A Ballad of the Sun and the Moon

Chapter 16

A key element about meetings where plots are orchestrated against the rulers of a people is that they are secret. Scribes are not present nor are records kept. Deals are made in whispers and agreed upon with silent handshakes. Depending on the character of those involved, the place in which the meeting is held might be a consequential clue to devious schemes.

An unknown room, in an anonymous house happened to contain both an ominous setting and traitorous players.

Six council members sat around a lone, deceitful candle on the bare floor. The walls were of thick stone and beyond them the infinite earth. Not a single window, nor door was lodged in the walls, for it was a place of betrayal, a place of secret control, a place for men. A tiny hatch on the ceiling permitted the entrance of small items such as a knife or a rope or the aforementioned candle flickering nefarious shadows across the gloomy space and conspiritous faces.

"The survival of our species is paramount," announced Grady as if the speaker of a political rally. He was naked, like all the men there.

"Kimber Langford has neglected his duties for far too long. He is twenty-seven as of last week and still has yet to take a mate. Even his father had a woman with child before that age."

Disgruntled murmurs filled the dark and the light of the candle trembled.

Their hypocrisy seemed to elude them, as many present were older than the Earl and still unmarried.

"His Gifts cannot be wasted," continued Grady. "He must be mated to the Alpha female of the tribe, hastily, if not sooner. His offspring are tantamount to our continuation."

"Aye," the others agreed in unison.

"Gentlemen,the choice is clear," said Grady, pausing for emphasis. "My sister has been the most dominant female for years, with not even a close contending rival."

Devon Rickman spoke next, contrasting Parish's ardor with doubt. "He won't agree to it so easily," he said. "He still pines after the Williams girl, convinced she can make the change, blinded by his own hubris."

"Even though we know her possession of Gifts to be untrue," added Adam Richards with a scoff.

"Aye. The issue of Sunniva Williams must be rectified," interjected Grady, "for the good of the drákon."

Another round of agreement echoed through the room.

"What do you suggest?" piped up Theodore Henry.

"She must be rendered unavailable."

The realization of what that meant cultivated like a weed through the room that no one wished to pluck.

"The Jones' have two sons of age," offered Anton Larousse finally. The Jones family was notoriously poor and had little social standing. A perfect match for an even poorer, halfing woman. "A swift marriage to-"

Grady broke him off. "Don't be a fool" he snapped. "It would take too long and it would be too dangerous to explain what is at stake. If either of those boys failed in their courtship – or betrayed us – the results could be catastrophic to us all. It must be someone in this room. It must be done quickly and discreetly and such that neither our decision nor collusion has a chance to escape."

The men looked from face to face, none of them yielding.

Grady's voice grew to a contrived grave. "Our kind is in peril. Never before has there been so reckless an Alpha as Christoph Langford. He permits his women freedoms which threaten their very safety as if not realizing their value. His wife and daughters frequent London where their well-being cannot be guaranteed. He allows his female offspring to choose their mates. Fortunate for the eldest to have chosen well, the younger has fallen in love with a cripple who cannot fly. And his heir appears to be following in his footsteps, just as irresponsible."

He cocked his head allowing a calculated look of sympathy spreading from chin to hairline. "You five sitting here, are the greatest our kind has left. Legacies, each and every one of you. I understand, what asking you to cheapen your bloodline means. Diluting the power our fathers and grandfather's worked so hard to propagate is not something easily given up. But we must make sacrifices for the good of our kind."

Despite his compelling oration, he was met with muted tongues.

"Are there are to be no volunteers?"

"What if the Alpha objects to the marriage?" questioned Marcus Danks.

"Once the deed is done, once she is bound there is naught he can do to interfere. Our laws dictate-"

"And his heir?" interrupted Larousse. "If he challenges for an annulment?"

Another round of 'ayes', this out of concern for an answer. There was a scent of fear in the stale air at mention of Kimber Langford.

Annulment was, among the drákon, a polite term for fight-to the-death when mates were contested.

"I vow to stand behind any one of you, should the Dreaded Night retaliate. We must all stand behind whoever makes this sacrifice. Because we are the only thing that stands between survival and oblivion. Kimber Langford can't challenge us all."

"What about the Alpha? If Lord Langford objects and throws behind his son?"

"Lord Langford is not as strong as he used to be. And we have more support than you realize. If Lord Langford objects, then perhaps a new Alpha is in order."

