The Last Dragon Queen Book 2, Chapters 10-12 (Patreon)

It's been too long since I posted some of this story, I know! The previous installments, with Tashaya and Sairi, are here:

Chapters 1-4: https://www.patreon.com/posts/broken-queen-pt-106393032

Chapters 5-9: https://www.patreon.com/posts/broken-queen-5-9-110245194

Now we're finally back to Atorra & co. in the dragon kingdom.
Trigger warning, in this installment Lorsen finally starts to open up to Atorra about her traumatic time in Atlantis after she was bought by one of the corrupt merchant families. Incidentally, a fact to file away for later: Lorsen was bought by Ankon Wode. His granddaughter Thessia is a main character in the Potion Dealers. The last installment also had some heavy stuff but we're mostly through it now.

Chapter Ten

Atorra

Atorra’s heart was racing.

Not again. Not again. Make it stop.

It was always the middle of the night that caught up to her. Trapped in a new skin, and an old life.

Harrai would always stir before long, and put a comforting hand on her arm. By now, he knew what was going on. 

He’d asked her, at first—Atorra, do you want your Fanarlem body back? I don’t care. I’ll get you whatever you need.

No. I don’t know. Not yet.

She was never sure. If she could put it all back with a wave of a hand, then…maybe?

Her Fanarlem body, to be sure, had a stillness she missed. It was artificial, just a magical shell with no heart to beat, no breath to take, no pain to feel. She could move through the world like a flesh and blood person, but she could also become inanimate. She wasn’t cold or hot or restless. 

Now, she twitched and coughed and sneezed. She shivered and blushed. She was hungry and thirsty all the time, it seemed, and had to pee at the most inconvenient moments. So far, she hadn’t had her menses, but she was warned that this fresh trauma could appear any moment. Twice, she’d gotten a terrible headache.

Stars above, was it ever tempting not to feel any of that!

But she was also stronger and faster, and her eyes had opened to a new world of sensation. Food tasted better, and her skin was exquisitely sensitive to Harrai’s touch. They had not even made love yet, and she trembled to think what that would feel like. She had never realized how slow her reflexes were, how weak her body, when she was animated by magic. 

“Atorra…” Harrai sat up, rubbing his eyes before looking at her sleepily in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry. I keep disturbing your sleep,” she said. “I don’t know why it’s so bad at night.”

“I know the feeling,” he said. “I used to have night terrors as a kid. But you’re all right. Take my hand and breathe.”

“I want to get past this,” she said. “I…don’t think I can go back to my old self. I need to move forward.”

He paused. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Is this what I would have chosen for myself? No. But I do think—if I could stop having these panicked spells—I’m stronger this way. I feel more of a connection to everything. And I need to be as strong as I can for this fight ahead.”

He regarded her in the shadows. His black hair was mussed, his sleep clothes wrinkled, and he smelled like comfort. She couldn’t help wondering which version of her he preferred. When she first arrived here, he made it so clear that he didn’t want a Fanarlem bride, but once he fell in love with her, that all changed and now she truly couldn’t tell and he wouldn’t say. 

“Don’t make this decision based on a fight,” he said.

“I’m not. I like feeling stronger. I like this feeling of being really alive. I just want to shake off…how unusual it feels. We have so much to do.”

“It’s warm tonight,” he said. “We don’t get many warm nights here. And I have this idea.”

“What is it?”

“Come with me,” he said, shrugging on a robe and grabbing sturdy slippers from the wardrobe, along with a blanket and finally, a bottle from the liquor cabinet.

“Are we taking a night flight? Picnic?”

“Sort of, yeah, and let’s be quiet. No one needs to know.”

Her panic immediately started to calm at the prospect. Distractions helped, and this was a particularly intriguing distraction. Harrai was so aloof most of the time, but this was the strongest sign yet that he was loosening up. 

“Stand guard, Berrajet,” Harrai said to Atorra’s pet wyvern, who was sleeping soundly on the bed, and crept out of the castle on soft soles. They crossed the bridge to the dragons’ gate, and Harrai called for Dirjet.

*A night ride? How glorious!* Dirjet came bounding from the depths of the cave like an excited cat.

“I want to take Atorra to Teardrop Spring.”

