🐲 Dragon and Phoenix (Path of Light and Fire Book #2) (Completed) 🐲

Chapter 16

I should have killed the Chanyu for suggesting this nonsense.

Yulan shivered under his blankets and rolled over on the hard mattress. The rough bedding chafed his skin and he scratched his back. It was a hard night, made even more difficult by the lack of companionship.

He lodged in his own tent, made for one person. It held an oaken chair, a small wooden table and a lumpy mattress. A white and black spotted fur cloak draped over the chair and a domed hat sat on the table. Berius's ngulu leaned against the table, wrapped in a sling given to him by the Chanyu.

"Who would know if you summoned the Blood?" The voices asked.

Yulan sat up in his bed and stretched. "I would know. I am stronger than these savages think."

"Do not be fooled by his words. He seeks to use you, just like everyone else."

Yulan nodded. There was something here he was missing. He would play the Chanyu's game until he figured it out.

He slid into his loincloth and smoothed out the plumes. Next, he strapped on his boots.

Off from under the blankets, goosebumps prickled his skin and he shivered. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one he hadn't experienced until he came here. Sweoti was always warm. Even Cold Cycle could not tame the country of Yua.

He wrapped the cloak around his form and tossed Berius's ngulu over his back. Then he stared at the hat. It did not sit comfortable on his head, but it was warm. He sighed and pushed it on as far as it would go. Then he tied the thick cloth over his mouth.

Darkness leaked through the bottom of the tent, and the rest of Rwabu slept, but Yulan could not. He walked outside and looked around the moonlight camp.

It was quiet.

They sleep without a care as my Wing suffers untold horrors.

Berius was the closest thing he had to a brother and the man had betrayed him for some blood feud of generations past. Yet these people, they intermingled without as much as a stolen glare.

They refuse to understand the true nature of the world.

He walked through the camp, gazing at the stars that twinkled in the sky. The starlight blanketed the ground, giving the ice the illusion of precious jewels. It was beautiful.

The beauty did not hold his attention long. His thoughts returned to the ugar that took his Wing. They were not an enemy he could overwhelm into submission. The Wastelands used tricks of the mind that he could not defeat. Yet one thing nagged at him.

Why did they want to kill me in the Wastelands?

It wasn't the blood of Yua. They could have taken anyone for that. Was it his Serien powers?

Yua was the first Serien of fire and it stood to reason that he descendant could be one. He father hadn't been enamored with the idea.

"You are no Serien, Yulan," King Yua said. "You are the Reincarnation of Yua. You will be master of all that Yua owns. Do not let Ira fill your head with nonsense."

"She says she was a Serien," Yulan said. "She says it is my duty."

"You are no hero, Yulan."

Yulan sighed. "Your father is right. You are no hero, Yulan. You could not even protect your Wing."

He shuddered and this wasn't from the cold. His nostrils recalled his Wing's charred flesh and his ears buzzed with the sizzling of his skin. And there was something else. He strained his ears.