Court's Fool (The Aermian Feuds Book 6)

by Frost Kay

  Lilja rolled her neck and crooned softly, a series of clicks and hums. The dragon clicked back, lowering his head so his silvery eyes were level with them. His hot breath washed over them. Sage had only experienced something like this once, with the leviathan.

  “He cannot leave this place yet, but he can give us shelter under his wing.”

  “You speak to dragons?”

  Lilja smiled sloppily. “Pirates can do anything.”

  The dragon lifted his leathery wing. Sage glanced around, sure that the warlord would appear behind them. There was no one.

  They stumbled toward the dragon and lurched beneath his wing. He lowered his wing, cocooning them against his side. Sage paused, her eyes widening as she caught sight of another refugee barely visible. Another girl leaned against the dragon, her raven eyes watching them. She lurched away from her spot and grabbed Lilja’s other arm.

  “Thanks,” Sage wheezed, her ribs and head pulsing with pain. Together, they gingerly lowered her aunt to the ground. Lilja slumped against the dragon, his breathing moving her body.

  “So warm,” Lilja murmured. She stroked a hand down his side. “Thank you.”

  The girl glanced from the dragon to Lilja and then to Sage. “She speaks to dragons?”

  Sage shrugged. “She does a lot of things I can’t explain.”

  “What happened to her?” the girl asked, pushing a braid over her gorgeous midnight skin.

  “The warlord,” Sage whispered. She still hadn’t had time to process that Lilja was alive. It still seemed unreal, like a dream. “Thank you for your help,” she murmured, turning back to the girl. “Who are you?”

  The girl smiled, her white teeth bright in the darkness. “Dor.”

  “Dor,” Sage repeated and then held her hand out. “I’m Sage.”

  The girl’s expression melted into one of recognition. “I’ve heard of you. The consort.”

  Sage flinched and then gave the girl a hard stare. “I am nothing to the warlord. Nothing.”

  Dor nodded. “My mistake. I apologize.”

  Remorse flooded Sage. “I’m sorry, my—"

  The sounds around them changed. The forest quieted. Sage’s brows furrowed. Something wasn’t right. She held her finger to her lips and then pointed to her ear. Hopefully, Dor understood to be quiet. The Scythians had uncanny hearing. One word could destroy them.

  The dragon clicked.

  Lilja’s eyes fluttered open, and a true smile flashed across her face. “They fly,” she whispered.

  Sage stiffened. “Who?”

  “The fiilee and the Dragon Songs. The tide changes tonight.”

  Forty-Eight

  Mer

  The ship with the black leren was nowhere to be found.

  Until Mer dove to the bottom of the sea.

  She swallowed hard and darted toward the submerged ship. She prayed that she wouldn’t find Jasmine in the wreckage.

  Mer squeezed through the jagged, broken window at the rear of the ship. Bed linens floated in the water like specters, but no bodies. A rattle hovered above the floor, and her heart seized. Had there been children aboard? She steeled her nerves as she approached the door and yanked.

  No bodies, just a hallway that was lined with doors and led to a set of stairs. Laboriously, she checked every room. Nothing but abandoned belongings and weapons.

  She made quick work of the rest of the ship, thankfully empty. While she was relieved she hadn’t found Sam’s wife in the ship, she couldn’t shake the sense of urgency that plagued her. Her gaze flew up to the tempestuous surface, dotted with bobbing debris and bodies. Dark shapes glided above silently.

  More leviathans. Damn.

  Stars, she hoped Jasmine wasn’t in the water or bleeding.

  Cautiously, she drifted toward the surface, humming a tune so that the leviathans wouldn’t mistake her for the enemy, but recognize her as an ally. She broke the waves, careful to keep her gills in the seawater. Her stomach clenched when the fingers of a corpse touched her arm. Mer shied away, her senses screaming at her to leave the watery graveyard. She soldiered on.

  Time slipped by as she meticulously searched through the debris. A Scythian moaned, and clung tighter to a piece of driftwood as a wave crashed into him.

