Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier Page 2

“Being famous is strange, Bernard. Even before that book was written, I was mobbed in Peterhaven.”

  “I remember, lordship,” he said, “I can still pass by unnoticed, except by those women who have researched you hard and then had me pointed out to them.” He looked me up and down. “You want a black wig, lordship. Nobody would know you then.” I thought about it. My blonde hair was distinctive, especially in the longer style I was wearing. I was ignoring suggestions to cut it short.

  “I could dye my hair,” I said.

  “The papers would do a sketch of you with your new hair colour,” he said, “and call it news.” He grimaced at the notion. “By the way I have a list of parties you’re invited to, lordship, over the holidays.” I gestured to my hair.

  “What do you think I should do?” I said.

  “Put on a hat,” he said, “and don’t ride your black-and-white creature too slowly through the town.” He meant my horse Magpie, who was another gift from the king, in Magpie’s case for my sixteenth birthday. Bernard gave me a kind look. “I won’t suggest you cut your hair, I understand you’re making a statement about being young and independent of adults by copying your friends.”

  I laughed in spite of being mocked. He smiled and tapped the paper. “I need to say if you’re going to the parties. The ones with an X are where His Royal Highness has said he’s going, and hopes you will.” I said I’d go to some of them, choosing the ones with a sit-down meal over dances.

  Standing for a long time didn’t do my injuries any good. My leg would start to ache. Aunt Kristen had attacked me at the end of November. I was still recovering in mid-January when I was shot and very ill again, my physical recovery set back. I wasn’t having that., not after I’d worked so hard with Virginia trying to recover from the first set of injuries. With the rage over her pointless death to fuel me, my left arm was recovering.

  I also plotted. I wanted to prove Young Perry was behind the assassin before he either tried again to kill me or went for Azrael. I had no luck at all with that.

  ****

  That last year at school passes like a flash in memory, but as we lived it passed slowly. At the slightest provocation Azrael still told me he loved me. I’d read up on the psychology of love and told him he was infatuated, didn’t really love me, but was in love with the idea of love. I may have mentioned before that some men get a case of hero worship over me. Did I mention that I have no real idea why?

  True, Azrael and I had sex a few times around our sixteenth birthdays last September. I’d called a halt when I realised it meant more than just sex for him. It hadn’t stopped his crush on me, but I figured if I was just firm about it, we’d be fine.

  Bit by bit, I regained strength, weight and even put on an inch in height. I worked like a demon. I cut sex down to what I considered almost not doing it, a once-a-week event. With others, I mean, the rest of the time I could do it myself. I was insanely fit, insanely focused. Azrael and I turned seventeen.

  As the warm weather began, by the November of that year - as I finished the last exam - I was ready to snap.

  ****

  Chapter 2 – Hedonism In Scales

  To start my summer I began some hard partying. I was in the right place. Peterhaven was filled with people looking for fun. It was the Season, and I’d never have kept track of all the sex with if it wasn’t for Bernard - and Bryce the night man - noting the visitors as they came into the suite. It was important to keep track of, in case of accidental pregnancy.

  By December I was completely out of control and in the midst of an experimental drinking binge. Up until then, I’d been a smoker of mindweed, but rarely drank. Alcohol affected my eyes badly, and my good night vision would disappear.

  On the 13th, a Friday night, at the official End of Year Ball for the Class of 2978 A.E., I met Miriam Westwych, cat’s-eyed granddaughter to Azrael’s Great-Uncle Randolph. Great-Uncle Randy wasn’t cat’s-eyed but his wife was. She was also his second cousin. If I had it right, Miri’s parents were also second cousins to each other. I found this out at first meeting, which is how it goes with the Blood. Whose child are you?

  Miri, as she said I should call her, was one of those women who are tiny but perfectly formed. About five feet one, though she claimed it was five-one-and-three-quarters. She had long black hair that she tossed backwards over one shoulder with an imperious gesture that made her look like some miniature princess. Big blue eyes, marked with an orbital in black opal. Like looking into the heavens. A body sleek with hard muscle, curves with it, and breasts I was wanting to cup.

