Curse of a Dragon Heart: Dragon Descendants Series, #0

Curse of a Dragon Heart

Book 0 of the Dragon Descendant Series

Copyright © 2024 by Bonnie Jacoby

Published by CosmicDragon Press

Cover design by MoorBooks Design

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, places, and events are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons (living or deceased), places, or events is coincidental.

1st eBook edition: June 2024

eBook ISBN: 978-1-7387974-3-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7387974-4-8

For anyone who has ever struggled to accept a part of themselves.

I believe in you.

Contents

SCORCH MARKS

RUNNER

SORCERER

DRAGON PROMISE

POWER OF SCENT

POWER OF FIRE

DRAGON SENSES

POWER OF EMPATHY

RETURN

DRAGON GRIEF

OVERLOAD

YOUNGLING

BROTHER'S REQUEST

DRAGON LOSS

PLAGUE CURSE

DRAGON COVEN

DRAGON RIDER QUEST

SILVERSTREAM

SCENT OF MAGIC

DRAGON LIBRARY

DAWN'S KEEP

MAGIC EXPOSED

QUEST FOR CONTROL

TEST OF POWER

MAGIC AND POWER

FEVER

ZANTHOR'S QUEST

DRAGON RIDER

ARCHIVE STONES

COVEN BOND

NIGHT FLIGHT

SAFETY

SILVERSTREAM CONNECTIONS

DRAGON WARNING

DRAGONMOON FESTIVAL

QUESTS END

WHITECLIFF KEEP

MISTHAVEN

SEER'S WARNING

DRAGON'S REQUEST

DRAGON ATTACK

SACRIFICE

JASON'S QUEST

ORACLE

SOURCE OF MAGIC

STORM'S KEEP

EPILOGUE - VALLEY KEEP

Acknowledgements

SCORCH MARKS

JASON

Magic brought only pain and death.

Jason couldn’t believe that three months ago, having a magical ability made him special. It did. But not in a good way.

A shout from one of the younger boys pushed dread into Jason’s throat. At the distinctive sound of a fist hitting flesh, he dropped the empty bucket and raced through the field of broken corn stalks. His thirteen-year-old brother tended to be at the center of conflict.

Dust swirled around the circle of silent boys next to the barn. They parted to let Jason through. But he was too late. His brother lay on the ground, his jaw locked and fury in his eyes.

Barnaby yanked Charlie to his feet and dragged him toward the farmer standing at the gate.

The bruises on his brother’s gaunt face ignited Jason’s magic. Heat rushed to his palms, pulsing with his anger. He clenched his fists, trying to control the rush of power.

Barnaby had gone too far this time. No matter what Charlie had done, there was no excuse for beating him. The heat in his head agreed. It wouldn’t take much to set it free and burn Barnaby’s fists, so they never hurt anyone again.

But as Charlie stumbled past, he shook his head, his eyes pleading with Jason to let it go. To keep his magic contained and hidden.

Charlie was right. It wasn’t worth the risk. But once the heat rose within Jason, it had to be released. He choked on a growl, unable to even speak without losing control.

He ducked behind the barn and brushed his fingers along the aged wood, reciting the spell to control the heat that wound through his body. His magical ability. His curse.

Burn short and fast. Hot to cold. Release the fire. Breathe and rest.

It wasn’t elegant, but it worked. His father had helped create it years ago when Jason’s ability manifested. There’d been no need to adjust the spell, or even use it much. But everything had changed three months ago. Maybe it was the death of his parents or turning sixteen. Didn’t matter. For the past month, he’d struggled to control the heat coursing through his head.

There was no one left to help. No parents. No aunts or uncles. Only Charlie. And taking care of Charlie was a full-time job.

The smell of burnt wood soothed Jason’s anger. His magic settled into a low thrum in his chest, his shoulders dropped, and he sucked in a calming breath. A quick swipe of his palm obliterated the words etched into the wall, leaving a scorch mark next to the others. With a little dirt, it wasn’t even noticeable. Unfortunately, hiding his magical ability was becoming a daily battle.

