Magic-Born Dragon: Book Two of the Dragon Born Trilogy

  “But, you haven’t paid me for my information,” he said, his eyes locked with Rowen’s.

  Feyda stood in front of Rowen, shielding her. She tossed a coin purse on the table. “There’s your payment. Now, put your eyeballs back in your head before I claw them out with my fingernails.”

  Rowen’s eyes widened. Where Feyda got the nerve to speak to the captain like that was beyond her, but along with fear of retaliation, she was also proud that this woman was her master.

  Princess Noemie of Withrae wasn’t even bold enough to speak to a man that way. Let alone a feared pirate.

  Blackthorn slapped the tabletop, and Rowen jumped. Instead of yelling at them, he flashed a grin and snatched the coin purse from the table. Without another word, he and Grimble left the tavern.

  When Feyda turned to Rowen, she noticed that the woman was visibly shaken despite her hardened demeanor and words to the captain.

  “Ro, get Perdan. We need to leave this town tonight.”

  Nodding, Rowen hurried away. The sense of urgency filled her with adrenaline. She didn’t want Captain Blackthorn storming into their room that night, and wasn’t too confident that Feyda or Perdan could fight him off.

  She hadn’t been so afraid since she escaped Captain Elian’s ship. When did fear become such a common occurrence? Rowen wrung her hands, searching the tavern for Perdan’s familiar face. If only Prince Lawson was still alive, all her troubles would be over. Remembering him was too painful, so she shoved the image of his handsome face from her mind and focused on the matter at hand.

  The tavern’s air was thick with cigar smoke and the scent of sweat and ale. The floor was slick with the dark liquid. It was dimly-lit, with only candles on the tables and torches on the beams that held up the ceiling. In this part of town, beauty was more of a curse than an asset. Rowen could have easily joined the local brothel if she were desperate. But, since she did not plan on whoring herself out to the dirty men who frequented the pleasure houses, she kept her head covered, and her eyes down. It was easier that way, but sometimes she was spotted, and like wolves, the men chased her with their grubby hands and lude remarks.

  Rowen ignored their comments, and like a ghost, she managed to glide through the tavern with grace, untouched. At the back was an archway that connected the tavern to the brothel, Rowen paused.

  The women inside wore little more than their undergarments. Their makeup was exaggerated. Red lips and false lashes glued to their own, they were more like works of art than real people. But, the men they tended to were real enough, and Rowen spotted one with a black eye. Though she tried to hide it under powders and creams, Rowen knew one when she saw it.

  Afraid to step inside, Rowen held onto the wooden pillar as her eyes rested on Perdan. He flirted with a young man who sat on his lap. She was surprised that the brothel had both male and female whores, and the deep reddening of her cheeks displayed it for all to see.

  “Perdan,” she called, softly.

  He turned to her, his dull blue eyes glossy with intoxication. “What is it?”

  “Feyda asked for me to find you. There’s trouble and we need to go. Right now.”

  She watched him kiss the man on the lips and lift him from his lap. Grabbing his shining wooden cane—more for fashion than necessity—Perdan smoothed his long blond hair and shirt.

  “Well, let’s get going,” he said, standing with an air of nobility about him.

  Rowen knew nobility, she’d grown up as part of its ruling class. Perdan and Feyda were good at pretending, and she’d keep her mouth closed as long as they kept her safe.

  “So,” he said, hooking his arm around Rowen’s. “What’s the bloody fuss all about? What did my beloved mother get us into?”

  Rowen exhaled. “Captain Blackthorn. He seems like trouble. I think she just wants to be careful.”

  “Ah,” Perdan said, nodding. “Now, that’s the kind of man you don’t want to cross. Looks like we’ll be traveling by moonlight.”

  He looked down at Rowen, with adoration now that she’d proven herself to not be any trouble, and a hard worker. Somehow, over the past week, they’d become friends.

  “He saw you, didn’t he?”

  Rowen nodded and licked her lips. “I knew I should have stayed in the room.”

  “But why? You’re too nosy for that,” he said.

  “I am not!”

