

# Dragon Blue: A Lie That's True

## The Dragonlords of Xandakar, Book 1

## by Macy Babineaux

Copyright © 2016 Macy Babineaux. All Rights Reserved.

### Foreword

First of all, thank you so much for picking up my book. This is the first book in a 5-part series, _The Dragonlords of Xandakar._ This first volume was a blast to write. Xandakar is a far-away fantasy world filled with different types of shifters, though the dragons hold all the power. I hope you enjoy your visit there, and I hope when the other books come out, you'll want to come again.

Please consider **clicking here to sign up for my newsletter**. Newsletter subscribers will receive an **exclusive** copy of my novella "Switch and Bait", about a team of shifters hired to take on jobs not cut out for regular humans. It's full of action and steam, but it's only available to my newsletter subscribers.

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy _Dragon Blue: A Lie That's True._

Macy Babineaux

August 20th, 2016

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### **1  
** CORBAN

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Corban Everfrost knelt in the snow. They had been here. Hoof prints seemingly came out of nowhere and led down the sloping hill, a party of five by his count. The hooves were strange, though, much larger than any horse that he knew of in Xandakar. And the edges of the snow where they had left their impressions seemed blackened and burned.

He reached out with a gloved hand and touched the edge of a print. The black snow curled and crumbled at his touch. Why hadn't the snow just melted, if the hooves were hot? It was almost as if the snow had been corrupted by some decaying force or disease.

He took a vial from within his scaled vest and uncorked it, scooping in a small amount of the black snow. He would show it to Wygard, see if the old owl had ever seen or heard of anything like it.

Corban stood, the snow crunching beneath his blue scaly boots. He replaced the cork and slid the vial back into his vest. Looking down the slope of the hill, at the trail of tracks, he wondered how fresh they were and where they were headed. That way led to the rift, the volcanic vent that served as the de facto border between the Icelands and the mountainous deserts of the Wildfire clan.

The Everfrosts held a fragile truce with their neighbors to the west, and part of their agreement was to stay out of each other's territory.

He sensed her before he heard the great beat of her giant wings on the still morning air. Corban turned and saw the silver-blue dragon high in the air. She spotted him and her long neck turned. She swooped down over the tips of the pines, brushing them so that the trees swayed gently, then dropped straight towards him, buffeting her wings to slow her descent. Billows of snow blew up in a cloud around him, but Corban didn't bother to shield his face. He merely squinted through white haze at the massive form of his sister.

She folded her wings across her chest and bowed her reptilian head, and as she did she began to transform, every part of her shrinking toward the place where she had landed. By the time the snow had settled, a woman stood where there had once been a dragon.

Her hair was silver, her eyes the pale blue of every Everfrost. Her features were soft, though, her mouth small and pink. Her button nose was pink from the cold. The scales of the dragon that she had been had transformed along with her into the shiny blue skinsuit she now wore, complete with scaled gloves and boots.

She looked at him with a gaze intended to be stern, but he could see that she couldn't hold it, her lips finally breaking into a smile.

"I found you, brother," she said.

"So you did, Astra," he replied. "What can I do for you this morning?"

"You can join me in the hunt," she said. "Along with the rest of the clan. The elk are fine and stout this season, and your absence is conspicuous."

"Our father's absence is conspicuous," Corban said.

She sighed. "Our father is dead."

"You cannot know that," he said. "His body was never found."

"Must we go round and round on this yet again, brother? It has been over a year, with neither sightings nor signs. Except for you, everyone in the clan has acknowledged that he is dead."

"Everyone in the clan is wrong." He nodded at the tracks, the blackened snow. "Look."

Astra clearly didn't want to look. She wanted him to transform with her, take to the air, and fly north towards fields full of freshly fallen snow and running elk.

"Just come with me, brother," she said. "Hunt and feed with the rest of your clan. You're their leader now. You should act like one."

He ignored the barb, walking to the nearest tracks and kneeling in the snow. "Look," he said again, more forcefully this time.

She sighed again, then walked to where he knelt, standing over him. "Riders," she said. "Hunters and barbarians have always ridden throughout the edges of our land. What of it?"

"Look more closely, Astra," he said, feeling the agitation in his voice. How could she be so stubborn? "The tracks appear out of nowhere. Five riders, side by side. And a strange blackness forms where hooves met snow."

She still refused to even bend down. She thought he was crazy, obsessed. Everyone in the clan did. He loved his father. That was true enough. But others believed he had been driven mad with grief. That was simply untrue. He felt as calm and sane as he ever had. Only something gnawed at the back of his mind.

The circumstances under which his father had disappeared made no sense. And since he had been searching on his own, long after everyone else had given up, he had gathered a growing body of evidence. In disguise, he'd spoken to villagers, who told of seeing mounted men in purple glowing armor, their horses aglow as well and nearly translucent, the animals' bones visible in the night. And yet no one would believe him.

Astra looked up at the sky. "Perhaps the snow covered the tracks from here," she said. "And that blackness is probably some sort of tar, perhaps to give the horses better footing in the snow."

Did she realize how absurd she sounded? Now it was Corban's turn to sigh. He stood and looked again in the direction the tracks led. Astra stepped close to him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Please, brother," she said. "If you go soaring across the rift into Wildfire lands, you'll only make matters worse." She reached up and turned his face to hers. "The clan is flourishing now, and we are at peace with the other dragonlords for the first time in years. Father is gone. Don't ruin his memory by destroying everything that he worked for in a vain attempt to find him. He would not have wanted that."

Corban loved his sister, but she was wrong to presume what their father would have wanted. Everything else she spoke was true enough, though. With his father's disappearance, Corban was now the leader of the clan, and the past year had been peaceful and prosperous. Why then did he feel as if there was a rotten worm at the center of this golden fruit? And why was he the only one to sense it?

Astra looked him in the eyes. "I have other news."

"What?" he asked.

"Magda has spoken," she said. "Word has been sent. Your new broodmate, our new queen, will arrive shortly. Your binding is at hand."

Magda was the Oracle, the ancient owl woman who lived in a giant twisted oak in the center of the five realms of the dragonlords. She saw all, took no sides, and helped broker peace between the clans. She also arranged the marriages that formed alliances. Whether she peered into the aether for her answers or simply dreamed them up herself, Corban didn't know. But the dragonlords had followed her counsel and guidance for millennia, and he would not be the first to deviate from it.

He had been dreading this day, though. He had plenty of consorts to fulfil his carnal needs, and the thought of dealing with a mate, especially from one of the other clans, sounded like a horrible ordeal.

"Did she say a name?" he asked. He didn't want to hear it, but not knowing was worse.

"Siccora Wildfire," Astra said.

He furrowed his brow. It took him a moment to place the name because as far as he knew she wasn't in the five kingdoms at all. "The one in hiding?"

"Yes," Astra said. "That's the one."

Corban had heard the stories. Years ago, around the time he had been born, the Wildfires and Nightshadows had been at war, an ugly conflict that had very nearly crippled both clans. Karth Wildfire had feared for his newborn daughter's life, so he tasked his mages to open a portal to another world, to send her through for her own protection. Beyond that, Corban knew little else. Why she had not returned as soon as the conflict was over, he did not know.

What he did know was that he was to be bound to a mate who had lived her entire life in an alien world, not among dragons. Likely they were some weaker breed. He would have something else to ask Wygard about when he returned to the keep, but so far this day was getting worse and worse.

"Don't fret, brother," Astra said. "I'm sure she's beautiful. And there's no need to forego your consorts if you choose not to. That's your right as king."

Her beauty or lack of it was the least of his concerns. He wanted nothing to do with her or the binding ritual. He wanted to find those who had taken his father. He wanted to be left to his own. But glancing back over his shoulder, he now realized he could not continue the investigation. He could not encroach on Wildfire lands the day he found out he was to be bound with Karth's daughter.

"You say the elk are fine this year?" he asked.

Astra smiled once again, her teeth as white as the snow, her eyes bright. "Follow me," she said, then turned and ran. With every step she took, her form grew, her footsteps in the snow getting larger, splaying into wide claws. Wings stretched and sprouted from her shoulders, flapping as she ran. Her neck elongated, her head sprouting white horns and barbs. By the time she had taken ten steps, she had become an azure and white dragon, and with the next step she vaulted into the air, a plume of snow exploding beneath her.

Corban took one more glance at the receding hoof prints. _I will find my father_ , he thought. _And I will find the ones who took him. Their flesh will rend beneath my claws as their screams sing to my ears. And their bones will freeze and shatter between my jaws. When I find them they will know the true feeling of cold._

Then he turned, looked up at his sister, already aloft, and folded his arms across his chest. His scaled armor stretched, becoming the armor of the dragon. Bones stretched and grew with cracking noises, but Corban closed his eyes and remained calm and quiet. The blue leather of his wings unfurled from his shoulder blades, stretching outward to either side. Claws jutted from his gloved fingertips, wicked, icy talons a foot long. He grew to ten times his former size, then twenty, his new weight crunching the ice and snow beneath him.

When he was fully transformed, he felt the power surge through him, the ripple of reptilian muscle and the icy core at the base of his neck, ready to unleash a storm of freezing breath. His mind worked differently in dragon form as well, less concerned with the politics and pressures of ruling a kingdom, and more with the needs of the flesh. He was ravenous, his thoughts now only focused on the elk his sister had spoken of.

She had already reached the top of the trees, heading north, her great wings beating against the cold sky. But Corban was bigger than her, so that when he launched skyward, the ground shook. The trees trembled, snow falling from their branches. He vaulted upwards, feeling the cold air across his snout and the leather of his wings. For a moment, his worldly cares were whisked away.

He flapped his mighty wings, turning north to follow Astra. He was faster than her as well, so he caught up with her with little effort, falling in to glide alongside her.

Within minutes, he saw the swarm of black dots below, like ants moving along in a line. But these were no ants. They were giant elk, their legs as tall as a man.

Astra moved low, swooping above the herd, and Corban overtook her. The weakest and slowest animals were in the back. He wanted the strongest and fastest. He set his keen eyes on a male at the head of the stampede. The elk were running full out now, already having been attacked from above by dozens of other dragons.

Corban's prey had a massive rack of antlers, and its body was huge, larger than any of its brothers. Corban flapped his wings, his shadow falling over the terrified herd below. Their hooves threw up snow as they charged ahead, but there was nowhere else for them to run.

He flattened his wings alongside his body and dove for the big one, his claws sinking into the meat of the elk's shoulders as he struck. The elk bellowed as Corban hauled it aloft, beating his wings hard. The elk was heavy and strong, thrusting his head backward in an attempt to gorge Corban with his antlers.

But it was no use. Corban flew high, carrying his prey up to the top of an ice-capped peak, tilting its head downward to avoid the swing of its head. Twice he almost lost his grip. He had almost been too greedy in choosing the strongest of the herd, but with the clan watching, he had to make a statement.

Near the top of the mountain, the elk's strength began to flag. Corban flapped his wings hard, eyeing an outcropping with a nice, flat place to land. He flew high above it, dropping the elk so that it broke its neck as it landed.

Then he descended on his prey, his claws slamming down onto the body. He craned his neck down, opened his jaws, and began to feed.

Hunting again felt good. But something in the back of his mind nagged at him. Something told him that dragons were actually the ones being hunted.

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### **2  
** MIRANDA

Miranda sat at her tiny kitchen table, sipping at her cup and looking down at her crumpled uniform on the floor. She sighed. Was this really what her life had become?

The trucker from last night had flashed her a bright white smile, and she'd written her number on his ticket and slid it under his plate with a wink. But he'd been nothing special, just another in a long string of casual encounters. Just like her dad had been to her mom.

He'd skipped out on them when Miranda was only five, leaving her mom to raise her. Except, it was actually the other way around. Since her mom had been a drunk, Miranda actually had to take care of her most of the time. Miranda had cleaned the house, bought the groceries, cooked the food, and damn near everything else all the way up until two years ago, when her mom had died. Ironically, it wasn't the drinking that had done her in, or even the smoking. She had a tumor at the base of her spine. It was whatever stage was the worst by the time they caught it.

Miranda had missed out on college, even though her grades and her test scores were good enough. She'd missed out on her childhood. Hell, she'd missed out on life.

And now she was a twenty-six year old waitress at the truck stop Benny's just outside of Norman, Oklahoma, and she felt like the whole world had just passed her by.

"I've had enough of this shit," she said out loud to herself. And she really meant it this time. Rhonda was coming in during the evening shift. Now that girl had her shit together. She was nearly finished with a business degree, and when she graduated she was getting out of this hellhole.

_I'm going to talk to her tonight_ , Miranda thought. _I'm going to ask her what I need to do to get enrolled in school_. Because she had to do something. She couldn't go on like this.

After breakfast she loaded up her beat-up red Honda and headed to the laundromat. There, she sat in a curved orange plastic chair and nearly finished her stupid thriller while kids ran screaming between the washing machines.

When she walked into Benny's twenty minutes late, Benny gave her a dirty look.

"What?" she said. "There's nobody here."

"That's beside the point," Benny said. "And you know it." He was a skinny black man who always wore that stupid white paper hat on his head while he cooked. He'd always been good to Miranda, though, and that was one of the reasons she'd stayed there. Other than that she had no marketable skills and nowhere else to go.

"Sorry, boss," she said with no actual regret in her voice. Benny just sighed and shook his head from behind the kitchen shelf and went back to doing his crossword puzzle.

Miranda tied on her apron and took her place at the end of the counter, taking out her book and leaning against the chrome railing. She riffled the remaining pages with her thumb, then checked the number of the last page. She had thirty-two pages to go.

No sooner had she buried her nose back into the final pages of the book then she heard a loud whistle from the kitchen. She looked to see Bennie, eyes wide, staring out the front window of the restaurant. He pointed his metal spatula in that direction and said: "What in the hell?"

Miranda turned her head to look out the front, where a brand new black stretch limousine had pulled to a stop longwise across six or seven parking spaces. The driver got out. He was huge. He wore a dark suit, like a limo driver might, but no tie, the white shirt under his blazer open down to the middle of his bulky chest, showing a mat of dark, curly hair. His long black hair was woven into a thick braid that fell down his back. Black sideburns covered his jaws, and he peered out from beneath heavy eyebrows with sharp brown eyes, scanning the entire area.

_For what?_ Miranda thought. _What the hell is he looking for or worried about around here?_ The man looked like a cross between a monster and a secret service agent, and she half-expected some super-villain to step out of the back of the limo when the driver opened the door.

Instead, a woman swung a single bare leg out of the darkness, wearing a high red heel. The beast-driver held out his giant palm. a slender hand with long red nails emerged from the darkness to take his hand. Then she stepped out into the afternoon light, a raven-haired woman in a blood-orange mini-dress. Though the sun was bright, she didn't wear sunglasses, and Miranda could see her dark eyes, not squinting despite the brightness of the sun. Her black hair was shoulder-length, and every inch of her looked perfect, as if she'd just walked out of a salon. Lipstick the same shade as her dress was perfectly applied.

The woman walked toward the restaurant as her driver closed the limo door and crossed his arms to stand by the car. The little bell over the front door jingled as the woman entered.

Miranda still leaned over the counter, the book clutched in both hands. She hadn't moved a millimeter since she'd looked out the front window. She was frozen. She'd never seen a woman so elegant, one that moved so gracefully and powerfully, at least in person. She was reminded of starlets from the thirties and forties, with perfectly-coifed hair and hourglass figures, moving like porcelain panthers across the golden screen.

The woman glanced around the empty restaurant, then chose a booth by the door. She carried a small purse, and she put it on the seat beside her as she slid onto the seat. She picked up a menu and began perusing it.

"Psst."

Miranda turned her head, not wanting to look away from the woman. She saw Benny looking at her, nodding his head toward the woman. "Go take her order," he whispered.

_Oh_ , she thought. _Right_. For a minute there she almost forgot who she was, where she was. The car, the driver, and the woman all seemed like some kind of waking dream.

She put the book face down on the counter, though she would never finish it. She would never know that the serial killer was actually the lead detective's partner, killing all those people and pulling out their teeth right under his nose.

Miranda walked to where the woman sat, pulling out her order pad and taking a pencil from her uniform pocket as she did. She was nervous, which felt very strange. All sorts came in here, people who looked like they'd just got out of prison or were about to be headed there. She'd served tables full of bikers and booths full of truckers, and never once could she remember being nervous. But as she stepped up in front of the booth and looked down at the woman's gorgeous face and the top of her ample cleavage, Miranda's hands were shaking.

The woman looked her up and down, seeing her for the first time, then met her gaze once again. "Good afternoon," she said.

"Uh," Miranda said. "Good afternoon. Can I take your order?"

"Yes, I'd like your thickest cut of steak, as rare as possible."

_Okay_ , Miranda thought. "Any sides?"

"No, thank you."

"Anything to drink?"

The woman furrowed her brow for a second. "I'll have a cup of coffee."

"I'll put that right in for you," Miranda said. The woman was still looking into her eyes, her gaze mesmerizing. Miranda found it hard to break off contact, but she did, turning to take the order to the kitchen.

She didn't bother handing an order to Benny. She hadn't written anything down. "T-bone. Still mooing," she said.

"That's it?" Benny whispered.

"That's it," she said.

Benny nodded and ran to the walk-in fridge to retrieve a steak. Seemed like the mere presence of this woman was making everyone act weird.

Miranda picked up a clean cup and the pot of coffee. She thought about brewing a fresh pot, but the woman wasn't royalty. Or was she? Besides, if she'd stopped at Benny's to eat, she couldn't exactly expect fine dining, right?

The woman had her hands in her lap, looking down at something when Miranda brought her the coffee. Whatever it was, Miranda didn't get a good look at it before the woman slid it further under the table.

She put the cup down and poured a steaming cup. The woman looked up at her again, locking her with that riveting gaze. She had a wry half-smile on her lips.

"Did you ever wonder if your life wasn't meant for something else?" she asked.

Miranda paused with the cup filled halfway. Every damned day, lady, she wanted to say. But who was the woman talking about? Was she really asking about Miranda, or was she somehow talking about herself? If she was talking about herself, she had some nerve rolling up here in a brand new limo, whining about how hard she had it to a waitress in a roadside diner. But Miranda couldn't tell.

"No," Miranda said.

The woman's half-smile turned into a full one, though her eyes weren't smiling. Her eyes were saying she didn't believe Miranda one bit. Her eyes said she thought Miranda was full of shit.

Miranda didn't like that look, and increasingly she didn't like this woman. She finished pouring the coffee.

"I'm just gonna go check on your food," Miranda said.

"Yes," the woman said, and now there was something else in her eyes. Sadness? "Thank you."

Miranda put the pot back in the maker. A plate was waiting on the stainless steel shelf. She picked it up and looked at it, a sixteen ounce T-bone that Benny had lain across the grill for less than a minute on each side. The customer had wanted it as rare as she could get it, and Benny had complied. The meat sat in a pool of bloody juice. The customer's always right, right?

She walked it back to the booth and slid the plate onto the table.

"That look all right?" she asked.

"Fine," the woman said, not bothering to look down at the steak. She was staring straight ahead, just taking small sips every few seconds.

"Okay then," Miranda said. "If there's anything else I can get for you, just let me know."

The woman did look up at her then. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Miranda felt a little sorry for dismissing whatever problems this woman might have so casually earlier. Even rich and beautiful people had problems, too, she supposed. And this woman definitely had something going on. Miranda wasn't her therapist, though, and her sympathy only stretched so far. She figured maybe she wouldn't mind switching places with her for a few days, seeing if maybe she couldn't handle whatever issues were going on.

After a second or two, the woman closed her mouth, then turned to keep looking straight ahead. She took another sip of her coffee.

Miranda stifled the impulse to shrug and just headed back to her perch at the counter.

She picked her book back up and opened it. She started to read, or at least thought she did, but by the time her eyes reached the bottom of the page she realized she didn't remember any of what she had read. She couldn't focus on the words at all. The woman's question just kept playing itself over and over in her head. Did you ever wonder if your life wasn't meant for something else?

"Hey!" Benny yelled from the kitchen. Miranda looked up and saw that the woman was no longer sitting in the booth. The hairy hulk of a limo driver was crouching to climb back into the driver's seat.

"Did she pay her check?" Benny asked. The limo was now pulling out of the parking lot. If she hadn't paid, they weren't going to run her down, and they weren't going to call the state police for a twelve dollar check.

Miranda didn't even know if she'd finished the steak. "Maybe she left it on the table."

"Maybe you should go check," he said.

She rolled her eyes at him and got up, putting the book down once again. As she stood over the booth, the first thing she noticed was the smell, as if something had been burnt. The steak was half eaten, but the half that remained was charred black. That was weird.

There was no money on the table that she could see, but there was a small black velvet pouch next to the plate. She picked it up, tugging at the little gold drawstring that cinched it tight. She peered inside, shielding what she was holding from Benny's view.

All she could see was the dark glint of something shiny. She turned the bag over and dumped the contents into her hand. A gold necklace spilled into her palm, with a red gemstone the size of a small egg affixed to it. She nearly let out a gasp.

"She leave anything?" Benny yelled from the kitchen.

Miranda rolled the thing over in the light streaming in from outside. No way this thing was real. If it were, why in the hell would she leave it here? She slipped it and the bag into her apron pocket.

"Yeah," Miranda yelled back. "She left a twenty."

"Whew," Benny said, letting out a nervous laugh. "Okay then. I'll be in my office if by some miracle we get another customer before dinner."

"Sure," Miranda said, opening her apron and taking one more quick peek at the necklace and its enormous red gem. Could that possibly be a ruby? Its oval, multifaceted face shimmered up at her. No way it was a ruby and no way it was real. She didn't even have a clue where to get something like this appraised. She sure as hell wasn't hauling it down to Speedy Pete's Pawn Shop.

She closed her apron and walked back to the kitchen to get a gray plastic bin so she could bus the table. As she cleared the dishes, she felt the weight of the necklace resting against her thighs. Maybe things were finally about to turn around for her. Maybe that woman saw something in Miranda, wanted to help her out. Or maybe it was just a piece of shitty costume jewelry. No matter what, at least today wasn't going to be boring.

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### **3  
** CORBAN

Once he returned to Everfrost Keep, Corban made straight for Wygard's tower in the east wing. As he walked the empty halls, his footsteps echoed in the cold air. Some, his sister included, thought the keep was a lonely place, dark, cold, and empty. But he liked it here. It was peaceful. It felt like home.

He reached the bottom of the winding staircase that led to the top of the tower. He sighed as he looked up the hundreds of steps that led to the top where Wygard dwelled. He could have summoned for the old owl. Instead, he put his foot on the first step and began to climb.

As he worked his way up the spiraling stairs, his stomach heavy with the morning's kill, he thought of his father. Orric Everfrost used to sit upon the icy roost in dragonform, his blue wings tucked behind him, his silver eyes wisely surveying all. Corban still couldn't see himself taking his father's place. It wasn't right. It wasn't time.

And yet, Astra had said a broodmate had been called for, a Wildfire. The thought made the elk in his belly sour. He didn't need such a distraction right now. On top of trying to find his father, he still needed to tend to the daily duties of running a kingdom. Everyone, it seemed, wanted something. No one was happy. Petty disputes about hunting grounds. Demands to deal with poachers along the southern border. Meanwhile, his spies were reporting growing distrust and unrest between the Nightshadows and Moonglows, perhaps the dawn of a new war between the clans. Was this what being a king was?

If so, what good was some Wildfire wench who didn't know their ways? He didn't need her and he didn't want her.

It took Corban nearly half an hour to climb all the way to the top, and even though he was dragonborn, the most powerful magic in Xandakar coursing through his veins, he was nearly out of breath. The morning's hunt had been invigorating, but it had also worn him out.

The chamber at the top of the tower was dark, the way Wygard liked it. The circular floor was bare of furniture, bookshelves lining the walls. Corban peered up into the dark rafters, searching for a sign of his advisor.

"Wygard," he said loudly. "Are you there?" He knew the owl was. Where else would he be? The owl-mage was always either roosting in the dark shadows above, reading, or hunting rats here in his chamber. Villagers came to the gates of the keep every week with a haul of fresh rats. Corban's guards paid in silver, then let the rats loose for Wygard to hunt. The keep was too cold for the vermin to want to naturally make it home, so Corban had to pay the lowborn to catch and bring them here.

He heard the sound of wings, not the heavy, leathery beat of a dragon, but the light flutter of feathers. The outline of a bird appeared in the shadows above, then descended. The old white owl flew down to the center of the floor. It landed, then looked up at him with those alarming yellow eyes.

"I have something for you to look at," Corban said.

The owl ruffled its wings, bristled its feathers, and blinked. Then it closed its eyes, bowed its head, and began to grow. The white feathers on its head became slender strands of long white hair. The feathers across its body merged together into a heavy white robe. Within a few seconds, a man stood where an owl once sat.

He was shorter than Corban, an old man with wide, curious eyes, white hair, and a slightly hooked nose.

"You look well, my King," Wygard said.

Corban ignored the pleasantries. That was another thing he hated about ruling the clan. Ceremony and ritual. So many speeches and formalities. He preferred to just get on with things.

He reached into his vest and took out the vial, holding it out to Wygard, who cupped both palms to receive it. The owl-mage squinted down at the sample of black snow.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"They left a fresh set of tracks this time," Corban said. "Near the rift."

Wygard pinched the vial between two fingers and shook it in front of his eyes. There was already less of the black snow than Corban had collected. Perhaps half of the sample remained.

"Interesting," Wygard said, tapping the base of the vial. The old mage had been the most receptive to the idea that Corban's father wasn't dead, that something else had happened to him. He didn't encourage Corban's theories. But unlike Astra, he didn't try to dissuade him either.

"Do you know what it is?" Corban asked.

"What?" Wygard said, looking up from the vial. "Yes. I mean, not exactly. I've seen something like this before, long ago. I need to analyze it, look up a few things. Leave it with me, and I will try to find you some answers."

"Tomorrow, then?"

Wygard had turned his attention back to the snow. "Oh, yes," he said. "It may be all gone by then, but I should be able to tell you something."

"Very well," Corban said. "Meet me in the Great Hall tomorrow morning." The thought of climbing those stairs again made his legs ache. He turned to leave.

"Wait a moment," Wygard said. "Do you not wish to learn about your new bride?"

Corban looked over his shoulder. "Not especially." He didn't care who she was, what she was like, or what she wanted. Right now she was merely a nuisance, a political necessity. Magda the Wise had coughed up a puddle of rat bones and decided his fate. He was bound by tradition and prophecy. But he didn't have to like it, and he certainly didn't want to dwell on it.

"I met her once," Wygard said, ignoring the rebuff of his King. "Before The War of the Flaming Night, before they sent her to another world for hiding. She was a beautiful little girl, and they said even as a whelp she was one of the most powerful in the clan. They said her breath could melt a mountain."

"She sounds lovely," Corban said.

"Very droll, my King," Wygard said. "But you will be bound together for the rest of your lives. You would do well to learn about her. And when she arrives, you would do well to welcome her into our home."

As far as Corban was concerned, if he could throw her in the frosty cells below the keep, he would. He didn't care to welcome her, befriend her, or anything else. But he was mildly curious about when she was supposed to get here, if only to know when the nuisance was to begin.

"And when is she supposed to arrive?" Corban asked.

A goofy smile crossed Wygard's face. He seemed delighted that his King had decided to show the slightest bit of interest. "Soon, from what I understand. Long ago, Magda herself aided in the forging of a talisman, a relic that allows travel between worlds. Upon divining the prophecy of your union, she whispered through the talisman, calling to Siccora, beckoning her to come. So it was said at the last gathering."

"When all the owls sit around in a giant tree and hoot to one another?"

Wygard blinked his huge eyes. "Yes."

"Soon?" Corban asked. "That's very helpful, Wygard. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, my King," the owl-mage said, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Just get to work on that," Corban said, nodding at the vial. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Wygard bowed low, then scurried off to a workbench embedded between two bookcases that Corban had never seemed to notice before. As he turned to go, he heard the mage transform, fluttering high up to one of the bookshelves.

At the top of the steps, he looked back to see the owl pulling a dusty book from its resting place with both claws.

He headed back down the stairs.

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### **4  
** MIRANDA

She worked the next six hours with the necklace weighing down the front of her apron. She didn't show it to anyone. She thought about telling Rhonda about it when she came on at six, but then decided against it. If it were real, she didn't want anyone to know about it.

She had used her own money to cover the rich woman's check, a measly investment if the necklace turned out to be worth anything at all. There's no way it was worth anything, though. If it were, why would the woman leave it?

Miranda spent the entire shift double-checking that it was there, dreaming up possible scenarios about why the woman might have left it, and fantasizing about how her life would change if it were real.

_Did you ever wonder if your life wasn't meant for something else?_ The woman had asked her that. Maybe the necklace was a gift. Wasn't there some old show about a guy who ran around and gave people a million dollars to try to change their lives? Or maybe the woman was just crazy. At the very least she was weird as hell.