  I was drunk on champagne cocktails. One started with a tall flute glass, popped in a shot of peach schnapps over a hulled split strawberry, and topped up to the brim with champagne. One was lovely, two were guaranteed to blow your bloody head off. I decided I adored living at the citadel. I also adored Miri’s perfect half-circle breasts, the way they-

  “Polo?” she said. I blinked. Did I say that aloud? “Have you been struck dumb?” said Miri. “You’re starting to freak me out staring like that.” Oh gods.

  “Sorry,” I said, thinking as fast as the alcohol would let me, “you have black opalescence in your eyes, like my mother. Uh, I mean, not exactly. Just that it’s unusual.” She was going to think I was an idiot. A creepy idiot. “Was wondering if we’re related.” I tried to smile nicely. Everyone said I had a lovely smile.

  “If you’re related to Azrael,” she said, “then you and I must be cousins.” I gave her a bit of eye-twinkle. “He’s my second cousin,” she said, “my grandfather and Great Uncle Theo are brothers.” I nodded, as if it all made perfect sense.

  “I’m second cousin to Azrael through Grandpa Casterton, I think, and that’s closest,” I said. She looked interested. “It’s about third cousin through my Grandmama Daeva Casterton,” I added, and I wasn’t imagining it, Miri had this glint in her eyes.

  “Oh,” she said, “you come from inbred cousins.” She leaned up and beckoned me to bend down so she could reach my ear. I leaned over. “Close enough for it to be hot,” she said in a throaty whisper, and bit my ear lobe.

  It was difficult to stop getting hard right then. I would have tumbled her on first sight and liked her when we talked, then fell for her inside the hour.

  Inside two hours, I was inside her, up against the citadel wall, in the sheltering darkness between the lights that lit the gardens, glad I always carried condoms. After that, we found a bed.

  ****

  I was half-dozing, Miri’s body curled across mine, the first time she said,

  “Do you trust me?” I must have fallen asleep.

  The second time, I woke up properly. “Do you trust me, Polo?” I breathed out. What was I doing tied to the bed?

  “Trust you?” I said, playing for time. What in the name of Galaia was her name? I lifted my head. I could see I was bloodied and bruised from scratches and bites, and from the feel of it there were carpet burns on both sides of my body. One of my knees was bleeding.

  The opal in her dark blue eyes caught the dawn’s soft light as the expression on her face dared me. She was Miriam Westwych, how could I have forgotten? My perfect woman. Pleasantly perverted, like me.

  “Do you trust me, Polo?” she asked again. I smiled.

  “Always,” I said. She teased and rode me in a slow, grinding, tumble. Somewhere it transformed.

  Her eyes had been dreamy, now they weren’t. I tested my bonds surreptitiously and discovered they were tied tight. I squinted at a professional series of bowlines, sheepshanks, and square knots. She seemed to know her ropes. I suddenly remembered Miri had switched from champagne cocktails to juice or coffee quite early in the evening. I hadn’t, but we hadn’t stayed drinking for long, so by then - first light - I was moderately sober and could see quite well.

  “Miri?” I said, “I’m uncomfortable. Undo me, please.” She didn’t answer. This was what happened when things got kinky without first establishing ground rules like safewords. “Miri!” Still nothing. �
�Don’t make me call a servant, Miri. That will be embarrassing for both of us.” She smiled. I yanked and strained at the bonds, muscles bulging and cording, tendons standing out. The pain was excruciating and the ropes were cutting into my wrists and ankles but I kept going.

  “It’s alright, Polo,” she said, “I sent them all away. No one will hear us.” She was starting to sound crazy, and not in a fun way. The ropes wouldn’t give. I jerked at them repeatedly and couldn’t even get the heavy bedstead to creak. She rubbed against me as I struggled. I stopped, gasping.

  “Other servants will hear-”

  “But the doors are all locked,” she said, smiling, her tone sweet, “and you know how thick the doors are here. It’s making me so hot, you helpless like this.” Her hips began to grind again. “Sorry.”

  Sorry, I thought blearily, sorry for what? She leaned carefully to the bedside table, and picked up my knife belt. I was one of the few people allowed to carry a knife inside the citadel, a special dispensation from the king after I’d saved Azrael from an admittedly small dragon with only a vase of flowers. felt the cold onset of real fear.