  He chuckled. “You don’t think mother and I don’t notice how suspicious you are. You’re always listening, always watching with those storm-colored eyes of yours. But, we don’t mind. We’ve nothing to hide, little Ro.”

  Rowen hated that he brought up her gray eyes. Lawson used to say the same thing. He’d call them the color of a storm. “You can’t blame me for staying alert. A girl has to.”

  “Right you are,” Perdan said, opening the tavern door. “Right you are.”

  They made it out of the tavern and into the night. Soft raindrops fell onto them and Rowen was glad to have a hood on her cloak. Before long, it would be soaked through if they didn’t make it to the inn and pack up their things.

  The streets were still bustling, as the night was still young. Rowen held tight to Perdan’s arm and together they crossed the stone roads to the two-story inn just behind the statue of King Olwen of Kabrick.

  Her eyes went straight to the statue’s and it reminded her of the Dragon statues throughout Withrae. Having grown up there since birth, she didn’t miss it. If she could return and free her mother from that place, she would.

  The Red Dragon could solve all her problems.

  Perdan paused just beside the statue. He held tight to Rowen and she looked up to see his eyes narrowed. “Wait here,” he said in a whisper.

  Warnings flooded Rowen as Perdan left her behind. A scream came from inside the inn, and Perdan broke into a sprint. To Rowen’s surprise, he slid the cover of his cane off to reveal a shining skinny, silver sword. She stepped back, hoping to find cover behind the statue.

  “There you are,” Captain Blackthorn said, and Rowen spun around to face him. “I was looking for you.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped away. He was accompanied by three more pirates, and from the sounds of the calamity within the inn, he had more with him.

  “Be a nice girl and come here,” he said, his grin flashing in the dark. Dark eyes and even darker intentions, Rowen shook her head.

  “What do you want?” She asked, though her imagination could come up with a few ideas that turned her stomach.

  He stopped and held his arms out. The moon’s light reflected off the dagger inside his cloak and the hilt of the sword on his hip.

  Rowen wasn’t one for weapons. Her hands. They were her only protection. She shook. After failing to use her power on Gavin, she was now uncertain if that could help her now.

  “You, princess. Just you,” he purred, and before he could take another step, Rowen turned and darted across the street.

  She pumped her arms, and her cloak fell from her head revealing her strawberry blond hair as she ran into the inn. Inside, pirates tore through the place, and Feyda and Perdan were nowhere to be seen.

  Rowen abandoned her idea to find them, and grabbed hold of the first pirate to cross her path. He flinched and opened his mouth to shout at her.

  It was too late. With one touch, he belonged to her. Her ability to strip away the will of her prey was all she had, and she used it without a second thought.

  Her brows arched as she quickly spoke her command. Her power—hot and pulsating—surged from her belly, up her arms, and into the palms of her hand. With a silent jolt, the power shot into the pirate in waves.

  “Kill Blackthorn,” she said, and released him to run back outside.

  Faster than Blackthorn and armed with a power he could never understand, Rowen ran from the inn as the pirate pushed Blackthorn into the street and raised his ax.

  Rowen glanced over her shoulder to see Blackthorn stab the pirate in the gut.

  Her e
yes widened.

  She should have chosen a bigger pirate, or one with better fighting skills. As she turned the corner, hands reached out to her.

  “Feyda,” Rowen breathed with relief.

  Feyda grabbed her by the hand and Perdan motioned for them to follow him down the back alleyway.

  “Hurry,” he said. “I set a trap in the inn. It’ll keep the pirates busy, but not for long.”

  Rowen followed, her legs burning as they all ran at full speed to their cart and horses at the end of the alley.

  “Just a little something Mother used to warn me not to use when I was a kid,” he said. “It’s called the Spell of Discord. Very handy, it is.”

  “Enough chatter,” Feyda warned. “Get us out of here. Take the Reed route to Billingsport.”

  Perdan nodded and once they reached the cart, he helped Rowen and Feyda inside and jumped in the seat up front to navigate the horses.

  Rowen leaned her back against the seat and tilted her head back to get as much air into her lungs as possible. Feyda handed her a flask of water and pulled a thick red blanket over herself, snug on a long cushion that ran along the side of the inside of the cart.