They climbed atop Dirjet’s back, and the King’s Wing took flight against the moon and stars. Atorra was acutely aware of the wind grazing her skin, on the brink of chilling her. Harrai put an arm around her, keeping her warm enough. “I think we escaped without anyone noticing.”

“Would it matter if anyone did?”

He shrugged. “I just like the idea of slipping away, and no one knowing. Nothing’s ever private when you’re the king, but this week it’s felt even worse.”

They had certainly enjoyed little privacy or leisure since Lord Dresedel escaped with Kurala’s soul captured within him. And he had stolen Tashaya away.

There was a memorial service for Harrai’s grandmother, Lady Kirska, which was a bitter-tasting affair considering Lady Kirska had sacrificed herself in order to cast the spell that gave Atorra a flesh and blood body—without asking Atorra if she wanted any of this. 

Yesterday, Kirska’s sister Ritan arrived at court to lend her support. She brought an entirely different energy than the strict old woman; she had not been at court in decades and clearly didn’t enjoy it, although she had a light-hearted personality overall. 

Harrai and his brother Jarlan were making some real effort to cooperate to save the kingdom, with their daily meetings, but this was not without tension either.

Yes, it would be good to get away.

Dirjet sailed over the mountains, which were dark shapes below. The sky glowed with a waxing moon and all the clear stars scattered above. Atorra had grown up in a humid, rainy place and she never failed to appreciate how sharp the stars were, how numerous and glittering.

They didn’t fly far before the moon caught in the still surface of a lake, and Dirjet settled on its banks. The small body of water was wreathed in a light steam, cupped in a bowl of mountains, fringed all around by evergreens. The moon gave everything a faint glow, but Atorra still instinctively sensed the dark ground as she climbed down from Dirjet’s back, to make sure there weren’t any branches or rocks to trip her up.

“Here we are,” he said. “Teardrop Spring. The water is warm all year, and you know why? They say that it was formed from the tears shed by Norgai when his beloved died.”

“You mean me,” she said, frowning a little at the lake.

Harrai smiled. “I think it’s just a legend.” He took off his shoes, exposing bare toes to the grass.

“Are you going in!?” Atorra cried.

“Yeah, that was my idea.” He held out a hand. “It’ll relax you to your bones.”

Her cheeks heated, but she took the hand. “I’ve never—been in water before. Soran keeps saying I should take a bath, but so far I’ve just been wiping myself down with a wet cloth. It seems so strange to put my whole body in the water. I feel like it’ll flood inside…all the holes.”

Harrai laughed. “I’m sure you know that doesn’t happen.”

“I know! I just haven’t shaken the idea yet.”

“Well, let’s just put our toes in. There are no holes in your feet.”

She took off her shoes and set them next to his. She had never walked barefoot outside. Fanarlem girls were protective of their skin; it couldn’t heal but must be replaced, and it had been drummed into Atorra’s head all her life that she needed to be careful so she wouldn’t cost extra money for her future master by dirtying or tearing her skin. Atorra had always been destroying her hands. That, she could never seem to help.

Now, as she felt grass tickle her feet and moisture and soil beneath the soft green blanket, she fully realized—

“I could get as dirty as I want,” she said. “And just wash it all away. I could really dig into a garden.”

Harrai took her hand. “Do you want to see about having your own queen’s garden again?”

“Again?”

“Well, many of your prior incarnations had private gardens, of course. When you’ve passed on, it usually becomes a court garden, but we can reclaim a spot for you.”

“It’s getting late now and I don’t have enough time to plan, but in the spring,” she said. “I absolutely would! And I can spend some time over the winter planning it out, while it’s snowing. I guess that’ll be something good to think about…if we can’t get Tashaya back. I can imagine welcoming her with a new garden.” She swallowed.

“She’ll be okay,” Harrai said grimly. “For all her outer weakness, she’s a strong soul to have survived against that sickness for so long. And if she has her physical strength back…”

Shortly after Lord Dresedel kidnapped Atorra’s friend, he sent a message back to them informing them that her curse had been lifted and she was safe and well, and would be returned to Drai in eight or nine months. The inference was clear—after she’s had the babies.

At dinner last week, some of the court noted that this letter was “gentlemanly” of him, and Atorra spat,

“He’s no gentleman. He’s a Daramon and women are nothing but vessels and holes.” She’d seen Lorsen’s face illuminate with fiery pride.

