"There dragons grow increasingly uneasy as Inakara slumbers at the top of the castle, watching over all, seemingly waiting. It is that what bothers them the most - the waiting. In truth, it is eating us all, helpless as our own demise approaches in a form that perhaps lurks within our own ranks - or worse. Somewhere unseen."614Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡupHFYhmiF9
Excerpt from Queen Evanya's personal diary614Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbB5ha74AeT
Chapter 19
The whole camp was packed up and on the move by the first stroke of amber across the dawning sky. Both Wren and Lorca were supplied two stocky horses to ride alongside Inakara, Omi and a rested Sorcha. The sun was advancing slowly over the distance mountains, streaks of gold stretching down across the thick forests and farms that were scattered along the road they advanced. Soft conversation rippled over the long caravan, along with the quiet clatter of hooves and wheels over the hardened earth for the road.
Wren glanced over at Lorca, wondering what was running through his mind…and if they were going to broach the topic of her supposedly having magic. Which, in hindsight, seemed like a small question, when the matter of Inakara agreeing to their deal hung over her neck like her blade. She consoled herself because before they set off Sorcha informed them that the caravan was tracking towards the coast, right in the general direction of the city. She just tried not to think about her family, about what they might be enduring. Her sweet sister would struggle under the cruel conditions and Wren was afraid what might happen to her, as her sister was beautiful.
With a sigh, she returned her gaze to the road. Lorca turned in his saddle towards her.
“I’ll speak with Inakara once we break for the midday meal,” he said.
Wren nodded thoughtfully. “Sorcha spoke as though if the caravan fully took us to the city, that we’d somehow save them.”
His face darkened. “I don’t like being beholden to prophecies. They never work out how you think.”
She glanced at him, curious. “Is that what happened to your people? A prophecy didn’t turn out how you thought?”
“Inakara’s return was said to be the downfall of our people. Many assumed she would betray us somehow, so she was treated harshly and exiled. To our shame, we thought it true…and didn’t see the real threat that lurked within our own ranks. Inakara was simply a sign, not the cause.”
She waited for him to go on but he didn’t and from the dark look on his face, she didn’t push it. The little admission had come without much pushing on her part, so she hoped that meant he’d reveal more of his past. It wasn’t required of him but they were stuck together for some time, so she tried to make their time easy. It wasn’t simple, though, keeping it calm, when he looked as handsome as he did, and was sure of her possessing magic. She looked down at her hands encircling the reins and snorted. Her hands were calloused and scarred from years of climbing, not the kind that made magic. In her mind, they’d be smooth.
With a nod, she nudged her mare forward and trotted up beside Sorcha, whom started to sing to herself. She continued to sing, her eyes lit merrily, even as she glanced at Wren. Then Omi joined in with her low, husky voice…and one by one, more voices swept into the song. A familiar one, clearly, as soon it seemed many of the caravan had joined in. It swelled in the air and might’ve been a war march, accompanied by the beat of hooves, but it was cheery and made Wren smile. She tried to join in but she stumbled several times…and she wasn’t much of singer, so she let herself enjoy it. To her surprise, a familiar deep voice swept in. Lorca sang along, as if he knew the words. A brightness lit his face and she knew it must’ve been a song from his people. That naked joy stole the breath from her. She quickly looked away, masking her reaction…and yet she glimpsed Sorcha looking at her as she sang, winking at Wren.
The song seemed to swell until it seemed it couldn’t grow anymore; then, Inakara’s hand shot upwards and silence rushed down the caravan, horses whinnied to a stop, and wagons trundled to a slow stop. Her hand dropped and she nudged her horse into a trot, breaking off from the front of the caravan. Several feet away, she stopped and swung back around. Her eyes found Lorca.
“You’re with me. Wren, too. Omi you have the caravan. Sorcha set up wards,” she ordered, then wheeled back around and set off.
Lorca dug his heels in and was off, trotting after her. Wren awkwardly followed, still not entirely used to riding horses. Her heart started to race. Something felt off, like ice trickling down her spine. She’d felt it before, on the cliffs, right before a Wyvern attack…or the weather shifted. On the cliffs, she’d used it was a pre-warning and got her people off the cliff as soon as possible. Most of the time, it was enough warning.
She fell in beside Lorca. “Something isn’t right.”
He glanced at her, nodding. “I feel it too.”
