Golden

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “Why are you doing this?” Nat choked. “What purpose does it serve?”

  Nineveh bared her glistening white teeth. Both hands were on the sword now and she kept it close to Nat’s neck. When she spoke, her voice oozed with mockery. “Once upon a time I believed as you do, that I could fix this world, that I could bring magic back into the gray lands and usher in the third golden age of Vallonis, an eternal kingdom. I was wrong.”

  “Because you never made the sacrifice the spell required,” Nat said, though it hurt when she spoke. The sword was still at her throat. “Even if Faix believed you did. He believed you sacrificed your son.” Faix didn’t know, Nat was sure. He believed their child was dead and had mourned him. The drakon had been wrong about Faix. The Queen was the only liar.

  Nineveh confirmed it. “Faix believed what I wanted him to believe. If he knew the truth, he would have sacrificed our son! Our son!”

  A realization dawned on Nat. “Your son is alive, isn’t he?”

  The Queen didn’t answer. She pressed her lips together and drew back her sword as if she was about to strike. Nat coughed and pressed her hand to her throat. It came away wet with blood, stinging wildly. The pain clouded her thoughts, but Nat pushed it away. There was something important here, the secret at the heart of everything.

  “If you didn’t sacrifice him, then where is he?” Nat asked. “I think I know. You hid him away in our world. You sent him into the ice.”

  “For his survival,” said the Queen. She put the sword to Nat’s chin, but she did not strike her. “So that he could one day meet his destiny.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The tower. He will succeed where I failed,” rasped the Queen. “He is there now.”

  “Your son is Avo Hubik,” said Nat suddenly. Avo did not dye his hair. He only pretended to, to mask his true nature, his true identity.

  Avo did not pretend to be drau; he was drau.

  He was marked, just like them. Did he know what he was? The scar above his eyebrow, just like Wes’s scar. They were the same. The sword rested on Nat’s chin, but the Queen didn’t strike. Nat understood now that the Queen wasn’t going to kill her. If she’d wanted her dead, she would have struck while Nat was on her knees, reeling from the fall.

  “My son will finish what I started,” the Queen continued. “The tower is his. He will shape the world in our image.”

  “Your son is a madman.”

  Nat’s mind raced. The Queen sought Vallonis’s annihilation; she wanted the destruction of that world to facilitate the birth of the next one. The world her son would command.

  Eliza would destroy the tower while Avo would use its power for his own.

  Not if I can help it, Nat vowed, even as the black sword was cold under her chin. There was no sign of the red drakon or of Wes.

  Nineveh cried out to the dark. “Come out! Let us end this. If you submit, I will spare the drakonrydder!” It was the red drakon she wanted. That’s why she hadn’t killed Nat.

  The great beast must have been close. The sound of wings beat nearby. It roared a long and terrible cry as it soared above the trees, coming around in a half circle before burying its claws in the dirt. The creature made a terrible thump when it landed, crying out as blood dripped from its chest, Nineveh’s sword still lodged in its side. It walked with an awkward limp. “I am here, Nineveh.” There was pain in the creature’s voice, and Nat sensed that it was not just the pain of the creature’s wound. She heard the pain of betrayal and years of suffering. She saw in the creature’s eyes a sense of resignation, as if it were finally done fighting, done living, too. It lowered its head to the ground. “I yield.”

  Nineveh smirked. She raised her sword, and this time she did not hesitate. She brought the blade down upon the drakon in one swift and remorseless stroke. As the black blade streaked through the darkness, Nat caught a flicker of movement from the shadows, and her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath, hope thrumming wildly in her blood.

  Nineveh swung the blade, Nat sucked air through her teeth, and the drakon gave one last fearsome roar.

  The blade came down on the drakon, but it did not strike the creature’s scales. A hair’s width from the creature’s neck, something struck the sword and it spiraled out of Nineveh’s grip. She heard the crack of rifle fire. A cloud of smoke crept into her peripheral vision. It all happened in slow motion. The Queen’s strike, the blade hurtling sideways out of her hands. Then there was a rustle in the trees. Nat turned to see Wes, standing to the side with a smoking rifle in his hand. The Queen saw him, too, and she saw the blade lying on the ground halfway between them.