No, she was in no mood to feel any gratitude to Lord Dresedel for being “gentlemanly”.

She dreamed of hopping on a dragon’s back and flying across the world to rescue Tashaya, but she realized that would get her killed, and so far they hadn’t thought of any way to get to her. The cooperation of Laionesse would be required, and the other kingdoms were very reluctant to stir up a war.

“Stop thinking,” Harrai finally said. “I know how easy to is to never stop thinking, but…sometimes, you have to let go of duty.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” She smiled.

“Don’t turn into me.”

They were at the lake’s edge now, and he moved a step ahead, slipping his feet into the water.

Atorra hung back. She knew how water worked, but she still had to watch him first, to see the way his skin slipped into the water, surrounded but unharmed.

He turned around and held out a hand. She finally dared to let the water swallow up her feet.

It was warm—hot, even. The air was cool. Even the hottest day of summer couldn’t touch this elevation. The water felt like a caress.

She couldn’t have imagined how soft and gentle it would feel as she took another step. 

“If we want to go any farther, we’d be wise to keep our clothes dry,” Harrai said. He drew closer to her, and his expression was slightly pensive as he brushed her hair back from her shoulders. “It’s so strange that I spent all this time getting used to having a Fanarlem wife…and you were no longer strange to me, but dear. I started to appreciate the way your hands felt so soft and delicate when you touched me…and how all your emotion seemed to rest in your big eyes. And just when I started to think, gods, how could I have ever wanted anything different…you turned into the woman I had always expected. Now I feel…if I touch you and admire you, I’m disrespecting the woman I fell in love with.”

“I’m still—“ She paused and shook her head. 

“You are still the same woman, of course,” he added hastily. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“No. I’m not, though,” she murmured. “I do feel very different. I feel like a newborn thing. But I can also feel myself growing stronger with a sort of strength that I couldn’t have had as a Fanarlem. It’s…strange to admit that. I know just what you mean. I don’t want to disrespect the girl I was either, but I think the magic I will need to do is going to be more powerful with this flesh and blood.”

“There’s no magic you need to do,” he said, like this was not the direction he hoped to go.

“Well, you know there is,” she said. “I’m going to have to take care of Kurala. Somehow or other.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s take a dip and not think about it tonight.”

She nodded and lifted her arms, smiling at him. “Being a queen and all, I’ve forgotten how to undress.”

This lightened the mood, as she hoped. “All right, I think I can manage it. Let’s see.” He slid a hand up her leg, bringing the dress up with it, and then his other hand caught her near the buttocks as the nightdress lifted. He drew her close and pulled the dress away, tossing it to the rocks. Her feet were nice and warm in the water, but the rest of her skin prickled in the cold air, growing especially sensitive to his warm hands.

He held her close, his hands caressing in a comforting way. She plucked his own shirt up and over his head, adding it to the pile.

He spread his hand across the crown of her head, drawing her to his chest. She felt his heart beat, along with her own. His body had always been like this, warm and thrumming, and now they were so much more similar than they were different.

He let go of her, briefly, to take off his trousers, and she stripped off her underpants. Apparently most ladies of the court didn’t wear them to bed, but Atorra didn’t like being uncovered. She felt leaky and messy and also vulnerable. It really was strange to have so many holes in one’s body, that actually led to other important parts inside and she wasn’t sure how flesh and blood people went about their business without thinking about it all the time.

This was a real test of that anxiety, and she made a face once the underpants were gone, that made Harrai smile wryly back. “Swear to Eskamir, the water isn’t going to flood your insides.”

She let him draw her in, and it was actually hard to stay nervous when the water was so warm and soothing. Just as Harrai promised, it didn’t leak into her, but it did seem to warm her all through in a gentle way that she imagined was like a mother’s embrace. Her fear melted away, and soon the water was up to her shoulders and Harrai still had ahold of her hands. Her whole being seemed to float, her movements slow and dreamy.

“Is it still frightening?” he asked.

“No…it is actually lovely.” She took a deep breath, savoring the sensation. For a long moment, they just relaxed in silence, watching the moon and stars glinting above them, and Atorra was full of wonder at being alive, even for how many times she must have been to this same spring over the millennia.

The one that was supposedly filled with her own tears.

That brought her thoughts back to a place that was, if not dark, at least as restless as a caged bird.

