No, she wasn’t ready. She’d been terrified of ice shadows as a child. She’d huddled under her bedclothes, afraid to sleep, thinking black thoughts of ice oozing into the room and stealing her soul. But there was no choice but to move ahead, and no one but her to defend them. “Ready,” she said and got her shields up.
Together they stepped over the line. The temperature dropped low, and the breaths she’d been exhaling as mist actually seemed to turn to crystals of ice in the air.
Something moved in the blackness beyond the doorway. And then her brave little glow-light dimmed.
Chapter Thirty-nine
The shadow was there before Siobhan knew it. It was translucent with a shiny surface that looked almost sticky. She resisted the urge to retreat and instead held her shield strong, but the thing floated right through, clammy fingers reaching for her face. A scream rose in her throat.
“Atavantador commands you, stop.” Doyle’s voice was low and filled with the vibrations of the dragon’s roar.
The shadow hovered near her, its pitch black figure draining the light from her little globe. The room grew even darker and she frantically threw more power into her shield, trying to push it back out of their personal area.
“Schism. Bleak. Claw.”
The thing hesitated, almost looking at her from the spots where it should have had eyes. Siobhan held her breath and willed Doyle’s words to work. And then it wailed, the sound pulling misery from her soul, and disappeared. As if it had never been.
It took nearly five seconds for her breath to exhale, and then she was breathing too fast, reaction kicking in. “Is it gone?”
“It is.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m the one that bound it here. I’m the one to free it.” He headed for the hole in the wall, that now seemed to be shades lighter in color but still was a dark portal she didn’t want to step through. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Come on. Everything looks so different down here, but I remember where I’m going. It’s not far.”
She sent the globe more power and the room brightened. Then, she followed him into the dark.
The feel of the little queen grew stronger with each step, but so did the underlying chill of Maeve’s ice magic. The next room was empty except for a shriveled husk, covered in brownish-green fur and curled in a corner.
“Damn her.” Doyle ran over to the body. “This was another defense, but look, she’s drained so much magic from the area here that it’s also drained.”
“What was it?” She could make out a muzzle and a leathery black nose. And she could feel the pull of something demanding more power, it pulled at her shield, wanting every drop of magic it could get.
“A cú-sidhe—a phantom hound. Never meant to stand guard for this long.” Something sad crossed his face, gone in seconds. “Come on, we have to hurry.”
She edged past the husk and they increased their pace, running down the next passage and erupting into a large room. There was a torch in a sconce near the door and she lit it on fire. The torch burst into flame and as it did torches around the room lit one after another. The room burst in to Siobhan’s vision.
Four huge pillars of grey stone, wider than four men could have wrapped their arms around, held up the cavern’s ceiling. In the center was a large open box and inside of that the largest egg she’d ever seen. It lay on its side, nearly three feet across the narrow part and reaching nearly five from side to side. Much bigger than she’d imagined and covered with vines of Maeve’s ice magic, embracing it like the tentacles of a kraken.
“How in the world did you get that in here?”
“Dragon eggs grow while incubating. It’s taken a thousand years to get to this size.” His voice was tight. “I’m afraid we’re too late. Look at it.”
Descending down the pillars, wrapped around like reverse vines twining to the floor, were huge ropes of ice. Small suckers adhered to the pure white shell and pulses of magic were being sucked out and sent up the vines to the world above.
The little queen had stopped making sounds in Siobhan’s head. “I can’t hear her anymore. We have to get her out of there.”
Doyle ran to the egg and seized a coil of ice. He pulled, but it didn’t come off. “They’re stuck.” His face spasmed with pain and his skin went grey.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“She’s sucking the life out of me,” he gasped, dropping to his knees.
“Maeve? Just let it go.”
“No, not her. The baby. She’s starving for magic.”
Siobhan closed her eyes and centered. She gathered every bit of her Gift that she could and reached for the ice tentacles. Careful to keep her shield strong, she put out a bright ray of magic and lightly stroked one. She could feel it fastened to the egg, siphoning off the dragon’s life force and the power the egg had been drawing on from the nodes of Underhill below.
She reached out a careful magical touch to the baby queen, shielding fiercely when she felt her respond with a hungry joy.
Here! I’m here!
Slow down, little one, we’re here to help. You have to let him go. In her head she pictured Doyle. His color fading fast as the queen took his life force to feed her own.
I need.
You have to let him go and I can save you. We can stop the hunger.
She’s strong. Too strong.
Siobhan racked her brain, trying to figure out how they could save everyone. I can get the ice off of you, if you let me. She had no idea if she could or not, but she had to try. It’s no different than sculpting ice. She sent the baby dragon a picture of ice flying as her magic chipped away at the tentacles.
You are weak. The little voice grew superior and Siobhan felt a waft of the queen’s dragon magic. She still had it and now it was stronger, fed by Doyle’s massive Gift. But he wouldn’t hold out for long, not with two queens draining him. I will be stronger than you. I can hatch, then I will be free.
But the mental picture Siobhan had was not of the queen breaking free of the shell. She’d been trying. There were tiny fractures where she’d attempted to break out but failed, too weak to hatch.
