The Blood King - Chapter Fifteen (Patreon)

Nymira

“Nymira! Nymira? Where are you?” I hear the panicked scream of my mother, but it doesn’t outweigh the booming sounds coming from outside. I close my eyes, squeezing my hands over my ears as tears stream down my face. Our home once again quakes with the thundering attack, and I don’t know where it is coming from. I’ve never heard it before. But it shakes the ground in a way I’ve never felt before.

As another boom echoes through my covered ears, I scream. Suddenly, my hands are pulled away from my ears as I am yanked from under the bed.

“Nymira, what are you doing? Did you not hear me calling you?” my mother shouts at me. I can’t see her face. It is a blur, but I know that she has a panicked expression as she drags me out of my room.

“Tikaani, Vit!” she shouts, just a loud roar echoes overhead. It’s coming from outside, and it’s so loud, it shakes our home, vibrating deep in my chest until it forces a scream of terror from my throat.

~

I jolt awake with a loud gasp. My heart is still beating ferociously in my chest as I blink rapidly in an attempt to reorient myself. It was just a dream—a memory maybe. The burn on my shoulder pulses in discomfort as I try to actively remember anything else from that moment, and I have to place my hand over it to soothe myself. But nothing else comes to mind. I don’t even remember living through that moment. I’ve never dreamt of my past before. I didn’t know that I had one. Especially one like that. It opens a door to questions I have no answers for.

I always knew my tribe was wiped out as a result of the war, but I thought that somehow, my brother and I had escaped. That is how I ended up with Peyra. It never occurred to me that I was very cognizant during whatever happened.

I groan as my discomfort rises, noting how weak I feel as I try to sit up. The first thing I notice is that I am not in the chambers I’ve been staying in. This room is much more elegant, clearly built for the previous king. But it has been covered with objects belonging to its current occupant. Chests with furs draped over them sit in the corners, and weapons that hold crests I am unfamiliar with are also lined on the walls. And there is a map near the far side of the room. It is clearly not the layout of this kingdom. This castle overlooks the land. In this map, the castle looks centered… and is surrounded by water.

I look away from the map as my discomfort grows and I reach up to wipe the sweat away from my brow, acknowledging how hot it is in this room. I’ve not only been laid beneath three layers of furs, but the fireplace rages, the flames licking the top of the brick from how powerful it is. It’s sweltering in here. The heat from the fireplace dances over my arms and cheeks, and as I move to push the furs, I hear the deep warble of voices on the other side of the door.

They sound angry.

I study the door, trying my best to make out what is being said, but I am weak, and it feels like I am straining just to hear the muffled pattern of their voices. I look away, placing my hand against my forehead as my headache grows. The last thing I recall is standing near the humans who followed us around the kingdom, attempting to reassure them that I am not the enemy history has painted me out to be. But Caius drew his sword and then…I gasp aloud as I recall the sound that broke through the skies. My fingers tremble, and I clutch my chest as a familiar terror captures my heart. It’s the same terror I felt in my dream—the same sound I heard in that dream.

My mind may not remember what that sound could be, but my body definitely did. It reacted in fear, releasing my power in a way I couldn’t control. As I move my hand from my forehead to push my hair out of my face, my heart stops as my attention falls to my bare arm. My brother’s necklace is no longer wrapped around my wrist. Not only is the marking I gained visible, but now another joins it as it loops further up my arm, curling near my wrist. I look back at the door in a panic, the anger of the voices making sense to me.

He knows.

The door suddenly opens, but I am across the room before whoever’s on the other side can enter. I grab the sword closest to me, moving quickly into a defensive stance, holding my blade out in front of me as I face whoever enters. I ignore the weakness in my legs, calling on the strength of my parents to guide me, if I am about to fight for my life as the shadowy figure enters.

I know instantly he is not human. He is tall—so tall he has to bend slightly as he enters the doorframe. He doesn’t wear robes, giving me the perfect view of his muscled flesh. His skin is covered in symbols that etch their way all over his otherwise milky flesh. From his fingertips, all the way up his torso, stopping at his throat. He is covered in them, clearly not only a warrior, and a leader, but an Ancient. His dark hair flows freely, falling past his waist. The strands are so dark that I am sure they absorb more light than they reflect. His face not only has sharp cheekbones and lips that are well-defined, but a dimple near his left cheek as he purses his mouth in irritation.

He is undeniably beautiful, but that is not why I’m paralyzed. It’s his eyes. They are the eyes of the devil. The area where the whites of his eyes should be is black. His iris is gray, with blood red circling it around the center.

I can’t breathe. I can barely focus as I look upon the face of this man, who is clearly an Ancient. My chest burns from lack of oxygen, and though my grip is strong on the sword, it trembles as he comes to stand over me, my mind screaming one word at me.

Evil.