  Rowen drank it down and coughed when she realized it wasn’t water. Her tongue stung and she scrapped whatever it was off with her nails. It was too late, the liquid rushed down her throat and into her belly.

  “Yuck! What is this?”

  Feyda took the flask and drank the rest down. “It isn’t that bad. Just a little something to keep you awake. We all need to be alert. We have quite the journey and the roads are not safe.”

  Groaning, Rowen pulled her legs onto the seat and into her chest.

  This was the life of a fugitive. She was now certain that she would never be able to stop running.

  Not without the Red Dragon.

  Chapter 6

  Rowen prayed that they’d make it to dawn. She recounted old poems she’d learned during her years of boarding schools and academies. It was a comfort to remember the better times of her past, when she was free from the Duke’s scrutinizing eye.

  Hours went by as the elegant covered cart rolled along the dark back roads away from Chroix, toward Billingsport, her heart didn’t stop racing. Whatever concoction Feyda gave her kept her on the edge of her seat. Sleep was a distant memory, and she was on edge, ready for whatever came their way.

  “Calm yourself, Rowen,” Feyda said. “No pirate or bandit is going to harm us. I’ve enchanted the cart’s cover to make us look like poor farmers. Do not worry.”

  “They why give me the potion?”

  “I just need you alert in case we do have trouble. Perdan and I can protect ourselves, but now, we have a young charge to look after. Can’t have you ripped apart by Blackthorn and his men.”

  Rowen swallowed. Why didn’t she just stay in the room? This was all her fault. She wrung her hands and kept an eye on the still forest outside the carriage window.

  “Where are we going, Feyda?”

  Feyda pulled her shawl close. “Further inland. Kabrick is a big kingdom, but Perdan and I have business near Malcore.”

  Rowen lifted a brow. “Malcore? The Wastelands?”

  Silently, Feyda nodded. She watched Rowen, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Ever been?”

  She hadn’t, but she’d seen Malcore marked on the map to the Red Dragon. This was perhaps the best decision Feyda had made that week. At least she was getting closer to her goal. She just wondered when she’d find a chance to sneak away from them and continue her journey alone.

  “I haven’t. Just heard about it is all.”

  “I see. Do a lot of studying geography as a farm girl?”

  Rowen shot a look at her. Feyda knew more than she let on. “I didn’t say that. I just heard about it.”

  “Where are your parents, Ro? You never talk about them.”

  The question caught Rowen off guard, but she was quick to reply.

  “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Dear,” Feyda said, softly. “That must be hard for any young woman. To be alone in the world. I think fate brought us together. Don’t you?”

  Fate. Rowen was familiar with it. She’d never seen Feyda or Perdan in her prophecies. “I suppose it’s possible,” she said.

  Leaning forward, Feyda lowered her voice as her eyes narrowed and met Rowen’s. “Indeed. Anything is possible. I learned that ages ago when my mother brought my father back from the dead when I was just a girl of fifteen. It was a miracle.”

  “Incredible,” Rowen said, interested in learning more.

  Feydra shrugged with a sigh and sat back. “Didn’t last though. His skin turned to mush and he fell head first into the fireplace that night. I can still smell his flesh burning in my dreams,” Feyda whispered, scrunching up her nose as she looked far off.

  Rowen’s brows rose. “Really?”

  Feyda nodded. “That’s right. I was born with the gift of healing and other small powers. Necromancy was my mom’s thing. Not that she was the best at it.”

  “So,” Rowen began. “You come from human sorcerers?”

  “That’s right,” Feyda said. “And, you’re half Dragon, correct?”

  Rowen made her face unreadable. She was good at hiding her true feelings, but her insides burned with fear of being found out.

  “Listen, Ro. We found you in the Dragon realm. It doesn’t take a master scholar to figure out you are half human and half Dragon. I can tell by your skin that you’re not full-blooded, and human girls don’t go across the realm’s border. I just want you to understand that we don’t care one tiny bit about your past. But, if we’re going on this journey together, you should feel safe enough to tell me about yourself. No one is going to fault you or hurt you for your past. Not while I’m around. Understand?”

