by H. C. Brown
“I am innocent… Please…do not do this to me.”
“You will not speak.” A guard dragged her roughly to her feet. He turned to the other guard. “Erik, you are in charge. Let me tie her hands and gag her before she starts cursing the entire palace.”
“Aye.” Erik turned a look of disgust on Thalia. “Show no mercy.”
The rope cut deep into her flesh. The guard, Erik, gave her a malicious grin. The guard groped the front of her bodice for a silk handkerchief with his gloved hand. He gave a feral grunt and tied the soft yellow fabric around her head. Thalia’s mouth gaped open. She tasted the stream of warm, metallic blood seeping into her mouth. Wide-eyed, she scanned the crowd in the hope of seeing one friendly face. Surely, one of the hundred or so people that she had tended this past year would speak on her behalf? The crowd hushed and split apart to make way for a group of heavily armed militia. They formed a guard around her. Erik wrapped the rope around one of his large hands.
She turned her gaze on the large man. “Let me walk. I beg you do not drag me on this hard floor.”
“Take a last look at your home, witch.” The man’s nostrils curled with distaste and he turned away, dragging Thalia along the passageway.
Blinded by tears, Thalia stumbled behind Erik. The familiar passageway stretched out before her. They turned left to take another corridor, leaving the angry crowd mumbling behind them. Here, oppressive black granite walls opened into an entry hall with a majestic cathedral ceiling. Portraits of King Garro’s ancestors glared down at her as if to stand in judgement. Along each side of the hall a row of polished, white marble columns brought back sweet memories of a wondrous childhood, playing hide-and-seek, and laughter, so much laughter. How did I come to this? Gods, what did I do?
The great doors to the courtyard stood open—sunlight danced across the flagstones dusting the sandstone with gold and diamonds. Thalia moved forwards through the door. She blinked into the brightness and noticed the two covered wagons containing her possessions, her trunk, her spinning wheel and the thick woollen cloak she wore hunting. She gazed up at the man holding her so cruelly. He resembled a hawk, his shaved head accentuating a hard, angular face with black eyes ever watching.
“The king wants nothing of your evil to remain.” Erik pulled on the rope. “It is only by the grace of our queen that I didn’t burn this rubbish.” He ground his teeth. “Although we all know you had her spellbound.”
Thalia looked back at the palace, her home, once a place of safety and love. A sob caught in her throat. Never again would she bathe in the comfort of her family or the trust of her friends. The rope tightened and Thalia stumbled forward, the dusty trail shimmered through her tears, the road ahead leading her to wherever or whatever her future may be.
Chapter Two
Thirsty, so thirsty. Not one drop of water had passed Thalia’s lips in three hours. She coughed, wincing at the pain in her throat. Her feet hurt. The silk slippers she wore gave little protection from the sharp stones on the road. At least her hands no longer throbbed. In fact, all life had left her fingers and the swollen digits had turned the odd blue colour of a rotting corpse. Hot, dusty and exhausted, Thalia lifted her head. She drew magyck from the cloudless, blue sky, the song of birds in the hedge grove. Each one of the woodland creatures shared their magyck with her. A movement, a shadow crossing shadows flashed beneath the trees lining the dusty road. There, under the cover of a bramble bush, Thalia caught the glint of orange eyes, the flash of a tail held high and proud. She drew in a deep breath. Brew.
The black cat rarely left her side. With sly glances, Thalia watched the sleek, black fur catch the sunlight. Brew blinked his large, round eyes at her in acknowledgement and leapt from one zebra stripe shadow to the next, moving beside her in concealment. She trudged on, her mind going back to her friend, old Nell, and the tales she told of the Singing Forest.
The old woman had come to the palace one day selling herbs. Enthralled by Nell’s stories, it had taken little encouragement for Thalia to agree to meet the ancient woman. Each month, the day after the moon hung full in the night sky, she slipped away to meet Nell beneath the Lion’s Head rock. Such stories the old lady had told, of witches and goblins, the secrets of mighty dragons, the Fae, and the gods. With each visit, Thalia had learnt more about her real heritage, of mystical herbs, and her place in the world—her destiny. I am a witch, a healer by way of the goddess Cymbeline.