  Mer caught his eye. “The Aermian vessel will be here to collect any survivors within the hour.”

  His lip curled. “They won’t find me.”

  She nodded to one of the dorsal fins that disappeared beneath the water not twenty paces from them. “You’re right. If you keep kicking like that, they won’t find you.” The warrior paled and froze. “Movement draws them. Keep still, and you might survive.” Then, Mer moved on. She passed three more warriors in similar situations—all of whom were not happy to see her.

  The wind howled, and the waves turned rougher. Mer dove into the water, still searching. Her heart stopped when gauzy fabric caught her eye. She kicked harder and brushed the fabric away from the body it concealed.

  It was a girl, but it was not Jasmine.

  Mer gazed at the unseeing eyes of the young woman who couldn’t be older than herself. What a waste of life. How did she end up here? Had the Scythians captured her while raiding Sanee? Or was she a slave? She touched the girl’s cheek, then guiltily continued on. The young woman didn’t deserve to be lost at sea.

  Mer swam to the surface again and eyed the floating fragments of the ship. No Jasmine.

  “Help,” a hoarse voice called.

  Mer twisted in the water, her hair floating around her. She locked eyes with a huge Scythian warrior who clung to a barrel. His entire face was one big bruise. A gash over his left eye bled profusely. Other than that, he looked fine. She made sure to keep a bit of distance between them. No sense in courting danger, and this warrior screamed danger.

  “The Aermian vessel will be here soon to collect any of the survivors.”

  “Not for myself,” he whispered. “There’s a woman. She’s pregnant.”

  Mer’s anger ignited, and she darted forward with a snarl, grabbing the warrior’s face and digging her nails into his cheeks. “Where is she?”

  He didn’t fight back or pull away, just held her gaze, sorrow lurking in his dark eyes. “They managed to escape into a life raft. Their destination was the cove. I don’t think they made it.”

  She released him, her attention moving to the far-off lagoon. The weather only hours ago would have made it nearly impossible to reach the bay. Mer kicked forward, already dismissing the warrior.

  “Please find her,” the warrior pleaded.

  The desperation in his tone had her glancing over her shoulder at the man once more. There was something in his eyes. He didn’t harbor a hatred for her, nor was there any malevolence in his gaze.

  She nodded once and dove.

  Forty-Nine

  The Warlord

  Sage had attacked him. Twice.

  He rose from the floor and stared at his sister, his chest aching. Maeve held her hand to her side where he’d stabbed her, blood seeping between her fingers.

  “Why?” he demanded.

  She met his gaze, no remorse. “You know why.”

  “Because I killed your dragon?” His lip curled. “He was turning you against me. You know he had to go.”

  His sister shook her head. “You committed genocide.”

  “I was protecting the world,” he spat, blood running down his neck. Why wasn’t he healing faster? The serum wasn’t working as well as it should have been. Suspicion pricked him.

  We’ve been betrayed, the voices hissed.

  He pulled a sword from the table and examined it. “It’s been you this entire time.” Maeve didn’t deny it. “You would betray me, your brother, your one true protector, over a handful of imperfect slaves?”

  “My brother died the moment he slaughtered innocent people. Children.” Her voice hardened. “You know what our childhood was like, and yet you committed the most heinous crime. All children deserve to be protected, you
told me that.”

  “They were tainted by association. Do you truly believe we could have taken them in? The children would have grown into adults who revolted.” He ran his finger along the edge of the cutlass. “I trusted you.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  He faced her. “It was you and I against the world.”

  “No, Zane,” she whispered. “It was you trying to destroy the world. It stops here. I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”

  “So, this is the end?”

  End her, the voices howled.

  Maeve pulled a short sword from the sheath crossing her back. “For you, it is.”

  Then, she attacked.

  He walked slowly from the tent, his sister’s body swaying in his arms. Her blood seeped through his shirt and ran down his body. A lone tear dripped down his cheek. It had been years since he’d cried.

