Human hearts, p.1
Human Hearts, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Mary Beesley
Cover design by Cammie Larsen
Map by Adam Gray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To Abish. Who made her own choice and climbed the steep path toward the light.
CONTENTS
One - Forever a Prince, Never a King
Two - Mission Failure
Three - Hopeless
Four - Plans
Five - War
Six - It’s Time
Seven - Defeated
Eight - Grief
Nine - Attack
Ten - Disaster
Eleven - Camp
Twelve - Ashes
Thirteen - Raven
Fourteen - Culling Lives
Fifteen - Reports
Sixteen - Forward
Seventeen - Twisting Journey
Eighteen - Rebel
Nineteen - Infected
Twenty - Assassin
Twenty-one - Beast Among Humans
Twenty-two - Tender
Twenty-three - Queen
Twenty-four - Desires
Twenty-five - Betrayal
Twenty-six - Anticipation
Twenty-seven - Regium Blood
Twenty-eight - Reunion
Twenty-nine - Family Affair
Thirty - Wedding
Thirty-one - Becoming Queen
Thirty-two - Burning Friends
Thirty-three - Goodbye
Thirty-four - Hot Enough to Strike
Thirty-Five - Darkness Ahead
Thirty-six - Returning
Thirty-seven - Wolf Pack
Thirty-eight - Changes
Thirty-nine - First Mark
Forty - Alpha
Forty-one - Enforced with Steel
Forty-two - Forward
Forty-three - Consequences
Forty-four - Still Alive
Forty-five - Another Father to Kill
Forty-six - Unchained
Forty-seven - Shi Castle
Forty-eight - Risk
Forty-nine - Sisters
Fifty - Stay Close
Fifty-one - Washed Clean
Fifty-two - Finished
Fifty-three - Unchained
Fifty-four - Love
Fifty-five - Sweet Joy
Fifty-six - Home has a Heartbeat
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ONE - FOREVER A PRINCE, NEVER A KING
NOGARD
Nogard wanted rest, but the distant clash of blades, tang of blood, and cries of fear disturbed his peace.
His joints ached. His wings lay like iron sheets on his back. With effort, he peeled open a scaled eyelid on a world of ice and darkness. Hunger stirred, but he continued to ignore it.
Why must his children be so loud with their quarrels? He huffed out a long breath of annoyance, smoke swirling around him like mist.
His poisonous wind drifted south.
TWO - MISSION FAILURE
JADE
Jade tugged at her leather helmet, checking that it hid her furry, pointy ears as she slunk around the western edge of battle. She unbuckled her blood-splattered Draco Sang breastplate. The royal insignia, the top of a dragon head and a sword melded together, was painted on it in a deep purple. Her weary spine straightened as the weight lifted. As she hid the armor in the bushes, a welcome breeze cooled the sweat on her tunic.
Sword in hand, she stalked away from the battle raging on the banks of the Rugit River. The humans had fought more valiantly than she’d expected, holding the border all summer. But they would fall today. Queen Mavras’s Draco Sang army was mere hours from victory.
Jade had a job to do before her war chief, Laconius, claimed this land for their queen. She jogged southeast across empty training fields toward the tents and squat buildings of the humans’ war camp.
Ahead of her, two soldiers guarded the path leading toward the neat rows of tents. They squinted, studying her as she approached. Her face was nearly human. Dark skin ringed her eyes like heavy kohl. Her lips were purple above a pointy chin. She kept her mouth closed over sharp canine teeth. She was a jackal Draco Sang, but her face had not completed the transformation as she’d expected. No elongated nose and no fur on her cheeks. Her delicate features remained a sore spot in her pride but a boon when infiltrating Elysium. When she’d attended the enemy’s party in Mitera in her silky dress and make-up, no one had questioned her. Today, it seemed, she hadn’t done enough to hide her deadly aura or feral features as the two guards’ expressions turned wary. Gloves covered her furry hands, and she’d buttoned her tunic up her amber neck. There was nothing she could do about the coating of gore or stink of battle. She was small for a Draco, which helped with her deception.
She strode toward the humans, exuding confidence, acting as if she belonged on this side of the line. “The Dracos are breaking through on the west side.”
One of the guard’s eyes widened, and his hand went white on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
“Where is Captain Titus? I’m to report to him.” Her mission was to kill him.
The men’s moment of uncertainly cost them everything. If they’d answered and let her pass, Jade could have continued without the burden of their lives weighing on her tired shoulders. Instead, she plunged her short sword through the leather vest covering the man’s large belly and thrust upward. The second guard drew his blade, but Jade had already sent a knife at his throat. They both dropped. She held her breath as she yanked her small Dracosteel blade from the ruined neck. Again, she regretted leaving her favorite knife in Elysium. She should have retrieved it from Thirro’s chest, but Ferth had left her feeling distracted and emotional. It was un-Draco-like to abandon a quality weapon. Or leave a mark alive.
