Chapter I

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley. A few wingless drakes in the upper mountains, sure, but they never bothered anyone,” Valerei said, and then she leaned in closer to the children. “That is unless someone was foolish enough to enter their caves,” and she gave them a wink.

All three children giggled, but Amerie grinned so wide that she revealed teeth, or lack thereof, for she was missing two of her baby teeth up top.

Valerei admired her beautiful children, their skin a gradient between their parents. Morra was the darkest, beautiful and tall, quiet but fierce. Ashen was the palest of the children, though no paler than his father, but just as stubborn. His blue eyes were wide in wonder as Valerei conveyed her tale. Amerie was golden, only slightly darker than honey, her kind heart apparent in eyes of hazel.

In her periphery, her husband’s pasty skin stood out like the visage of death. An occasional pounding sound came from the kitchen as he prepared the meat for dinner. She moved her head in his direction, he caught her glance and smiled at her. She loved her home. It was no castle, but it was like a warm blanket in winter, the epitome of coziness.

“What did the drakes do to people that went into their cave?” Amerie asked.

“What was that, Amerie?” Valerei asked as she faced the children.

“You said that they didn’t bother anyone unless they went in the cave, what did the drakes do to those people?” Amerie repeated.

Valerei froze, a memory from the old prisoner camp on the far side of Old Feymar snapped into the forefront of her consciousness.

She struggled against her shackles, begging the Leverian soldiers to stop as they rounded up people from the local village. One by one, they severed the limbs of living men, women, and children too feeble to be of any use and threw them into a large wooden bin with the word “feed” written upon it. Healthy villagers were imprisoned in cages, later to be enslaved by Levarian leadership or sold to traders on the western shore of Grennahm.

The screams of the limbless villagers—children, elderly, all—drove Valerei into a frenzy. Pure anguish pulsed through her, but her activated adrenaline was useless. As she pulled against her shackles, her wrists chafed against the metal, her skin and blood caught in the creases.

A commander, clad in the traditional grey and purple of the Laverian military, lifted a crying infant by the legs and walked over to the wingless dragon they had chained to the front of one of their military caravans. The drake was the color of dusty emeralds, its scales bright green with a hint of grey at the edges. It snapped its rows of sharp teeth, licked its lips, then let out a low grumbling akin to a lion’s purr. The heat from the drake’s breath distorted the air around its mouth.

Valerei’s screech drew the attention of the entire camp. The Leverian commander nodded toward a burly subordinate man, then aimed his head toward Valerei. The commander lifted the crying infant nice and high so she could see. With a swift swing of his arm, the baby flew into the air toward the drake. Valerie turned her head away. A moment later the infant’s crying ceased.

Valerie released an unintelligible howl. All she had was her voice, so she used it as loud and fierce as she could. The burly soldier moved closer to her and punched her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. He moved aside to admit his superior.

The commander knelt next to Valerei. She tried to head butt him, but he dodged without challenge. He grabbed a healthy amount of her black hair, looked into her eyes with his cold piercing blues, and said, “We need you. We were told to keep you alive. But them,” he pointed at the wounded and mutilated, “they’re extra. Do you expect us to leave them alive so they can feed your armies?” He spat. “Our little friends are hungry and good meat’s hard to come by. So my advice? Learn to accept it, because you’ll be seeing a lot more.” He released her hair and pushed her head away. It seemed as though he would walk away, but instead, he lifted a knee and smashed it into the side of her head.

Everything went dark.

Valerei felt a small hand on her knee.

“Mommy, what did the drakes do to the people in their cave?”

Valerei placed her hand on Amerie’s and smiled. She composed herself and took on the role of storyteller once more.

“Well, they would get real close to their intruders. Like this…” Valerei said. She moved so that she was mere inches from Amerie’s face, Valerei’s dark brown eyes gazed into Amerie’s hazel. “And then they would—” With the speed of a Pyresian lion, she moved her arms to Amerie’s sides and tickled her from her torso up to her armpits.

Amerie laughed and thrashed until she could handle no more. “Stop mommy, stop!”

