Black Crown
The Darkest Drae: Book three
Kelly St. Clare & Raye Wagner
Contents
Draeconian Realm Map
Verald Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Kelly’s Acknowledgements
Raye’s Acknowledgements
Kelly St. Clare
Also by Kelly St. Clare:
Raye Wagner
Also by Raye Wagner:
Fantasy of Frost
Cursed by the Gods
Black Crown
by Raye Wagner and Kelly St. Clare
Copyright © 2018 Rachel Wagner
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination, or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Edited by Krystal Wade and Dawn Yacovetta
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Cover Design by Covers by Combs
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The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
1
I just needed a few more minutes to get this perfect. Taking a deep breath, I splayed my hands on the moist and squishy surface. The distinct smell billowed around me, and I grinned with anticipated triumph.
“Miss Ryn, are you in here?”
The muffled voice broke my concentration, and I clenched my jaw. Couldn’t a Drae-Phaetyn find any solitude?
“No,” I called back. I was inside the royal garden in Gemond, working on the pinnacle creation of my career. I couldn’t stop now; I was so close. “I’m definitely not here.”
The person—one of King Zakai’s plebes I assumed—cleared his throat. “Your travel companion, Ambassador Dyter, asked me to pass on an urgent message.”
I had a fair idea what that message entailed, and it could wait another ten minutes. I concentrated on the moss-green Phaetyn mojo traveling down my arms into the now-rich soil. Lani had given me a few tips, and I’d set myself to restoring the garden to its former glory. That occupied me for a few days, but once the garden was done, I’d become . . . side-tracked with a project.
The plebe continued without a reply, “Ambassador Dyter insisted you were informed all relevant parties are currently waiting for you in the royal hall. This includes: Zakai, King of Gemond, and his son, Zarad; Lani, the rightful queen of the Phaetyn; Dyter himself; and your mate, Lord Tyrrik.”
No! I grimaced. Dyter, my mentor, friend, and crotchety old coot, dropped the mate card? That would be like me making a joke about his gimpy arm, or how Zakai was skinny, or . . . or how Lani was an orphan. Courtesy demanded he wait before going there. It was a rule, like maybe Rule Number Ten: Wait a suitable amount of time before laughing about emotionally intense stuff.
The mate card was . . . true. Really true. So true, I wanted a sizeable stint before the term was just bandied about. A timeframe longer than seven days. Even engagements lasted longer than seven days.
But engagements were nothing like mate-bonds. I hadn’t seen Lord Tyrrik since this morning when I awoke next to him. The stronger bonds between us made separation difficult as in a little uncomfortable. My plan: to stretch the bond like sugar-taffy in the hopes I’d lose the I-always-want-to-be-around-you thing. So far, totally ineffective.
I lifted my head and studied my orange surroundings. Despite the personal satisfaction, I’d been in better, less stringy places recently. Then again, I’d also been in worse, and I had a goal to accomplish.
“How much room is left to the door?” I shouted. My voice echoed back at me in the confined space.
“About four inches,” the person answered and then murmured to himself, “Does it matter?”
The barrier between us didn’t muffle his voice enough for me to miss his baffled tone. I focused my Phaetyn mojo one last time, shooting my powers into the squash. Because yes, it did matter. “Now?”
“That’ll do it, I reckon,” he said. “You’ve filled the room.”
Beaming, I stood inside the pumpkin and pushed the pale-orange fibers away, dodging a string of gigantic almond-shaped pips. The largest pumpkin that ever lived. In a trembling voice, I whispered, “My life’s work.”
I wrinkled my nose as I waded through the slimy guts of the cavity, the fibrous strands sliming me with their goo. I reached the inside of the shell to where I guessed the entrance to the royal garden to be and stared at the inner wall of the pumpkin.
“How are you going to get out?” the person asked.
Who was he? Emperor Obvious?
“Easy,” I replied, attempting to dust my hands. Instead, I just smeared the sticky goop onto my skin in an even coat. “I’ll use my talons.”
Had I managed to partially shift without threat to my life yet? Nope. Transformations took practice, especially partial shifting. According to my mate, I hadn’t practiced nearly enough in the three weeks since becoming a Drae. Unless one counted panicked instinct, in which case, I was a complete master. But left alone in the quiet? I’d rather grow things or take a nap.
“Are you doing the talon-thing yet?” the smart-aleck messenger asked.
“No,” I grumbled. Some people. Closing my eyes, I began blocking out my senses. In this form, my Phaetyn form, I was only able to engage my Drae-heightened sense of smell, so I targeted this first. Tuning in to the moist pumpkin aroma, I pushed it back and reached for other smells. Remnants of Tyrrik’s scent clung to my skin. I breathed in the damp fabric of my aketon and the soap I’d used on my hair last night. Good, good. I could do this. I imagined the squishy feeling under my bare feet and the sound of my breathing flittering away into open space.