Miranda still didn't know what was up with the charred steak. Had the woman pulled one of those mini-blowtorches like chefs use out of her purse and cooked the thing herself?

"You all right?" Rhonda asked her half an hour after she got there.

"Yeah," Miranda said. "I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know. You got some weird look in your eye."

Miranda shook her head and shrugged while holding a short stack in one hand and a burger with onion rings in the other. She shook her head.

Rhonda squinted at her. "If I had to guess, I'd say you almost looked happy. Something going on?"

"Nope," Miranda said, turning to deliver the food. She looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, I did get laid last night."

"That's not exactly news," Rhonda said, clipping an order to the wheel. "If that is why you're happy, he must have been one hell of a lay."

Miranda delivered the plates to an elderly biker couple in a booth. The man was wearing a camouflage bandana on his head and had a long, curly moustache. He smiled, showing a gold tooth, and winked at her. "Thank you, darling," he said. He flinched and winced a second later. The woman sitting across from him had a thick mane of bleached hair and wore a turquoise tank top. She must have kicked him under the table.

"Ya'll enjoy," Miranda said, heading back to Rhonda.

"Benny told me about the rich psycho that came in earlier," Rhonda said. "Sounds like a trip."

"Yeah, it was pretty strange," Miranda said, almost adding: Y _ou have no idea_. She pressed her arm across the top of her apron to keep the lip closed. She felt a little bad withholding the existence of the necklace to Rhonda, who was probably her best friend. Miranda just didn't know that many people, so Rhonda pretty much won the distinction by default.

"You want to tell me about this epic lay?" Rhonda asked, smiling wide. She was no stranger to male company herself. Though as Miranda's mom might say, she didn't shit where she ate. Rhonda had little time for Benny's clientele, even though she got hit on as much or more than Miranda. She was a beautiful girl, with high cheekbones, straightened black hair cut short around her ears, and one of the nicer asses Miranda had ever seen. She had a nice smile, too.

"Not much to tell," Miranda said. Actually, there was absolutely zero to tell. The guy had been okay, but he certainly wasn't the reason for the strange look Rhonda had spotted in her eye.

"Not gonna kiss and tell," Rhonda said. "I'm disappointed, but I can respect that."

Benny hit the bell and yelled: "Order up!"

"You seeing Mister Not-Much-To-Tell again tonight?" Rhonda asked.

Miranda almost laughed. She hadn't even gotten the guy's name. He was long gone by now, and even if he weren't, she really had no interest in him. She wished she'd pointed Rhonda in a different direction.

"Nah," she said. "I'm just gonna pick up a bottle of wine on the way home and chill."

"Uh huh," Rhonda said, her smile saying she wasn't sure she believed a thing Miranda was saying. Though for the first time in the conversation, Miranda was actually being truthful. She planned to get some wine after work, head back to her trailer, and get a little drunk. Then tomorrow she'd figure out what to do about the necklace.

Benny angrily smacked the top of the bell twice more and glared at his waitresses.

"Yeah, yeah," Rhonda said. "I'm coming."

Miranda finished her shift about an hour and a half later. She usually took off her apron and tossed it in the laundry bin in the back of the restaurant, but today she carefully rolled it up along with its contents and stuffed it into her purse.

On the way home, she stopped at the Speedy Mart just off the highway near her home. Just like she'd told Rhonda, she picked up a bottle of chilled white zinfandel.

When she got back home, the first thing she did was pour herself a Mason jar full of wine, take a long gulp, and roll the apron out on the table. She slid the necklace out and nearly gasped. The thing was heavy. It damn sure felt real. It was also warmer than it had a right to be, as if it had been sitting under the heat lamps at Benny's. That was weird. The beauty and elegance of the jewelry looked wildly incongruent against the backdrop of her shitty little trailer.

She thought about biting the chain. Wasn't that how you tested to see if something was gold? Then she laughed, thinking she'd probably just end up with a broken tooth. And Benny's damn sure didn't provide dental insurance. No, she'd have to find someone who knew something about jewelry. There was probably someone in Oklahoma City that knew whether it was real or not, and what its value might be. Or maybe she'd just make the drive to Dallas. It was only a few hours away. Maybe she'd look up some jewelry dealers on the internet later and try to figure something out.

In the meantime, she polished off the jarful of wine and poured herself another. She went to the bathroom to pee, then looked at herself in the tacky full-length mirror she'd put up near the stand-up shower. She giggled, pulling off her uniform over her head, knocking her elbows against the bathroom wall.

She looked at herself, wearing only her pink bra and panties. Her looks were the one thing left she still figured she had going for her. Her long, dark hair fell around her bare shoulders. She looked into her own eyes, so dark they were nearly black.

Miranda reached around and unclasped the hook, shrugging out of her C-cup bra. She let it fall to the floor, looking at her large brown nipples. She sucked in her stomach and pushed up her breasts from underneath.

"Fuck it," she said, hooking her thumbs in the sides of her panties and sliding them down as well. _The hair down there probably needs a bit of a trim_ , she thought, looking at the tangled patch of dark hair. All-in-all she liked what she saw, but like her mother used to tell her, looks only got you so far.

If her life was meant for something else, she still didn't know what the hell it was.

One thing she did know was that she wanted to see how she looked with that giant red stone hanging around her neck, fake or not.

Miranda went back to the tiny table and picked up the necklace from where it lay on the apron. She held it up and it almost seemed to drink in the light, a swirl of smoke moving deep within the gemstone. Was that her imagination? Was she already drunk?

She took the necklace back into the bathroom, and as she stood before the mirror, she unfastened the clasp and put it around her neck. The huge stone lay at the base of her throat, unnaturally warm against her skin.

She didn't realize how small the chain was. It was almost more of a choker than a necklace, fitting snugly around her neck as she fastened the clasp. As it clicked into place, she felt something, almost like the piece of jewelry was holding on to her. But that was nuts, right?

Miranda looked at herself in the mirror, the bulbous red gem now fixed in the hollow of her throat. It shimmered, then began to glow a deep, dark red.

She watched in fascination and growing panic as the stone brightened. _What the fuck is going on right now?_ she thought. Her first impulse was that the woman that afternoon had left her this thing as a kind of trap. All she wanted to do was get it off, and fast.

She reached up and fumbled for the clasp as the smoky red light filled the entire bathroom. She stumbled backwards out into the main room and the crimson light suffused everything.

Miranda caught her balance by grabbing the wall, but as she touched it she felt the surface begin to melt, as if it were turning to jelly beneath her fingers.

"What's happening?" she yelled into the empty trailer filled with red light. The walls all around continued to melt. The faucet, the table, everything looked like it was now made of wax, sliding away into nothingness.

She crouched on the floor, her fingers still clawing at the back of her neck, trying to get the damned thing off. But it was too late.

The trailer was gone. Everything was gone. She was floating in a black void. She could see the tiny white pinpricks of stars all around her, and she thought she was going to throw up. She took her hands from her neck and curled them up around her knees, squeezing her eyes shut.

Her impression was that of moving, not as if she were being propelled, but as if some great force were pulling her across some vast distance at an unspeakable speed. But there was no feeling of air on her face. It was like some kind of surreal carnival ride. She almost hoped she would pass out. She also thought there was a good chance she was going to die.

She'd meant to talk to Rhonda tonight, to ask her about school. But then there was all the craziness with this goddamn necklace and she'd forgotten all about it.

"Please," she whispered, unable to hear her own words. "Don't let this be it." More than ever she wanted to do something with her life, and she hoped this wasn't the end of it.

Suddenly, mercifully, she slowed to a stop.

With her eyes still clenched shut, the first thing she felt was the cold. Goosebumps broke out across her arms and thighs. She was crouching in a ball, her feet now on solid ground. With her eyes still closed, she tentatively reached out and felt cold stone.

She opened her eyes.

She was in some kind of massive hall. The walls looked like they were made of giant sheets of pale blue ice. Two men stood nearby. They had been talking, and now they turned to look at her.

The taller one was young, about her age. He was blond, with icy blue eyes and hair so blond it was almost white. He was wearing some weird kind of scaly wetsuit that clung to his body, accentuating his powerful, muscular body. He looked like some kind of superhero, but he was staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

The other man looked less surprised than amused. He was old, a little hunched over and wearing a long white robe. His thick white hair was parted in the middle, and his huge, yellowish eyes regarded her with a look that seemed as if he'd been expecting her.

Just where the fuck was she? And who were these people? One looked like a god, the other like a wizard.

She'd never been so disoriented and self-conscious in her life, though the buzz from the cheap wine she'd been drinking was completely gone. She stood up, keeping one arm across her chest, her other hand covering the patch between her legs.

The old man smiled and took a step toward her. "Siccora Wildfire," he said. "You are finally here."

Siccora Wildfire? What the hell kind of name was that?

"We actually met once," the old man went on. "At a feast in the Emerald Isles. You were just a little girl." He looked her up and down, then smiled again. "You most certainly are not a little girl anymore."

_Oh shit_ , she thought. _Just who in the hell did they think she was?_ And then it hit her. The woman in the restaurant. She and the woman both had dark hair and dark eyes. They were about the same age. Had the woman specifically chosen her to take her place, to be zipped through some kind of wormhole and plopped down here in some kind of Scandinavian fantasy world?

The other man was staring at her with those penetrating blue eyes. There was desire there, no doubt. She knew that look well enough, but it almost seemed as if he were trying to stifle it. He was the most incredible-looking man she had ever seen, like a mythical Norse god come to life. She realized she was probably doing a shitty job of concealing just how hot she thought he was. She realized she was staring and forced herself to look back at the old man.

That was better. She could think a little straighter when she wasn't looking at _him_.

Then a horrible thought crossed her mind. If they found out she wasn't who she thought she was, what exactly would they do? Kill her? Imprison her? Send her back? She didn't know these people, but any of these options seemed possible. She decided to keep her mouth shut a little longer, play along, and let them think what they would.

"Oh," the old man said. "You probably don't remember me. I am Wygard Whitewing." He crossed his arms across his chest and bowed. Then he looked at the other man. "And it is my great honor to introduce you to Corban Everfrost, King of the Icelands and patriarch of the Everfrost clan."

_Wait, what?_ Just a few minutes ago she was naked and tipsy, strutting around naked in her trailer home off Route 48. And now she was standing in front of a guy who looked like he was sculpted out of marble and was supposed to be the King?

How was she going to be able to keep up this ruse? She obviously looked the part, and no one had seen her since she was a child. But she didn't know a damn thing about this place or the people in it. Maybe the real Siccora didn't either, though. If she were going to own up, admit who she really was, now was the time.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, giving an awkward little bow before standing up straight and meeting his eyes. "I'm Siccora Wildfire."

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### **5  
CORBAN**

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He paced impatiently in the Great Hall, waiting for his advisor. When there were feasts, when it was time to entertain huge crowds in human form, this is where they would gather. The cooks would prepare delicacies from around the kingdom. The hall would be filled with tables of revelers, the torches would be lit, and music would fill the enormous space. But now the tables were put away. The torches were black and cold. And the only sounds were Corban's boot steps on the stone floor.

Everyone would want him to host a feast in honor of his new wife. He wouldn't do it. He didn't want a bride, much less one bred of the red dragons. The Wildfires were half a breath away from being mortal enemies. Their character mirrored their namesake: rash, impetuous, and volatile. How they ever kept a kingdom together was a mystery. And how the Everfrosts, level-headed and precise, had not taken over their lands and made them bow in allegiance was yet another puzzle.

He had no intention of throwing a party, or a gala, or a feast of any sort. What was there to celebrate? A forced union with a clan he could barely tolerate?

No, he had better things to do with his time, and more important things to worry about.

As if in answer to this thought, the heavy oak door at the end of the hall squealed open and in walked Wygard.

"Where have you been?" Corban asked.

"Patience," the owl-mage said, shuffling forward. "The gathering of knowledge takes time."

"I am patient," Corban said. "But my patience has its limits. Did you learn anything?"

The old man's face lit up. This was what he lived for. This, and hunting rats.

"Ah, yes, my liege," he said. "The black snow you gave me yesterday disappeared, but not before it yielded a few answers."

"Tell me."

"Better I show you," Wygard said. He raised his hands to the high roof of the hall, the heavy wool sleeves of his robe sliding down to expose his bony arms. He closed his eyes and began to murmur. As he did, the tips of his fingers began to glow white.

The hall had been dark, but as the mage worked his magic, the empty space above their heads filled with sparkling nodes of light. They shone like the stars in the sky, only bigger and brighter. There were thousands of them, far too many to count, and for a moment Corban forgot about his father and his forced marriage and simply marveled at the beauty of the light field shimmering over his head.

"What is this?" Corban asked. "It's beautiful."

Wygard opened his eyes and lowered his hands, but the lights remained, filling the hall with their glow. "Long, long ago, the first mages discovered the existence of other worlds," he said. "They began to devise ways to travel between them and to chronicle their efforts. This is a map of the ones we know about."

Some of the white lights began to turn red, only a few. "These are the worlds far too dangerous to visit," Wygard went on. "There," he pointed to the left at a small, shimmering light hovering just above them. "That is the place called Earth, where your new bride-to-be has lived in safety and seclusion."

Corban didn't care about that. He knew a little about Earth, and from the stories it was an inconsequential place where the humans were stuck in a single form, oblivious to the magical arts.

"What does this have to do with the hoof prints?" Corban asked. "The black snow?"

"Ah," Wygard said. "You see, my King, every world has a name, though they are not all known. And every world has a...how should we say it? A signature. A stamp. Everything from that world bears its mark, if you only look closely and know what you're looking for."

"The snow is from another world?" Corban asked.

Wygard chuckled. "Not the snow itself. That is our own. But the hooves that touched it and corrupted it are most definitely not from Xandakar."

"Where then?" Corban asked. "Show me." He scanned the floating lights. Which world was it? Even if it glowed red, he would find a way to go there, to rescue his father.

Wygard cleared his throat. "That's where things begin to get interesting," he said. "And problematic."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it's possible to glean the approximate position of a world, even if we have never been there. The signature, the essence of a world, suggests where among the many universes this place should exist." The mage pointed to an empty black void amidst a sparse cluster of worlds. "I've charted the origin of the sample you brought me, and it is a place that by all the lore should _not_ exist."

"I don't understand," Corban said. "You mean a place that you mages have yet to discover, some world you have not yet visited?"

"No," Wygard said. "That area is different. We know of places where the conditions are ripe for a world to exist, even if we haven't been there. But everything about that," he thrust his bony finger forcefully at the void, "defies everything we know. There is no light, no energy, no magic. The raw stuff of worlds does not exist anywhere near it. From all that I have studied, that place simply _should not be_."

Corban stared at the black space, still not understanding the words that fell out of the mage's mouth. A world that wasn't supposed to be there?

"You sound half-mad," Corban said.

"Yes," Wygard said. "I almost feel a bit that way, your Majesty. But all is not lost. I have an idea about how to proceed." He clapped his hands and the field of lights collapsed into one condensed ball of light, which then shrunk into a tiny pin-prick and disappeared, leaving them in the semi-darkness once again.

"Very well," Corban said. "Tell me about this plan of—"

A crackling noise filled the air. The men turned to see a red flame appear a dozen feet away, waist-high.

Wygard took a step back, crouching as if to transform, but Corban stood his ground. Waves of heat radiated toward them as the flame grew to the size of a man. Or a woman.

"It's time," Wygard said from behind Corban. "She's here."

The red flame swirled, expanding outward, then falling back onto itself and solidifying. Corban watched as the flames became flesh, sculpting themselves into the form of woman.

She knelt on the stone floor, smoking rising not just from around her, but from her skin. Her black hair fell about her naked shoulders. In fact, she seemed to be completely naked, curled in a ball and hugging her knees. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, which smoldered red for a moment before darkening.

She stood, using one hand to shield her breasts, though they were too large to hide entirely, the soft flesh showing above and below her arm. Her other hand reached down to cover the patch of black hair between her legs, though he caught a glimpse of it. A gold necklace fit snugly around her neck, a glowing red gem lying at the base of her throat. _The talisman_ , Corban thought.

"Siccora Wildfire," Wygard said, stepping forward. "You are finally here."

She was beautiful. That he could not deny. And she certainly knew how to make an entrance. Wygard was babbling something about how he had met her before, but Corban wasn't listening. He was fixated on the woman. Something primal pulled him toward her. She was naked, but this was more than lust. Was the necklace working some kind of magic on him?

Wygard was introducing him now. She seemed hesitant, as if making up her mind about something. Then the doubt faded from her face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said. She bowed, keeping her hands strategically positioned. Then she straightened and looked him in the eyes in a bold way few women had. "I'm Siccora Wildfire."

He gave her a curt nod. Her beauty had taken him by surprise. He'd been prepared to shun her completely, and though something in him had made him temporarily forget himself, he still wasn't going to fall all over himself welcoming her. She was an unwanted nuisance, and he intended on treating her that way. Still, he couldn't have her running around the keep like this.

"Wygard," he said. "Surely we have a vacant servant's quarters near the kitchen?"

"Oh," Wygard said. "I thought perhaps she would be more at home in the North Wing."

"No," Corban said, looking her up and down. "We don't have room in the North Wing." Though of course that wasn't true. He meant to make her feel as unwelcome as possible, though, short of throwing her in the dungeons. "Do as I say. And find her something to wear."

"Yes, your highness," Wygard said, stepping up to Siccora and taking off his white robe to drape it around her. "This will have to do for now until we find you some proper attire." Then the mage took her by the elbow and began to lead her from the hall, casting a disapproving look over his shoulder as he went.

Corban didn't care. What he _did_ care about was the news of interlopers from a world that shouldn't exist. His suspicions were confirmed. Wygard said he had a plan, and Corban was eager to hear it. But then the Wildfire woman had appeared out of nowhere. Now he would have to wait.

In the meantime, he felt himself stiff beneath his scaled armor. Rarely did women have such an effect on him, and he found it annoying. Then a thought occurred to him to make him smile.

As he stepped out of the great doors of the hall, a lone guard stood watch in the hall.

"You there," Corban said. "Fetch Deelia and have her sent up to my chambers."

"Yes, your Majesty," the guard said.

He began to head to the North Wing, then turned. "Oh, and my future queen has arrived. You will find her in the servants' area. Wait a little while after fetching my consort, then bring Miss Wildfire up as well."

The guard bowed and went to carry out the command.

In his chambers, Corban shed his scaled armor, leaving it by the enormous canopy bed. He slipped in between the white satin sheets. His skin always felt strange without his armor, which was a living thing, melding with him when he transformed. All dragonkin grew scaled armor as they aged, each set becoming stronger and larger to fit their human forms as they reached adulthood.

Without his armor he truly felt like a human, vulnerable, but also free in a way. He propped himself up on the pillows and waited for Deelia to arrive. Soon she entered the chamber.

His consort looked as lovely as ever. She wore a wispy green gown showing her pert breasts and slender belly underneath. Her legs were bare, along with her feet. Her hair was short and blond, her eyes a soft brown. He had found her at the edge of the Hartglade Forest. Her village had been destroyed by barbarians, her kin slaughtered. She was the last of her clan, able to transform from doe to woman. He had offered her a place in his keep, and she had accepted.

Now she lay with him when he wanted and gave him all the female companionship he needed, a lesson that would soon be impressed upon his bride-to-be.

"Come here," he said, putting his hands behind his head. His cock was hard and ready now.

Deelia silently removed her gown, seemingly unaffected by the cool air of the chamber. She moved like a deer, graceful and quiet, always seeming just a little frightened even though they had done this many times.

As she approached the side of the bed, her wide brown eyes moved from his face down his body.

"Please me with your mouth," he said. "But make sure your bottom is high in the air, facing the door."

She looked slightly confused at that request, one he'd never made before, but obeyed. She climbed into the bed with him and crouched between his legs. Then she lowered her head and gave him a light kiss on the tip as she arched her back and raised her bottom high in the air.

Corban smiled. He wanted Siccora to have a nice view as she walked through the door. The old she-owl had decreed that he would marry her, but he didn't have to like it. And he was going to let her know where things stood from the very start. He would lay with Siccora. He had to, to make an heir. That was fine by him. Her appearance had gotten him stirred up in the first place. But he wasn't going to give up his consorts, much less his favorite. His new wife was going to have to get used to that idea.

Deelia curled her fingers around the base of his cock, her touch as light as ever. She looked up at him with those big doe eyes, then formed her lips into an "O" and lowered them onto him.

He felt himself enveloped in the warmth of her mouth, then her tongue began to go to work. She began to lick and suckle him, her large brown eyes locked adoringly on him the whole time, her soft hand squeezing the base.

His blood, normally cool and calm, had already been heated by the arrival of Siccora, so it didn't take much to send him over the edge. He moaned as Deelia lovingly sucked him, her bottom poised toward the door.

He felt the rush of pleasure rise from within, and his whole body stiffened. Then the door to his chamber opened.

He heard the voice of the guard outside say: "You may enter. He is expecting you."

Siccora Wildfire stepped into the room. She was wearing a simple white smock, the clothes of a servant girl. She looked in his direction as the door closed, her eyes moving first to Deelia's bobbing ass. Then her eyes met his, and he smiled at her as he came, releasing himself into his consort's delicate mouth.

Siccora's eyes grew wide, and something flashed in them, but it wasn't anger.

He gave a satisfied sigh as he pushed Deelia off of him, his seed dribbling from her mouth and chin.

"I realized I never gave you a proper greeting," he said. "Welcome to Everfrost Keep."

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### **6  
MIRANDA**

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She was still a little disoriented as the old man led her from the icy hall. She was also worried that she'd bitten off more than she could chew, pretending to be someone named Siccora Wildfire. Just who the hell was she? Someone important, certainly.

"You'll have to excuse the King," the old man said, leading her down a wide corridor. "He has many things on his mind."

All the walls here looked either made or coated with ice. And yet the one thing she didn't feel as much as she should have was cold. She had felt the frost right when she had arrived, but since then she had felt as warm as if she were snug in a blanket. The old man, Wygard, had given her his robe, but it was thin and shouldn't have been much protection against the chill. She brought her hand up to her neck and felt the stone on the necklace, almost hot to the touch. Some kind of magic was coursing through her, keeping her warm.

As they walked, she saw guards wearing blue and white scaled armor standing at their posts. Occasionally she and Wygard would pass people wearing simple white clothes, carrying trays or armfuls of wood. A few of the people they passed wore finer clothes, all Medieval-looking, and all blue and white. Everyone they passed looked at her. Some murmured to each other. She tried to ignore them, but she was obviously a curiosity. She worried that sooner or later someone would stop, point a finger at her, and call her out as an imposter. She tried to shrug off the anxiety and focus. What the hell was she going to do?

The necklace had brought her here when she put it on. It had to be the key. Maybe once she took it off she would be transported back.

Maybe this was all a dream or hallucination. Maybe it was real. But either way, it was damn sure more interesting than anything in her real life. She wondered if maybe she'd had some kind of psychotic break. Was her life so boring that she'd created this fantasy world to escape into?

This place certainly seemed real, though. And she wasn't sure her imagination was powerful enough to cook up all the tiny details she was experiencing, from the feel of the robe on her shoulders to the faint cinnamon and wood smell of the old man. All the people had distinct faces. She looked at the hem of a woman's dress as she passed, an intricate pattern of white roses sewn into the fabric. Her dreams were blurry, ever-shifting, and never this realistic.

"I'm sorry," she said to the old man. "What was that?"

"Oh, I was just apologizing for the King's manners," Wygard said. "He can be a bit...well, chilly at times."

"It's no problem," she said. The King, Corban, hadn't said anything to her. But he had looked at her in a way she'd been looked at many times before. And she hadn't shied away from looking back at him. He was gorgeous, his muscles rippling under the skin-tight scaly armor he was wearing. With a body like that, and his blonde hair and cool blue eyes, what wasn't to like? But he was royalty in this place, and she still had no idea who she was supposed to be. Better to just keep her head low and try to figure out what was going on. And if things got too hairy, she could just take the necklace off and try to get back to her own world.

Wygard led her past a huge kitchen, dozens of people at work over chopping boards and steaming pots. Whatever they were cooking, it smelled delicious. Her stomach rumbled and the old man apparently heard it, which was a little strange. Didn't old people usually have bad hearing?

"Oh, are you hungry, my dear?" he asked. Before she could answer, he scuttled off into the kitchen and returned with what looked like a barbecue fork. He handed it to her. A red hunk of raw meat was impaled on the twin tines. A drop of blood dripped to the floor.

"Elk," Wygard said.

She looked at the chunk of meat, as big as her fist and completely raw. Was this how they ate food here? If so, she might be in trouble.

He was staring at her with those huge eyes, the pupils dark and curious. "Is something wrong?" he asked. "I thought your clan always liked to char your own meat."

Something clicked. She remembered the woman in the diner, the real Siccora Wildfire and what she had ordered. She remembered the steak she had brought out, nearly raw, and the crispy black piece she had found afterwards. But she still didn't understand how that had happened, or how she was supposed to char her own meat, as the man had said.

"Um," she said. "I'm just not in the mood for elk, I guess."

He furrowed his bushy brows at her.

"Do you maybe just have a piece of bread or something?" she asked.

His eyes, curious before, looked suspicious now. _Oh shit,_ she thought. The old man had expected her to cook the meat in front of him somehow, put on a little show. And he'd found it strange that she hadn't.

But he took the fork as she handed it back over. Then he walked back into the kitchen and returned with a hunk of dark black bread. For a moment she was worried that it was burned black, but it was just a rye. He handed it over, the bread warm and soft.

"Here you are, my dear," he said, his voice warier than it had been before.

She bit into it, barely chewing before she swallowed. It was delicious. "Thank you, Wygard."

He brightened a little at the sound of his name. "Don't mention it," he said. "Now let's see about finding you a room and something to wear."

Corban had said something about putting her up in a servant's room. Miranda didn't care where her room was because she was getting increasingly nervous about being revealed as a fraud and was readying herself to make the trip back home. Wygard had seemed offended at the idea of her staying in a servant's room, though, and he continued to apologize as he led her down a dark hallway with simple wooden doors along either side.

There were no locks on the doors. Servants, it seemed, didn't deserve any sort of privacy. So Wygard simply opened the doors one by one until he found one that was clearly unoccupied.

"I'm so sorry about this," he said. "I'll have another talk with the King, or perhaps it would be better to talk to his sister. Either way, we'll find you something more accommodating."

"This is fine," she said. The room was simple, with only a straw bed, a small wooden table and chair, and a cedar chest against the wall. But it was clean and cozy.

The old man went to the chest and opened it. "Ah yes, good. There should be something for you to wear in here. Again, I'm sorry. I'll set the tailors to crafting you a new wardrobe at once. I should have done that before you arrived. But we weren't sure exactly when or how you would come, or if you would bring your own things along."

She smiled at him, finding it cute how embarrassed he was at following the King's orders. She was still trying to piece this all together. Why was she here? Or rather, why was Siccora Wildfire supposed to be here? She was obviously someone important. Was she just here on a visit? Wygard had said he had met her as a little girl. She'd been gone a long time, then.

It doesn't matter, she told herself. None of that matters. She'd had enough of this charade, or elaborate hallucination, whatever it was.

She cleared her throat. "Would you mind if I had a little privacy," she said. "You know, to change?"

"Oh, of course," Wygard said, blushing. "I'll, uh, stand watch at the door. Just come out when you're ready."

"Thank you," she said. But she had no intention of stepping back out of the room. As soon as Wygard closed the door, she was going to take this stupid necklace off. She was sure it was what had not only brought her to this place, but was keeping her here.

Wygard bowed, and she felt a little pang of sadness. The king had been rude, but the old man had been nothing but kind and pleasant. She was going to be a little sorry to leave him.

He closed the door behind him, and Miranda unfurled his robe from her naked body and draped it on the bed. Again, she would have expected to feel cold. There was no fireplace here, just those blue icy walls that seemed to be providing their own kind of strange light.

She reached up to the back of her neck, then wondered if going back naked was such a smart idea. What if she didn't end up back in her trailer? She had no idea how this was going to work, or even if it would, but she decided it might be best to put on some clothes either way.

Miranda looked through the trunk and found a simple white dress. She pulled it over her head. A pair of what looked like leather moccasins sat at the bottom of the chest. She pulled them out and slipped them on.

Then she reached up to the back of her neck and found the clasp. She tried to unhook it with her thumb, but it wouldn't budge. She turned her neck and pried at the catch with her fingers.

"Dammit," she said.

"Everything all right in there?" Wygard said through the door.

"Yeah," she said. "I'll be out in a minute." And maybe that was true, because the damned necklace seemed glued to her neck. After a few more fruitless attempts at unhooking the clasp, she resorted to grabbing both sides of the chain and pulling. Nope. This thing wasn't going anywhere.

She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. _Shit_ , she thought. _Looks like I'm stuck here_.

Wygard was waiting for her when she opened the door. His already huge eyes widened when he saw her.