Valerei released her hold on Amerie. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her husband glaring at her. She knew that he had caught her momentary lapse, though she had hoped had hadn’t. He would worry as he always had. But she was fine. The worst had passed.

Ashen perked up. “Mother,” Ashen said, “you were saying? About there not being dragons in the valley? Why did they come?”

Valerei nodded, then looked down. “It was the king of Laveraine, when we refused to surrender, he…” She paused. One second became five, then ten.

“Alright children, that’s enough,” Rhyss said. “Storytime is over.”

Ashen folded his arms in protest. “What? But she only said four sentences,” he said.

Valerei said, “It’s fine, Rhyss, really, I—”

He shot her a stern glance, then ushered the children a few feet away.

Never one to hide his displeasure, Ashen kept his arms crossed and plopped down to the ground. Amerie, less disappointed and more following the leader, did the same and sat right beside Ashen. Morra stood behind them, silent.

“I’m sorry,” Rhyss said, “but your mother is tired.” He looked behind him to the kitchen, then faced the children. “How about we get ready for dinner? Who wants to help?” Amerie looked ready to volunteer, but she took another look at Ashen and doubled down, her arms folded even harder.

“What do we need, father?” Morra asked.

He didn’t say it, but he gave her a thankful nod. “I’ll need some rosemary out in the back. Just a few sprigs will do, we don't want to ruin the flavor of the stew. And gather some vegetables from the garden as well. The basket should be by the door.” He smiled at Morra and she bowed her head and went to her task.

Not wanting to be left out, Amerie said, “What about me, father? I can help too.” Ashen’s face dropped now that his partner in protest had given in, and he turned his head away.

“I need tomatoes. And lots of them. We’ll need them for the stew and the salad. The biggest, reddest ones you can find. Can you do that for me?”

She gave a big nod and a smile. She started for the front door.

“And remember,” Rhyss said, “what is the rule when I send you out front?”

“Come inside and tell you if anyone is coming,” Amerie recited.

“Almost.”

“Come inside right away and tell you if anyone is coming.”

“That’s right. Now go, I’m putting my faith in you.” Rhyss leaned down and kissed Amerie on the crown of her head, when he pulled back his nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed. Once Amerie was out the door, Ryhss placed a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. Ashen’s arms were still folded. “These things take time son. Your mother—”

“It’s been years you’ve been saying that. I’m not a child anymore, I can tell she’s different,” Ashen said, then he lowered his voice. “It’s like she’s broken.”

Rhyss looked over at Valerei. He seemed relieved. Perhaps he thought she did not hear. A misinterpretation.

Maybe I am broken, Valerei thought. Each campaign had caused more episodes. The only time she felt free was in the midst of battle, at the head of an army, or in a command room.

Rhys lowered his voice and moved closer to Ashen. “That’s not true. Do you know all that your mother has done? Not just for us, but for all of Aerivyne?”

Ashen shifted and faced his father. “Of course,” he said, and took a moment to think. Then, “But that was a long time ago.”

“Not necessarily. Some stories are from years back, some are more recent, but do you think someone capable of everything she’s done is going to give up?” Rhyss pointed his thumb over his shoulder and said, “The woman behind me once defeated an entire Leverian battalion with a command of one-tenth the numbers of her opponents. She escaped captivity and saved a whole host of villagers from torture and inspired them to rise up and kill their captors. She slew the great and awful golden dragon Hrexvrath as the champion of King Draymund III and single-handedly resolved the War Without End—”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Ashen unfolded his arms and smiled. “Mother is pretty impressive.”

Rhyss’s face brightened and his smile lines shone. “You’re right about that,” he said. “She is a true woman, no doubt.” Rhyss turned to look at Valerei. She caught his eye and they shared a warm smile. “And you,” he said, rising from his knee, “are a good son.”

“What would you have me do father?”

“In truth? Don’t tell your sister, but she smells like a wet goat. Gods know why or what she’s been up to.”

Ashen laughed. “I’m drawing a bath then?”

“You’re drawing a bath, yes. And later, I’ll tell you a story you've never heard before. Just don’t tell the others, alright?”

