The elf king made this trek annually to remember his son. He knew all about Llywelyn’s love affair with Queen Aeronwy three decades ago. The tale was told all over Eryieth. He could not blame them for wanting to be together. His people, the elves, generally love once in their long lives and stay together with their chosen mates.
Elves were considered practically immortal, although they were not. They aged slowly and appeared younger for longer. He himself appeared to be in his fortieth year of life, though he was five hundred and forty-eight years old this year. The longest recorded elf life was one thousand years. They did not succumb to the illnesses of man, so the only way to die was of extreme old age, accident, death in battle, murder, or suicide.
In the event that their mates died, there was, on occasion, a rare chance to love again. However, his kind was not known to stray in any other circumstance. His son, Llywelyn, had found love with a mortal woman. This proposed a dilemma in itself. Aeronwy would have aged and died before his son reached one hundred years of life. However, her life ended tragically too soon, and Llywelyn had flung himself into the fires of Dread Mountain after his beloved, choosing not to live without her.
The first time King Farryn had come to the Dread Fortress, he had found nothing but their dragons: Aeronwy’s red dragon and Llywelyn’s black dragon. The dragons let him approach the fortress unharmed, having smelled the blood of Llywelyn running through his veins. They knew he meant them no harm.
The elf king had seen a nest of eggs in the great hall. No one had ever heard of black-and-red dragons mating before. Red and black swirled around the large scaly eggs in a beautiful marbled pattern. Their offspring would be powerful and highly sought after.
For many years, King Farryn watched the eggs hatch, except for one egg that never hatched. It sat in the nest for years, refusing to hatch. He speculated that the egg was empty. He never approached the eggs for fear of their parents. Over the years, the number of hatchlings declined as did the number of red-and-black dragons. No one could ever catch and tame them. If the orcs caught them, they usually killed them. The elf king knew the orcs would be waiting for this new group of hatchlings to try to catch them.
King Farryn stumbled to the entrance of the fortress after some time of hiking. He sighed in relief as he came upon it. The grueling ascent up Dread Mountain became increasingly difficult every year, and he still had the tricky descent to look forward to. He was just glad the fortress was now visible. Llywelyn’s dragon had removed the magical enchantments that had cloaked it in invisibility. Its dark-stone exterior blended into the facade of the mountain, making it difficult for people to find, regardless of not having an enchantment to conceal it.
The elf king stared up at the massive gate that was embellished with carvings of hideous evil beings engaging in a battle. Two large statues of malevolent, horned demons stood on either side of the gate, guarding the entrance to the fortress. He took a little velvet pouch out of his leather satchel and scattered the powder into his hand. He blew the fine powder in the direction of the door. The door glowed as the magical powder opened the massive and heavy wooden doors enough for him to pass through. On the other side, a long flight of stone stairs waited to greet him.
He used his wooden staff to climb up the steps one by one until he reached the great hall of the fortress. The great room was exactly that. It was a large, open room with stone floors and walls. The sparse, decaying furniture was randomly heaped along the walls. A torn and faded tapestry hung on the wall, covered with dust. King Farryn imagined the fortress in its glory days with ornate furniture and many additional decorative tapestries adorning the walls versus the gloomy scene before him now.
The dragons slept in the great hall because it was large enough for them. They flew in and out through a hole in a destroyed wall of the fortress. A large, stone bridge crossed an opening to the ground below. Anyone unfortunate enough to fall off would land in a pool of molten lava.
To the elf king’s surprise, the dragons were not home. He thought it odd that they would be gone so close to a hatching. He approached the nest curiously. Two eggs sat in the large nest—the same egg that never hatched and a larger egg with the same swirling black-and-red hues. He found a decent chair among the heap of furniture and sat down to wait for the dragons to return, but they did not. After a long time of waiting, a large crack appeared in the side of the larger egg. King Farryn stood up immediately at the sound of the breaking eggshell and watched curiously as a baby red-and-black dragon broke its way out of its beautiful encasement. Its spiky head emerged from the broken half of the egg, screeching and blowing a stream of deadly fire that only made it a few inches into the air. The elf king knew that one day this dragon would be able to blow fire that could wipe out a small horde.
King Farryn laughed and smiled at the miraculous little dragon hatchling. He had a personal attachment to the babies of his son’s dragon. He wondered what his own grandchildren would have been like. Of course, he had other sons and daughters who gave him grandchildren and heirs, but this would be all he knew of Llywelyn.
He cautiously glanced around again for the dragon parents. Having not found them in sight, he approached the hatchling and stroked its spiky head, chuckling with happy amusement.
“You’re going to be all right little one,” he said calmly. “You’re going to be the strongest of them all.”
