“I first glimpsed the Spirit of the Mountain when I became lost in the caves as a child. I took shelter within an abandoned hatchery cave as the snow storm tore through the mountains. Even as a child with a vague concept of death I felt it beckon me, lulling me to sleep, when she appeared. She stepped from the rock itself, as if she were one with the very stone, dressed in a gown made of leaves and flowers. There was a thorny crown forged of gold that sat atop her beautiful black hair. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. I was entranced as she moved to me, knelt down and looked into my eyes. I could not read those eyes then; later, I could, when I drove my dagger into her heart. There was sadness in her eyes, like she saw my betrayal coming.”
- Excerpt from Litania’s diary, second year of her reign as queen.
Chapter 28
Wren’s fingers drummed against her thigh as they road down the last little slope to a sprawling field where the caravan was to make its camp. Impatient to make camp and be on her way she felt the anticipation of being in the City of Slaves by the day’s end rise within her, consume her thoughts completely. She barely registered the wagons veering off the road, down onto the meadow and filtering out into their usual arrangement. Even the shouts and orders that followed as people descended from wagons and horses, quick to start hauling down tarps, ropes, boxes and logs.
To her surprise she couldn’t see the sea from the grounds. The land seemed to slope a little upwards in the direction of where it ought to be, topped with a scattering of trees and rocky outcrops. She found her mind drifting again, growing restless, distracted.
Only when Inakara rounded back on her own horse and came over did she drift back to the real world, blinking several times.
“Help set up whilst you wait – there is something I would like to discuss with both of you prior to your departure. I will send for you when it is time,” said Inakara.
It was odd really, Inakara talking to her. Wren had been under the impression Inakara was keeping her distance; yet in that moment, the look in her eyes, it occurred to Wren that there was a look of worry in Inakara’s eyes, as well as something she couldn’t quite read. With a curt and final nod Inakara rode off into the fray, supervising the assembly.
Wren glanced at Lorca, whom looked as puzzled as she. “Do you think she has something to settle you?”
He frowned. “I do not know. Perhaps but why only mention now? She has been strange these past days. I tried to talk to her but she refused me.”
There was hurt in his eyes. Inakara was the last physical link he had to his people, a connection, and she was forcing a divide between them, driving him away without explanation. Wren wished she could understand that connection between the dragons and Dragonairs, the way that magic bound them together across an empire that lasted for so long.
“Come on, lets help set up. There isn’t much either of us can do right now,” she said.
Together they rode off to the other end of the camp where they found the makeshift stables being set up; there they left the horses and went off to help set up. They hauled up tents, then hammered wooden pegs into the ground, propped up logs to pitch tents in sections, carried crates of food and goods here and there. The cooking tent, which was arguably the largest within the whole caravan, took the longest to haul up and fill with low tables; pots, plates and all cutlery was set aside in crates, all stacked neatly. They hung unlit lanterns from the posts that ran along the centre, six of them in total in the centre, plus twelve down the side, holding up the long expanse of the whole tent.
Wren was the last out of the tent, right behind Lorca; emerging they discovered the final touches were being set about the camp. A secondary area had been assembled off the main section, empty tents made with colourful swaths of canvas and flags. Sorcha had explained that the local lord payed the caravan good money to come each year, serve up entertainment to the locals; well, it was mainly for the nobility whom passed through the main village, staying in the luxurious inns, on their way to the city. The stop had become a kind of tradition, a few days of celebrations to herald the approaching day to mark the coronation of Empress Alexandria.
As if that were a kind of miracle.
So, the caravan came every year, right on time to serve the nobility. Wren couldn’t imagine what must be going on in the minds of everyone around her, to serve the people that supported slavery. Especially when some of their own people, like Jed, had come so terribly close to it – perhaps some of them had even escaped it.
With a sigh, Wren followed Lorca, off to see if anyone needed their help. They made it half way through the camp when Sorcha came up to them. The normally bright and smiling girl was quiet, the light in her eyes shuttered out. She had a severe expression on, as if she were focused on something.
“Inakara will see you now,” she said.
Lorca and Wren nodded. Neither of them spoke, not really knowing what to say. Both were curious what Inakara was summoning them for, hopeful it was a solution to Lorca’s problem; only, as Lorca glanced at her, she knew he didn’t think that it was that. So dread coiled between them so tightly that neither registered the camp around them; then as Inakara’s tent loomed before them, suddenly more menacing than it had ever seemed before, they dimly registered a horse grazing by the entrance. It wasn’t from the camp, Wren realised, looking at the saddle, which was of a fine black leather, glossed and well kept. The horse itself even looked far finer than any of the caravan.