Ashen grinned wide and nodded with vigor. “Just for me?” he said.

“Just for you. Now get to it,” Rhyss said, and motioned his head toward the bath in the back.

Ashen walked from the room, his gait fueled with purpose. Once he was gone, Rhyss turned to Valerei.

“Keep telling them all these stories and they’ll think I’m some hero,” Valerei said and gave him a sad smile.

“Hero? I’ve been trying to convince everyone that you’re a goddess. You should never down-sell.”

Rhyss came over and kissed Valerei on the mouth. She could feel his bristled beard, many pinpricks against her skin. It was painful, but a pain she associated with love and tenderness. She raised her hand to his face and caressed him. Rhyss went behind her, and placed his hands, strong and calloused, on her shoulders, his paleness was like the moon against a darkened sky. He began to massage. His fingers ran the length of her collarbone and his thumbs rubbed in between her shoulder blades. She melted into her pillowed seat.

“You shouldn't push yourself, my love. The children are getting older, they can tell when something is wrong.” He thought a moment. “Except Amerie, she still flows to the wind of her own flute. But she’ll get there eventually, I suppose.”

She reached up and placed her hand on his and held it in place. “What would you have me do? I have to try.”

“I’m not saying to give up but to try the difficult things with me. Talk to me. I’ll always be present. There aren’t many who have seen what you have and even fewer that can say that they've done anything similar to what you have. The best I can do is try to understand, to listen.” He kissed the top of her head, removed his hand from under hers, then placed it back upon her shoulder and said, “I made a vow to you all those years ago on the eve of the Day of Long Light, under the red sky of Selyse. Do you remember?”

Valerei closed her eyes and saw the beauty of the eternal skies above. The second moon Selyse illuminated the heavens while Myrmina, the first moon, peeked out behind her, almost submerged in her shadow. The firmament had a crimson glow, the clouds like tufts of orange fur, crept along as if moved by the hand of the gods. And when she looked away from the sky, the beauty magnified ten-fold. Ryhss gazed upon her as though his eyes would never look on anything else. His eyes said, Why look upon the sky when my elegant goddess stands before me? He beamed once they locked eyes. Her heart skipped.

She opened her eyes.

“Of course, I remember,” Valerei said. “I will be your raft in the flood, your shelter in the storm. I will be your heart in the face of darkness, and your ear when you need silence. I will never waver, never falter. I will be your support, though the sands may shift beneath. I will be the basin for your tears, both of joy and sorrow. Whether day or night, calm or turbulent, I will be the place where your love will always find a home.”

She bent her neck back to look upon his face and she could tell he was moved, that he was trying to suppress his tears. A moment later he laughed. “And what did you say to me? I’m having a hard time recalling,” he said.

“Gods…”

Rhyss pretended to search his memories. “Ah, I remember now. ‘Everything that he said, but a little more.’” Rhyss chuckled.

“What? I meant it.” Valerei smiled.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m the one who strategizes, you’re the one who poeticizes. I’d say I outmaneuvered you.”

“That you did.”

She reached with her face, chin up, and he bent to meet her. They shared a kiss.

“I said I would be your ear when you need silence, that I would never waver or falter. I made these promises,” Rhyss said. “Morra, Ashen, and Amerie didn’t. Children are often the inheritors of their parents’ grief. You know this well. We should be more mindful of our own.”

“Of course,” she said. “I must be more careful.”

Rhyss ran his fingertips up and down Valerei’s biceps; powerful, capable arms that had been the end of many soldiers. On their wedding night, she asked him if it frightened him, what she could do with her guile, with her speed and strength. He kissed each arm and said, “No, it gives me great comfort to know that my children will be safe, protected.” She smiled at the memory.

Rhyss kissed her shoulder, then got a chair and positioned it so that he could be face to face with Valerei. He put her hands in his. “Which was it this time?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been given command of thousands of soldiers and killed hundreds by my own hand, yet it’s mere memories that defeat me.”

“They may be your greatest challenge, but they have yet to defeat you.” He squeezed her hands. “Which memory was it?”

She looked away from him, then, “The village.”

