"There is joy in the hatchery today; finally, after many years Idris and Vaska have finally produced an egg. Whilst it was only one egg, rather than a standard clutch of four, there is still joy. I must wonder, though, why now? I am afraid to ask what terrible deal they struck to bring about this miracle...”646Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjaF7lc8CS3
Excerpt from Queen Evanya's personal diary646Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhleMCuz9Kn
646Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa6qxwejNzq
Chapter 20
A primal scream tore from Wren’s throat as she surged upwards, tearing free of the binds. The fire consumed every inch of her skin, a raging inferno that felt no warmer than the sun on a clear day. She flung out her hand, grabbing at the man who didn’t move fast enough for her grasp. The second her fingers grasped the collar of his shirt and flames leapt to him. He started to scream, stepping back, trying to cleave himself free. She saw his eyes, the primal fear raw in his eyes, yet whilst a whispering voice at the back of her mind said, let go, she didn’t. Her hand ignored that voice and tightened its grip, the man’s screams loud in her ear. She held on tight.
His screams choked off suddenly, going limp in her hand. She let go and watched as he fell to the ground. A shuddering breath fled her as she swung her legs over the side of the table, her feet hitting the man on the ground. She looked down and watched numbly as the fire slowly flickered out across her skin, remaining only the tiniest of embers dancing across her fingers. Entranced, she reached up, brushing her fingers across her cheek. The embers tickled her cheek, delicate and warm but produced no pain. Her hand dropped.
She pushed off the table, shaky and her nerves frayed. Her whole body trembled as she awkwardly staggered over the body and over to the door. The second she reached out to the doorway she dared to look back. Her eyes widened, shock and nausea rushed upwards at the sight of the man, charred and twisted into a look of agony. She spun back to the doorway, doubled over, hurling up what little was left in her stomach. She sunk to her knees, gagging until her throat burned and tears stung in her eyes. With a final heave she pressed her palms against the cold earth and pushed up, shakily rising first to her knees, then onto her feet. She wobbled a little, then pushed forward, one step after another. Down the hall, lit only by regular intervals of small white flames hovering just beneath the ceiling. One hand on the wall, she crept forward, the rush of energy from before bleeding away slowly. She just had to keep moving, if only so she wouldn’t think about what she’d done…or the fact embers still danced across her skin.
The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever but when it finally came to a larger room with a vaulted ceiling she paused. She took a moment to catch her breath when she looked around, freezing when she saw a table in the middle of the room. There was a woman strapped to it.
Sorcha.
Wren hurried forward, half stumbling, half running. She grabbed at the binds and tore; and, like before, they came free. She leant in, gently tapping at Sorcha’s cheeks, trying desperately to wake her.
“Sorcha! Sorcha!”
Her friend groaned, eyes fluttering open slowly. She seemed unfocused for a moment, then her gaze found Wren, sharpened. Sorcha took Wren’s hand, sat up, looking blearily around with a squinting gaze.
“What the hell happened?” Her gaze caught Wren’s hands, some of the embers flickering into tiny flames at the tips of her fingers. “Um, that’s new.”
Wren’s face hardened at the sight of her hands, at the magic crackling there. She closed her fists, trying to stifle it but the flames only squeezed through her fingers. With a curse under her breath her hand uncurled.
“We need to find Lorca and get the hell out of here, then back to the others,” said Wren.
Sorcha nodded, then forced herself up, wincing a little as she swung her legs over and got to her feet. There was none of the awkwardness that Wren had as Sorcha looked to Wren, whom nodded, then followed her out of the room. They came to a fork in the tunnel, one ascending upwards where the lights faded and the feint glow of day pierced through. Sorcha started towards it and, after a moment, Wren started to follow when something tugged in her chest. She halted, turned back, glancing down the dark steps descending deeper into the ground.
Something was calling her. She was moving before she even registered the first step.
“Where are you going?”
Wren stopped. “I think Lorca is this way…”
There was a stretch of silence that followed Wren as she descended down the steps. Sorcha soon followed, falling into step beside her, her eyes burning gold in the dim light. She held up a hand, summoning ribbons of gold light to her fingers, lighting the way. It pierced the thin veil of darkness and guided them to the bottom where a row of cells were presented to them, a long line of them. The cells were empty of life, though several contained bones haphazardly scattered about.