It was someone knew.
Wren looked at Lorca, as if he might recognise it but he only frowned deeper, his gaze on the tent. Tension drew his shoulders back, his jaw clenched. Unease radiated off him.
“What’s wrong?” She asked, reaching for him.
He was striding in before she could touch him, forcing her to scurry after him and Sorcha, too, in their wake. He threw the cloth open but came to a dead stop inside, Wren slamming into him. He didn’t register her, not even as Wren untangled herself and moved to the side, tracking his gaze to the table in the middle of the tent. On the other side Inakara and a blonde-haired woman stood there, the crown before them.
A crown of thorns, made of gold, with jewelled red flowers.
It was the Cursed Crown from the stories.
Lorca spoke first, his eyes downright murderous. “What the hell is that doing here?”
Inakara ignored his temper and looked to Wren. “This Crown will reveal to me exactly what you are child, if my suspicions about your lineage are correct.”
Wren looked at the crown again, wondering how the hell it was meant to tell her who she was, what she was. Yet as she stared at it, her magic stirred, as if awakened by the magic that thrummed off the crown. She stepped towards it but a hand clamped down around her wrist; blinking, she looked to her hand, then up, meeting Lorca’s gaze.
“I need to know.”
Reluctance warred in his eyes against her quiet plea. His gaze snapped to the woman beside Inakara.
“Who are you?”
The woman gave a slight bow. “I am Helena, both the keeper of that crown and your escort into the city. Madam Kara could not risk the Crown being discovered in her presence, particularly how it can react around dragons, so a human keeper has kept it safe for some time.”
Lorca’s face darkened but he said nothing, keeping his gaze on Inakara and Helena, warningly. Without looking away he released Wren’s wrist, remaining poised as she moved around the table and stood before Inakara. A look of unease and curiosity danced in Inakara’s eyes as she reached for the crown, whilst looking at Wren. As her fingers brushed the crown it started to glow, the jewelled flowers brightening, like they were almost made of fire themselves.
Inakara raised the crown above Wren’s head, hesitating for a moment. “This crown belonged to the first Dragonair Queen, though it has never glowed for a Dragonair. The magic sings only for a dragon of Avalon, the last of the golden dragons, to which I herald from. For an Avalon dragon, the only kind to be able to take human form, this crown will sing.”
Wren held her breath, heart racing, as she watched Inakara’s arms lower and the pressure that came as the crown settled atop her head. For a moment, the world was silent; then –
White light exploded and singing erupted around Wren, a wordless ethereal sound. She couldn’t see, blinded by its light, yet she heard that song – not just around her but within, as if it filled her completely, in tune with her magic. For the first time since she left the mountains she felt right.
The light finally dimmed and she realised everyone was looking at her. Inakara couldn’t stop staring, her eyes wide.
“It’s true…My sister’s egg survived, it hatched. You survived,” she whispered in awe.
Wren looked at Lorca, whose own expression looked a mixture of horror and sadness. “You’re a dragon…”
Wren was numb and silent as she checked over her saddle and bags, ensuring what little she had was packed. She tightened her chest strap that held her sword to her back, then she hauled herself up onto the saddle. Restless, she glanced back to Inakara’s tent. Since the little revelation Lorca had remained behind, needing to talk to Inakara in private; so, both Helena and Wren had told to leave the tent, though the former simply said she would meet everyone at the horses when it was time and she went off into the camp. Wren didn’t know what to think of the woman whom strode about confidently, her chin lifted. Inakara clearly trusted her enough with such an important crown, showing a long and old bond between them.
She was about to tear her gaze away from the tent when finally, Lorca strode out, his gaze brooding. Whatever they spoke of it had only darkened his mood, as if he had none of the answers, he wanted from her. If he’d even received anything to aid with his issue she couldn’t tell. He strode right up to his horse, untethered it from the post and quickly checked over his own bags.
“Lorca?” She called his name softly.
His gaze snapped up, fiery for a moment, then softened. “Sorry, my thoughts have run away with me.”
“I am here,” she replied.