  Zane glanced down at her pale face, her eyes closed in death. They’d spent close to a millennium together. It was unreal to think he’d never see her glare at him or utter something sarcastic. Even in her last gasping moments, she’d spared no affection for him.

  “It is only a matter of time before you join me,” she’d said. “There isn’t enough suffering for you to endure to make up for what you’ve done.” Maeve had smiled. “I was the one who let Sage go.” With that final statement, the life had faded from her eyes.

  He lifted his head and dropped to his knees in the forest. The betrayal cut too deep. The warlord placed his traitorous sister on the ground, threw his head back, and screamed. It didn’t release his anguish or rage.

  His hands shook when he tightened the bandage around his neck. The war drums beat an incessant march, and the sounds of battle filtered to his ears. Aermia had made its move.

  He caressed his sister’s face once, then stood. He strode toward the dragon and smiled.

  Pain, death, triumph.

  “Indeed.” He tossed his head back and laughed before shouting, “I will find you, consort!”

  She couldn’t be far away.

  Neither could Scythia’s victory.

  Fifty

  Sage

  “I will find you, consort!”

  The warlord’s voice cut right through, and, without realizing it, Sage seized Dor’s hand. Sage widened her eyes and shook her head. They barely breathed as the warlord strode past the dragon, sputtering madness and curses. The hairs prickled along her arms, and her pulse thundered in her ears.

  Sage turned her neck and stared at the dragon’s wing. Was the warlord waiting just on the other side? A shiver ran down her spine.

  Enough of this.

  With difficulty, she battled back the fear. If her monster was lurking outside, he would have already been taunting her.

  “We need to get out of here,” she whispered. “It’s not safe.”

  Dor nodded. “How do you plan on getting her out?” She pointed to Lilja.

  Sage eyed her aunt who had passed out again. She grimaced. Getting them both through the camp would be nearly impossible with the warlord hunting them. Although the chaos in the camp might be enough to conceal their escape, it wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Unless you plan on coming with us?” Sage asked.

  The young woman shifted her dark eyes back to Lilja. “I cannot go with you. I must get Illya into the skies. Someone is bound to come back to harness him. I can take your kin with me.” Dor turned back her. “You can come as well. Illya can take us all away from this place.”

  Freedom.

  It was so temtping, but she had to see this through. The warlord could not be allowed to continue his tyranny. While it would be so easy to fly away on the dragon, it would be cowardly. She couldn’t run away.

  “I can’t,” she said with regret. “I must fight with my people.”

  Dor squeezed her fingers and released her hand. “That, I understand. I will take the Sirenidae somewhere safe and return. I will be watching over you from the skies.” She clicked softly, and the dragon clicked back. “It’s clear. I’ll get your kin onto Illya, and you get as far from this place as possible.”

  “I can do that.”

  The women crawled to each side of Lilja and threw her arms over their shoulders. Sage gritted her teeth, as pain ricocheted through her ribs when they lifted her aunt. It was uncoordinated, and Sage kept looking over her shoulder when they crept from beneath the dragon’s wing. They managed to get Lilja settled behind Illya’s haunches, with Dor right behind her.

  Sage tried to climb down from the dragon gently, but ended up sliding down his leathery wing. She landed in a crouch and smiled at Illya. “Thank you.”

  The beast blinked its silvery eye once, and she took that as an acknowledgment. “Be safe,” she whispered and stepped back. The child in her wanted to stay and watch the dragon take flight, but she knew that would be a mistake.

  Sage jogged to the nearest tent and peeked inside. No one. She slipped inside and scanned the room. It was a disaster: weapons, armor, and clothing lay everywhere. Once again, she stole one of the cloaks and tossed it over her own soiled ensemble, the filched weapons clinking in her pockets.

  Shouts ruptured the air, and she froze. With silent steps, she lifted the tent flap slightly. The dragon had opened his wings and sprung from the ground. A grin curled her lips. Lilja and Illya were out of the warlord’s grasp. That felt good.

