Deceit of Spirits

Chapter 16

"The dragon-shifters of Demue are the most cunning and alluring of female warriors," Davina had told her, the story weaving together over the course of five nights just after Astrid's fifth year of birth, "but none rivaled Raelina de Fiuma, Scáthach of Denithe, the lustrous dwelling atop the highest sand dune in the desert realm where dragon sisters train in flight and battle. To be the Scáthach is to be the most revered, for the Scáthach led the Denithe and instructed all those who came to her sandstone lair. To become the Scáthach, one must spill the blood of the reining Scáthach before her upon the burning sands of Gnathóg. It is a sacred ritual of Denithe, held during each solstice to honor Lord Feué and his reign over the ever-burning flames of the sun. Feeding the sands of Gnathóg pleasures the lands of Demue, and thus rewards the blood-spiller—not only by becoming the Scáthach but by creating an elemental bond of fire to all the prior Scáthachs. The power of that bond could level an entire fortress in nothing more than a plume of smoke.

"Scáthach Raelina held that power and had never allowed her blood to be spilled for near a century, maintaining her position of strength and reverence until the Purge severed one of the Scáthach thorns upon her brow whilst stuck between transitions—"

"Drop the blade, whelp," the shifter had said, "I've come to retrieve you. Your mother's bond demands it of me."

Wrenched from the memory, Astrid beheld the true dragon warrior; distinct, human-like hair coiled in dark curls down her crimson, reptilian neck lithe with muscles. Her beautifully lethal talons, awash in silver to glint like the sharpest of swords, appeared jointed, curling towards Astrid like a beckoning finger. Stalking, deep eyes a magnificent shade of gold with dark, round pupils that tracked Astrid's every move with intellectual ridicule. An expression reserved not for predatory beasts but for people—stuck between transitions. The Purge. Her mother. Mighty wings, their golden webs interlacing like patterned veins, flapped once more. They crashed an invisible wave into Astrid. Grains of sand pelted against her lowered eyelids, the bits of her hair not locked away in braids caught up in the draft, smacking against her cheeks in a startling revelation.

"Raelina." Astrid's short-blade had yet to waver, but she felt the handle slide against the rising perspiration of her palm. "Scáthach Raelina of the fearsome Fiuma clan. You are Raelina de Fiuma."

"Scáthach. Shadowy One." Raelina snorted, angry sparks erupting from her wide nostrils, her next words coming as a threatening whisper against Astrid's mind. "A stolen title. A thieved honor."

Three of the golden, orange sparks shot upwards, circling the magnificent ivory horn above her left ridged brow, dancing like flickering flames, illuminating the carved inscriptions decorating it, notches that noted each victory its bearer had won. Of which, there were plenty. Transfixed, Astrid watched, her dry tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as she trailed the Scáthach thorn to where its matching pair should rest.

A jagged scar marred the scales above the shifter's right eye, the flesh underneath torn and swollen as if it had never properly healed. Astrid couldn't help but wonder where the missing horn resided now, for the Scáthach's thorns were no longer twins, but singular. One had been severed decades earlier, Raelina's blood spilled by—?

"My mother—" Astrid tightened her grip on her only weapon, laughable against her current foe as it may appear—"would not want you to retrieve me until my task was completed."

"Obedient whelp," Raelina's voice rife with coy wisdom. "Blind obedience, however, brings nothing but pain and death."

Hidden behind her back, Astrid's free hand reached outwards, fingers scrabbling for a single thread. A relieved breath stuck in her throat when she, as faintly as it came, felt Raelina's Spirit. It burned like embers just out of reach of her fingertips. She brushed it aside, searching for another as her elemental burnout retreated. Her arm cramped where her arulonite cuff normally imprisoned her.