by K.N. Lee
“Ah, yes. You need help, and so you’ve come to visit my mother. I see.”
“She may know something that can help me. So much has happened and I am running out of options.”
“Where is that handsome prince—I mean king—of yours?”
“He went away to deal with the marauders to the south. But, to the south in the human realm, the Trinity brothers have my sister.”
“Well, we’re going to have to do something about that, won’t we?”
She nodded, and he hooked his arm around hers and together they walked the dark streets. The scent of sulfur filled her nostrils and lungs as they went further down the hill and into the slums.
“Why do you two choose to stay down here? You could have stayed in the palace with me for as long as you’d like.”
“Not likely,” he said. “You know better than anyone that Dragons are not fond of humans. And, we aren’t quite comfortable around them either. So, we prefer to stay in Rock Bottom. At least until we are called away.”
“I see.” She pursed her lips, annoyed that the green mist was so thick in this part of town. Soon, it would reach the palace and she feared what that would mean for Withrae. What was a Dragon kingdom without Dragons?
“Business is booming,” Perdan said. He lifted his hand and waved it through the red mist. “See this stuff? It’s making the Dragons go crazy with worry. They come to Ma for potions in hopes that she can cure them.”
That worried Rowen. It wouldn’t be long before the Dragons took their frustrations out on the two sorcerers.
“I know what you’re thinking. Dragons hate humans. We know this. But, times are changing, and right now they are desperate for a cure.”
Rowen stopped, and her brows furrowed. “But, you can’t cure them.”
He looked back at her and cracked a smirk. “Are you sure?”
Eyes widened, she quickened her step to follow him.
She was even more eager to speak to her mentor. There was one thing she could always count on from Feyda, something they had in common.
The woman knew how to survive.
Rowen followed Perdan down a flight of steep stairs that led the lower floors of Loddie’s Pub, a popular establishment in that part of town. As she walked down, the sounds off the activity on the street continued over her until they were muffled by the rushing water that ran down the pipes along the side of the pub.
“Mother will be pleased to see you,” he said, and pushed open the red doors of the pub.
Inside, loud voices welcomed her.
The pub was packed from wall to wall with Dragons drinking themselves into a stupor. She’d been to pubs all over the coast when she was with Feyda and Perdan on the run from the Withraen Navy, and she’d seen all walks of life. But, there was nothing like a room full of intoxicated Dragons.
When Dragons got drunk, they wanted to fight. And, fight they did. She could barely get inside without being shoved against the wall by another Dragon who had been pushed into her. She let out a grunt and pushed him off of her. He’d nearly knocked the wind out of her and Perdan took her by the hand, pulling her away from the fighting pair.
Her cheeks were reddened. That was the second time that night she’d been roughed up. Perhaps Rickard was right about her staying away from Rock Bottom.
“Keep your eyes open, Ro. Don’t want you getting snatched by one of these scoundrels,” Perdan said, keeping a firm grip on her hand. “And, stay close.”
They maneuvered their way through the pub and past the crowded bar. She did as she was told, and kept an eye on her surroundings, and kept a fast pace. They crossed the large room and headed toward the back to another set of double doors.
Perdan pushed them open and inside it was quieter, but just as packed.
A smile came to Rowen’s face and her eyes widened at what she saw. Men and women stood shoulder to shoulder around a woman in a blue dress with brown hair cut shorter since the last time they’d seen each other.
There she was, Feyda, her hands aglow and waving over the body of a young Dragon in his human form. His body rose from the table and everyone in attendance let out a collective gasp as her glow filled his body and dissipated.
Her eyes lifted to Rowen’s and she winked at her.
“Welcome, Ro. I’ll be finished here in a moment.”
She nodded, and for the first time all day, the butterflies in her stomach began to subside.
Feyda would have the answers.
She had to.
Chapter 11
It was late in the evening when Feyda finally finished her “spiritual healings” of the desperate Dragons who came to her by the dozens. Exhausted, she slumped into a wooden rocking chair at the foot of the fire in the small flat she and Perdan shared at the top of the pub. Loddie was a fan of magicians and if they brought paying customers into her pub, she welcomed the pair with open arms.
“Sit down, Ro,” she said, nodding to an empty chair across from her.
Rowen obliged, thankful for the warmth of the crackling fire. She took off her gloves and warmed her hands and face.
“What are you doing, young lady? Have you forgotten you can manipulate fire?”
Rowen’s cheeks flushed and she sat back in her chair. With a sheepish smile, she ignited flames in the center of her palms and the bright red lit an eerie hue on her face.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “I just don’t like to use it when I don’t need to. Dragons already hate me for my magic. I don’t want to incite any more hate by reminding them about my wizard’s blood.”
“Nonsense. The world is full of magic,” Feyda said.
Perdan handed her a cup of hot tea and she blew into the dark liquid before taking a gingerly sip. With a contended sigh, she lifted her feet onto the stool before her and melted into the chair, closing her eyes.
“Dragons are composed of the purest of magic, and yet they like to turn their noses up at anyone else who was also born with the gift. Hypocrites.”
