Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince by Melanie Rawn

anything of her future honors until the Rialla at Waes. I will need you there, my dear.”
    “I am yours to command,” she said formally, but with a smile that invited commands pertaining to the bedroom. Her expression hid relief at having talked her way out of potential danger.
    Roelstra laughed again and placed his hands on Crigo’s shoulder. “You may douse the Fire now and make ready to ride the moonlight to Stronghold.”
    But Crigo cried out in sudden agony and the candleflame surged upward, becoming a pillar of writhing Fire that grew talons and teeth and dragon wings. Palila screamed as faces formed and vanished in the brilliance: Roelstra, Ianthe, Pandsala, herself, Prince Rohan, Zehava, and a girl’s face surrounded by a cloud of hair that seemed made of fire. The dragon reared up, snarling, and the flames caught on Crigo’s sleeves. He toppled to the floor, hands clawing the air, visions spitting into the wildfire light.
    Roelstra tore the curtains from the window and smothered the faradhi in it, cursing. Dragon and Fire vanished. The High Prince lifted Crigo’s limp form and went to kick open the door. Flinging the unconscious Sunrunner into the antechamber, he roared to the servants, “Get him out of here!” He slammed the door shut and wiped sweat from his forehead.
    Palila closed her eyes and trembled. She feared little in life beyond the loss of her beauty, but she was utterly paralyzed by fire. Her mind ignited with pictures of the whole room in flames that licked up the tapestries and wooden paneling, eating at her hair and consuming her flesh and bones while she still lived. She whimpered and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the baby in her womb jerk and quiver in response to her terror.
    “You were in no danger,” Roelstra said above her. “Palila, stop this. You might harm the child.”
    She looked up at him, so tall and powerful. Her fingers dug into his tunic and she moaned as he gathered her in his arms to carry her to the bed.
    “Palila, calm yourself,” he said.
    She raked her nails across his chest, ripping the silk tunic, and he looked astonished for an instant before he burst out laughing. The flames still burned in her imagination—inside her body now, consuming her from within. Roelstra twisted a handful of her long hair into a rope and wrapped it around her neck as he undressed her.
    “So your fear of fire makes you burn, does it? Remind me to change my method of execution,” he crooned. “I can hardly wait to find out what watching someone being burned alive will do to you. Would you like to see that, my pet? Just imagine the flames as they devour some helpless man or woman. How hot the fire can be, my darling,” he whispered as he bent her head back and tightened the rope around her throat. His lips brushed her mouth, fiery moist, and she used up the last air in her lungs on a scream that made him laugh with delight. “Think about the flames, Palila—”

Chapter Four
    P rince Zehava regained consciousness on the morning of the third day. He was too experienced a warrior not to know within moments of waking that his wounds were mortal. Andrade, seated at his bedside while Milar closed her eyes for some needed rest, saw in the black eyes that he knew was dying.
    “So,” he breathed, one eyebrow cocked almost rakishly. “The dragon-slayer has been dragon-slain. Better this way, Andrade, than of a sickness or by an enemy’s sword.”
    “As you say, Zehava. If there’s pain, tell me. I can ease it.”
    “No, no pain. Not for me, at least.” He closed his eyes again and nodded. “It’s a good potion that numbs the wounds while leaving the mind clear. My thanks, Andrade. But I doubt you have anything to ease Mila’s pain.”
    “Not even time heals a woman who loses a man like you, Zehava.”
    He looked up, surprised. A smile danced across his face for an instant. But what he said was, “I want to see my son.”
    “I’ll send for him.”
    “Alone. Do you