Chronicles of Pelenor Trilogy Collection

by Meg Cowley

  Zakynthor dropped into a vertical dive, his wings tucked in tightly. Raedon was used to it. Instead, his stomach swooped with fear over what he would find.

  They shot through the narrow opening in the mountain and into the cavernous interior. Zakynthor snapped his wings out. They juddered in the air as he slowed them with tremendous beats of his outstretched wings, before alighting upon one of the ledges in the lower levels of the hollow mountain.

  It was eerily silent.

  He had not left more than a handful of dragons and riders of the Winged Kingsguard behind, for he had sent almost all of their strength to assist the dwarves, but for all those remaining to be out flying? Premonition tingled across him.

  “There are no dragons here. None at all. Their scent is stale upon the air. Days old,” Zakynthor said to him, his jaws apart in a silent hiss as he scanned the space around them.

  Raedon could find no signs of life, no pinpricks of light or magic around them. He dismounted slowly, but stayed close to the dragon, resisting the urge to draw his blade. What could threaten the Winged Kingsguard in their home? Such thoughts were ludicrous. Yet he could not shake the unease and apprehension coursing through him.

  Footsteps sounded behind him.

  Raedon whirled, calling his magic until he blazed with light, but it stuttered as he realised who stood before him.

  Dimitrius, his face pale and lined with worry, fists balled, body taut as a rope about to snap. “Thank the heavens. I’ve been searching for you.”

  “What’s happened?” Raedon did not need to specify. By the wild glint in Dimitrius’s eyes, he knew precisely what lay burning outside on the plains.

  “You need to leave at once.” Dimitrius stepped forward until he stood a pace away from Raedon, his tone low and urgent. Zakynthor growled a faint warning, but the elf ignored it. “Saradon has returned. He has seized control of the kingdom. Toroth is dead, as is the entire royal family and half the court. You must have seen what remains of your cohort outside the city. It was a massacre.”

  “How can one half-elf with no magic take down a knot of dragons and my riders?” Raedon asked in disbelief. He had to be mistaken. It could not be.

  “He’s not the elf the legends speak of. He is filled with dark magic and has sapped the strength of the court. A dragon is no match for him.” Dimitrius’s mouth twisted. He looked as nauseous as Raedon now felt.

  “Toroth is dead?” Raedon repeated sharply.

  “Yes. And all his kin, unless...” He looked at Raedon with hope in his eyes.

  Raedon nodded, and Dimitrius’s shoulders sank with obvious relief. “The prince commands my ranks in Valtivar.”

  “Then we at least have one heir–and one of his more reasonable children.”

  Raedon lowered his voice, glad they were in one of the small alcoves, not out in the giant space where they could be seen or heard. “If he is so purging the court, how have you survived?”

  “I am Saradon’s second-in-command,” Dimitrius admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not what you think. I promise you,” he added quickly when he saw Raedon’s face darken. “I’m trying to defeat him from the inside.”

  Raedon stepped back, his hand tight upon the handle of his blade, as if undecided whether he ought to trust or strike. Zakynthor’s jaws widened–a threat.

  “You must go,” Dimitrius said, taking advantage of Raedon’s pause. “If you stay, he will kill you both. Go to Valtivar, anywhere where you will be safe. Start mounting the resistance. He commanded the goblins. He now calls the Indis to his banners. They are almost here.” Dimitrius’s voice took on a shrill edge.

  “I’m no coward,” Raedon growled through gritted teeth.

  “This isn’t a matter of cowardice. Don’t be foolish! This is hopeless. Tournai is lost. A rash response will only see Pelenor fall to him, too. You have your riders safe in Valtivar–or at least safer. You have your own stronghold and the Académie. Go there. Muster what strength you can. For now, we must regroup, strategise.”

  “What of my men in the capital–the Kingsguard?” Those who were just men and elves, without a dragon to fight alongside, bringing order to the city.

  Dimitrius swallowed.

  “Tell me.”

  “Those who have not promised service to Saradon have been imprisoned or killed.”

  Raedon swore.

  “I promise, I will direct any who escape the city to your headquarters. I have networks, contacts, passages... Not all will be lost.”

