by Meg Cowley
He called across the void in a low voice, but Brand did not respond. Worry spiked through Aedon, but he tried to reassure himself. They were alive, and that meant something. Erika would be close by, as well. He only hoped that, somehow, he could persuade the Queen to help them, or his foolishness would lead them all to their ends.
It was not long before they came. Aedon grasped onto the wood of his prison as the roots and vines slithered of their own accord to bring him down to the forest floor. He stepped out from the widening hole in the formation with shaking legs that he quickly concealed from the elves standing before him.
They grinned, their smiles filled with menace and the promise of revenge.
“Hello, Ta’hiir. Well met, El’hari. Fancy seeing you here,” Aedon said mildly, as if he had encountered friends at the market. He was pleased to see a nerve twitch in Ta’hiir’s temple, El’hari’s scowl deepening.
“Silence, thief,” Ta’hiir growled. “The Queen has summoned you at once.”
His sister’s sudden grin held a glint of perverse pleasure.
Aedon stood tall, trying to appear unruffled at what was to come, even though fear coursed through him. “Well, we mustn’t keep Her waiting.”
They fell in behind and before him, and marched him into the woods. He tried to search out Brand and Erika in the heights of the trees, without success, and soon gave up trying to mark his route.
All these bloody trees look the same.
The Queen awaited him in a clearing filled with feasting tables and wood elves making merry. With their terracotta skin, mahogany hair, and forest-green attire, they were at one with the forest.
At his arrival, their revelry ceased. As one, they turned unflinching, golden glares upon him.
El’hari and Ta’hiir marched him to the foot of the Queen’s throne. It was a living chair of wood and flowers intertwined, with a smooth slope in the centre where Solanaceae perched, the epitome of languid grace.
Her long limbs stretched like branches, Her arms curved over the throne, and Her legs slanted to one side, peering through the folds of Her gown, which left little to the imagination. The wood elves always had liberal views on their forms, Aedon recalled, without the trappings of modesty other races and cultures possessed. Her half-lidded, amber eyes regarded him through dark, curling eyelashes as he bowed before Her and sank to a knee.
“I have decided to humour you, thief,” She said, smugness colouring Her voice.
Misgivings rose like tendrils of smoke in Aedon. If She was not going to kill him... He had no false impressions that the alternative would be any more favourable.
“I am going to consider helping you, elf, if you can prove yourself to me,” She said lightly, raising Her legs to curl them under Her on the throne as She twirled a long, wavy lock of hair around a finger.
“My Queen?” Aedon said cautiously, fighting to keep his face blank of curiosity, and fear.
“Let’s play a game,” She said with a wicked smile. “If you win, I might even let you keep your head attached to your shoulders.
“What is your game?” He kept his voice level, unwilling to yield an inch of his fear to Her.
She clapped Her hands and laced Her fingers together. As if sensing Her excitement, the white, starry flowers on Her crown and throne pulsed faster. “You shall complete three trials. If you survive them, I might consider not punishing you.”
Annoyance sparked in Aedon at Her pettiness, a small vendetta taking priority over the safety of Her realm. “And if I disagree?” he said evenly.
“You have seen what happens to those who disagree with me.” She smirked at him.
“If I am to co–”
“Not just you. Your friends, too. I want to see how the man with the wings fights, and the human woman... Ah, they make for good sport.”
Aedon’s jaw clenched. “If we are to agree, I need more than mights and maybes. You will free us and help us defeat Saradon, just as you once did, so that Valxiron does not rise to dominion once more.”
“Careful, thief.” Ice flashed through Her eyes at his tone and presumption. She tapped long, slim fingers upon the smooth wood beside Her, deliberating. Eventually, She uncurled, standing with languid, unhurried grace from Her throne. Wood elves–long-limbed, dark-skinned maids, as well as tall, lithe warrior guards–glided to Her side at the movement.
“Take the trials. Complete them and live. I will consider your other proposals once you have proved yourself, and once I have seen the truth of your claims.” She glanced meaningfully at two of Her followers, who bowed and slipped away.
Aedon watched them go. Are they to leave the borders? See the truth of Saradon’s rising? He did not dare to ask, to attract Her ire once more, but he hoped they would return with the truth–one that She could not deny or ignore.
“Do you agree?” Her voice rang through the clearing.
Aedon hesitated for a moment. He swallowed. We’re her prisoners either way. At least this way, we have a chance to fight for life. I hope I do not live–or die–to regret this.
“I agree.”
Twenty Eight
Neither of them spoke of what had transpired the previous day, though it hung heavy in the air between them–in each glance, each word unsaid, the frisson running between them that Harper tried to ignore.
Dimitri caught her in the hall as she reached for her hated Order cloak, steeling herself for another day in the dark chambers.
“Wait!” he called, rushing down the corridor.
“I’m going to be late.” Harper stood on her tiptoes to snatch the mantle from its hook.
Dimitri caught her hand, forcing her to stop. “Did I scare you that much?”
Harper frowned at him. “Of course not.”
“Then why won’t you speak to me?”
Harper swallowed and bit her lip.
“Well?”