  The two eyed each other and both sprinted toward the sword.

  Nat held her breath. Though her muscles ached from the fall, though each step forward sent shockwaves of pain arcing through her muscles, she paid them no attention. Nor did she care about the cut on her neck, the way it stung wildly when she’d started to run. There was only the sword. She fixed her eyes on the blade and threw herself toward it. One step, two. Then she leapt for it, stretching out her arms and gripping the handle before the Queen could wrap her long fingers around it.

  She had it. Nat tumbled, rolling with the sword in her hand. She recovered, stood, and in one quick and decisive motion, before the Queen could flee, before she could cast a spell, Nat raised the general’s weapon, the drakonbone sword of Alfarhome, and slashed the Queen’s throat clean through.

  22

  NINEVEH FELL UPON THE GRAY STONES, limp as a sack of dirty laundry, blood flowing from her wound, gushing from her throat in a river of dark, spilling onto the deeper darkness of the ground underneath.

  Wes heard the sword clatter as it fell from Nat’s hand. They stared at each other in shock. He had heard everything that was said, had kept in the shadows, shocked at every word. Avo was drau? Of course. It all made sense now. He had known it, hadn’t he? That he and Avo were alike somehow? He had sensed it, even when they were grunts. That Avo was more like him than Shakes ever was.

  Wes had watched a show on the nets once, from the time before; it was an author, talking about his book, a book about criminals who had killed a family in cold blood. That was what it was called, In Cold Blood. The author explained in a quavering voice that he had been drawn to the story because the troubled murderer had come from the same background as he did. “And one day he stood up and went out the back door, while I went out the front.”

  Same background, different results.

  One a celebrated author, the other a cold-blooded murderer.

  Like him and Avo.

  Hero and villain.

  Two sides of the same coin.

  “You all right?” he asked Nat, who was at the Queen’s side. He picked up the sword and handed it back to her.

  Nat put it back in its sheath and bent down to crouch next to the dying Queen but didn’t answer him. Wes thought she was gone, that the life had poured out of her, but when Nat bowed, the Queen’s eyes opened to narrow slits. She rolled over onto her back, revealing the wound on her throat. She was caked in blood and dirt. He wanted to look away, but he held himself still. The Queen was not done with them. She was not done with life. There was something she wanted.

  “Emrys,” Nineveh whispered. “Get Emrys.” The Queen’s ivory pallor was turning gray. Even her bright hair was dull, the light in her eyes fading to black.

  Nat and Wes exchanged confused glances. “Who’s Emrys?” she asked.

  “I think she means the drakon,” he said, his voice quiet. Both of them spoke in hushed tones.

  “What do you want with him?” Nat asked. There was anger in her voice, but she tempered it with respect. Though Nineveh had betrayed them, though they could not trust her, she did pity her in her last moments.

  The Queen grimaced, tried to sit up but failed. “Emrys,” she said again. “Get me Emrys.” Her voice wa
s quieter now, her eyelids drooping, her every motion slow and languid. Soon, she’d be gone.

  Wes nodded. One last wish for a dying woman. He could do that. He saw no harm in it. “I’ll go.”

  He didn’t know why he was doing it, but maybe it was because he was tired of death, tired of fighting. And he was curious, too, why Nineveh sought the company of one who vanquished her.

  “Be careful,” Nat called.

  He looked over his shoulder.

  She had a hand on the pommel of her sword, her cheeks were streaked with grime, and her dark hair was tangled and matted. But nothing could diminish her beauty in his eyes.

  She still cared for him, too. The façade, whatever walls she had put up around her heart, they were crumbling.

  “You, too,” he said. “Keep an eye on her.”

  • • •

  When he’d fired his rifle at the sword, the red drakon had been right there, right beside them. But it must have fled at the sound of gunfire. He’d been focused on Nat and the Queen and hadn’t seen where the drakon had gone. He guessed it wasn’t far away. The creature was wounded. He caught sight of bloodstains on the forest floor. There were large pools of red nestled among the leaves. There was too much blood for it to have come from a person. The great drakon was here.