  Raedon clenched his jaw, torn. “And what will you be doing here?”

  “Doing my best to understand his plans so they can be thwarted.” Troubled, Dimitrius’s gaze fell. “There is a prophecy that he will somehow be cast down with a Dragonheart, but I have nothing more concrete than that. So, for now, I watch, I bide my time, and I do as he commands. The closer I remain, the better positioned I am to stop him when the time comes.”

  “Those are my dragons burning on the plains, are they not?” Raedon clenched his jaw.

  “Yes.”

  “Take their hearts.” It was a hard thing to say. It violated all bonds between elf and dragon.

  “They are burnt, too. Once tainted by fire, they are worthless for magic.”

  Raedon did not know whether to be surprised or disgusted that the spymaster already knew that. “What now?”

  Their kingdom had been taken from within. A broken court remained, his forces were fractured, scattered upon the winds, his army of foot soldiers gone. A tendril of panic clutched at his heart. How had he left a secure kingdom and returned to a usurped one?

  “Go to your stronghold. Muster your forces–any that you can. His power only grows, and he will not be cast down by brute force. You will have to be the strength that defeats his army. I will tell you who he commands, where, how many they number. I will be here, searching for a way to stymy his magic. If we can cut off the head of the snake...” Dimitrius left the thought unfinished.

  “You will feed us all the information you can.” It was not a request, and Raedon’s voice was hard.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Zakynthor growled into Raedon’s mind.

  Raedon did not answer, glaring at Dimitrius. The elf looked uncomfortable, more distressed than Raedon had ever seen the usually imperturbable and unruffled spymaster. “There’s more you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, but we don’t have time.” Dimitrius met his gaze. “You must leave–now.”

  Raedon did not answer. Of all the things he had expected to return to, this had not been one of them. It was almost too much to process. He scowled and let out a strangled cry of frustration. It was impossible.

  “You had better not betray me, spymaster, else I will see you suffer long and slow for it.”

  “I won’t betray this kingdom,” Dimitrius said in a low voice. “Nor the people within it.”

  Raedon knew that was not one and the same, but he could sense Dimitrius’s sincerity. Perhaps he is not as selfish as I thought.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Zakynthor, turning away and clambering back into the saddle.

  “Do not fly over the city. You must not be seen. Be safe.”

  It was as amicable a parting as they were likely to have. Raedon nodded, his mouth set in a thin line, and nudged Zakynthor. The great, scaly beast paced from the alcove, his belly and tail slithering on the bare rock with a swishing sound, before his claws crunched and scraped as he drew himself upright, lowered onto his haunches, and launched himself into the heights to depart the way they had arrived.

  As Dimitrius’s revelations and the dragon pyres cascaded through his mind, Raedon prayed he had not made a grave mistake.

  Eight

  Soon, Emyria had her in the gown. Harper stood in the centre of her room, unable to tear her eyes from the full-length mirror in the corner.

  “I-I cannot wear this,” she stammered, a blush rising to her cheeks. “My legs! My.
..everything!”

  “Nonsense. You should have seen what Princess Rosella dressed herself in. She might as well have used napkins to cover her decency for the good the rest of it did.” Emyria continued to bustle around, arranging the fabric expertly and buttoning Harper up at the back, whilst she continued to stare at herself, aghast.

  The strapless gown of obsidian lace embellished with tiny diamonds that shimmered with every small movement plunged down from the neck, the “v” meeting just above Harper’s navel. Sheer panelling stretched from shoulder to shoulder, but the tiny diamonds floating upon it did nothing to hide the curve of her breasts.

  At the waist, the fabric became mercifully thicker, but no less revealing, tumbling to the floor with a train as long as her outstretched arms. A slit ran up the front of both thighs, so with every step, the full length of her legs, which Emyria had insisted be covered in flesh-coloured stockings to hide her bruising from her time under the mountain, were on show to any who looked. And Harper was certain everyone would be looking.

  As Emyria turned her, intent on pinning the dress into place, Harper nearly choked when she looked over her shoulder and into the mirror. Sheer all the way down to the small of her back, with a line of black diamond buttons up her spine.