“It’s nothing. Never mind.” Her words were curt, short with impatience, suppressed tension, and tiredness. It will be easier this way.
He drew closer. “Any secrets you keep compromise us both,” he said gently, using her own sentiments against her.
She glowered at him, but cast her eyes down.
A slim finger tipped up her chin until she was eye to eye with him once more.
It would be so easy to give in. So easy to lean into him, pretend they were nothing other than two people free to dance the dizzying steps of courtship with no worse consequences than two broken hearts. As her frustrations bubbled over, she scrunched her eyes shut and wrenched herself away.
“Stop it. Just stop it!” she snapped, her voice breaking as she heaved out a frustrated sob. “We’re not getting anywhere! The court is destroyed, the kingdom has fallen, and we’re no closer to finding a Dragonheart with me confined to the Order and you to his bidding. We’re running out of time!” Erendriel’s visions that had haunted her through the long hours of wakefulness swam to the forefront once more.
Dimitri’s face closed at her words. “What’s brought this on? You know we both walk a dangerous line. We must be seen to conform before we can consider resuming our search for answers.”
Harper dithered, but at his unrelenting attention, admitted her thoughts of Erendriel’s visions.
Dimitri sighed. “We are indeed running out of time. Pelenor has fallen, but it would appear the south is as free of the Order as anywhere in the kingdom, and resistance there mounts as we speak. Saradon is determined to make them submit.”
“Except it’s not really Saradon, is it?” Harper murmured.
Dimitri paused. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t know where the line between Saradon ends and Valxiron begins... I’m not sure there is even a difference now. I see only darkness there, feel a power far greater than any of us. I suspect only Saradon’s body and voice remain, but his mind and all else are Valxiron’s domain. He is just a vessel.”
“If the south revolts, can they win?”
“No.”
“H
ow can you be so certain?”
Dimitri laughed, a mirthless chuckle. “Because they face the Dark One. If he wished, he could obliterate them all with a thought.”
Harper slumped against the wall. “Then what hope is there?” If he could defeat us all on a mere whim, what hope do we ever have of prevailing?
Dimitri drew closer and, his gentle hands cupping her cheeks, raised her face to his. “We still draw breath. There is still hope. Erendriel tasked you with some crucial mission, hinted there was some way to prevail. Whilst she encourages us, I will not abandon all hope. Not yet.”
He searched her gaze for understanding and acceptance of his words until she nodded. He smiled gravely and placed a soft kiss upon her brow. She stilled. “We will speak of this later. For now, you are required.”
The Order. She was already late. Harper pulled away from his warm touch, the ghost of his lips still upon her forehead, and fled into the dark halls that would still the frisson in her stomach and leave her bubbling with fear instead.
THAT DAY, HER CLASSES were a daze. Harper’s vision wavered with exhaustion as she resisted sleep and tried to maintain her mask of indifference during the Fifth Grandmaster’s lecture on the prevalence and necessity of scrying, until she finally succumbed.
A familiar, scorched land met her.
DEEP VOICES DRONED around Harper... A choir singing, but their song was a lifeless dirge. Before her, she saw greenery wither and livestock crumple to the ground in death, all burning. The sky was dark and a wind rose, whipping about her. Magic sparked in the distance, and a fire arose, its smoke casting over her with the wind, forcing itself up her nostrils to choke her.
A light in the darkness, a pinprick against the onslaught of death and despair, tugged her closer. In the maelstrom, the tiniest thread of life pulsed upon the ground at her feet, bright and clear. She fought to reach it, kneeling in the scorched, blood-soaked earth to pluck it from the ground.
As she touched it, the light flickered before brightening around her, but this time, it did not thrust outward. Instead, it glimmered and retreated, hovering just out of reach. Harper grasped for it again, but once more, she seemed unable to pick it up. It taunted her, drifting farther away.
“Come back!” she cried. Yet no matter how fast she walked, how quickly she ran after it, it seemed as though her legs were leaden, her limbs heavy and clumsy, and the Dragonheart vanished into the distance.
Harper fell to her knees, the burden of pain and weariness too great upon her, forcing her down into the earth.
Erendriel’s hand upon her head was a welcome relief, banishing some of the suffering. Harper glanced up to see the tall, ethereal woman towering over her. Erendriel’s face was still too bright to behold.
“Fated one, thou knowest time slippeth away from thee. Thou must seek the fulfilment of my vision. Valxiron’s disciple is in His power. The Heart of a Dragon shall resurrect Him, and the Heart of a Dragon shall cast Him down.”
“We cannot find a Dragonheart, though!” cried Harper, gasping. Her lungs seemed to be on fire, like the land about them, the acrid air tainting every breath she drew until her head swam with dizziness.
“The Heart of a Dragon is key. If thou standest true and with faith unwavering, thou shalt triumph over Valxiron’s servant. Beware the Tainted Star, and heed the Shadow.”
The voice faded, the ghostly touch leaving her. Harper opened her mouth to ask for more, for none of the words made sense, but no sound emerged. Then she was flying, up and away, but this time, the Dragonheart was not in her hands. She passed out of the storm and into the dark of night, but the veil of stars had vanished.