Rhyss nodded. “May I speak?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?” He asked.

Valerei tensed, pulled her hands away, and sat up with a fierceness. “You know what I did.”

Rhyss recaptured Valerei’s hands, and with a gentle pulse, squeezed them. “No, you know that's not what I meant. What did you do?”

Valerei took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Everything I could.”

“As you do,” Rhyss said. He brushed her knuckles with the tips of his thumb and smiled. “As you always will.”

Amerie burst through the front door—her cheeks rosy, her breath short— carrying a basketful of tomatoes.

Rhyss sprung to his feet. “What is it?”

“A person,” Amerie said. She took a moment to recover. “Down the road.”

With brisk steps, Rhyss made it to the door in three seconds. “Put the basket down and go to your mother.” Amerie obeyed and went to sit in Valerei’s lap.

Once he opened the door, his expression changed.

“Who is it? Can you see?” Valerei asked.

His head bobbed slowly. “A messenger. In military garb.”

—

Valerei attempted to rise, but Rhyss must have been able to sense her movement or her intent. With his head out the door, he lifted a hand to Valerei, a gesture to remain seated. She could hear the approaching footsteps a few moments later, the clinking-clanking of an armored soldier, followed by formal greetings. She heard her name and titles—Commander Valerei Redborne, First Rank and Highest Honored, Victor of the Battle of Cousins and Queens, Once Champion of Draymund III, and Ender of Hrexvrath. It was muffled, but she had heard her titles many times, so it was simple to pick up on the rest after hearing “Commander Valerei Redborne”. She heard Rhyss say, “My wife is absent, but I can receive her messages.”

What could they want? Valerei wondered. More honors? Weeks of travel to have another ceremonial sword to place above the mantel? Another cloak or medal for the armor that stood in her closet, retired yet radiant? Another name to add to her already lengthy title? She pondered different names, Drake-slayer, Spirit-breaker, Tide-turner.

What else did kings and queens do in times of peace but throw parties and ceremonies? She hated being paraded in front of a bunch of perfumed aristocrats. It almost made her wish for another war. It was what she was good at. If she was living in the present, fighting moment to moment, strategizing, winning, then she wasn't thinking of the past. She didn’t fight for glory or honor, but to defend the ideals for which The Scattered Union—and more importantly, her native country of Aerivyne—stood.

The apt name was given to The Scattered Union, as none of the countries touches, but all have a few core tenants that much of the world had yet to adapt. Abolition of slavery, the war accords, and the people’s vote of ideals were amongst the most important, implemented first by Aerivyne, something Valerei took pride in.

Valerei heard the messenger’s footsteps retreat. As if to avoid the inevitable, Rhyss closed the door nice and slow. He looked down at the scroll in his hands.

“What will it be then?” Valerei asked, “The Great Defender of Aerivyne? The Lonely Protector of Fairstay Village?” She smiled at Rhyss, but his expression remained unchanged.

He lifted the sealed scroll. “You are being summoned,” he said, without looking her way.

“What does it say?”

“Messenger said, ‘Commander Redborne’s eyes only.’ Must be serious.”

“Amerie, off.” Valerie lifted Amerie with ease and placed her standing on the floor.

“What is it, mommy?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Rhyss didn’t move but held the scroll in the same position until Valerei retrieved it. He wouldn't let go at first, causing creases in the parchment. He looked up at Valerei, once their eyes met, he let go.

“You can't go,” Rhyss said.

“We don’t even know what it says.”

“If it were an invitation to some event, the messenger would have said. And he wouldn't have been wearing armor. Being married to you, I’ve seen quite a few of these things through the years.”

She attempted to give him a reassuring look. Both fear and eagerness in equal measure took hold, though she hid the latter, as she peeled the wax away and unrolled the scroll. She began to read.

After a moment Rhyss said, “Well? Will it be your ceremonial armor or will it be battle armor?”

Battle Armor, she thought. The potential of commanding once more brought with it that excitement Valerei was accustomed to, but mingled with trepidation. Now that the message had been read and the intent confirmed, her hands began to shake, barely, but enough for Rhyss to see. She would fight for her country again, yes, but what if she were captured? What other horrors would she witness?