"No one ever made such simple robes look so magnificent," he said, and even though she figured he was blowing a little smoke up her butt, it was still nice to hear a compliment. She wasn't sure the last time that had happened, other than some biker telling her she had a nice ass. And while that could sometimes be nice, it just wasn't the same.

"Thanks," Miranda said. She handed him back his robe. He nodded and slid it back on.

She thought about asking if there were a jeweler or blacksmith around, someone who could help her get the damned necklace off. But before she could say anything else, a breathless young guard ran up to them.

"Sorry to interrupt sir, and ma'am," he said, turning to Miranda. "But the King has requested your presence in his chambers."

Wygard raised his eyebrows. "Right now?"

"Yes, sir," the guard said.

"Well," Wygard said, chuckling to himself. "Perhaps he's had a change of heart. You should go to him, dear. We'll get you a proper set of clothes and a tour of the keep another time."

"Okay," she said. "Thank you for your help."

"You're quite welcome," Wygard said. And then a thing so strange happened it made Miranda wonder again if she were in a dream.

The old man took a step back and began to shrink. She watched in amazement as his robes turned to feathers, his arms folding along his sides like wings, his legs and feet transforming into those of a bird. Within only a few seconds, the old man had become a white owl, sitting on the stone floor and looking up at her with very nearly the same eyes.

Then he took to the air, wings fluttering, and disappeared down the hallway.

Miranda felt dizzy. She reached out and put her hand against the door frame to brace herself.

"What the hell was that?" she asked the guard.

He looked at her quizzically. "Have you never seen anyone shift into owlform?" Then a look of realization crossed his face. "Oh, yes. You've lived your whole life in another world. Do those that live there not have two forms?"

She'd been with a few guys who might qualify as pigs, but not literal pigs. Two forms? Just what the hell was this place?

"Uh, no," she said.

"How strange that must have been," the guard said.

_Yeah, right,_ Miranda thought. _My world is the one that's strange._ The guard reached out to take her arm, but she straightened up and shook her head.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm fine. Just show me to the King's chambers."

The doors to Corban's room were larger than most others. The guard pulled the iron ring that served as the handle and the huge door swung open.

 "You may enter," he said. "He is expecting you."

It took her a moment for her mind to figure out what was happening. She had expected him to be standing in front of the door, or perhaps sitting nearby in a chair. But her eyes scanned the room only to see the bed at the far end, a white round ass facing her and jiggling.

The door closed behind her, and she looked over the round cheeks to see the King, propped up against the headboard, smiling at her.

For a second she had thought only one person was on the bed, that the King was transformed into some strange beast. After all, she'd just seen an old man turn into an owl and fly away. But as her mind wrapped itself around the scene, she realized there were two people in the bed, and then it became clear what they were doing. Or rather, what the girl crouched on top was doing to him.

With their eyes locked, Corban shuddered all over. He had planned this, for her to walk in right as he came. She had to admit, part of her was actually a little turned on. But even though he was without a doubt the most amazing-looking man she'd ever seen, another part of her was kind of grossed out.

He touched the shoulders of the girl who'd had her head down in his lap and pushed her up. Her hair was short and blonde, and as she turned, Miranda saw her large brown doe eyes and the shiny mess on her chin.

"I realized I never gave you a proper greeting," he said. "Welcome to Everfrost Keep."

And now the pieces were falling in place, little by little. Siccora was supposed to travel here, to this world. For exactly what, Miranda still didn't know. But she was to be a guest in this guy's castle, this Corban Everfrost.

And it was clear he was a giant asshole.

No wonder the real Siccora didn't want to have anything to do with him.

He was lying there, smirking at her, the doe-eyed bimbo sitting at his feet with his cum on her lips.

"So that's why this thing around my neck shot me halfway across the universe?" Miranda said. "To watch you get sucked off? Is this what does it for you?"

Her mother had always said her mouth would be the end of her one day, and as soon as she spoke, she wondered if today was that day. This was a world she knew almost nothing about, other than that it was filled with people who could change back and forth into animals. And she'd just given a piece of her mind to the King of all people. For all she knew he could transform into a bear and chew her to pieces. Or he could just have her thrown in the dungeons. All castles like this had dungeons, didn't they?

Corban had an angry look on his face. She'd definitely ticked him off, and she had to admit that was satisfying. Even though she dreaded what he might do next, she did her best to stand up straight and remain defiant. Now wasn't the time to back down.

He leaned forward and slapped the girl's ass, the sound of the smack filling the room. She jumped a little and smiled.

"Go on, Deelia," he said, keeping his eyes on Miranda. "Leave us be."

Deelia jumped off the bed and bent at the waist to pick up some gauzy, transparent piece of cloth from the floor. _She looks like some kind of forest animal_ , Miranda thought, the memory of Wygard's transformation fresh in her mind. _She can probably morph into a gazelle or something._

Deelia slipped the fabric over her head, and Miranda wondered why she even bothered wearing anything at all. The garment was basically a veil, revealing the brown triangle of tangled hair where her two long legs met as well as her small, but perfect, breasts. She walked gracefully past Miranda, giving her a sideways glance and a smile. And then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

"I hope you weren't expecting anything like that from me," Miranda said. "I don't go down on a guy until the second date."

Corban swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He had looked impressive in the skin-tight scaly armor he wore, but now that he stood before her completely naked, he was even more incredible. He almost looked like he belonged in a museum, high up on a pedestal.

His hair was a silvery-blonde, his eyes a pale, icy blue. His chest, arms, abs, and legs looked chiseled from marble, lean and muscular. And she couldn't help her eyes drifting down between his legs, where his nice thick cock hung, shiny from the forest-girl's mouth.

"Your eyes tell a different story," he said.

She looked up quickly, feeling the heat rush into her face. She looked him in his cold, beautiful eyes, trying to ignore the rest of his body, especially the part dangling between his legs.

"Are you sure you don't want a turn in my bed right now?" he asked, smirking again. "It's a bit of a break from tradition, but I'm sure no one will mind."

Break from tradition? What was he talking about? "Is that why you summoned me here?" she asked. "For a turn in your bed?"

He walked up to her, and she stood her ground, resisting the urge to take a step back. He stood toe-to-toe with her, and she could smell the sex on him, along with the smell of freshly-fallen snow and a hint of pine.

He was an asshole, sure. He'd sent her away with Wygard to put on servant's clothes. Then he'd summoned her to his chambers just as he was getting off with some other woman. He was trying to humiliate her, put her in her place, a strange thing to do to a woman you'd never met. Everything that was happening was so confusing, and having a King with a god-like body hovering over her wasn't helping her concentration. Even though he'd treated her with nothing but contempt since she arrived, part of her still wanted him to reach out with those powerful arms and lift her off her feet. He would just carry her back to the bed, tear off her robes like they were tissue, and push that impressive shaft up inside her, over and over and—

"No," he said. "I summoned you here to show you where things stand. I have plenty of consorts to wet my cock. I have no need of you."

He was looking down at her while he said it, his look cocky and defiant. But there was something behind those eyes. She was putting up a front herself, but she could see that he was as well. Like her mom used to say, don't bullshit a bullshitter. His mouth was saying he didn't want her, but something in his eyes said he did.

"Well then," she said, reaching out with her index finger to touch his chest. For some reason she expected his flesh to be hard and cold, but it was soft and warm. She trailed her finger in a circle around his nipple, watching with satisfaction as it hardened. "Consider your message received."

He was looking down at her finger, a confused look on his face. This wasn't how he had expected things to go. He'd probably wanted her to run crying out of the room at the spectacle of receiving a blow job. And not only had she not done that, here she was standing up to him and teasing him.

"I have a message for you as well," she said.

"And what is that?"

"Eat shit."

His look of confusion turned to anger. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip like steel. "You have a foul mouth for a princess," he said. "Did you learn that particular vulgarity from the weak-bred people of Earth?"

His grip on her wrist was hurting her, but she tried not to show it. Her mind had keyed in on one particular word he had uttered. Princess?

"Listen to me, Siccora Wildfire," he went on, "Our clans have warred with one another for centuries. Your arrival here doesn't change any of that. You are a distraction, nothing more. I do not need you here, nor want you here. Do you understand?"

 Before she could respond, the door opened once again. Had his consort left something behind?

They both turned towards the door. Miranda saw the female version of Corban enter the room, a beautiful silver-haired goddess with pale blue eyes.

Corban let go of her wrist, a red imprint left behind. _That's going to hurt_ , she thought.

"There you are!" the woman said, closing the distance between them in just a few steps and sweeping Miranda up in a hug. The woman's arms squeezed her tight, almost painfully. Miranda hugged her back.

Then the woman pulled out of the embrace, holding Miranda by the shoulders. "I heard you were here," she said. "I've been looking all over for you."

Miranda just stared at her, not really knowing what to say.

"I'm Astra," the woman said. "Corban's sister. I just wanted to—" She caught sight of her brother standing there naked and wrinkled her nose. "Please, brother. At least cover yourself."

She turned her attention back to Miranda, looking her up and down. "Are those servant's robes?"

Corban walked back to the side of his bed where his suit lay on the ground. He began putting it on, grinning the whole time. "She came through naked," he said. "We had to give her something to wear."

"This won't do," Astra said. "You're coming with me this instant. We're going to find you something much more appropriate. We can't have you looking like this when your father arrives."

"What?" Miranda said.

"You must be so excited," Astra said. "You haven't seen him in years."

_Yes, excited. That's what she was. Oh God, if anybody was going to recognize her as a fraud, it was going to be the guy who was supposed to be her own father._

"Oh joy," Corban said. "We get to play host to a whole keep full of Wildfires."

"When is he supposed to get here?" Miranda asked.

"Well," Astra said, thinking. "An owl was dispatched soon after you arrived. I would imagine your father and his party are in flight now. They should arrive before sundown."

_Great_ , Miranda thought. Maybe she could run away, find a blacksmith somewhere and get this damn thing off her neck. She forced a smile. "That sounds wonderful."

"Yes, wonderful," Corban said, pulling on his scaled boots.

"Oh, don't mind him," Astra said. "You're going to love it here. I already feel as if we're sisters. And after the ceremony tomorrow, we officially will be."

"Ceremony?" Miranda said.

"Tomorrow?" said Corban.

_Oh no_ , Miranda thought. Now it really was all falling into place. She was afraid she knew before she even asked the question.

"What kind of ceremony?"

Astra laughed, a light, lovely sound. "See, brother," she said. "Besides being beautiful your new bride has a wonderful sense of humor."

_Bride. Holy shit_. That word struck Miranda like a hammer.

"Yes," Corban said. "I hear her breath can melt mountains as well. She's truly a gift."

Astra glowered at her brother. Miranda was still in shock. How the hell was she going to get out of this?

"Come," Astra said, pulling Miranda toward the door. "Let's go to my room and find you a nice dress. We have so much to talk about."

"Yeah," Miranda said, letting Astra lead her out the door. "We sure do."

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### **7  
CORBAN**

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He watched his sister and future wife scurry out the door. Taunting her had been an amusing diversion, but he really didn't have time for any more nonsense.

Still, she had surprised him. He'd expected her to break down in tears, perhaps yell at him. Instead, she had stood her ground and slung a few insults his way. He almost admired that. Then she'd touched him, just the tip of her finger on his chest, and he'd felt himself stir once again. As she'd traced a circle around his nipple, her touch had been more arousing in a way than what Deelia had just done to him with her mouth. That was ridiculous, wasn't it?

He shook his head and left his chambers. He needed to find Wygard and talk to him about what he was about to say before she had appeared. No doubt the mage was helping with preparations. Karth Wildfire was on his way? And the ceremony was tomorrow?

He had expected there to be some time for planning. This was a binding between two great clans, not an afternoon tea. But his sister lived for such things. She'd had a gleam in her eye upon seeing Siccora. For all he knew, she'd been planning the ceremony for months.

_Let the two of them marry_ , he thought. The idea wasn't that outrageous. His sister could find a nice, sturdy mate to impregnate her. Then she could hatch an heir, and the two women could play dress-up and raise the child together. And then they could leave him be.

As he walked the halls of the keep, the fantasy had its appeal. But no, it was ridiculous. The males had always ruled the clans and always would. And that meant they had to be the ones to marry and ensure the continuation of the bloodline.

The keep was bustling now, servants and guards alike. No doubt they'd been given instructions, handed down on high from his sister. Tables were almost certainly being set up in the Great Hall in preparation for a welcoming feast for the Wildfire entourage. The thought of attending that, of shaking the Red King's hand and sharing a meal with him made Corban want to find the nearest window and launch himself into the sky.

He didn't want to deal with dinners and ceremonies. He wanted to find his mage, and then he wanted to hear about how he was going to find his father.

On the way to Wygard's tower, he was already thinking of all those stairs, of the long climb upwards. _To hell with it_ , he thought. He walked to a nearby window and leaned out, seeing a thin trail of smoke from the top of the mage's parapet. So he was back up there already.

Half-jokingly, he'd thought about jumping out a window. Now it sounded like a splendid idea, at least better than climbing all those stairs. Corban pulled himself up onto the ledge of the window and looked down at the sloping shelf of snow piled against the wall of the keep. The drop was at least three hundred feet. That would do just fine.

He stood, then jumped. The cold rush of air against his face felt splendid. The sun was out, but the temperature was still nice and cold. He hoped it would make the Wildfires, who loved the hot desert air, as miserable as possible.

As he fell, he sent the command out through his body to change. Armor became skin. Arms became wings. His bones cracked, stretched, and reknit themselves.

A man had jumped from the window, but a dragon nearly touched the snow far below. The transformation was complete just before Corban reached the ground. With a single flap of his powerful blue wings he reversed direction, blowing up a giant cloud of fresh snow as he shot back up into the air.

He turned and headed for the mage's tower, and with only a few more flaps of his mighty wings, he flew eye-level with the windows of the chamber at the top.

_That was definitely better than walking up all those stairs_ , he thought.

He pulled up, beating his wings so that he hovered in place.

"Wygard!" he bellowed, his dragon voice so deep and resonant snow shook and fell from the keep's walls. Icicles cracked and splintered, the shards falling as well.

After a few moments the mage still had not shown himself. Corban drew in another deep breath and was about to yell again when the narrow face and huge eyes appeared in one of the windows.

"Your Grace?" Wygard said.

"We have much more to discuss," Corban said. "Meet me atop that crag." He pointed at the flat ridge above a cliff not far in the distance. "I will hear what you say and not be interrupted this time."

"Yes, my—" Wygard began, only to be knocked back by a burst of wind from Corban's wings as the he flapped them. Corban flew through the cold, sunny air, feeling almost like himself again.

He saw the dark green tops of the trees below and a herd of elk upon an open hill. He was almost tempted to snatch one up, but he had more pressing matters. Instead, he flew to the outcropping he had pointed out to the mage.

Once he'd landed, he folded his wings across his body, tucked his head in, and transformed back into human form. He stood up straight and looked back in the direction from which he'd flown. The sun was high in the sky, shining down on the massive walls of Everfrost Keep, walls that his ancestors had built, hauling the stone from quarries far in the south. They'd used their ice breath to freeze the stones in place, forging their new seat of power with magic and might. Those towering walls had stood for a thousand years. Corban vowed they would stand for a thousand more. He would not see his legacy torn apart by some invading force from another world, or destroyed from within by the Wildfires. He didn't trust them and never would.

As he looked out from the edge of the cliff, he saw a tiny white dot flying toward him. The owl was slow, but Corban's own flight had calmed him, made him patient after his encounter with the Wildfire woman, who had temporarily put him off-balance. He was not going to let her dictate his temper or alter his plans.

The owl drew near and transformed as he landed, taking the shape of the old man. He bent over, breathing heavily.

"You called for me, Sire?" Wygard said, trying to catch his breath.

"Yes," Corban said. "Before Siccora appeared, you were telling me you had some sort of plan." Even saying her name made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She'd gotten in his head somehow. Perhaps the talisman that let her travel from the world where she grew up to this one had other powers. Perhaps he had been bewitched.

"Ah, yes," Wygard said, taking a deep breath. "The void world. I have no idea how we could find it or create a portal there. But I did manage to capture and record the signature I spoke of before. Before the last of the black snow melted, I infused that signature into a piece of crystal in my study."

Corban tried to put Siccora Wildfire out of his mind and focus on the mage's words. "What good does that do, if you have no way to make a portal there?"

The owl-mage smiled. "Well, I can offer you the next best thing." Wygard reached into his robe and took out a small piece of purple crystal attached to a thin leather lanyard. He held it out.

"What's this?" Corban said, not yet taking it.

"The piece of crystal I spoke of," Wygard said. "I have made...alterations. This piece of stone now acts as a detector of sorts. The next time another visitor from their world enters ours, the stone will know, and it will tell you where they are."

Corban took the necklace from the mage. He looked at it, a lump of dull purple crystal wound with strips of leather. He had trusted Wygard his whole life, though the mage was getting old. Perhaps he had gone mad and concocted all this nonsense about a world that shouldn't exist. Perhaps the stone was just some useless bauble meant to placate him. There was only one way to find out, and that was to wait and be patient.

"How far is its range?" Corban asked. He tucked it into the vest of his armor. If he hung it around his neck, it was likely to snap the next time he took dragonform.

Wygard narrowed his eyes. "I'm not exactly sure, my Liege," he said. "But it should work quite far. To the edges of the Icelands, I should think."

"Thank you," Corban said.

"The magic really wasn't that involved," Wygard said. "It actually only took—"

"I mean for believing me," Corban said. "Everyone else thinks I'm mad."

The old mage chuckled. "You're definitely not mad, Sire," he said. "Although perhaps I am not the best judge of such things."

Corban laughed at that. "Perhaps. I will keep a keen eye on this crystal of yours. Whoever these intruders are, the next time they come, I will be there to greet them."

"I would advise not going alone," Wygard said. "They have the power to move between worlds, mostly undetected by us. You would do well not to underestimate them."

"Thank you for your counsel," Corban said. Though he felt if anyone should be afraid, it should be the ones who encroached on his lands and stole his father from him. "Shall we return to the keep now?"

"That sounds fine, my King," Wygard said, but as they turned to look back they both saw the same thing. A cluster of red dots on the horizon, moving toward the keep.

"Oh, what a joyful day," Corban said. "The Wildfires are nearly here."

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### **8  
MIRANDA**

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"I have to apologize for my brother," Astra said as she led Miranda down the hall of the North Wing.

"People around here seem to do a lot of that," Miranda said.

Astra laughed. Miranda wasn't quite sure what to make of her yet. So far everyone and everything wasn't quite what it seemed.

Astra led her into a room similar to Corban's. The huge canopy bed was the same, but there was a lot more furniture here, wardrobes, dressers, and several full-length mirrors.

_I can't really blame her much_ , Miranda thought. _If I looked like her all I'd want to do all day is look at myself in a mirror._

"I think I have just the thing for you," Astra said, looking her up and down. "We're just about the same size, I believe." She headed for a wardrobe against the far wall.

Miranda walked across the room as well, standing by a tall window. She looked out at the wintery scenery, the snow-covered pines down below, the white stretching out towards mountains not far in the distance. She'd always preferred the winter back home in Oklahoma, at least to the summer heat. She liked the way you could see your own breath, feel the cold as you drew it through your nose and into your lungs. And this world, at least what she had seen of it so far, was beautiful.

"I had the seamstresses sew a dress for me for the festival of rebirth last season," Astra said, rummaging through the wardrobe, then moving on to a chest next to it. "It didn't really suit me, but I have a feeling it will look much better on you. Where is that thing?"

While Astra talked Miranda gazed out the window. She caught something moving out of the corner of her eye and looked along the wall of the keep to another window far ahead. Someone was standing on the ledge.

Her whole body tensed. The drop looked too far for someone to survive. Was she about to see someone commit suicide right in front of her? She was about to call out to Astra when she caught the glint of the sun off the person's clothes and realized it was armor. Then she saw the silvery-blond hair. That was Corban.

Miranda leaned forward. _What the hell was he doing?_ She glanced over to see Astra on her knees, her head in the chest, flinging dresses out all over the floor.

When she looked back, he jumped. _Oh my God_ , she thought, letting out a gasp. She couldn't look away. She couldn't even blink. He was going to die.

But something happened as his body plunged toward the snow. He began to change. His outstretched arms grew even more outstretched, webbing forming under them. His neck grew as spikes jutted out across his head. His feet morphed into claws and a tail lengthened out behind him.

Her mind couldn't wrap itself around what her eyes were seeing. She'd seen the old man turn into an owl not long ago. But as her mother would have said, this was a whole other ball of wax. He was still falling, likely to slam into the snowy earth, and now he was twenty times as big.

But just before the crash, the leathery blue wings flapped, blowing a plume of snow in the air. He shot back up into the sky, now an honest-to-God dragon. Miranda thought she might faint. She let out a hysterical little giggle. People only fainted in the movies, right? But the blood felt like it had drained out of her head. She grabbed the edge of the window to steady herself, to keep from keeling over.

She watched as the dragon that had been a man only seconds before beat its giant wings and flew high up to the top of a tower affixed to the far wall of the keep. It opened its mouth and roared something unintelligible, but loud enough to shake the window.

"What was that?" Astra said, looking up.

Miranda turned back to look at Astra. "Your brother..." she trailed off, not really knowing how to finish the sentence. _Just turned into a fucking dragon_ was the first thing that came to mind, but she couldn't mouth the words.

Astra smiled sympathetically. "Yes, he's headstrong," she said.

_Arrogant, you mean?_ Miranda thought.

"And he can be a bit trying at times," Astra said.

_You mean he's a straight-up asshole, right? Plus, he's apparently a goddamn dragon._

Astra pulled a dress out of the chest. "Finally," she said. "Here it is." She held it up. The dress was deep crimson with a gold trim. It actually looked a little more provocative than Miranda would have expected, but she had to admit it was beautiful.

"Here," Astra said. "Let's get you out of those rags."

Miranda glanced out the window once more only to see the tail end of the dragon as it flew away toward the mountains. _Just where the fuck am I?  _

Astra put the dress on the bed, then stepped up to Miranda. "Let me help you," she said, bending down to grab the hem of Miranda's white robes. She slowly pulled them up, her fingers grazing Miranda's thighs.

Miranda lifted her arms above her head, and Astra pulled the garment up and off. As she did, Miranda could feel Astra's breath on her bare nipples. Astra stood up and tossed the servant's clothing onto the floor, then looked Miranda's naked body up and down.

"My brother is lucky," Astra said, her eyes stopping at the giant red gem clasped at the base of her throat. "You're beautiful. And that necklace suits you."

Miranda had never been with a woman. She'd thought about it a couple of times, but just never had the opportunity. If she were going to, she figured she could do a lot worse than the elegant woman standing before her, looking her up and down as if she wanted her. Astra was certainly nicer than her brother. Miranda thought about reaching out, taking Astra's hand, and putting it on her own breast. Then she could pull her in for a long kiss, lead her to the bed, and see what happened next.

But she was still trying to get her footing in this world, and that seemed like opening a whole new can of worms. So instead, she just said: "Thank you. Should I try on the dress now?"

"Oh," Astra said. Her eyes had drifted back down to Miranda's breasts. Now they snapped back up to look Miranda in the eye. She looked a little embarrassed. "Of course."

Astra helped her put on the dress in front of the full-length mirror by the bed, her hands friendlier on her body than they needed to be. Miranda didn't want to take it any further, but she found that she really didn't mind.

The dress fit her perfectly, the fabric tied at the back of her neck, crossing across her breasts in an X, hefting and revealing her cleavage nicely and leaving her back mostly bare. The hem came down below her knees, but a slit revealed her long, smooth legs.

She admired herself in the mirror. The dress made her feel elegant, sexy, and even a little regal. After all, she was supposed to marry Corban tomorrow, right? That was if Siccora's father didn't show up and call her out as an imposter first. She thought of running, but where the hell would she run to? What if she managed to get the necklace off and nothing happened?

Astra stepped up close behind her, putting her arms around her waist and hugging her tight. She put her lips close to Miranda's ear and whispered. "You truly are a wonder to look upon. I'm so happy to have you as my new sister."

Miranda put her hand on Astra's arm. Her skin felt cool, but smooth and inviting. She felt her nipples harden underneath the dress. _What are you, crazy?_ she thought to herself. _Cut it out. You don't need to be flirting with this woman. You need to be coming clean._

"Astra?" Miranda said, addressing her reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, Siccora?" Astra said, smiling.

Miranda took a deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you."

Astra slid her arms away from Miranda, who turned around to face her. "Anything, sister," Astra said. "What is it?"

Miranda opened her mouth, intending to let it all spill out. _I'm not Siccora Wildfire. My name is Miranda Betts and I'm a waitress in a shitty little greasy spoon in Oklahoma. I shouldn't be here. I don't know where I should be, but it isn't here, with people that turn into owls and dragons. The real Siccora gave me the necklace and I just put it on and it brought me here and—_

She didn't get a chance to get the first word out. As soon as she opened her mouth, a deep bellowing sound echoed outside the walls of the keep. Miranda had played the flute in junior high school, and she remembered one section of a song where the tubas blew long, deep notes all by themselves. This was like that. She could feel the vibrations of the deep, resonant notes making the light hair on her arms quiver and tickle.

Astra's eyes widened. "They're here."

_Oh fuck_ , Miranda thought. _That meant Daddy Wildfire, Siccora's real father._ Then she remembered what Astra had said. In flight. _Oh my God_ , she thought. _They're dragons, too._

"You'll have to share your news another time, sister," she said, taking Miranda by the hand and pulling her towards the door. "Come, they'll be landing in the courtyard. Aren't you excited to see your father after all these years?"

_Yeah_ , Miranda thought, her stomach twisting into a knot. _I'm absolutely thrilled._

This was her last chance, the final opportunity to own up to the deception. What the hell were they going to do to her when they found out she was a lowly human instead of the chosen bride?

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Sure, let's go."

Astra led her from the North Wing toward the center of the keep. Together they climbed a set of stairs that led straight up into the open air, a giant courtyard surrounded on all four sides by the interior walls. There were a few trees, but mostly the courtyard looked like a giant football field, its sides enclosed, but open to the sky above.

"Wow," Miranda said as they reached the top of the stairs. "This place is beautiful."

"Everfrost Keep holds many wonders," Astra said. "And you've only seen a small fraction of our home."

A shadow fell over the sun, and Miranda looked up to see a half a dozen or more dragons high above. What did you call a group dragons, she wondered. A flock? A herd? There was no Google here, so she'd just have to keep on wondering, because she damn sure wasn't going to ask. Her mind had the habit of latching onto the trivial in the middle of a crisis.

Whatever the group of dragons flying over them was called, one of them was supposed to be her father. He was about to land down here, call her out as an imposter, and then what?

_How about a flagon of dragons?_ She almost laughed at that, but was able to restrain herself. If she started laughing now, she'd probably become hysterical, and that would only make things worse.

The dragons began to descend, beating their mighty wings. Miranda kept her face raised, squinting at the whirling wind they created. Her hair blew around her head. She'd seen people on TV and in movies near helicopters when they landed. She thought this must be what that's like, only with half a dozen helicopters that were really mythical beasts.

She was surprised to note how different they all looked. For some reason she thought they would all look the same. But even though they were all red, each had distinctive characteristics. Some had black ridges along their wings, while others didn't. The configurations of horns or spikes across their heads were all unique.

The largest had a black, leathery frill along his lower jaw, like a beard. He landed first, about twenty feet in front of the women, the ground shaking under Miranda's feet as his clawed feet hit. A dragon with what looked like gold flaking across the scales of his wings landed next to the big one, and then the others landed behind in succession.

Miranda counted seven of them. They shifted into human form together, as if there were seven humans standing in the courtyard simply absorbing the dragons that had flown in from above. Miranda heard the crunching and crackling of their scaled skin collapsing, maybe even their bones shortening and reknitting.

She'd seen a man shift into an owl and another into a dragon, but this was her first time seeing a group of dragons transform into humans. She figured no matter how many times she saw this kind of thing happen, she would never get used to it. But she tried not to look amazed. She was supposed to be one of them after all.

The leader stood a head taller than the others. His head spines lengthened into thick black hair. The frill at the throat of the dragon became a heavy beard the color of charcoal. Just like Corban, the men before them all wore armor of overlapping scales, though theirs were red.

The huge man smiled, his teeth large and white. His dark eyes twinkled.

"There she is!" he bellowed. "My beloved daughter."

He opened his arms wide and began to walk toward Miranda. She figured she should probably go to him and throw her arms around him, but she was frozen in place, transfixed by fear. So she stood there, arms hugging herself, staring at the mountain of a man who was supposed to be her father.

Five paces from her, he stopped. He lowered his arms, his eyes grew wide, and his smile faded. _This is it,_ Miranda thought. _The jig is up. I'm screwed._

"By the horn of the Golden One," he whispered. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on."