****

As if in competition Winter had come as bitter as the Summer had been hot. With the severity of a blasting furnace gales of biting cold hounded the shire unrelenting.

Sunniva's excursions to the woods had ceased completely, the extreme temperature too unpleasant. She sat glued to her chair in front of the hearth, arms wrapped around herself clutching a shawl, eyes lit by the bustling flames before her. A time ago she would have been angered by the thought that Kimber's words – then meant to be cruel – had merit; it was ruddy cold in here, and his bed now held a certain appeal.

When the first knock came she cast out her senses. What is he doing here? She saw no reason to answer the door though she knew he was aware of her presence.

A second knock came which she deigned to answer as well. The visitor shifted his weight elliciting a creak from the front porch's wooden floor and then another creak from the door's hinges.

Niva's eyes went big when the visitor entered and she craned her head to glimpse him.

"I wasn't aware that a closed door and lack of acknowledgment meant 'welcome, do come in' in Darkfrith."

"Miss Williams," greeted Theodore Henry. He wore a gentleman's top hat and a thick Ulster coat extending down to his knees. He removed both and hung them on wooden pegs jutting out of the wall next to the door.

Like all the councilmen, Niva had burnt his memory into her thoughts; golden hair with threads of copper, eyes of sugar grey. She hadn't had contact with him or the other council members since long ago when she was summoned, but she had remember each and every one of their dastard faces.

"What do you want?" Niva asked, turning back to the flames.

Henry pulled up her chair's twin and sat down next to her. He straightened his spine and ran a palm down the length of his trousers.

"I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced, Miss Williams. My name is-"

"I know just fine who you are," interrupted Niva tartly.

"Well, then that saves us that."

"Why are you here Mr. Henry?"

He lifted his chin and raised his brows. "I've come to ask for your hand in marriage."

Niva looked him the eye for the first time since he'd stepped into her home and let out a mocking laugh.

"You? Don't be ridiculous," she gibed.

He was visibly insulted. His eyes tightened into a odious squint, his lips twisting foul. He straightened his lapels as if to compose himself before speaking. His hands, somewhat stiffer than before, found a place on the arm rests of his chair.

"Miss Williams you should be pleased with the proposal. I'm a man of means with considerable standing in the council. I'm from a strong bloodline. You'd want for nothing, Miss Williams."

"And you're clearly a romantic," she furthered with a curl to the corners of her mouth.

Henry pursed his lips. "This is no jesting matter," he lectured, his tone stern. "You are a woman of twenty-six-"

"Twenty seven," she corrected with a rectifying finger.

"Twenty seven," he continued. "And still unwed. I am aware that you've lived with Others most of your life, but here things are done differently."

Niva leaned forward and began stoking the fire with a poker. Sparks flew as she prodded a large log that had caught but was not yet aflame.

"And what does the Alpha think of this?"

"He thought it would be in everyone's best interest."

Sunniva turned her head toward him in disbelief. She was met with unflinching eyes and a severe mouth. If he was lying then it certainly came easy to him.

"The council," he continued, "has decided it time you took a husband. We've agreed you're too old to remain here unwed in your father's cottage and that a match between us would be appropriate."

"No," she said firmly, looking back into the flames.

Theodore Henry paled a bit. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I do not consent."

"Irrelevant Miss Williams. This isn't a question. Nor a negotiation."

"I staved off the Alpha. What makes you think-"

"Alpha heir," corrected Henry.

"Of course," she mockingly acknowledged. "What makes you think I can't stave you off, too?"

His corners of his mouth twitched downward.

"Perhaps the Alpha's son lacks determination and conviction," he retorted.

"Not in the slightest." Niva's lips twitched a bit.

"If that is what you think, then perhaps you still don't know the slightest about our kind."

He slung a calf over his knee, placing his clasped fingers atop it.

"You'll find that when need be we are willing to do anything and everything to secure the tribe's survival. That means ensuring that everyone fulfills their role." There was an undecipherable resolution to his eyes, a determined slant to his mouth. "It would be easiest if you realized that this is best for everyone."

Henry cleared his throat once and loosened his cravat, pulling his chin upwards. "Now," he began with a new, dangerous tone, "kindly go to the bedroom and remove your clothes."

She stood up slowly and faced him, feet planted and posture enlarged. "Get out, you disgusting lizard," she said with as much venom she could muster.