Jason couldn’t expose his magic. Not in Riverbend. Not anywhere.

Everyday magic was fine. Illusions for entertainment. Small spells to make life easier, like lighting candles or calling a soft breeze. But people with true magical abilities were rare now. Capable of accessing their abilities to fuel spells, they could become witches. If they excelled at battle magic, they trained as war mages. But the Great Wars consumed power. So instead of going to Cromwell University to learn spell casting, they were conscripted.

The war mages had drained his parents of their magic, killing them in the end. Few survived, becoming mere shells of the people they once were. So maybe it was better this way.

At least no one knew that Jason had a magical ability. His parents had died before arranging the Ability Test, and he and Charlie had been sent to the orphanage with nothing more than the clothes they wore. No mementos of their life before. Nothing to identify them as children of witches.

The reward for reporting someone with core magic was substantial. And during the famine, people were desperate for trader coin.

Joining the farming crew had been a mistake. The promise of food and shelter had lured Jason into believing they’d be better off than at the overcrowded orphanage. But the food was nothing more than scraps from their harvest. Not enough to feed the ten boys ranging from nine to sixteen. As the eldest, Jason had no trouble getting his share, but Charlie had always been too sensitive, helping the younger boys. More like their mother in that way. He’d withered into a walking skeleton from losing his share to Barnaby or giving it away to the younger ones.

Jason’s chest tightened at the unfairness of his parents’ death and the impossible task of keeping Charlie safe. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that he was scrawny and an easy target. But sometimes Jason wished his brother didn’t care so much about the injustices of their world and would realize he was no fighter.

Jason sighed. Charlie had no sense of self-preservation. That was Jason’s responsibility. In another time, he might admire Charlie’s courage, but not now. Not when boys like Barnaby needed to rule. Not when Jason’s magic leapt so easily to his hands, ready to burn anything that angered him.

It wasn’t his brother’s fault that Jason was angry all the time and that his magic longed to be set free. In winter, it would be easier. His magic shifted with the temperature and would cool down.

In full control of his emotions now, Jason strode out from behind the barn. Time to soothe Barnaby and fix whatever injustice Charlie had uncovered.

But as he approached the boys clustered around the farmer, the warning bell sounded.

Visitors.

Men’s voices floated on the hot, dry wind. Soldiers from the barren wasteland to the east of the village.

Line up, the wiry farmer growled in a baritone voice. They’d learned early to obey immediately. Supposedly, he’d had kids of his own and lost them to the Great Wars. But you wouldn’t know it. He treated the boys like cattle. Rounding them up, sending them from pasture to pasture, and locking them in the barn at night.

Jason hurried to the front of the line, next to a scowling Barnaby and a tight-lipped Charlie. They stood in order of height and not age. Despite his lack of bulk, Charlie was almost as tall as Jason.

Two soldiers stopped next to the farmer—a man who favored his right leg, and a younger man, maybe twenty. A woman leaned against a horse-drawn cart, probably filled with provisions from the village.

Jason stood taller, pulling his shoulders back. The soldiers looked healthy. They didn’t go hungry. Charlie wouldn’t last another month on the farm. Jason didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to die. But joining the army couldn’t be any worse.

That all you got? The old soldier sounded weary.

The farmer grunted. Better than no one. Crops don’t harvest themself.

We need soldiers, not pathetic crops. Boys and girls over eighteen. These are just kids.

Jason’s hopes fell. It had been a slim chance, anyway.

The farmer rubbed his jaw, as if thinking over the soldier’s assessment.

Slim pickings in Riverbend. But you already know that. Now, if you loaned me a soldier for a week … the silos would fill up faster. The farmer pointed back toward the main outbuilding.

Jason stifled his smirk at the soldier’s eye roll. If the farmer thought he was being clever, he was mistaken.

The old man turned away. Just load up what you have.

Jason lurched forward. This was his chance. Wait, take us with you.

Shut your mouth, boy. The farmer’s elbow slammed into Jason’s gut.