Jade banished the nagging thoughts and held her breath until she was four paces away. Still, she could smell death—acid, copper, pain, and regret. She couldn’t get away from the stench. These last months of battle, the rot had clung to her nostrils, clawed at her mind, and hacked at any softness in her heart. As the stink grew stronger, Jade realized she’d found the healers’ building.
The humans’ leader, Titus, hadn’t been seen yet this morning by the Draco scouts. His lion was fighting on the front line with the other abominations, but where was the army’s captain? He’d broken a leg in the last battle. Maybe he was inside with the other wounded. Jade skirted around the front, staying in the shadows as she watched a woman help a man without an arm through the open doors. His face was white as bone, his shirt red as poppies.
Jade sheathed her dirty sword. Dagger warming her palm, she slipped into the low building behind them. She hugged the wall. No one looked her way. Every cot held a groaning body, sometimes two. Healers ran from bed to bed, their faces as strained as the injured. Jade scanned the humans. She’d never seen Laconius’s archenemy, but she was to look for a man with two long scars cutting through pale blue eyes. She picked up linens from a nearby cart to hide her knife as she moved toward the back. Still no Captain Titus. Or Ferth. She couldn’t help but search for his face in every human she saw—and killed. She’d left him in Mitera two weeks ago. Alive and whole. And she’d left a piece of her weak heart with him.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the vision of Ferth that night. His hair was short, accentuating his hard jawline, strong nose, and full lips. His amber eyes glowed. He’d looked at her without judgment or disgust, as he always had. As if he still lov— She cut the thought off before it could do more damage. But he’d made it clear she was still important to him.
He’d saved her life.
When she’d attacked him, he’d fought defensively, never striking to kill. Her army called him a traitor, but she’d seen the steadiness in his stance, felt the power in his words. Those words twisted through her now. I still care about you. You will never be my enemy. I’m still me, but free. She couldn’t get his voice or his glorious human form out of her head. His hideous pink shirt had hung open in front, revealing corded muscles and stark scars. He did not hide his Draco brand or furless skin. He’d shone like the blasted moon on a clear night—the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.
She hated herself for thinking it.
She passed a woman writhing on a cot, her torso torn open. Jade ground her teeth, forcing herself not to look away from the pain and destruction her army had caused. Jade tried not to leave the humans to suffer. She preferred to kill them quickly—the only mercy that was hers to extend.
Three paces ahead, a healer rushed away from a soldier she’d been tending to. She wore a blue scarf over wavy brown hair—hair like Jade’s before her ma had shaved it last year when she’d joined the underlings. Now, she had short amber-gray fur on her scalp. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her beautiful hair until this moment. Seeing how it framed the healer’s delicate face in rich browns sent envy twisting through her belly. Her nostrils flared as she tried to dislodge the pathetic thoughts. She was here to kill.
Normally, she had no trouble blocking out unwelcome thoughts and emotions. Follow orders. Show no weakness. Strike first. Feel nothing. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the smell of sorrow all around her. Maybe it was nothing more than the familiar head of lovely hair, but the jackal Draco slowed her search. She shrank against th e wall as she watched these pitiable people try so hard. Impressive, especially in the face of certain doom.
The healer’s eyes turned glassy as she brought a hand up to her green-tinged face. Scarf-wrapped head tilted toward the floor, she stumbled straight toward Jade. Jade dropped into a corner, crouching behind the cot of an unconscious man. The healer fell to her knees on the dirty floor, grabbed a bedpan, and vomited. From the shadows on the other side of the same cot, Jade could see her well. If the healer bothered to look up, she’d see Jade too. The healer was younger than Jade first guessed and familiar, but she’d never met her before; she was sure of it. The woman ran a hand over her belly, pulling her apron tight. There was no swell of note, except the way she cradled her gut was significant. Jade stifled a gasp. Pregnant.
The woman sighed the sigh of the bone-weary, her smattering of freckles stark against her blanched face. She glanced left and right, never up, before her shoulders hunched and she pulled off the scarf.
Jade bit her tongue so hard she tasted metal.
Scarred into the healer’s forehead was the royal brand of Skotar, the top of the dragon icon brushing her hairline. Only the royal family had the right to that brand—inked over their hearts in purple dye. And every last Regium who had the right to bear it had been killed by Queen Mavras fifteen years ago.
Well, almost every one.
“Imanna!”
Jade flinched at the name yelled from the other side of the tent. The healer jolted. Still caved in on herself, the woman wiped the sweat off her face with her scarf and retied it over her brow. Only the tiniest tip of the sword-shaped scar was now visible.
Imanna closed her eyes, inhaling as if she could suck all the air in the world into her body. She turned away as she stood. “I’m coming.”
Jade fell back on her heels and grabbed the legs of the cot to steady herself. Sacora Imanna Regium. She’d be eighteen now.
The princess was alive.
Jade wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. The true heir of Skotar. Here in the humans’ losing army.
Jade peeked over the dying man’s cot, her thoughts a tornado. How? How? How?
