Dragonbound: Birthrights (Book 2)

The next morning Kiaran awoke, Nurra curled up on her chest. She touched his back, waking him and he stretched like a cat before leaping away. Sitting up, she groaned as she stretched her arms.

Finally pulling herself from bed, she dressed in a simple tunic of reds with some deep blue accents. Her pants were tight to her long legs, her black boots stretching up to her knees, covered in diamond shaped black scales. As she clasped her belt around her waist, there was a knock on the door.

She answered it to find a young man bowing before her. “Your Majesty,” he said, “my father has sent me to invite you to breakfast.”

He stood, but kept his head bowed in respect. He was young, possibly just barely an adult, about sixteen years of age. It sent a painful stabbing through her heart, his downcast eyes reminding her of the last boy she had killed for Nathanial.

“Alright, thank you,” she nodded, still adjusting her belt. Nurra sat on the edge of her bed, watching them curiously. “Have you told Cyrin yet?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” he nodded.

“We will be there shortly,” she said. “Thank you.”

He bowed again and walked away. Closing the door, Kiaran moved back to her bag of belongings. Tying her sword to her belt and fixing her hair a bit, she was ready to go.

Nurra followed after her as she moved down the hall. She passed Cyrin’s door, hearing him shuffle around within his room. Nurra continued toward the dining room, Kiaran shortly behind him.

At the table sat Williem and a couple other men, both a bit older than the one who came to her door. They stood and bowed as she walked across the floor to the table. She sat and the others did the same.

“Queen Kiaran, these are my two eldest sons, Hark and Varin.” They were both tall and slender with black hair and gray eyes. She nodded in response and he said, “Perhaps after breakfast, we could show you our town.”

“I have a few things I should tend to first,” she replied.

“Oh, yes, of course, Your Highness,” Williem lowered his head.

A woman walked in quietly, keeping her head bowed as she set plates before everyone. Kiaran looked to her plate filled with eggs and bread with some fruit and jams. It smelled quite delicious.

Cyrin walked into the room, the three men standing again to show a bit of respect, though Williem’s expression seemed almost bored. He took a seat beside Kiaran and the woman rushed him a plate of food.

“Do you know who found the letter yet?” Cyrin asked at a whispered tone.

“No,” she whispered back.

“So tell us,” Williem broke in, pretending not to notice their whispering, “what is it you are needing done? Perhaps my sons could assist.”

“We can handle it ourselves,” Kiaran replied with a relaxed tone. “However, we do need to find whoever first found the letter. We have some questions about it.”

“Ah, well, the man to have found it lives on the outskirts of town. He is really quite, well...straight forward. Almost a brute, really.”

Cyrin grinned a bit; most of the people did not know Kiaran’s story. They didn’t know that she, herself, was a rather straight forward person. Kiaran noticed his grin and eyed him for a second. Facing Williem again, she said, “I can manage. Where does he live?”

He watched them for a moment and slowly said, “Hark shall lead you to his home whenever you are ready.”

After they ate, Kiaran and Cyrin had moved outside, waiting for Hark. They walked the yard, the shadows of the trees cooling them. He walked closely with his queen, his eyes alert and his expression stern.

Kiaran’s eyes shifted to him, a hint of discomfort in them. “Do you think Williem’s sons are here for me?” she asked flatly

“It is likely,” he nodded. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants you rather than his sons.”

“How stupid are they?” she shook her head. “How long do you believe he will keep this up?”

“I don’t know,” he grinned awkwardly. They came to a stop, facing each other. She could see Williem step onto the porch far behind Cyrin.

Cyrin followed her gaze over his shoulder and leaned forward a bit so his face was close to hears--easily mistaken for a kiss from a distance. His arm rested very gently over her shoulder and she flushed heavily.

"I apologize, your Highness," he said anxiously.

Kiaran’s brows lowered, and she whispered, “What do you think you're doing?"

His hand gently grasped the loose strands of her hair, his other at his side. “If this gets any more uncomfortable...” he muttered.

“I know,” she growled. Nurra chirped unhappily as he crawled across Kiaran’s feet. "I'm not going to ask again."

"I was hoping to veer him off...If he thought you already had..." Her eyes widened and his cheeks flushed very faintly.

“Sorry,” he stood back up. Williem locked eyes with her and she didn’t blink, didn’t waver under his watch, didn’t smile. She simply returned the stone gaze. “It was...a reaction.”