Talons, I summon thee.
I focused on my fingers, willing them to sharpen and lengthen into the fierce blades of my Drae form. I envisioned how my claws looked, how they felt, their weight and strength, the power of the deadly weapons and what I’d be able to do with them here—make a door in this huge pumpkin. I focused my entire being on my hands and then smiled and opened my eyes.
My smile flipped in a second, and I scowled at my fingers. Drak. I thought I was in the zone.
I licked my lips, tasting raw pumpkin. Knocking on the thick wall,
I shouted, “Hey, could you grab Lord Tyrrik real quick?”
“Are you stuck in there?”
I was done with Messenger Genius. “What I am is a Drae-Phaetyn who is able to grow sharp fangs,” I snapped. “I’ve been hurt bad, so my temper is volatile. I don’t even want to think about how unstable I am or who I might hurt if I get mad.” When I didn’t hear him leave, I snarled, “Hop to it, Mister Brilliant. Now.”
“Y-yes, Mistress Ryn.”
I smirked grimly at the pounding footsteps. Maybe Tyrrik was right; I should practice this shifty-hoo-ha. It’d be nice to save myself from future embarrassment . . . and death.
Khosana, are you okay? Tyrrik spoke through our bond, his voice filled with concern.
I rested my forehead against a pip. Yes, but I’m trapped.
Inside a pumpkin. Yes, I heard.
Was he concerned? Or was that suppressed laughter? Tyrrik better get rid of that humor I detected pronto. Does everyone know?
No, the messenger pulled me aside. But . . . how did you get in?
I shrugged, physically and mentally. I just grew it around myself.
I should’ve asked the pumpkin to grow a way to let me out.
As he drew closer, our bond began to pulse. The twisted onyx and lapis lazuli ropes thickened, the glow of the strands intensifying, their color blazing. I was certain it meant something. The bond liked Tyrrik being close and probably not for a game of hopscotch. I had a love-hate relationship with the mate-bond, depending on the circumstances and possibly my honesty on any given day.
I blew out a breath as the Drae came to stand on the opposite side of the squash-wall. Through the bond, I saw him lengthen his talons with barely a thought.
I’ve had time to practice, he reassured me.
I smiled, my mood brightening. Tyrrik was one hundred and nine years old, so he’d had a lot of time to practice. You only got the hang of it last year?
Yes, Khosana, he immediately said. You’ll get the hang of this much faster I’m sure.
He was stuffed full of potatoes, but I appreciated the boost to my ego, considering I was inside a pumpkin prison of my own making.
Stand back, mate.
The M-word. Again. “Wait, wait, wait,” I screeched, seeing where he planned to cut. “I don’t want you to just slice it up any ol’ way.”
“She wants a specific shape,” he muttered on the other side of the orange wall.
I shivered as his low voice reached me. I squeezed my eyes shut and mentally described what I wanted.
Get that? I asked, taking a healthy step back from the wall.
Message received, he thought back in a strangled voice.
I jumped as Tyrrik’s talons drove through the pumpkin as though the shell were a pancake. The razor-sharp blades sung as they sliced all the way to the inside. Crossing my arms, I watched with a critical eye as the Drae created a curved door. When he’d finished, he plunged the talons from both claws into the middle and pulled the new exit free, throwing it aside in the gem-encrusted hall.
Holding my head high, I stepped out of the pumpkin and met Lord Tyrrik’s eyes with a dignified expression. Mum used to say, “People don’t remember the mistake itself; they remember the grace with which a person handled it.”
He reached for me, and I held my breath. But instead of pulling me in for a steamy kiss, he dragged a long, sloppy strand of pumpkin fiber from my silver hair.
I scowled at him as he pressed his lips firmly together. His eyes watered, and he tossed the stringy mess away.
“Not laughing doesn’t really work when you’re in hysterics in your head,” I scolded. Jabbing a finger at my head, I continued, “I can hear you.”
I stomped toward the garden exit, cheeks flaming.
He latched a hand around my wrist. “Forgive me, Khosana. You make me forget my worries is all.” … inside a pumpkin, he mentally continued, laughing through our bond. “You always surprise me.”
I appreciated his verbal effort, and truthfully, Tyrrik had so many worries and scars I was happy to help him forget his heartache for a moment. Even if it involved moderate levels of humiliation for me.
“It is the biggest pumpkin I’ve ever seen,” he added, glancing back, still not releasing his hold on my wrist.