As though in reflex, Rhyss escorted Valerei to her chair. “Amerie, go out back and get your brother and sister.” Amerie ran to the back and Rhyss moved toward his cabinet. Hundreds of glass bottles, jars, and vials of varying tints and shades held elements, herbs, and an assortment of ingredients. The darker the glass, the deadlier its isolated contents would be if ingested or touched. A system he created for the children and Valerie, for he needed no assistance in matters of potion, tonic, and poultice making. Valerei could only see his back, but she knew that as a healer and master of herbal sciences, Rhyss knew what went where without looking. His movements were automatic. He turned his head toward her and said, “You shouldn’t—”

All three kids hustled into the room. “What’s happened, father?” Morra asked.

Rhyss moved over to his children and kneeled before them, he looked at Morra. “I need you to gather a cloying graybale, don’t get it confused with the acrid graybale. One cap.”

“Cloying… The one with the purple spots?”

“Yes,” Rhyss said.

Morra lowered her chin then exited.

“What can I do?” Ashen asked.

“I need blue lavender, four fresh sprigs.”

Ashen turned to leave.

Rhyss quickly said, “And remember—”

“Don’t trample the plants in haste,” Ashen recited, then followed after Morra.

“And me?” Amerie asked.

“Freshwater from the well. Four ladlefuls.”

Amerie ran after her brother and sister.

Rhyss went back to his ingredients and removed his mortar and pestle from their designated shelf, started a small fire, then began to combine ingredients that he had available. He turned to say something but remained silent. Then, “I’m making the calming tonic. Once the children are back, it should only be a few moments.”

Valerei felt a wave of relief knowing Rhyss decided to wait to discuss matters further. She took slow, deep breaths as she focused on a spot above the fireplace. On the mantel, propped up by a hand-carved oaken stand, rested Freebrier, Valerei’s jagged ceremonial sword. Its hilt was golden and inlaid with emeralds.

Within a few minutes the children entered, each successful with their task. Rhyss collected the ingredients, then dismissed them. He told them to go to their rooms and play or read or take a bath or do something that wouldn’t set fire to the house, eavesdropping being the only exception.

A minute later, Rhyss handed the concocted tonic to Valerei and she consumed it in seconds. She could feel the effects in an instant, her pounding pulse became a dull throb and she melted into the chair once again. She let out a loud, lengthy belch and smiled at her husband. “I’m going to need a lot more of those,” she said.

“You’re not thinking of going,” Rhyss said.

Valerei forced herself to look into his eyes. “I must.”

She handed him the scroll. He gave a disapproving look, not to her, she knew, but to the situation. He read the scroll.

“King Draymund is dead?”

Valerei shrugged. “He was old. It happens.”

“Queen Callah says hostilities between Aerivyne and Laveraine have reignited.”

“I know. I’ve read it.”

“It says that new tactics will be employed. What kind of tactics?”

Valerei sighed, then said, “I guess I’ll find out soon.”

“But King Draymund made an oath, you were not to be summoned for military matters. She can’t do this.”

“She’s a queen, Rhyss. She can do whatever the hell she wants.”

“What good is an oath then?”

“To you and me? It’s everything.” Valerei stood. “Breaking the oath of a former king or queen is what the current monarch lives for. It’s the ultimate show of power. Breaking a vow is a statement: the one who once held all the power has no more sway. The queen says it’s her play now, and she’ll cast the players and write whatever dialogue she pleases.” She pulled him close, kissed his lips, then said, “I must go.”

“Tell the queen you're not well.”

“If I can’t show the wound then it may as well not exist. Besides, it’s only in times of calm that it takes hold of me.” She looked into Rhyss’ eyes. “I made an oath myself, that as long as I have a beating heart, I will defend our rights and freedoms. I won’t bow to cowardice. You know this.”

Rhyss nodded. “I had to try.”

“I know.”

She pulled him close. His tears dripped onto her collarbone.

—

The next morning Valerei donned her battle armor, sharpened and polished her greymetal sword, and collected the potions and victuals Rhyss had lain out for her. She said her goodbyes and left.