Pain doubled Jason over, and he wheezed, unable to speak. Not the strength he’d hoped to impart.

But it had been enough to attract the younger soldier’s attention. We could use a runner back at camp. That one could bulk up a bit with some food and training.

Jason straightened, ready to turn down the offer. He couldn’t leave Charlie.

The older soldier snorted and then slapped the other soldier's back. Gerry got to you, huh? They’re pretty scrawny. Fine. We’ll take half.

The farmer sputtered. What? You can’t take my crew.

Be thankful I’m not taking them all.

His protest died at the stern look from the old soldier.

Jason, Charlie, Barnaby, and two others were sent to gather their belongings and wait at the barn. Jason couldn’t help worrying about the other boys. The oldest was only twelve. They couldn’t possibly do all the work the farmer needed. But it wasn’t his problem. The farmer would find more orphans to replace them. Probably by supper.

Despite the farmer’s protests, the wagon was loaded with everything he had. The old soldier had told him, You could join the front lines if you can’t farm anymore. And that shut him up.

At least he had a choice.

As Jason followed the wagon out into the wasteland, he gave Charlie a reassuring grin. Soon we’ll have a proper meal and a place to sleep. He didn’t know if life would be easier, but the food had to be better than what they’d been surviving on.

Charlie frowned. It wasn’t like they gave us a choice. But you gotta be careful.

He was scared. Problem was, so was Jason.

The Great Wars couldn’t last much longer. Over the past thirty-four years, villages had been destroyed, cities abandoned, and forests reduced to burnt stumps. There was no land worth having, and magic to fuel the battle spells was disappearing.

As long as Jason hid his magic, they would survive, and he’d find somewhere safe for Charlie to laugh again.

RUNNER

JASON

Life was both harder and easier at camp. The boys shared bunks in the supply tent and ate two full meals a day. But Jason rarely saw his brother.

While Jason delivered messages, Charlie tended the horses and cleaned tack on the far side of camp. By nightfall, they fell asleep before they could talk.

At least Charlie looked better after three weeks of filling meals. With all the chores, Jason had feared his brother would weaken. Some soldiers grumbled at their smaller servings, but they grinned whenever a boy was sent on a task, allowing them to sit. Food was a small price to pay to avoid grunt work.

Jason jogged through the men saddling up the horses and packing up the camp. This would be the third move since he’d joined. A horse sidestepped into his shoulder, and Jason gripped the paper tighter. Dropping the requisition in the mud would earn him a whack to the ear.

A squeal split the air, and he whipped his head to the left. A massive dark brown horse pawed the air inches from Charlie’s face. Instantly, fear ignited Jason’s power. Heat rushed through his body, and the paper in his fist disintegrated.

Jason grunted and unclenched his hand, afraid of startling the killer horse and injuring Charlie.

Whoa. Easy, Warhog. I got you. Charlie’s voice was calm and soothing. Not a hint of fear.

The horse snorted and shook his head, but he kept his hooves on the ground. Charlie rubbed the horse’s neck, murmuring something Jason couldn’t hear.

The sounds around Jason resumed. Men talking. Horses snorting in the cool morning air. Steam rising from the horses’ backs. Charlie led the now tame horse to the waiting stable hand. Together they put on the saddle pad and saddle and tightened the straps. The horse snorted and shifted but let them be.

Jason groaned. The list was gone. He’d have to run back and get another one. His power had lain dormant since they left the farm. He’d been fine. And now. Damn it. He thought he’d mastered it. This couldn’t happen again.

Charlie waved. Jason smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. Then he turned and ran back to the quartermaster. He’d say he lost the list in the mud and take the punishment. No way he’d reveal that he’d burned it with magic.

That night, after the camp was resettled, he caught Charlie outside the supply tent.

Hey. That horse was wild this morning. Jason figured if he eased into the conversation, his brother wouldn’t get upset. Lately, every conversation ended in an argument, and he didn’t want to fight.

Charlie shrugged. I could handle him. Seems I have a calming influence on the horses. That’s what Arthur says, at least. Gets me out of latrine duty.