Was he screwing with her? She didn't think so. She could see tears welling up in his eyes, and she couldn't help feeling as if she were going to start crying herself. Her own father had left them when she was five. She had only vague memories of him, faded snapshots in the back of her mind. But here was a flesh-and-blood man who thought she was his daughter, who he obviously dearly loved. And who cared if it was a lie?

"Daddy?" she said, opening her arms wide. He ran the rest of the way then, his boot steps thundering on the ground, and wrapped his massive arms around her. He lifted her into the air, hugging her tight. Too tight for Miranda. She felt like he was crushing her. _Damn these people are strong_ , she thought. But she didn't care. It had been a long time, too long, since someone had shown that kind of genuine affection to her, and she drank it in, hugging him back as hard as she could.

Over his shoulder she saw the man who had been standing next to him, handsome and young, with curly black locks and a slender face. He had been the one with gold flakes in his wings. He was looking at her with a strange expression on his face, a mixture of curiosity and what might have been contempt. Did he realize she was a fraud? How could he, if her own father couldn't?

The man holding her set her down and gripped her by the shoulders, looking down at her with complete adoration.

"My little Siccora," he said. "I should never have let that owl hag send you away."

"Karth Wildfire," Astra said, giving a graceful little curtsey. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to Everfrost Keep. May it be the first of many such visits."

"Gods," he said. "Where are my manners? I'm afraid they all went up in smoke when I saw my little girl here." Karth turned to Astra who offered her hand. He took it and bowed, putting his lips just over her hand. Miranda expected him to plant a kiss there, but instead he pursed his lips and let out a tiny puff of gray smoke.

Astra laughed. Even that sound was beautiful.

"Thank you for so graciously inviting us," Karth said, straightening up and smiling. "Oh, and when I said that about Siccora here being the most beautiful, that was not meant as a slight to you."

Astra gave a sideways glance at Miranda. "No offense taken," she said. "Your daughter is magnificent."

Karth took a step back and waved his hand at the young man who had landed by his side. "Let me introduce my son, Marko," he said.

The young dragon prince bowed, gold flecks in his armor glinting in the sun.

"Lady Everfrost," he said, nodding at Astra. Then he trained that strange look back on Miranda. "Sister."

Miranda opted for trying to curtsey the way Astra had, pulling it off pretty nicely.

"The rest are members of my royal guard," Karth said. The men in red armor bowed in unison. Karth looked up at the walls. "A fine place you have here. But this opening seems like just the place for an invading force to land."

"No doubt you notice the clefts in the walls," Astra said. "I would pity the invading clan that decided to fly straight into the middle of our keep. Those openings are manned by archers and harpooners in times of war."

"Ah," Karth said, laughing. "Then it's a good thing that our clans are so friendly."

"We'll be friendlier still after tomorrow's ceremony," Astra said.

Karth looked back at Miranda. "Yes, I do hope your brother takes good care of my baby girl. Speaking of which, whereabouts is the Blue King?"

"I'm so sorry he's not here to greet you, your Highness," Astra said. "He had a very pressing matter to attend to."

_There she goes again_ , Miranda thought. _Apologizing for Corban. His pressing matter was probably getting another blow job from that deer slut._

"Come," Astra said, taking Karth by the arm. "Let me show you and your men to the guest rooms. You can rest from your long flight. Then tonight we hope you'll join us for a feast. My brother will be there to properly honor you."

"Only a fool turns down an invitation to a feast," Karth said. "Will you be serving wild elk?"

"Fresh from today's hunt," Astra said. "Roasted in honey and pine nuts."

Karth arched his eyebrows. "Sounds delicious."

He held out his other arm for Miranda, who took it. Together they walked down the stairs. The other men, including Marko, fell in behind.

_  So far, so good_, Miranda thought. She wasn't sure just how long she could carry on this ruse, but it was too late to turn back now.

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### **9  
CORBAN**

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He stood on the walkway along the top of the north wall. The sun was nearly all the way down and a light snow was beginning to fall. He pinched the violet crystal hanging around his neck between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it up to take a better look. The stone was dark.

Corban felt a strange mixture of calm and anticipation. He was glad to finally have some tool in hand to help him find what had happened to his father, and he would be patient until whoever had taken him would dare to step foot in Xandakar again. Until then, he would need to tend to all this ridiculous marriage business.

He had intentionally snubbed the Wildfires. _Let my sister smooth that over_ , he thought. _That's what she's good at_. But now the entire keep gathered in the Great Hall for a feast, including the guests. And his bride-to-be. _Siccora_. In his mind, he still wanted nothing to do with her. She was still an annoying distraction. But he had to admit, she had stirred something in him, a feeling he couldn't shake.

Time to show his face at the banquet. He would formally greet his guests, have a cup of wine or two, then leave. After all, he was getting married tomorrow. He needed his rest.

Corban tucked the crystal away inside the vest of his armor and headed down the walkway in the direction of the Great Hall. The snow began to fall harder.

_Might be a storm coming_ , he thought.

The Great Hall was unrecognizable from the day before, when he had talked there with Wygard and the Wildfire girl had appeared out of nowhere. Then the hall had been desolate and empty. Now it seemed as if every table and chair from the rest of the keep had been moved here, and every seat was filled. Torches ringed the great icy pillars throughout the hall, filling the vast space with warm yellow light. A band played in the far corner, the sounds of flutes and lutes carrying atop the raucous voices and laughter of the revelers.

Corban kept his head low and walked along the edge of the hall, not wanting to draw much attention. He headed for the huge table near the far end, where his sister, his fiancé, and the guests of honor would be. Along the way, he smelled the savory scents of roasted goose, mashed sweetroot, and buttery bread. His stomach growled. Perhaps he would eat something as well before leaving the party.

Once he'd gotten closer, he stopped behind a pillar and surveyed the scene. There were seven of the red clan drinking wine at the long table. Standing up to give a toast was the big man himself, Karth Wildfire. Corban's father would never have believed the sight before him, the blue and red dragons drinking and eating together.

He saw his sister, beautiful as ever, and wished again that she were the one bound by prophecy or whatever it was to marry against her will, to form an alliance with their rivals. She laughed at something Karth was saying, then leaned over to whisper in another woman's ear.

That other woman was his bride-to-be. He almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing a scarlet dress, the cloth crossed across her breasts in a way that lifted them up and showed their curved edges beautifully. Her hair was different, too, pinned up with a pair of gold combs, a few locks falling on her white neck. She wore makeup now as well, her already large dark eyes seemed even brighter and more alluring, and her lips glistened a crimson that matched the gem suspended at her throat.

Miranda looked up and found his eyes watching her. She froze, staring at him. She leaned over to his sister, who hadn't looked this way, and whispered something back. Then she got up from the table and headed in his direction.

Corban moved back behind the darkness of the pillar and leaned against it. He hated himself for feeling anything for her. He had been hoping this marriage of convenience would be nothing more than a nuisance. He had hoped he'd be able to tuck her away in some back room of the keep where she could perhaps knit all day and leave him in peace. But she was making things a lot more complicated for him. She was—

"Hello," Miranda said. She stepped next to him into the pillar's shadow so no one could see them talk.

"Siccora," he said, nodding his head coolly. Even saying her name made something in him stir. She was more beautiful up-close, reflections of distant torchlight flickering in her dark eyes. He couldn't help looking down at the top of her breasts, and she caught him looking and smiled.

"I told your sister I had to take a pee," she said.

Take a pee? What expression was this? He didn't know if the gem around her neck was working some sorcery, or whether it was her natural beauty and charm, but he wanted her. Perhaps it was her slightly strange ways, or the odd way she talked, no doubt a result of spending most of her life on a different world. He had thought that would make her weak and unappealing, but all it did was add intriguing little flourishes to her sensuality.

"Oh," he said, not sure what else to say. He'd never been nervous around women before and wasn't used to it. But this close, he could smell her as well, an exotic blend of smoke and roses that made him slightly dizzy. "And _do_ you?"

"What?"

"Have to...take a pee?"

"No, you goofball," she laughed, giving him a light swat on the arm. "I just used it as an excuse to come talk to you."

Goofball? The word was so ridiculous that he had to laugh too. "You look...well," he said.

"You look pretty well yourself," she said, her eyes moving down his chest below his waist. He felt himself stiffen and hoped it didn't show through his armor. "Are you going to join the party?"

Corban Everfrost had never been impulsive, but at that moment he reached out and took her by the shoulders. He pulled her close to his body, feeling the heat of her. She let out a little gasp, then smiled.

He leaned in and put his lips near her ear. "Perhaps we can have our own."

He felt one of her hands slide between his legs and cup him firmly. "We're supposed to be married tomorrow," she said. "Is this your idea of a bachelor party?"

Another phrase he didn't recognize, but the smell and feel of her made nothing else matter. He pushed her against the stone of the pillar, then reached down and lifted the hem of her dress.

He leaned in to kiss her, but she moved her head away at the last second. "I thought I was a distraction," she said, giggling. "I thought you 'had no need of me'."

"Perhaps I changed my mind," he said. One of his hands was under the hem of her dress, moving up her thigh. The other cupped her jaw and turned her face back to his. She stopped laughing, looking him in the eye. She wanted him as well. He could see that.

He leaned in and tasted her warm, red lips, that hint of smoke on her breath along with the lingering taste of cinnamon. Was it something she had just eaten, or did she just taste like that? He found it didn't matter. Kissing her was like lowering himself into a pool of molten rock, consuming him.

He moved his hand up her warm thigh, then slid it between her legs. His hand touched the soft, hot mound of hair. She wore no undergarments, and that realization made him harden painfully, straining against the scaled armor of his suit.

As he continued to kiss her, their tongues exploring one another's mouths, he felt her sticky wetness on the tips of his fingers. He began to rub her, feeling the hot liquid coating his hand as he lightly stroked the surface.

She pulled her mouth from his and looked him in the eyes again. "Are you going to fuck me, your Highness?" she asked him. "In a room filled with everyone in the keep?"

"You would enjoy that, would you not?" he asked, sliding the tips of his first two fingers into her.

She let out a gasp. "Hell yes I would," she said.

He pushed his fingers up another inch. "Then ready yourself, dragon girl," he said. "For you are about to get—"

"Sire?"

Corban turned his head to see a servant, a young woman standing near them, holding a silver tray filled with goblets of wine. Corban snatched his hand out from beneath Miranda's dress. The serving girl's blush was plain to see even in the shadow of the pillar. She turned to go, but a bellowing voice called out.

"You there, girl!" the voice said. "What are you ogling over there? Where are our drinks?"

Corban heard a heavy wooden chair screech on the floor as the owner of the voice headed this way. The girl was frozen in place, her eyes wide with terror at being put in this position.

Corban pulled away from Miranda, standing up straight and clasping his hands behind his back. She stood up straight as well, the hem of her dress falling back down. She was straightening it with her hands when the giant bearded man came around the curve of the pillar.

The man wore the red scaled armor of the Wildfire clan, his black hair falling around his shoulders. He reached out to the tray the girl was holding and snatched a goblet of wine, lifting it to his lips and taking a gulp. Then he turned his head and saw Corban and his daughter standing behind the pillar. He smiled, his teeth huge and white.

"There he is," the man said. "Little boy blue, with my precious Siccora." He staggered forward. Before Corban could react, Karth Wildfire had scooped him up into a bear hug, hefting him off the ground.

_Gods_ , Corban thought. _The man is drunk out of his mind._ Being hugged by him was akin to being mauled.

"It's good to finally meet you," Corban said once he was set back on the ground.

"And what were the two of you doing back here?" Karth said. "Stealing a kiss?"

"Just talking," Miranda said.

Karth took another huge gulp of wine and looked back and forth between them. He laughed again.

He drew close enough to hug them both and pulled them in together. "Yes, we have much to talk about," he said. "We are soon to be a single family. Come, let's eat and drink together."

Corban let the huge man lead him out to the table. He sat three seats down from Miranda, and when they were all seated and she looked up at him. He put the fingers that had been inside her into his mouth and sucked them clean. He tasted the warm, smoky tang of her. She blushed and took a drink of wine.

_Her father is an oaf,_ Corban thought, _but at least his daughter is a fiery beauty. Perhaps this marriage will work out well after all._

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### **10  
MIRANDA**

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She woke the next day to cold sunlight shining through a frosty window. For a moment she thought she was back in her trailer in Oklahoma. Her head hurt like hell, and she'd woken up many times with a raging hangover. _Too much wine_ , she thought.

Then she felt the blue silk nightgown and the goose-feather mattress. She looked around the empty room with stone walls and stone floor, a woven white rug on the floor beside the bed. She was in— _what had they called it?_ —Xandakar.

She reached up to the warm gold necklace snug around her neck as if it were a part of her now, and another realization occurred to her.

_Today is my wedding day._

She'd fooled the Everfrosts. Even more amazingly, she'd fooled the Wildfires. Though she still wasn't sure about the man who was supposed to be her brother, Marko.

She still had no idea what they would do if and when they found out she wasn't who she said she was. But once she was married, would it matter? The simplest way to call her out would be to ask her transform into a dragon. She was a Wildfire. She was supposed to be able to do that, right?

But maybe she could just say that living all those years on Earth had sapped her of the ability. Maybe all that time without ever transforming, she simply hadn't learned how. She wondered just how important it was for them to be able to shift into dragons. They hadn't asked her up to this point, so maybe she was safe.

 A knock came at the chamber door, the noise making her head hurt even worse. _Fuck_ , she thought. _I bet they don't have ibuprofen here_.

"Yeah," she said, sitting up in bed. "Come in."

The hinges squealed and Astra poked her head in the doorway. "Good morning," she said in a sing-song voice.

_Oh double-fuck_ , Miranda thought. _She's gorgeous and she's a morning person. I should probably hate her._

Instead, Miranda forced a smile. "Hi," she said. "I mean, good morning to you too."

Astra came into the room, closing the door behind her. She was wearing a blue silk nightgown similar to the one on Miranda. Now that she thought about it, she didn't remember changing out of her dress. She didn't remember how she got to this room, either. The last vivid memories of the night before were of Corban pulling her close to kiss her while his hand found its way up between her legs. She remembered the feel of his fingers moving up inside her with the cool taste of his mouth on her lips, like mint and snow.

"You're smiling," Astra said. "I'm happy as well, though not near as happy as you must be."

"Yeah," Miranda said, thinking about it seriously for the first time since she'd arrived. She _was_ happy, much happier than she'd been back in Norman. And why shouldn't she be? She was about to marry a king, hotter than any man she'd ever seen back home, built like a professional athlete with the ability to turn into a dragon.

Astra sat next to her on the bed, cuddling close and sliding her hand along Miranda's thigh. "The ceremony will be this morning," she said. "Magda herself has flown in from the One Tree to perform the binding."

"Magda?"

"The archmage," Astra said. "Oh, right. You probably don't remember her, but she helped hide you to keep you safe. She's the one who forged this." Astra reached out and ran her light fingers across the gem at Miranda's throat. Her fingers lingered, trailing down between Miranda's breasts before pulling away.

_I'm not imaging things,_ Miranda thought. _This girl definitely wants in my pants_.

"Come," Astra said. "Let's get you out of that gown and into your wedding dress." She reached out and grabbed the hem of Miranda's nightgown, pulling it up over her head as Miranda stretched her arms up into the air.

A smile played on Astra's lips as she looked over Miranda's naked body, and Miranda half expected her to lean in for a kiss. Instead, she clapped her hands twice. The door opened again, and Miranda crossed her arms across her bare breasts. But it was only a pair of servant girls carrying a dress, draped across their arms like a sacred cloth.

The dress was white and blue, like everything else in this place, but it sparkled all over like a million chips of frozen ice.

"My mother wore this when she married my father," Astra said. "I hope you don't mind wearing it today."

_God no, why would she mind?_ "It's beautiful," Miranda said.

She stood up and the servants helped her into it. She was worried it might not fit quite right, but once it was on she saw herself in the full-length mirror by the bed. The dress was stunning. Her shoulders and arms were bare, the top of the dress cupping and lifting her breasts. The sparkling material began as pure white at the edge of her cleavage and became bluer as it went down, so that the hem was the deep color of sapphire.

Astra sat on the edge of the bed, admiring her. "It's perfect," she said. "I'm going to get dressed while the girls see to your hair and makeup. When you're ready we'll head to the Great Hall. Later, Thalgar will measure your head."

"What?" Miranda asked. The vivid vision of a guillotine appeared in her mind. Maybe Astra had been toying with her this whole time. "Who's Thalgar?"

"The royal blacksmith," Astra said. "After all, he needs to forge you a new crown."

_Oh my God_ , Miranda thought, looking at herself in the mirror. _This is really happening._

Miranda stood before the doors of the Great Hall with Astra by her side. The two blonde guards holding silver spears pushed open the giant oak doors. Gone were the tables from the night before. Rows and rows of benches were filled with the residents of the keep. They stood when they saw their soon-to-be new queen, a hush falling over them.

Beyond them, between the divided rows, she saw Corban standing and facing her. He was wearing a blue and gold cape over his usual scaled armor. Even from this distance she could see an expression on his face that was different from the first time he looked at her. Not smug and dismissive, but loving, almost eager.

A tiny woman in white robes stood by his side, hunched over and leaning on a gnarled cane. Her large black eyes widened in curiosity when she saw Miranda, and they followed her up the aisle as she approached. _Magda_ , that was the name Astra had said. She was an owl, like Wygard.

Everyone was watching her as she walked up to the front of the hall. Even though she wasn't cold she felt goosebumps rise across her forearms. She felt her stomach knot, but in a good way. She was no longer worried about being discovered. Her nervousness was a result of anticipation, wondering what her new life as the queen of the ice dragons would be like. She wondered what it was going to be like to be Corban's wife, to share his bed every single night.

_He'll have to get rid of those consorts, for one thing_ , she thought, smiling to herself. He desired her, though. Even now she could see it on his face. She felt like she knew enough to keep him pleased in the bedroom, enough to where he would no longer need anyone else.

As she drew close, she saw Karth in the front row, his beard tied into three parts with gold rings, tears standing out in his eyes. Marko stood beside him, though there were no tears in his eyes. He was watching her as a cat might watch a mouse, just before it pounces.

But she turned her eyes back to Corban, who held out his hand. As she stepped up to him, he took her hand.

The old woman cleared her throat. The throng of onlookers took their seats in unison.

"Today I am here to bind Corban Everfrost with Siccora Wildfire," Magda said, her wide, unblinking eyes studying the couple before her. "You are here to witness not only the joining of two people, but the union of two great clans."

Magda took a piece of silver cloth and draped it over their clasped hands, wrapping it more tightly than Miranda would have expected. There were symbols on the strip of cloth, and they began to glow as Magda started to chant, reciting what sounded like some ancient song in an unrecognizable language.

Magda closed her eyes and laid both her hands over theirs. Corban looked at Miranda, the white glow between them filling his face. She could see it, something she thought she'd never see in a man's eyes. She'd seen lust before. She'd seen desire. But what she saw now was love, and her heart swelled in her chest.

The owl-mage's chants grew louder as the glow grew so bright Miranda had to squint. But after only a few seconds the light began to subside, and Magda's voice softened and tapered off.

The cloth fell dark again. Magda's wrinkled face broke into a huge grin, her huge black eyes blinking. She removed the cloth and began to speak.

"The binding is complete," she said. "Where before you were as two, now you are as one."

Miranda couldn't believe it. She felt as if she were in some kind of dream, the most incredible, wonderful dream she'd ever had. This was all going to work out after all. She was going to be the queen of this place, married to an amazing, gorgeous man who actually loved her. This was like some kind of fairy tale, and they were going to live happily ever—

"Stop!" a woman's voice echoed from the back of the hall. Everyone turned around to look. Miranda turned her head to look back down the aisle.

She saw a woman with straight black shoulder-length hair. She appeared to be wearing a red business suit with a wide-collared white shirt underneath. Miranda squinted as the woman began to walk down the aisle towards them.

The first thing Miranda thought was that those clothes didn't make sense. They weren't from this world. They were from hers.

The second thing to cross her mind was that the woman looked strangely familiar. When she was halfway up the aisle, Miranda let out a little gasp. Her heart felt like it had gone up into her throat.

_Holy shit_ , she thought. _That's the woman from Benny's, the one who left the necklace. That's the real Siccora Wildfire._

Siccora reached the front and guards were there, crossing their silver spears to keep her from coming any closer.

"Whoever you are," Corban said, "you'd better have a fine reason for interrupting this ceremony. At best you're about to find yourself in one of our dungeons. At worse you'll find the end of a spear."

"I am Siccora Wildfire," she said. "Daughter of Karth, bearer of the Emberstone."

The assembled crowd gasped, then began to murmur.

Miranda was frozen in place, unable to speak. Corban opened his mouth to say something, but Magda stepped forward, putting her shriveled hand on his arm to silence him.

"If you are Siccora Wildfire," Magda said, "then who is this? If you are the bearer of the Emberstone, then why does it hang around her neck?"

"She is an imposter," Siccora said. "I do not know her real name, nor do I care. As for the stone, she stole it from me."

Miranda felt heat rise up her neck and into her face. _That lying bitch_ , she thought. But she was still too shocked to get any words out.

Magda smiled gently. "The Emberstone was forged with a will of its own," she said. "It was made to seek out its true owner. I find it unlikely it was stolen from you. Do you have any proof of what you say?"

While this exchange took place Karth had risen to his feet. He was looking back and forth between Miranda and Siccora, his brow furrowed, his eyes full of confusion and anger.

"There," Siccora said, pointing back down the aisle. A hulk of a man stood by the doors of the hall. He had thick black sideburns, his hair twisted into a rope that hung across his shoulder. He wore a dark suit, his hands folded in front of him.

_The limo driver_ , Miranda thought.

"Do you recognize him, father?" Siccora said, turning back to face Karth.

"Korrigan Darkclaw," Karth muttered.

"You sent him through with me, to protect me," Siccora said. She took another step forward. The guards withdrew their spears and let her pass. "Should you need further proof, ask the imposter to take her dragonform. She cannot, because she is not a Wildfire, nor is she of this world. She is a lowly human, stealing her place upon your throne with lies and deception."

Everyone turned to look at Miranda. Corban let go of her hand, a confused look on his face.

_No_ , she thought. _Goddammit, this wasn't how things were supposed to turn out._

She shook her head, a tear sliding down one cheek. She looked into Corban's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely.

The crowd began to get louder, some rising to their feet. Only Magda appeared to remain calm. She turned to face Miranda. "Does she speak the truth?" she asked Miranda.

Miranda nodded, more tears rolling down her face.

"What is your true name, child?"

"Miranda," she answered shakily. "Miranda Betts." The sound of her own name felt weak and stupid in her ears.

Karth finally spoke. "Her name matters not. She is a pretender. Take her down from there so my true daughter can stand in her place."

"Circumstances are not so simple," Magda said. "The ritual of binding has already taken place. The bond cannot be broken."

"Not true." It was Marko who spoke now, rising to his feet. He had a wry smirk on his face as he looked at Miranda, then to Magda. "The bond can be broken in death." He then looked over his shoulder to his sister and nodded to her.

Siccora smiled in realization and nodded herself. "Then I challenge the imposter, Miranda Betts, to ritual combat."

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### **11  
CORBAN  
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_What in the hell is happening with me?_ Corban thought to himself. He sat on a high balcony overlooking the central courtyard of the keep. Sitting beside him was his sister, holding his hand.

Below he could see the woman he had come to love, or thought he had come to love. Could you love someone if you didn't really know who they were? _Miranda_. A fine name and a fine woman. But not a Wildfire, not even dragonborn. At the other end of the courtyard was Siccora Wildfire, who would either burn Miranda to a cinder or slice her to pieces with razor-sharp claws. The choice was hers.

The laws of Xandakar were what held them together. There were no trials here. The unjust were punished under the judgment of the Dragonlords. Disputes between individual members were resolved by ritual combat. Miranda had claimed to be a clan member, and so she was bound by their rules. Siccora had every right to challenge her to a fight, and Miranda had no recourse to refuse.

The Wildfires had chosen to watch the fight from somewhere else. Karth had been nothing but hugs and smiles the night before, but that had been when he thought his only daughter was about to marry Corban. But the binding had been done, not between him and Siccora Wildfire, but between him and an Earthly mortal. The union that was supposed to bring peace between their clans had not taken place, so now the situation was tense at best.

After the challenge, Karth had walked up to Corban. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, I'll—"

He had been about to say he'd kill Corban himself. That much was clear. But his son had pulled him away before he could finish the thought and spark an open war. It had been no secret that Corban was not eager to marry, much less a Wildfire. So he couldn't blame Karth for suspecting him. The irony was that he had stepped to the head of the Great Hall perfectly happy and willing to marry the woman he thought was Siccora. Now he didn't know what he felt.

Astra had no problem knowing what _she_ felt.

"That deceitful whore," she said, peering down at Miranda. Soon enough a single silver trumpet would blow and the contest would begin. "She fooled us all. I would kill her myself if given the chance. Watching the true Siccora take care of her will have to suffice."

But Corban didn't want to see her die. He knew he should want that. Astra was right. She had deceived all of them, him most of all. But for some reason he didn't feel like he'd been lied to. And as he looked down at her, his heart pounded in his chest. He still loved her, and he feared for her life. He had half a mind to transform himself, to swoop down and protect her. But that would be madness, to interfere in a ritual fight. Chaos would ensue and open war would be inevitable. He would also bring the stain of dishonor on his name and his clan.

With all this going on, he had almost forgotten about the purple stone around his neck. While Astra held his right hand, he took the crystal in his left, rolling it between his fingers as he looked down below.

"What is that, brother?" Astra asked.

"Nothing."

Siccora, on the left side of the courtyard, had changed into a sleek suit of red-scaled armor. Miranda, at the other end, still wore the wedding dress Astra had given her.

"I don't even want it back," Astra had said. "She has soiled it by putting it on. I would burn it, but hopefully the Wildfire girl will do that for me, with the imposter still in it."

 Miranda still wore the golden necklace embedded with what they had called the Emberstone. After the commotion of the ceremony, the Wildfires had demanded she remove it. Thalgar had been summoned, but to no avail. The clasp was fused. Magda had even examined it, waving her gnarled stick over Miranda's neck and chanting a few incantations. But she declared it unmovable.

"Leave it be," Siccora had said. "I will claim it from her ashes."

In preparation for the battle, each woman had been given the choice of a weapon. Neither had chosen one. Siccora's weapons were her teeth and claws, along with her molten breath. Miranda had simply seemed in shock, resigned to whatever fate decided to do with her.

The silver trumpet blew, the sound echoing off the interior walls of the courtyard. Corban wanted to get up and leave. What good would it serve to watch Miranda die? And then what? He was going to be wed to a second woman in the same day, a woman he knew not at all. He already didn't like her. The first time he had laid eyes on Miranda, he had felt a connection. But something was going on with the real Siccora. True, Miranda had lied, but Siccora's story also rang false. How did a human steal away such a precious relic? And for what purpose? To come here and play the part of another woman? How would she even know about Xandakar? No, everything about Siccora's story reeked of falsehood.

But there was no time for an inquiry. The Wildfires had insisted that the combat take place as soon as possible, and Corban had no legitimate grounds to deny them.

Calling it a fight was likely to be generous. Corban looked over the edge of the balcony to witness what he expected to be a slaughter.

He was unsurprised to see Siccora immediately begin to shift into dragonform. She bowed forward, her body beginning to grow as leathery red and black wings emerged from behind her shoulders. He looked down at Miranda, and what he saw there did surprise him. He had only known her a short time, but it turned out he didn't really know her as well as he thought.

He had expected her to run, to try to hide or escape. Such an attempt would have been futile. All ways in and out of the courtyard had been sealed once the women were inside. But he had seen the eyes of mortals when confronted with certain death at the claws of a merciless dragon. He had been that dragon on more than one occasion. And even the strongest and bravest of men lost their nerve under the shadow of a dragon. Nearly all tried to run, to find a place to hide even when there was none.

But instead of running or cowering, Miranda stood up straight and walked toward her adversary. Even from this distance, Corban could see the serene look on her face. In that moment, his nascent love for her only grew. She stood no chance against Siccora, who was nearly fully-transformed now. But Miranda had apparently accepted responsibility for actions and resigned herself to her fate.

"She's mad," Astra said.

"No," Corban said. "She is brave."

"Mad or brave," Astra said. "She is about to die."

Siccora, fully transformed, bounded toward Miranda, closing the distance with a couple of leaps. The dragon reared up on her hind legs, tucked her wings behind her back, and her chest swelled as she took in a great breath.

Miranda stopped in front of her, spreading out her arms as if to say: _Here I am. Do what you will._

Corban didn't think he would be able to watch what happened next. He wanted to look away, but that would be weak. He glanced at his sister, who was watching with rapt eagerness, a smile on her lips. He looked back down to see Siccora's gaping maw open wide to exhale a torrent of fiery breath.

Miranda was engulfed in flame.

