“Banek, my beloved, who serves as the Dragon’s golden scales, as armor and shield,” she said quietly. “You have never worn the red cloak or quested for me, but so faithful you have been—and you have received so little for it. What would you ask of me?”
The old warrior’s reply was thick. “Only to never again see anyone suffer at the Destroyer’s hands.”
Amusement swept through Vela’s cold voice like a summer wind. “You ask me to blind you?”
A rusty laugh shook from him. “No, my lady. Is it too much?”
“Only too much to accomplish alone. But I will do all that I can to grant that request, warrior. I vow to you.”
“You do me great honor, my lady.”
“No.” Sadness filled the denial. “It is you who has honored me these many years. Serve well as the Dragon’s armor, Faithful One—and be shield to his bride.”
“That is my vow to you.”
Her hand cupped his tearstained cheek for a moment before she turned away. Shaking and trembling, Toric watched her approach, his face lifted in helpless wonder.
She stopped before him. “My brother’s poison resides within you.”
Vela’s brother—Stranik, the serpent god. Yvenne had not truly needed confirmation that her own brother had called upon Stranik to give him power. Yet now that confirmation made her throat close and her chest burn, for it meant Aezil had used blood sacrifice to gain those foul magics.
“I am still healing, my lady,” he said, in a voice uncertain whether he should be sorry for not being well or to boast that he was recovering.
“Your injury is,” she agreed, then lowered her veiled lips to his. Yvenne could not see if there was a kiss through the silk, only heard Vela’s murmur. “You are the Dragon’s wings. Tell me, how far will they take you?”
“Never far from my duty, my lady,” was his passionate reply. “I swear it.”
“Do not make vows you cannot keep, young warrior.” She sighed against his lips, and Toric’s breath frosted against hers. “You will fly so far that you will no longer be yourself when you return.”
Confusion furrowed his brow. “Who will I be?”
“Still the Dragon’s wings, perhaps. Or perhaps also the head and the claws, the teeth and sting, and the scales.”
“And the burning heart?”
Vela laughed. “Do you wish to have it all? Or will you let another be the heart?”
“What is best?”
“If I tell you the answer now,” she said in a voice still ringing with her laughter, “then you would learn nothing from your quest.”
“My mother did not stick my hand in a fire to teach me it would burn. Instead she told me it was hot, and I learned well enough.”
“That is how a child learns, young Toric.” All amusement bled from her voice. “Do you want to be a child or a man?”
His face flamed red. “A man.”
“Then be at ease. Already you learn quickly. And you are not the only one taking lessons.” Straightening, she faced Maddek and Yvenne. “So grudgingly kneels the warrior who is not yet a king.”
Maddek’s hardened jaw unclenched. “My bride will forge me into one.”
“A king is not forged as a sword is, from fire and steel. That is a warrior’s way of seeing.”
“I am a warrior still,” Maddek admitted gruffly.
“So you are . . . and also more. A warrior who is already the burning heart of a Dragon.” Her gaze shifted to Yvenne. “And you are a queen who does not yet sit on a throne—except for the throne this warrior provides for you now, made of his own flesh and blood and bone.”
Upon Maddek’s thigh. “Would you have me kneel, my lady?”
She held out her hand. “I would have you rise, daughter.”
Her fingers were icy and hard as stone when Yvenne took them, but the goddess did not help Yvenne to her feet. Instead Maddek slipped his arm beneath her knees and stood, his forearm braced against her back as he held her in a seat made of his embrace. Still serving as her throne of his flesh and blood—and rising with her, though the goddess had not instructed him to.
For the first time since the goddess had appeared, fear slipped into Yvenne’s veins. Vela was merciful and generous but could be vain and cruel—and she had little patience for the arrogance of men.
Yet his arrogance had also lifted Yvenne, so she knew not how the goddess would respond to it.
That sickle moon smile curved Vela’s lips again, but there was a sharper edge to it. “This is the one you’ve chosen, daughter?”
“He is.”
“You are brave or foolish.”
“I prefer brave.”
“As you will need to be.” Her gaze held Yvenne’s so easily. “I have a task for you.”
Unease clutched her chest. “A quest?”
Which she would accept, because those who quested for Vela received great reward—such as power to defeat sorcerers or strength enough to free a people. Yet those quests also took them on a journey from all they knew.
“Nothing so easy as a quest,” the goddess said, and Yvenne’s chest clutched ever tighter. Nothing so easy? Everyone who quested for Vela faced pain and doubt at the edge of their enduring. “And I would not see you so lonely again.”
“She would not be alone.” Maddek’s grip had tightened on her. “What is the task?”
Such coldness filled Vela’s gaze that Yvenne’s heart seemed as ice. “Do not speak to me unbidden, warrior. As you would take the tongue of my chosen for speaking what you do not wish to hear, so I would take yours—and I know not how you will be Ran and speak for all of your people if I do.”
His jaw became as stone but his burning eyes asked the same question.
Vela turned an exasperated gaze on Yvenne. “If you wished to lie beneath a man and be used as a vessel, you could have married your father’s choice.”
Toleh’s selfish lech of a king. Who would never have helped her secure her throne or have intention of killing her father.
“This is not the same.” As Vela must know, for through Yvenne’s eyes the goddess had seen all that had been done and spoken between her and Maddek. So now the goddess only poked at her would-be husband. Perhaps testing him. Yvenne was unsure of the purpose. “And he also sees to my pleasure.”
“Because his warrior’s heart perceives you as a walled city to be conquered. When you open to him, when you writhe in his arms, he believes you are defeated.”