You doing all right? Getting both meals?

Charlie rolled his eyes. I can take care of myself.

Yeah, right. The sarcasm popped out, despite Jason’s resolve to not fight.

Charlie punched him in the shoulder, hard. Stop fussing, Mom.

Jason bit his lip, holding back his retort. Charlie was fine. He should be happy about that. You managing to avoid Barnaby?

I never see him. You?

Jason shook his head. No, he hadn’t seen Barnaby and had assumed they worked different schedules.

The stars remind me of Mom. Charlie leaned back and gazed at the millions of pinpricks in the black sky.

Jason didn’t want to remember how his mother used to tell stories with the stars. She was gone. Her beautiful illusion magic had gotten her killed. The night sky was just another reminder of what he’d lost. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Charlie was the only family left. And even though he knew it might annoy Charlie, Jason reached over and hugged him tightly.

For once, Charlie just squeezed back, then let go.

They didn’t need to say anything. A hug said it all. Mom would’ve been pleased.

Jason followed Charlie into the tent and crawled onto his bunk. He needed sleep. Soon enough, he’d be running across camp with messages. But sleep didn’t come.

Instead, the stars danced behind his eyes as his mother’s voice recounted the story of the dragon mating flight she’d seen as a little girl. The world had been different then, distant, little more than something to gossip about. Dragons had lived near her village, and she’d trained to be a dragon rider. But life had other plans for her. And the Great Wars grew, stealing dreams and destroying her village.

She’d turned her attention to strengthening her magic, certain her illusions could make a difference. Bring joy instead of ruin. But she’d been wrong. Magic destroyed her.

If Jason didn’t control his magic, it would destroy him too. And he wasn’t sure Charlie could survive without him. He had to keep them both safe.

They’d moved camp so many times in the past month that Jason couldn’t keep track anymore. It wasn’t like they followed a road or went in a straight line. One day they went north, camped for a day, and the next they went back to the area they left. Then they’d head west.

Yet the rumors continued about settling in for a huge battle soon. Jason now served the officers food and water in the war tent. Another boy had become their runner. Supposedly, it was a promotion, but he missed sprinting around camp. Stale smoke and rancid body odor filled the tent. He missed fresh air.

And now, Jason ate scraps, never having enough time to grab his own meal. He’d caught sight of Charlie sitting with another boy, leisurely slurping stew.

Occasionally, the cook, Susan, convinced him to eat while she assembled the tray for the officers. He cherished those times. It was the only time his food was hot. It wasn’t a hard job, but it involved long hours of standing at attention and lurching forward with wine or water at a moment’s request.

Every day, Charlie looked less like a skeleton and more like a growing teen. Once they settled, Jason would get to spend more time with his brother.

Dig the latrines deep. General Riley pointed to a spot east of their current location on the map.

Jason’s ears perked up. That was a good sign. It meant they’d be there longer than a day. The soldier nodded and left the tent.

The general held up his mug, and Jason hurried forward to fill it. The water carafe was almost empty, which meant he might be able to slip into the food tent before the lunch rush.

Boy. Grab the stores report.

The request was unusual. Not that the general didn’t know his name. He doubted he’d ever be called anything other than boy. But the runner had just left, so maybe this was too important to wait for his return.

Jason grabbed the empty plates and metal cups so he could drop them off on the way. He scurried out of the tent. Susan waved him to the bin of dirty dishes where someone else would clean them.

He dumped his load and jogged to the storage wagon, certain the general was already impatiently waiting for the report.

As soon as the wagon was in sight, he slowed to a walk. A long, raspy cough stole his breath, and pain shot through his chest. Sheepishly, he ran his fingers through his hair as he straightened, hoping no one had noticed.

Another series of coughs caught him by surprise. Jason bent over, his face turning red with the effort of trying to breathe through the barrage. Finally, he gasped a rattling breath of air and rubbed his aching throat.

That’s a nasty cough. Get some sweet tea from the cook. She’ll fix you up. Maybe don’t run so fast back to General Riley. The soldier held out the report.

