A Fire So Lovely: House Woodthorne Book Two

Aislinn

A relentless, gnawing hunger wrung my insides as we trekked along the ill-lit tunnels. I hadn’t seen daylight since the day I was brought to the Glissborn dungeon. That had been several days ago, I thought, but I wasn’t sure. I had been through so much agony that it seemed futile to worry over the fleeting passage of time. Especially in the tunnels where no sunlight reached us.

Daegyn stalked alongside me, still shirtless, but his graceful stature never wavered. I knew he was starving, too, for I heard his stomach growling as loudly as my own. He remained quiet, contemplative as usual. Likely less than thrilled that I’d forced him into such an excursion.

We’d walked for hours upon hours, Daegyn leading me down a series of twists and turns I would have never known existed; the tunnel system was a labyrinth. If I had managed to escape House Woodthorne the month before, I wouldn’t have been able to locate Cruxwing by myself. The thought of being lost in the dark tunnels was enough to make my mouth run dry with terror. Well, that and the nagging dehydration that ailed me; it felt as if sand had been crammed down my throat.

Daegyn warned me it would be a long journey, but I insisted. I’d been away from Taryn for nearly two months. I thought I would die if I didn’t see him again soon. Realistically, I was more likely to die of an infection from my fresh injuries or starvation and thirst.

Even in distress, Daegyn marched on without so much as a grunt or complaint. He never once mentioned his hunger. If we’d been in the woods, he would have hunted us a hare or duck, but the only creatures we encountered in the tunnels were diseased and flea-riddled rodents.

My chest tightened every time one scurried by in the dark, fearing the sound was something worse, such as an insect-person.

We’d found a small sack of old, dried fruits and a jug of ale in the rest chamber we’d visited. We rationed it between each other, only eating a handful a few times a day and sipping from the jug sparingly, but I noticed how little Daegyn took of each, likely saving more for me.

The mangled fingers of my right hand had become numb. I was glad, as the constant, intense ache had been grueling, but I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that I could barely feel them.

“Not long now, Aislinn,” Daegyn said, stretching his arms as we ventured down the tunnel. “Do you think your in-laws will be gracious hosts?” He sounded bemused, and I wondered how much he truly knew about them.

I laughed. “Not likely.”

A decade ago, Rowena and Godfrey had evicted me from the Cruxwing manor a mere three weeks after their son died. They’d begged to keep Taryn there for them to raise, but of course, I didn’t let that happen.

Not willingly, anyway. They obtained him after Landyn abducted me, but that was nothing of my own doing. I’d sooner die than surrender him to them. They’d cared for him well, from his writings, but their time together was over. My son was coming back with me.

I hoped Daegyn would be fine with keeping our situation under wraps for the time being. I didn’t know if Taryn would like it, as I hadn’t courted anyone since his father.

“Do you think we can keep this a secret? Us?” I didn’t know what to call it; we weren’t officially courting, but we were definitely more than friends. We’d both confessed our love, but I wasn’t in any hurry to define things. “Although I don’t care what my in-laws think of me, I don’t want to upset my son.”

Daegyn nodded his head. “I wasn’t going to let anyone catch wind of it until you were ready.”

I smiled, touched that he considered my feelings and would be patient. It was unusual to have someone looking after me, but I liked it.

“Thank you,” I said, my left hand reaching out to take his. His amber eyes found me as his hand grasped mine; the warmth of it sent waves of security through me. “We’re almost there, you say?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t be too long now. Are you weary? Should I carry you?”

“No.” I was far more fatigued than I let on, and the way he slanted his eyes at me told me he knew it.

Daegyn always seemed to know what I was thinking and feeling, and not because he eavesdropped with his mind-reading magic. He just seemed to understand me. He’d accepted me, in all my misery, and he didn’t try to change me.

I wondered how much he truly knew about me; just how thorough had his familiar been in reporting what she saw during those seven years of spying on me?

Thinking of him and his elven abilities always left me a bit… unsettled. Things could never last between us. Our love was a hopeless dream. He was a four-hundred-something-year-old elf, and I was a thirty-two-year-old human woman. In fifty years, I’d likely be dead from old age or illness, and he’d probably only have physically aged a year or two.

I didn’t want to think about it, our senseless romance. I decided to allow the moments to be what they were destined to be and gave it no more thought. Besides, a wicked headache plagued me, making it far too difficult for me to dwell on such complicated matters.

I simply relished the feel of his hand against mine, thinking how long it had been since I held hands with a man. The hard knuckles closed over the back of my hand protectively, and I felt unstoppable.

* * *

The sensation of a thousand tiny needles stabbed my eyes as we emerged from the tunnel. It was sickeningly bright outside, even with the sun hidden behind the endless clouds of the Cruxwing lands. I rose to my feet on the stony ground, watching as Daegyn closed the lid.

We’d come up a long ladder like the other entrances. This passage had been disguised as a large stone, and the lid to the entrance blended in well with the rocky plateau surrounding us. The smell of salt and sea was strong, and the black waves crashed in the distance. Multiple dark cliffs rose on the horizon—the nests of dragons. Up ahead, the plateau stretched to an especially tall cliff, and a gloomy structure loomed on top of it. Cruxwing Manor—my former home and Taryn’s current one. I clutched my chest; it felt heavy as iron.