I grinned at the pumpkin which completely filled the royal garden in the previously barren area. It was a big pumpkin. “Do you think it’s the biggest one ever?”
He nodded seriously. “Most definitely. And such a deep orange.”
I slid him a suspicious look, but his expression didn’t falter, and the bond didn’t tell me otherwise. “Thank you.” I smiled widely. “It is a nice color.”
Tyrrik shifted his grip and intertwined our fingers, sending a pulse of his admiration through our bond.
My heart skipped a beat. Holy pancakes.
We walked out of the gardens in the direction of the meeting room, and I tried to settle my erratic pulse from Tyrrik’s touch. A touch was simple to most people, but after everything in Irdelron’s dungeons, people in my personal space didn’t feel simple to me even if the person was Tyrrik.
He stroked the base of my palm with his thumb. “Dyter is not happy with you.”
“Have they made any decisions yet?” I asked, hopefully. I sucked in another shallow breath and focused my attention on the rubies and sapphires. His touch even distracted me from shiny objects. That was a feat in itself.
“No, they await your presence.”
“Drak. I’d hoped to show up when it was done.” There were big decisions to make with even bigger consequences. I was eighteen, not an expert in any of the areas being discussed, so why did my voice matter so much?
Tyrrik smiled and pushed back a few fallen strands of his black hair. I stared for a moment at his sculpted and perfect face before forcing my eyes away.
He spoke again. “You are an important player in the war against the emperor, Ryn. More than that, you connect many of the people in that room together.”
“You and Dyter,” I mumbled. I’d rather they just gave me a summary to sign off on afterward.
“And Lani,” he said.
Right. The potential, and rightful, Phaetyn queen. We’d saved her from a large army of Druman a week prior. I did feel a kinship with her, not only because I was part Phaetyn, but her mother, Queen Luna, had sacrificed herself to transfer her ancestral powers to me while I was still in the womb, ensuring I would live. My Phaetyn mojo knew Lani, and I felt super protective of her. I wasn’t her mother; in fact, Lani was nearly fifty, though because Phaetyn’s bodies matured slowly, she had the appearance of a child, and I felt a bit motherly toward her. Tyrrik was right: I did connect many of the people in that room.
I’d even saved the Gemondian king from starvation. Well him, his family, and his kingdom. He did seem pretty pleased about that. Understandably. Not everyone could do Phaetyn mojo and make things grow.
Tyrrik grinned at me.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing in particular.”
Weird. “Okay.”
The gold-wearing guards ahead bowed as we approached. As one, they opened the gilded doors for our entrance.
“So nice of you to join us,” Dyter called, his voice filled with sarcastic bite.
2
The ceilings of the council chamber were low, like most in Gemond, and encrusted halfway up with priceless gems. The gems sparkled, spreading the minimal light so the room appeared bright despite being located several levels below the surface of the outside realm.
“No problem,” I replied to Dyter as I walked into the room. I wasn’t going to feel guilty for taking a minute for myself. Waving to the others as we approached the rectangular stone table, I couldn’t help smiling at Lani who nodded regally in return. I swear the queen stuff was in her veins. I hoped the other Phaetyn would accept her because she was every single thing they needed.
I sat and peeked up at the glowering Dyter.
“Keep your hair on,” I told the bald man. As the redness creeped over his scalp, I added, “Respectfully.”
He snorted, and his shoulders dropped. The redness disappeared, and I knew I was off the hook. The old coot believed in this whole rebellion pretty strongly and got his apron tied in knots about the entire situation. I was on board with overthrowing the emperor and definitely wanted us to win. I just also appreciated down time.
“Ryn the Most Powerful Drae,” King Zakai said from the top of the table, dipping his head. His son, Zarad, sat on the king’s right.
“Hey Zakai,” I replied.
“Ryn,” Dyter said with a shake of his head. He gave me a meaningful look, mouth pulled down.
Really? He was telling me off about that too? I hadn’t called Zakai king in ages—like never—and was pretty sure Dyter and I had already come to an understanding about kings and titles and such.
I turned to share my exasperation with Tyrrik and jumped slightly as he swept his hand over my shoulder in a movement that would be only a blur to the others. I squinted at the bit of pumpkin string now in his hand then turned my glare on Tyrrik. The Drae’s expression was smooth and impassive, a look I knew well. To everyone else, he looked like an impenetrable, terrifying monster right now. They couldn’t hear him slapping his stupid thigh in his stupid head.
“Al’right. What’s happening? What do we need to discuss?” I asked, ignoring their baffled looks.
Black Crown (The Darkest Drae Book 3) Page 1