“I think they just remember their origins, and how the wizards cursed the Dragons who were their ancestors.”
“Like I said,” Feyda said, opening her eyes. “Nonsense.”
Perdan sat on the floor beside his mother’s chair and drank a cup of tea of his own. Then, he lifted his brows as he looked to Rowen.
“Oh, did you want some?”
She gave him a look, unblinking. “Uh, that would be nice.”
He nodded to the small hearth at the back of the room. “Well, go on. Make yourself a cup.”
With a laugh, Rowen stood and poured herself a cup and returned to her seat. “I suppose being queen hasn’t afforded me any hospitality.”
He scoffed. “To me, you’re still Ro, the girl with twigs in her hair from getting caught sleeping in the stables with the horses. The fugitive with a heart of gold.”
They all laughed and for the first time in months, Rowen felt at ease. Living in the palace with ladies-in-waiting of her own, and people trying to tend to her every need, and watching her every move was daunting. This was what she wanted.
No, this was what her step-father had wanted. Now, she had it, and sometimes would rather live a simple life with Rickard far from politics and conniving ladies and lords always hanging about the palace.
“What’s on your mind?” Feyda asked, breaking Rowen from her thoughts. “Your forehead is creased with worry. You know that’s terrible for your face. You’ll end up with fine lines.”
Relaxing her face, Rowen drank some of her tea. “Everything seems to be falling apart. I truly don’t know what to do. Rickard has left me to go off to the border in hopes of stopping this war with the humans. And, the palace feels like a prison. I thought I was free, but I’m more of a slave to the crown than I ever was to my step-father.”
Perdan and Feyda exchanged glances. “Oh yes. The war. You don’t think you can actually win, do you?”
“I had hopes that we could stop it. We never wanted this fight.”
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“Ah, but this is the chance of the humans to rid the world of the monsters who terrorized them for centuries.”
“Yes,” Rowen said. “But, those days have long since passed. There has been peace for generations.”
“Peace always comes to an end. And, from what I know about the human rulers, they’ve had their eye on Dragon territory for ages.”
Leaning forward, Rowen chewed her bottom lip. “Help me,” she said. “Help me find a way to fix everything that’s wrong with this world.”
Feyda nodded. “Certainly. I will help you. But, we’ll never fix everything wrong with this world. But, we can start with the problem at hand.”
“Which one is that?” Rowen asked.
“A cure for the red mist’s curse.”
Chapter 12
Her husband was dead. It wasn’t something that broke her heart in the way that it should. He had been a nobleman, and he had been kind. Still, at fifteen she’d been wed to a man twice her age when she would have much rather have joined her sister as a lady-in-waiting for the princess of Withrae.
No, Ophelia never thought she was destined for adventure like her sister, Rowen. Not until Lord Wickenham had been killed and she’d been taken as a prisoner by one of the kings of Trinity.
As she looked out the window of her prison—a small room on a massive ship—she wished she could fly out and swim in the teal-colored sea and its rocking waters. There were two beds stacked onto one another and fitted with the best linens from the human realm. They were soft, and smelled of flowers. Food was brought to her every few hours, gourmet dishes from every corner of Draconia. It was clear the king was trying to keep her comfortable.
Nonetheless, her door was locked and guards stood outside at all times.
This wasn’t the kind of adventure she had hoped for.
“My lady,” Luca’Rosi called from her side. “You must eat something.”
Ophelia looked back at her and turned up her nose. Why would she eat anything they’d given to her? She’d already been forced to drink the nasty concoction that muted her shifting ability. Though they released her hands from the binding rope, she was not free. She feared she’d never be free ever again.
The servers had prepared a table for her. Set on a white cloth that draped over the circular table, was a platter of a whole fish with lemons and melted butter. There were several other dishes of boiled potatoes and chilled shrimp in a thick red sauce. Fresh bread with cheese broken into chunks with olives and roasted garlic.
It looked delicious, but she refused. Though her stomach growled louder than the crashing of the waves outside her window, she would not eat.
“It smells,” she said.
“But, you like fish. The king is making an attempt to keep you well fed and comfortable. You must eat if you want to keep your strength.”
“The king is a manipulative man. I am not a guest on this ship. These bars are not for decoration.” She hooked her hand around the cold bars that stretched from top to bottom of her window and gave it a tug.
Luca’Rosi stood from the table and took her by the arm. She led her out of earshot of the guards and lowered her voice. “My Lady, in order to survive, you must do your best to show the king you are grateful you were kept alive.”
“Grateful?” Ophelia lifted a brow. “If my sword hadn’t been taken, I would have shown him and his men just what kind of gratitude I have for them.”
Luca’Rosi frowned. “Listen, girl, enough with such talk. You are a child, and you have no idea what suffering is. What’s to stop him from locking you in the dungeons once we reach his empire? Or worse, torturing you?”
Ophelia shrugged. “He wouldn’t dare. And, if he did, I could take it.”
Luca’Rosi took her by the shoulders, tightly.
“This is not a game, Ophelia. Your life is in danger. Don’t you see that?”
