The Dragon King Buried Me Three Times

Maren Solayne had been warned that dragons disliked being lied to. No one had warned her they disliked being stabbed. The distinction seemed relevant as the blade in her hand struck the Dragon King's throat. Metal met skin. And stopped. Not slowed. Stopped. Maren stared. Her knife—tempered starsteel, illegal in three kingdoms and expensive enough that she had spent six months regretting the purchase—rested against the hollow beneath the man's jaw. It should have opened his throat. Instead, the edge glowed red. Then orange. Then began to melt. “Oh,” Maren said. The Dragon King looked down at the ruined weapon. Then at her. His eyes were gold. Not brown touched by amber. Not the exaggerated honey colour poets liked to give dangerous men because apparently murder became romantic if one described the eyes attractively enough. Gold. Molten. Unnatural. Dragon. Maren released the knife. It struck the black marble between them with a soft metallic hiss. Around the throne hall, forty armed guards drew breath at once. None moved. That was worse. The man seated before her had lifted one finger. One. His soldiers froze. Maren wished, briefly, that hers had. Unfortunately she had none. Just herself, a stolen relic hidden beneath her coat, and the increasingly obvious possibility that this had been a spectacularly poor plan. The Dragon King leaned back in his throne. He looked nothing like the statues. That annoyed her. Statues showed Aeron Dacrys wearing a crown of horns, armour from throat to ankle, face carved into the expression of a man personally disappointed by civilization. The real man wore black trousers and a fitted dark coat open at the throat. No crown. No armour. No visible weapon. His hair was nearly black, longer on top, pushed carelessly back from a face that looked perhaps thirty-eight. Maren knew better. Aeron Dacrys had ruled the Ember Court for four hundred and eighty-six years. Which made his skin offensively good. “Again,” he said. Maren frowned. His voice was lower than she expected. “What?” “The assassination.” She stared. “I'd like to see you try again.” One of the guards made a small choking sound. Maren looked around. “Is he always like this?” Nobody answered. Of course not. They enjoyed employment. Aeron's mouth moved. Almost a smile. Maren hated that too. “I wasn't assassinating you.” “No?” “No.” “You climbed through a restricted palace window.” “Yes.” “Crossed three ward lines.” “Yes.” “Disabled two sentries.” “They'll wake.” “How reassuring.” “And put a knife to my throat.” Maren considered. “When you list it like that, I see the problem.” The almost-smile became real. It transformed him. That was inconvenient. Aeron Dacrys should not have been beautiful when he smiled. He should have been monstrous. It would have made the next five minutes considerably easier. “Search her,” said a woman to the right of the throne. Maren turned. Silver hair. Severe face. Crimson military coat. Probably General Serath. Excellent. The woman most famous for hanging three spies from the same bridge had opinions about her. Aeron lifted one hand again. “No.” General Serath's expression hardened. “My king—” “No one touches her.” The room changed. Not dramatically. That was almost more unsettling. People looked at Aeron. Then at Maren. Then carefully nowhere at all. Maren narrowed her eyes. “That sounds ominous.” Aeron was no longer smiling. He was staring at her. Not at the stolen object beneath her coat. At her face. Something in that gaze made her skin tighten. There was recognition in it. Impossible. Maren had never seen Aeron Dacrys before tonight. She would have remembered. Probably. The thought came strangely. A pressure behind her eyes. Then gone. Aeron stood. The hall seemed to shrink. The statues hadn't captured that either. He was tall—not absurdly so, but enough. Broad through the shoulders without looking sculpted for decorative purposes. The sort of body that suggested strength existed because he used it. He descended the three steps from the throne. Maren resisted the instinct to step back. Aeron stopped an arm's length away. The heat came first. Dragons ran warmer than humans. Everyone knew that. This was different. Warmth rolled from him like summer stone beneath sun. It touched Maren's skin through her clothes. Her pulse skipped. Aeron's nostrils flared. His expression changed. Something dark. Hungry. Then immediately controlled. Maren noticed both. “What?” she asked. Aeron said nothing. His eyes travelled over her face. Her forehead. Nose. Mouth. Back to her eyes. The scrutiny became intolerable. “Have I accidentally stolen your favourite expression?” The gold in his eyes flared. General Serath moved. Aeron did not look away from Maren. “What is your name?” “Maren Solayne.” The reaction was almost invisible. Almost. Aeron's throat moved. His fingers curled once at his side. Maren saw it. She had spent ten years making a living among liars, smugglers, collectors and nobles who thought servants didn't listen. She understood microexpressions. Her name hurt him. Interesting. “Say it again.” “No.” Aeron blinked. “Excuse me?” “You heard me perfectly.” One