Survive My Fire Read online

  “I can’t—”

  I drew my thigh up over his hips and wriggling closer. “You’ll do what must be done, my stone warrior.”

  “I’m not made of stone,” he said flatly. “I’m flesh and blood, my heart Given to you.”

  “Then love me.”

  His palm drew me closer, shifting me so he could slide inside. Breast to breast, hip to hip, we lay silently, locked together. He breathed in, and I did as well. His heart beat, and mine accompanied. Tilting my head back enough to stare into his eyes made my neck ache, so I buried my face in his neck and wrapped my arms around him.

  We didn’t move. We simply lay together, connected, one flesh, one heart, and watched the moon glide across the sky.

  “Tal, it’s time.”

  My fingers, slowly trailing up and down Jalan’s spine, stilled at the priest’s words. He gripped me tighter and I clung to him, trying to crawl inside him and hide forever.

  That irritated me, though. I don’t hide. I’ve never hidden from anything in my life. I eased my grip on him and pulled away gently. Silently, we stood. I helped him into his clothing, but he refused the taamid. The only weapon he wore was the scimitar. The wickedly sharp blade gleamed in the darkness before dawn, holding my gaze. My heart raced.

  “I’ll be fast,” he whispered, his voice cracking with strain.

  “I trust you.” I did, but my stomach clenched and my head pounded until I feared I might be ill. I tried to make my voice light for him. “I’m tired of being a dragon any way.”

  “When your heart ceases beating, then mine will too. I swear it. You won’t go to the Gods alone.”

  I gripped his hand, shaking, and ashamed that I was scared. I didn’t want to face Somma, not when I still carried Her curse. Evidently, I hadn’t learned a thing in my long imprisonment. Jalan accomplished much, yes, and healed my Riven heart. But I refused to give up my hatred and rage. I deserved to die a painful, wretched death long ago. That he would give me death quickly and painlessly was a blessing.

  I still couldn’t stop shaking.

  He wrapped an arm around me, drawing me into his side as we walked out of his tent. Shaddad’Yama held a white taamid up for me. Grateful for the warmth in the chilly desert night, I gripped the swath of linen about me. Silent and grim, the Krait lined the path down to the Venom Sea. Some of them nodded to me, some touched their foreheads and bowed. Some wept.

  I did fine until we reached the crumbling tainted sands. I couldn’t bear to walk on that spoiled land on bare feet. Dread filled me. I didn’t want to die in taint, in acid, in darkness. It would be much better to die free, blazing in Fire and glory, roaring my fury to the heavens. I couldn’t go peacefully like this without a fight.

  Immediately, Jalan scooped me up into his arms. With my face buried against his neck, I breathed his scent and tried to ease the tension straining my body. He carried me down to the very edge of the Venom Sea. The black Island of Despair loomed above us, belching smoke and poison into the barely lightening sky. The fumes made me choke and my skin burned and itched as though I rolled in a patch of thistles.

  A black rock slab jutted out over the boiling acid. Thick chains waited for me, heavy enough to hold my dragon. Frantic, I scanned the sky. The sun crept up from the horizon, and the full silvered moon faded. Fire blazed in me even as the sun climbed higher. My dragon would fight to the death rather than be chained. Truth be told, I’d rather fight to the death too, but for Jalan...

  Stiff and jerky, I let the black-swathed priests guide me to the rock. With steady but caring pressure, they guided me to kneel and placed my arms and legs in cuffs large enough to accommodate my dragon when she came. Jalan, my stone warrior, trembled and nearly cracked. And so I didn’t pull my hands free. I didn’t even toss my head about and struggle when they put the heavy collar about my neck.

  Silent and dark, Shaddad’Yama held the chain attached to my collar and stared up at the Island of Despair. “Great Black, Great Yama, Your people are doubly cursed. We are cursed with Your blood, and we are cursed for our devalki against Somma. Our land is cursed with Despair and agony and we die to right our wrongs.

  “Please accept this sacrifice, Chanda the White, the last of Somma’s blood in all of Keldar. Spare the Krait’s last Well, we beg. Spare our tribe, our children, our crops, our livestock. We are Your blood more than any Keldari. We will be the first to die in judgment. May this sacrifice atone for a portion of our devalki.”

