by Everly Frost
His back is broken, bones jutting from skin, ribs crushed, skin flayed. He won’t make it to the deep springs in time. It’s up to me.
With a cry of dismay, I gently run my hand over the worst wounds, drawing on Virtuous to heal him. Mom was never able to use Virtuous to help anyone other than herself, but it’s an innate skill for me, the first I used as a child. Healing this male is harder because his body is heavy and the damage a thousand times worse than skinned knees.
For the next ten minutes, I work to repair his bones, broken flesh, and finally his skin. The gorgeous perfume from the crushed chrysalis flower fades as I work, a forgotten beauty.
Finally, I rest him against me, taking a selfish moment to wrap my arms around his chest from behind, telling myself I have to do that to move him again. He is easily as tall as Dad and just as muscled, a warrior’s build, which makes it even more confusing that I’ve never met him. Dad keeps a close eye on every soldier in the united army, which means I should know this male.
I place my head against his back, listening carefully. His heart beats are so strong that I can hear them through his back, a resolute thud-thud.
“Are you a spellcaster?”
I startle, shocked that he’s lucid again. My cheeks flame, wondering when he woke up.
He scoops up the crushed flower as he twists at the waist so he can see me. All healers are spellcasters, so it’s logical for him to think I’m one. He doesn’t shake me off, catching and steadying me as I hurry to release him, making me pause.
His eyes are the deepest brown, but they have golden flecks in them that remind me of Uncle Llion.
“I have the power to heal others,” I answer, trying not to lie.
He clearly doesn’t know who I am. Even though that’s impossible. Every gargoyle and elf knows my face. My parents made sure of it. They vowed that there would not be secrets and rumors among our people like there used to be—false reports of what gargoyles and elves were truly like.
I ask him a question that I don’t want him to ask me. “What’s your name?”
He considers me with a crease in his forehead. “I don’t have a name.”
I splutter. “But… what did your parents call you?”
“My mother left me at an orphanage when I was a baby. She didn’t give me a name. The matrons call me…” He takes a deep breath, the crease in his forehead deepening. Despite the intensity of his gaze, his hands are soft around my shoulders, his thigh angled against my knees. I sense him brace for my response. “They call me ‘Dread.’”
My lips part in shock. I can’t help my explosion of outrage. “That’s not a name for a child. Why would they call you such a thing?”
His expression softens, a hint of relief passing across it. “You’re not afraid.”
“Of you? Why would I be? A name means nothing.”
I check myself. A name means everything to gargoyles and elves alike. My father was called Wrathful One. At one time, he was feared but now he is loved. My mother was, and still is, Lady Storm. Grayson Glory is the Golden Gargoyle, a name Adalie bestowed on him. Names reflect how someone is viewed. Names have power.
I search for Dread’s clan mark on his lower stomach. He isn’t lying. He doesn’t have one, which means no clan claimed him. I struggle to understand why. To begin with, it’s unheard of for a gargoyle female to give away her baby, let alone for that child to be raised alone.
“Do you know if you had a sister?” I ask gently.
“I was told she died during birth and that my mother wished I had too.”
He speaks so matter-of-factly that it makes my heart ache.
I make a decision. “I will call you whatever you want to be called. Pick a name and it will be so.”
“That requires some thought.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, a hint of a smile that brightens the golden flecks in his eyes. His features are not perfect, far from it. His jaw is strong, his eyebrows dark, his skin paler than some, but his wings darker than all. His lips… They are perfect.
They curve into a smile. “I owe you my life. Will you tell me yours?”
I shake myself. “My what?”
The corner of his mouth hitches up. “Your name.”
I avoid his question. “You don’t owe me anything. You put yourself in danger because of me.”
“I’m glad you’re unharmed.” His voice is low, quiet, his gaze passing across my own lips like a caress. He releases my shoulder to hold out the flower for me. “I’m sorry this was ruined. I’d pick you another, but they’ve been consumed by the earth.”
The chrysalis flower is the farthest thing from my mind right now. He’s sitting far closer to me than most gargoyles would dare and the scent of kindling fire is messing with my senses. Only Liam is free with his affection around me. Even Uncle Macsen and Aunty Elise’s three sons—my own cousins—treat me with polite respect.
Dread has identified me as an elf because of my lack of wings and he thinks I’m a healer. He isn’t treating me like a princess because he doesn’t know I am one. The one. As soon as I tell him my name, his attitude will change.
But I hate deception. I won’t base any relationship on lies or misconceptions. I sigh, my shoulders sinking as I take the flower, staring at it. “My name is Alessia.”
He’s silent.
I look up, expecting to see him hustle away from me, but he doesn’t budge. He considers me intently. His expression doesn’t change. “Supreme Incorruptible, you have honored me with your presence.”
There it is. The silent wall rising between us.
I stare down at the flower again. “I didn’t want to tell you who I am.”
His thumb strokes my arm, a soothing gesture. “Why not?”
“Because you’ll treat me differently now.” I dare him to contradict me.
“Because I owe a debt to a Supreme Incorruptible.”
“Dread, you really don’t.”