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### **12  
MIRANDA**

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She stood at one end of the courtyard. The real Siccora stood at the other, pacing back and forth, waiting for the signal for the fight to begin. Only it wasn't going to be a real fight, was it? She was going to die.

How the hell had it come to this? Just a few hours ago she was about to start her new life as a queen, married to a man she had grown to love in only a couple of days. Then that lying bitch Siccora had shown up out of nowhere to destroy everything. How the hell had she gotten back here without the necklace?

Miranda supposed it didn't matter. She'd been whisked here against her will and tried to hide behind a lie. It had almost worked, but now that the lie was exposed, everything was going to come crashing to an end. She thought about trying to run, but where would she run to? She looked up, scanning the walls. She could see faces far above, all about to watch her die, but she couldn't see _him_. She had a brief fantasy of Corban diving toward her, transforming into that huge blue dragon she had seen from the window, and saving her at the last minute. But that was stupid. Wasn't going to happen.

Across the courtyard, Siccora was starting to morph, her body growing and stretching.

_Might as well face the music_ , Miranda thought. _Own up to what comes next, and just hope it's over quickly._

She began walking toward Siccora. She caught the dragon-woman's eye as it was halfway between transforming, still human, but with the black vertical iris of a reptile. There was a glint of surprise in her eyes. She had expected Miranda to run, to hide, or maybe to beg.

_Fuck her_ , Miranda thought. _Why give her the pleasure?_

As she walked toward the fully-formed red dragon, the beast bounded and then pulled up before her.

Miranda spread her arms. She'd read somewhere that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to go. But whoever wrote that probably hadn't been talking about dragonfire. Maybe it was so hot it would melt her in a heartbeat, and if she were lucky she wouldn't feel a thing.

Siccora reared her head, took a deep breath, and opened her jaws. Miranda saw the orange curl of flame at the back of her throat just before she closed her eyes.

_This is it,_ she thought.

The flame hit her. It didn't hurt at all. The fire swirled around her, blowing her hair back. It felt a little like air dancing across her body. The dress she was wearing burned up in a second. She could feel it blasted to ash and blown away from her body. But as she stood naked, the breath of the dragon was like a warm breeze.

Miranda felt the flame subside and opened her eyes.

Siccora stood there, raised up on her hinds legs, tendrils of smoke trailing out of her nostrils. Now, as she looked down at Miranda naked and unblemished, her eyes were fully wide with surprise.

Miranda looked at the patch of ground she stood on, now scorched black, smoking and steam rising. The smell of burned grass filled her nose.

_Holy shit_ , she thought. _I'm not dead_. _I'm not even hurt_.

She could hear the murmuring voices of the spectators above. They had all expected her to be burned to a crisp. Hell, she had expected to be burned to a crisp. But she was fine.

Miranda moved her right hand to her neck, running her fingers along the thick gold links to the warm red Emberstone.

_It protected me_ , she thought. But as she looked up at Siccora, she wondered whether it mattered. The fire hadn't killed her, but those claws looked like they were nearly a foot long and razor sharp. The dragon's teeth looked just as dangerous. And that dazed look in the dragon's eyes had faded, replaced by complete and utter rage.

She was about to get torn to pieces. But then beneath her fingertips she felt the stone stir. Some kind of energy pulsed through it, syncing with her heartbeat, radiating through her body. She felt her body begin to change and grow.

_Oh God_ , she thought. _What's happening?_

Siccora had raised her clawed right hand, ready to swipe down at Miranda. But she paused again, the confused look returning to her eyes.

Miranda felt her muscles ripple as waves of energy moved through them. She felt every bone in her body begin to bend like rubber. Then she felt her skin stretch as she swelled outward.

Her fingers curved into claws. Her skin became thick and scaly. Her neck and lower jaw elongated. She felt spines breaking out across the top of her head and the back of her neck. A thick rope of flesh sprouted from her tailbone and grew, giving her the sensation of an entirely new body part. She felt two masses forming under her shoulder blades, new bones and nerves shooting through them. She flexed her back and felt the growing wings spread.

Miranda looked down at her new body, glistening with red-orange scales.

_Holy fuck_ , she thought. _I'm a dragon_.

The necklace and its stone had been absorbed into her body. She could feel the stone inside her now, at the base of her throat. She knew she could make it glow red hot if she wanted, that it would give her the ability to breathe fire.

Miranda felt power surge throughout her entire body. She wished for the stone to grow as hot as it could and it answered, becoming a nexus of searing heat in her throat. It didn't hurt, though. It felt amazing.

The other dragon was just standing there, dumbfounded. Miranda took in a deep breath, opened her massive jaws, and a blast of hot white fire roared out of her. The flame hit Siccora in the chest, flinging her all the way to the far wall. She slammed into the icy bricks, which cracked and splintered in a spider web pattern under her weight.

Miranda took in a deep breath of air, feeling the smoke drift up and out of her throat. She looked at Siccora, slumped against the cracked wall, dazed but still conscious. She looked down at her hands, now giant red claws tipped with black claws.

_How was this happening?_ The Emberstone. Magda had said something about the stone choosing its owner rather than the other way around. Maybe she was really meant to wear it after all.

She looked up and the other dragon was climbing to her feet, shaking off the attack. Siccora bent low and began to beat her wings.

_She's going to fly right at me_ , Miranda thought. She took another deep breath, intending to hit her with another blast, but she couldn't muster the same heat she just had. _I probably have to wait a while before using it again_ , she thought. And she didn't have much time, because Siccora had just launched straight at her.

Everything happened so quickly Miranda didn't have time to think. She just reacted. Just as Siccora was nearly upon her, claws outstretched, Miranda crouched and spun, whipping her tail around. Her scaly lash struck Siccora, deflecting her downward, knocking her into the earth. The whole courtyard shook, the walls rumbling with the shock as dirt flew up into the air.

She looked to where Siccora now lay in a heap. Miranda pounced, leaping high in the air, flapping her wings twice to gain some height, then slammed down on top of Siccora. The ground shook again as her claws landed on the other dragon's chest, driving and pinning her flat.

Siccora's eyes were half open, looking up at her in pain and defeat.

"Magda was right," Siccora hissed weakly. "The stone chose you. You are no imposter, and I was a fool. Finish me and take what is rightfully yours."

From where she was perched on top of her, Miranda could easily kill her in any number of ways. Her throat was exposed. The scales there looked softer than the ones on her back. Miranda figured she could reach down with her jaws and snap her neck. Or she could swipe her claws across her throat.

Miranda raised her right arm, claws extended.

"Do it," Siccora hissed, anger flashing in her eyes. "Finish me. Our laws dictate that we fight to the death."

Miranda lowered her arm and stepped back off Siccora's chest.

"Your laws are stupid," Miranda said, her dragon voice coming rich and deep out of her throat. She held out her claw, offering it to Siccora. "We should be sisters, not enemies. There's no reason for you to die."

Siccora eyed her outstretched claw warily, then took it with her own. Miranda pulled her to her feet. Siccora slumped, then began to shrink, transforming back into her human form.

Miranda wished herself to transform as well and found that it was like curling yourself into a ball, absorbing all that extra flesh and muscle. When she had transformed into a dragon, she had been naked. Now that she transformed back, she found that she wore a suit of red skin-tight scales, just like the others.

A dozen guards were approaching them from either side of the courtyard. Miranda saw Corban and Astra not far behind them. A small white owl fluttered down from up high.

"This has never happened before," Siccora said. "Not that I have seen, nor in any stories I have ever heard."

"There's a first time for everything," Miranda said, smiling at her.

The owl landed before them, becoming Magda just as the guards surrounded them.

"It seems I was correct," Magda said. "Your possession of the Emberstone was no mistake."

"I don't understand what just happened here," Miranda said.

"You have dragon blood in you," Magda said. "That much is clear. But you have also violated our sacred laws."

"What? By not killing someone even after they were down?" Miranda asked. She looked at Corban, but couldn't read his expression.

Astra stepped forward. "Take her away," she said, nodding to the guards. Four of them stepped around Siccora. Before they led her away, she turned to Miranda. "Thank you," Siccora said. Then she left with them, head bowed, unresisting.

Miranda watched her go. "What's going to happen to her?"

"She'll be put in the dungeons for now," Astra said. "And executed on the morrow."

"What?" Miranda said. "Are you kidding me?"

"You should be more worried about your own fate," Magda said. "I will need to convene with the counsel to decide what should be done. In the meantime, you are not to leave this keep." Magda looked to Corban for acknowledgment. He nodded.

"But this is crazy," Miranda said. "I just—"

Corban stepped forward and put his arm around her. He began to lead her away, whispering to her. "I will see that no harm comes to you," he said.

Miranda wanted to protest more, to say it just didn't make any sense that they expected her to kill Siccora. Executing her was lunacy. But his presence calmed her. His strong arm felt good around her shoulder.

As they walked across the long courtyard, she felt her breathing steady and realized she had still been in shock. And why shouldn't she be? She had just steeled herself for imminent death. Not only had she not died, but she'd been transformed into a giant mythical beast. On top of that, she'd bested another dragon in combat.

_It's a wonder that I haven't completely flipped_ , she thought. She reached up and touched the Emberstone, feeling its heat and power. _You have dragon blood in you_. How the hell was that possible? Her father? The one who had left them? She found herself grasping at snippets of her past, trying to remember any details about him. But all she got were faded remnants: the shadow of his voice as he tucked her into bed, the roughness of his hand as she ran her fingers across his palm. She didn't even know his name. Her mother had never said much about him, and what she had said was terrible. So Miranda had written him completely out of life.

They walked down the steps together, and once they were alone in the hall, he stopped and hugged her fiercely. She stopped wondering about the father she never knew and turned all her attention to Corban.

The scales on their chest armor slid against one another as they hugged. His lips were near her ear.

"I thought I would see you die today."

"Me too," she said.

"All this time I thought you were dragonborn," Corban said. "I didn't know quite what to feel when I thought that was a lie. But it turns out the lie was true after all."

"I'm still not Siccora," Miranda said.

He drew back from the hug, still holding her shoulders. "No," he said, smiling. "I never wanted an alliance with the Wildfires anyway. You are obviously born of the red clan, but with your ancestry in question, the truce is up in the air. Perhaps Wygard can help you find out about your past. But until then, the situation here is going to be very complicated."

"Yeah," Miranda said. "Especially since your family is planning on executing Siccora."

"Yes," he said. "That is our way. Karth will have to abide, but who knows how he will react. There could be war after all."

"What do we do?"

He looked down at her, cupping one jaw in his hand. "What we do right now is retire to my chambers. We put all thoughts of executions and wars aside. We celebrate our binding."

She smiled up at him. "I guess we never did get to make it official with a kiss," she said. She leaned forward just as he bent down, their lips meeting. She tasted his cool breath as her tongue licked against his.

Then he pulled back from her slowly. She was disappointed, wanting more.

"Oh, I will make it official," he said, smiling. "With much more than a kiss."

Before she could respond, he reached down and cupped his arm behind her knees, sweeping her up into his arms. She let out a little yelp of surprise, then laughed nervously. All her life no man had ever swept her off her feet, either literally or figuratively. Corban had just done both.

She clasped her hands together behind his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Then as if she were as light as a bird, he set off down the hall with her in his arms.

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### **13  
CORBAN**

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With Miranda in his arms, he kicked open the double doors of his room and carried her inside.

As they entered the chamber together, the momentum of the doors made them swing back on their hinges and slam shut. He would have been happy putting her down right there on the floor and taking her. He'd never had such a powerful feeling for a woman before, a mixture of lust and love that had taken him by surprise.

Usually he had complete control over his emotions, not the other way around. But the past two days had been a ride over hilly country. First he thought he was duty-bound to wed a Wildfire against his will. Then he found that he liked the woman he thought was Siccora after all. No, not just liked. Desired. Loved. And then it turned out she was not Siccora after all, but a lowly mortal from Earth, and his heart had very nearly broken. Not only had she lied to him, but he would have to watch her die.

But she didn't die. Engulfed in flames, she emerged unscathed. And then she became a dragon.

The real Siccora was in his dungeon. The Wildfire party was somewhere about, or perhaps they had flown back to their desert lands to plan a war. All he knew was that the woman he had fallen in love with was not only alive, but dragon blood coursed through her veins. He knew he wanted her, more than anything he had ever wanted before.

But he was able to restrain himself from taking her right there on the floor. The bed was only a few steps away. He took her to it, tossing her onto the goose-down mattress. She laughed, sitting up on her elbows, and he saw that same flash of desire in her eyes as well.

"You have your own dragonskin armor now," he said.

Miranda looked down at her own body, at the shiny crimson scales covering her. "I don't understand," she said.

"It's a suit," he said. "A living suit of armor, grown by your own body. You can take it off and put it back on, but it will always be a part of you. Those that learn to shift as younglings slough off their old skins and grow new ones to fit their larger bodies."

She ran her fingers over the slick scales covering her breasts, then down to her belly. She looked up at him. "How do we get it off?"

He reached up to the collar of his own suit, willing it to stretch out, willing the scales across his back to separate from each other. "Just wish it," he said, "and it will be so." He pulled the suit down from his chest, peeling it off like a second skin, until he stood naked before her. He wore only the purple crystal, which hung about his neck on the thin leather cord.

Her eyes wandered down his chest, his stomach, and finally to his cock, as hard as frozen stone. She aroused him like no other woman ever had. Perhaps it was her otherworldly ways, the little things in the way she talked or moved. Or perhaps it was the Emberstone around her neck, bewitching him. Either way he didn't care.

She closed her eyes and he could see the scales across her body flare a little as she spoke to her suit. She took a deep breath and reached up to tug at her collar. As her armor began to come off, he grabbed the looser pieces and helped pull it from her body, tugging it down her legs to the tips of her toes. He then dropped it in a pile next to his own.

When he had seen her before, in the torchlight of the Great Hall, she had looked beautiful. Now, lying naked upon his bed, she was divine. Her flesh had seemed whiter before. Now it was lightly bronzed.

_Perhaps Siccora's dragonfire did not leave her completely untouched after all_ , he thought.

She was sitting back up on her elbows, her perfect breasts suspended before him, the tips of her large, dark nipples pert and erect. Her belly was flat and smooth. He let his eyes take in her body before he allowed himself to feast on her with his own. The hair between her legs was a black tangled patch, hiding the mystery of her womanhood beneath.

Some impulse stole over him, and he did something that he had never done with his any of his consorts. He knelt down, sliding his hands along the insides of her thighs and spreading them apart. Then he lowered his head down between them, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against the black patch of hair.

He wanted to taste her before he took her. He wanted to feel her smoky juices on his tongue and running down his chin. He wanted to eat and drink her, like a feast, before he plunged himself into her.

But first he took a deep breath, smelling her in. His nostrils filled with the tart wet scent of her, and yes, there was that undercurrent of smoke, as if a fire were burning within her. Before he descended upon her, he looked up and saw her close her eyes, tilt back her head, and lick her lips.

Corban lowered his eyes back to the prize, covering the soft folds of her lips with his mouth. Miranda let out a soft moan. She was already wet, and she tasted much as she smelled, warm and delicious. He eagerly extended his tongue, lapping in long, greedy strokes.

She began to moan more loudly, reaching down with one hand to run her fingers through his hair. Gripping her inner thighs, he pushed her legs further apart, licking and tasting her as if she were a sumptuous feast.

Miranda reached down with her other hand and grabbed his hair in two fistfuls. Corban slowed his pace, moving his tongue up high to her precious nub. There he moved the tip of his tongue in tiny circles, then flicked lightly at the one place he knew was more sensitive than any other on a woman.

She squirmed beneath the attention of his tongue. He moved it in ever-increasing spirals, delighting in feeling her buck and spasm. He slid his hands underneath to cup her ass cheeks and gave a squeeze.

Miranda screamed, pulling at his hair so hard he thought she might tear some out. But he didn't mind the pain. Her cries of joy were music to his ears. He knew any guards outside could hear her. He hoped the whole keep could hear her. He wanted everyone to know that he was pleasing his new bride and that she was relishing every second.

Eventually she sank back down to the downy mattress, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

He didn't let her. He crawled up between her legs and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting. She let out another cry, this time a little squeal of surprise and pain, but she didn't push him away.

Miranda put her hands on his chest, and he could feel her exploring his body as he moved on top of her. The ultra-sensitive tip of his cock bristled with sensation as it brushed against her thigh accidentally.

Corban reached down and took hold of it in his hand, ready to guide it into her folds and plunge deep.

Then a strange purple-white glow filled the space between him and Miranda. He looked down at the crystal hanging from his neck. It was bright with an otherworldly light, and not only was it aglow, it was whispering to him.

_No_ , Corban thought. _Not now. Why now?_

Miranda sat up on her elbows. "What is that?" she said, looking at the glowing shard around his neck.

But her voice seemed distant. The crystal was speaking to him, telling him in an alien voice that the fabric of his world was being ripped open, that someone was stepping through. And it was telling him exactly where. Far to the north was a great frozen lake. His father had taken him there once, teaching him to dive through the ice in dragonform to catch the massive white-bellied fish that swam beneath. He knew the place well.

But why this very moment? He could see shadows of the figures stepping through the portal. Their glowing, translucent mounts were massive versions of the horses in Xandakar. The riders were harder to see, shifting outlines of men infused with the same strange energy of the beasts they rode.

He pulled back from Miranda, standing up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I have to go."

"Tell me," she said. "What is it? Maybe I can help you."

After seeing her fight in the courtyard today, he considered it. But something had happened to him that he had sworn never would. He had fallen in love. And with his newfound feelings for Miranda, he didn't want to see her put in harm's way. These strangers from another world, they were powerful and dangerous. He already thought he was going to lose her once today. He could not bear that feeling again. But what had Wygard said? _Don't go alone_.

"No," he said, picking up his armor and sliding it back on. "Believe me when I say this. I never thought I would utter these words." He looked into her dark eyes and said the words. "I love you." He was pleased to see her eyes widen and glisten as he spoke.

"But," he went on, "this is a task I must oversee alone."

His suit completely on, he turned to the balcony.

"Wait," she said. "You can't just leave. Not like this."

"I promise you," he said. "I will return."

He threw open the balcony windows, letting in the cold night air. He took one look back at Miranda over his shoulder. She was lying naked in his bed, so dark and beautiful it made his heart ache. But this might be his only chance to determine the fate of his father, and he couldn't involve her.

He turned his face to the snowy wind, took three steps, and leapt from the balcony. He shifted as he jumped. He felt the wings spread from his shoulders, his body growing in an instant. He flapped them on the cold night air and turned to the north.

The whispers in his head were not nearly as strong now, but they didn't need to be. He knew where he was going. He sped northward, leaving Everfrost Keep and Miranda behind.

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### 14  
MIRANDA

She lay in his bed, looking at the open windows on the balcony, swirling drifts of snow blowing into the room. She wasn't cold. She _was_ pissed off, though.

Corban had just damn near blown the top of her skull off. Never in her life had she come that hard, not even close. She'd expected him to crawl on top of her and give her a one-of-a-kind fucking. But then he'd pressed his hands against the insides of her thighs, pushed them apart, and gone in with his mouth. Oh God, it had been incredible.

After that teeth-shattering orgasm, he had crawled on top of her, his cock ready in his hand. That's when the stupid necklace around his neck began to glow. What was it with magic necklaces around here, anyway?

The crystal was small, dangling from a crude leather rope, but the light it began to give off filled the bed chamber.

He said he had to leave and wouldn't explain why. He also said he loved her. That had made her heart thump harder in her chest than what he had done with his tongue. But then he had just swung open the balcony doors and leapt into the snowy night breeze.

She had half a mind to follow him, but she wasn't sure how reliably she could transform into a dragon, and he didn't want her to follow. She got out of the bed and walked to the balcony, looking out into the snowy darkness. She squinted, trying to find him, but it was impossible. He was gone.

Miranda started to turn from the windows when something on the balcony caught her eye. The crystal he had been wearing was lying there in a light layer of snow, the lanyard snapped.

_It must have broken off of him when he transformed_ , she thought.

She bent down to pick it up, the glow still there, but nearly faded away. When she touched the stone, she heard voices in her mind. She saw something, too, a vast frozen body of water. A black circle ringed with purple light hovered above the ice. Beside it were four riders, an almost neon purple glow around both them and their horses. As she watched, a fifth rider emerged from the black hole.

_It's a portal_ , Miranda thought. _They're moving through it like how the necklace brought me here from Earth_. But these guys were not from Earth.

The scene began to fade, all the light draining out of the vision. Then she was back on the balcony, the crystal in her hand now completely dark.

_I saw them_ , she thought. _That's where he's going._

She thought again of putting on her suit, trying to transform, and flying there to help him. Those men, or whatever they were, looked like bad business. And even though Corban was a dragon, the strongest of his clan, there were five of them.

_Dammit, why wouldn't he trust me?_ she thought. He was probably trying to protect her out of some bullshit notion of chivalry. But she'd proven in her fight against Siccora that she could hold her own.

She knew where Astra's room was, just down the hall. She would ask her for help first.

Miranda walked back to where her red-scaled suit lay in a puddle on the floor. She slipped it on quickly and headed for the door.

But no one answered when she knocked. She tried the handle, and it swung open. Astra was there, sitting in a chair before a mirror, brushing her platinum hair.

"Astra?" Miranda asked. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

All she got was an ugly look in the mirror. _I guess that's a no_ , she thought. But she pressed on, stepping inside the room.

"Your brother just left," Miranda said. "I think he's in trouble. He needs our help."

"You lied to me," Astra said. "You lied to us all."

"Okay," Miranda said. "Yeah, I did. But I don't think we have time to—"

"My brother leaves the keep all the time," Astra said. "He hunts. He explores. Sometimes he just wants to stretch his wings. He is in no danger. He is more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides," she turned around in the chair to look at Miranda, "if he were in danger, you really think _you_ could protect him?"

Miranda felt the heat rise in her neck, then all the way up to her ears. She tried to stay calm. "Not by myself, no," she said. "Let me take some of your soldiers. You could come. I know where he's headed."

"You are not to leave the keep," Astra said. "Magda decreed it. You're lucky you're not in the dungeons below with the real Siccora. You deserve as much."

_Siccora_. Now there was an interesting thought. Miranda needed help and Siccora needed redemption. She probably wouldn't need much convincing to help since she was sitting in an icy cell awaiting imminent execution.

_Besides, screw Astra. She was just pouting because she'd be deceived. Big deal. If she really cared about her brother, she'd listen._

"You're right," Miranda said. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Sorry to bother you."

As Miranda closed the door, Astra turned back around and began to brush her hair again.

The dungeons were not hard to find. The halls of Everfrost Keep at night were quiet, most people asleep in their bedchambers. But those that still roamed the halls or stood guard looked at Miranda with a mixture of admiration and awe.

She realized most of them had probably seen the fight in the courtyard. They'd probably all thought she was going to die. Hell, _she_ was sure she was going to die. Seeing her not only _not_ die, but defeat another dragon from a rival clan had raised her up to hero status. She guessed it didn't matter that she was still a red dragon. She was now married to Corban, so she was _their_ red dragon.

Every time she stopped to ask a guard the way to the dungeons, they didn't question why she would want to know. Some fumbled over their words, star-struck at speaking with her. But all of them were friendly and helpful.

There were actually three levels below the keep. The first was the armory. As Miranda walked through the rows and rows of swords, spears, and harpoons, she wondered why they didn't just call it the "weaponry". Everyone here grew their own suit of armor, after all.

She also thought about grabbing one of the silver spears. She might need a weapon against the dark riders she'd seen in the crystal's vision. But descending into the dungeons with a weapon seemed like a bad idea.

The level below that was just storage, filled with frozen barrels, stacked chairs, tables, and burlap sacks. There were no torches lit here at night, but she realized her body was continually full of surprises since the Emberstone had awoken around her neck. She could see reasonably well in the pitch blackness of the storage level. Everything had an orange glow, as if a fire was burning behind each of her eyes, providing her with a magical version of night-vision goggles.

_Well that's pretty cool_ , she thought. But she also thought she needed to pick up the pace. She didn't know how much time had passed since Corban had leapt out of the window, but he might already be at the frozen lake.

She walked quickly, finding the winding staircase down to the dungeon, just where the last guard who had given her instructions said it would be.

The dungeon was oddly brighter than the two levels above it. The walls were all made of light blue ice. There were no doors or bars, just frozen cells, all sealed solid. Miranda guessed they just shoved you inside, then froze up the opening. With dragon breath? Some other magic?

Two guards crouched near the doorway, laughing and tossing a handful of dice on the floor. When they heard her they snapped up straight, standing at attention.

"Your Highness," one of them said. "We weren't expecting anyone down here tonight."

Miranda glanced at the dice on the floor, smirking. "That much is obvious," she said. At least she had the upper hand for now. They'd been screwing around on the job, their guard already down.

"Where is Siccora?" she asked, trying to sound as bitchy and queenly as possible.

The guards pointed down the icy hall. "The cell at the end, your Highness," one of them said.

Miranda looked down the hall where they had pointed. "Good," she said. "Go get her and bring her to me."

They looked at each other, obviously confused. "We were under strict orders," the same one said. He was taller than the other guard, bigger, too. She was hoping she wouldn't have to fight.

"And now you have new orders," she said.

"Um," the big one said. He looked at his partner. "We should probably check on this." He nodded, and the shorter one moved for the stairs.

"Wait," Miranda said. _I don't have time for this_ , she thought. The shorter one paused at the foot of the steps, turning around.

_This better work_ , she thought. _And even if it does, I'm probably going to be in a world of shit._

She gave the command to the stone around her neck. No, that wasn't quite right. She didn't control it, and it didn't control her. The Emberstone was part of her now, like a third eye. She merely willed it and the transformation began.

Luckily the ceilings in the dungeon were high, the hallways wide. Because in a matter of two or three seconds, Miranda's body grew, claws extending, wings sprouting.

Their eyes grew wide. They hadn't been expecting this. But they were dragonborn as well. She could see the reptilian slit in their eyes as each began the transformation.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

"Sleep."

Miranda heard a hoarse voice whisper from the shadows of the stairs. The guard standing on the bottom step stopped transforming, shrinking back into human form. His eyes rolled up to the whites, his eyelids fluttering, and he slumped to the ground unconscious.

A figure stepped from the shadows, the ancient owl-mage Magda. Her wide eyes peered up at Miranda, then turned to the other guard, who was now half-dragon.

She whispered the word once again. "Sleep."

For a moment Miranda felt the effect of the spell as well. She felt a powerful urge to just lie down and close her eyes. But it passed quickly. The second guard, however, slumped over to one side, shrinking as he slid to the ground. Instantly he began to snore.

Miranda looked down at the old woman, a newfound respect for her power. "How did you know I was here?"

"I see much, my child," Magda said.

"And you're here to stop me?"

Magda smiled. She looked like a little old grandmother taking a batch of cookies out of the oven. "On the contrary," she said. "I'm here to help you."

Somewhere in the distance a trumpet sounded.

"An alarm," Magda said, her smile fading. "Come, we must hurry. They'll be here soon."

They moved up the hall to the cell the guard had pointed toward. The front of the room was a giant wall of blue ice. The wall had a tiny hole, maybe six or seven inches across. Miranda lowered her eye to it and saw Siccora sitting cross-legged on the stone floor.

"Siccora," she said. The woman looked up. She was beautiful, even here, defeated, imprisoned, and awaiting death. Her dark eyes narrowed, her mouth turning into a scowl.

"You," she said. "Have you come to gloat? To humiliate me in my final hours?"

"No," she said. "I need your help. Corban needs your help."

Siccora threw her head back and laughed at that. She waved her arms around at the empty cell of ice. "I'd love to help," she said. "But I'm a little busy redecorating at the moment. Come back tomorrow, won't you?"

Miranda sighed and looked down at Magda. "She's kind of being a bitch," she said. "Can you open this cell?"

Magda shook her head. "The ice is far too thick, and it is protected with a magic seal."

_Are you kidding me?_ Miranda thought. She wished she'd thought this whole thing through a little better, but there hadn't been much time.

She felt the glow of the Emberstone at the back of her throat. "What about dragonfire?"

Magda smiled, raising one eyebrow. "The breath of one dragon? No. But if you worked together?"

Miranda put her mouth to the opening. "Siccora," she said. "I need you to transform, to breath on this wall. I'm going to do the same on this side. Magda thinks—"

"Magda is here?" Siccora said, getting to her feet.

"Yeah, she's right here," Miranda said, but Siccora was already transforming.

_About time_ , Miranda thought. She could hear rumblings up above. The guards were almost here.

She moved back from the wall and took in a deep breath. The stone in her throat grew white hot. All she saw on the other side of the wall was the dim shadow of Siccora, growing bigger by the second.

Miranda thrust her head forward, opening her jaws and unleashing the hottest blast she could muster. She exhaled for a good twenty seconds, the flames from her breath curling away into hot steam as they hit the icy wall. When she could breathe out no longer, she paused, taking in another deep breath. She looked at what damage she'd done. It wasn't much. The wall was wet, only a curved indentation where she'd just hit it with everything she had.

