King. You promised that there wouldn’t be a war.”

“We have, and there won’t be,” another councilman replied without turning.

His words called up another wave of indignant roars:

“Then why have we been run from our homes?”

“Why did mages burn half of our ships and roast innocent men alive?”
 

“And why in the bloody seas did they have the King’s mark on their chests, eh? Last I checked, folks with treaties don’t attack each other.”

“Hearsay and speculation,” another councilman blustered over the villagers’ cries. He was a dumpy man with a thick mustache that bore stains at the tips of its bristles — the remnants of whatever pastry he’d just devoured.

He’d failed as a chancellor and had been a large part of why Duke Reginald was sacked in the first place. But Colderoy must’ve been better at politicking than anybody realized: somehow, against all conceivable odds, he’d managed to wriggle his way back up to the head table.

Now he stared at the shipbuilders from over the top of his mustache. Even if there
was
a shred of mercy in his eyes, they were far too dim to show it. “The council has heard your concerns and, once we’phe appointed a new high chancellor, we intend to giphe it our full attention,” he said, dragging each word through his bristles. “But I’m afraid camping here won’t do you people any good. You’re going to haphe to giphe us time, and space to work —”

“Where should they go?” Thelred snapped. He was on his feet before he realized that his anger had reached its end. His wooden leg creaked loudly in the now-silent hall. The leather guard pinched the flesh at the base of his knee. But he hardly felt it. “Does the council
intend
to help them settle somewhere else? Do you plan to find them work? Do you plan to feed them?”

Colderoy blinked and his chin wobbled as he glanced around him. All of the council shared the same look — as if none of those things had ever once crossed their minds. “I’m certain they’ll do just fine on their own.”

“No, they won’t. Not all men have their food set out in front of them. Most have to work for it. If these people don’t work, they don’t eat.”

“Then perhaps they should go back to their trades.”

Thelred tried to keep his voice calm. Even after all he’d heard, the council’s idiocy still managed to shock him. “Have you not been listening? They haven’t got a thing to go home to —”

“Yes, according to
them
,” Colderoy huffed. “But the council can take no action unless these stories turn out to be true. We must haphe proof.”

“Well, then perhaps one of you ought to send a ship to investigate.”

For a long moment, the hall fell deathly quiet. The councilmen sat like stone in their chairs, while the shipbuilder’s eyes burned upon them.

Thelred laughed — the only thing that kept him from slinging his fist into the tabletop. “What are you all afraid of? It’s not as if a little
hearsay
and
speculation
could possibly burn your ships to ash.”

Colderoy raised his brows. “Oh? Then why don’t you send one of yours?”

“Because the first got trapped in Harborville when the council
started
arguing — and while the council
continues
to argue, the second had no choice but to go retrieve the first. Perhaps I could send for a third,” Thelred mused, “but as that would require one of you to grow a spine thick enough to launch a messenger ship into waters that you insist are
not
ruled over by fire-wielding mages, I doubt it’ll ever happen.”