You need help. My help.
How?
Forgive me, Doyle, she thought. He’d already given her almost everything he had to give and he’d sacrifice anything for the little queen. He’d wasted his life waiting for her to hatch, guarding her as best as he could. He’d wasted the opportunity he’d had with Siobhan, lied to her, betrayed her, all for this moment.
Feed me your power and feed me his power. I know how to use his power. I will break the ice and then you can hatch.
Yes!
A rush of power twenty times what she’d had from the silver dragon on her neck rushed into her. Every nerve in her body tingled and she swayed on her feet. She lifted her hands and stared. She could see the bones in her hands glowing from within.
Help me!
In the rush of power she’d almost forgotten the queen. She could keep all of this. Be strong enough to be a Lady with power enough to sit in one of the courts. Use it to shape what she wanted out of the mists, not just flowers that melted away under the strong sun, but houses and creatures and—. No! This wasn’t her. She might be able to take this power, but she’d seen what taking someone else’s power did. It put you under their control, and even if she could maintain her own control, it wouldn’t be right. It wasn’t hers.
And the poor baby dragon had given enough of herself to keep Maeve in her fancy castle. What would happen to her now if Siobhan stole the last of it. And what would it do to Doyle?
She fought the temptation to keep all of this amazing power to herself and readied a stream of it. Using her own ice Gift as a magical glove over her hand, she touched a tentacle. The combined power of the little queen, Doyle, and an outpouring from the magic nodes below, surged through her. She wrapped her magical fingers around the ice and pulled the tentacle off.
It writhed in the air, its suckers blindly reac
hing for the egg, but she threw it away, grabbed another one and tore it off too. Underneath the egg was solid in the physical form, its shell intact, but in its magical aura she could see tiny holes, where the magic had been siphoned off.
Anger rushed through her. Anger that Maeve would dare to kill another being, just so she could stay in her ice palace and bring in boy after boy for her amusement.
Anger that this little life might never see the light of day.
Anger that a hundred years of her life had been stolen from her, just like Doyle’s was running out before her eyes.
She grabbed another tentacle. This one twisted, coming back after her. The suckers on the underside pulsed like a hundred bloody mouths trying to latch on to her arm. She sent a blast of power and it recoiled, the suckers hissing with pain.
This wasn’t pretty artwork. No delicate frost flowers here. But it was still her small Gift directing the massive amounts of power being fed to her. Her Gift was the tool that made it all work. Instead of using her talents to create art, she was using her sculpting ability to destroy.
The ability to fight back flowed through her in a river of fierce joy.
One after another she ripped tentacles off until they were dangling from the ceiling, their suckers searching for something to grab. They wiggled and crawled from all directions, coming after her like a sea of headless snakes. She shot bolts at them, desperately pulling all the power she could and stunning one after another, until finally, she thought she’d hit them all.
There seemed to be a stop. Everything held its breath. Then the power that had been pulsing up the pillars via the vines, changed directions. Dark, icy blue power, the color of the freezing deep sea, pulsed back down and filled the tentacles.
Run! the dragon queen screamed in her head.
She backed away. They came after her, swelling fat with power from the outside world, like worms swollen after the rain.
The egg sent her more magic, a feeling of desperation behind it. Doyle gasped. He turned the color of snow and crumpled down to the floor. There was a jerk, and she gasped, as his magic was withdrawn from their grasp, but she didn’t have time to think or react. She had to use every bit of what she and the dragon queen had left and kill Maeve’s tentacles, or they would all die here, buried under the Winter Palace.
DOYLE WILLED HIMSELF to move. From his viewpoint, lying on his side on the floor, Maeve’s power suckers were winning. Siobhan glowed with more power than he’d ever seen, it almost leaked from her body, seeming to seep from her eyes and palms.
And yet, he knew, it wasn’t enough.
His fingers were stiff, frozen in their grip around Siobhan’s knife. Inch by inch he got his arm to move. He lifted it, raising the blade high and plunging it into the nearest tentacle. Pulses of icy power ran up the blade and into his arm, but the tentacle fractured as if he’d stabbed the surface of a frozen pond. Magic gushed from it like blue blood. It roiled across the floor, the tiny mouths opening and closing in silent screams.
His arm dropped down, the blade hit the floor.
The tentacle shuddered, then came writhing in his direction. He forced his arm to move through a thousand and one tiny pinpricks of pain. Lifting the knife and stabbing down again. Freezing power pulsed up the blade and into his arm. Then Siobhan’s icy hold around the dragon bone manacles began to melt and his skin began to burn.
But it was enough. Siobhan pulled more power, taking it from the egg and from the magic of Underhill itself. She reached out another strand of power and latched onto him. He could only lay on the floor watching as she took hold of one of the coils and pulsed something back into it. Pain tore through his gut as she stole the last of his power, taking with it his dragon fire.
So cold it burned, it flamed out of her hands, the icy flames racing from one coil to the next until the entire room was alight in cold fire.