“This isn’t a magic thing,” she muttered. “I just-“
She cut herself off as Inakara jumped down off her horse, as nimble as any young woman. The dragon woman stood before the looming forest, her hands resting on her hips. When Wren and Lorca joined her, down from their horses, there was a wary expression on the woman’s face. She turned to Lorca. “You both sense it?”
He nodded. “Yes. Ancient magic. Angry magic.”
Her gaze slid back to the forest, narrowing. “We’ve journeyed through this forest before without any whisper of magic. I don’t like this.”
“Are we turning back?”
She shook her head. “No, we’re due at Calware for a festival.” Her gaze flickered to them. “From Calware it’s a half day ride to your city.”
“You’re agreeing?” Wren tried – and failed – to not sound incredulous.
“I am. Sorcha favours you…and her visions haven’t been wrong before.” Her gaze slid to that dragon gaze of her, golden slits that simmered with a message.
Do not cross me or else.
Wren felt a sliver of ice trickle down her spine. She hid her trepidation; the city itself was so close she could practically see it in her mind…and she imagined rescuing her village. First; they had to get into the city itself and assess whom was where, what their escape options were. It also gave her time to ignore the pressing matter that she was woefully underprepared to pry a whole village from a city of slaves. Unseen, too.
“How is your magic?” Inakara asked Lorca.
Lorca held out a hand, snapping his fingers; tendrils of fire danced through his fingertips. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Good,” she replied, clipped and spun back to where Sorcha sat astride her horse. “We’ll need it.”
Sorcha leant down in the saddle, her ear to Inakara. A moment passed between the two, tense; then, Sorcha straightened up and wheeled her mare around. Wren watched as she trotted off down the caravan, stopping at each wagon to deliver a message. Weapons were drawn from those astride their horses; arrows knocked on bows; hands on the pommels of swords. Once she reached the end of the caravan, Sorcha turned back and returned to the front, just as Wren and Lorca swung up onto their own mounts.
Inakara raised her hand upwards, then dropped it. Signal given, the caravan advanced forward at a slow but cautious pace. The ancient trees loomed before them, a wall of nature; outstretched limbs that curled and twisted, like gnarled old fingers desperate to drag victims into its shadowy depths. As they passed the threshold, plunging into the forest, the heavy air pressed down on them. It stank of rot and damp leaves, clinging to their skin. Wren shifted uneasily on her saddle. It was the same feeling she had when she used to wake up, right before a nasty storm battered the mountains. Instinct had always stopped her from climbing on those days, which was why she never lost anyone to foolish climbs. Forced to linger in that unease, she felt her gaze dart everywhere at once. Her hand clasped her sword, ready to fight, not that she was an experienced fighter.
She glanced at Lorca, gesturing to the sword. “After we get out of here, can you teach me to use this?”
“I’ll teach what I can but I’m afraid I’m rusty with the sword,” he said humorously.
Wren laughed. “Oh, so you weren’t high in those mountains fighting off wyverns with a sword? How disappointing!”
He shrugged. “I used my dragon form and a little magic.”
“Neither of which I can do,” she retorted. “Guess I should see if anyone else is capable with a sword.”
“Like hells,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”
“Touchy, touchy.”
He muttered something under his breath, then nudged his head, trotting up to fall in with Inakara. She watched as they started to talk, glancing occasionally at each other. Wren felt a spike of jealousy; more out of their shared history, that common ground which she not only lacked with the caravan but with him, too. She felt like an outsider, exposed. It didn’t help that Lorca kept looking at her, like she was…something else.
The caravan trundled onwards, deeper and deeper into the forest, until all sunlight seemed to disappear almost entirely. Only narrow bands of gold pierced the scant gaps in the canopy above, illuminating their narrow but well-worn path. Soft chatter drifted down the caravan, yet it seemed no one dared to speak louder; even the horses moved slowly, hooves soft against the forest floor. A thin mist swirled in, suddenly; as though one minute absent, the next it moved amongst the horse’s legs.
“Strange mist,” murmured Sorcha, her nose wrinkling. “Stinks of demons.”
Wren hadn’t realised Sorcha was there. When she looked over, the girl’s eyes glowed gold. Threads of light wove between her hands that clasped the reins, several snaking up her arm.
“Demons normal here?”