  Dawn blazed. My dragon stretched inside me, anxious and furious and more than ready to tear into these fools who thought to cage me. I tried to keep my eyes on Jalan, but magic convulsed my body, pain wracking me as the transformation began. I tried to cry out to my stone warrior, but all that came out of my throat was a dragon’s roar.

  Fire blazed and white wings beat the air.

  The White Dragon reared back, fighting the heavy chains about her limbs and neck. Jalan silently prayed she would free herself, even as a dozen warriors raced forward to help hold her down. Shaddad’Yama directed them, heaving on her collar until her proud neck was stretched out with her head on the ground. They positioned her perfectly for sacrifice; her blood would drain down the black rock altar and drip into the Venom Sea below.

  If Jalan could actually bring himself to do it.

  Claws scrambling, screaming in fury, Chanda strained against the chains. Through their bond, he felt her overwhelming fury and aching betrayal. The dragon didn’t care about his people. She didn’t care about the last Well, the taint, the dying crops, as long as there were people, their livestock, or other dragons for her to eat.

  Her powerful wings beat the air, struggling to lift her free of the chains. One magnificent wing tangled in the chain, feathers shredding in her frantic efforts. Refusing to surrender, she beat and fought until her wing broke. Just as his heart broke watching her.

  Rushing to her, he dropped to his knees beside her and grabbed her thrashing head. “Shhh, Chanda, shhh. You’re hurting yourself.”

  She calmed at his voice, but images slammed into him. Fly, fight, engulfing Fire, rage. Kill them all!

  He stroked her neck, crooning softly, until her struggles calmed. Mighty chest heaving, she lay on the rock slab and mewled pitifully. His proud, fierce dragon mate, caged, helpless. He hated it. It made him want to tear into the watching crowd with teeth and claws himself. She saved him, brought him back from eternal Fire, and yet here she lay, ready to die.

  “Strike quickly, tal,” Shaddad’Yama urged. “End her misery.”

  Jalan leaned down, staring into her liquid gold eyes. “I love you. My heart beats for you.”

  Her eyes closed. She tried to turn her head away, but the chains held her still. In his mind, the image of a death spiral blazed to life. A Black—him—and the White, mating in the air, circling hard and fast to the earth. Only instead of releasing each other and soaring to safety, they splashed into the boiling Sea, still clinging to each other with teeth and claws.

  He stood. Staring down at her, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and adjusted his grip on his scimitar. “Yes, my love. Together in death.”

  Exhaling deeply, he brought the blade down with all his strength.

  Chapter Seven

  Jalan sliced the chain pinning my neck. “Fight, Chanda! Fight! Free yourself!”

  Screams erupted from the bystanders. Shaddad’Yama reproached Jalan with his eyes, silent pools of night. No recrimination, but I felt Jalan’s guilt. Still, he raised the blade over his head and prepared to fight to the death with me. Ah, my fierce mate, how I love him!

  With my neck free, I blasted flames in all directions. The priest was able to protect himself, but the Krait quickly retreated to safety. My broken wing sent sharp agony throbbing deep into my shoulder. I couldn’t fly, but I could certainly break iron. Twisting my head around, I bit at the chains trapping me on the black rock.

  Jalan shouted, struggling with at least a dozen of his clansmen. He tried to keep them back, but he
was reluctant to kill them. I understood, but desperation made me vicious. The chains were as thick as my warrior’s thighs. I couldn’t break them with my teeth, and I couldn’t reach them with my claws. I was better caged than the Red we killed at dusk. They had simply wanted to use him; they wanted to incapacitate me until my death.

  Roaring curses, Jalan fell against my flank and quickly pushed back to his feet. “By Yama, no! I won’t let you harm her! Damn you all to Shadow and Despair!”

  His words froze the Fire blazing in my heart. He cursed his people. He would curse his God next. He would damn himself for all time, as I had done. I remembered driving his dragon back inside when I was in the two-legged form, but I knew I couldn’t save him from such a curse. I couldn’t save myself from that mistake.