Every life my soul has lived, the Dragon King finds me and brings me back to this place. I always live in the same castle and see the same mountains, and I probably discover this same lake with the same delight.

“Harrai, do you ever have dreams of a different future?”

“Of course. Banishing that storm…a new era of prosperity…”

“I don’t mean like that,” she said. “I mean, dreams of an entirely different life. Dreams for yourself!”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he said.

“But I want to talk about it. Like, if you could do anything at all, would you go and make pickled foods? Or would you do something more wild? Would you travel?”

“Why? So we can both feel frustrated?” Harrai smoothed a hand over her head. “I used to dream of running away when I was a kid, but I couldn’t have done it, and I got a lot happier once I just accepted that I have a duty. And while not many duties are as heavy as the king of Drai on the global stage, a lot of people have duties that probably feel just as heavy to them. I’m not special or anything.”

“Oh, I just…I hate that.” Atorra sighed. “You’re probably right, but I hate it. I wonder if there’s a different way of living sometimes. Now that we have our little inner council…when Tashaya and Sairi come back…”

“I can’t be a dreamer,” Harrai said. “I guess after losing my parents, the dreams went right out of me. I know what you’re thinking. Jarlan and Tashaya together might take some of the burden off me. But without Tash, the council is just Jarl and—“

“And Lady Ritan,” Atorra said. “Lady Ritan could help balance him out too. She’s so different from your grandmother!”

“She’s never wanted that sort of responsibility.”

“Maybe she didn’t used to, but she’s here now. And she seems like she can’t help herself. She did tell me the other day that she’s been thinking about her legacy. She doesn’t want to be remembered just for skipping off with a Daramon husband, and she also doesn’t want to be remembered as a stubborn ass like Lady Kirska. Her words,” Atorra added.

Harrai laughed despite himself. “All right, well, I don’t see us relaxing much until this danger has passed, but maybe…we could take time for ourselves a tiny bit more often.”

He drew her very close, and she let him kiss her—not without some shyness, since this body was so new to her, and it didn’t seem fair to have to adjust to a new body when one was already an adult, and married. She felt so awkward, so strange even to herself. Of course, it was probably easier for him than it was for her. He already knew what it was like to have a flesh and blood body.

But her skin still craved his, and was more sensitive to his touch than ever. Everything about her felt as raw as if her skin was newly born, and when his hands touched her in the warm and weightless lake, at least it seemed easier here. 

He didn’t go fast with her, sensing her reluctance, but his hands caressed her and his gentle kisses finally started to stir something in her, and once she reached for him, a hungry little sound caught in his throat and he pulled her close.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, like he couldn’t help it, and she felt the struggle in his emotions—the reserved and respectful king battling against the man who loved her, wanted her, and needed a release from the former.

“Then take me,” she whispered.

She hadn’t realized how much she could want him back. All she’d been able to think of now was managing new shivers and pains and sensations that left her far too overwhelmed for love.

But enough time had passed, now—

And I’ve chosen this flesh and blood now. It wasn’t what I asked for, but it is what I’ve chosen, so it’s time to consecrate it.

After all, I’ve already decided…this is the last time I wed a dragon king, so I might as well enjoy every moment of it.

Chapter Eleven

Atorra had never known what it was to ache after a night of sex; she had never realized a flesh and blood woman could wake up still marked by the memory of the night before.

Harrai was already awake. Of course, it was like him to leave her to rest well while he dragged himself out of bed for his royal duties, but the covers were still a little rumpled, the pillow indented, the memory of his scent in the air, and every moment of it had been delicious.

This pain, however—

If Lord Dresedel did anything to Tashaya…she would feel this pain too, and it would be bitter rather than delicious.

Atorra couldn’t believe she was gone. Even after two weeks had passed, she kept expecting to see Tashaya at the dinner table or walking around the courtyard. 

How could I have let one of the best friends I’ve ever had be stolen from me like that? I’d saved her before, but I couldn’t break her curse or stop this. I was useless when it counted.

She didn’t hear anyone around, so she let herself have a good cry before she got dressed.

She needed to cry herself out so much more often lately, and her pet wyvern was quite distressed over it, pawing fervently at her arm. Atorra petted Boo absently before choking out a few more sobs, and then the beast started flying all around her head letting out her own squawks, as if in sympathy.

Finally, Atorra had to laugh instead. “Boo, stop, please! I’m trying to cry in peace!”