I didn’t mean to call him such an awful name, but he doesn’t flinch. “Tell me how I can repay it?”
I meet his intense gaze. He means servitude, but I would never cage him. A gargoyle like him needs the wild; in fact, he seems to belong in this place of burned ash in the way that an ember does. It’s a heat I want more of.
A reckless, wicked notion passes through my head. I don’t know anything about him other than he was raised nameless. I only know that he appeared out of nowhere and nearly killed himself saving me. I also know that his scent is driving me crazy and so is the space between us.
A smile breaks across my face. I tip my chin with a challenging look. “I will take a kiss.”
He jolts away from me, rising to his feet. He towers over me but quickly steps backward. It’s as if dark clouds have descended over his expression, shuttered, and distant. “Forgive me, Princess. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I think I do—”
“No, you don’t!” His roar echoes around us. His chest rises and falls with a deep indrawn breath, his voice dragging out of him, his speech forced. “There’s a reason they called me ‘Dread.’” His fists clench. “They call me that because—”
His focus shifts to something behind me and his forehead suddenly creases again. His lips purse and his eyes narrow. “That’s a—”
I swivel to follow his gaze just as his expression clears and alarm shoots across his features.
“Mama bear.”
I explode to my feet. The approaching animal lopes toward us at full speed, a ferocious creature with mottled amber fur and claws that can cut halfway through a fully-grown male’s torso.
Lightning crackles around me, the air shifting and I push with my hands, sending a whirlwind at the beast to slow it down.
The bear races right through the force.
What the…?
Dread spins to me. “Your power is from deep magic. It doesn’t work on them.”
He leaps forward, running toward it.
“No! Dread!”
My own f
ather, the unbeatable Baelen Rath, was hurt fighting a sol bear. Dread will be torn apart. I race after him, fueled by fear, running into the danger instead of away from it.
Dread moves faster than I expected, lifting and using his wings to spear toward the creature, dropping back to the earth to run again when he’s only a few paces from it.
At the last moment, he drops his shoulder, his wing daggers held back. He slams into the bear’s underbelly, pushing up at the same time, flipping it onto its back. I skid to a halt, shock raging through me as the creature flies backward, lifted several feet above the ground before it crashes into the earth with an audible thud. Dread’s boot thumps into its belly before he wrestles it back to the ground, every muscle in his back straining, the muscles in his thighs bulging. His wing daggers dart forward, piercing the bear’s chest, once, twice.
With a keening wail, the creature falls silent.
I blink hard, shock still spiraling through me. I wait for the bear to rise up again, but it doesn’t.
Dread killed it.
Just like that.
He straightens, turns to me, then pauses for a moment before walking slowly back to me, stopping a few paces away.
I stare at him. Can’t stop staring.
He clears his throat. “I apologize for my appearance, Alessia.”
Blood drips down his wings. Gore is splattered across his cheek and chest, but he doesn’t wipe it away. He has nothing to wipe it with.
Even Dad nearly died killing one of those creatures.
Yet none of the blood is Dread’s.
My voice is hoarse. “How many bears have you killed?”
“Many.”
Then he’s the reason their numbers are diminishing. I purse my lips. I don’t know which question to ask first. How? Why? Who is he?
He backs away from me, his gaze distant again, focused on a point past my right shoulder. “I hope to see you again, Alessia.”
He spins, spreads his wings, and takes to the air.
“No, wait!”
He doesn’t stop, rising against the cliff face. Within seconds, his body and wings blend into it and I can’t tell him from the rock. He could still be there, or he could be far away by now. I can’t tell.
A rush of air beside me tells me Liam has arrived. He holds Adalie at his side. She cries, “Alessia! Are you hurt?”
Liam races toward the dead bear while Adalie checks me over. Satisfied that I’m okay, she spins in the direction of the bear, her eyes wide. “Did you kill it?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then how is it dead? What happened?” She peers into my eyes. “You look flushed… and…”
She stops herself. She has never used her Sight on me as far as I know, but she’s so skilled at it, I wouldn’t actually know if she did. She leaves me to wonder how I look. Shocked maybe. Bereft possibly. The scent of woodfire remains in my lungs and I want it back. I want to slide my arms around that chest again. Dear ancients, I only met him moments ago. How is such a feeling possible? If Adalie can discern even a hint of what I’m feeling right now…
I close off my expression, shutting down my feelings.
“Liam!” Adalie calls. “Please take Alessia home. She’s in shock and needs a warm bath. Tell the Queen what you saw here. I’ll follow after you.” Her eyes meet mine, unusually firm. “Your marriage trials start in two hours. The outcome will determine your entire future. You need to choose a good husband today. You need to focus.”
Liam reappears at my side, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m taking you home.”
It’s only as the world shifts around me that I realize I’m still clutching the chrysalis flower.
We reappear in the hallway outside my bedroom. Liam is circumspect enough not to transport me directly inside my room given how that would look.
A commotion down the hall tells me Mom has sensed my presence.
“Alessia! Baby girl!” She races toward me with Aunty Elise on her heals.
I hurry into her open arms. “Mom! I’m sorry I disappeared.”