“An odd reaction,” she finally said. “Do you often drape yourself across women while in duress?”

"I am hardly in duress," he bit. "And no, I do not. As I said, I was hoping to put some distance between you and Varthen."

He lifted his arm, dropping to his side. “Let us go speak with this man.”

As he turned around, they faced Hark, the eldest of Williem’s sons. He bowed to them, saying, “Your Highness, I shall take you to Narkin’s house.”

“Thank you,” she replied and he stood.

They headed into town, people stopping to bow and others singing happily at her presence. No matter how long she had lived in the castle, she was always a fighter and a peasant. She was more accustomed to people looking at her with disgust and going out of their way to avoid her. She was used to dirt under her nails and tangles in her hair.

Now, her nails were often polished or painted and her hair was adorned with chains and braids and beads. Not only was she different, but others viewed her in such a way. She was viewed as their queen. Completely opposite of her life only a couple of years ago.

She smiled a bit, Cyrin catching it. Usually, Kiaran was irritated by the attention that her position gave, but it pleased her today. Just earlier, Kiaran had argued over whether or not to go by carriage. She felt that it would take away from the visit. She wanted to see all of the town and not through a small, square window.

Hark walked a few steps ahead of them to lead the way down the main road. As they reached the edge of town, he turned to face them. Hesitant, he lowered his head and asked, “Your Majesty...Are you certain you do not want a carriage or horse to reach Narkin’s house? It is a mile--”

“I’ve walked much farther,” she assured him, walking past him. He quickly looked to Cyrin who shrugged and followed after her.

The farther they walked, the heavier the air grew. Kiaran’s eyes burned and she blinked several times to try to cool them. “Are you alright?” Cyrin asked.

“Aye,” she nodded.

In the distance, masked by several young trees was a small cabin of dark wood and shaded windows. As they approached, the sound of heavy hacking filled the air as a man grunted. Thwack, and a grunt. Twack, grmh, thwack...

Hark headed toward the front door, but Kiaran stopped. “I’d assume that sound is coming from the back,” she said. “Does Narkin live with anyone?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I assume he would be in the back.”

They rounded the house to find an abnormally tall man for an Avestitian. He was built much like Brick, his muscles bulging along his neck and shoulders, his skin stained red and brown from the sun. His tan, shaggy hair framed his sweating face, sticking to his skin. A thick, long beard framed his broad jaw. He grimaced as he swung the ax down on another log, splitting it into two pieces with ease.

His brown eyes shifted to the visitors and he rested the ax on the ground, the handle still in his hand. His free hand ran over his bearded face, wiping sweat away. Most of the people in Avestitia had little to no body or facial hair, and what hair they had was black. This man was obviously not native to the country.

“Hark,” the man’s voice rumbled as he dipped his head in respect. “What brings you and the fancies out here?” he thrust a calloused hand toward them.

“Um, Narkin, this is Queen Kiaran Krutia and Sir Cyrin,” he said.

“Ah,” he let the ax drop to the tall grass as he wiped his hands on his dark pants. Bowing shortly, he said, “I am humbled.” Kiaran lowered her head for a moment as a response. When he stood back up, he asked, “What do you want?” He wasn’t rude, but wasn’t polite, either. It brought a smile on Kiaran’s face, but seemed to start a fire in Hark.

“You do not speak so--”

“It’s alright,” she flicked a hand toward Hark as she walked toward the man. “I have a few questions.”

“What about?” he replied.

“This,” she pulled the letter from her trouser pocket and handed it to him.

He looked it over, nodding his head slowly. Grunting, he handed it back and picked up his ax again. “What questions you got for it? I can’t read it.”

“Likely you can’t read at all--” Hark cut his sentence short as Kiaran shot him a deadly glare.

Slowly facing Narkin again, she said, “I am sorry. I didn’t realize my escort had such a mouth.” He shrugged, flashing a conceded grin at him. “I was curious where you found this letter.”

He jabbed a thumb through the air, gesturing to the thick forest behind him. “I was out there one eve, looking for some paths from deer, ’bout to go hunting the next day. I was walking and found a little dragon, freshly dead, too.” He glanced to Nurra who slinked through the grass just past Kiaran, sniffing the air. “Yeah, about that size,” he pointed to the gray dragon. “But it had both its wings and the scales were more green than gray.”