Now there was a knock on the door, because of course Boo’s cries were loud enough to carry into the hall.

Atorra wiped her eyes and opened the door.

Lorsen was there, and Boo flew onto her shoulder and started chittering.

“Good morning!” Atorra said. “I’m—I’m running a little late today.”

Lorsen’s uncanny face was very serious. “Atorra…you’ve been crying!”

“A little.” Atorra had felt shy around Lorsen ever since she joined them at the castle, and just when it seemed to be getting better, there was some setback like this. 

“Did you ever cry back at the House?” Lorsen asked. “You were always so cheerful compared to a lot of the other girls…well, we both were, I guess.”

“Hardly ever, it’s true, but it’s not fair that it shows on my face now…”

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Lorsen asked, and her eyes were pleading.

This surprised Atorra, to see that expression, as if Lorsen really wanted to comfort her. Lorsen had grown so tough and distant, and the reasons were understandable, but it didn’t always make it easy to breach those walls.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way at all,” Atorra said. “I’ve—I’ve been really worried since you came here that you might see my friendship with Tashaya as a replacement for you. It’s certainly not and never could be. You’re both so different. But I—I was just thinking of her, and…well, I already lost you once, and when you came back…I know you went through some terrible ordeals and I was helpless. Telepathic therapy can’t erase what happened, and—“

“You’re afraid it’s all happening again. Tashaya will come back changed.”

“Yes…”

“She probably will,” Lorsen said, sitting down next to her and coaxing Boo onto her lap by wiggling her fingers. “We can’t help changing. You’ve changed yourself. But, I know. You’re afraid that Kurala and Lord Dresedel will hurt her.”

“I want to believe that Tashaya is strong. That all of us are strong…”

“We are,” Lorsen said. “I am strong. I get a little stronger every day. But it does…change you. It does. I can’t lie to you. I was so naive when we were growing up together. I thought I knew that the world was cruel, and I had no idea how cruel people could really be.” She trembled a little. “I completely understand why you don’t want anything like that to happen to someone as sweet and delicate and sheltered as Tashaya…”

“Yes. We knew, at least, that—that we were made for bad things to happen to us. I guess we just couldn’t fathom the scope of it. And—“ Atorra’s guilt was boiling over into more tears, and she wiped them away hastily. The last thing she wanted was for Lorsen to think Atorra pitied her, or was making it about herself. “I was spared. A part of me just can’t—look at you without wishing we’d gone together. I know you wouldn’t wish it on me, and I would never wish it on you either, but—”

“I never would,” Lorsen said, in a soft, broken little voice. Then her eyes snapped to Atorra’s, and truly, for the first time since her arrival, Atorra thought she was looking at her old friend’s eyes. “Atorra, I would never wish that on you. I love you. It’s much better that one of us was safe, because you were able to save me. And you’ll save Tashaya, too. If it’s ‘too late’, well, you’ll be there for her as long as it takes to heal.”

“But I am so—so sorry.”

Heartened by the look in Lorsen’s eyes, Atorra dared to do what she had wished for, week upon week. She put her arms around her old friend and hugged her tight. As soon as she felt Lorsen’s delicate cloth skin and stuffing and a slight flex of her wooden ribs, she became too conscious of her own new strength and Lorsen seemed strange all over again. Or rather, she was the one who was strange now.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammered.

Lorsen grabbed her arm. “Torra…things have been so strange between us. I know it’s my fault.”

“But it’s not your fault! I understand completely.”

“I couldn’t talk about it. I felt like there was a chasm between us and there was no way to cross. Every day I’ve woken up thinking I should try somehow, but…I couldn’t. It felt almost beyond my control. There’s been a knot inside me, like my voice is tied up and I can’t really even speak my mind. I don’t know who I am. When I was in the house of Ankon Wode, Lorsen was strangled and buried. I had no choice but to become a shell of myself, and I don’t know how to get her back…”

Lorsen turned away, and covered her face. She finally choked out an agonized sob.

“Lor…”

Lorsen must have started it, but soon they were both bawling and holding each other, and now Boo was in an utterly flustered state, swooping over them and letting out an agonized, “Breeeeep!” Soon, she resorted to poking at their heads.

“We have to stop,” Lorsen gasped. “Your eyes are going to be so puffy now.” She wiped Atorra’s face with her hand. “I’m still not used to this at all. I know I look so different too, so we’re even.”