  “I can’t wear this.”

  Emyria only lifted up her feet, one by one, to slip on her matching black diamond shoes and fasten them up her shins with crisscrossing straps of black ribbon and diamonds.

  “Please, I can’t. I’ll trip and fall over either the dress or the shoes!”

  The shoes had heels the width of the tip of a knife, and Harper wobbled unsteadily, struggling to even stay upright when they threatened to tip her forward or snap her ankles.

  “Keep a tight hold of Master Dimitri then,” Emyria replied grimly. “This isn’t just a matter for you. It’s for all of us, Miss Harper. He’s trying to keep us all safe, and for now, that’s achieved by pleasing this new king we seem to be stuck with. So you do as you’re told, as we all must. All right?”

  The glare the tiny lady gave Harper was so stern it left her gaping.

  “Now, carefully sit down here.”

  Harper perched on the soft buffet at a dressing table carved of crimson-brown wood. Her expression closed as she saw herself in the mirror, a sight she tried to avoid. Mirrors were not for the poor in Caledan, and she disliked them no less here.

  Pale skin after years in the gloom of her village in the forest. Serious, grey eyes under furrowed, dark brows. Pursed lips that were washed out. Then she saw a plumpness to her cheeks that she never before had, at least in Pelenor. She had never gone as truly hungry as in Caledan. Still, she was no beauty, not like the glowing lord’s daughter she had seen parading through the streets of Glymouth to her wedding all that time ago.

  The adamant gown only made her look paler, as though a corpse come to life. I look like a harbinger of ruin.

  “Beautiful,” crooned Emyria absentmindedly as she brushed through Harper’s tangled hair, Harper gritting her teeth at every tug, until it fell into a smooth sheet, then began to pin sections up with expert precision until all of it was pulled into a swirling arrangement of braids at the back of her head.

  Last of all, Emyria reached for a covered box. She flipped the lid open to reveal a tiara of silver-white gleaming metal and black diamond shards. She placed it gingerly atop Harper’s head, then swiftly applied some blush to Harper’s cheeks, kohl to her eyes, and a red stain to her lips. The tiara made Harper look even more otherworldly.

  Crowned with a halo of death.

  Emyria stepped back and admired her handiwork with evident pleasure. “You’re done. Come. Quickly. There’s not much time left before the eighth bell and you’re to be there at once. Dimi, we’re ready,” she called, bustling from the room.

  Harper gingerly stood, testing her weight on the spindly heels. Each step clattered upon the smooth floor and threatened to cause a slip. Or a trip. She was so intent on not falling, clinging onto the panelled walls with one hand, her eyes upon her feet, that she did not notice Dimitri waiting outside. She looked up as his shadow crossed her field of vision.

  He wore a fine, dark suit, as usual, perfectly tailored and immaculately presented in order to complement his raven hair and violet eyes.

  He gaped at her.

  “I look that bad? I knew it. Emyria, can I please take this off now?” Harper pleaded.

  “No.” Dimitri swallowed, looking her up and down as if he could not believe his eyes. “You... You look...exquisite,” he murmured. “Fit to be a princess.”

  Her cheeks coloured and she looked away, unnerved by his attention. She felt naked in the dress, for there wasn’t much material. The thought of showing so much of herself to him, let alone the rest of the court, made her want to vomit.

  “Are you going to stand there all night gawking?” she said roughly, scowling. “My face is up here.”

  He laughed and met her eyes, mischievous mirth bubbling within him. “I do apologise, my lady.” He drew forth to pluck her hand and raise it to his lips, sinking into a deep bow before her. “Would you do me the honour of making every male in this court jealous I have you on my arm?”

  She snorted. “Hardly. I’ll only accept if you don’t mind me clinging to you, quite literally, all night, else I’ll fall over in these ridiculous shoes or trip over this idiotic dress!”

  “It’s a deal,” he purred. “Come. We have a show to put on.”

  Her heart jittered at that, her annoyance at the ridiculousness of her outfit and his scrutiny lost. Saradon, and the entire court of Pelenor, would be waiting. And she knew Saradon would punish her if she shamed him.