The coils writhed and screamed, high-pitched, unearthly wails that hurt his ears. Steam rose from their twisted, ropey shapes, filling the room until he couldn’t see the floor. It nearly covered him until all he could see was Siobhan. She was beautiful, glowing so brightly with his own fire that he had to raise his arm to cover his eyes. He was proud of her and scared all at the same time. He pushed to move to help and could do nothing, panic racing through him as he watched. His power was too much for her. If he didn’t stop this, she’d go down writhing in his own flame.
There was a bright flash.
The tentacles stopped making any noise at all. The light went out of Siobhan, and she fell to the floor.
Chapter Forty
The pain in Doyle’s gut had subsided to a dull ache and his body felt like he’d flown a thousand miles through a raging snow storm. He could move, but the bone manacles embracing his wrists and ankles had started to burn, even through the thin layer of Siobhan’s ice that still surrounded them.
Siobhan lay on the floor near one of the pillars, surrounded by the glittering remains of the tentacles. He forced his aching body to move, crawling over to her through broken shards of Maeve’s magic that sliced into his skin, leaving a bloody trail through the ice.
“Hey,” he said, his voice barely a croak. “Are you okay?”
Her face was paler than fresh snow. With shaky hands, almost afraid to touch her and find out the worst, he stroked her cheek.
She moved, moaning, and lifted a hand to her head. Her eyes drifted open. “Is it over? Did we win? How is the egg?”
A burst of elation soared through him.
“You’re alive. Thank the ancestors.”
It felt disrespectful to be wearing the dead and thanking them at the same time, but he figured they would more than understand. They’d be urging him to pick up sword and shield, and take revenge.
And he intended to.
But for now he pulled Siobhan into his lap and cradled her close. “I thought you were dead.” He nuzzled her hair, drawing in her scent. Despite everything she still smelled of the early morning tundra after a blizzard, fresh and alive and full of promise. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been mauled by a bear and left to die. My head is pounding and every piece of my body aches.” She lifted her head, craning her neck. “How is the egg? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know.” The egg was still. Too still. He was almost afraid to find out. After all this time and nearly losing Siobhan, had they failed anyway? He smoothed back Siobhan’s hair. “You aren’t built to hold dragon power like that without a filter to help you.” He squeezed her gently. “How in the hell did you manage to channel my fire?”
“It wasn’t me.” She pointed a shaky finger at the egg across the room. “It was her.”
“No wonder.” He grimaced looking at the deceptively innocent egg. It sat unmoving in its nest, all of the tentacles gone from its surface. “I feel drained. Like I went out and partied for a week of hangovers.” He reached inside, but his flame was unresponsive. “I’m not even sure there’s any power left in me.” He shook his head in wonder. “How the hell did she know to do that? I guess even baby queens have more powers than drakes.”
“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m still magic blind.” He waved a manacle at her. “At least she’s not screaming anymore.” But the silence coming from the egg’s direction was more ominous than her screams of pain had been.
A loud crack echoed through the room and part of the rock forming the ceiling gave way. It fell to the floor in a cloud of dust that billowed across the room. Doyle gathered the last of his energy and threw himself over Siobhan, debris raining down on his bare shoulders and back.
He and Siobhan coughed and choked as the cloud dissipated, spreading out over the room and coating the bloody ice shards in dust.
“We have to get out of here.” Siobhan eased out of his arms and sat up. “Whoa.” Her eyes closed and she put a hand to her head. “I’m a little dizzy.”
“Move slowly.” He forced himself to standing and offered her a hand, raising
her to her feet.
Another piece of the ceiling broke free, crashing to the ground.
Siobhan flinched at the loud crack.
He looked back at the egg. He had to get the egg out. It was the entire reason they were down here, and if Maeve hadn’t known of her existence before, she would now. “I’d counted on having my magic so I could get her out of here, but I can’t even conjure a small flame, let alone shrink her down to a manageable size and float her out of here. Can you?”
“I’ll try.”
Her beautiful face haggard with effort, she pointed at the egg. A wispy beam of magic left her finger, flickering and dying out before reaching the egg.
Siobhan sagged. “I’m sorry, I’m tapped out. Unless she can help and draw more power from you or the nexus under our feet, I think we have to leave her here.”
A violent surge of rage shot through him, leaving him shaking.
“We can’t leave her here. I won’t. I’ve finally gotten her free. There’s no way I’m giving up now.”
Another piece of the ceiling tumbled down and he saw their reality reflected in Siobhan’s eyes. If they didn’t get the little queen out, she was as good as dead.
SIOBHAN MADE HER WAY to the egg. “Let me try.” She was exhausted, burnt down to the last end, but the look of determination in Doyle’s eyes reflected her own feelings. They’d come so far. They couldn’t let Maeve win now.
The egg’s smooth surface was dirty and grey and even the pockmarked aura seemed faded. The dragon inside the egg had been silent for too long, and Siobhan was afraid it was already too late.
Anger welled up inside her. Maeve had done this, sucked the life from a defenseless baby. If she ever got out of here, when she ever got out of here, she would make sure Maeve paid for all her crimes.
Caged: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 4) Page 23