Miranda took in every ounce of air she could, her scaly chest swelling with pressure, then she roared fire at the door once again. The flames poured out of her mouth, the force of the initial blast shaking the entire dungeon.

Magda stepped into her peripheral vision, waving her gnarled cane in the air. The cone of flame Miranda breathed narrowed, becoming more focused. She watched in amazement as the ice of the wall began to crack. She saw orange light in the fissures.

Then the whole door shattered, giant chunks of ice tumbling to the ground, plumes of snowy dust filling the hallway. As the steam cleared, she saw the same sight she'd seen earlier that day, Siccora Wildfire in dragonform standing across from her. Only this time she was relieved.

_We did it_ , she thought. _We brought down that stupid wall._

"Quickly," Magda said. "Shift into human form once more and come to me."

Neither Miranda nor Siccora questioned the old woman. At once they morphed back into humans. Miranda marveled at how much Siccora looked like her. Now that they both wore the red dragon armor, it was almost like looking in a mirror.

The yells of the guards filled the hall from behind them.

They both moved to Magda, who dropped her staff and held out both hands. They didn't need to be told what to do. Miranda reached out and took the old woman's left hand. It felt as dry and bony as a claw, but she felt power coursing through it. Siccora held her other hand.

Magda murmured something in an ancient tongue and all three of them disappeared. They weren't transported anywhere. If the old owl-mage could have done that, what was the need to melt the prison wall?

One second Miranda could see them standing there. The next they were gone. Invisible. She held out her free arm and looked right through it to the dungeon floor.

A group of a dozen guards rushed into the hall, spears raised.

Magda held her tightly by the hand, pulling her out of the middle of the hall to the wall. Miranda got it. They could press flat against the wall. With no one able to see them, they could just walk right out. She wondered how long the spell would last. If it wasn't very long, this whole plan was about to go down in flames.

But they inched along the wall, hand-in-hand, and stayed invisible the whole while. As the moved, they watched the guards move into the cell and further down the hall, spreading out, searching for them. One of them saw Magda's staff on the ground. He picked it up, looked it over, then dropped it.

Once they got to the stairs, they walked up together, still holding hands. Every time more guards ran by, they moved to the side to let them pass.

Back on the ground floor of the keep, Magda led them to a window. She squeezed Miranda's hand, and Miranda got the message. She opened the window. No one was around. Most of the guards were searching the lower levels, and the servants had holed up in their quarters.

The snow had stopped falling. Magda let go of their hands, and all three women became visible once again.

"Why are you helping me?" Miranda said. She was eager to take flight, to head for the frozen lake she had seen in the vision. But she wanted to know Magda's motives first.

"Corban is facing a power he does not understand," Magda said. "A force that threatens the very existence of our world."

_Shit_ , Miranda thought. _That's good enough for me._

"Then we should hurry," Miranda said.

"Indeed," Magda said.

Siccora jumped out of the window first, transforming as she fell, swooping as her wings extended. By contrast, Magda shrank, becoming a small gray owl. She looked at Miranda, hooted once, then twisted her head around and took to the night air.

Miranda looked around the hallway one last time, wondering if she would make it back. Then she turned to the window and jumped, becoming a dragon once more and taking flight.

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### **15  
CORBAN**

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He flew high above the trees, not wanting his enemies to see him until it was far too late. The snow had cleared and the moonlight lit up the surface of the frozen lake. He saw them, the jagged purple ring of the door they had stepped through.

He saw them sitting atop their mounts, menacing even from this distance. But he had the element of surprise. He had the fury of revenge in his heart. And he had the power of ice in his lungs. He would leave one of them alive, but just barely. He needed to know where his father was and if he was still alive. If need be, he would go through their portal and bring him back.

He circled high, careful not to put the moon at his back. Otherwise they might see his shadow upon the ice. They had just begun to move out, heading east away from the door they had come through.

He would hit them with an icy blast, throwing them in disarray, then fall upon then and tear them to pieces. All but one.

As he circled for the attack, Corban took in a great breath of cold night air. He thought of Miranda. Now he had someone to go back to. She made him feel stronger. His father would be pleased to hear the news.

He turned into a dive, falling straight toward the party. They were clustered together, perfect prey for the cone of ice he would unleash upon them.

Halfway into the dive, he pulled up and opened his jaws.

The rider in the lead looked up. From this distance Corban could see him clearly. He was a stout man wearing shiny black armor, but no helm. His head was bald except for a thick gray ponytail trailing down his back. His chin was capped with that same gray hair. His nose was wide and flat, his eyes were as black as night.

The man raised his arm up toward Corban, holding something. The moonlight glinted off of what looked like a glass ball. There was no spark, no light, no flash. Before Corban could let loose with his icy breath he felt all the energy drain out of him. He felt his wings give out, and he beat them frantically.

It was no use, though. He was changing back into human form. When he realized what was happening, he tried to fly as low as possible. If he fell from this height, even as powerful as he was, he'd break half the bones in his body.

Instead of gliding low, he began to tumble. But at least he had begun to fly level before he lost control. He became fully human still thirty feet or so above the ice.

_No_ , he yelled in his mind, trying to remain calm, to mitigate the fall. He had no time to focus on how this could be. He had never unwillingly shifted from one form to another.

He tried to roll into it as he hit the ice with a loud crack, thumping like a stone being skipped across a lake and bouncing twice more before coming to a stop. He ached all over.

Corban heard the clip-clop of hooves on ice. He tried to move, to get up, but a bolt of pain shot through his back and his right leg.

A horse's head appeared above him, like no horse he had ever seen. Its flesh was a ghostly shade of violet, its skull visible beneath. It moved away, and then the face of the man who had been looking up at him only moments before was now looking down at him. The man smiled wide, his teeth blocky and gray.

"You have saved us the trouble of the hunt, boy," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "I thank you for that."

Corban writhed on the hard ice. "Who are you?" he whispered.

The man straightened up in his saddle. "Most just call me The Nether Lord. Some call me The Dark Rider. But my true name is Nicola Nullvoid."

"How..." Corban didn't finish the thought, pain cramping his back. The fall had been hard. Even so, he usually healed quickly. But he didn't feel his body mending itself.

"Ah, how did I make lose your wings?" Nicola said. "How did I make you fall from the sky?" A massive steel warhammer hung from his saddle. Next to it was a black velvet bag. Nicola reached into it and withdrew the glass ball Corban had seen earlier. The orb was dark, the interior smoky. Just looking at it made his body feel weak.

"This," Nicola said, "is quietglass. It casts a dampening field within a given area, a sort of anti-magic cloud. Keeps little lizard-boys like you from holding their magical form. As long as it's near, keeps you from ever transforming back."

Corban was horrified. He had no idea such a weapon existed. Nicola kept right on grinning as he slid the glass ball back into its bag. Corban was glad to see it disappear, even though he still felt its dark cloud all around him.

"What do you want?" Corban asked.

"Why, _you_ my dear boy," Nicola said. He nodded to his fellow riders. Two of them dismounted, their steel boots crunching on the ice.

_If only they would fall through_ , Corban thought. But the ice of the lake was too thick for that. They walked toward him leaving black prints that glowed like oil in the moonlight.

Nicola watched on as the men grabbed hold of Corban. He yelled out with pain as they bound him with thick wire, roping it around his ankles, wrists, and chest.

When they were done, one of them picked him up like a sack of potatoes, carried him to his horse, and slung him over it.

_This was my father's fate_ , Corban thought. _This man and his lackeys came across my father's party, perhaps on a hunt._ He smiled bitterly at the idea that this knowledge had only come from getting caught himself. The horse he was slung across turned, and Corban could see the purple-ringed black mouth of the portal up ahead. They meant to take him back, to their world. For what purpose he could not guess, though he held out some sliver of hope that he might live and that he might see his father alive on the other side.

The horse moved into a trot, its hooves clopping on the ice, jolting Corban up and down. He opened his mouth to ask where they were going, to tell them to stop, but he felt a rib crack high up in his chest. The pain was finally too much, and he fell unconscious.

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### **16  
MIRANDA**

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They flew together as swiftly as possible, Miranda, Siccora, and Magda. Miranda worried that the little old owl might not be able to keep up. But she had already seen the mage's magic, so she felt silly doubting her when Magda easily kept pace.

The flat expanse of the ice lake was visible from far away, the light of the moon lighting up its surface. Mountains lay on the far side. They flew over the piney forest that bordered the lake to the south. Her vision was much better as a dragon. All her senses were. But even as she strained her eyes, scanning the lake, from this distance she couldn't see any sign of either Corban or the riders who had come through the portal.

"There," Magda said, shifting course slightly. How had the old owl seen something Miranda had missed?

But Miranda trusted her, even if she still wasn't exactly sure why Magda was helping them. Something about a force that could destroy their world. That sounded ominous as hell, but it was still pretty vague.

Magda began to descend, and as Miranda and Siccora followed suit, she could finally see it, a ring of purple light floating above the ice. Men on their horses were moving into it. She counted only three left on this side. She squinted as she dove, and her heart nearly froze.

There, slung across the last horse, was Corban. He looked unconscious, maybe even—

_No_ , she thought, panic gripping her. _Don't let him be dead. Please_.

She beat her wings furious into the dive, pulling ahead of the others. She had to get to Corban. She had to stop them. And that's when she felt it, almost as if she'd entered a polluted fog, even though the air was still clear. She felt sick and weak, and almost lost control of her flight.

But as she watched the riders enter the ring of darkness, including the one with Corban, the feeling passed.

_What the fuck was that?_ she thought. She felt like she'd almost been ripped out of dragonform by some weird force. But now that the riders were on the other side, she felt fine. Well, not fine. They had Corban, and who knew how long the portal would be open? She had to follow them. But the opening was too small for a dragon.

She pulled up just before hitting the ice, flapping her wings to slow the impact. Her claws still hit hard, cracks spider-webbing across the surface of the ice as she landed.

Miranda shifted into human form, voluntarily now, and ran toward the dark circle. She heard the flutter of Magda's wings behind her and the thud of Siccora hitting the ice. But she didn't care.

The gate was closing, shrinking in front of her eyes, and she had to get through. Ten feet away she slipped on the ice, spilling hard and cursing as she went down.

Pain shot up her arm as her left elbow smashed into the ice. "No!" she yelled, looking up.

The portal had shrunk to the size of a dinner plate, the crackling purple edge still collapsing. It was almost gone.

Then it stopped.

Miranda turned her head to look back at Magda and Siccora, who had both transformed back into human form.

The owl-mage stood with her hands stretched out toward the portal, her fingers curved into claws. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a strained look on her face.

Miranda glanced back at the portal and saw that it had begun to widen again.

_She's opening it back up_ , Miranda thought. _It was about to close, but she's forcing it back open._

"Go," Magda said. "I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it."

Miranda and Siccora looked at each other.

"Let's go," Siccora said, moving to Miranda. She held out a hand and helped her up. Then they looked at the portal, now nearly as wide as it had been when the riders went in.

Still holding hands, they stepped through together.

Miranda felt the sick jolt of being ripped between worlds. The experience was nothing like traveling with the Emberstone. That had been like moving through space without a ship. This was like being squeezed through a straw and shot out the other side. Everything felt wrong. Everything felt dark. But she was somehow still linked to Siccora, their hands still clasped together.

They emerged, and the first thing Miranda noticed was the smell, like sulfur and burning wire. She opened her eyes and nearly gasped. A massive castle stood before them, dozens of shiny spires that looked like they were made of black glass. The landscape all around was pitted, craggy black hills. The ground looked like the aftermath of some giant volcanic event, as if hot lava had been spewed out of the earth and fused into this hellish scene. The sky above was filled with dark clouds, purple flashes of lightning intermittently crackling between them.

_We're in hell_ , she thought.

Then she felt Siccora squeeze her hand. Miranda looked up and Siccora was pointing toward the castle. There, up ahead, a massive door was opening. She could make out the riders up ahead, about to pass inside.

"Come on," Siccora said, pulling her behind an outcropping of black pumice.

They huddled there, trying to gather themselves from the trauma of traveling between worlds.

"Do you know where we are?" Siccora asked.

"No clue," Miranda said. The portal was gone, snapping back into a purple spark and disappearing for good. "Looks like we're on our own."

"We need to find a way into the castle," Siccora said.

"Wait a minute," Miranda said. "Did you feel something when we got near the portal? Something bad?"

Siccora looked at her, then sighed. "I thought perhaps that was just a feeling _I_ had, a momentary weakness."

"It wasn't just you," Miranda said. "There's something strange going on, or they wouldn't have captured Corban so easily."

"We have other things to worry about. Even if we find him and get him out of there, how are we supposed to get back to Xandakar?"

That was a damn good question, one Miranda hadn't fully thought through. How had these guys generated their portal in the first place? If there were some sort of machine they used, maybe she and Siccora could use it as well. She reached up to the Emberstone at her throat. It had the power to move between worlds, too. Maybe they could harness that.

"One thing at a time," Miranda said. "Let's focus on getting in there and finding Corban first."

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### **17  
CORBAN**

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He awoke to pain. Like a white-hot wire, it ran from his toes up his spine to the tips of his outstretched fingers. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dark room. He looked up at his wrists, bound in thick manacles, suspended from iron chains that ascended into darkness. His feet dangled six inches from the stone floor.

He looked around the empty room. The walls were a shiny obsidian. The floor was black volcanic stone. He saw only one door, heavy oak tarred as black as everything else.

He groaned in pain, but for the first time since he had lain his eyes on that damnable orb he could feel power coming back into him. He could feel his torn muscles begin to mend, his broken bones begin to heal.

Perhaps, given enough time, he could take his dragonform again. Then he might be able to escape.

His heart sank when the door swung open. Nicola stood there, his hammer hanging from his belt. Thankfully Corban didn't see or feel the quietglass. Nicola closed the door behind them, leaving them alone.

"Feeling better?" he asked, stepping up to stand in front of where Corban dangled by his wrists.

"Until you arrived."

Nicola laughed. "You have spirit. That's good. It won't last long, though."

Corban wasn't so sure of that. He felt the energy starting to flow through him now, his body nearly completely restored.

"We haven't had a proper introduction," Nicola said. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Does it matter?" Corban hoped to stall him. In only a matter of minutes he could become the most feared ice dragon in Xandakar and kill this man with a single blast of his breath.

"No," Nicola said, arching his eyebrows. "Not really. But I keep a record of everyone we take from your world. I was just curious if you might be related to any of our past guests." A wicked glint in his eye said perhaps he already knew the answer to his question.

"Everfrost. Corban Everfrost." He couldn't help himself. He needed to know if the man would tell him what had happened to his father. He also wanted him to know the name of the person who was about to kill him.

Nicola's eyes lit up. "As goes the father, so goes the son," he said.

"What do you know of my father?" Corban asked, feeling the flash of rage light up his mind.

"I know he was here," Nicola said. "For a very long time. He was strong, that one. A great deal of power coursed through him. I would have to check my records to be sure, but I believe he lasted over two hundred days."

_No_ , Corban thought. _He can't be dead. He lies_. Grief and rage took hold of him. He was now only moments from transforming and exacting his revenge.

"You're a fool," Corban said. "For not bringing your little trinket in here with you."

Nicola laughed, and Corban felt momentary doubt. The man raised his hand up, covered by a thick black glove. With his other hand, he tugged at the fingertips of the glove, then pulled it up and off.

The room filled with the dark purple glow of light, given off by Nicola's hand. It was translucent, like the mounts they rode. Corban could see the bones underneath the purple-white skin.

"I don't need the quietglass," Nicola said. "I don't want to suppress the magic within you any longer." He reached out with his glowing hand, fingers splayed wide, and pushed it against the blue scales on Corban's chest. "I want to feed on it."

Corban bucked and twisted, trying to get away from the man's touch, but it was no use. Nicola's palm pressed flat against Corban's breastbone and all the energy that had been swelling inside him dissipated. Corban felt it being sucked out of him.

He screamed. The pain he felt now made the pain from the fall feel like a child's scraped knee. The power that let him become a dragon, that made him who he was, was being sapped from his body. He was being eaten alive.

Corban opened his eyes and looked down at the man's maniacal grin. The purple glow reflected in his eyes. He was feeling pleasure and power in proportion to what was being ripped out of Corban.

How much time passed, Corban did not know. Agony was the only thing he knew. Time had lost all meaning. But when the hand was mercifully withdrawn, he slumped, his wrists sagging against the chains.

Nicola took a deep breath through his wide nostrils. "That was...satisfying," he said. Corban watched him pull the glove back on, which was a relief. He wasn't sure he could take any more of that.

"Usually we share here," Nicola said. "But I may just have to keep you for myself." He turned to go. When his hand was on the door, Corban strained to speak, the word only coming out in a whisper.

"Parasite."

Nicola chuckled. "I have high hopes for you, my boy," he said. "The well of energy inside you is strong, by the taste. Today is day one. Together we shall see if you can break your father's record."

With that he left the room, slamming the giant black door behind him. Corban slowly spun at the end of the chains from which he hung.

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### **18  
MIRANDA**

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They circled the exterior of the castle until they found what they had been looking for. On the far corner of the black fortress was a massive drainpipe covered with iron grating. Along the way, they crept behind outcroppings of black volcanic rock. Huge black beetles scuttled along the ground. Mutated gray lizards with multiple heads and limbs perched atop rocks and chased after the smaller beetles. All the while, the strange purple lightning crackled between the clouds overhead.

"That looks like our best way in," Siccora said, pointing at the drainpipe.

"Think we can get through that grating?" Miranda asked.

"If we work together, I see no reason why not," Siccora said. "And we've done a decent job of that so far." She started to move from behind the rock, to head toward the castle. Miranda put a hand on her arm.

"I need to ask you something first," Miranda said.

Siccora looked her in the eyes, a hint of shame there. "You want to know why I lied," she said. "About you stealing the Emberstone."

"Yeah. I also want to know why you gave it to me in the first place."

"The second one is easy," Siccora said. "If the old owl is to be believed, I was meant to give it to you. As for my own reason, I didn't want to leave your world. I didn't want to come here against my will and marry someone I didn't know."

As she spoke, Miranda saw something else in her eyes, a look she had only recently begun to fully recognize. "You're in love."

Siccora lowered her eyes, the fierce warrior replaced by an embarrassed young woman. "Is it so obvious?"

Miranda remembered the first time she had seen Siccora, before all of this. She had stepped out of the back seat of a limousine. The driver had opened the door for her. He'd had a thick braid of black hair down his back and massive sideburns. He'd been there again in the Great Hall when Siccora had returned. What was his name?

"Korrigan," Miranda said.

"Yes," Siccora said. "He's much older than me, though age matters less among our kind. My father would say he is not our kind at all. He's a wolf, from one of the packs in the south. My father trusted him with my life, and we fell in love."

"So you found someone that looked like you and gave them the necklace, knowing they'd put it on and be transported here."

"Truth be told, I didn't know exactly what would happen," Siccora said. "It was Korrigan who actually convinced me to turn back. But all we found was your empty home."

Her story made sense, but Miranda still didn't know how far she could trust her. "How did you get back to Xandakar?"

"The Emberstone is not the only way to move between worlds," she said. "There are those who work magic in your world. They are few and they prefer to remain hidden. But Korrigan and I knew where to look. We found one such magic-worker powerful and willing enough to send us back."

"So you really would have killed me and taken my place as Corban's new wife?" Miranda asked.

"I tried my best," Siccora said, shrugging. "You and your crystal there put a stop to that."

Miranda almost felt guilty now. If Siccora was to be believed, she'd never wanted to go back to Xandakar in the first place. _Did you ever wonder if your life wasn't meant for something else?_ That's what Siccora had asked in Benny's. God, that seemed like it had happened a million years ago.

"After we save my man and get back home," Miranda said, "I'll do everything I can to see you go free and live the life you want, with whoever you want."

Tears stood out in Siccora's eyes. She reached out and they hugged each other tightly. "I doubt my father would allow such a thing," she said. "But your words are welcome in my ears."

"No problem," Miranda said. "Now let's rip the metal off that pipe. You ready to wade through some raw sewage?"

Siccora began to laugh and Miranda joined in.

They walked toward the drainpipe, the ground becoming softer as they approached. The pipe itself was massive, wider in diameter than both of them standing side by side. The stench was nearly unbearable. A sludge the color of rotten avocados oozed out of the bottom of the grating, pooling into a foul makeshift pond. Clouds of huge mutated flies filled the air. Miranda thought she was going to puke.

"We'll shift into dragonform to remove the mesh," Siccora said. "But we'll have to shift back to fit through there."

Miranda nodded. She was afraid to open her mouth with all these flies. Siccora began to shift first, and Miranda concentrated and began as well. It took longer than usual, and was harder. Miranda wondered if maybe it was this place, but then she remembered the portal back in Xandakar. The feeling was the same, as if there were some cloud trying to prevent them from transforming.

But they managed, growing into their full forms. Siccora led the way, trudging through the dark green slop. Miranda's sense of smell was better in dragonform, but she immediately snorted out a tiny plume of fire to clear her nostrils.

They each curled their claws into the grating, then looked at each other and nodded. The footing was horrible here as they both stood knee-deep in the pungent sludge. But within seconds Miranda heard the squeal of the metal straining beneath their grasps. The covering began to bow outward.

Then, without warning, it broke loose. Neither of them had time to react, falling backwards and landing in the pool with tandem splashes.

_Gross_ , Miranda thought as she lay in the muck. She struggled to her feet, trying not to slip again, and looked at Siccora, who was also covered in the green nastiness.

As they stood there staring at one another, coated in dark slime, Miranda almost wanted to laugh again. But there wasn't much time. Still, if they shifted back into human form smelling like rancid toilets, they weren't going to be able to be very stealthy.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Miranda asked in her deep dragon hiss.

In response, Siccora took in a deep breath. Miranda closed her eyes. The fire washed over her, warm and soothing for a good ten seconds. When it stopped, she opened her eyes and looked down. She was still standing in the slop, but the rest of her was now nice and clean.

_Better than a shower_ , she thought. Then she returned the favor, taking a deep breath and burning the muck off of Siccora in a wide cone of flame.

Once they were relatively clean, Siccora grabbed onto the lower lip of the pipe and began to transform, pulling herself up just as she became fully human. _She's good at this_ , Miranda thought, wondering just how often Siccora had shifted back and forth on Earth. Miranda followed suit, grabbing on and pulling herself up as she shifted.

Inside, they moved forward into the darkness.

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### **19  
CORBAN**

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He swam back up out of unconsciousness. The first thing he felt was the ache deep in his shoulders. They felt as if they were slipping out of their sockets. Corban looked up, then around, realizing again where he was and letting out a low moan.

_How stupid,_ he thought. And stubborn as well. He should have listened to Wygard. He should have listened to Miranda. But here he was, hanging in a dungeon in some other world. He didn't even know its name.

He took a deep breath. Think. That giant bastard with the glowing hand could come back any time now. Was there a way to get out of this? To overpower him?

Corban tried to pull his legs up, to see if he could possibly flip over and grab onto the chains with them. Maybe he could climb up to the top. Maybe the bolts that held the chain in place were loose.

But as he tried to lift his lower body his shoulders and back screamed in unison. He had begun to feel stronger, almost able to shift back into dragonform. And then Nicola had lain his hand upon his chest and sucked that energy right out of him. Now he felt drained, weak, and broken once again, only much worse than before.

There was a tiny bit of that power still in him. He could feel it, like a tiny sapling struggling through the snow for sunlight. But he also figured the way this would go. They would feed him, give him drink, and let his power grow just so much. And then they would suck it right back out of him. He had become little more than a storehouse of food.

When he was smaller, Wygard had told him stories of vampires, monsters that were human in form but neither dead nor alive. He said they drank the blood straight from your veins. The stories had frightened him, though Wygard had joked that if a vampire had tried to drink Corban's blood, he might just get a headache from the cold. Or worse, his pointy teeth might freeze and break clean off.

That had made him laugh. But now he had encountered real vampires.They didn't bite or drink blood. They sucked the life force right out of you with a touch.

He closed his eyes to try to think, then heard the scraping noise of metal on stone. What was that? He cast his eyes about in the dark room and saw nothing. Was this some new form of torture? Had they unleashed something in here, some kind of animal, as a form of amusement?

The scrape came again, and then he saw it, far across the room on the floor. A piece of metal grating had lifted and was being slid to the side. Someone or something began to crawl out of the hole, a dark, indistinct shape at first.

But when the figure stood, a hitch caught in his throat.

_Miranda_.

Her hair was in disarray and her armor was covered in flecks of filth. But at that moment she looked more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen.

She began to walk toward him and a horrible thought crossed his mind. What if this was some sort of trick? Either his mind or his jailors could be playing it upon him. He could not remember the last time he ate, and he was dizzy from hunger and pain.

But no, as she stepped up closer to him, worry and love in her eyes, every detail was crystal clear. The Emberstone glinted at her neck. He could even smell her, the real her, even though she had obviously just crawled through the gutters of the castle. She smelled of the hearth, of burning wood, a dusky, comforting scent.

"Oh Corban," she whispered. "What have they done to you?"

He could see that she wanted to embrace him, but he must have looked a wreck. Because he could also tell she was afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him further.

"I'm fine," he said, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper. His throat felt as if it had been rubbed with sand. As glad as he was to see her, he now feared for her life. "You have to leave," he struggled to say. Every word brought a stab of pain.

Miranda was looking around the room, up at his chains. "We're going to get you out of here."

"We?" he said.

"I came with Siccora," she whispered. He looked back at the hole, wondering if she were somewhere down there. "She's gone up ahead. The sewers run right under the dungeons. We knew where to find you from...from the noises you made. We argued, but agreed to a plan. She would go deeper into the castle, transform, and cause a distraction. I'd get you out of here."

"No," Corban whispered. "Won't work."

"It was the best we could come up with," she said. "If I shift in here, I can break those chains and we can get out together. She can catch up later."

"No," he said, louder than he had expected. He coughed and felt blood on his lips. "The glass. You have to destroy the glass."

"What?" she said. "What glass?"

He opened his mouth to try to explain, even though every word was agony. But from somewhere else in the castle a loud siren began to wail.

"Oh shit," Miranda said. "They must have found her."

"Go!" was all Corban could say, nodding fiercely at the hole across the room. He didn't want her to be caught as well.

She glanced between the corner and him, a pained look on her face. Then she moved up to him, standing on her toes and gently putting her hands on his stomach. She leaned forward and put a soft kiss on the armor of his belly, the highest she could reach.

She looked up at him. "I will get you out of here," she said. Then the massive door of the cell began to creak. Her eyes widened, and she dashed for the hole, crawling in and sliding the grate shut just as the door opened.

There, filling the doorway, was Nicola. He strode into the cell, right up to Corban. He nodded at a guard standing in the hallway and the chains began to lower, not all the way to the ground, but almost.

Nicola snatched out with his gloved hand, as quick as a viper, and grabbed Corban's jaw. He cried out in pain.

"It seems we were followed through the gate," he said. "We already found one unwanted visitor. She looks like a tasty little morsel. We're going to put her in the cell next door so you can hear each other's screams."

The man's thick fingers squeezed Corban's jaw painfully. He glanced down and saw Nicola's ever-present war hammer hanging on his belt. If he only had more strength, he would take that hammer and smash the man's head in. But he also now saw the black velvet pouch dangling from his belt as well, the curved bulge of a glass ball the size of a grapefruit.

"Do you have anything you want to tell me?" Nicola said, a dark grimace on his face. "Are there others?"

Corban struggled not to look across the room at the grate Miranda had come through. That would seal her fate. Instead, he held his gaze locked with Nicola's dark, malevolent eyes.

"Eat shit," he said, specks of blood landing on Nicola's pale cheek.

Nicola smiled and let go of his jaw. "Your time here has actually been more comfortable than it needs to be," he said. "I could make things much more unpleasant for you if I wished."

Corban just looked at the man and licked the blood from his lips.

"Very well," Nicola said. "My men are preparing your little rescuer for me as we speak. I'm going to go next door and have a little fun with her." He was studying Corban's face. "I can see she is no one you care about. You haven't even asked her name. You know something, though."

Corban held his tongue.

"My men are searching the rest of the fortress," Nicola said. "Perhaps eventually we'll find someone you _do_ care about."

With that, he turned and left. As he did, two guards stepped into the room, shutting the door behind.

Corban glanced over at the grating on the floor. He hoped Miranda was no longer there, that she had fled. He'd told her about the glass, but hadn't had time to fully explain. He hoped she would find her way back out of the castle and back to Xandakar, though he had no idea how.

He felt as if he didn't know anything anymore. Except that he wanted Miranda to be safe. And that he loved her.

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### **20  
MIRANDA**

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She knelt in the tunnel beneath Corban's cell, listening to that piece of shit interrogate him. She kept as still as a mouse, hearing every word, the distant sound of the sirens wailing in the background.