guard behind her inhaled sharply. Maren continued. “You know my name now. We don't need to establish whether royal hearing functions.” Aeron stared. Then a strange sound left him. Not laughter. Closer to pain. Maren's irritation faded slightly. “What is wrong with you?” That was probably not the recommended way to address a Dragon King. She had stopped caring. Aeron lifted his hand. Slowly. Maren's body went tense. His fingers stopped before touching her cheek. Two centimetres. Maybe less. Heat radiated from his skin. Her breath caught for no sensible reason. Aeron's eyes lowered to her mouth. Then returned to her eyes. “May I?” The question startled her more than an order would have. “May you what?” “Touch you.” The hall became impossibly quiet. Maren's pulse sped. “No.” Aeron's hand dropped immediately. No argument. No irritation. Nothing. “Thank you.” Maren stared. That somehow unsettled her further. General Serath looked as though reality had betrayed her personally. “My king, who is she?” Aeron finally looked away. “No one.” The word landed strangely. Maren's annoyance returned. “Charming.” Aeron's jaw tightened. “That was not an insult.” “It demonstrated admirable technique, then.” He turned back. Maren saw something in his eyes now. Not merely recognition. Grief. Ancient grief. Focused entirely on her. She hated it. People were always trying to make women responsible for feelings they hadn't caused. Whatever haunted the Dragon King, she wanted no part of it. “Good,” she said. “Now that we've established I'm no one, I'll leave.” She turned. Every door slammed shut. Maren stopped. Slowly looked back. Aeron's face had changed. “My apologies.” “For imprisoning me?” “For the doors.” “That distinction will comfort me enormously.” “I didn't do it consciously.” Maren stared. Dragons controlled flame. Some older ones controlled stone, air, iron, even weather according to stories. The royal bloodline controlled Embermagic itself. Palace wards answering involuntary emotion? That was new. Interesting. Unfortunate. Maren reached beneath her coat. Thirty weapons shifted toward her. She rolled her eyes. “If I intended another attempt at regicide, I'd select something more effective than the first.” She pulled out the object she had stolen. A palm-sized piece of black crystal. Aeron froze. General Serath swore. That reaction was considerably more satisfying. Maren held up the relic. “This is why I'm here.” Aeron's gaze fixed on it. The crystal looked like polished obsidian until light touched it. Then fire appeared inside. Tiny. Golden. Alive. The Emberglass Heart. Officially, it had not existed for three hundred years. Unofficially, someone had paid Maren an obscene amount of money to steal it from a private collector and deliver it to the royal archives. She had discovered the collector was dead, the buyer had lied, and six armed men wanted the Heart badly enough to burn an entire inn trying to take it from her. So she'd changed the delivery address. Directly to the Dragon King. Maren tossed it. Aeron caught it. His fingers closed. Fire exploded. Gasps filled the hall. Golden flame raced over his hand, up his wrist— then leapt across the distance between them. Maren cried out. The flame wrapped her arm. No pain. Heat. Intense enough to steal breath but not burn. It climbed toward her shoulder, sank beneath her collar— and entered her chest. Maren staggered. Aeron dropped the relic. “Maren.” The way he said her name— No. Not heard. Remembered. Her knees weakened. Images hit. A balcony beneath red stars. Aeron younger, though exactly the same. His hands on her waist. Her own laughter. His mouth against hers. Heat. Love. Then blood. So much blood. A blade through her ribs. Aeron screaming her name. Maren collapsed. He caught her before she struck the floor. His arms closed around her. The instant his skin met hers, another memory tore through. She was lying in snow. Different body. Different hands. Same man. Aeron holding her against his chest while red spread beneath her. Don't. Her voice. But not her voice. Don't find me again. Aeron's face above hers. Destroyed. Mara— No. Not Maren. Another name. The world shifted again. Water. Dark. She was drowning. Aeron reaching through black waves. Her fingers slipping from his. A voice inside her head— Not a fourth time. Maren screamed. The throne hall vanished. She woke in a bed large enough to qualify as infrastructure. Her first thought was that rich people had lost perspective. Her second was that someone's hand rested around her wrist. Maren opened her eyes. Aeron sat beside the bed. Still. Silent. Watching her. No guards. No general. No crown. Just a tired-looking man with golden eyes and fingers around her pulse. Maren pulled her hand away. He released instantly. “Where am I?” “My private rooms.” She sat upright. Bad decision. The room spun. Aeron moved. Stopped before touching her. “Slowly.” “Don't tell me what to do.” “Apparently dying has not improved your temperament.” Maren went still. “What did you say?” Aeron's face emptied. She stared. “Dying?” Silence. The memories returned in fragments. Snow. Water. Blood. His face. Three deaths. Maren's breathing