Dragon’s Temptation: Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book Fifteen Page 3

  “I’d like more than airy assurances,” Rosalind says. Her voice has a dangerous edge, but this time Visidion touches her arm and I watch the same interplay in reverse.

  “Archion,” Visidion says. “Will you guarantee the safety of those we send with you?”

  Archion shifts his attention slowly off of Rosalind to Visidion. He’s glaring, but Visidion meets his glare with an open frankness that cuts through it. The glare fades as the corners of Archion’s mouth soften.

  “I do,” he says.

  “That is all we can ask,” Visidion nods.

  Rosalind fairly thrums with anger but doesn’t say a word. She nods, her frown deep, and I notice a vein pulsing next to her left eye.

  I don’t know if Nora and Archion have worked out a signal for when he wants to leave or if she can sense things might take a turn into truly uncomfortable territory, but she times her exit perfectly.

  “I’m sorry—I’m beyond exhausted from today. And we need our sleep for our journey tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Nora is correct,” Archion agrees on the heels of her polite excuse. He stands with her, nodding at the table. “Dinner was lovely. My thanks.”

  “Of course,” Rosalind murmurs, her eyes watchful.

  They track the couple as they leave together, her expression unreadable. Hmmm. I get the distinct feeling Archion is trying to force himself past some point of hesitation, some hang up he can’t push through. Maybe it’s something as simple as doubt that his brothers will agree to a trade or ally deal with us. That would make sense, but it seems there could be more behind it. I guess only time will tell.

  He’s telegraphing some kind of a lack of confidence in this endeavor. It doesn’t bode well for the trip, though we’re going one way or another. After they leave, we finish the meal in a heavy silence.

  I don’t know about everyone else, but my mind is firmly on tomorrow. Will we be successful? How dangerous is this mission? Of course, it’s dangerous, we’re on Tajss, but I can’t help feeling that the real trouble I’ll be facing isn’t going to be from the normal run-of-the-mill beast or plant trying to eat me.

  “Thank you for the meal,” Ladon says, having finished his plate. “It was a most… enlightening evening. Ashlee, I wish you the best on your journey. I’m sure it will prove fruitful.”

  “Thank you,” I say, cheeks warming.

  “Of course,” he says, then he walks to the door.

  “I should be going too,” I say, rising from the table.

  “Ashlee,” Rosalind says. “A moment, if you don’t mind.”

  She’s watching Ladon leaving, not me. When the door closes, she puts her full attention on me. Rosalind has this look that makes you feel like you’re under a microscope. There’s nothing she misses, and you know it. It’s powerful, and I fully admit I’m jealous.

  “What are your general thoughts on Archion?” Rosalind asks, propping her chin up on her fist.

  “Yes, we are interested in knowing what you think of him,” Visidion adds, his eyes focused in that laser-sharp way he has.

  I think carefully before I respond, despite the pressure to simply blurt something out under their expectant looks. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble or say things out of turn without enough information. It’s too dangerous, so I keep my answer diplomatic.

  “He seems sincere, if...not at liberty to divulge too much.”

  Rosalind nods, silently waiting. I know the technique, but damn it if it’s not effective. The urge to squirm in my seat, to blurt out all my thoughts, is almost overwhelming. Almost, but this is my arena too, so I hold myself still, meeting her gaze.

  Finally she breaks her gaze with me and looks at Visidion. A silent exchange passes between them and it ends with him giving the slightest of nods.

  “We agree,” Rosalind says, speaking softly, almost as if she’s not talking to me anymore. “Be careful when you’re with him. There’s more to this than we know.”

  “I will,” I say, taking a deep breath and letting the pressure of their scrutiny flush away with it.

  Time will complete the story. Speculation can only nix a potentially powerful alliance before we even have the chance to build it. Keeping hope alive is the goal.

  At least for now.

  3

  Khal

  Leaping up and spreading my wings, I use them to lighten my weight on the sand. Cresting another dune I scour the desert, looking for any sign of my brother’s passage.

  Nothing.

  Only more sunbaked red sand. Clenching my jaw, I continue searching with a growing desperation that I struggle to rein in. Where is Archion? This is not at all like my brother and not at all like the responsible mentor and leader he is.

  Rubbing my face I try to ignore the burning in my chest as both my hearts seem to be consumed in acid. It takes all my will not to let my dark thoughts come to the front. What if he’s…

  No. I will not let the negative thoughts take hold. It is not possible that my brother could have met a terrible fate. It simply is not.

  Archion has been at the very top of the warrior line for decades on this side of Tajss. An inarguable, objective fact. He has a risen so high among the ranks that he reports directly to the Council and only to the Council. Nobody else.

  That Tashak has sent me to look for him is...troublesome, but the Seers aren’t known for their patience and Archion is already unforgivably late. If he returns without a limb or maimed in some other horrifying way, he might be forgiven, but it will be a long time before he is seen in the revered fashion he has enjoyed for so long.

  Harsh, yes, but it is a fact. That would be a bad enough end, but if he has...

  Shaking my head I continue my forward momentum, scanning the area around me constantly while I think. There is no scenario where he would betray the Order. After a lifetime spent protecting and upholding our values and objectives, it’s not possible.