Soon after the door slammed shut, she heard the sirens stop. She heard the heavy boot steps thumping down the hallway. This section of the tunnel ran lengthways under the cells.

Her only two choices were to run, which she wasn't going to do, or to find another way. What had Corban said? Something about a glass? She needed to know what he meant.

As quietly as she could, she lifted the grating. She looked up at Corban, his head hanging down, his chin on his chest. Blood was trickling from his mouth in a thin red line. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to murder the son of a bitch that had done this to him.

But then she saw the guards by the door, standing up straight, watching Corban.

_Fuck_ , she thought. She couldn't go up there. Not now. She lowered the grating as quietly as she could, then knelt in the tunnel.

Miranda wondered why they would have these tunnels under the prison cells anyway. They seemed like an easy means of escape. _Yeah_ , she thought, _but to where?_ There didn't seem to be anything resembling a road or a town in the surrounding area. Just a hellish, rocky landscape filled with bugs and lizards. Maybe they actually wanted prisoners to escape every once in a while, just to screw with them. In any case, she'd heard everything the man had said. They had caught Siccora. She'd said she was going to try to cause a distraction.

_I guess this counts_ , Miranda thought. And now they were looking for her. Soon enough they'd come looking in these tunnels, if they hadn't already started.

The man said he'd be in the cell next door, where they had taken Siccora. Miranda figured her best option was to see what was going on in there. If the man was alone with her, maybe they could overpower him. Shit, she didn't know. Everything had gone to hell. She knew she couldn't leave, not without Corban. And she owed it to Siccora to try to help her as well. But apparently all three of them were having problems shifting. Did it have something to do with the glass Corban was talking about? She wasn't sure that made sense. But then, what around here did?

She already heard voices coming from the grate down the tunnel, so she crept in that direction. When she reached it, she could hear that same man's voice.

"...if there's anyone else here with you, and I'll go easy on you."

"Yes," Siccora said. "There is one other."

_Goddamnit Siccora_ , Miranda thought. _What are you doing?_

"Good," the man said. "Where?"

"In a dark place," Siccora said. "If you bend down and put your head far enough between your legs, you can find it yourself."

Miranda smiled, but then heard the crack of a slap.

She had to risk it, to see if they were alone. She lifted the grate slowly and quietly. Siccora was facing her, her wrists and ankles shackled to the black stone wall. The hulk of a man stood in front of Siccora, his back to Miranda. She scanned the room quickly. The door was closed and no other guards were around. She looked back at the man and saw a huge hammer hanging from his belt. She also saw a black velvet pouch next to it, the curved bulge as big as a softball.

Siccora glanced toward the back of the room and for a brief moment caught her eye. The right side of her face was red, already swelling from the blow.

Miranda had the grate perched half open, watching.

Siccora was careful not to stare too long. She turned her head back to look the man in the eye. "Tell you what," Siccora said, "I bet it gets lonely here. All I've seen so far are men. Take me down off this wall and I'll give you a proper fucking."

He threw his head back and gave a full-bellied laugh at that. "And why would I want to unshackle you, dear? If I wanted to fuck you, why would I not just take you as you are?"

"Certainly you could," she said. "But perhaps if my hands were free I could show you things you hadn't seen before."

"Oh, I doubt that, missy," he said. "I've been around for a long time, longer than you know. You're playing a game, you are. You think if you're loose you might get the upper hand on me. Or you think I might go easier on you."

She sighed. "Either fuck me free or chained," she said. "I care not, though I do grow bored with this chatter."

He laughed again and knelt to set one ankle free. "Oh, I'll see you loose," he said. "But you're wrong on all counts. It will be much worse for you, especially if you try anything."

He unshackled her other foot next, then both her wrists. As soon as she was free, he pushed her against the wall, slamming her into it. He grabbed the shoulders of her armored suit and yanked it down to her waist. Her breasts came free, full and supple in the dim light. The man looked down at them and chuckled, taking one in his gloved hand.

"You've no idea who or what I am," he said. "I plan to fuck you and drink from you at the same time."

Siccora reached out and grabbed his own armor, pulling it from his chest. "Then do it," she said. "And quit your yammering."

He laughed again as they undressed each other. Siccora glanced over at her only once. Miranda nodded in return, and Siccora turned back to the man.

His upper body was bare now. He looked incredibly strong, his muscles bulging beneath purplish pale skin. A thick gray braid lay between his massive shoulders. His thick hands were tugging her armor down past her hips. Miranda was not surprised to see Siccora's pubic hair trimmed into a neat landing strip.

"What's your name?" Siccora said, working at his belt with her hands.

"Oh, are we to be sweethearts now?" he asked mockingly.

"No," she said. "But at some point I am going to kill you. And I like to know the names of those whose lives I claim."

He laughed hardest of all at that, his whole body shaking. "Nicola," he said, still laughing. "Nicola Nullvoid."

His belt came loose, the great hammer landing on the stone floor with a thunk. The velvet pouch also landed on the floor, the strings cinching it tight coming loose. The curved contents escaped the bag, and Miranda watched as a glass ball rolled out into the middle of the room. The man named Nicola paid no mind. His attention was fully on Siccora now. She was doing a fine job of distracting him, running her hands across his skin while he pawed at her breasts and reached around to cup her bare ass.

Miranda turned back to the orb. Just looking at it made her sick. The inside was as dark as smoky, but it wasn't moving. It almost seemed like the absence of all motion, but that didn't seem to make sense. All she knew was that she felt weak and nauseous when she looked at it. Could this be the glass Corban was talking about?

_You have to destroy the glass_ , he had said. She didn't really know exactly why destroying that thing was so important, but she did want to see it smashed to bits. In lieu of a better plan, that's what she decided to do.

Siccora had pulled Nicola's boots and breeches off. His whole body was pale. Miranda had never seen an albino before, but this is what she imagined they might look like naked. He had her pushed up against the wall now, pushing himself into her, his pale ass cheeks clenching with each thrust.

Miranda slid the grating aside and crawled out of the hole. She stayed on her hands and feet, moving as silently as possible. She crawled past the orb, looking down at it. Being so close nearly made her pass out, but she clenched her eyes and shook her head.

_Don't look at it,_ she thought. _Keep moving._

She crept right up to where Nicola's armor lay in a pile. The hide-bound handle of his hammer stood straight up in the air.

Miranda climbed slowly to her feet and grabbed the handle with both hands. Siccora was watching her now over Nicola's pale shoulder. She was beginning to look pale herself, as if the blood were draining out of her face.

Nicola was chuckling as he fucked her. "Like that, do you?" he asked. "You people think you're special, being able to flip back and forth between forms. Well, I'm taking that power, feeding it on. And it tastes so very good."

Miranda hefted the hammer up. Goddamn it was heavy, but thankfully not too heavy for her to handle. She probably only had one chance at this. She could try to smash his head in. Or...

_You have to destroy the glass._

She turned, staggering with the hammer, and took three steps back to where the orb rested on the stone floor. She raised the hammer high over her head.

Nicola heard her. He pulled away from Siccora and screamed, an inarticulate howl.

But he was too late. Miranda brought the hammer down, the blunt square head landing flush on the top of the glass ball. It shattered into a thousand shards, spraying across the floor.

He was upon her then, tackling her from behind and knocking her to the floor. The hammer fell out of her hands and slid across the floor.

His full weight was on her as she lay face down. Spittle flew past her face to the floor as he screamed at her. "You bitch!"

She still felt the weakness from being so near the glass. But with her cheek pressed against the stone, she saw the hundreds of glass shards lying on the floor in front of her. As she watched, they began to curl like burning leaves, then rise into wisps of white smoke before disappearing completely.

She felt the weakness fade, strength slowly returning to her. But then she felt powerful hands wrap around her neck and begin to squeeze. She couldn't breathe, his fingers cinching tight like a vise. Face-down with her arms pinned, she couldn't move. Gray motes began to dance in front of her eyes.

_This is it,_ she thought. _He's going to kill me._

Then a cracking noise filled her ears. It sounded like a thousand ice trays being twisted at once. The grip on her throat slackened, but only slightly, not enough to take a proper breath.

"No," Nicola said, his voice lower this time, dreading whatever it was he saw.

Miranda strained her head against his hands to look up. What she saw warmed her heart.

The wall between the adjoining cells was completely white, cracks radiating outward from the center. She knew what had caused the black stone to turn white, and she smiled, half delirious from lack of oxygen.

A giant blue claw smashed through the center of the wall, and the whole thing crumbled to the floor. There stood Corban, fully transformed into the great blue dragon, nearly filling the entire room.

With the glass shattered, he was free to shift, the power flowing through him once more. All of them were free, but Siccora had just been fed upon and Miranda had gotten so close the glass at the end that it had nearly sapped all of her strength.

But Corban was in full force. His claws thudded on the floor as he rushed forward, knocking Nicola off of Miranda with a lightning-quick swipe.

Miranda pushed herself up, gasping for air. Corban looked down at her, and seeing she was going to be okay, he turned his eyes on Nicola. The man lay naked and crumpled in the corner of the room. He stirred, blinking his eyes and trying to get to his feet.

Corban opened his jaws and blasted Nicola with a shower of frost. As Miranda shakily got to her feet, Corban's breath stopped, leaving a white frozen figure in its wake.

Miranda was feeling stronger now. She felt the Emberstone pulsing at her throat. She glanced over at Siccora, who had already recovered enough to find her armor and begin to put it back on. Soon they would both be able to shift into dragonform. And that was good, because she heard the thunder of boots and the yelling of men in the hall.

But first there was something she wanted to do, needed to do. She grabbed the handle of Nicola's hammer and dragged it to the corner where he crouched, frozen solid. She hefted the hammer in the air and brought it down at the base of his frozen neck. Like the glass, he shattered into a rain of a thousand pieces.

_Damn that felt good_ , she thought, dropping the hammer with a clank.

She could hear them gathering outside in the hall. She looked up at Corban, then at Siccora, who nodded back. Miranda closed her eyes and began to shift, feeling the heat of the stone flow through her. Her muscles swelled, wings growing, spines jutting.

When she opened her eyes the room seemed so much smaller. She glanced to her right and saw Siccora, now also fully transformed.

_Everyone in this castle who isn't a dragon is about to have a very bad day_ , she thought.

The door burst open and the first wave of men in black armor burst through.

Miranda smiled, took a deep breath, and opened her jaws.

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### **21  
CORBAN**

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She had saved him. He didn't think she would be able to do it. He thought they would all die in this forsaken place.

That was twice he had doubted her. First in the courtyard, and then here. He would never doubt her again.

They stood side-by-side in the dungeons, raining fire and frost down on the men in black armor that poured through the door. _Only they weren't men_ , thought Corban. _They were vampires. They were parasites. And they needed to be exterminated._

After they had killed perhaps twenty or thirty, the men stopped charging through the door. Then it was the dragons' turn to charge. Corban led the way, smashing headlong through the doorway, breaking away the wall.

Miranda and Siccora were right behind him, and then the carnage ensued. The three dragons began to destroy the castle and everything in it, tearing it apart from the inside out. Their prey tried to flee, but were either frozen solid or burned to ash.

The three of them moved their way up through the castle, destroying everything in sight. They burst through the roof, spraying black stone down like rain. They flew around the castle then, taking turns blasting the base walls with frost and flame.

Corban could hear the screams from inside as the foundation began to crumble, weakened in only a matter of minutes from the intermittent stress of cold and heat. Finally there was a great, deep rumbling.

The dragons all flew up high to watch as the enormous black castle begin to crash inward upon itself. The towers smashed into one another, the walls folding as they fell. Plumes of dark dust mushroomed into the sky.

The destruction would not bring his father back, but it felt good all the same. He had no idea how long this scourge had been preying upon Xandakar. Nicola had talked of other worlds as well. Who knew how many civilizations they had preyed upon. But now their reign was over.

He nodded to a flat stretch of black earth overlooking the ruined fortress, and the three of them flew there and landed. They each shifted back into human form.

Corban looked down at the castle, pieces still falling and crumbling, jagged remains jutting from the earth. He turned to Miranda.

"You did it," he said.

" _We_ did it," she said. She moved to him then, and he wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tightly. He pulled back slightly and looked her in those beautiful dark eyes, flecks of gold and red in the iris.

He kissed her, tasting her breath, still smoky from breathing torrents of fire upon their enemies. He kissed her long and deep, holding her tight against him.

Then he looked up. He'd almost forgotten Siccora was there. She stood with her arms folded, a half-smile on her lips. Their hair was different, but now that they both wore the same armor and stood near one another, they could easily be mistaken for sisters, even twins.

He let go of Miranda and stepped toward Siccora, extending his hand.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude as well," he said.

A wicked grin crossed her lips. She stepped in past his hand. Before he could pull back, she moved in, pushing her lips against his. She tasted of smoke as well, her tongue pushing deep into his mouth.

He heard Miranda behind him, clearing her throat.

Siccora pulled away, looking at him seductively while she licked her lips. "Sorry," she said, though from her tone it was clear she wasn't sorry at all. "I just wanted a taste of what I was missing out on."

Corban turned to look at Miranda. She looked annoyed, but not angry. They had all just cheated death. One kiss didn't seem too much to ask.

But now they stood before the ruins of the black fortress, nothing and no one in sight. If there had been some sort of machine or talisman Nicola had used to open the portal between worlds, it was now lying in a pile of rubble, likely destroyed.

He looked up the sky for the first time, seeing the unending storm that played out between the dark clouds. How were they to get back to Xandakar? This did not seem like a world where they would be able to make a new home. They would be able to split up, to fly in different directions to see what they could find. But he would not be hopeful with such a plan. The horizon in every direction looked the same, black rock and purple sky.

He looked to Miranda. "How did you come to this place?"

"We followed them through their own portal," she said.

His heart sank. "Any idea of how we might return?"

"Maybe I could just click my heels three times," Miranda said. Corban stared at her. He didn't understand how that might help.

"Oh, right," she said, laughing a little. "I'll tell you the story sometime. I was only half-joking, though." She lifted her fingers to the gem around her neck. "The Emberstone brought me to Xandakar. It also made me a dragon the first time. I can control that now. Maybe I can control the ability to move between worlds. I mean, I've never really tried."

"Even if you could," Siccora said. "What about us?"

"We can hold onto each other," Miranda said. "It's worth a shot."

Corban looked between the two women. He loved Miranda, but he was not averse to holding both in his arms at the same time.

Miranda held her arms outstretched. He and Siccora moved to her, letting her put her arms around them. They hugged each other in a tight circle.

Miranda closed her eyes. "There's no place like home," she whispered.

At first he didn't feel anything. As the seconds ticked by, the idea seemed increasingly ridiculous. But he had vowed to put his trust in her, and if she thought she might have the power to move them between worlds, he would give her the chance.

Then he did begin to feel something, a lightness, as if his body were fading away and becoming insubstantial. He opened his mouth to say something, to ask something, but then the black earth and the lightning sky began to fade.

As a dragon, he could fly at great speeds, faster than nearly any other dragon in the clan. But what he felt next was a sensation of being propelled forward at a speed he never imagined possible. The world became a blur. His stomach lurched. He was still holding on to Miranda and Siccora, and he squeezed them even tighter, afraid of what might happen if he somehow lost his grip. Would he be flung into a void? Perhaps tumble into some other world?

He didn't want to find out. But the sensation made him feel sick. So he squeezed his eyes shut. That helped a little, but he still felt like a tiny pebble being hurled from a slingshot.

And then, suddenly, everything was still.

He opened his eyes.

The whiteness of the snow blinded him for a moment. He had to squint at the brightness. He still hugged Miranda and Siccora, but now they stood in a fresh patch of snow, on a hill overlooking a wonderful, familiar site. Everfrost Keep rose up before them, its icy blue walls shimmering in the midday sun. He saw a flock of sparrows alight over a cluster of nearby pines. He smelled the snow and the woods.

Then he looked at Miranda, who blinked, slowly opening her eyes. Would this woman never cease to surprise him?

"We're here," Miranda whispered, the shock evident in her voice. She hadn't really thought it would work.

"Yes," Siccora said. "We made it."

They all gave each other one last hug, then stepped apart.

"It's a beautiful day," Corban said. He had never thought he would look upon the clear skies of the Icelands again.

"A nice enough day for an execution," Siccora said.

"That will not happen," Corban said. "Not while I am alive."

"But our ways—" Siccora said.

"—will change," Corban finished. "To blindly follow the same path of tradition is foolish. Sometimes we just adapt. Sometimes we must change." He looked at Miranda. He thought of his old life, selfish and indulgent, now filled with her warmth. "My new wife has already taught me that lesson."

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### **22  
MIRANDA**

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She looked at the small group gathered in the courtyard. Corban stood on her right, Magda on her left. Siccora and her huge bodyguard Korrigan stood next to her. They were wearing their clothes from Earth. Siccora wore a scarlet business suit with a wide-collared white shirt underneath. Korrigan wore a dark suit with no tie, his dark hair curling out of the top of his white shirt.

The Wildfire entourage was there as well. Karth Wildfire had been waiting to witness his daughter's execution, but that was no longer going to happen. Instead, he and Siccora were saying their goodbyes.

The Council of Owls, along with Corban and Miranda's input, had decreed that Siccora and Korrigan be banished, sent back to Earth, never to return to Xandakar again.

Miranda thought her suit made her look like some kind of high-powered businesswoman. But as she hugged her father goodbye, she seemed more like a little girl. Tears stood out in Karth Wildfire's eyes. As he hugged her, he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Siccora nodded, wiping away her own tears.

Miranda knew she was sad to never see her father again. But besides that, this was exactly what she had wanted. The banishment had been Miranda's idea.

They had recounted what had happened to Magda. She had told them the men they had faced on the other side of the portal had been called Netherstriders, able to travel between worlds and feed on magic. Their defeat had been a great victory, not only for Xandakar, but for all the beings in all the worlds that they preyed upon.

Miranda was exonerated completely. Siccora probably could have been, but in this place, there was shame associated with defeat, especially in a battle where the loser was supposed to die. No one here would respect her anymore. She couldn't just return to her clan, even though she was a hero. Miranda thought that was stupid, but she also knew she wasn't just going to swoop in and change thousands of years of tradition overnight.

But then she had come up with the idea of banishment. It seemed like the perfect solution. Of course, if she had to watch any more of this tearful goodbye between Siccora and her father, she was going to start crying herself.

But they pulled apart, and Siccora returned to stand by Korrigan, sliding her slender hand into his massive grip.

Magda stepped forward. "It is the judgment of all that Siccora Wildfire and Korrigan Darkclaw be banished to the realm of Earth for the rest of their days." She turned and nodded to Miranda.

Not only had she come up with the idea, she had agreed to take care of the transportation. Her mind was still blown at how far she had come in just a few days. She had learned how to become a dragon and a queen, and she had also learned how to use the stone to travel between worlds.

She took a step forward and felt Corban's arm on hers. She looked back at him, into those pale blue eyes.

"You will return to me, won't you?" he asked. "I mean, is there a possibility you would be tempted to stay."

She stepped up to him, cupping his smooth, strong jaw with her hand. She drew him in for a kiss. When her lips left his, she looked at him again. "Don't be dumb," she said. "I'm a little curious to see what my old world looks like through new eyes. But this is my home now."

He smiled and kissed her again.

Then Miranda turned back to Siccora and Korrigan. They were a strange-looking couple. He was so much bigger than her. They both had dark hair, but that's where the similarity ended. She was smooth and sleek, while he looked rough and wild.

_You can never tell where love's going to take you_ , she thought, glancing back at Corban one more time.

"You ready?" she asked them. Siccora nodded, and Miranda could see her squeeze Korrigan's hand. He just looked down at her from under his thick eyebrows, and Miranda could see the affection there.

She stepped up to them, hugging them both. Then she closed her eyes and spoke to the stone.

She almost thought it wasn't going to work. But then there was that now-familiar feeling of the world falling away, of being hurled through space.

When the world was still again, Miranda opened her eyes. The three of them had made it, and now they stood by the dirt road she had driven up so many times. Thirty feet away stood her old trailer home. Parked beside it was her car, the little beat-up red Honda.

The sun was high in the cloudless sky, but a nice breeze was blowing. Korrigan took a few steps away and doubled over, putting his hands on his knees.

"He just needs a minute," Siccora said.

Miranda looked at him. He was as pale as a sheet, but he didn't throw up. "Wait here," she said. "I'll be right back."

She walked to the trailer and opened the screen door. There, just inside the frame on a little hook were her keys. She glanced around. It was just as she'd left it, her Benny's uniform in a pile on the floor. The cheap wine bottle on the tiny kitchen table.

She sighed, hardly believing she had lived in this place.

If anyone had called the police, there were no signs they'd been here. _I guess I won't be missed_ , she thought, a little sad at the idea. But it some ways she knew this had never really been her home at all.

The screen door clattered close as she walked back to Siccora, tossing her the keys.

"It should still run fine," she said. "Sorry it's not as nice as what you're used to."

Siccora surprised Miranda by throwing her arms around her and hugging her tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered in Miranda's ear. "For everything."

Miranda hugged her tightly, tears welling up in her eyes. "No problem," she said.

She looked at Korrigan, who had straightened up now. He took a deep breath.

"You okay?" she asked him.

He grunted and nodded.

"He doesn't say much, does he?" Miranda asked.

Siccora smiled. "Oh, you might be surprised." She tossed the keys to Korrigan, who snatched them out of the air.

With that, they walked to her car and got in, the left side sagging as Korrigan squeezed into the driver's seat. Siccora looked back at her one last time before getting in. The car started up with a rumble, a gasp of blue-black exhaust puffing out of the tailpipe.

Then they pulled off onto the dirt road and were gone, leaving a trail of dust behind.

Miranda took one more look around. Before coming through, she thought she might have been a little homesick. She was surprised to find that she really didn't miss this place at all. That shouldn't have been surprising, she guessed. She was a dragon now, a queen, and with everything that had happened in so short a time, who knew what else?

_No place like home_ , she thought, closing her eyes and grasping the stone around her neck. 

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### **23  
CORBAN**

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She lay naked before him on a bed of fresh snow, her light bronze skin a beautiful contrast to the stark whiteness.

"You're not cold?" he asked, crouching over her. He had shed his armor skin and was completely naked as well.

"I don't think I can get cold anymore," Miranda said.

They had flown as far to the north as the north would go, away from everything and everyone. They had found a snow-capped mountain and landed near the top, to finish what they had started on their wedding night.

Corban traced a finger up her bare belly, between her breasts. Her nipples were darker than he'd remembered. He was already good and stiff. No, he was harder than that, almost painfully solid. He hungered to plunge himself into her. He had pleasured her, twice now, but his finger and his tongue were not the same. It was time to take her, fully and truly, to make her his. It was time for the two of them to truly become one.

"Are you going to sit there staring at me all afternoon?" she asked. "Or are you going to do something about it?"

He smiled. She had quite the tart mouth, but he had found that he liked it. "Not wise to taunt a dragon," he said.

"Less wise to keep one waiting," she said. She reached out and grabbed his cock, pulling him down to her. She guided his tip into her wet warmth. He pushed himself the rest of the way as she let go.

She was so warm inside, hot almost to the point of being painful. But it was a good pain. He put his lips on her neck, kissing and sucking as he pulled back and plunged again. She tasted like smoke and cinnamon.

From the very first time he had seen her, he had felt an incredible itch that he hadn't been able to scratch. Until right now. He reached up with his right hand to cup her breast, soft and warm. His other hand reached around to cup the back of her neck. He rocked back and forth as she moaned.

She was right. She didn't seem cold at all, even though they were making love on a fresh bed of snow.

Corban dipped himself into her, feeling as if he were penetrating the molten core of a volcano, ready to erupt. Her breathing quickened with his, and their hips moved in a thumping, synchronous rhythm, the beat growing faster and faster.

She reached around with her other hand to grab his ass cheeks and squeezed them both as he pumped her.

Then a world of light exploded behind his eyes. His body stiffened as he came. Miranda let out a cry of joy at the same time, their bodies locked in perfect ecstasy.

He felt the pleasure radiate from deep in his groin down his legs and up into his stomach. His neck and ears tingled. He felt himself unload completely, emptying himself into her.

He let out a gasp, breathing hard, then rolled beside her. Then they both lay back on the snow and let out a heavy sigh in unison.

"I wish we had been able to do that sooner," he said. "But it was truly worth the wait."

She sat up on one elbow, tracing her finger around his nipple. "Truly," she said, giggling.

"To think I dreaded your arrival," he said.

"Well, you had your little deer girl. Speaking of which, I'm sending her back to whatever forest she came from."

"Hartglade," he said. "And I've already sent her away."

"Where is that?" she asked. "I don't know anything about your world."

"It's your world now," he said, sitting up. "Here, I'll teach you."

He used his finger to draw a crude map in the snow, remembering the shape of the border from memory. Wygard had tutored him as a child, and the geography of Xandakar had been one of the earliest lessons he could remember.

Corban drew the outline of a huge land mass, then drew a smaller one off to the left. He drew a simple tree in the middle of the large mass, then lines separating it into four pieces.

He pointed to the top. "These are the Icelands," he said. "Where we are. To the south and west are The Burning Sands, where the Wildfires rule. Here, to the south and east are The Still Plains, where the Moonglow clan holds dominion."

"Moonglow?"

"The white dragons," he said. "And far to the south is The Silent Swamp, where Sorian Nightshadow and his black dragons live."

"What's this tree?" Miranda asked, pointing to the middle.

"That's the One Tree," he said. "I have only seen it twice, but it is something to behold. They say it is the oldest living thing in Xandakar. Magda and most of the other owl-mages live inside it."

"And this?" she asked, nodding at the separate land mass further to the west.

"The Emerald Isle," Corban said. "I've never been there, but they say it is a beautiful place, clear blue water, white sands, and deep green jungles."

"And there are dragons there too?"

"The Tanglevine clan."

"Are you friends with them?"

Corban laughed at that. "None of the clans of Xandakar are friendly with one another. The owls have worked long and hard to forge a fragile peace. For centuries, one or more clans have nearly always been at war. Our marriage was supposed to form an alliance between the red and blue dragons."

"Sorry I blew that to hell," she said.

He put his hand out, touching her cheek. "Don't ever be sorry for that," he said.

She put her hand over his, then turned the palm up and kissed it. Corban didn't feel cold. Nevertheless, when she did that a chill ran up his spine.

Then she giggled, as if thinking of something funny. "Thanks for the geography lesson," she said. "But you seem to have left out an important landmark."

"Oh?" he said, raising his eyebrows. Xandakar was a massive place, with many places and many wonders. He hadn't even mentioned the borders between the dragon lands, or The Ribbon of Madness. But Miranda couldn't know about such things.

"Sure," she said. "There's this cave you forgot about." She took his hand and pulled it toward her legs. "It's dark and damp, but warm."

She moved his hand between her legs. His fingers touched the soft, wet curls there. He was already stiffening again.

"It's recently discovered," she said. "But something tells me it could use a much more thorough exploring. Is my king up for another round?"

He looked into her dark, hungry eyes, then down at her supple body, framed by the crushed snow. His cock was already as hard as it had been before.

Corban climbed on top of her and plunged himself into her once again.

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### **24  
MIRANDA**

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She lay back in the fresh snow, the man she loved on top of her, his hard, powerful body pressed flush against hers. His cock, as hard as iced stone but thankfully not as cold, filled her. His hands clasped her wrists, pulling them up above her head, her arms swiping the snow as he did so.

Miranda almost giggled at the thought of making snow angels while fucking, but she didn't want to spoil the mood. He might think she was laughing at him. So she stifled the silly thought, feeling herself smile wide instead.

_Did you ever wonder if your life wasn't meant for something else?_

Siccora had asked her that in Benny's run-down diner. She remembered cynically thinking that of course she did. Didn't everybody? She hadn't taken the question seriously. But now she could look back on it and marvel.

The night before, she'd been screwing some guy she barely knew. She hadn't even known his name. Sex had been like a greasy burger or a video game, a quick bit of sensory entertainment, nothing more. Fun, but not fulfilling. That was how she had always viewed it.

But a lot had happened since then. She'd met Siccora, found the necklace, and been hurled halfway across the universe. Then she'd gotten married, fought a dragon, and found out she was a dragon herself. That wasn't even counting all the shit with the big, bad albino from some entirely different dimension.

And out of all the craziness that had happened to her, the most amazing thing of all was Corban. She actually felt something now that she didn't think she'd ever feel, something she had never seen up close, something she only thought existed in books.

She had fallen completely and absolutely in love.

Miranda arched her back, letting him take her, her arms pinned over her head. The first time he had made love to her had been incredible. She didn't think it could get any better. She was wrong. He was taking his time, claiming her body as he'd already claimed her heart.

She felt his steely chest push against her breasts, rubbing hard against her erect nipples. He looked into her eyes as he thrust inside her. His icy blue eyes, so cool and distant when she'd first met him, were now full of emotion. They spoke of love and longing, all for her.

