Read Online A Night of Dragon Wings by Daniel Arenson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Arenson
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chains had bitten into her. She shivered for long moments, head spinning.
Try again. Shift! You can break the chains, you…
Yet the darkness clutched at her. She was too weak, too hurt. Too much blood had spilled. Her forehead hit her knees and Mori gagged, losing the gruel the jailor had fed her. She could not stop trembling, and she could barely breathe.
I'm sorry, Requiem. I'm sorry, stars.
She closed her eyes, wept quietly, and let the long, dark night draw her into its embrace.
SOLINA
The palace doors opened, and her guards dragged in a lanky man robed in muddy black. A hood covered his face; Solina could see only strands of dangling white hair. Sitting upon her ivory throne, she narrowed her eyes and watched as her guards, tall men bedecked in steel, shoved the man down upon the floor of her hall.
"My queen!" said a guard. His voice echoed behind his falcon visor. "We found this one skulking outside the palace, muttering strange spells. He claims he's a weredragon."
Fifty guards, ten generals of her army, and three Sun God priests filled her throne room. They all sucked in their breath. Solina leaned forward in her ivory throne. The fallen man coughed; the sound echoed in her silent hall.
"Stand up!" she barked. She rose from her throne, her jewels jingling, and walked down the stairs of her dais. Her sandals clacked against the gold and white tiles of her hall. Granite columns rose around her, the stone a mosaic of reds and blacks and whites, their capitals coated in platinum.
"My Queen Solina!" said the robed man.
He pushed himself to his feet. His hood had fallen back, revealing a smooth face that belied his long white hair; that face looked no older than her own. His eyes were shrewd, his nose thin, his mouth a red line across his pale skin. His hands, which peeked from his robes, were long and skeletal; in one, he clutched a staff.
A guard kicked the man's leg behind his knee, forcing him to kneel.
"Kneel before Queen Solina, scum!" the guard said.
The other guards goaded the man with spears. Another kick sent him facedown upon the tiles, and a boot pressed against his nape. The man coughed and hissed but did not struggle to rise.
"My queen!" he said, voice serpentine. "I only seek to serve you. I come from Requiem, I—"
Solina waved her guards back and glared down at the weredragon. Her chest rose and fell. She knew this one. She had seen him during her captivity in Requiem. He had been but a youth then, a scrawny boy who always seemed too pale, the son of the palace servants. Twice she had caught him peeking through a keyhole, watching her bathe.
"Nemes," she said, voice twisting in disgust. "I know you. On your feet."
Solina was a tall woman, but when Nemes stood, she felt short; he towered above her, thin and long and pale as a bone. His lips twitched in a mockery of a smile; those lips looked more like crawling snakes to her. She remembered the stories whispered about Nemes in Requiem: the animals he skinned and dissected in the forest, the books of dark magic he read, and the women he would leer at, Lyana foremost among them. Yes, she remembered this youth, now this man before her. She remembered him and he disgusted her.
"Queen Solina!" he said and sketched a bow, struggling perhaps to reclaim some of his lost pride. "I remember you a beautiful maiden, a rose in the thorny court of dragons; your beauty has only grown, and here I find a golden deity, a—"
Solina drew her twin sabres with a hiss, crossed them, and thrust both blades against Nemes's neck; if she pushed them but a hair's breadth closer, she'd cut his skin. He froze and his voice died.
"Silence, slithering snake," she said. "What does a weredragon, a beast of night, seek in the courts of the Sun God?"
He tried to step back from her blades, but her men held him fast. He licked his lips, tried to speak, and when his neck bobbed, her
Try again. Shift! You can break the chains, you…
Yet the darkness clutched at her. She was too weak, too hurt. Too much blood had spilled. Her forehead hit her knees and Mori gagged, losing the gruel the jailor had fed her. She could not stop trembling, and she could barely breathe.
I'm sorry, Requiem. I'm sorry, stars.
She closed her eyes, wept quietly, and let the long, dark night draw her into its embrace.
SOLINA
The palace doors opened, and her guards dragged in a lanky man robed in muddy black. A hood covered his face; Solina could see only strands of dangling white hair. Sitting upon her ivory throne, she narrowed her eyes and watched as her guards, tall men bedecked in steel, shoved the man down upon the floor of her hall.
"My queen!" said a guard. His voice echoed behind his falcon visor. "We found this one skulking outside the palace, muttering strange spells. He claims he's a weredragon."
Fifty guards, ten generals of her army, and three Sun God priests filled her throne room. They all sucked in their breath. Solina leaned forward in her ivory throne. The fallen man coughed; the sound echoed in her silent hall.
"Stand up!" she barked. She rose from her throne, her jewels jingling, and walked down the stairs of her dais. Her sandals clacked against the gold and white tiles of her hall. Granite columns rose around her, the stone a mosaic of reds and blacks and whites, their capitals coated in platinum.
"My Queen Solina!" said the robed man.
He pushed himself to his feet. His hood had fallen back, revealing a smooth face that belied his long white hair; that face looked no older than her own. His eyes were shrewd, his nose thin, his mouth a red line across his pale skin. His hands, which peeked from his robes, were long and skeletal; in one, he clutched a staff.
A guard kicked the man's leg behind his knee, forcing him to kneel.
"Kneel before Queen Solina, scum!" the guard said.
The other guards goaded the man with spears. Another kick sent him facedown upon the tiles, and a boot pressed against his nape. The man coughed and hissed but did not struggle to rise.
"My queen!" he said, voice serpentine. "I only seek to serve you. I come from Requiem, I—"
Solina waved her guards back and glared down at the weredragon. Her chest rose and fell. She knew this one. She had seen him during her captivity in Requiem. He had been but a youth then, a scrawny boy who always seemed too pale, the son of the palace servants. Twice she had caught him peeking through a keyhole, watching her bathe.
"Nemes," she said, voice twisting in disgust. "I know you. On your feet."
Solina was a tall woman, but when Nemes stood, she felt short; he towered above her, thin and long and pale as a bone. His lips twitched in a mockery of a smile; those lips looked more like crawling snakes to her. She remembered the stories whispered about Nemes in Requiem: the animals he skinned and dissected in the forest, the books of dark magic he read, and the women he would leer at, Lyana foremost among them. Yes, she remembered this youth, now this man before her. She remembered him and he disgusted her.
"Queen Solina!" he said and sketched a bow, struggling perhaps to reclaim some of his lost pride. "I remember you a beautiful maiden, a rose in the thorny court of dragons; your beauty has only grown, and here I find a golden deity, a—"
Solina drew her twin sabres with a hiss, crossed them, and thrust both blades against Nemes's neck; if she pushed them but a hair's breadth closer, she'd cut his skin. He froze and his voice died.
"Silence, slithering snake," she said. "What does a weredragon, a beast of night, seek in the courts of the Sun God?"
He tried to step back from her blades, but her men held him fast. He licked his lips, tried to speak, and when his neck bobbed, her
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