Cinder was the drake’s name, and it was daemonized.
The scourges were the Fallen’s daggers in the night, but the daemon drake was his death dealer, the symbol of Lu Har’s might.
Cinder was the roaring drake the day her former life had ended.
When the hood was finally removed, Cadrianna found herself in a darkened room with arches of umbra, hands bound behind her back. Her father and mother, Efan and Jensa Nightingale, were behind her, her brother, too. Emre and the regent and regentress sat across from them. A table with glass bottles between the family members. Liquids and tiny, solid pebbles in the cruets.
The firedrake snorted, a minute flame belched along the tower’s walls in a lazy dance. Cadrianna loathed the creature.
“CINDER’S NOTHING MORE THAN AN OVERGROWN LIZARD. A FAILED HATCHLING OF THE ORDER.”
Cadrianna smiled at the thought. Whatever you say, Strix.
The guards beside the tower’s door neither moved nor spoke, standing still as she pushed on the onyx portal. Armored in grey-painted firedrake scale, blades of blackened steel at their hips, wheellock rifles in hand. They wore breathers with glass shields painted like sanguine skulls even though it was unnecessary without the mist upon the fortress in the sky.
Each had a role in life. Theirs to guard the secrets within the tower. Hers to end the living. They had chosen their lot. She’d been tortured into hers.
Behind the table was a tall man. He was elfirish and one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid sight upon. Thick black beard and long fine hair, his pointed elfirish ears delicate. A smile that normally would have sent her heart aflutter. But no, not now, not in this room. It was terrifying. Terrifying because he had all-onyx eyes.
It wasn’t until after that day she’d learnt what that meant.
The man walked around the table as he pushed up the sleeves to his bloodred robe. He leaned toward Jensa Nightingale, a finger running down her neck and into the folds of her torn tunic. Her father swore and the man backhanded Efan.
“WHY DO YOU STRIVE TO REMEMBER THIS MEMORY OVER AND OVER?” asked the Strix for what must have been the thousandth time.
“For Brynn.” The words of Thestile ran through her head, ‘Never forget the truth of who you are.’ Who was she?
Her muffled boots slapped against the mosaic floor. Cinder’s tail briefly flicked past the door she’d just entered, the barbed point slashing. Columns held up the grand structure as she crossed the open atrium, guards next to each, rifles held in wait.
The man stepped closer to her brother, Caridin, who’s eyes were fearful. Grabbing his chin, the elfirish man turned Caridin’s face side-to-side, examining it. With the slightest of nods, thick-armed Imperium torturers appeared from behind, lifting her brother, legs kicking furiously.
The torturers—shirtless orcir with bulging, green-skinned muscles, and stiff leather aprons—chained Cadrianna’s brother to the table as Caridin thrashed against the metal links. He tried, O, her brother tried to fight. The beautiful man lifted a pair of bottles, uncorking them. The unforgettable tang of sulfur met her nose.
“Cadrianna,” a voice came from behind. “My scourge has returned. I hope everything went according to the needs.”
The Strix let out an ungodsly hiss like a cornered draconem.
In the gloom stood a man. Long black hair neatly combed around a face of creamy brown, and was still as impeccably beautiful, despite long centuries. Age did not touch this man, even though he had only been rebirthed by the Divine some fifty years ago. Beard thick and pointed, elfirish ears poking through the thick tresses of pitch. His arms were in the opposing sleeves of a dark burgundy robe that pooled the ground like a basin of blood.
Lu Har, the Fallen. Daemon master. The bloodkin and last great void aetheurgist once of the prized city of Eminence in the reign of the Last Godsking. A man most feared in the Mistlands after his hateful rebirth from Nocturne’s Pit. Her master.
Instant rage filled her upon the sight of him, but it was swallowed by furious desire. Hatred ever-deep, vengeance on the tip of her tongue in contradiction to the need inside. Her lips almost curled into a snarl, but she forced her face to calm. Like a tamed dog, but if left free to do as she would, her bite would be lethal.
“The head of House Richtel is dead.” She tapped her foot, the Strix was still hissing.
“Wonderful,” Lu Har said without a trace of emotion. “And of my dear Thestile?”
The beautiful man glared at Emre. “Where is the Seal?” Cadrianna’s beloved stared back, his face bruised and bleeding. “You won’t like it if I have to ask again. Where is it hidden?”
The son of Drenth bowed his head, dark curls sagged in sweat. Looking up, his eyes smoldered. The bodies of the regent and regentress lay discarded, their corpses consumed by void aetheurgy.
“Never,” her husband said defiantly.
Efan Nightingale pleaded with the torturers from behind as they took Jensa. Chained her to the table, but Cadrianna’s husband held his tongue until the moment she would never forget for all of her life.
Why couldn’t he just answer? She would never forgive him for this.
“The contract has been fulfilled.” Inside she seethed but held the glass façade. “My team has also felled dozens of rebels down in Bar Stock.”
The Fallen’s beautiful face watched her, those delicately angled cheeks, slightly slanted brows. Such perfection upon a creature so evil. She loathed him, desired him equally, but Brynn’s face appeared in her mind. As did what happened to her mother, and to her poor brothers. The Regents Benld. Emre…
The elfir sadly shook his head. Her father began to sob as the man poured the contents of the bottles onto Jensa’s body. The scream, that’s what she remembered. Flesh burning, smoke of pure white. Her mother kicked and flailed, but the chains held her tight.
O Zenith, she would never forget that scream. Never forgive Emre for doing this to her. Why?
She made to leave now that her report was complete, but the Fallen glided in front of her, his long robe undulated as blackened mist drifted from underneath. “You’re late in returning. You should have been back hours ago.”
Her father was next, her mother’s lifeless body tossed aside, broken and burnt in a corner. Steaming. Tears streamed down her face as her father was slammed onto the table, his favorite shirt ripped open. Her father fearful. Cadrianna only wept.
“Where is it?” Those words forever there.
“Please,” Efan Nightingale implored through strangled sobs. He didn’t fight it, just lay there on the table staring deep into her eyes, a sad smile upon his face. Telling her, no, imploring her to remain strong.
Emre held his tongue, still. At least tears rivered down his face. He’d always been the calm one, but now he was stone and steel.
A shrill scream burst from her father. A smell of char ingrained into her memory. Forever.
“Tell him!” Cadrianna screamed to her beloved husband, begging for it to end.