"Corban?"

"Yes?" he whispered, slowing just a touch.

"I love you."

He smiled, bending down to kiss her deeply, picking back up the pace. Then he moved his lips to her ear. "You are my queen," he whispered. "My beautiful red dragon. And I love you as well."

She closed her eyes and felt the heat and joy bloom up inside her like a great fiery flower unfurling for the first time. She felt him inside her, releasing himself. She felt him on top of her, surrounding her as the world erupted in pleasure and flame.

As the white hot ball of light inside her began to wane, settling down to just a wonderful feeling of relaxed happiness, Corban sat up.

"Miranda," he said, surprise in his voice.

Her eyes fluttered open to see his wide eyes looking down at her neck.

"What?" she asked, reaching up to the necklace. "What is it?"

She didn't understand what was happening, even though she could feel it.

The necklace was melting, the gold links liquefying beneath her fingertips, her skin absorbing them. She slid her fingers to the stone. It remained solid, but was also receding into the hollow at the base of her throat. As her fingers rested on it, the stone disappeared inside her neck.

She sat up, feeling her neck with both hands. The necklace was gone. No, that wasn't right. It was still there, only inside her now.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"I do not know," he said.

"It's inside me," she said. "Part of me."

"Are you all right?"

That was a good question. Just when she thought things had settled to normal, whatever normal was around here, something like this happened. But yeah, she thought she was all right. Better than all right. The Emberstone had felt good around her neck, like a protective shield, a thing she could draw upon for help.

The stone didn't feel like that anymore. Now it was a part of her. No, it _was_ her. And she was it. That sounded a little crazy, but that was the only way she could describe it to herself that made any sense.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm good. Actually, I'm great." And it was true. She felt the power of the stone coursing through her veins.

_Just who the hell am I?_ she thought. _And who was my father?_

She figured she would have time enough to try to figure that out in the days ahead. Maybe Wygard or one of the other owls would know something.

She didn't know where she came from, but for the first time in her life she knew who she was: Miranda Everfrost, queen of the Icelands, broodmother of the blue dragons.

Corban stood and reached out his hand. She took it, letting him help her to her feet.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Then hand-in-hand they ran to the edge of the landing and jumped off the side of the mountain together.

As they fell, the cold wind rushed up, washing over her. She felt his hand grow, the fingers curl into claws. She willed her own transformation, sprouting scales and wings faster than she had ever done so before.

They beat their wings in unison, the mountain wind carrying them aloft. Then they turned together, spreading their wings, and headed for home.

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### **EPILOGUE**

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"Do you think she has any suspicion of who she really is?" The woman reclined on a bed of black satin pillows, her naked white body like a serving of milk in a dish. Her hair was black, shiny straight bangs hanging down to her eyes. Her lips were painted black, along with her fingernails and toenails.

Marko Wildfire stood over her, looking down at her pale, body, her pert pink nipples. He strained painfully against his red-gold armor. His hunger for her was almost unnatural.

"She knows nothing," he said.

The torchlight in the chamber was dim, but her skin was so white it almost seemed to glow from within.

"Are you certain?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Nevra."

She smiled, stretching among the pillows like a cat. "Do you want to fuck me?"

Marko had never wanted anything more. Nevra Nightshadow was the princess of the black dragons, the daughter of Sorian. The Wildfires didn't get along with any of the clans, but the Nightshadows were their vilest enemy of all. More blood had been shed between red and black than between any other clans.

"If my father knew I were here," Marko said, "he would have me killed. He would kill us both."

"Good thing he's a fool," Nevra said. "Now answer my question or you can fly back home with a lonely, aching groin."

"You know I do," he said.

"Then say it." Nevra reveled in toying with him. He would never have tolerated such behavior for any other woman, but from her he lapped it from her palm like sweet honey.

"I want to fuck you," he said.

"Perhaps in a little while," she said. "Are you sure you weren't followed?"

He felt his heart thump in his chest. She drove him mad, and he loved every second of it. "No," he said. Of course he wasn't followed. The sky was clear this morning when he had set out. He told the guards he wanted some time alone, to hunt. That much was true. But he did not hunger for deer or goat, not today.

They met in the ancient abandoned temple of the demon Vish'Kazir. Nevra was the one who had found this place. She had never told him how. It was where they met, where they laid their plans. Though truth be told, the plans were mostly hers.

"No one followed me," he said. The temple lay at the far reaches of the Scorched Mountains, the towering, jagged peaks that separated the lands of the Wildfires and Nightshadows. He had flown across the desert on a clear day. Anyone behind him would have been easy to see.

Nevra reached up to her own small breast and pinched the pink nipple. "You look a little green in the gills, Marko," she said. "Not having cold feet, are you?"

"The plan failed," he said. "They killed the Netherstriders and escaped their world."

"Oh, Marko," she said, sighing. "You're only focusing on a tiny piece of the picture. Nicola Nullvoid was only a pawn. He didn't do all that we hoped he would, but he did enough."

"Orric Everfrost," Marko said.

"Yes, you led him to the father," she said. "And he disposed of him, as we wanted."

"But his son—"

"His son is alive," she said. "And he is with her. But he is in love. And love is a disease, a weakness that blinds the sighted and turns the wise into fools. The game has just begun, my dear Marko. The pieces are moving, and right now all is in our favor. Mostly because everyone else doesn't even yet know they are under attack."

He didn't know about all of that, but she was right about one thing. Love was a disease, one that infected him utterly and completely. He ached for her and she knew it. Perhaps he was just another one of her pawns. If so, he didn't care. As long as he was near her, as long as she let him inside her, nothing else mattered.

"What is our next move?" he asked.

"Your next move is to peel off that skin, take out your hot red poker, and do your best to please me."

Marko nearly hurt himself pulling his armor-suit off. He was neither as tall nor broad-shouldered as his father, but his body was still impressive. His muscles rippled as he stripped, the torchlight dancing off the bronze skin covering his well-defined chest and stomach. His cock sprang out as he pulled his armor below his waste.

"There it is," Nevra purred.

He was already as hard as he thought he could be, but when she looked at his body and talked about him that way he felt himself stiffen even more.

Once he was completely naked, he took a step toward her.

"No, no," she said, stopping him. She sat up.

"But I thought—"

"You thought you would just pounce on me and do what you wanted?" she asked. "Where's the fun in that?" She extended her black-nailed finger and touched it to the tip of his cock. She flicked downward, so that it wobbled in the air like a toy. She laughed.

"Please," he said.

"Oh, if you're trying to beg, you can do much better than that."

"Oh, please, Nevra," he said, getting down on his knees. "I want you. I need you."

She sat back and looked up at him with her pitch black eyes, the ever-present smile on her lips. "I know all that already," she said. "What are you willing to do for me."

Then he said the word she wanted to hear. "Anything."

"Anything?" she teased. "Truly?"

"Truly."

She reclined again, spreading her legs wide. She had no hair down below, just soft violet folds glistening with wetness. "I want you to remember that promise in the days to come," she said. "Now you may fuck me."

Marko sank down on top of her, running his hands across her creamy white skin. He put his lips on her neck, tasting her. As a child his nanny had once taken him to the bazaar just outside the city walls. There she had purchase him a shiny black piece of candy. She told him it was made from something called _anise_. He had spit it out in the sand, finding the taste strange and unpleasant. But every time he put his mouth on Nevra, it reminded him of that black candy, and he now found the taste irresistible.

He slid his hands around the small of her back, then down between the satin pillows and the curves of her ass. He moved his hips so that the tip of his cock just touched her lovely folds.

"Hold," she said, just as he was about to plunge himself into her.

Marko's heart thumped in his chest. He knew she loved to tease, but he felt as if he were now being tortured.

She reached over to a nearby table and opened the lid of a tiny jade and gold box. She took a pinch of some black powder between her fingers and brought it to her nose, sniffing deeply. She reached over for another pinch and held it in front of Marko's face.

Demon Ash. It was said the dust was made from the souls of the dead. Whenever they met here, Nevra partook often. But Marko wanted no part of it. He shook his head.

She gave a little shrug and snorted the dust up her other nostril. For just a moment, her eyes turned completely black, whites and all, before returning to normal.

"Proceed," she said.

He slid his cock deep inside, her wet folds taking him in. He did not need any other drug than her. He heard her wicked laugh in his ear as he drew halfway out and pushed in again, thrusting as deep as he could. Then again.

"Come on," she said in a mock pouty voice. "You're the prince of the red dragons. Surely you can fuck me harder than that."

He squeezed her ass cheeks roughly and began to thrust himself into her with every ounce of ferocity he had. His body slapped down upon hers, their hips slamming together.

She arched her back into him, threw her head back, and laughed. "That's better, my little red dragon."

He felt the heat in his throat, threatening to cough up fire, and he stifled it. He continued to pump away, a sheen of sweat now covering his body. She curled her arms around his back, and she enveloped him.

Her lips moved to his ear and whispered: "Let loose into me."

Marko shuddered, plunging deep one more time. He did as she asked, releasing himself into her, though he felt she was taking more than he was giving. He felt as if she were drawing his seed out of him, drinking it with her body. But he reveled in the sensation.

She let out a low moan, raking her fingers across his back. He felt blood trickle between his shoulder blades. For a moment, he saw only blackness, a pair of eyes hovering in the darkness. Whether they belonged to Nevra or someone else, he could not say. All he knew was that those eyes belonged to something evil. And hungry.

He pulled himself out, flopping down beside her on the pillows. He let out a heavy sigh.

"That was...acceptable," she said, looking up at the ceiling.

Marko looked upwards as well. Ancient runes were carved into the black stone, no doubt a language that no one could speak or understand anymore. He wondered what they said, then decided it would probably be better not to know.

"Will this plan of yours work?" he asked. "Can we truly defeat every dragonlord and take the five realms for ourselves?"

Nevra laughed. "Of course," she said. "They are weak and vain. All of them. Even my father. We will turn them against one another and watch them topple in a neat little row. They are like lambs prancing in the field, chewing on the grass in the bright sun, oblivious to the shadow falling over them, the slaughter to come."

She sat up, smiled, and winked. "Besides, we have a demon."

### Author's Note

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more, check out the second book in the series, Dragon Red: A Fire Unfed. I've included the first chapter here as a sample.

You can find links to other books in the series, as well as my blog and other news on my website,  **www.macybabineaux.com**.

Take care, dear readers. Hopefully we'll meet again soon.

Macy Babineaux

August 20th, 2016

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### **Chapter 1 of _Dragon Red: A Fire Unfed_**

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He staggered across the sand, his scaled armor boots shifting beneath his feet with every step. He looked out before him and then back over his shoulder. The only thing to see in every direction was the desert, serene slopes of bone-white sand stretching into infinity.

Care for a drink, brother?

That question echoed in his head like the remnant of some long-lost conversation. He could not recognize the voice. Was it his true brother or just a friendly way of one traveler referring to another?

Did he even have a brother? The sun stood high overhead, its harsh radiance beating down mercilessly on the barren landscape. Oddly enough, he didn't feel the heat. Rather, he felt it, but it did not bring him discomfort. There was no sweat upon his brow, nor anywhere on his body. He felt a thirst, but it was distant, not urgent.

He looked down at himself, his body clad in a suit of light red scales, almost like a second skin. Where was he? How had he gotten here? He couldn't remember.

A sudden panic gripped him, the sensation of being far from anything and anyone familiar, adrift and alone in a sea of hot sand. He was lost both in body and in mind, flailing for any familiar memory to ground him.

Then a horrible question reared itself in his head: Who am I?

He crouched in the sand and closed his eyes, trying to think. The answer did not come and his chest tightened.

The only words that drifted across his consciousness were those of that ridiculous question: Care for a drink, brother?

He felt something else rise up in his mind, an incoherent anger threatening to boil up into full-blown rage. He tried to work against it, to calm himself. What good would it do to unleash his temper at an empty desert landscape? The answer to that question didn't seem to matter much. Whether it would do any good or not, he felt like destroying something, though there was nothing to destroy. He opened his mouth to do the next best thing, to scream in rage and frustration.

Then a sound came, carrying across the desert sand. He heard the urgent caw of a single crow.

It cried three times. The fire inside him subsided as he stood, trying to hone in on the direction of the sound. At first it seemed to come from every direction and none at all. His confused state of mind didn't help. He scanned the still dunes and saw nothing. The desert was bleak and bare, not a single sprig of dry grass nor sign of any life. Even the sand itself did not stir. The air was still, without even the subtlest hint of a breeze.

He spun in all directions, unable to tell from which direction the bird had cried. Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps he was going mad. Perhaps he already was.

Then it came again: caw, caw, caw.

This time he fixed on the sound with the whole of his strained mind. There. The sounds had come from over his left shoulder. He turned and headed in that direction. As he did, he saw the footprints he had left in the sand, stretching far to the horizon. For a moment he thought of abandoning the search for the bird and retracing his steps.

With no wind, perhaps the trail was completely intact, and he could find his way back to wherever he had come from. Besides, what did he want with a crow anyway? But he knew the answer to that. Some animal instinct, perhaps all he had left at this point, told him that where there was one life there would be more. Perhaps water and people. He did not feel the heat or thirst as he would have expected, but that didn't mean he still could not die here. He needed to find some semblance of civilization or at least refuge. If he followed his footsteps back, who knew how far they went? Besides, somewhere along the way, all it would take was a single swift gust to wipe away the trail.

The crow cawed again. His head snapped in its direction, sure of the way now. And perhaps it was his imagination, but the crow seemed not to be simply crying into the empty desert air, but calling specifically to him. That was insane, though, wasn't it?

Only one way to find out, he thought, setting off in the direction of the calls. If his own mind wanted to kill him, he was likely doomed no matter what.

Time and distance were difficult to gauge. The sun seemed to sit still in the sky directly overhead as he walked. He seemed to cast no shadow. The white sand packed down under each step as his scaled boots rose and fell.

He began to count his steps for want of any other measure, but soon grew bored and stopped counting once he passed a thousand. He began to convince himself that he had gone insane. He'd imagined the call of the crow, and despite his resistance to the elements he was going to die out here alone, not even knowing his own name.

As if throwing a rope to a drowning man, the crow cawed once more in three short screeches. He looked up, and for the first time he saw something other than the white slopes, the endless sky, and the relentless sun.

A hut sat in the distance, a small brown structure set off by itself in the ocean of pale sand. A settler? Who could possibly live in a place like this, so far from everything else?

As he drew closer, he saw perhaps a dozen tall stakes of gnarled wood driven into the ground around the hut, bits of things hanging from their tops. For the first time he heard something else, the sound of chimes, like steel clinking against bone. But still he felt no breeze.

He began to feel a sense of dread as he approached, his eyes focused on the hut. The place looked like a lone rotten brown tooth jutting out of the white jaw of the landscape, and the more he looked at it the more he wanted to turn around. But it was too late for that. He was committed to this path. He had to see what lay inside.

As he drew closer, the sounds of the bone chimes grew louder, a disturbing, off-key jangling that weirdly made his teeth hurt. He looked at the assortment of trinkets atop each pole and saw fragments of skulls and tips of spears dangling from strips of reddish leather, clanking into one another in the non-existent wind.

The hut had no door, just a misshapen rectangle of pure darkness. Even from fifteen paces away, he couldn't see a single thing inside, even though the sun was as bright as it could be.

He heard the crow squawk from within, so loud this time it made him stop in his tracks. The black bird fluttered from the opening into the sunlight, so black it almost soaked all the surrounding light from the area.

Instead of landing, the bird stopped midair and transformed. Its wings became arms, its claws feet. It grew to the size and shape of a woman, the black feathers becoming pale white skin.

She stood before him, naked and beautiful. Her hair was as black as the crow's feathers had been, both atop her head and at the soft V where her inner thighs met. Her lips were black and shiny as well. She didn't bother to cover her breasts, which were full and round, the nipples large and light pink. She showed no hint of shyness at all, putting her hands on her hips and looking him up and down with a grin on her lips.

"Greetings, wanderer," she said, a teasing laugh in her voice. "I am Cordella. And you are?" Her tone and the wicked glint in her eye suggested that she knew he had no answer to the question. She was toying with him.

"I...do not know," he said.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "No?" she said. "So many men wander through life, not knowing who they really are. At least you are brave enough to admit it."

He felt the anger rising up in his throat again. She knew something, perhaps everything. Was it possible that he had come from this hut? That he had somehow walked in a circle? She had shifted from crow to woman. She lived in the middle of a searing desert, no food or water in sight. She and her strange hut had all the trappings of witchery. And though he seemed to have all the time in the world, his patience was running thin.

"Tell me what you know," he said.

She laughed, delighted, the sound mingling with the atonal dings of the chimes. She leaned against the jamb of her hut and traced a black-painted nail around one of her nipples.

"You are in no position to make demands," she said.

His hands clenched into fists. The anger crept up his jaw to his temples. He didn't know where he was or even who he was. And the not knowing made him furious. But the fact that she was right made him angriest of all.

"You wish to harm me?" she asked, her finger still lightly tracing the edge of her areola. "You could strangle me here in front of my home. But then who would give you the answers you so desperately seek?"

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, afraid he might actually do what she suggested. He felt the heat recede, if only slightly.

"You want something from me?" he asked.

She smiled and perked up. "Ah yes," she said. "Even with no memory, you are still clever, are you not? Yes, wanderer. I will tell you who you are, where you are, and even where you need to go next. For a small price, I will even reveal your prophecy."

"I need only to know my name," he said. "And how to get out of this forsaken place."

She laughed even harder at that. "This desert is very nearly as much your home as mine," she said. "But I will tell you what you want, and much more."

"For what price?"

She looked at his chest, her eyes moving downward until they rested between his legs. "You need only to lay with me," she said. She raised her arms up over her head, stretching out, her breasts hefting upwards. "Is that even a price to be paid? Do you not desire me anyway?"

He did. Just behind the desire to take her by the throat was the urge to push her creamy thighs apart and shove himself inside her. She was desirable, there was no doubt. But the desire was a strange, unhealthy one, like hungering for a plate of poison berries. They looked juicy and delicious, even if you knew they would make you sick. Or worse.

Besides, he was sure of it now, even if he hadn't been before. She was definitely a witch. Who knew if this were even what she really looked like? She had shifted from a crow into this form. Some part of him knew that witches could hide their true appearance and that they could live much longer than others. He didn't know how he knew this, only that he did. She could be hundreds of years old, a withered hag instead of the nubile temptress standing before him, her back arched, her supple breasts offering themselves to him.

What if, by tricking him into her bed, she meant to take something from him, some vital part of who he was? What if she changed into her true form in the middle of the act, just to mock and torment him? He knew that he should never trust a witch, even though he could not remember any specific tales, much less actually meeting one before.

But what choice did he really have? Trudge back the way he came through the barren sands? Try to force the knowledge out of her? That seemed unlikely to be effective, especially if she truly had magical powers at her fingertips. Besides, she could always just take the shape of a crow and fly away.

"You seem to be doing an awful lot of thinking," Cordella said. "Is there really so much to think about?"

No, he guessed there really wasn't. He strode forward, putting his arms around her waist as she arched her back even more, pushing herself against him. He felt himself stiffen uncomfortably in his armor as he leaned in.

She raised her head, exposing her neck for him to kiss. Her skin was cool and tasted like some bitter, exotic spice. He felt her breasts push up against his armored chest.

Then she slipped out of his grasp to duck inside the hut, laughing.

"Come," her voice whispered from darkness.

He took a deep breath, his stomach clenching at the thought of going inside. But in the end that's exactly what he did.

The interior of the hut was dark and damp, smelling of freshly-turned soil. He wondered where that smell came from in a place where all there was for miles was dry white sand. His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, and he saw Cordella stretched out on the dark fur of some skinned beast he couldn't recognize. She was smiling at him, her hands cupped behind her head. He saw more of those weird chimes, only these hung from the ceiling, smaller versions of the ones on the poles outside. A small clay pot hung on a hook over the smoldering gray ashes of a fire in the center of the room. Food? He felt hunger stir inside him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to eat whatever was in that pot. It could even be some poison or potion. Besides, he was hungrier to put himself inside the witch. The thought crossed his mind that she had heightened his desire with sorcery.

"Are you going to please me?" she said. "Or just stand there and peruse my humble home?"

He looked down at her white flesh framed by the black fur, her body lying there as if served up for him like a dish of cream. His heart pounded in his chest. He now wanted more than anything to be shed of his armor, though he saw no clasps, buckles, or hooks.

So he merely reached up to his neck, curling his fingers under the scaly suit and pulling down. To his surprise, it slid from him like the skin of a snake being shed. He pulled it from his broad shoulders, down his powerful chest, and finally down his legs.

His aching shaft sprung free, and Cordella let out a little "ah!" at the sight of it. As he lowered himself on top of her, he vowed to see what other noises he might bring from her throat.

Grasping her wrists, he pushed her hard against the fur. She looked up at him, her eyes bright, and licked her lips before smiling wide.

Her legs spread wide for him, and he settled in between them, his tip searching for her wetness. It did not take long to find it. He pushed forward, driving himself into her.

She closed her eyes and let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a moan. He smiled to himself. Yes, he thought. That is what I want to hear.

Pinning her to the skin, he slid himself as deep as he could go as she pushed herself up to meet him. She was as hungry for him as he was for her.

His bare skin now lay atop her body, still cool despite the blistering heat outside. But here, inside the hut, they seemed to be in a different world, surrounded by the eerie tinkling of the chimes and dank, earthy smells.

He drew back his hips then plunged into her once more, eliciting yet another groan. He squeezed her wrists as he did it again, then again, falling into a rhythm.

She raised her head, putting her lips against his ear. "Yes," she whispered. "Unleash yourself."

Her words were like a spark on dry tinder. His field of vision flashed white-orange. He felt the anger rising up to overtake him.

He drove himself into her, a dark fury driving him. He let go of her wrists, thrusting his hands down to cup her ass, gripping her cheeks in both hands.

As if in the distance, he heard her laughing, but all he could feel was lust and rage. He felt like an animal, incapable of rational thought, only pure, raw instinct.

He was not making love to her, but savaging her, taking her so completely and brutally that in the back of his mind he thought the act might kill a mortal woman, which she was clearly not.

He could not remember ever being with another woman, though something in him knew he had. He also knew that he had never felt anything quite like this, even though his memory had failed him.

A feeling like molten steel coursed through his shafted, all his anger and lust erupted out of him. His body tensed. He shuddered as the white heat burst out of him and into her.

She reached around to claw his back as he released inside her. Her voice seemed far away, and it were as if her screams were victory cries.

Finally he rolled off of her, collapsing beside her on the fur. He took a deep breath, feeling like a fissure in the earth that has spewed a great gout of hot rock before falling silent again.

The witch held her hands atop her breasts, her chest heaving as she seemed to stare up through the ceiling. "Incredible," she said.

He sat up and looked down at her. "Tell me."

Her eyes had a faraway look, as if she were staring into infinity.

"Tell me," he said, raising his voice. "Witch."

She seemed to come back from wherever she had gone, turning her face to him and frowning. "I prefer the term sorceress," she said. "But very well. You have more than paid the price."

She reached under the fur and withdrew what at first looked like a long, sharp tooth. He tensed when he realized what it was: a dagger.

Cordella smiled at his reaction. "No need for alarm," she said. "I only need a piece of your hair." She waggled the dagger at him playfully. It was white and appeared to be crafted from some kind of bone. He relaxed as he realized if she had wanted to do him harm, she could easily have plunged the dagger between his shoulder blades during the act.

He nodded at her. She leaned forward, taking some of his pitch black hair between her fingers. The dagger must have been honed to a razor's edge, because he felt nothing as she cut a lock free.

She scooted toward the clay pot in the center of the hut and tossed in the lock, sending up a puff of smoke. The stench of his own burnt hair stung his nose, and he turned away. But the witch was hovering over the tiny pot now, grinning from ear to ear.

She reached out for his hand, which he reluctantly offered. She held it over the pot, and he thought she might plunge his hand into whatever foul liquid bubbled there. Instead, she bent her head down quickly, sinking her teeth into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

He cried out and tried to jerk back, but she held his hand in both of hers as if with iron pincers. She was far stronger than she looked. Her teeth broke the skin, and when she pulled back and smiled at him her teeth and lips were red with his blood.

He pulled again, but she held his hand tight as crimson drops trickled into the pot.

When she seemed satisfied, she let go of his hand. He snatched it back, holding it to his chest. The bite marked his hand like a bloody crescent moon. The wound burned, as if he had been bitten by some poisonous animal. Perhaps he had. The witch had taken the form of a crow when he first saw her, but maybe she could take others.

She ignored him now, her eyes staring down into the tiny steaming clay pot. Something from within began to glow, at first a dull orange, then brightening to white. The light radiated upwards, casting weird shadows across Cordella's face, which was now fixed in a mask of dark glee.

"I see," she said, her voice no longer young and teasing, but old and leathery.

He clenched his hand to stem the bleeding, drops now falling on the black fur. He was tempted to lean forward, to try to see what she was seeing, but he decided he would rather sit back and let her tell him. The look on her face was frightening, a rictus of sick joy and fascination, and he wanted no part in it. He did want to know, though.

"What?" he asked. "What do you see?"

She nodded, her unblinking eyes rolled to the whites, reflecting the pale yellow light.

She began to speak then, falling into a cadence, almost a chant.

"Brother, father, sister, three.

One is banished, one is free.

One betrays and pays the fee.

One sits a throne that's meant for thee."

Riddles, he thought. I should have expected no less. He could not picture his father's face, and he could not remember any sisters. But—

Care for a drink, brother?

He almost had something, a piece of a memory as if torn from a patchwork. But before anything could solidify in his mind, the witch was chanting again, breaking his concentration.

"Without the flame, our world is dead.

Feed the fire that remains unfed."

She was speaking nonsense now, and he was angry that she had scattered his thoughts. But he tried to focus on her words. There was some chance they might be important. He wanted to interrupt her, to make her simply tell him his name. That was what he wanted to know above all other things.

"Deep in the forest lies the key.

An object of power only you can see.

Without it you will die.

Only with it will you fly.

Find your future in the Ironroot Tree."

What forest? He felt the anger starting to rise in him again. He wanted to stop this, to take her by the shoulders and shake her out of her trance. He wanted simple, straightforward answers.

"With wings restored, you must fly soon.

Your memories lie in the lost lagoon."

The light in the pot faded. The witch's eyes closed, and when they opened again, she blinked. Her eyes had returned to normal. She looked at him, confused.

"What happened?" she asked.

Gods, he thought. She didn't even remember what she had said.

"You spoke in riddles," he said.

She sat back on the fur, looking confused. "That has never happened to me before." Her voice was light, that of a young woman once more, not the croaking incantations of the ancient crone hovering over the glowing pot.

"Your words were nonsense," he said. "No use to me."

"What did I say?"

He stood up, pulling back on the scaled armor skin. "This was a waste of time," he said. "You mentioned the Ironroot Tree."

Her eyes grew wide. "I know this place. It lies deep in the Hartglade Forest, far to the east. It is remote and dangerous. What did I say about it?"

"You said it was the key," he said. "You said my future was there, that it held an object of power. But why are you the one asking me questions? You were supposed to give me answers."

"There is a special bird," she said. "A white hawk that lives only in this tree. In my vision I saw a white feather."

He stopped, wondering now. Was she just toying with him again? A magic feather?

"You said that with this thing I would fly," he said. "Which is nonsense. I remember very little, but I am no bird."

"No," she said. "You are a dragon."

He started to laugh, but then stopped. The look on her face was without mirth.

"What do you mean a dragon?"

"You are the eldest son of Karth," she said. "You are the Prince of the Red Dragons, the true heir to the Throne of Fire. Your name is Kaladon Wildfire."

He took in the words, but they had no meaning. The names she said meant nothing to him.

"I do not know a Karth, nor a Kaladon," he said. "And I definitely do not feel like a dragon."

"Something happened to you," she said. "What I know not. But it sapped your power and stole your memory."

"The last thing you said was that my memories were in the lost lagoon."

"The Emerald Isle," she whispered. "Your path his clear, Kal Wildfire. You must seek out the feather of the white hawk in the Hartglade Forest. It will restore your powers of transformation and flight. Then you must travel west to the Emerald Isle and bathe in the Lost Lagoon. That will restore your memories. Only then will you find the answers you seek."

He had wanted to know who he was, and if the witch was to be believed, he was royalty in a dragon clan. That might explain the armor and the resistance to the heat, but the knowledge did little more than frustrate him further. He had hoped the saying of his name would release some dam in his mind, allowing all the memories to flood back. Instead, the crow woman was setting him on what sounded like a long journey. But was that such a bad thing? At least he would have a purpose. And though she was clearly a witch, he also sensed a true desire to assist him.

He took a deep breath and sighed. "In which direction lies this Hartglade Forest?"

Download:  **Dragon Red: A Fire Unfed**