Twenty Nine
“Is she quite all right?”
“Princess?”
Voices milled around her as Harper came to. Light shone through the crack in her eyelids. The stone was cold beneath her back. It took her a long moment to realise she no longer sat at her desk.
“What happened?”
“She fell off her chair... Did she faint?”
“Harper?”
The last voice cut to her core. Dimitri.
Her eyes fluttered open. Above her, he was a shadow, a silhouette against the light behind him, surrounded by the rest of her cohorts and two of the Grandmasters. An angel of the night with a halo of light about him.
“Harper?” Dimitri prompted again. “Can you hear me? Can you sit up?”
She blinked slowly and licked her lips, relieved to find the taste of the acrid smoke gone, nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Of the vision. “Mmm.” She stirred, and his hands were upon her at once, supporting her under her arms into a sitting position. Her head lanced with pain at the movement, and she groaned and hunched over her knees.
“I think she is quite unwell,” he said firmly. “She will abstain from the rest of her classes today. I will see that she sees the physician and rests.” Without waiting for any acquiescence–or argument–he lifted her into his arms and vanished.
A MOMENT LATER, THEY were within the warm confines of his drawing room. He laid her carefully upon the chaise, calling for Emyria to bring them refreshments. His gaze did not leave her, his brows furrowed with worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked again. “What happened?”
“Water,” she croaked.
Dimitri poured her a glass from the jug upon his desk and held the cup to her lips as she slowly sipped it.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then groaned with relief as his hands passed over her, soothing the pain in her head and aching body. It felt as though she had run up a mountain in her sleep. Her body brought back all the pain of the vision. She shared it with him in halting tones, showing him the vision, this time subtly different–and more urgent.
He pursed his lips as the smoky landscape faded. “If Erendriel calls for you to act, then act we must.” He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. “If only we knew more than tantalising and fragmented clues. If only we knew what it all meant.”
“I thought the shadow was you for a second,” Harper admitted with a small smile. “The way you stood over me... You were dark against the light, but not a shadow to be afraid of...” She trailed off, painfully aware of how ridiculous she sounded. Dimitri only grinned and bowed.
“Glad to be of service, m’lady. I can answer one thing, though...” His smile tempered. “The Tainted Star must refer to the Order. I had quite forgotten. It’s archaic, but the four-pointed star used to be known as the Tainted Star. I suppose it doesn’t tell us anything more than we already know–to not trust the Order.”
Harper nodded slowly. “Thank you–for getting me out of there.”
“I can’t believe you fell asleep in class.” Dimitri suppressed a chuckle. “Anyone else would have gotten a whipping.”
“I bet you had plenty,” she said dryly, shooting him a sidelong glance.
“More than I care to admit,” he acknowledged with a lopsided grin.
Their smiles faded. “Can we talk about something else–anything else?” The vision had unsettled her, not helped by their own lack of clear direction.
“OF COURSE. I HAVE AN idea.” He had enough of it all, too. Even if it were temporary, he needed a reprieve. Dimitri glanced outside, at the darkness already encroaching, even though the afternoon had not yet passed. The long, winter nights shrouded them all in near permanent darkness, it seemed, but at least the sky was clear of rain and sleet. “We’ll need to wrap up warmly, though.”
“We’re leaving?” The way her eyes lit up, the hollow darkness leaving them for a fleeting moment, made his own spirits soar.
“For a little while.” Though the idea had already started to form, a way to get her to safety for good, he would not tell her. Not yet. He would not break her spirit, reveal how little hope there truly was of breaking the bond between herself and Saradon.
He had hoped finding a Dragonheart would help. Its power might be able to cleave the bindings, but none were to be found. Only distance could
negate it–temporarily at least–putting herself far beyond Saradon’s reach. And his.
Dimitri helped her to her feet, pushing aside the thought of how much he had grown to enjoy her company, need her companionship, want her presence in his life. Someone who did not want him for power or money, who did not hate him for anything he was or had been. It would be over too soon, like everything else he had ever desired.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Here.” He fastened a fur-lined cloak about her, half-smiling as she sank her chin gratefully into the soft, fine fur.
Donning his own cloak, he offered her his arm. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and he took them away.
“WHERE IS THIS?” HARPER murmured, her voice hushed with awe as she beheld the view.
“Somewhere far away.”
The gently sloping meadows around them were blanketed in white, the only sign of life ever reaching this place the small shepherd’s hut–long abandoned and covered with a thick overhang of snow. Peaks soared like silent jaws around them, black teeth silhouetted against the night sky.
The sky.
They looked up, filled with appreciation as they stood in silence, admiring the expanse above them. This far out of the city, there were no lights to mask the splendour of the heavens.
Stars danced above them in silent glory, bathed in the light of the waning crescent moon.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to him and giving him a small smile, her eyes filled with warmth.
“What for?”
“For bringing me here. It’s peaceful. Free.” Her hand tightened momentarily on his arm.
He knew what she meant. Here, there was no taint of Saradon, the Order, or even people. The white blanket washed everything from the earth, purified all. How he wished he could purify his own soul, wash everything he’d done away.