Thalia watched a squirrel bounce across a clearing, dance mischievously, then pick up an acorn and tear up a nearby tree. The small being had given her all the help he could. She took his humorous gesture with a smile of thanks. The small offering flowed into her power reserves like a warm, perfumed breeze. A child of the forest, she blended her magyck with all things living.
Of course, she had informed the queen, proud to explain her newfound talent and her joining with the goddess Cymbeline. With a heavy heart, she remembered the expression on her mother’s face, the fear, or was it anger? From that day on, Thalia had no longer met Nell in the forest. The old woman had vanished. Soon after, her mother had fallen ill. Thalia’s heart twisted. Rather than accept her help, the king had locked her in the East Wing with only Brew for company. How could he think I would hurt Mother?
A horse whinnied and she heard voices from the men riding before the wagons. The sound of flowing water and the scent of damp earth wafted on the breeze. A cloud of dust rose from the road, twirled up in a plume of silver glitter, and danced in a will-o’-the-wisp. Thalia blinked. Before her, a width of sparkling, blue magnificence peeked through a line of weeping willows. She moaned, her gaze fixed on a river running fast and clear, the banks green and lush. Thalia staggered, falling to her knees. Oh sweet Cymbeline, thank you, for I am dying from thirst.
“Get up.” Erik jerked the rope. “I am sick of the stink of you.” He dismounted and unsheathed his dagger.
Stumbling to her feet, Thalia stared at the man and waited for the death blow. She drew her magyck around her and met his gaze. She had to survive and fulfil her destiny. She concentrated on Erik’s face, using what little power she had to influence the big man. You will not kill me. Remember the queen’s dying request.
“Don’t waste a curse on me yet, witch. I am not going to kill you.” Erik took hold of the front of Thalia’s dress and split the front wide open with one pass of the lethally sharp blade. “You are far too valuable as entertainment.” He untied her hands. “Take off what remains of your clothes and bathe.” With one swift movement, he removed the gag, and pushed it into his sleeve.
Pain throbbed into her hands with the flow of blood. Pins and needles replaced the aching numbness. Thalia lifted her chin. “Will you offer me some privacy?” Her voice had become a rasp. She licked paper-dry lips and coughed.
“No, but perhaps we may find some privacy later.” Erik winked and pulled a small cake of soap from his pocket. “Use the soap.” He eyed her critically. “And don’t think your curses will harm any of us. The High Priest himself blessed us all before our departure.”
What fools you are. Thalia fought her dehydrated mind and formed a plan. She must find neutral ground. Her spells would not overpower so many men. What she needed was an ally. This man had carnal intent written all over his face. Could she offer herself to him? In truth, she had little else to bargain with to save her life.
“Then at least a strip of linen to dry myself on…and some dry clothes from my chest?” Thalia met his gaze. “I beg you, good sir. I have done you no wrong.”
“And what may I expect for payment, witch?” Erik laughed. “You will welcome me into your arms for a ride in your virginal folds?”
Drawing herself up, Thalia moved spit around her dry mouth. How bad could sex be? The servant girls were always giggling about the size of one knight’s cock compared to another’s. They would lift their skirts for nothing but the pleasure of a man buried deep inside them. She stared at the river for some moments before turning slowly back to Erik.
“Yes, if you guarantee to feed me, let me ride in the wagon and deliver me alive to my destination…wherever that may be.”
Erik scratched the dark stubble on his chin. “Now let me think. That is such a long list for something I could take for free.” He stared at Thalia’s exposed flesh and licked his lips. “Then you must agree to give yourself freely as many times and for as long as I decide.”
Gods give me the strength to endure. “Aye, I agree to your terms but with one proviso.”
“And what, pray tell, is that, witch?” Erik raised an eyebrow.
“Allow me to brew herbal tea to prevent me from conceiving a child.”
“Agreed.” Erik waved her towards the river. “Bathe. We will make camp here for the night.”