Henry snickered and let his head lop to the side. Tired of her snide remarks and crude behavior, he decided to get this over with using his fake amusement and lax posture as a diversion to grab Sunniva by surprise. He dug his fingers into her writs and when she jerked dug in harder, using her recoil to pull himself to his feet.

He felt a violent fist meet his cheek and threw the back of his free hand against her face in retaliation. It subdued her somewhat, her arm increasing in slack and head teetering from side to side. He'd hit her hard enough to convey his conviction, yet not enough to inflict permanent damage; she was still conscious after all, she would be fine.

He had agreed to marry the Williams girl and had bargained shrewdly with his conspirators for this sacrifice. Grady would pay him in tracts of land, Larouse with a few of his own special family gems and the others had only been able to offer silver – varying amounts every year till their deaths.

But there was no pleasure in taking a woman who could hardly be considered a drákon even with the riches he would acquire. She was a burden, a distraction that had to be dealt with. And because of her stubbornness she was forcing his brutal hand. Very well. If that's what she required for the good of the tribe.

He'd make it quick, not entirely pleased with the prospect of her as a wife. A few quick thrusts, and they would be mated. Once she was bred and his there would be time for her to come to terms with the facts. He just had to get her there.

With one hand still on her wrist and the other gripping her neck he tried towards the bedroom only making it as far as a small corridor, her resistance still a significant hurdle. To his surprise she wasn't giving him as fierce a fight as he'd expected with no more kicks or punches, but she still pulled away. There was at least strength to her.

Her face contorted and her eyes became blank as if her thoughts were somewhere else. But then they flashed and he knew the truth that everyone had failed to see. Everyone but the Alpha heir.

Theodore Henry was a dutiful man, and duty dictated that he bring her this very moment to the Alpha, inform the council, and insist on a hasty marriage with Kimber Langford.

But he began to wonder why the heir to the tribe was owed her. Kimber Langford had insisted from the beginning that she could Turn, proving he knew what she was. He'd been aware for too long and left her here unbred and unprotected, while still staking a claim to her. He'd forsaken his responsibility and wasn't deserving of a dragon.

Besides, Henry was smart and cunning and came from a strong line. Why shouldn't he be the one to have her? He was as good as any Alpha, willing to sacrifice everything for his people. He deserved an Alpha female. He greeted the savage beast unfurling its wings, allowing the creature within to take full control.

He needed to hold her, grip her, force her to him, spread her legs and make her submit. She was his. His!

He'd make her his.

He retreated to the front room and slammed her over the top of a table, deeming his need too urgent, a bed too superfluous – and too far away. She seemed to allow him. He convinced himself his demonstration of might had swayed her to their coupling. Alpha mates with Alpha.

He relished the idea of entering her, of spilling his seed inside her making certain she belonged to him. A dragon-woman. His dragon-woman. He'd have to be quick not willing to risk someone else learning her secret. He would have time to enjoy her later.


Sunniva ignored the sensation of unsanded wood, grinding splinters jabbing her cheek and focused on the attacker at her hind.

It was a painful truth how strong dragon men were. Fast as well. Henry kicked her legs wider, then released one of her arms, the grip on the other growing even tighter to hold her in place. He hiked up her skirts, piling the fabric over her buttocks and backside and as soon as she was exposed to him began fumbling at his waist line.

Sunniva had warned him with her eyes, wondering how devoted of a councilman he truly was. But it had only spurred him on. She'd have to Turn.

Likely, she'd only get one good chance to maim him. He might be stronger in a fight, but he wouldn't be intent on damaging her. He'd proven that when he had struck her. But he wouldn't be prepared for what she could do as dragon. She'd have to Turn.

It sadly became a simple choice: rape now by this stranger, or in the marriage bed by Kimber. At least she found pleasure in Kimber's touch.

She would have to Turn.

"I'll kill you," Niva snarled as her attacker pulled down his trousers freeing his erection. She felt it slithering over her backside, poking and prodding, trying to find her entrance.

It wasn't even a decision. She rejoiced as the terrible dragon took control scorching her skin away.


When Theodore Henry reached back to grip the Williams woman he felt the oddest of sensations in his hand. The scent of sulfur and burnt fabric and blistering flesh stung his olfactory senses as his back slammed into something very hard knocking the breath from his lungs.


