Born of Dragons. Морган Райс

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      Copyright © 2020 by Morgan Rice. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Aphelleon used under license from istockphoto.com.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Queen Aethe knelt beside her husband’s bed as the world collapsed in on her, watching his all too still form through her tears. She had lost track of the time she had spent there, her grief making day and night blur into one another, food coming only when servants begged her to eat, tasting like ashes even then.

      The room was rich in its opulence, with tapestries set around the walls and furniture constructed using the rich woods from every corner of the Northern Kingdom. None of that made any difference, not the gilded cups, not the silks, none of it. It all seemed gray and dead when Godwin lay unmoving upon the bed.

      “When will he wake?” she demanded of Physicker Jarran, who did no more than shake his head and spread pudgy fingers.

      “I have treated his wounds as best I can,” the man said. “Beyond that, I am sorry, I have no answers.”

      “Then what use are you?” Queen Aethe demanded, the anger flashing up inside the grief feeling like the only thing that would help now. “You couldn’t help my daughter. You can’t help my husband. What use are you? Get out! Get back to lancing boils and stitching cuts!”

      It was harsh, but everything felt harsh right then. The world had become a thing of sharp edges and shadows that leached the strength from her, making it hard for her to even stand. There was no one who could comfort Aethe right then. Even with her husband surrounded by servants and guards, Aethe felt as lonely as if she had been stranded in the middle of an open plain.

      “Why can’t anyone help him?” she demanded, kneeling by the bed again, but no one answered. No one dared to. A desperate thought came to her. “Where is Master Grey?”

      That was possibly a question that none of them could answer. Who knew where the magus was, or what he would do? Aethe went to one of the room’s windows, even that taking an effort, staring out at the tower attached to the castle, trying to catch any glimpse of the man. Of course, there was nothing, no one was sitting there, waiting to save Godwin.

      She looked out over Royalsport, spread out below her. The streams of the city were at full tide now, dividing it up into its constituent islands, each holding a district of the city’s homes. Walls enclosed most of the city, but some of it spilled beyond them, like a fat man’s stomach spreading beyond his belt. The slums stood up against the walls and spread out into the countryside beyond. The great Houses stood above the rest: the blocky form of the House of Merchants standing above the market, the bright colors of the House of Sighs above the entertainment district, the House of Scholars rising in twisting spires, and the House of Weapons belching smoke as its furnaces prepared more weapons for the violence.

      From where she stood, Aethe could see the signs of that violence already, the knights and the soldiers making their camps outside the city, the crowds in the streets holding even more men of violence than usual. There were noble forces as well as those of the king, because of course each duke or earl had his dozens with him, ready to do his will.

      Aethe turned her back on it; she couldn’t bear to look on it any longer. She couldn’t bear any of it any longer.

      “Wake up, husband,” she said softly, returning to the bed and perching on it. “Your kingdom needs you.” She leaned down and let her lips brush his forehead. “I need you.”

      Her husband was not the man he had once been, and not just in the usual senses that age had made his hair gray, run some of his muscles to fat. Aethe was well used to that, knew those changes in him as well as she knew every line and gray hair that had crept into her own body. No, this was about how pale he was, his skin almost as gray as his beard, his breathing so shallow it was barely there. It hurt just to see him like that.

      So much hurt, right then. She couldn’t take more of it.

      “We can’t lose you,” Aethe said. “Rodry… your son is dead, Godwin.” Aethe had never cared much for Godwin’s sons, because they were a reminder of his first marriage, and of how much more he had loved his first wife. But of them, Rodry had been the best. Greave was strange and obsessed with his books, while Vars was… Aethe shuddered. “And of my daughters, Nerra is gone, and Erin throws herself into battle like a boy.”

      At least they’d gotten Lenore back. She was back, and safe, and married, although she should never have been in danger, never have been captured, in the first place. Aethe just had to hope that her marriage to Finnal would be a happy one; she trusted that it would be, in spite of her daughter’s nerves before her wedding.

      For that, though, they would have to face up to the threat from the Southern Kingdom. Aethe had always thought

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