Holding her head erect, Thalia walked towards the river. The grassy bank dipped down to join a strip of golden sand littered with brown leaves and sticks. The fast-flowing river ebbed at this point. The main surge skirted a row of large, granite rocks to form a small pool. Without a backward glance, she marched into the river. The cool water burned into the numerous cuts like boiling oil. She gasped, biting back a sob. With jerky movements she pushed her ripped dress off her shoulders and stepped free of the skirt. The dress floated away to join the rush of water in the river. The silk billowed, forming a yellow sail, like a half-sunken boat. Thalia dropped under the water. How easy it would be to drown and be free of this nightmare. Old Nell’s face drifted into her mind. “Magyck is a gift from the gods, my child. They have purpose for you, so learn your craft, and wait for the call.”
Thalia pushed hard with her feet and broke the surface, gasping for air. Exhausted, she staggered to the bank, and sat swaying on a rock. Her shift and drawers clung to her body, offering no modesty. She glanced at the soap in her hand—her own personal soap. Erik had stolen it from her room, no doubt. The rich, lavender fragrance rose up in the air. With a growl of disgust, she lifted her head to see the man watching her closely.
Angry, Thalia rubbed the soap through her hair and over her body. She rinsed and watched the prismatic coloured bubbles dance away as if racing to the sea. A sparrow dropped onto the sand and hopped to the edge to take a drink. The rushes moved slightly and orange eyes peered out between the green spears. Brew. The cat’s ears were stuck flat against his head. His eyes became slits just before he pounced. The sparrow flew away with seconds to spare, chirping its annoyance.
Erik arrived with a crash, sword drawn, and his hawk-like eyes scanning the bulrushes. Thalia covered her breasts and glared at the man. “Do you plan to kill me now?”
“That black beast has shadowed my every step.” Erik swung around and glared at Thalia. “I will spit-roast him and enjoy his flesh.”
With a sigh, Thalia dropped her arms, aware that her nipples pressed hard against the wet fabric of her shift. Look at me, fool. I will not allow you to kill my friend. She met Erik’s gaze. The man’s Adam’s apple moved up and down. His dark gaze fixed on Thalia’s breasts and drifted down to her wet drawers. The pulse in the side of his wide neck thumped wildly.
Thalia cleared her throat. “Is there something you desire?”
“Do not tempt my patience, witch.” Erik swore and turned to collect a bundle of cloth from the bank. “Here.” He thrust a strip of linen towards Thalia. “Take off those wet things and dry yourself. I have left clothing on the bank. There will be a bed for you in the wagon. Shortly, I will bring you some food.”
Heart pounding, Thalia stepped from the river. From Erik’s stance, he had no intention of leaving. She drew a deep breath and peeled off her wet clothes. She had never had a man lay eyes on her naked body before. Her face grew hot. She trembled and lowered her lashes.
“You are soft and rounded.” Erik grasped her chin. “But small—far too small for a woman of eighteen summers. It is no wonder the king sought no match for you.” He cupped her breast, sighed and turned away. “Wait in the wagon for me, witch. I have left a vessel for your herbal tea. I suggest you make use of it immediately. I am not a patient man.”
Sick to the stomach, Thalia dried off and dressed in the thin, cotton nightgown Erik had provided. She glanced down at her torn slippers and kicked them into the river. She collected a bunch of water lilies and searched the riverbank for other common herbs she could use. Unfortunately, the complicated spell would deplete her small cache of magyck. Stuffing the fragrant leaves into her wet shift, she made her way back to the wagon. Catcalls and whistles from the men followed her. She climbed inside, sat on the pile of animal skins, and began to tremble. I may well die this night.
The sound of Erik’s voice brought her upright. She reached for the herbs, pressed the mixture into the small metal container and whispered the spell. “Cymbeline, cast your grace upon this brew to prevent a child born of pain and hate. As so I say, so mote it be.”
Exhausted, she thrust the container at Erik the moment his head pushed through the canvas opening. “Here, cover the herbs with hot water and leave them to steep. I will require but a few sips each day.”