“Well, that is rather creepy,” murmured Sorcha. “Who do you think they were?”
“Us, if we’d stayed.” Wren hurried on, drawn by the tugging in her chest that grew tighter with every step.
Sorcha cleared her throat. “So, uh, don’t mean to pry but given my powers seem to be a little screwy right now, what happened to, um, the person who put us here? Or was it more than one?”
The sight of the man’s charred corpse came rushing back. Wren swallowed hard. “One, I think… and he won’t be an issue.”
“Oh?”’
“I killed him.”
Sorcha stopped dead but Wren kept walking, too focused, drawn until finally, the tugging stop. She turned around. There, in the cage, was Lorca. He was sitting down, his head in his hands. There were shining chains on his wrists and ankle.
Wren took a step forward, feeling the flames flicker and grow until her hands were consumed. Lorca raised his head, eyes widening, locking onto her hands. When he met her gaze, saw the look in her eyes, worry darkened that gaze. She placed her hands against the bars, guided only by a whispering presence in her mind, nudging her. The flames leapt from her hands, to the bars, turning them to ash. She strode forward, dropped down and reached for the chains. Lorca yanked his hands back.
“Don’t!”
Wren froze, met his gaze, wide eyed. She rose slowly and stepped back, her hands still glowing. With a deep breath she forced the flames away, as much as she could anyway, reducing to a few embers at her fingertips. Sorcha appeared at her side, glancing first at Wren’s hands, then at Lorca, frowning. She moved forward and knelt before him, reaching out. Like before, he pulled away but Sorcha set her hand on his knee.
“It’s okay. I’m immune to Black Iron – sort of.” She gave a little laugh, like she’d made a joke that only she found funny, then reached for his chains again. There was a hissing sound, the air around her hands grasping the chains steaming, like her flesh was being burned. Wren stepped forward, ready to yank her back but Sorcha beat her to it. “I’m fine. Just let me work.”
She started to chant, softly under her breath and soon her hands stopped steaming. They began to glow. Her chanted grew louder, the words foreign to Wren; then, as quickly as it began, she was silent and the chains turned to ash. Sorcha dropped her hands and stood up, rubbing her hands together, bringing them to her mouth. As she turned Wren saw the burns, the red and puckered skin, blistering. Her gaze flicked up to Wren and she forced a smile, her eyes tight.
“I won’t ask how you did that,” said Lorca, standing.
He rubbed his wrists, looking to Sorcha to explain. Instead, she simply gave a coy smile and turned away. When she was out of the cell, he shook his head and moved to Wren, whom still stood there, uneasy, her hands with a lingering quiver. He looked down at her hands, then reached out and took when in his. She looked up, slowly, with the string inside of her pulled so tight it was about to snap completely. She was about to snap completely.
“I…I guess I have magic now.”
Lorca’s gaze softened, only briefly because it suddenly hardened, fire flashing in his eyes. He yanked her into his arms, holding on like she was about to vanish completely.
“Whoever did this I’ll make them pay,” he snarled, angrier than she’d ever heard him.
She slowly pulled from his grip, feeling number, colder than she had in her whole life. When she looked at him all she felt was the void opening up inside of her.
“He’s dead. I killed him, burnt him alive.”
His face remained as hard as stone, the fury still there. She didn’t know how she wanted him to react. To yell at her, call her monster because that’s how she felt, maybe tell her it’s okay. Whatever he was about to say he stopped and looked past her. Sorcha had returned.
“Come on. I’ve had enough of this place. Haven’t you two?”
Sorcha knew the way out of the forest and led them out, right where she said the caravan would’ve headed, if they made it out ok. If the demons hadn’t slaughtered the entire caravan, thought Wren, walking closer to Lorca than she usually did. Yet, true to her word, as they got to the edge of the forest, there it was. The caravan. The tents had already been pitched just off the forest, the horses untethered from the wagons and left to wander in makeshift pens. Out in the middle was Inakara’s large tent, brightly coloured.
The sight of nearly made Wren cry. Though, that might’ve just been the last dribble of energy bleeding from her.
“See, you both really need to learn to trust me. I’m quite reliable,” declared Sorcha victoriously, preening at her effort. “Now, come on, we better announce ourselves and ease Madam Kara and Omi’s mind.”