“Do you happen to remember where the dragon was?” she pressed.

“Aye,” he nodded. He tossed the ax aside once more and said, “Shall I show you?”

“Absolutely,” she nodded.

Kiaran and Cyrin followed the man into the forest, their stride unwavering. Hark, however, was faulty, hesitant, and uncoordinated on the unlevel ground. Again, Kiaran’s eyes burned, more intensely at this point. She rubbed the heal of her hand against her closed eyes, growling a bit under her breath.

“What is wrong, your Highness?” Hark asked.

“My eyes are burning. Probably nothing,” she grunted.

Finally, they broke from the thick trees to a small area large enough for them to stand without touching each other or any branches. There was a ledge of shale rock like rippled stone, standing only a few feet tall. Narkin gestured to the small platform of moss, saying, “That’s where the little thing lied. The note was clutched in its claws. Wasn’t tied to it like birds--it held it of its own will.”

Kiaran blinked away the fiery, burning sensation as she stepped closer. Suddenly, there was such a burst of pain across her pupils that she doubled over, her hand shooting to her face. Growling off the pain that was subsiding, she stood back up. The men watched her in alarm and she said, “I’m fine.”

Her gaze moved over the area, seeing colors she had never fathomed before. The veins in the leaves above them seemed to have a strange color near pink or purple, but had another color--that which has never been seen by humans. She continued to look about in awe and the men nearly gasped.

“Kiaran, your eyes,” Cyrin hesitated.

“Yes,” she smiled, her gaze landing on some Draken scripture on the shale rock.

"They're so red," he continued.

She waved him down, narrowing her eyes on the runes.

Warning. We are hurt. You are wounded. All will die. Her heart raced as she took a step toward it. Touching her fingers to the runes written in blue fire, she let a breath escape her parted lips. Clenching her teeth together tightly, she straightened back up and leapt atop the rock. Narrowing her eyes, she could see the forty foot shale wall just past a small line of trees. Written much larger was another warning: A King’s blood and a Queen’s desperation...

Slowly breathing in, she closed her eyes and waited. She waited for the fire to fade away, allowing her eyes to burn more normally. Now, they simply burned as if she had water in them.

Blinking quickly, she opened her eyes and faced the men. Looking to Narkin, she said, “Thank you, this was exactly what I needed.” Then, she faced the others, saying, “We may return.”

Once they had returned to Williem’s home, he had announced that the veterans of Trinelim have prepared something for Kiaran if she wished to see them. Without hesitation, she agreed. They were the men who fought for the kingdom, the men who deserved her attention.

Finding it to be an important ceremony, Kiaran had dressed nicely, wearing her red and black dress, her high healed shoes, and some simple, gold jewelry She adjusted her hair and applied some flower scented perfume. Soon, she met with Cyrin—who also looked rather nice—and the other men of the house, including the young boy.

She hadn't the time to fully explain everything to Cyrin, but she did tell him what she had read. He was just as equally confused as she was about it.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the park where many people had gathered. There was a stone stage for such gatherings, a row of men standing upon it. They played instruments softly, one of the men sang over the music to the crowd. Everyone was adorned in their nicest clothes and prettiest hair. They sang along, some swaying with calm expressions.

The man stopped singing as another man, much older, reached the stage. He was hunched over, his hands grasping a handsome staff of polished, silver wood. His eyes were crowned in thick, gray brows as he looked over everyone. He wore his old uniform, his helmet tucked beneath one arm. The people silenced with a fist over their hearts and their heads bowed.

“I am Captain Markin Veretta,” he began, his voice surprisingly strong for his physical appearance. Kiaran smiled a bit. “I’ve fought for Queen Krutia, and the King before her.” The people smiled and agreed in hushed tones. “Now, I have the privilege of seeing the next queen before I leave this drasted world.” He doubled over, bowing low in Kiaran’s presence as he held a hand toward her. Everyone followed his hand and once finding her, they bowed as well.

Kiaran followed Williem’s suggestion and stepped onto the platform with the man and band. Everyone’s eyes were on her, silent as to see what she might say. “I am honored that you accept me as you have my mother and father before me,” she finally said. Cyrin nodded in acceptance of her response

“Your Highness,” a second man in armor appeared, bowed as well. He carried a long, decorated box, handing it to General Veretta.

