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She could not stop thinking about the dragon, how strangely obedient it was to the king. She wondered how the monarch had managed to break the will of such a beast, and she wondered if he might have already broken her will with the destruction of her family.
Walking was her salvation, every step taking her further away from the site of the tragedy and possibly closer to help - though what aid could be offered to her she did not know. Everything that could be taken from her had been taken, besides her virginity and her life, she was without possession in the world.
The forest was full of dangerous creatures, but they were kind enough to leave her alone, perhaps sensing that she was an animal so far gone it was barely worth attacking. Iris knew she was inherently easy prey, but whatever guardian force had seen her spared the fate of the villagers also seemed intent on sparing her from becoming dinner for an opportunistic predator.
In time, Iris passed through the forest unharmed, and past the next village. She did not stop there, having little trust for the people who inhabited it. The closest villages were traditionally the greatest enemies, and the villagers of Streambend were no exception. Her little village of Forestcrag had been at war with Streambend for as long as she could remember. It was the benders who had brought the disease which slew more than three quarters of Forestcrag, and though Iris had immunity created by having experienced the disease, she had no desire to test fate yet again by coming into contact with them.
For days she travelled, and for days the screams of the villagers rung in her ears. She fancied that she could make out individuals among them. Her father. Her cousin. Her brothers. All terrified of the wrath of a king who had no right to rule them.
He had eradicated everything and everyone. The more Iris thought about it, the more it seemed to her that he did not want there to be any witnesses. If he did not want there to be any witnesses, then perhaps he did not want his actions to be known. But she could not imagine any reason to secretly deploy a great dragon, that was the sort of battle-beast sure to garner attention.
The king’s actions were contrary to themselves. There was a haphazardness to them, a flair and a simultaneous secrecy. Had he simply been amusing himself? Or was there something more to the entire event? She doubted anybody could be as powerful as Archon clearly was and not know precisely what he was doing.
She thought and walked, walked and thought. For the most part, she travelled by foot, occasionally taking to the back of a passing wagon for a few miles, speaking to nobody, keeping her face hidden beneath the cloak which she wrapped around her body from head to toe. She did not want to be seen, not by anyone. There was no shaking the feeling that the murder king might come for her. She could feel the specter of death traveling in her wake, dogging her every step.
Iris had never been so afraid in her life. But she had also never been so determined to have her revenge. The king was evil. A monster. Some kind of half-dragon nightmare come from the stars to destroy all those she loved. It was right to be afraid of him - but it was also right to fight him.
Chapter 7
“She got you good.”
“Be quiet and suture me.”
“It is difficult, sire. We cannot suture scales with ease, and I am inclined to leave the wound open so it can drain properly. We do not want to trap infection inside.”
“I don’t want my insides falling out either.”
The king was being somewhat dramatic. The blade had only been half an inch wide, and it had lodged up in the flesh between the scales and the organ wall, where it had been trapped in a webbing of connective tissue. It had missed any major organs and also the blood supply. He was lucky, in other words.
“Your insides are mostly intact. I believe sire was more surprised than mortally wounded.”
Archon growled. Bad enough to be injured by his prey. Even worse for the injury to turn out to be nothing. He could have pursued her and claimed her. He had let her go for no reason.
That rankled and burned. His flesh would heal, but the wound to his pride would not be so easily resolved. Nothing would sate him besides capturing that vicious little human and breaking her thoroughly to his will.
“This is excellent news,” his young aide, Wilshire said with far too much enthusiasm. He had been hanging around Archon since he was beamed up to the mothership, a simpering concerned blonde politician with curling hair and just enough scaling to make him noble.