“Very well.” Erik put a plate of food on the floor and handed her a jar of goose grease. “Use the grease to make my way easy, witch.”
* * * *
Thalia sipped the herbal tea. The second she had put down the cup Erik grasped her nightgown in his large hands and tore the garment, ripping it to shreds. The huge man fell on her with a wicked grin. His strong fingers closed around her hands, forcing them above her head.
I will survive this… I must. She shivered at the evil in the man’s expression. Closing her eyes, Thalia drew up her last reserve of magyck and bound it around her heart, to protect her love of all things pure. I am not here. I am in a rose garden and I will look up to see you, my beautiful Nightdragon, soaring high in the midnight sky. The Dragonsong flowed into her mind and, seeking comfort, she sang the words.
“You will not sing, witch.” Erik slapped Thalia’s face. “Just lie there and be nice.”
Thalia spat blood in his face. “I curse you and all your men’s families for eternity. As I have said, so mote it be.”
Without warning, the man’s giant fist landed on her temple. In a burst of bright light, all pain vanished. In that moment, Thalia embraced the sanctuary of darkness. Goddess, I beg you…take me across the veil.
* * * *
Drakka
In the palace library, Lumos staggered against the wave of panic emanating from the Nightdragon. The book in his hand dropped to the floor. He grasped the back of a chair for purchase. “Gods, what is it now?”
“Our mate is in danger, hanging to life.” The Nightdragon’s emotions flooded over Lumos. “This is your fault Lumos—if you had allowed me flight, I would have located her.”
The intensity of the Nightdragon’s grief pierced Lumos’ heart. Guilt soured his belly. He had disregarded the precious gift bestowed by the goddess, ignored his dragon’s advice, and now, in some gods’ forsaken realm, his mate fought for her life—alone. He had heard nothing—no song or plea for help had drifted into his consciousness.
“Calm yourself and tell me how you came by this information.”
“The song was less than a whisper but her fear crushed my heart.” The Nightdragon speared into Lumos’ mind. “Our mate is a mortal witch.”
A witch? Grief hammered Lumos. Unable to stand a moment longer he dropped into the chair. He fought to calm the dragon. The beast rippled beneath his skin in an effort to force the change. “Does she have a familiar—a cat, perhaps, or a beast close by you may contact?”
“I’m seeking her familiar. Hold your questions, Lumos. Yes, there is a cat close by in great distress. I will mindspeak with the creature.”
A familiar ache closed around Lumos’ heart. The dragon had spoken the truth. His desire for other females had vanished. Over the past few days the loneliness surrounding him had become unbearable. The voice of his mate lingered in his mind. The need to have her close had become excruciating after finding a silk sca
rf upon the palace steps. The scent infusing the yellow silk had bewitched him and yet carried no mark of the owner. The Nightdragon had roared in triumph, declaring the feminine allure as belonging to their mate. If Thalia had entered Drakka, the Nightdragon would have recognised her immediately. They had searched for many miles and had found no trace of her. Of late, nothing made sense.
Every waking hour Lumos had listened intently for any trace of the Dragonsong, his world disintegrating by the hour. Taking the king’s advice he had concentrated his thoughts on the battle to come, and had spent most of his day training the young Dragonfae males in how to fight with sword or magyck. He had worked as if in a trance, the thought of finding his mate consuming him.
“Dragon?”
“The cat goes by the name of Brew.” A wave of terror swept through the Nightdragon. “Six mortal men—Nomags—have raped Thalia. She is barely alive. The men are moving her to a place of banishment.”
Anger raging out of control, Lumos jumped to his feet and spread his wings. He tightened his sword belt.
“I will kill the Nomag scum for touching Thalia. I will show no mercy and make them suffer. We leave at once.”
“Brew is a cat, Lumos, just a cat. He has no knowledge of realms or distance.” The Nightdragon gave a long, defeated sigh. “I have no idea of Thalia’s location other than she is in a Nomag realm. The cat will be our guide. He is following some distance behind the wagon, although, at this time, he has no idea of his direction.”