“Do you really think you can take me, Ikniri? You’ve lost each time,” he says, his dimple deepening with each word he speaks. I am shocked. I know this voice. I know this scent. But combining it with this face…this Ancient, it is somehow much more sinister. I once again recognize the feeling rushing through me. It is the same I had in my dream, and in the square.

It is fear.

I can’t speak, and he knows it. He angles his head slightly as he studies me, face-to-face for the first time.

“You made quite a scene down there,” he says. “People of this kingdom are traveling miles and miles to see the ice structure the Ikniri made,” he says.

He takes a step closer to me, and my body reacts instinctually, my grip tightening as I aim the blade closer to his throat, moving with him. I am glad that my instincts haven’t failed me so much that I can’t protect myself. His eyes darken as he looks at the blade.

“You should put that away before someone gets hurt,” he says. His eyes illuminate slightly, and I swear I hear a growl vibrating from deep within his chest as he takes another step. “And it won’t be me.”

I still don’t move. I keep the blade in front of me to protect myself. He is my enemy. My mind screams at me, begging to run. It ignores everything he has done for me because I now know what he is. He is the only Ancient Peyra warned me about, the only one we were desperate to avoid.

A Dragonborn.

I don’t know his allegiance, or if he plans to turn me in to the blood king himself. I have been taught my entire life to never trust a Dragonborn. They are the cause of this war and the destruction of my people. Even if it was led by someone else.

He narrows his gaze when I don’t move, taking a deep breath. Instead of releasing it immediately, he lifts his chin, his chest rising before a thick smog escapes his lips. I gasp as it quickly covers the room, and before I can think to hold my breath, I take it in.

“Ngh,” I groan as my muscles relax, and my legs give out beneath me. He watches with a frightening expression as I collapse, the loud clatter of the sword accompanying my quick fall. My eyes feel heavy, and I can barely move. Once he’s sure I am no longer a threat, he approaches.

I can barely focus on the sound of his footsteps as my heart outweighs the sound. I fight my tears as much as I can, my eyes watering. But I cannot stop them. I have no control over my body. They roll down my cheeks as he places his hands beneath my legs and lower back, lifting me from the ground.

His chest is warm, mimicking the flames behind us as he moves me to the bed. I am suddenly extremely resentful of Peyra. How did she ever expect me to protect myself from a dragonborn? Two seconds in his presence, and he’s already neutralized me.

He is surprisingly gentle as he lays me on the bed, pulling the furs over me. He’s keeping me weak. He knows that it is too warm for my body type.

“Unable to hide, unable to produce your power, and unable to defend yourself against hedon,” he says, wiping my tears away. His devilish glare chills me to my bones as it moves down my body, resting on my arm. He reaches for me, his fingertips scalding as they trace the newest marking.

“This feeling you’re having, this…fear is only natural. Your body is reacting instinctively to what you cannot fight against. But do not fret. I have no intention of killing you. Not even after that small display,” he says, laughing.

“If only you knew how pathetic this is,” he taps my markings, shaking his head before looking at me. “You are more useful to me alive than dead at this point. And you are so lucky we properly investigated your claims of growing up in a forest,” he says.

I try to speak, but my throat won’t constrict. I am at his mercy, my trembling breath the only thing I can get out. But he knows I am trying to speak, and he knows exactly what I want to ask.

“I wanted to be sure before I revealed myself to you. Of all of your naivety, I am sure you at least know of the history between Ikniri and Dragonborn. I mean, you even spoke of the blood king,” he says, smiling as if he knows something I don’t.

“But you know so little of the world we come from, it’s almost sad to watch. We traced the debris on the cloak and all of your old clothing. I figured it would lead us to your kind, but all I found was a forest. So you truly are just a lone Ikniri. It must be torture for you.” His eyes show no compassion or pity as he speaks. It’s almost as if he’s taunting me. And I can do nothing in response.

The doors suddenly open to the chambers, but I can’t see beyond him as someone enters, speaking.

“Xavien has arrived.”

The king simply nods, keeping his attention on me.

“Rest now, Nymira. You will need your strength—” he laughs, standing, “the little you have.”

He turns away from me, his deep chuckle filling the room as he leaves, closing the door behind him. He’s trapped me in here, unable to move, unable to speak, and unable to sleep. I am trapped in the unbearable heat, awake, thinking about the situation, and I know he did it on purpose.

I raised a weapon against him, and he showed me what he is capable of without even lifting his finger. He is showing me that I am at his mercy in ways I didn’t know possible. I have no chance of escape, no fight, and the little power that I have, which I thought I needed to keep hidden to protect myself, he laughs at.

I am at the mercy of this Dragonborn, my natural-born enemy, and I have no idea why he is keeping me. I release a breathy laugh. It’s the most I can do as I lie here. He is playing a game I am not prepared for, and I don’t even know his name.