  Tears stung Rowen’s eyes, but she kept a blank expression. Instead of replying, she simply nodded and looked away. Could she truly believe Feyda’s words? They sounded nice, and even made her want to spill her secrets. But, Rowen knew better. Memories of Brea—her best friend from Withrae Castle—testified against her to the Dragon court. The betrayal stung like a knife to the heart.

  Never again would she let anyone get that close.

  “Billingsport is our final stop before we head toward the Wastelands,” Feyda said to herself as she pulled out her journal and looked through it.

  The carriage stopped. Rowen and Feyda exchanged glances, and then both leaned toward the side window to look outside. They pulled the curtains aside and looked out to a dark and dismal early dawn. The grass was wet with rain and mud, and a sullen-looking building of stone, wood, and hay stood before the cart.

  “Goodness gracious,” Feyda said. “We’re here.” She slapped the side of the cart. “Well done, Perdan.”

  He hopped to the ground. “I do what I can,” he said, stretching his long arms over his head with a yawn. “Can’t let dirty pirates snatch our little Ro from us.”

  With a breath of relief, Rowen sunk into the seat.

  “He probably gave the horses a bit of that potion,” Feyda said with a wink. “I raised him well.”

  Perdan opened the door to let them out.

  “We made it,” Perdan said. He held a hand out to help Rowen to the ground.

  She jumped down and looked at the inn before them. There was a dark stable just inside the stone enclosure. An old staircase led from the ground to the second floor.

  “The Purple Blunderbuck?” Rowen read the words on the sign outside on the stone wall that enclosed the inn in a square.

  “That’s right. Top quality lodging in this part of the realm. We’ve stayed here many times,” Feyda said. “Good ole’ Harold will make sure we’re comfortable during our stay.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t be for long,” Rowen mumbled. She just wanted to get back on the road and put as much distance between them and Blackthorn as possible.

  “Why?” Feyda asked, standing in front of Rowen with her hands on her hips. “You have somew
here to be that I should know about?”

  “No,” she muttered. The sky turned gray as dawn approached. The early song of a pack of birds in the birch trees filled the quiet morning.

  “Good,” Feyda said after checking her journal. She closed it and tucked it into her belt. “I need you to go to the cartwright shop and get me some more frost-weed for my rain charm. I need to enchant the cart’s canvas cover before we leave.”

  “Which shop?” Rowen frowned as she looked to the path that led around the inn and into the quiet town. The last time she was sent to a shop, she came back accused of murdering the man she loved.

  “The first one on the right. Don’t worry. I know the owner. The cartwright wakes up early and opens the shop at dawn,” Feyda said. She rummaged through her coin purse and handed Rowen two silver coins. “Give him this and ask for a bushel of frost-weed.”

  “Can’t you go?”

  Feyda lifted a brow, and tilted her head. “Again, do you have somewhere else to be?”

  “I just don’t want to go alone. I don’t know this place.”

  “You’ll be fine. Do as I say. I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”

  With a groan, Rowen closed her fist over the coins and pulled her cloak’s hood back over her head. The sun had barely come up, but she was off on an errand. She couldn’t, and probably shouldn’t complain. Perdan and Feyda had done a lot for her. Still, the tension from the night before lingered, and she was on alert for any suspicious men in town.

  The town of Billingsport was smaller than Croix, with less rowdy sailors and pirates. Or so it seemed. It was early, there would be much to discover throughout the day. Still, it was a good sign that they were more inland, and perhaps safe from the likes of Blackthorn.

  There was a central square with villagers setting up to sell their goods for the day. As Rowen turned the corner from the back of town, it reminded her of the little village near her childhood home in Harrow. Once a week, Rowen’s mother would take her there to shop for new ribbons and bows for her hats and dresses. Even the scent in the air brought back memories. The smell of fresh bread came from a small building at the end of the road with a chimney that pumped a thin line of smoke into the air. Her stomach grumbled and reminded her that she hadn’t had any supper. Perhaps if she finished her errand quickly enough, she’d be able to buy some for Feyda and Perdan.