Yes, sir. Jason grabbed the paper and whirled around, mortified. He didn’t need tea.

He jogged back to the tent, rubbing the growing ache in his chest. He must be fighting a cold. A few days of rest should help. Luckily, the army camp was settling in the sparse forest. From what he gathered, the front line of the magic war was just over the rise. General Riley intended to make this their last battle.

By nightfall, he’d lost his voice and his throat felt as if he’d swallowed a sword. Pain stabbed through his head whenever he turned too quickly. He wasn’t even aware he was swaying until one of the soldiers caught him by the shoulder.

Hey. Are you all right? The man’s voice seemed far away, and his face floated, detached from his body.

Jason turned his head to see if the general had caught the interaction.

But stars fell from the sky, turning into strange creatures that opened their mouths and screamed.

Jason clamped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. Stop.

Then his throat ripped apart as he coughed, and everything disappeared.

When he woke, he was on a cot inside a large green tent. Coughs and moans filled his ears.

Charlie leaned over him, a black mask over his nose and mouth. His eyes reminded Jason of their father. There was something sad and worn in them.

Don’t speak. It’s my turn to take care of you. Drink this. It will help.

Jason opened his mouth and licked at the sweet tea. Even that motion hurt, as if his tongue was yanking out his throat. How long had it been since he was last in the officers’ tent? He must’ve said something, since he was sure Charlie couldn’t read his mind.

That was yesterday. You’ve been asleep. Charlie’s concerned expression was odd, as if he was seeing death.

Fatigue dragged Jason’s eyes closed. He wanted to tell Charlie not to worry. It was his job to take care of his brother. Not the other way around. Once he rested, he’d get back to work. He didn’t want the army to kick them out. Charlie needed him.

Ragged breathing filled Jason’s ears as visions of rock creatures chased him through a sea of tents.

SORCERER

CHARLIE

Jason might die today, and there was nothing Charlie could do to stop it. Instead, he trembled in the corner of the officers’ tent, wishing they’d never joined the army.

The past two weeks had been hell. He’d never seen dragons up close, and now they flew over day and night. If he weren’t so terrified of losing his brother, he’d be amazed at their power and skill. But he just wanted to return to the farm, despite the hard work and lack of food, to the time before Jason got sick.

We’re losing the war. The leader of the war mages, Sorcerer Bloodstar, sounded exhausted.

General Riley slammed his fist onto the table. It’s those dragons. The enemy has more than we do.

Screams filled the air as another dragon flew overhead and arrows rained down on the soldiers holding the border just half a mile up the road. Charlie didn’t know why they bothered fighting at all. By nightfall, the soldiers would return and fill the infirmary with blood and moans. He’d help patch them up, and they’d go out in the morning to fight again. Fewer came back each night.

The sorcerer looked up. Charlie hadn’t had this position long, but he knew the drill. He lurched forward. The jug shook as he filled the cup at the man’s elbow, and water spattered the map. But the battle group was too intent on their strategies to notice.

Charlie backed away and tried to stand still as they continued talking.

Boy. No one in the tent called him by his name. Who’s the sickest from the plague? Someone who won’t last another day. The sorcerer’s question was unusual. What did he care about sick soldiers?

Why does that matter? General Riley could barely contain his impatience, his hand poised over the map.

Charlie held his breath in the long silence that followed. More powerful than war mages, the sorcerer could flatten the entire camp with his magic. He’d arrived the day before and had taken over. The general was still adjusting to his change in status.

Do you want to win this war or not? Bloodstar’s voice oozed disdain.

General Riley gulped and nodded at Charlie to answer.

Jason, sir. He’s been sick for two weeks. His brother might not be the worst, but he was close enough, and he’d survived when others had died. It made sense that healing the soldiers would help win the war. The general claimed it was a numbers game. If the sorcerer could cure his brother, it was worth the tiny lie. Even if Jason wasn’t technically a soldier.

Take me to him. The tall sorcerer glared down at the general. The captive is mine. Ensure no one disturbs me while I work. The warning in his voice was obvious. There would be no second