I hadn’t set foot on the land since I left ten years ago, and the familiarity of it made me melancholy with memories long since past. Nostalgia for the family I once had made my empty stomach ache even more. I shook away the sadness as I inhaled the therapeutic scent of the tides and gazed ahead to the manor. My life as an Evenon was over, but my child was there, waiting for me.

Daegyn stretched his arms again, the popping of his joints audible. The pale grey sky around us crackled with thunder as the shadows of the oncoming storm darkened Daegyn’s white hair. I watched his fiery eyes tilt up, following an especially black shadow as it soared overhead.

I squinted, realizing this darkness was not part of the encroaching storm, but that of a winged beast. The creature flew overhead, the mighty wind flapping off of its wings enough to topple us to the ground. My knees shook, certain that the hellspawn would light us up in a blaze of fire before I ever made it to the manor. I grappled for Daegyn’s hand, clinging to him as the beast flew on overhead. Its shadow surged underneath the terrifying creature, and the blackness swallowed up the plateau until it landed far away on a distant cliff.

“Let’s get you to the manor before it comes back for us,” Daegyn said, his steel voice unflinching. He didn’t run screaming like many others but remained silently cautious, his entire body on high alert as he looked both ways and clutched his cutlass.

As if a blade will be any protection against a rain of fire and claw, I thought.

“We must be quick,” I said.

Together, we carefully trekked to the manor. Arm in arm, as if the linking of us would serve as some sort of protection. The type of fear a dragon could invoke just by their presence was unmatched. It united the bravest souls and the most seasoned soldiers in terror. Even the mage king’s ruthless knights were afraid of them. The dragons could wipe out entire armies with their fire, slice through bone and sinew with their piercing claws, and tear a man to a thousand pieces with their teeth. They cared little for other species, especially magic-less humans.

I’d forgotten just how terrifying they were, as King Odsby didn’t permit them to leave Cruxwing without an Evenon rider. He’d coldly displayed his authority and impressed this upon them by shooting down one of the smaller dragons when she got too close to the Windport border. The Evenons were not happy with King Odsby’s cruelty, and if it had been anyone else, there would have been hell to pay. They cared for their beasts and would never allow them any harm.

Despite his act of violence, the mage king was a friend of Godfrey and Rowena. Even though he hadn’t denounced the claim of Morgan Joss—his alleged bastard son—they seemed fine with looking the other way. Even as other magic folk were beaten and tortured by Morgan Joss. My in-laws weren’t exactly people of the highest scruples, but it was no surprise when the customs of their kind were so brutish and strange.

It was disturbing that they were dragonkin—no matter how diluted the bloodline—and that they still rode dragons. Their barbaric traits befitted them, as their existence was the result of a curse.

Thousands of years ago, a wizard cursed the Cruxwing dragons for destroying his property and transformed some into hideous dragon humanoids. Over time, the dragon humanoid offspring became the dragonkin, and they were ruthless and cold-hearted people.

Regardless, they had an abnormally codependent bond, the dragons and the dragonkin. They respected the dragons, and the dragons respected them. They were the fiercest of companions, fighting alongside each other in war. Leopold and his beloved dragon had lost their lives together in battle—something that was considered a most honorable death in the Cruxwing lands.

It left me uneasy to imagine my sweet, young son riding on such a creature. He’d told me in his letters he’d been training, but I wondered how a dragon would obey a boy of twelve.

We approached the manor at last. My bare feet ached from the dry, gritty rocks across the plateau. Daegyn offered to carry me again, but I refused. He’d already done too much for me, and though he’d never admit it, he was exhausted. His eyes were rimmed with black, and his skin was whiter than normal.

He’d offered me his boots, but the things were enormous, and I was certain I’d fall and injure myself even worse while wearing the monstrosities. That, and it’d be much more difficult to scramble for cover behind a boulder at the sight of a dragon.

The manor’s turrets twisted up to the sky, four stories tall. The large windows curved into arches, and so did the iron door that was fitted with a gargoyle doorknocker. Several granite gargoyles crested the building, its dark architecture eerie yet intriguing. No guard stood outside the manor; with the dragons about, it was unnecessary.

I wondered why we weren’t charged by one, but thought perhaps they remembered me and my typically unthreatening nature. With the unfriendly-looking Daegyn at my side, I expected something dangerous to happen. A billow of smoke rippling from a dragon’s nostril, or even a low, rumbling growl. There was nothing. It was silent and still, save for the waves breaking down below.

I glanced at Daegyn as we stood on the doorstep, his unfaltering bravery present as he stood statue-like. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his feet were set casually apart. His face told me he was ready, and so was I.

I rapped upon the door, and a middle-aged manservant appeared. Griswald. I remembered him; his bushy black eyebrows had always reminded me of woolly caterpillars.

His head bobbed back as he took us in. “Lady Evenon.”