  Memory flooded me. The youthful arrogance of a young woman in love, blindly declaring my heart for the warrior I wanted, refusing all counsel that he wasn’t mine to claim. Like a petulant child, I demanded my toy from the Gods, and when they failed to reward me, I cursed them. I fought for what I wanted, I demanded what I wanted, and damned myself with my pride. Instead of surrendering a warrior who didn’t love me to his mate, I killed him.

  Surrender.

  I couldn’t surrender to save tal’Adder all those centuries ago. But I could save Jalan. I could save him from my curse, if only I let them kill me. Love welled in my fierce heart, unshakeable and eternal. For him, I would do anything.

  I stretched my head out on the rock and went still. While Jalan fought his people, the black priest worked his way to my side, a small blade in his hand. “Bless you, Chanda, daughter of Somma. Love waters your heart. Let your blood water our land and save your mate’s people.”

  He sliced my throat open cleanly. The pain was sharp, deep, but faded quickly. I kept my gaze locked on my stone warrior, his proud, chiseled face, his beauty as he danced the blades. My blood rushed down the black rock. I heard it sizzle in the Venom Sea below. The ground trembled in answer and the morning sun darkened.

  “No!” Agonized, Jalan pushed through his clansmen. He fell to his knees beside me, horror and grief etched on his pale face. “Chanda, no!”

  He dragged my head into his lap and pressed his forehead to mine. Ah, so sweet, to feel his breath on my scales. His tears. Stone cried for me, watering my heart indeed. Peace filled me. At last, I knew what love was. Real love. The kind of love that I would fight for, rightfully, with the Gods’ full blessing. The kind of love I would die for.

  Love, the greatest sacrifice.

  I died for him.

  Chapter Eight

  An image came to Jalan’s mind, weak and distant, but so very real. A boulder, sitting before a massive White Dragon. His human shoulder held so gently in her jaws.

  Jalan threw his head back and bellowed his grief to the Gods above.

  The ground rocked, throwing people to the sands. Crumbling shoreline tumbled into the Venom Sea. Despair flooded the sky with fumes of suffocating death. Jalan coughed, his eyes streaming, but not from the corrupted air.

  Chanda was gone.

  And so he should be dead. Why did his cursed heart still beat? He was Given to her. He needed to die with her. She would stand before She Who Hung the Moon alone, defenseless, beaten. It wasn’t right. Not his proud, fierce White. She deserved the Black at her side.

  He would be at her side to face judgment with her, one way or another. He raised the scimitar to his throat.

  “Tal, look!” Shaddad’Yama’s ancient hand locked on his shoulder, jerking his attention to the sky. The sun was gone and darkness fell across Keldar. “The moon covers the sun!”

  Somma’s moon eclipsed Agni’s merciless sun.

  Heart thundering, Jalan looked down at Chanda. Her scales gleamed in the silvered moonlight. Rainbows danced about her, swirling brighter even as he watched. She glowed so brightly he shielded his eyes, turning his face aside.

  When the glow dimmed, he found her very human body on the black rock. Unmoving, limp, a gaping wound in her throat, dragon scratches on her shoulder. With trembling fingers, he traced the delicate curve of her cheek, the fragile, deathly white skin. So beautiful in death. A soft gentle smile curved her lips—the smile she graced him with in the privacy of his tent.

  “Keldar is a hard land, tal,” Shaddad’Yama whispered. “A hard life. She suited you, and you her.”

  “And you killed her,” Jalan replied flatly. “Despair doesn’t lift from our lands. Instead, our lands are swallowed even as I watch. My lungs are burned. My heart is dead, and yet I live. How can I still live when I’m Given to Chanda?”

  Whatever answer the priest meant to give was drowned out by a child’s shout. His nephew, Laken, weaved through the few remaining people. “Uncle, come quickly! Water flows in the wadi!”

  “What?” Stunned, Jalan craned his neck for a view of the dry ravine. According to legend, it had indeed been a river before their devalki, but none in a dozen generations had ever seen water. Running water. That would be as likely as legendary rain—drops of moisture falling from the heavens.

  At the solid plop of water in the sands, Jalan flinched. More plops, more water, moisture hitting his face. The Keldari tilted their heads back, mouths open, weeping, as the first rain in a thousand years fell.

  The sound of running water was more than he could bear. A lively stream a stride’s length wide now ran in the wadi. Oh, that Chanda had to die to bring such miracles. How he longed to share this wonder with her.