  She let the canvas flap close and tiptoed to the rear of the tent. Carefully slipping her blade into the canvas, she cut a slit and peeked out. Sounds came from every direction, but it didn’t seem like danger was heading specifically for her. Sage crept away and slunk through the sea of Scythian tents.

  More snow began to fall, and she shivered, pausing when warriors jogged toward her from the right. Sage pressed herself against the nearest tent, and prayed it was enough to conceal her. Her enemies bypassed her without so much as looking toward her shadowed spot.

  Releasing her breath, she tipped her head back. Her eyes rounded, and her mouth gaped. Fire lit up the sky. It seemed like liquid flames poured from the belly of a dragon. What the bloody hell? None of the dragons she’d read about as a child could accomplish something of that magnitude. Fire and ice battled with each other, along with the shrieks of man and beast.

  The sounds of pain, death, victory.

  Sage caught her breath, keeping a steady eye on her surroundings as she slipped from her hiding place. She stealthily wove through the camp, observing the Aermian force pushing the Scythians deeper into their camp. Smoke filled the air, and her eyes began to water. Her people were right there. She could join them.

  You can’t let the monster escape.

  She panted. Even though he was evil, she still didn’t want his death on her hands. It would be just one more nightmare to haunt her for the rest of her days. It was a selfish thought.

  Finish this.

  “Consort!” the warlord’s voice roared.

  Sage shuddered and stiffened. It was as if he could sense that she was thinking of him. He couldn’t know where she was. Her feet were rooted to the ground, as if his voice held complete power over her.

  “You cannot run from your destiny. This is our legacy. You cannot run from me! I will always find you!”

  That was her worst fear. No matter what she did, he always seemed to come back.

  Don’t let fear cripple you. He is just a man.

  Her hands trembled as an idea formed in her mind. He needed to be drawn out, and she was the key to that. The Aermian line wasn’t far, and the warlord was weakened and unstable. A well-placed swing could end his life.

  “I’m crazy,” she muttered.

  Sage eyed the area around her, trying to muster up the courage to reveal her position. Once she did, he’d be onto her. She’d only have moments to get to where she needed to be.

  The war drumbeat synchronized with her heart, and she barely paid any mind to the Scythian soldiers that ran past as orange flames danced along the tops of tents in the distance
. The time for stealth was over. It was time to fight.

  “I’ve never been yours!” she shouted, her legs already in motion as she sprinted through the tents toward the battlefront. Even with the noise, she knew he’d hear her.

  One heartbeat.

  Two.

  Three.

  Sage put on a burst of speed and bolted toward the thickest fighting. She almost stumbled when she ran past the last line of tents. The earth and sky were teeming with motion—not only that, but the Scythian resistance had arrived.

  “That is enough,” a deep voice rumbled.

  Sage skidded to a stop, and yanked two daggers from her pockets as she spun and faced the monster. The battle seemed to freeze in a watercolor painting as she faced her most bitter enemy.

  Ten paces separated them.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The warlord panted hard, his body almost swollen, like he was too big for his own skin. His obsidian eyes had now lost any pretense of civility, holding only rage and hunger.

  “What are you?” she murmured.

  He smiled. “Everything and nothing.”

  He held his hand out. She noticed how it trembled. Was he on the edge of losing himself to the berserker rage? The scars at her throat throbbed in phantom pain. Time to tread carefully.

  “You cannot leave. You know your place is here.” He tipped his chin toward the battle. “We can stop this bloodshed once and for all. This is our future.” He held his hand out farther, bidding her to come closer and join him. “Come.”

  Once again, Sage was at a crossroads. The last time he’d offered his hand, she’d almost taken it, nearly believing his lies. The only thing she felt this time was disgust.

  Sage squared off and shifted into a defensive position. She couldn’t allow him to get to her. He was too far gone. If the warlord got his hands on her, he’d kill her.

  “Fighting me until the bitter end.” He chuckled. “How like you, wild one. I will enjoy breaking you more than I should. Just know you brought the pain upon yourself and those around you.”