A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,62

blades were sharp, her army was vast, her power endless. She was hardened by fire, then by sand, finally by blood. She had not thought this place could hurt her.

Yet some pain drove past armor, and some memories haunted even great queens of cruel desert lands. As Solina walked toward Elethor's old home upon the hill, that pain clutched her heart and twisted.

It was a small home for a prince—a narrow hall, its walls lined with columns, their capitals shaped as dragons. It rose upon a hill where grass had once rustled, pines rose like sentinels, and birds always sang. Solina remembered the old smell of the place, the sweetness of lilac in the gardens, the wine that forever poured here, the musk of him as they made love between these walls. Now the grass was burnt, the pines fallen, and she only smelled smoke and blood. The columns still stood, but while they were once snowy white, soot now stained them.

"This was a good place," Solina whispered as she walked uphill. "This was the only place we found peace, away from the court of the cruel king."

She stepped between columns toward the hall's doors. Once carved with dragons and stars, they were now charred and cracked; the phoenix fire had reached even this place, the doors to her chamber of old secrets. When she shoved them, the doors opened, showering ash. Solina stepped inside, heart like a bird caught in her ribcage.

She saw the chambers as they had been, lush with flowers from the gardens, warm with pillows and divans, sweet with the secrets of forbidden love. She would lie naked here by his side, holding him, and they would talk and kiss and laugh until dawn rose. She remembered the wooden turtle with emerald eyes he had carved her, and his songbirds in their golden cage, and the tears she cried here when the pain of exile was too strong.

The room now lay in ruin. The fire had burned those pillows, divans, and flowers. All that remained were seven marble statues, life-sized, and Solina's breath caught.

They were her.

She stepped toward one, tears stinging her eyes, and touched its cheek. The statue stared back, a girl blossoming into womanhood, pure and beautiful, her eyes soft and her lips smiling. She was draped in cascading robes that revealed her left breast, and her hands were held out as in offering.

"Oh, Elethor," she whispered.

He had not forgotten. He still loved her, had missed her like she missed him, and suddenly Solina was trembling. She wanted those days back, if only for a respite from this pain and fire. She wanted to see the wooden turtle again, and hear the birds sing, and lie with him and kiss him with all those forbidden kisses.

She looked away.

"But those days are gone," she said and clenched her fists. "I was an exile then. I was afraid. I was weak. I was burned. I returned to my southern land, and now I come here as a queen."

Sudden rage exploded in her. Who was that smiling, beautiful woman carved of marble? That was not her. Not anymore. The dragons had burned her, ruined her beauty, scarred her face and soul. With a snarl, Solina drew her dagger and pulled it down the statue's face. The marble chipped, and she kept hacking at it, until a rut halved the statue's face.

"There," Solina said and touched the scar that rent her own face. "Now you are Solina of Tiranor, burned with fire, seeking revenge."

She moved between the other statues, hacking at them, until scars snaked down their faces, torsos, and legs. She would allow no more memories of pureness to fill this chamber. Those memories were lies.

"My power is truth," she whispered.

She opened her leather pack and looked inside. Nestled between rations, sharpening stones, and bandages lay a box carved of olive wood, a foot long and half as wide. Golden runes of suns and flames lined the wood, twisting and glowing. When Solina touched the box, it nearly seared her hand. The weapons within buzzed as if begging for release.

"Soon your fire will be unleashed," Solina whispered. With an angry jerk, she sealed her pack, spun around, and marched out of Elethor's house. She walked downhill between charred pines and birches, jaw clenched, refusing to look back. She would never return.

"I will scar you too, Elethor," she whispered as ash blew around her boots and phoenixes shrieked in the sky. "I will destroy all memories of this