For the first time since Ophelia had been sent away to Jeparthi, Luca’Rosi gave her such a scornful look. It made the color drain from her face. The woman was taller than her, with more scales on her chest and the side of her face. There was a great deal of Dragon blood in her, and Ophelia had no doubt she would turn into a beautiful bronze Dragon that matched her skin color.
Instead of replying, she nodded her head.
“I’ve been entrusted with your life and well-being. You think you know what awaits you if you show your disobedience? You haven’t the faintest clue.”
Ophelia gasped inwardly as Luca’Rosi lowered the sash that covered her bosom and wrapped over her shoulder and around her back.
There was a ghastly mark that stretched across the top of her breast. It had long since healed, but left a raised scar that would never fade.
Ophelia rose her aquamarine eyes to Luca’s, whose were now filled with tears.
“This,” she said, tracing the scar with her finger. “Is what happens when you become a prisoner of war. The Jeparthi’s fought a civil war for two years when I was just your age, and I nearly lost my life during that time. What you don’t seem to understand is that men can be cruel. And, the man who invaded my family home threatened to cut off my breasts if my father didn’t give him our gold and horses.”
Though tears came to Ophelia’s eyes at the thought of someone hurting her beloved friend, it also ignited an anger within, one that had her clenching her fists.
“What did your father do?”
Luca’Rosi took a step back. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her draped sleeve. “He did everything the men asked of him, and still they spoiled my mother and I and made him watch.”
“Luca…” Ophelia called in a soft voice. “I am so sorry.”
“It’s fine, Ophelia. I survived. We lived. That’s all that mattered. After that, I left my village and found work in manor houses. I just refuse to let someone defile you the way I was.”
Ophelia went to wrap her arms around Luca’Rosi when the door to her room creaked open. She stiffened as in walked King Kelton. With him was also the wizard who had been there when she was taken as prisoner. Even though he wore simple clothing, he looked to be more in charge than the king.
King Kelton was dressed formally, in a rich red tunic with a golden belt and golden cape embroidered with red roses. He was tall, with long blond hair that he wore over his shoulders. Younger than she’d expected, his blue eyes had a mischievous glint and his lips held a smirk.
Her heart thumped in her chest as he sat at the table before her and crossed his legs.
Luca’Rosi held her hand and gave it a squeeze for reassurance.
“Sit with me,” he said in a voice that left no room for anything but obedience.
A brief glance at Luca’Rosi and she swallowed. A week had gone by and this was the first time she’d seen the king who had ordered his men to ransack her home. Now was the time to find out what kind of man he was. Was he the kind who had harmed Luca’Rosi and her family? Her story sucked all courage from Ophelia’s heart and replaced it with an uneasy feeling that reminded her of the time her father had slapped Rowen across the face for no reason at all.
How could she tell Luca’Rosi that she knew all about cruel men? Though he had treated Ophelia infinitely better than her half-sister, her father had been one.
Luca gave a slight nod and took a step back where she lowered to her knees and bowed her head.
Ophelia looked to the king who watched her intently as he stroked his golden beard. She sat at the circular table across from him and folded her hands neatly on her lap. Silently, she lifted her eyes to his and for a few moments they held each other’s gaze.
Though this was the man responsible for her husband’s murder, she could not help but notice how attractive he was. His skin was tanned, not as bronze as the people of Jeparthi but more like the Withraen people. She found him lovely to look at.
Until he spoke.
“Your sister, the half-blood,” he began, leaning across the table. “Tell me about her. Is she really as awful
as people say? Rumors say she’s a little social climber with a pig nose who spreads her legs for every sailor and pirate who crosses her path.”
Ophelia’s cheeks burned. “I don’t know who is spreading such things, but Rowen is nothing like that. My sister is the kindest, most beautiful woman I know.”
He lifted a brow. “Really? More beautiful than you?”
She pursed her lips, her brows furrowing. Was he trying to be charming? Though she found him attractive, everything he said was obnoxious.
“Look,” he said with a sigh. “My brothers and I will not let the human realm fall into another dark age. Our lands will not be destroyed by Dragon’s Fire, and our people will not be murdered by yours.”
Ophelia watched as Warwick leaned down and whispered something to him. Kelton’s brows rose.
“So,” he said, watching her with newfound interest. “We’ll get to the half-blood later. How about you tell me about your dear mother?”
She frowned. “What do you want to know?”
Warwick answered, surprising her with his deep voice and air of authority. “Let’s start with her whereabouts.”
Swallowing, Ophelia’s eyes rose to Warwick’s and warnings shouted in her head.
Why would they want to know anything about the Duchess of Harrow?
Chapter 13
The sun shone brightly over the Withraen Palace, and the sky was a clear blue, yet nothing but dark thoughts filled Rowen’s mind. Fear gripped at her throat and nearly suffocated her.
Rickard was gone.
Ophelia was kidnapped.
She could barely breathe as panic continued to rush through her veins.
King Kelton, the most ruthless of the Trinity brothers had her beloved sister, and all she wanted to do was to fly over there and rescue her. But, it was not allowed. There was protocol and diplomacy.
As Queen, she was bound by such things. At that moment, the crown on her head was heavier than it had ever been.