“And neither of us chose it,” Atorra said, taking a deep breath to calm her tears.

Lorsen bit her lip. “You know…I do think I might rather have a different face and body, more like the one I used to have. If it’s ever an option. I know it’s expensive, and I don’t mind saving money for it myself—“

“Just say the word!” Atorra said. “I would love to help you get back something like your old appearance, and I think it’s a wonderful idea. There’s no reason for you to look the way…this Kalanite wanted you to look. You should have said something sooner!” Lorsen could say his name, but Atorra could hardly bring herself to let the syllables grace her own lips. 

“At first, I—I didn’t want to think about having my body changed again. To make decisions. I really just wanted to shut down and disappear.” She squeezed Atorra’s hand. “As soon as we got to Atlantis, we were taken to a Fanarlem maker there and changed out to his specifications. I saw my old face crumpled up on the table like nothing. I already felt myself starting to shut down, but I knew what was coming was so much worse…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to,” Lorsen said. “I’m ready to.” She paused. “Not everything. But—maybe you don’t want to hear it.”

“I do,” Atorra said. “Anything you want to tell me. I just don’t want you to feel like you must.”

Lorsen looked at the window, and she seemed to gather her thoughts as if each one caused her great pain. “I never realized, when I was at the House, when we were girls…just how little the Daramons see us as people. As anything at all. Once they gave me the body they wanted, I was really just a doll to them, and nothing more. At first, my instinct was to rebel—and curse at them—and look for anyone among them who might take pity on me. Of course I was thinking of all the stories where some kind man takes a Fanarlem concubine under his wing and dotes on her. But—there were so many of them, and at first none of them showed any thought for me at all. Not even once. And it wasn’t just that they would force themselves on me—it was…” She broke a little, trembling from head to toe for a moment before continuing.

“It was like whatever fear or sadness I showed was just part of a game, something to conquer. Mr. Wode himself hardly seemed to care about us. He didn’t want us. We were entertainment at parties and meetings. The first night I was there, I was tied to a column, barely dressed, in this big room with all these men looking me, and I couldn’t stop shaking, and they played dice games and the winner would get three minutes to do whatever he wanted to me. I was so scared, so humiliated, so bitter to the core of my being. But they did touch me like they knew how to please a woman, because of course all Daramons go to their perfume women to learn those things…and one of them got my own body to betray me; I hardly even know how. And he said—Mr. Wode said—I’d given in too soon. He wanted defiant girls, he said, and I was just a good little doll after all, and he smirked at me, and the shame poured over me—“ Lorsen’s words dwindled into incoherence.

Atorra felt that shame as if she’d been there, how terrible and inescapable it would be, and she didn’t know what to say. She just wanted to fly to Atlantis and murder Lorsen’s captor.

“But later—later, some weeks in,” Lorsen managed. “One of them started to favor me and smile at me. He would try to ‘win’ time with me at dice. He’d say how lovely and sweet I was, and he hoped to see me again. And I knew it was a lie. To the core of my being, I knew it was part of the game. But it kept happening. That one man ended up giving me more attention, and I found myself starting to hope to see him simply because…it was anything at all. I hated him utterly. I hated them all. But I knew that if I had been there much longer, I would have been reduced to nothing of me at all, except hoping that man would buy me from Mr. Wode and care for me in some way. It was all I had.”

“Lor—“

“And the other girls there,” Lorsen choked. “Some of them had been there longer. They were all so dead inside. Some of them just slept all day, all the time, sixteen hours at a time, and the others would just gossip and play the same stupid dice games; there was nothing to do at all. One of them was also an attendant to Mr. Wode’s wife so she would have little gossip to share, and I don’t even know how she could square all that in her mind, attending to a woman who sees her as nothing and lets her husband toy with her at night. There was nothing to live for, no one who cared, and no escape. I couldn’t even kill myself. They say your soul can just leave if it really wants to, but if it didn’t leave after all that, I don’t know how it ever would. It was a hell beyond anything I imagined. And the shame of it just…rips me apart.”

“You didn’t have a choice!” Atorra cried. It was ripping her apart to see Lorsen pouring out this story, with such agony in her eyes, like the telepathic therapy had done nothing.