  Archion is above reproach. I refuse to even entertain the notion. Clenching my jaw, I ruthlessly cut off my thoughts. It’s not a productive line of reasoning. Focus on the search, no matter how mind-numbing it is to see the same, barren desert giving me no signs, no reason to hope. This is why we train. Keeping attention focused, missing nothing, seeing all is the heart of being a warrior.

  The suns reach their zeniths, beating down and raising the temperature. I cover the sand as quickly as possible, the scorching light a familiar burn against my scales left exposed by my robes. I follow the search grid I planned and memorized before I left. The painstaking method was chosen so I do not miss anything by accident.

  Yes, it takes more time, but it is better to be thorough the first time rather than having to retrace my footsteps. Not that it has mattered much thus far. As carefully as I look, I do not see tracks or any sign that the Order-marked rifts have been used.

  No sign that anything larger than a small animal has been anywhere near here. The longer this takes the more the emptiness in my stomach grows, threating to consume everything. Growing larger and heavier, but I will not give in to that black pit of despair.

  Archion is still here. My brother will return. There is no other option.

  Suddenly there’s an odd sensation in my midsection as I mentally proclaim this. It’s like a tugging in my gut. An answer?

  Turning, the gentle but insistent pull grows stronger. When I move in that direction the feeling becomes so distinct, I know I’m on the correct course.

  “He is alive.” I whisper the words out loud, willing them to be so.

  No, more than that, needing them to be so. I follow the feeling, holding onto it as tightly as I can. It is the only hope that I have had for days upon days. I need it, need the fuel it provides.

  A renewed sense of purpose combines with a surge of energy, the two aiding me in traveling fast while keeping my eyes sharp. The suns drop to the horizon while I search, clinging to my renewed hope, but it does not matter. I don’t find anything, no signs of his passage. No signs of struggle, nothing
that says anyone has been this way for a long, long time.

  The shadows grow longer, the suns dipping below the horizon. My stomach sinks as I have to admit that it is too late to stay out much longer. Without the bright suns out during the day to guide me, I could miss tracks or other signs even if I come upon them. That would not only set me back in my search but could lead me astray.

  Struggling with my desire to find my brother, I finally force myself to turn back. I want to keep searching, keep looking until my body gives way, but I can’t make decisions based on emotions. That would be rash and stupid and it will not serve any purpose, and most especially I won’t find Archion doing it.

  Turning away from the empty sands I race the setting suns back. The Order’s home is well hidden. If I didn’t know what I was looking for, I’d never find the entrance. It’s covered over with sand and a small stone marker.

  Lowering the trap door over my head, I walk along the hand-hewn tunnel and bring the raging storm of my thoughts under control. Simple breathing exercises calm the storm, so simple it’s one of the earliest things I recall learning when I was but a child.

  The Order has been my home since my earliest memories. Archion and I grew up under its careful tutelage. Memories are dim, foggy recollections because the past doesn’t matter. Right now is all that one should have their attention on.

  By the time I reach the end of the tunnel and emerge into the empty room at its end, my emotions are under control, carefully hidden underneath a lifetime of training. The door slams closed over the tunnel entrance as the door to the room opens and the two guards with lochabers at the ready look in, silently challenging.

  I signal with my hand that all is well and I’m alone. They nod, stoic as befits their post. Pushing past them I make my way to Tashak, ready to report my failure. The Council Seer is walking down the hall leaving the meeting rooms when I run into him.

  “Khal,” he says, greeting me warmly.

  I stop, press my fist into my open hand and give him a half-bow, showing my respect to an Elder of the Council. He nods his acceptance brusquely.

  “What did you find?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I say, focusing on the ground between us.

  Surprisingly he places a consoling hand on my shoulder. It startles me into looking up and meeting his eyes. His jewel-toned robes rustle with the movement, his staff still held firmly in his other hand. Glancing at that strong hand, I breathe in deeply and swallow the lump in my throat, refusing to entertain the thought that I am certain the Seer is building up toward.

  “I know he is still alive,” I say, preempting him. I cannot allow him to say the words. I place my hand over my midsection. “I feel it here.”

  I try to convey the feeling, the surety, in an effort to convince him. If he says what I fear, I won’t be allowed to continue my search. When the Seer nods, I can see that he may be humoring me.

  “Only time will tell us what has happened to Archion,” he replies after a brief pause. “We will wait and see.”

  The words are neutral, but the tone is not. He frowns, the slightest hint of danger or perhaps trepidation lacing the statement and his expression. It is clear that he would rather the former be true than the latter, but the latter is not possible. My brother is alive.

  I feel it inside, a knowing that will not be denied. And I refuse to believe otherwise. No matter what any Seer tells me.

  4

  Ashlee

  “Almost ready. Just need to give it one final go over,” Addison says.

  “Got it,” I say.

  I step back from the rover and take a moment to truly appreciate the vehicle. It beats trudging through the sand in the desert, feet sinking in with every step. Even though the Zmaj are larger and weigh much more than us, they have a way easier time traveling out there, their wings giving them enough lift to skim over the sand rather than sink into it.