Valerei looked back one last time. Amerie waved while the other two children remained sullen. Rhyss held all the children close in a bundle. He tried to smile, but it was weak, as was Valerei’s. She thought of her husband’s words: children are often the inheritors of their parents’ grief. She hoped he would remember that in her absence.

She faced forward and made for the village.

Hethbren wasn’t large, but it was on a crossroads that was frequented by all kinds and brought in many imports and exports. It had all the necessities and worked with the local farmers. Rhyss would frequent the village, exchanging his mixtures for other goods and pocketing the difference in gold (of which he had accumulated quite a bit). Valerei and Rhyss wanted the children to be part of a community without the chaos of the big city, so they made their home on the outskirts of the well-respected village.

Valerei made her way to the Shorn Sheep Inne—Best Wool Pillows this Side of New Feymar! (or so the sign said). She never had a reason to enter the inn before, but the scroll said her escort would be there. The Shorn Sheep was unlike any inn she had visited. It had the structure of a normal building made of wood, thick beams every three meters, and a counter with a barkeep stationed behind, upstairs she assumed the rooms to be, but that’s where the normalcy ended. In the corner, encased in a pen, were sheep. And a barber. As she watched the barber give a man a close shave, surrounded by bleating sheep, she noticed the seated man wore the colors of a Aerivynian soldier; white, gold, and red. She made her way to him.

“Soldier,” Valerei said, “are you to escort me to the capital?”

The soldier pushed the barber’s blade away, bolted up, and raised his hand to his forehead. Valerei saw he gave the proper salute; three fingers out, thumb and pinky in. The three fingers stood for the proliferation of statutes of the king, queen, and charter. The pinky and thumb tucked in signified defense of the homeland and family. The man’s obeisance gave her a familiar comfort.

“Rest easy soldier. Where is the rest of the group? Finish up here while I gather them.”

The soldier deflated a bit. He put his hand beside him. “Thank you, Commander Redborne. They’re upstairs.”

Once she gathered the group, they made their payments to the innkeeper and made for their transport. A dark grey drake—its scales like cold metal and eyes like wisps of smoke—awaited them, attached to their designated carriage. A chill ran through her. She hated seeing the beasts within civilization. She missed horses, now, she realized, more than ever before. But they were all gone and this was what was left. Damned Laverians, Valerei thought.

As she rose to enter the carriage, she noticed another silver-grey drake attached to a black cloth-covered wagon. She heard a few low moans coming from its direction.

She stopped, then looked at the closest soldier. “Is that ours?”

“Yes ma’am,” the soldier said, as he readied the whip for departure.

“What’s in there?” Valerei asked.

“Prisoners. For the Queen.”

Once Valerei seated herself within the carriage it began to move. She thought it odd that prisoners would be transported alongside an escort of soldiers. She tried to ignore the thought, but the further they rode, the harder it became to ignore the crying.

“Are there children in there?” Valerei asked.

“Yes, commander.”

“Stop the carriage!” Valerei shouted. She jumped down and swiped the black cloth that covered the wagon. The dirty, gaunt faces of at least twenty children stared back at her behind bars of iron. They were from Laveraine. She wasn’t fluent, but she understood the word “please”. A few hands reached out to her. She attempted to pry the lock off, but two soldiers held her fast.

“Stand down!” Valerei commanded.

The men let go, but one spoke. “These are the queen’s captives. You don’t have permission to free them.”

Another soldier said, “They’re to be used for labor so long as the war continues. The queen has guaranteed their placement in a good household once the war has ceased.”

“Used for labor?” Valerei felt a pounding in her temples. She felt as though a drake had dug its claws into her chest and applied pressure. She nodded toward the men but didn't enter the carriage again. Instead, she walked beside the children in solidarity. Two soldiers walked beside her, their annoyance as visible as the midsummer star.

She tried to ignore the children but their cries, like glass shards, plunged into her heart. Each please was like the arm of a babe reaching out for its mother’s touch. And what kind of mother would deny the touch of a yearning infant?

She drew her blade.