A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,13
the young Princess Mori who stood trembling upon the palace's marble tiles.
"Hush, child, you're safe now," whispered Adia. The priestess stepped forward, white robes fluttering, and embraced Mori. "Nobody will hurt you here."
Lyana looked at the two—her mother and her princess—and her throat tightened. I am a knight of Requiem, she thought. I am betrothed to a prince. Yet now I too want to weep into a warm embrace. Now I wish my mother held me, her daughter, the way she holds our princess.
The princess wept, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Blood caked her hair and tears etched lines down her ashy face. She whimpered and clung to Adia, digging her fingers into the priestess's robes.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
Adia raised her eyes and looked over the weeping girl's head. She stared at the Oak Throne of Requiem, which stood upon a marble dais engraved with gilded leaves.
"Please, Your Highness," the priestess said, "let me take her to the temple. I will tend to her there."
King Olasar sat upon his throne of twisting oak roots. His brows were heavy and black, his beard snowy white. A tall man clad in dark green and steel, he held a sword on his lap—Stella Lumen, ancient blade of the legendary Lacrimosa, the queen who had fought the tyrant Dies Irae and reigned over ruins. He was a wise king, Lyana thought, and a brave warrior. She loved him like a second father.
"Not yet, Adia," the king said, eyes dark. "Let my daughter speak. Mori, look at me. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything."
Still clinging to Adia, the princess looked up at her father. Tears spiked her lashes and her lips trembled.
"They killed him," she whispered. "They killed Orin, Father! They killed him."
Lyana stared.
Her heart shattered inside her.
Orin. My betrothed. No. No…
Tears filled her eyes. Pain gripped her heart and squeezed. She looked up at her mother with burning eyes, at her father who stood by the throne, at Prince Elethor who gasped. Tears blurred her vision and the world spun around her.
Orin. Dead.
The grief swelled through the hall. Lyana found herself clinging to Elethor, digging her fingers into his back. He held her, tears in his eyes, his breath heavy. King Olasar rose to his feet, his chest heaved, and even this great ruler's eyes filled with tears. Lord Deramon gritted his teeth and clutched his axe, and the warriors who served him, guards of the throne, cried in grief.
He's gone. Stars, he's gone. My betrothed. My love. My Orin.
Lyana trembled as the world crashed around her. If the columns of this palace fell and King's Forest burned, she'd have felt no less grief and shock.
Her father spoke first. Captain of the City Guard, Deramon raised his voice above the cries of grief; it boomed across the hall.
"Who killed the prince?" he demanded. He was perhaps the greatest warrior in Requiem, a gruff man of muscle and grit, but even his eyes shone with tears. "Who killed Prince Orin?"
Mori dared not look at Deramon; she had always feared the lord's fiery beard, booming voice, and blazing eyes. Face pale, the princess ran to her father. She clung to the king. For the first time, Lyana noticed that blood slicked the princess's thighs, and an iciness seized her. She shivered. They killed Orin, and stars, what did they do to Mori?
"Tirans," Mori whispered, voice so soft, Lyana barely heard. "They bore the sun of Tiranor on their armor. Their swords were curved and gilded; they looked like beaks. They had golden skin, and blue eyes, and hair like platinum. I… they could fly, Father! They flew as firebirds, great beasts of flame. They are coming. They will be here soon. They burned him! And they will burn us. Father… they are coming, they…"
Mori's eyes rolled back, and she fell limp in the king's arms.
Lyana wanted to faint too. She forced herself to breathe, to focus her eyes, to clutch her sword. Tiranor attacking Requiem? She clenched her jaw. Tiranor had not attacked Requiem since the war nearly thirty years ago, a decade before Lyana's birth. She knew little of Tirans, only that they were proud, tall, and fair—a beautiful and cruel desert people with sapphire eyes and blades that thirsted for blood. Why would they attack Requiem?
But of course Lyana knew. She whispered the answer through cold lips.
"It's Solina."
Solina. The orphaned princess of Tiranor, taken captive to Requiem after the devastating war. Solina, who loved Elethor,