  It’s pretty amazing to watch. I’ve been green with jealousy more than a few times watching them glide over a stretch I know I’m going to be gasping for breath after, but it is what it is. At least they introduced us to epis. Yeah, it’s addictive—fatally so if you don’t get your dose—but I don’t think we would survive in these harsh conditions without it. I still remember the cool burst of relief after first taking it. And how much healthier I felt instantly.

  It does weird me out to think that it’s literally changing us on a cellular level, so I try not to dwell on it too much. The addiction part is a downside, but even if we were to find a way off this planet, where would we go?

  Our original destination, the planet we were supposed to colonize after generations spent on the ship, is still way too far to reach within our lifespan. I suppose we could just stick to the original plan if we were able to build a ship, but it doesn’t seem smart to risk something with a high chance of failure when we can build a life here. Have built a life here.

  And I don’t want the children to have to go from playing outside to being trapped in a ship like we were.

  “Hey Nora, I want to check in on Malcolm before we head out,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure,” Nora says, pausing in helping Addison and Archion in loading the vehicle.

  “I’ll tag along,” Maeve offers.

  “Great!” I agree.

  I’ve been thinking about the boy since I first saw his strained little face. I hope he’s doing better now.

  “Have you heard anything?” I ask Maeve as we walk.

  She shakes her head.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” she points out. “It isn’t like his mother is one to keep any problems to herself. If Malcolm was doing badly, we likely would have heard about it.”

  “That’s for sure,” I snort. “Amara being quiet would be a huge indicator.”

  I’m a little guilty over agreeing with the assessment about the overwhelmed mother, but it’s really been true of her since I’ve known her. When we turn into the hall leading to the nursery, my steps falter for a moment. Maeve and I exchange a hopeful glance at the happy giggle that travels down toward us. Hurrying the rest of the way, we duck into the room to find a completely different child inside.

  Laughing and playing with his toys while still in bed recovering, Malcolm is almost back to his normal, happy self. My chest expands as joy blooms in my heart at the sight of him. No child should look as traumatized as he looked when we last saw him. Now he’s obviously been recently scrubbed clean, dressed in new pajama bottoms, his eyes bright and cheeks a healthy pinkish-tan.

  His tiny wings flutter when he looks up as we enter. He grins and waves, his bright smile infectious.

  “Hi Ashlee! Hi Maeve!”

  “Hi Malcolm,” I grin as I cross over to him and ruffle his soft hair between his budding horns. “Glad to see you doing better.”

  The rush of relief that I feel could only be a fraction of what Amara must be feeling. Amara is sitting to the side, still watching with a hawk eye, but the lines of worry on her face have relaxed. Good.

  Addison walks over, already there to check on Malcolm as well.

  “He’s doing so much better,” I observe.

  “One more thing to thank the hidden gods of Tajss for,” Addison returns with a smile, a twinkle glimmering in her eye.

  Maeve and I both chuckle at the joke. Though I guess it isn’t really fully a joke. Too many things have happened that point toward something more than we can explain.

  Meteor showers that strike exactly at the right time to stop Invader attacks; the resulting glass from their showers when we needed to figure out a way to power the old technology on Tajss; the prophetic dreams and visions that have affected more than just Malcolm.

  It’s a lot to try to ignore wholesale, for me anyway. Doesn’t mean that I buy into everything, just that...I’m keeping my mind open in the face of evidence.

  “The divinity of Tajss is nothing to joke about.” Bashir’s serious, deep voice comes as a surprise to all three of us.


  Sharing an “oops” glance, I turn to him.

  Almost as one we incline our heads quietly, mockingly obedient to his serious words. I like and respect Bashir, but he needs to loosen up, at least sometimes. If we were all serious about everything all the time, we’d go crazy. Levity in the face of looming danger, of unexplained events that don’t quite fit in the neat box we’ve lived our lives in so far, is a natural release mechanism.

  Bashir doesn’t get irritated but sighs in response to our teasing, turning his attention firmly to Malcolm. I sober as he walks over to the bed and leans down next to the little boy. I’m again struck by the massive size difference between the two, but that isn’t what keeps my attention. The strangest thing happens as all of us watch.

  The small boy and Bashir lock eyes, watching each other intently from only a couple of feet away. The small hairs on my arms stand up as I watch, an odd current in the air around them. I’m certain I’m not the only one feeling it. Everyone else’s eyes are riveted on the scene too.

  Nothing big happens. Nothing that I could point at later with definitive proof of anything. Bashir’s face stays mostly neutral while everything in him focuses on Malcolm, but the child doesn’t have the same discipline as the older Zmaj. Various expressions flicker across his soft face as Malcolm stares, like he’s listening to something only he hears.

  A cold shiver taps up my spine, a chill of reaction. Malcolm nods slowly, frowning, at something only he can hear.

  He shakes his head. Watching, I distinctly feel left out of whatever interaction they’re having. I can’t deny something is passing between the mismatched pair. It almost looks like they’re...having a conversation, one without any words. Well, without any spoken words. A telepathic conversation?