changed. Aeron stood. Not closer. Away. Giving her space. That frightened her more. “What happened to me?” “The Heart recognized you.” “As what?” He looked toward the dark windows. It was dawn now. Mountains surrounded the palace, their peaks glowing with first light. “Aeron.” His eyes closed. Her pulse accelerated. “What aren't you telling me?” He looked back. And there was that grief again. Older than she could understand. “The Emberglass Heart was made from the core-fire of the first bonded dragon pair.” “So?” “It responds only to bloodlines carrying an Emberbond.” “I don't have one.” Aeron said nothing. Maren's skin went cold despite the heat in the room. “No.” His expression tightened. “No what?” “I know that face.” “You don't.” “I know enough.” She pushed herself from the bed. Aeron moved again. She pointed at him. “Don't.” He stopped. Maren stood. Bare feet on black stone. The borrowed nightdress someone had put on her fell to mid-calf. She did not want to think about who had changed her clothes. Aeron seemed to read the thought. “The physician is female.” “I didn't ask.” “You were about to.” Infuriating man. “Tell me.” Aeron's gaze dropped. For the first time, the Dragon King seemed afraid. Not of her. For her. “I have known you before.” Maren's heart struck painfully. “No.” “Three times.” “No.” “In three lives.” “Stop.” His voice roughened. “I watched you die in all of them.” Maren backed away. “No.” “And every time you returned, you remembered nothing.” “Stop.” “The first time it took me nine years to find you.” She hit the wall. Aeron didn't move toward her. “The second, twenty-three.” “Shut up.” “The third—” “Aeron.” Her voice cracked. He stopped. Maren pressed one hand to her chest. Her heart pounded beneath it. The flame. The memories. His mouth. His grief. None belonged to her. They could not. “I don't know you.” Aeron's face changed. She saw the words hurt him. Good. They hurt her too. “I know.” “No, you don't.” His jaw tightened. “You're looking at me like I'm someone else.” “I know.” “Stop.” Aeron looked away. Maren breathed. Once. Twice. Then the skin over her sternum burned. She gasped. Aeron's head snapped back. Golden light appeared beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress. A mark. A curved line of flame directly above her heart. Aeron went white. Maren stared down. “What is that?” He didn't answer. The mark brightened. Heat crossed the room. Aeron staggered as if struck. Then a matching golden line ignited beneath his open collar. Maren could see it. Same shape. Same flame. The Emberbond. Aeron whispered something in the old dragon tongue. Maren understood none of it. But his expression told her everything. This was bad. “How bad?” Aeron's eyes met hers. His voice was barely audible. “The bond has never awakened this early.” “What does that mean?” “It remembers you.” Her skin burned hotter. Aeron's gaze fell to the mark beneath her nightdress. Then immediately rose again. Control. Visible. Painful. Maren suddenly became aware of him as a man. Not a king. Not a dragon. A man standing several metres away trying very hard not to come closer. The mark pulsed. And Maren felt— want. Not hers. His. Deep. Violent. Immediately smothered. She inhaled sharply. Aeron's face hardened. “What did you feel?” Maren stared. He already knew. “Nothing.” “Maren.” “Do not use my name like that.” His eyes darkened. “Like what?” “Like you've said it while—” She stopped. A memory flashed. His mouth against bare skin. Her hands in his hair. Aeron's voice, rough, saying a different name against her throat. Maren's body heated. Not memory alone. Response. Present. She hated that. Aeron smelled it. She saw the exact moment. His pupils narrowed into vertical slits. Dragon. His fingers curled. He turned away. Maren's breathing became shallow. “What happens now?” Aeron stared at the mountains. “We prevent the bond from progressing.” “Why?” Silence. Maren's fear sharpened. “Aeron.” He answered without turning. “Because if your memories fully return, you may not remain yourself.” The room went still. “What?” Aeron faced her. His golden eyes were bleak. “In your last life, remembering the first began changing you.” Maren couldn't breathe. “You became less yourself every day.” “No.” “You spoke in her voice. Wanted things she had wanted. Forgot people from the life you were living.” Maren's stomach turned. Aeron continued. “I promised you before you died that if you ever came back again, I would not wake the past.” The mark burned. Maren stared at him. “You knew.” “Yes.” “You recognized me the moment I walked into your throne room.” “Yes.” “And you weren't going to tell me.” “No.” Rage rose. Hotter than Embermagic. “You arrogant—” “I was going to let you leave.” That stopped her. Aeron looked at her with the expression of a man forcing a blade through himself. “You asked me not to find you again.” Maren remembered the snow. Her other voice. Don't. Don't find me again. Aeron's jaw tightened. “So I didn't.” Maren stared. “But I found you.” “Yes.” “And now?” His eyes dropped to the glowing mark over her heart. The Dragon King's voice became very quiet. “Now fate has remembered what I was trying to forget.”