  He followed its bloody trail, moving quickly but cautiously. If he delayed, the Queen might be gone by the time he returned. If he moved too quickly, he might startle the creature. An injured drakon might not hesitate to attack if it saw him; it might light him up like a match and be done with it.

  Wes moved slowly, crunching blackened branches and undergrowth beneath his feet, letting the drakon know that he approached. He found the red drakon, not far from Nat and the Queen. Like Nineveh, the creature seemed finished, but it was still holding on to life. Its arms were limp and its wings fell awkwardly at its sides. He doubted it could fly.

  “She wants you,” Wes said. “Nineveh’s dying. It’s her last wish.”

  The drakon opened one of its eyes.

  “So, you are the one.” The creature wheezed when it spoke. Wes could barely understand it.

  “The one?”

  “The child of Vallonis.” The creature opened its maw, sputtering, spitting wisps of flame.

  “It’s not a title I was born with.”

  “I will ask you the same question I asked of the drakonrydder. Why are you here?” It coughed blood as it spoke.

  “For her.”

  “Ah.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Isn’t it clear, Ryan Wesson? You’re supposed to save the world and get the girl.” The drakon’s terrible laughter rumbled through the forest.

  Wes raised an eyebrow. Sarcastic beast. Perhaps it was not yet finished.

  “Actually. I was dispatched on an errand. She asked for you. Nineveh.”

  The drakon roared with sudden hatred. It rose up on its forelegs. Then it settled, blinking its eyes. Like Wes, the drakon seemed tired of fighting, tired of death. It gave what sounded like a long sigh. “I will speak to the Queen.”

  There was a rustle from the forest as the dying creature limped toward the fallen Queen. Its every step elicited a groan. It spit fire and roared when it saw her. A moment ago she’d held a sword above the creature’s neck. She’d tried to kill the mighty drakon, but it was she who had felt the black sword’s sting. Their positions were now reversed. The drakon towered over her, its wounds dripping blood, its eyes blazing when they alighted upon her fallen body. “Nineveh,” it roared. The drakon spoke her name as if it were a curse.

  “Emrys, please,” Nineveh said, her voice weak. She was sitting up now, a piece of cloth pressed to her wound. She’d tried to stanch the wound, but had clearly failed. Her hands were red with blood, her skin pale. “Emrys, the drakonfire. I need it.”

  Wes understood now. The Queen was dying and she was asking for the life force, the same white flame that Nat had used to bring Wes back to life.

  Wes reached for Nat’s hand, and she accepted it.

  He remembered the white fire that had sparked between their souls, the way it had warmed him, had brought him back from the cold abyss.

  He shuddered.

  Death was just another journey, but it was not one he wanted to take yet. And neither did the Queen.

  “Please,” said Nineveh, her voice growing shaky. “I can free you from this place. Save me and we can recast the spell together with Avo. Save me,” she pleaded. She was desperate, her hands twitching, face white as bone. Wes was about to protest that she deserved no such mercy, but held his tongue. The drakon stared at the Queen, smoke pouring from its nostrils in long gray clouds. It opened its mouth, swallowed twice, but it gave her none of its flame. It gave her no assistance.

  The Queen breathed out a long breath. “Won’t you pity me?” she asked.

  “No,” it said softly. “You who have no pity in your heart will find no pity in others. You are done. Your fire has gone out.”

  Nineveh motioned to stand. She put her palms to ground and struggled to push herself up, but she only collapsed. The cloth fell from her neck, and blood dribbled down her chest. She looked up at them, but her eyelids were leaden and they sank slowly across her eyes, dimming her vision. When her eyes shut, Wes knew they would never open again. She fell to the earth. Her skin was gray, her body motionless. She died at the foot of the great drakon. She died a beggar, alone in the dirt, lying at the foot of one she had betrayed.