The second they entered into the camp there was people coming up, cheering that they were alive. Some darted off, spreading the news. They barely made it to Inakara’s tent before the fabric parted and out strode Omi first, eyes angry at first, then full of relief. Wordlessly, she yanked Sorcha into her arms, burying her face in her neck, clinging to her for dear life. Then Inakara appeared, commanding in her presence and with one look at the curious crowd that had gathered, it was just the five of them. Omi pulled away from Sorcha, then looked to Lorca and Wren.
“What the hell happened?” Omi asked. “What took you?”
Sorcha hesitated, unsure. How could she, when like Wren, she’d probably been unconscious very quickly after the attack? Hell, Wren only knew a little because their strange guard was very chatty…before he did whatever he did to her.
“Demons, at first,” broke in Wren. “Then an elf.”
The tent cloth parted violently and Inakara strode out, focusing in on Wren. Her eyes were wide, startled.
“Did you say an elf?” When Wren nodded Inakara turned to Omi, whispering something in her ear.
Omi bowed, swept forward and slid her arm around Sorcha. Sorcha gave a troubled look to Wren, seemingly reluctant at leaving Wren behind. Out of earshot she wrenched her gaze back to Inakara, her heart racing up. There was gleam of curiosity in Inakara’s eyes, as if she was noticing something about Wren for the first time. Somehow, she knew that something had changed in Wren. Perhaps she felt it to, instinctively speaking.
“Come with me child. Let’s have a look at you,” she said, turning back to her tent; there, she held open the cloth and ushered her inside. Lorca went to follow but she held up a hand, cutting in between Wren and Lorca.
He looked at her, frowning, like he wanted to defy on her on it. His jaw clenched but after a tense stare down he dipped his head and stepped back, his gaze lowered until he turned and walked off. Wren watched his retreating figure, uneasy, like she was suddenly at Inakara’s mercy – or interest. Frankly, she didn’t know what unsettled her more and she was already very uneasy. With a deep breath she went into the tent, feeling that last embers of that power within flicker again. The tent felt too small and she wanted to get out of it.
“You’re restless. Take a seat,” she ordered as she walked to her table, grabbing a bottle of wine and two wooden cups.
She returned as Wren sunk down into the pillows, nearly groaning as the weight shifted off her body and she became like liquid, oozing out amongst the softness. Inakara held out a cup, eyeing Wren as she took it and downed what she realised was a spiced wine. Her mother had kept it in a special box in their home, taking it out for the harvest celebrations that followed the merchant’s departure. On those nights the family sat by the fire, their bellies full, everyone had a cup.
At the memory her eyes burned with tears. Her family was gone, taken gods know where. She didn’t even know if any of them were still alive or what the hell she’d find when she found. Not if because there was no way she could fail. She couldn’t think about that possibility because it damn near broke her.
A hand fell on her shoulder. She peered up through her lashes. Inakara sat beside her.
“Tell me what happened, please.”
“Can I have some more wine?”
Inakara nodded, took the cup and returned with it refilled. With a quick sip Wren lowered the cup to her lap and retold Inakara everything, sparing no detail. Every word came faster and faster, a flood of emotion that stopped so suddenly that left Wren on the edge of a cliff. Staring down at her hands she saw a droplet fall against her skin, then another. Numbly, she touched her cheek and found it wet from her tears. She sucked in a shaky breath, exhaled, then wiped her cheeks dry.
“What the hell am I?” She finally asked, unable to meet Inakara’s gaze, afraid of what she might see – or that it might confirm what she already suspected.
“You have magic, very powerful magic and it’s been freed. I couldn’t sense it all before but now I can. I don’t know what that makes you, since the only magical creatures I’ve met are my own kind, Dragonairs and Sorcha. If you fall within any of those, I’m not sure but I will help you find out.”
Finally, Wren looked up. “Why?”
“Well, you could hurt someone and I will protect this caravan. However, I will not lie and say that is the only reason. You brought Sorcha back and she’s got this idea you’re meant to save us. So, perhaps all of my intentions come down to a gamble and prayer – one that Sorcha is right about you.”
“And if she’s not?”
Inakara’s gaze darkened. “Then that’s something to worry about later. Tomorrow, you must train. Not just for your sake but for the whole caravan. You’re one of us now.”
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