  Shaddad’Yama fell to his knees and the Kraits joined him, bowing their heads to the sands and praising the Trinity. “Forgive us, Agni. Forgive us, Somma. Bless Your Krait sons and daughters, Yama the Black.”

  Soft, gentle rain certainly wasn’t enough to satisfy the parched earth that lay dormant for hundreds of years, nor enough to entirely wash away the taint in the sands. But it sweetened the air and cleaned the burning fumes. Rain dampened Chanda’s hair, slicking it to her face, falling into the wound on her neck. The priest draped the white taamid over her, covering her face, but rain plastered the linen to her still body.

  People celebrated, singing and dancing, throwing children in the air, cupping water in their hands and drinking greedily. A few brave souls even dared the stream flowing in the wadi, standing knee-deep in more water than they’d ever seen in their entire lives. Water hissed and sizzled as it hit the Venom Sea below. A group of enterprising young men dug channels from the wadi to direct some of the precious fluid away from the boiling acid. More men dug another Well, laughingly slinging mud on the clapping watchers.

  All this while Jalan slumped on the ground beside his beloved’s body. He would not fail in his promise to her. This very afternoon he would ride to Mamba lands and fight them one by one until someone managed to kill him. At least that way he would die with full honor and help his people eliminate a few of their enemy at the same time. After Chanda’s courage, dying by his own hand would dishonor her.

  The sun slipped above the moon and the familiar punishing heat blazed down on Keldar once more. Rain ceased, but the trickling stream remained. In fact, it flowed even harder, surely another hand deeper than before. Where was the water coming from if not brought by rains to the north?

  :Until the Well of Tears reflects the light of the silvered moon and overflows to water a dry and thirsty land.:

  Bitter hope seized his lungs and heart in agony. Hand trembling, he hesitantly reached out toward the damp taamid covering Chanda’s face. She was gone. Wasn’t she? “Chanda?”

  :Your love is the light of Somma on my Riven heart of tears. The Well overflows and waters my dry and thirsty life.:

  With his eyes locked on her covered face, he swore she moved. She breathed faintly. He jerked the taamid back and leaned over her. Frantic, he searched her face. Her eyes were still closed. But where the wound had gaped in her throat, only a silver scar remained.

  He closed his shaking hands on her shoulders, afraid to move her, afraid she might be lifeless. Her fle
sh was warm beneath his palms. Her chest rose and she took a deep breath that he heard, that he felt in his own lungs. His heart froze in his chest, refusing to beat, and every muscle in his body waited, listening, praying for—

  Her heartbeat reverberated in his head. Gasping, he felt his own heart thunder to life, beating in tune with hers. Her eyes opened.

  Jalan dragged her into his arms, clutching her to his chest. Laughing, crying, he pressed frantic kisses to her face, ran his hands over her body, assuring himself she lived and breathed.

  “I breathe, my stone warrior. My heart beats for you alone.” Chanda the White smiled, cupping his face. She pulled his forehead down to hers, stroking her fingers across his cheeks to wrap her hands in his hair. “Not even death could keep me from you.”

  I stood with my stone warrior on the edge of the Well of Tears. Water reflected the waning moon above—more water than I ever imagined could exist in the entire world. “My water is yours, Jalan tal’Krait.”

  “Uncle,” the boy asked, tugging on Jalan’s taamid. “Is it safe to drink?”

  Jalan smiled down at him, and the tenderness on his face clutched my heart in dragon talons. How I longed to give him a dozen children simply so I could see that look on his face all the day and night for the rest of our very long lives. “Drink all you can hold, Laken. You can even bathe in it if you want.”

  Screeching, the boy ran down to the shoreline and scooped water over his head with both hands.

  I slipped my arm around Jalan’s waist. Our Fires mingled, dancing with joy and laughter. How many years had I lain on my ledge, glaring down at the empty Well with all the hatred and rage in my Riven heart? Now, my heart was as full as the overflowing Well of shimmering, pure water.

  “We shall make a garden so lush, so beautiful, that all of Keldar will trek here to see our marvels.” Jalan pointed to the hint of green already sprouting around the rim. “All who swear allegiance to our sepah will be welcome, no matter their tribe.”