  Wes let go of Nat’s hand to kneel down by the Queen’s side. He picked up her wrist to find a pulse. There was none. The skin was cold to the touch. The smell of death was all around her. He shook his head. “She’s gone.”

  And so was the creature. The drakon lay motionless at her side. It heaved one last breath, a final sigh, then nothing. No rise and fall of breath. No fire and smoke. The blood at its chest was black. The creature lay there, unmoving. Nat hurried to its side; Wes stood and placed a hand on its head. When he touched it, he recoiled. It was moving, ever so slightly. The great red drakon was shrinking, shriveling. Soon its body was engulfed in a cloud of red sparks and white mist.

  Nat stood; Wes stumbled backward.

  Suddenly the drakon was no more.

  In its place was an old man.

  23

  “WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU?” Nat asked, awed at the transformation.

  The old man wore a red robe that was the same color as the drakon and dotted with little scaly spots. His eyes were tired, but she saw within them a distant glimmer, a light that was slowly fading. This was clearly a man of importance, of magic. An aura of great strength shimmered about him. He must have been a powerful wizard in his time, greater than any. But he was old now, his skin withered, his hands dotted with liver spots, and his gray hair looked as if it hadn’t been cut in decades, centuries perhaps. He heaved a sigh. “Emrys Myrddyn, Eternal Merlin of Avalon. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, his voice sounding gruff. “Natasha? This isn’t a surprise, is it?” He coughed when he spoke.

  She nodded. She’d guessed as much that there was something different about him, that he was no ordinary drakon. Abruptly, she noticed the old man’s eyes were red like the drakon’s.

  “Hello, Ryan Wesson,” he said, turning to Wes. His body trembled when he moved, and Nat feared he might collapse.

  “My friends call me Wes,” said Wes, shaking Emrys’s hand. Wes’s strong grip engulfed the old man’s hand, making the wizard’s fist look like a child’s.

  “Wes then,” the wizard Emrys said. He turned without further addressing either of them, acting oddly, in the way Nat had seen people of advanced age sometimes act. She got the sense he was somewhere else, his thoughts distant. He knelt next to the Queen’s dead body. He was still trembling a little, but this time it was grief and not age that stirred him. “Oh, Nineveh. How did i
t come to this?” He gently stroked the white fabric of her dress, brushing away a bit of the dirt, moving a fold of fabric to hide some of the blood.

  “You loved her,” Wes said and Nat knew he knew because the pain in his voice was familiar.

  Emrys bent his head and nodded once as he closed the Queen’s eyes. Nineveh was gone, dead, and Nat felt a pang of regret. The wizard cared for her, his emotions were clear. “She was my sister,” he said. “And she has never agreed with me. Not in any iteration of Avalon in the infinite universe,” he said sadly. “When I wanted to build libraries, she wanted walls. When I wanted to train scholars, she wanted to raise soldiers. On and on it went. I thought we should tear down the walls between the worlds, but she only wanted to strengthen them.” He bowed his head again. “We are destined to oppose each other for eternity, it seems.”

  Wes grunted. “I know the feeling.”

  The wizard ignored him and closed his eyes. He stood, backing away from the body and motioning for them to do the same.

  What is he doing? Nat wondered, while the wizard continued his whispering. He raised his hands and Nat felt a bit of heat. She recognized the fire of a drakon; she knew the way it felt on her skin. She put a hand on Wes’s chest and motioned for him to retreat. The Queen’s body was glowing now, shimmering with drakonflame. “Thus does Nineveh pass from this world. Let her spirit rest.”

  The great fire grew brighter and brighter, lighting the red world around them, like a sun rising in the darkness. The flame expanded, burning for a time before slowly sputtering out. Her embers drifted upward and into the stars. It was done. The body had vanished and not even an ash remained where it had once rested.

  The Queen gone, Wes went to stand next to Nat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I should never have let you walk through that doorway alone.”

  Nat shook her head. “It was my fault.” She wished he would put his arm around her like he usually did. She missed having his hand in hers. She wanted the reassurance of his touch so badly she was almost shaking, but he didn’t seem to notice.