  “Miri?” I said again. She patted my chest with her free hand, freeing the guard on the haft with other and then shaking the sheath off.

  With dramatic suddenness, I was completely sober and straight, very afraid and trying not to show it. Adrenalin pumped round my body as Miri sighted professionally along the blade and licked her thumbnail then gently laid the blade edge along her wet nail. It was a very good knife, razor-sharp. Without cutting or catching, it slid as if on ice, held away from her nail by the lubricating saliva.

  “Nice, Polo,” she said, “where did you get it?”

  “The king,” I said, trying to sound calm, “it was an investiture present, when he made me heir to Starshore.” The thought struck me. “Do you want to be queen, Miri? Because Azrael would be more than happy to stand aside. He could go into the army without worrying about the kingdom.” Miri was still astride me, a focus of heat on my groin. To my surprise my cock began to harden and she wriggled against it, laughing.

  “Mmm,” she said, “could we do that? You could go to war too.” I got harder. My cock was insane, or perhaps it still thought Miri was desirable.

  “There,” I said, trying not to sound nervous, “you see, even he thinks it’s a good idea.” She gave me a condescending smile.

  “I’m not stupid, Polo,” she said, “I know you’re scared and trying to distract me. Making me promises. Is this what you do to all the girls?” I yanked at the ropes again.

  “Galaia’s sake, Miri,” I said, forgetting to humour her, “let me go! It’s not funny. And put that bloody knife away!”

  “It’s not bloody,” she said, eyes wide, then her hand shot across my chest and she said, “Oops, now it is.” The pain took a moment to start but I knew it was coming, I could see the cut. It began with a sting, blood welled rapidly in the shallow laceration, then the stinging suddenly ramped into a spike of pain that didn’t let go. I swore. She giggled, inspecting the blade.

  “Oh,” she said, and pouted, “no blood on it.” Collecting the blood on my chest with a fingertip, she licked her finger. I was incredibly angry, mostly over being such a damn idiot. Fuelling the anger was rage at Miri for refusing to let me go. For cutting me, I was prepared to forego my usual rules about violence towards women, at least until I had her subdued and on the way to the asylum. I tried for the calm tone that always showed results when Fenric used it.

  “Miri,” I said, “let me go.” She smiled. Bounced a little.

  “Or?” she said.

  “Or what?” I said. She wiggled. Smiled more. Gods, she’s mad, I thought, she’s mad-and-armed inside the citadel. She’s going to kill Theo, Azrael too, and it will be my fault. She pouted and ran a finger over my bleeding chest then licked her finger again.

  “People usually make threats, you know?” she said. “They say they’ll kill me, have me committed, have me skinned. I was thinking you might turn into a dragon, with your bloodlines.”

  I barely heard the last part, thinking, usually? Usually? Someone could have warned me. Incredulous that this insane woman was able to wander about, and personally unable to do more than twitch, I watched as she reached lower with the blade. I sucked my belly in, away from the edge. She turned the blade, touched me with the blunt back. “You’re supposed to beg here,” she said, in a cheerful tone, “or turn into a dragon.”

  I snarled at her instead.

  A dragon. The words penetrated my fear.

  “Oh,” said Miri, rubbing against me, “you want me to make you beg? I could get off on that.” Time seemed so slow as she reached out, grabbed my nipple and stretched it out, moving the knife closer. “Now, beg for me, Polo. Do I need to cut a slice off?” I roared with anger and focused everything into breaking the damn ropes. I am the sum of all my parts, I am the sum of all my- a dragon!

  For one horrible and excruciating moment, I exploded. Or perhaps imploded. I fully expected to see my life flash before my eyes. There was a split second to think that I was having a heart attack, maybe a brain haemorrhage, or that in a freakish and painful coincidence I’d broken all my bones at once. Perhaps all three things were happening simultaneously.

  Another moment and I was sure I’d lose hands and feet with the cords tightening around wrists and ankles, then the ropes snapped. I tried to swing at Miri but was still caught up.

  She yelped and threw herself backwards, bouncing over the side of the bed and onto the carpet. She scrambled to her feet as I shredded the ropes. I sat, shaking, legs over the edge of the mattress. Miri’s voice was soothing.