“Uriah!” Pain laced Imanna’s cry, the sound slicing through Jade like a knife. Imanna dashed to the injured soldier teetering near the doors. His breastplate was gone, his tunic slashed open by a Dracosteel blade. A nasty cut gaped below his right nipple. Blood soaked his shirt, pants, and arms.
There were no empty cots, and the man was too big to share. Healers transferred a woman with a bandaged arm onto another bed. Uriah’s eyes rolled back as he fell over, barely making it halfway onto the dirty cot. Sacora—no, Jade shouldn’t think of the princess by that name. Too dangerous. Imanna whimpered like a dying kitten. Two strong assistants rolled the warrior over and centered him on the cot.
Imanna frantically pulled tools from a nearby tray, her jaw hard as granite. Her pale eyes gleamed as she cleaned his deep wound and accepted needle and thread from an assistant. Her lips quivered, but her fingers held steady as she pulled stitch after stitch through bloody skin.
Jade knew she should move. Search for Captain Titus. Chief Laconius would kill all the enemy soldiers, wounded or not, when they took this camp as their own. It would happen before the day was out. So much wasted effort. But Jade was paralyzed by the scene of devotion and despair. Her heart thrashed against her ribs, straining toward her Draco sister. Sister. Her heart snagged on the word, and her thoughts tangled like a spider’s web.
A man cut off Uriah’s shirt, revealing a muscled chest peppered with scars. And a Draco Sang brand over his heart.
Jade’s jackal-sharp eyes squinted. That soldier was born in Skotar. Another like Ferth. How many fallen Dracos were there in Elysium? Confusion swept over Jade. These people were supposed to be abominations. She should feel anger and disgust, but she thought of her ma and couldn’t. By example and by word, Ma had taught Jade that true strength came from the heart.
The same turmoil she’d felt since she’d seen Ferth in Mitera came rushing back. He’d been her Draco captain, her whole world. Then he’d betrayed both country and blood. Abandoned her without a goodbye. She wanted to hate him, to despise all these humans not worthy of their heritage, as Laconius did. But when she’d seen the fallen Ferth across that ballroom, at the end of her arrow, his handsome figure and fiery gaze had struck her heart. She hadn’t been able to kill him. Or his beautiful wolves. And she didn’t regret it.
Regret and remorse had no place in a Draco Sang breast.
Across the room, Imanna stanched the soldier’s bleeding chest with a linen compress, her hands coated crimson. “Stay with me, Uriah.” A servant handed her another needle and thread. “It’s going to be okay, my bravest bear.” He didn’t wake when she continued to pierce his flesh. “Don’t you dare die on me.” Her voice had turned hard and commanding. Yes, she sounded like a Regium.
A Regium was still alive. Another Regium. The rightful heir. But Imanna was unworthy of her dragon blood. No human would take the Draco Sang throne. Queen Mavras had nothing to fear. Jade had nothing to fear. Imanna didn’t need to die. She was already dead to the Draco Sang. No one needed to know otherwise.
But how could Jade walk away from… from… She rubbed at her own Draco brand. The lie. A common marking when she should have the same royal scar that marked Imanna’s brow.
Her sister. The word swirled around her head like strong wine. The truth of it burned through her soul. She gasped for breath.
Imanna’s mother was Queen Sacor. Jade’s mother was a slave. But they shared King Icor as a father. Jade’s claws dug into the scars on her chest. IJ06289. But she wasn’t born in 289. She was sixteen and born in 286, the year before Mavras had killed the Regiums. She was born in secret and kept secret. King Icor hadn’t liked the greed he saw growing within his sister, Mavras. He’d had the foresight and care to protect Jade. She couldn’t remember meeting him, but she held the knowledge of his devotion and love tight within her. He’d created the lies that shielded her, preserved her.
As Jade watched the young healer from across the room, warm, sticky feelings bloomed in her chest. She wanted to tell Imanna the truth. She wanted to know her sister.
Imanna spread a brownish-green cream over the long laceration, then a man lifted Uriah enough for her to wrap linens around his torso. Still, he didn’t wake. The assistants left to help other healers. Imanna stayed. She rested a small hand over his heart as if she needed to feel the reassurance of his pulse. She lifted her other hand to his head and raked back thick, brown hair.
She kissed his sweaty cheek, his eyelids, his brow. Her lips brushed his. Jade couldn’t hear the words Imanna whispered, but she could see the overwhelming love. It shot across the space and lashed at her heart. Never in Jade’s sixteen years had she seen such a display of devotion. Heat built behind her eyes. She scowled at herself, confused and embarrassed.
Hardening her jaw, she stood. She ignored the unwelcome yearning of her heart as she fled. Outside, she passed a dog going the other way on the path. The sleek black and tan animal carried a letter in its mouth, which dropped when it whirled around and sniffed madly in Jade’s wake. Her hand curled instinctively on her throwing knife, but she didn’t unsheathe it. She ran. She needed to escape. Back to the killing field, where she could join her Draco Sang brothers and sisters and fight. Destroy every unwelcome, unworthy feeling.