“I had my suspicions of you perhaps being a Dragonair; nay, I hoped for it. I am simply a little…” His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes for a moment, his face twisting, as if he was in pain. He opened his eyes. “Apologies. Inakara gave me a ring that is supressing my magic. It is not…pleasant.”
She watched him as he swung up onto his saddle and gave her a nod. Returning it, she nudged her horse on and together they rode the last little bit to the edge of the camp. There, the others were awaiting her, astride their horses. Helena looked resplendent on hers, wearing a silk cloak that draped over the back of her horse, like a waterfall of pale blue.
Helena cast a surveying look over everyone, then nodded. “When we arrive at the city gates, I will present all documentation required. Follow my lead and speak only when I direct you to. Is that clear?”
A chorus of ‘yes’ resounded from the several riders. Then they were off. Wren fell in beside Lorca at the rear of the group, as far from Jed as she might manage before drawing Helena’s attention. They took a well-worn road that ran along the rise and fall of the coastline. It was then that Wren finally glimpsed the sea itself, stretching out in a vast expanse of dark blue, smoother than she expected. It stretched to the horizon and she knew it went beyond that, to the islands of the Elves. Well, what little remained now after Empress Alexandria had brought them to their knees.
The group eventual peeled away from the cost, diverting inland to a narrower road with a thin scatter of trees. The sea was hidden, then, by the trees and by the land itself. The air remained cooler, though, chilled by the sea breeze, tanged by salt. It was a far cry from the mountains, from the air sharpened to a point by the chill and it left her yearning sharply for her home.
Helena’s hand suddenly shot up and everyone stopped. They were at the bottom of a hill, surrounded now by woods. Her hand fell back to her side.
“Everyone remain ready. We are not alone.”
Lorca glanced at Wren. “Do you sense it? Like the forest?”
She did feel it, the coldness on her skin, the whisper at the nape of her neck. Demons. They were close, inching closer. Their low hissing filled the air and then they saw them, red eyes glowing. Pain suddenly erupted in Wren’s head; she threw her head back with a cry. Only, it wasn’t a human cry – it sounded like a dragon…and something else. Something was insideof her wanting out; no, not out, it wanted control. It burned her limbs, like she was on fire from the inside.
“Wren? Wren?”
Was that Lorca? Maybe. The pain surged again inside of her and she fell from her horse, slamming onto her side. She barely registered the pain from the fall as she pushed herself up to her feet. The pain was pulling her limbs, controlling her. It hurt so much, burning hotter as she tried to resist it; then she felt it, the slightest touch of a hand on her shoulder and someone leaning into her ear. They smelt of the mountains, of snow and storms and like home.
Let go, Wren. Don’t be afraid.
It wasn’t Lorca’s voice. It was a woman’s voice…and the sound soothed Wren’s fire. Wren surrendered and at once, the pain dimmed. She wasn’t in control, far from it, and could only watch as her hand rose up and pointed to the trees. That voice stirred within her again, only this time, the sound came from her own mouth, half her voice, half someone else.
“Leave.”
The demons snarled, straining against the command but drew no closer. Their hellish red eyes stared her down from the trees, gave another low hiss and withdrew. Wren kept her hand up until the last demon shrank away, then the presence at her shoulder drew away too. The grip on her mind fell away. She swayed for a moment. Hands clamped around her, turning her. Lorca. She met his worried gaze.
“Wren?”
His hand moved to her cheek and she felt his warmth so keenly her fire settled, as if now soothed by him. She leant into his hand for a moment, then pulled back with a quiet sigh.
“We have to keep moving.”
All eyes remained on her as she walked back to her horse and got back on. Helena’s gaze watched her curiously, though she remained silent until Lorca was back up on his horse. She yanked her horse around and set off.
“Onwards.”
No one spoke, though Jed kept glancing at Wren as if she might suddenly tear the group apart with her bare hands. Silence reigned as the group rode onwards. Even Lorca, with his gaze darting frequently back to her, remained tight lipped, troubled as though her display of power disturbed him more. Wren fought the urge to laugh at her situation. In the span of less than two weeks she had gone from a Climber…to a girl racing across a land she scarcely knew to save her people…then to one with magic…now she was a dragon. Yet only now Lorca looked as though her magic was something troubling.
She wanted to say just that but the group slowed again at the top of the hill, the trees giving way to the coastline before them…and there, stretched tall and wide, like a sickness upon the land, a city.
Helena glanced at Wren and Lorca. “Welcome to the City of Slaves.”
End of Part 1.
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