  Emyria had vanished. Dimitri led Harper to the door, then paused, still with her hand in his. She clung on with more strength and less dignity than she wished, holding her breath in concentration as she tried not to fall.

  “Harper, we must be careful tonight.” Dimitri turned to her. His eyes glittered in the shadows of the dimly lit hallway. “Everybody’s eyes will be upon us. He has made it clear I am his second, and you are his heir. We have a part to play, and it will not be a kind one. Do you understand?”

  Harper shook her head.

  Dimitri swallowed. “I will undoubtedly have to do terrible things to keep us alive. You might see some of that. We both might have to play a dreadful part. I don’t wish to scare you. As for you... The best way to keep yourself safe is to say as little as possible. Be who everyone expects you to be–cold, cruel, and terrible. If they fear you, they will stay away.”

  Harper nodded slowly. Dimitri wanted her to wear his usual mask with him. How fitting, given her attire. Wear it like an actor wears a costume, she mused. This would be very different to the travelling shows passing through town in her childhood. Those performers were merry.

  “Do not show any part of your real self to any of these wolves. They will use it to destroy you, to take him down.” He leaned closer with every word, his gaze boring into her, as if he could make her understand the severity of their situation with just that.

  “I’ll do my best,” she whispered.

  It did not satisfy him, if the crinkle of worry in his brow was any indication. She did not know whether he worried for her safety or his own, but he straightened, nodded, and slipped her hand through his arm.

  “Let’s go.”

  He led her through darkened hallways lit by faint faelights in ornate sconces, their footsteps uncomfortably loud upon the stone floors. As they drew closer to the open parts of the palace, where courtiers roamed and crowds flocked to the ball, the isolated halls flooded with nobles, all elves, but none came close to Dimitri or Harper.

  In fact, just the opposite. At their appearance, a frisson of fear rippled through those present, and the crowds parted, as though they had an invisible shield around them, repelling others.

  Harper tried to stand tall, pacing beside Dimitri, who kept hold of her with a casual looking, yet iron grip to stop her falling.
She could not help but glance at those they passed.

  Elves of pale skin, dark skin, and everything in between, eyes and hair colours of every hue, some outfits just as ridiculous as her own, regarded her with wide, fearful eyes, blank faces barely hiding their hostility.

  “Get used to it,” Dimitri said into her mind.

  Harper pursed her lips. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a blind bit of difference, and it won’t save us now. But I can’t say I fancy walking all the way there in stony-faced silence. We might as well make an entrance to give them reason to fear.”

  Harper looked at Dimitri, keeping her expression carefully blank. He cracked a wolfish smile at her, full of playfulness. Taking his cue, she tightened her grip on his arm and gave him a feral smile in return. His eyes twinkled in delight, and with a tug that pulled at her stomach in the strangest way, he took them both into the nothingness between the domains of magic and life.

  A moment later, amidst a swirling cloud of night and shadows, they stepped into the world again. Shrieks of alarm rang out around them. Dimitri squeezed Harper’s arm against him in silent instruction–or reassurance. She straightened beside him, lifted her chin, and put on her mask–cold indifference, arrogance, and smug superiority, picturing Dimitri’s face the first time they had ever met.

  The night fell away around them to reveal a grand set of gilded, carved doors before them, brightly lit by blazing faelights that had every mirrored surface glittering. At their entrance, the crowd hushed. Harper did not turn her head as Dimitri prowled forward with her by his side. Elves looked at them, then quickly away, as if curious, yet fearful to fall under their scrutiny. None dared speak.

  Footmen opened the doors without a word, not even willing to look at them, and Harper held back a gasp at what lay beyond. It made the antechamber look like a pauper’s abode, never mind that it was the most lavish room she had ever laid eyes on.

  The floor was smooth, shimmering, polished marble. The ceiling painted with lifelike figures cavorting around the heavens, upon a dark canvas pinpricked with stars that seemed to glow and twinkle, as if there were no roof at all upon the domed structure. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, with stained glass panels chasing curling ivy and flowers up to the heights. Outside, the night was black and cold, but inside was pleasantly warm.