As smoke, dragons didn't have a front nor a back. They didn't have a head or a tail. They were simply a diaphanous cloud without shape or substance. A learned skill of Turning from smoke -or in Sunniva's case fire - to dragon, was pulling that in-between phase together such that they were facing a practical direction. Young dragons sometimes formed upside down or sideways and had to either correct for it or return to smoke and try again.

Niva had planned to be facing him, ready to snatch his head in her jaws, but she'd been too unpracticed and too hurried to manage. The table she'd been sprawled over was crushed to splinters and Henry was now behind her, back pressed against a thick beam framing the front door. She had no time to turn so she lashed out at him instead with her tail. She felt the barbs plunge into wood, wondering if they first had pierced flesh and bones.

When she looked behind her a nobleman's livery clung to the wall and the pellucid cloud that was Theodore Henry had become drifted out from the silk garment. Sunniva yanked her tail out, pulling split boards and shredded cloth with it and wound her tail back at the ready.

He'd likely not Turn to dragon in the house; the space was barely enough for Sunniva. Instead he billowed around as smoke, touching her in intimate places.

Disgusted Niva tried to beat her wings to break him up. Her barbed tips grazed the wall scouring deep grooves. It certainly seemed to deter him and he began to seep outside.

Outside.

If he was waiting for her as dragon she would be at a disadvantage.

She filled her lungs with air fueling the fire in her belly, willing it to catch and consume her. It didn't work. She tried again to Turn to flame, fear beginning to culminate. Still, nothing happened.

But she had to get outside. Quickly.

She twisted her head and closed her jaws around the main beam of the roof. The wood snapped at the first heave and the roof collapsed upon her. When she crawled from the rubble she trailed straw thatching behind.

The smell of her own blood was unmistakable. A gash about the length of a fence iron oozed blood from her left hind leg. Adrenaline masked the pain. It wasn't important now, Theodore Henry's location more pressing.

She cast her senses out looking for him. He'd not gone far. Just ahead drifted a cloud of smoke down the snow-covered path leading away from the remains of her cottage.

What is he up to, she thought, wondering when he would Turn. The notion to follow him crossed her mind, harass him with beating wings until she realized he remained as smoke because taking form would likely be fatal. She had struck him.

As smoke, dragons didn't feel cold because they had no nerves, didn't bleed cause they had no blood. And they didn't feel pain because they had no body to be damaged.

Triumph turned to panic as his speed picked up in the direction of the village. She couldn't be sure of his plans, but of one thing she was certain; the members of the council had colluded without the knowledge of the Alpha. What other sinister plots might they concoct?

Even if he couldn't speak, even if he died the second he became human, questions would arise. Henry hadn't come her coincidentally. It had been planned. When the injured councilman was found there was no doubt they would know to come for her.

Niva's conclusions kept circling back to the same. Chains, containment, some man's bed. At this point, whose bed was irrelevant. A comfortable prison with Kimber was still a prison. And with the knowledge of what she was, the council would likely insist Kimber do everything expected of an Alpha, everything he was trying let her come to terms with in her own time.

Above, the clouds were thick, heavy with snow; below, the ground already covered in crystalline white. The sun had yet to set and would be up for another two hours, Niva guessed. All that planning and waiting only to be given a snowball's chance in hell. Or whatever the opposite of that was.

Now or never. Those were her choices.

With her leg bleeding it would be difficult to cover her scent. She could use what little light she had to mask herself, but the blood would still leave a trail. There was little she could do about it now. It would likely coagulate soon.

In this weather with visibility poor there were certainly other drákon in flight. Men taking the opportunity to stretch their wings would be concentrated over the village. If she wished to ultimately fly south she'd have to give the shire a wide berth costing her too much precious time. North would send her to Scotland but would leave her cornered at its coast. The passage there across the North sea to Norway was far too great to travel in one day and she wasn't familiar with the harboring isles to hop and skip across the water.

West presented the most sensible direction, taking her to Ireland and giving her a few more minutes of sunlight. There she could safely move South and eventually East, back into and through England, then on to the rest of Europe.

Sunniva lifted her head high. Henry was out of sight and sense now, with no telling how long it would take till the other drakes arrived.

She spread her wings and tested their might. Like a broken limb freshly healed after being kept immobile for a time, the joints at her back felt stiff and unresponsive. The wound in her haunch burned as warm blood slid over cold scales leaving drops of crimson in the snow. She used her three working legs to sprint forward and leap upwards, frantically beating her pitiful wings.

