AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I shake my head. This is so far from what I was taught that I feel almost like Doshir’s speaking a different language. But I have no reason to distrust him. In fact, I realize with a strange, sick feeling in my gut, this might be the first time in my life someone has told me the truth about history instead of using it like a hammer to shape my expectations of the world.
“And now Rensivar is preparing to attack the Iron Mountains,” I say. “Why?”
Doshir’s expression shifts, and the hint of a smile playing around the edges of his mouth vanishes.
“Rensivar asked my mother about the Queensmoot,” he says, his voice low. “He wanted to know when and where it would be.”
My teeth tug at the edge of my lower lip. I feel very much like an idiot, just another yokel from Valgros who doesn’t know her ass from her armpit, but if I don’t ask this question, I’ll probably regret it.
“What is the Queensmoot?” I say, dropping my gaze to the rim of my empty mug.
“It’s when the dragons of the Iron Mountains choose their next leader,” Doshir replies. “You know dragons choose their leader, right?”
I nod. That, at least, I do know, even if it’s only because I was allowed to study forbidden books about draconic history in the Valgros Royal Library before being sent on the dragon-hunting mission to Cairncliff that started this entire mess.
“Well, they gather in the same place to do so,” Doshir continues. “Dragons can’t nominate themselves, and they each have to have a certain number of supporters to even be considered. The nominees make a little speech about what they could offer the Alliance of the Iron Mountains, everyone argues about it for hours and hours, and finally there’s a vote.”
“So, all the dragons gather in the same place?” I ask.
“They do,” Doshir answers, his tone as dark as the look in his eyes.
“Kings,” I hiss. “That would be such an easy target. Thank the stars your mother didn’t tell him when it is.”
Doshir turns to stare at the ceiling above the fire, then back to me. There’s a look in his eyes I can’t quite place, something like regret.
“She did,” he whispers. “She did tell him.”
“Shit.”
The word is out of my lips before I can stop it. I open my mouth to apologize, but Doshir’s lips twist into a wry smile.
“Shit indeed,” he replies, pressing his mug into his palms. “And what’s worse is that the Queensmoot is almost here.”
“Kings, Doshir!” I say. “We have to warn them. We have to go to the Iron Mountains and—”
A strange, inhuman shriek splits the air, interrupting me. I glance back over my shoulder, toward the darkened doorway beyond the kitchen, and it comes again, loud and shrill and very clearly coming from the town below.
It’s an alarm. My eyes meet Doshir’s, and the blood drains from his face. He turns toward the window, then pushes back from the table.
“My shop,” he whispers.
I open my mouth to say it couldn’t possibly be, that it’s ridiculous of him to assume the siren is for him alone, but something about the stricken expression on his face keeps me quiet. He rushes to the door, and I follow, my heart hammering inside my aching rib cage as though I’ve been running all night.
Doshir’s kitchen door swings open, carrying a gust of cool night air, and my gut pulls tight. There’s smoke in the air, low and faint, twisting around the shriek of the alarm. It might have come from Doshir’s chimney.
Kings, I hope it came from Doshir’s chimney.
Doshir runs past the corner of his house, and I follow, the dew on the grass coating my bare feet. Pine trees rise before us in a tidy little row; I try to keep the memories from surfacing, but they rise anyway, stubborn as the tide.
This is where Doshir brought me. We sprint past the path we’d taken and turn a corner, coming to the bluff where he’d told me the view was better if I’d lie down. My eyes drift to the base of the tree where I’d hidden my daggers, worried about what he would think if I undressed and revealed blades.
And then I see flames.
Something in the town below us is on fire. The flames reach toward the night sky, sending streamers of sparks to mingle with the stars. I can’t tell what, exactly, is burning, but it’s big, and it’s on the top of a hill. Distant screams drift up, mingling with the flames like a counterpoint to the siren’s howl. I lean forward, as if I could hear them, and Doshir makes a sound, a low, whispered sort of moan, something that’s more like a wounded animal than a dragon. His hand rises to cup his mouth, as though he’s trying to stop himself, but the noise comes through anyway, a low undercurrent slicing through the smoke and the scream of the alarm.
Doshir spins beside me,his feet scraping the gravel. Our eyes meet for a frantic heartbeat, and then he turns and runs. I hesitate for just a moment as he vanishes among the trees. He’s going toward the fire, of course. And I know what path he’s taking. I glance back at the blazing building just as something inside of it collapses, releasing a font of golden sparks into the air, and then I turn toward the darkness under the trees.
I catch up with Doshir just outside the little wooden gate, which he’s left open. We sprint together down the cobbled streets of Noble’s Hill, twisting and turning, taking side alleys and shortcuts that I never would have found on my own. Smoke grows thicker as we descend, and the siren’s call grows louder.