“I know, but how—how could I have felt anything for that man? How could I have given in so quickly? How could I—”

“Lorsen, I can well imagine how you would. How you must have wanted someone to care for you. Being so alone…”

“They’re still there,” Lorsen said. “All those other girls.”

“Should we send for them too?”

“I barely remember their names,” Lorsen said. “I know that there were other Fanarlem, in other manses, in exactly the same circumstances. I can’t save a fraction of them, so it just feels hopeless, but I wish I could ride the dragons to Atlantis and burn down the whole city. And fates, they’re rich! I’d never seen such luxury and indulgence, like the heavens reward them endlessly for all their cruelty. Their wives are so pampered, and so smug—they don’t care what their husbands do with us. We’re not women at all, in their eyes. I wish the sea would swallow every last one of them.”

Lorsen was winding down now, her shoulders slumping. She melted against Atorra and shut her eyes, and Atorra held her like they were sisters again—but this gulf would never fully be breached. 

Really, everything Lorsen told her was a shock but not a surprise. It was not really true that this was a hell beyond imagining because they had actually heard even worse rumors of what could happen while in the House. The most dire stories always involved stripping off girls’ arms and legs and sewing their mouths shut; they could only pray they were not true.

But they probably were, Atorra thought, all of her youthful naiveté draining away. If the Kalanites could be this cruel to my dear Lor, why stop there?

“I am glad…you finally told me,” Atorra said. “At least a little of what happened there. I didn’t want to ask when you weren’t ready. And I knew it would be something terrible. I’ll never fully understand. But I hope I can take a little of your pain from you…and fight with you.”

“It’ll never be like when we were girls together,” Lorsen said. “When all of our experiences in life were nearly the same. I can’t fully understand what you’ve gone through either.” She lifted her head. “It does help.”

“I know nothing I’ve been through is that bad,” Atorra said.

“It might be just as hard,” Lorsen said. “I didn’t have any choice. That’s agony. But you have so many responsibilities, and an entire kingdom and all the dragons in the world, depending on you, so your choices must feel like they matter too much. I want to be able to take my pain and my anger and make use of it. To help you, Torra…to fight them.”

“I always feel much better with you at my side,” Atorra said, a warm relief settling over her slowly, alongside the ache. It pierced her to think of Lorsen being at the mercy of a room of Daramons, while Atorra was so far away. “I’ll see if we can send for the Fanarlem maker right away and if you can’t fully erase the memories, at least you can erase this sad face they gave you.”

That actually brought a small smile to Lorsen. “Okay. I’m ready for that.”

In the midst of all of this, Atorra had one selfishly satisfied thought: Lorsen didn’t say one word about what Jarlan would think.

Chapter

Jarlan

“Jarlan, my boy, for goodness sake, you always look so brooding. Between you and your brother, you’re so serious that it hurts me, quite physically. I lay awake at night haunted by your grim faces and thinking of your little laughing chubby-cheeked baby faces, and thinking I should never have left court after all. But it is cold here.”

Aunt Ritan had found Jarlan on his way to dinner, and there was no stopping her once she got going. She took his arm and freely smacked his cheek like she was trying to snap him back to giggling infant status.

“I’m an adult now,” he said. “That might explain why I’m not all in for peekaboo anymore.”

“Adults laugh,” Ritan said. “Normal ones, anyway. Arik and I just had a terrific laugh over the world’s most beautiful goat.”

Jarlan didn’t take this bait; he was not interested in hearing about the world’s most beautiful goat. Luckily, they had reached the dining room and the hubbub of the court’s daily gathering.

“I shall see you to your seat, Auntie,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, don’t say it like that, I’ll see myself. You can’t escape me, you know.”

This was true. Ritan now occupied the seat left behind by their grandmother, but she brought an entirely different mood to the table. About the only quality Kirska and Ritan shared was being outspoken and rather bossy, so it was no wonder Lady Ritan had fled the court. Jarlan couldn’t imagine the younger sister ever getting away with being so opinionated when Kirska was around. Jarlan had certainly never been able to boss Harrai.

However, Ritan was not bossy about duty or anything particularly important, just that the entire court should lighten up. She questioned all the traditions constantly—why did they even need to gather together for a dinner with strict place settings? Could they get livelier music? Maybe a new dance instructor? Why did the dragons who lived year-round in Kota only have one assigned rider; shouldn’t they decide who could ride them and when?