“We have this for you, if you’ll accept,” Veretta began. He opened the box as he knelt on one knee, the other man doing the same. “I, Markin Veretta, and my grandson, Hemin Veretta, swear fealty to you, our Queen Kiaran Krutia. We are honored and humbled by your presence, and may we never be swayed against you.”

Hesitant, Kiaran took the sword, her eyes glancing to Cyrin. He gestured for her to touch the blade to the tops of their heads, and she did so. “I apologize I have not learned much about this,” she said, “But I accept your fealty full heartedly. You’ve done my parents right, General Veretta. I expect the same from your grandson.”

They beamed, even as they kept their faces turned down. She could feel their pride and happiness swell within them like a glass brimming with froth of a beer. Once she had placed the sword in the box, she told them to rise and Veretta said, “On behalf of Trinelim, we bestow this sword to you, Queen Kiaran Krutia, so that you might remember this little town. It was used by General Hanslin many years ago. He killed hundreds of men to protect this town, and we wish for you to have it.”

“I don’t need an item to remind me of whom I protect and cherish,” she replied firmly, but with a gentle tone. Everyone watched her in awe as she took the box. Lowering her head, she said, “But I am humbled that you would go through the lengths.”

Music swarmed the center of the city as the people danced and laughed. The sun was lowering and a few men had lit some lanterns throughout the square. Kiaran sat beneath a beautiful pavilion, Cyrin on one side and Williem on the other, though Cyrin thought he was unworthy. Several people had lined up to see the queen, bowing to her and offering nothing but their gratitude and happiness.

As the night grew late, they were ready to head back, though the people continued their celebration. The people parted a pathway for their queen, tossing petals to the grass as she and Nurra walked ahead of her companions. The crowd sang sweetly as she left.

Not far down the road, a dirt covered girl wearing rags stood near a small house. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen, yet she held an infant against her breast. Her dark gray eyes stared widely at Kiaran as they neared her on the street.

She quickly rushed to the side of the road out of their way, her bare feet padding on the stone. Kiaran’s heart sank a bit for the girl, seeing her in rags whereas she ate feasts each night.

Before they bypassed the girl, she heard a derogatory slur from Williem’s mouth. The girl’s brows creased and she lowered her head, her grasp tightened on the child. Kiaran whipped around, her eyes digging into Williem with such ferocity that Cyrin could have sworn he’d be lit ablaze.

“You seem to forget, Williem,” Kiaran began.

“Here we go,” Cyrin sighed quietly as he stepped aside, taking the box with the sword from her.

The girl watched them with wide, scared eyes. “What have I forgotten, My Lady? That a girl-mother who has no father for her infant should be washed with luxuries and given everything she needs to live? There is a reason for one to wed before having children--”

“You--” she paused, her brows drawing low; the torch nearby glinted off her brow ring. “You realize who Ritiann Krutia was before she was queen?” He frowned, knowing he was about to step foot someplace very dark and scary on his part. “And do you realize who I was before I came to Avestitia? We were dirty. We were abused. We were abandoned and poor and filthy and everything which you despise.” Her voice was harsh and stern, but was still filled with warmth.

“If you met me two years ago, I’d appear worse than this girl,” she spat. “I’d seem nothing more to you than a dirt stain in society.” She ripped her gold chain off and held it out toward the girl. She gasped, hesitant to react, but quickly snatched it away.

“I had no gold,” Kiaran barked, removing her piercings from her nose and brow. “I had no wealth." She yanked rings off her fingers, tossing them all at the girl’s feet. “I was nothing but filth.”

With that, she ripped out any gold or silver that was in her hair, flicking it at Williem’s feet. “All you would have seen were rags and blood,” she added, tearing the outer layer of her dress. She was unable to contain herself any longer. She despised Williem.

“Your Maj--”

“Shut up,” she hissed and his face grew hot with anger. “You are why I hate the world, Williem. It is so full of hate and selfishness that it is not worth living in.” She looked to the girl and the infant, saying, “Take this gold and do with it as you will.”

The girl thanked her over and over as she picked it all from the stone road. Kiaran turned on her heals and marched back toward the mansion.

Cyrin rushed after her, baffled by her outburst. “You’ve proven your heart is stronger than most,” he said.

“I don’t need to prove fact,” she barked. “You can see anything in someone's eyes. He is a monster. I’ve known it from the beginning.”