  “I’m putting the knife on the bedside table, Polo, it’s alright. It’s done now. It’s alright.” I was vaguely conscious of her moving. Blood trickled down from the slanted line in my chest. My black, scaled chest. I sucked a breath. Then I looked at my forearm, which was also glittering black. Carefully, as my hands had claws, I touched my scaled right thigh. I slid off the bed. Movement was tricky. Walking wasn’t quite the same. To my unutterable disappointment, I had no wings. Miri stepped towards me.

  “I swear, Miri,” I said, and coughed, my voice a snarling animal sound. I tried to clear my throat. “I will hit you if you touch me.” She grinned.

  “You are such a grump!” she said, sounding cheerful, “I knew you could do it. Do you need blood, to turn back? You can bite me if you want.” One of the ways Dragon might fuel their shape-changing, which could include healing of wounds, was with blood from another person who was Blood or Dragon. Miri offered me her wrist. “I’m sorry I was so crazy, but I had to stress you enough, you see? Then implant the idea. Uncle Stefan said he thought you could. It was a matter of raising the emotion with nowhere for it to go.” I shook my head, which wasn’t the same. Nothing was. I sat down again on the bed. “Polo?”

  “What?” I said. She smiled.

  “One day,” she said, “you’ll thank me. I can understand you’re a bit annoyed now.” She plonked down next to me. “Sorry about the cut. How does it feel?” She waved a hand at me. My tail snapped around my legs, making me start. “Still tightly wired, huh?” she said. I swung my head to look at her, feeling deja vu, then realising it was the dream, or at least the dragons I’d dreamed. What I was remembering was the way the dragons moved. I realised what she was saying. Speech required thought.

  “You did this?” I said. “Deliberately?” She giggled, looking delighted. I began to laugh. It didn’t sound like me. I growled, trying not to smile. “Bloody woman.” She bounced over and sat next to me.

  “Well, you’ve changed shape,” she said, “isn’t it wonderful?” She touched my skin. It felt different and looked it too. Black, shining, scales. I was bigger, bigger than I was usually. I felt good. Shaky but good. I held up my hand, palm up, and she fitted hers to it, so small in comparison. She laughed. “You should have seen your eyes! I thought you were maybe going to burst a blood vessel before it happened. I didn’t
really want to cut you again. We’re both a bit battered already.”

  For the first time I noticed that she had as many bites, bruises, and carpet burns as I did. I looked around. I was seeing very well. I looked back at Miri. There was a glow around her. Life, instinct told me, I could see she was alive.

  Fenric was right! Gods, what a gift for a soldier! Ambush, if one was paying attention, was almost impossible. I could see life! There were worn patches in her life force where she was injured but nothing seemed serious. The worst was between her thighs.

  “Did I hurt you,” I said, “when I changed?”

  “Well, that part was a shock,” she said, grinning, “I’m alright, but I do think I’ll bruise.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said and she patted my leg. She looked so tiny next to me. I was a dragon. It felt strange. High expectations amounting to nothing much. Although I supposed the size and skin would be handy. And the vision. “How tall am I?”

  “Stand up?” she said, and stood me against the wall. “I’m going to get the knife, to mark the wall, okay? I’m not a danger to you, Polo Shawcross.” After she made a mark, I lay down, feeling relaxed.

  What was it Virginia said about how to change? I think myself there. I imagined myself and decided to be there. To my surprise, it worked. In a shimmering but excruciating series of blinks I was back to my own form. I stood and looked at the mark on the wall, a good foot above my usual six foot plus.

  “Utterly amazing,” said Miri, in an awed tone, “and look, your skin.” I looked at my body. For a moment I didn’t understand, then I saw. My knees weren’t pink and sore from carpet burns. No bites or bruises either, and no cut on my chest. Where I should have rope-burns from my recent bondage there was nothing. I was neatly healed. Old scars like my dragon scars and the one from the crossbow bolt were still there but even they were less prominent. “I think,” said Miri, sounding thoughtful, “that you could probably lose your scars if you wanted. With some focus. Handy trick. I could do with losing all these bite marks on my thighs. It’s interesting. Shape-changing takes healing a step further.” I winced at the look of the dark bruises.