Her breath drew painfully heavy and that once pleasant ache of animal muscle testing it's limits only seemed to weigh her down.

After a moment of near crippling doubt she began to finally gain altitude. She tipped her wings and changed the stroke to a sweeping curl so, instead of a vertical ascent, began an angled crawl forward and up towards the firmament.

The air was becoming heavy the further she rose, the bottom tips of the clouds like a sheet of ice over a pond. In her condition she wouldn't be able to puncture the clouds. She straightened out, determined to remain as high as possible.

The first dragon approached just before the border. He'd swept down from the North in an arc, wings wide as he flew towards her. He was a rich hazel brushed with speckles of orange, not much larger than she was.

Niva thought he'd been drawn to the blood, but realized, as he drifted well below her, that he was a guard running a routine pattern.

Her relief shifted to panic when a bead of blood collected on the top of her foot and threatened a revealing spill to the earth. She clenched her teeth and tuck her foot painfully close, a pool of fresh red blending with dark cruor in the half-webs between her toes.

They criss-crossed and Niva, unseen, allowed herself a grin as the guard coasted away to the South following the strict outline of the shire.

She looked back at that prison. At that place that had been her home for longer than any other. She thought of her father who'd risked, since her conception, everything for her freedom yet was left there alone and with a heart of boundless emptiness. She thought of Zoe her dear friend, due to be punished by her departure and the strident rules that governed their kind. And she thought of Kimber.

Niva wasn't sure what to think about him. He'd lied to and tricked and seduced her and it was because of him she'd been imprisoned in the first place. He had announced a claim to her, demanding she was his, as if she were chattel. He did all that because it was expected of him, yet in his ultimate duty he'd resisted. He was a victim of that place just as any other there. Helpless? Certainly not. But a victim nonetheless. Like a king whose rule was only as absolute as his supporters permitted, so too was an Alpha's sovereignty. He couldn't defy them all alone.

And that night at the wedding when his defiance had become clear, hope opened her heart. Had he done it for her or was it his own desire to change their ways? It hardly mattered now.

He'd showed her kindness and caring and a tenderness that even she didn't posses. The memory of his embrace warmed her against the chill as she braced the inclement weather. She almost wished to look back and find that dreadful shadow trailing her tail.

Was this what freedom had once felt like? It had been so long she couldn't remember.

She stretched her head forward and pushed on.

The pressure in the sky began to build pushing Niva further down. The bleeding from her leg had stopped, the pool of blood gathered between her digits frozen. She let her leg hang partially limp. The first flurries streamed over her scales brushing her in flecks of cold, unpleasant but not unbearable.

But then the skies released their furry.

Thick onslaughts of fat ice flakes pelted her skin and clawed at her eyes. The sudden squall tossed her to the left so she angled hard to the right to correct for it. She held it for a solid minute until the burn in her muscles became too great and she had to give.

The sky had become a sea of blinding white too thick to see – apart from her own smoky breath before her. Sunniva felt something scrape at her wings like the bristle of a brush and in a urgent response to grim imaginations used what energy she could muster to beat her wings. She gained a few meters in altitude, then dropped again feeling the pricks on her underside. They were trees, she realized, not ghosts or goblins or even dragons; sharp, unforgiving tree tops.

She'd have to Turn lest the storm impale her on a branch. She needed to get higher into safety, but couldn't manage, her withered muscles a devastating betrayal. She let herself dissolve to flame – a feat she had been unable to do a mere hour ago. No longer feeling the ruthless jaws of the frost she tried again to rise above the piney pinnacles, but the storm still blew her down, down into the forest.
The frigid cold and savage wind threatened to tear her apart, despite her attempt to hold the fire together. She fought and fought, but the fatigue finally won, the option between survival and death simple. If she didn't take a solid form immediately, she'd dissipate and extinguish.

The deep snow cushioned her fall, though it still was hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Sunniva drew up on her hands and knees willing herself to stand. Uncontrollable shivers avalanched through her bones, the cold determined to finish what the trees and fall had failed to do.

Darkness descended on her eyes, a strangely pleasant relief from the burning canvas of white, until the blackness shrank inward, sapping the last of her strength.

Odd, she thought, death is a freedom in its own way.