Sorcha glanced over, uneasy. “No.” She glanced around, then back to Wren. “Stay sharp. Trouble is coming.”
Without warning, she cantered forward and fell in beside Inakara. Several words passed, then Sorcha was back off; she was halfway down the line, the start of a warning coming out of her mouth, when a shadow leapt from the trees. It slammed into her, right off the horse, and into the thicket. Someone screamed. A man. Wren started to turn but a shadow caught her eye; she wheeled back just as something launched at Lorca. He was off his saddle, crashing into the thicket. She, too, surged forward but something slammed into her, sending her flying off her horse – pain exploded through her…and darkness dragged her under.
The air was cold, like icy needles piercing the skin. Skin drawn red, tight to the point it almost splits. She jerked away with a soundless scream, her throat scraped raw and her ascent from where she lay halted sharply. Bindings on her wrists, ankles and two across her body. With a groan she sunk back onto the cold wooden board she stared up at the stone ceiling. Rivulets of water, caught by the amber glow of several torches encircling the room, glowed like gems. Thousand of them, polished by light to a gleam. Yet for its beauty the room stank of the damp and something rotting.
It wreaked of death.
She strained against the binds and twisted her head, seeing nothing but a plain room. With a curse, she slumped back. It seemed an eternity before the sound of footsteps approached the room. Her heart seized. She turned her head, watching as a cloaked figure walked into the room. They crossed the threshold and two gloved hands pushed back the hood, revealing the sharp face of a man. No. She corrected herself. Fae. With pointed ears, skin like the moon and eyes blacker than night, there was no mistaking the man for what he was. He was exactly like the stories she’d been told as a child.
Where there had been an empire of dragons there had been another of Fae kind. Neighbouring kingdoms, of a sort, though one that had already started to die when the dragons rose to power. At least, that was how the story went.
“You’re a Fae,” whispered Wren. “You should be dead.”
He looked at her with interest. “Aye. As should be the demon folk, the Dragonairs in their pride, dragons. Yet here we are. Living and breathing in a land that has reduced us to myth and legend.”
“Us?” Her voice was little above a whisper.
There was a cold smile on his face, conspiratorial, gleaming. Wren steeled herself but even she felt a trickle of unease slither down her spine. She strained again but he was at her side in an instant, his cold hand pressing against hers. She froze. Her gaze slid to his, which was full of hunger and amusement. Like she was something precious or be devoured. It was unclear which was right – perhaps both.
“Such power within you and yet so trapped. What foolish creature thought to bind such a creature? It’s cruel, really,” he crooned, leaning in close so that Wren could smell the rancid stench of his breath brush his cheek.
Fire lit within her. With just those words she felt like she was back with Lorca, seeing that look in his eyes. The one that said Wren was something more than a Climber.
“I don’t have any bloody magic! Why is everyone so convinced I’m something? Why can’t I just be a Climber whose village was sacked and her people enslaved?”
He smiled condescendingly at her outburst, as if she were nothing more than an insolent child to be corrected. His hand drifted up her arm, along her neck, lingering at her cheek. It might’ve been a kind action, were it not for the shivers that rushed into her skin as his thumb brushed her cheek.
“Now, now, I felt the call of your magic. The beauty of its song, so bright and golden. I had a vision, you know. I saw your arrival at the forest and the demon attack, so I had to come, I had to save you.” His thumb lingered just beneath her eye, as if her eyes were the most enchanting thing in the world. “After seeing the chains that bind you, well I rather think it’s time we free it, don’t you? You deserve to be free.”
His hand fell from her cheek as he moved around the table, so that he stood at her head, just behind. Then he set both of his hands on her head and he leant down so that his forehead touched hers. He murmured something softly under his breath, so gentle she didn’t hear it clearly, then he stepped back from her. He walked back into view, standing at the side of the table, solemn and resolute. Panic surged through Wren as she strained against the binds, trying with every inch of strength she had. Nothing budged. Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t say a word though because she knew that look in his eyes, knew with a sickening resolve that nothing she said would stop whatever she had planned. So, she tried to steel herself, bite back the rising fear that threatened to consume her completely.
He held up a hand and snapped his fingers, flames erupting to life within his grasp. His gaze slid to hers. Then, without any hesitation, he slammed his hand down onto her torso and the fire exploded across her skin.
Wren screamed, not from the fire itself, but something within her that was wrenched tight – and shattered.
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