I can’t imagine what Grandmother was thinking when she told Ritan to come here after she sacrificed herself. Had she forgotten what her sister was like?

Aunt Ritan bore a whiff of scandal. She had married a Daramon and spent her adult life just over the border in the Daramon lands. He had died years ago, but this choice would never be forgotten. The court was whispering about her constantly but she shrugged it off merrily. She had also brought her Fanarlem servant; she said she had ‘freed’ him as soon as he was purchased, and offered him passage to the Miralem lands if he ever wanted it, but he was perfectly happy working for her. Arik seemed like a good-natured sort who took everything in stride. Morally, no one could exactly find fault with the situation, but it added to the impropriety. Jarlan’s friends were sure she was sleeping with Arik, although Jarlan didn’t see that they had even an ounce of romantic chemistry.

Every day now, as soon as he entered a room where he knew Lorsen would be, his eyes couldn’t help but find her before anything else.

As if he didn’t see her all the time. 

He’d been teaching her how to fight, and they both had a place in the Royal Circle, Harrai and Atorra’s closest council. He never went long without hearing her voice, low and soft and a little deadly, and seeing the grief and determination she always carried in her beautiful, strange little face.

He was never deprived of her company, but with every day that passed, he wanted more of her.

Denying the feeling only made it stronger.

But he couldn’t imagine acting on it. Harrai had to marry a Fanarlem. For Jarlan to choose to court her—after he had mocked Harrai so mercilessly—

Plus, she will just shoot me down. I know it.

There she was, sitting at the table beside Atorra.

She seems different. Lighter, somehow.

Certainly, her conversation with Atorra was more animated than usual.

“Did you get my message?” Atorra said. 

“Yes, dear girl, I saw it as soon as I came back from the theater,” Ritan said. “And what a show. You were right about Kenjo, my goodness, what a lovely man. Arik and I both enjoyed it tremendously. Anyway, I do know just the one, as far as Fanarlem makers go. There is a Miralem who makes Fanarlem in Laionesse. He’s young but very talented and his work doesn’t support the slave trade, naturally.”

“But we can’t go to Laionesse!” Atorra said. “That’s so far!”

“You can call a dragon from Laionesse to bring him to you! You’re the queen, my goodness. He’ll come, and be quite honored to do so, I’m sure. It shouldn’t take but a week for him to get here.”

“Will a dragon mind coming all the way here just to bring a Fanarlem maker?”

“Atorra…are you going back to your old body?” Jarlan asked, trying not to sound surprised. It seemed to him that the entire court had relaxed now that their queen was properly flesh and blood, and Atorra radiated greater strength, in his opinion—but he was trying not to be an ass to her anymore. He feared his tone still came out sharp as ever. He couldn’t soften up even when he tried.

“No-o…it’s for Lor,” Atorra said, shooting him back a challenge in her eyes. “Lorsen is getting a new face that suits her better and not what those Daramons chose for her.”

Lorsen now seemed to watching him carefully, waiting for his opinion.

This was the last thing he’d expected. Falling for a girl, just to have her choose a different face? Oughtta be illegal.

But it wasn’t like he didn’t know the pain in her eyes. In her voice. Every day, she left him humbled because he could feel that she’d endured so much more than being a neglected prince or even losing his parents. Yet she still had grit to spare.

I’m a better man just for being around her. I can’t complain when she’s there. I just want to…erase that pain.

Of course she wouldn’t want the face they gave her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Now that you say it, I don’t think that face ever has really matched your personality.”

She looked down. Almost shyly, before she swept it away with an aloof expression, her eyelids half-lowering over her too-large eyes. “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “I hope Mr. Trinavel is skilled. I don’t know how to tell him what I looked like before. I’m not very good at sketches, and…I hardly remember.”

“Don’t worry! I remember you very well,” Atorra said. “I saw a lot more of you than you see of yourself. Do you want to look just the same?”

“Maybe not. I’m not the same…and that face was also made for Daramon tastes. Maybe I should have something entirely new. Something I chose for myself. I’ll have to think about what I feel like on the inside.”

Too strange. Now I don’t know what I’m going to get. What if I hate the way she looks now? Jarlan struggled. Why did he have to be so fascinated with her? Maybe this would cure it.

Cure it? No. I don’t want to lose this feeling…even if it ruins me.