She kisses my forehead before arching an eyebrow at Liam, giving him a pointed look that only a mother can give. “Your parents are looking for you, Liam.”
He grimaces. “That’s my cue to leave.” He gives me a formal parting nod. “I’ll see you at the trials, Princess.”
Damn. He’s still going through with it.
Mom’s hand captures mine, her astute gaze missing nothing. She turns my palm up, the crushed petals peeking through my fingertips. Her expression softens. “Did Liam give you this?”
I shake my head. There have never been any lies between us. “A gargoyle. I don’t know his real name.”
She glances at Elise before returning her blue eyes to mine. I didn’t inherit her red hair. Mine is light brown like Dad’s, but I do have the same blue eyes she has.
She’s deliberately controlled as she asks, “You didn’t identify him?”
I’ve learned to recognize her reactions. When she’s worried, she becomes quiet and still, poised, ready to take instant action.
“He had the blackest wings,” I say. “The darkest eyes. The strongest arms. He fought a sol bear and killed it—but he wasn’t hurt.”
“How is that possible?” Mom spins to Elise, but she doesn’t have to ask for Elise to know what she wants.
Elise is already hurrying away. “I’ll find out everything you need to know.”
Mom turns back to me with a quick smile. “Your father and brother will hear of it and come raging in here any second, but before they do, tell me everything you can.”
I nod, but for the first time, there are some things I can’t tell her.
Two hours later, I have no new information about Dread’s identity. Elise asked Grayson to bring one of the matrons to the palace, but the old female remained tight-lipped and refused to answer any questions, so Mom sent her away.
Mom is hiding her worry well, but my brother, Raiden remains at my side every step I take. Not that he wouldn’t have done that today anyway. He towers over me in his protective way, his light brown hair and green eyes catching the light as we ascend to the dais.
Uncle Iago—my honorary uncle rather than my biological one—built Mom a new palace on top of the highest mountain in the center of the border between Erador and Erawind, a place for both races. He didn’t attempt to replicate Crimson Court, instead creating a large gathering spot at the side of the palace, a hundred paces long and wide, surrounded by pebbled footpaths leading to a dais at one end that is hewn out of the mountain itself. It’s been divided in half, with the front half for the contenders, and the back for the spectators. It’s not nearly big enough for the crowd that has gathered, their numbers extending all the way back along the mountain, many of them observing from flying griffins and winged stallions.
Two spaces have been cleared on either side of the dais—one for family and close friends, the other for the leaders of the gargoyle clans and elven houses.
My dress is lavender to honor my mother’s house, a silken material cinched in at the waist that falls softly to my ankles while I wear a crimson jewel at my neck to honor my father’s.
Raiden is dressed in Rath armor, his stern expression daring anyone to approach me, but his attention is momentarily diverted to the elves and gargoyles gathering in the family section, where Sebastian Splendor and his wife, Jordan, wait with their two daughters. Raiden’s smile is for Skylar, their oldest. Like Liam, I wish he would hurry up and propose already. It’s clear that Raiden and Skylar adore each other, a match I know my parents approve.
I arch an eyebrow at him. He gives me a blank expression in return. But he lowers his head to me with a growly smile as I ascend to the sound of the cheering crowd. “I will marry after you do, little sister.”
He means it playfully, but it fills me with sadness. Everyone’s fates are tied up with mine.
Mom waits for me on the dais with the High Priestess Talia behind her on one side and E
lise on the other. They’re a breathtaking sight in their bejeweled gowns while Talia’s wings reflect light across the stage.
I take my place beside Mom, and Raiden chooses a protective location close behind me. Dad joins him there, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze as he does so, lowering his head to mine like my brother did. “I’m proud of you, Alessia. I know you’ll make the right choice today.”
Mom gives him a smile, pausing for a moment. The look that passes between them makes my heart swell.
Grayson Glory also stands on the stage off to the side with Della, a few paces behind Talia. They’re a golden-haired family that exudes so much power. It could be threatening, but I find it comforting. Grayson gives me a friendly nod and Della casts me a shy smile. Despite her growing power, she’s one of the gentlest females I’ve ever met. Unlike my parents, Grayson and Talia don’t catch each other’s eyes, but the connection of power between them is so strong, it takes my breath away.
Mom clears her throat and raises her hands to encourage silence. When she speaks, her voice is amplified by the thunder in her soul. “As you know, these trials have been brought about by accord. Participation is voluntary and the outcome is determined by my daughter, Princess Alessia. There are only a few rules that you must abide by.”
She sounds relaxed, but oh, the politics that led to this occasion. Today is not only about my marriage. It will also settle the line of succession. According to gargoyle culture, the daughter must always take the throne and must do so at the age of eighteen. She’s also required to marry at that age. But that’s all based on the birthing cycle of gargoyles. Mom gave birth to Raiden first and then a year later, I came along.
In contrast, according to elven culture, the firstborn takes the throne, but only on the death of the reigning monarch.
My older brother is a Rath through and through—he announced that it was his job to protect the throne, not sit on it. Mom announced that she refused to sit on the throne forever. And I announced that there was no way in hell they were going to force me to get married at eighteen years of age.