Free Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) by Marc Secchia Page B

as though she wanted to spit. “Thinks he owns the Island-World. Definitely has an eye for the ladies. It’s open knowledge he ordered the massacre of Jeradia Island. Now, what news from faraway Immadia?”
    Aranya scanned the rest of the text quickly. “Ugh, look, the censor’s been busy. Father thanks me for giving some relief from the tax burden, that’s nice. The twins got their first daggers . My Mom’s pregnancy is progressing well.”
    “Aranya, how do you break ironwood?”
    “Huh?” Zip’s changes of conversational direction were the thing that would give her a neck ache, Aranya thought crossly, not some overgrown–oh, Ignathion’s son. Was this the unfolding of a strategy he had hinted at during their journey together?
    “Ironwood. It’s unbreakable.”
    Aranya muttered, “With the power of my little finger?”
    No way was Zuziana going to surprise that secret out of her.

Chapter 5: The Butcher of Jeradia
     
    A s the three Dragonships of the official delegation manoeuvred over the Tower of Sylakia’s landing field, Aranya found herself thinking back to Zuziana’s words about Garthion, the son of Sylakia’s Supreme Commander, and therefore one of the most powerful men in the world. His moniker was the ‘Butcher of Jeradia’. During the invasion of Jeradia, the mechanism of the town gates had broken down, leaving Garthion and his troops waiting outside for three hours before they could make their triumphal entry to accept Jeradia’s surrender.
    Garthion had the entire town lined up before him. He ordered his troops to slay ever y second person as a punishment.
    Aranya wore her Immadian forked daggers openly on her belt. Perhaps the story about the windroc would deter his attention. Her stomach churned. Aranya tried to tell herself that the sense that something unpleasant was about to happen, was just a bad feeling. Her inner fires stirred fitfully, troubled and capricious.
    Zuziana ginned impishly up at her. “Are we wearing heels, o Princess of Tree?”
    “Do you ever stop fomenting trouble?”
    “Rarely. Keep your door locked tonight.”
    Two of the Dragonships descended to disgorge a bevy of richly-dressed passengers and two troops of Crimson Hammers–one hundred picked warriors, members of Sylakia’s elite regiment. The third Dragonship hovered overhead. Aranya noted the war crossbows were drawn. A row of archers kept a beady eye on proceedings.
    Clearly, where Garthion moved, his Hammers moved in force.
    Zip elbowed Aranya excitedly. “Oh, eyes left! He’s leopard . Isn’t that just leopard?”
    “Leopard? Where?”
    “Him, you silly … as in, I’d like a chunky fillet of that, lightly grilled? As in, he floats my Dragonship around the twin suns?”
    “I know that one,” said Aranya, smiling at Zip’s chattering.
    As she smiled, the uniformed young giant who was the object of her attention happened to notice her regard. His fellow-officers, obviously perplexed by his distraction, whirled and stared at the two Princesses. One of them punched the tall one on the arm.
    “Leopard,” Zip breathed, fanning herself discreetly. “Lean, lithe, luscious … leopard.” Aranya resisted an urge to slap her. “Oh mercy, he’s coming this way.”
    He had to be Ignathion’s son. The likeness was unmistakable; he was a younger, slimmer version of his father, but broad-shouldered and muscular enough to be beyond the first growth of manhood. As he approached them, Yolathion removed his helm. He was clean-shaven and angular of cheek and jowl. His eyes smouldered darkly beneath a flip of black hair.
    Aranya’s smile widened.
    Intending to tuck his helmet beneath his arm, Yolathion dropped it instead, stumbled in scooping it up and came to a skidding halt before the two Princesses. His tan face flushed. “Your smile made me drop my … uh, Aranya? You must be Aranya of Immadia?”
    “I am.” Aranya offered her right hand; the giant warrior seized it as though his life depended on it,