The baby dragon yawned, making a high pitch sound as it stretched its limbs.
The elf king caught sight of the other unhatched egg out of the corner of his eye. He felt a pang of sadness in his heart for it and wondered why the dragons had left it there all these years. Surely, it was nothing more than an empty egg, a false promise of life. The closer he got to it, the greater his urge was to reach out and touch it. The sudden curiosity to know what was inside got the better of him. He had watched over it as the decades had passed by—three decades to be precise.
He slowly stretched his hand out toward it, and the desire to touch it grew and grew. Heat came off the egg as his hand hovered slightly above the scaly exterior. His hand lingered over the egg for a moment before he couldn’t resist any longer. He touched the outside gently, and the egg began to glow. The king withdrew his hand quickly in fear he had done something wrong.
Suddenly, tiny fractures appeared in the shell of the egg. It’s hatching! The king stood back and watched as the egg’s surface diminished into a pile of broken shell. What was inside the egg was not a dragon. To the elf king’s surprise, a baby lay in the shell, protected by magic and sealed in a frozen state of existence for all these decades. He fell to his knees before it in wonderment. The baby was half elf, half human; the child of his son, Prince Llywelyn, and the Queen Aeronwy. He knew that if he returned with the baby, a fight for the throne would ensue, as this child had a stronger claim to the throne than anyone in Eryieth. The child would rule both the elf kingdom and the kingdom of man. He thought about that for a moment. The elf king would rather see the child grow up normally, loved, and protected. What will I do with this child?
CHAPTER 1
Thunder clapped loudly, waking Evalina from her peaceful sleep. She was afraid of storms and had been as far back as she could remember. Her adoptive parents, Áed and Freyda Voll, told her that they had found her on a stormy night, crying in the darkness.
She jumped in her bed as lightning flashed outside the small window in the loft, illuminating the room for a brief moment. Thunder rumbled again, shaking the ground beneath the farmhouse and rattling the windows. Evalina crawled out of bed and tiptoed her way through the darkness over to Áedán’s bed. She gently lifted up the covers and quietly slipped into the bed next to him. Áedán was asleep on his back, breathing softly. Evalina lay on her side, facing him, and hugged his arm, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Evie?” Áedán murmured sleepily.
“There’s a storm,” she whispered back as thunder clapped overhead.
Áedán rolled onto his side, facing her, and d
raped his arm over her protectively. “I’ve got you,” he said comfortingly before falling back to sleep.
Evie lay forehead to forehead with him, comforted by his embrace but unable to sleep. She had been dreaming before she awoke, dreaming about dragons. She couldn’t remember the dream exactly. She must have drifted back to sleep eventually because the next thing she knew, their father was hollering at them from below to wake up and get to their chores.
“Áedán. Áedán, wake up!” Evie said, shaking him gently.
He mumbled a sleepy acknowledgement.
“Come on, Áedán. Father is going to get cross.”
“All right! I’m awake. Go on down without me. I’ll be right there,” he said, opening his eyes and smiling lazily at her.
“Well, hurry up!”
Evie pulled the sheets up, exposing Áedán to the cool morning air in an attempt to wake him up.
Áedán rolled over quickly with his back to her. “Stop it, Evie!” he yelled.
Evie was shocked at his tone. They used to fight and argue when they were younger, but as they got older, he never got mad at her. Stunned, she turned and walked over to her side of the small loft and grabbed a warm dress from her wardrobe. Then, she went behind her changing screen to get dressed.
When she was dressed, she walked over to her vanity and sat down on the stool in front of the mirror. Evie carefully parted her hair into two sections and braided each side so that her hair wouldn’t be in the way as she did her chores. She leaned over, grabbed her well-worn, brown leather boots, and shoved her feet in one at a time.
Áedán was buttoning his shirt with his back to her as she walked over to the washbasin to splash water on her face. She grabbed her wooden, bristle-tipped brush and dipped it into the water so she could clean her teeth. Suddenly, warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
Áedán rested his chin on her shoulder as he hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said remorsefully. “Do you forgive me?”
“Of course,” Evie replied, smiling. The thought of him being mad at her had left her sick to her stomach. She felt a lot better now.
“Good,” Áedán said, sounding genuinely relieved. He gave her a big kiss on the cheek and then let go of her. “Race you to the barn?”
He shoved her playfully out of the way and sprinted for the stairs, beating her to them. He climbed down and ran past their mother, who was cooking their morning meal in a large pot over the kitchen hearth.
“No running inside!” their mother shouted.
Evalina didn’t listen and ran right behind him, but he was much faster than she was. They had raced each other every day since they were younger. He usually beat her; however, she won occasionally, but she suspected it was because he let her. She caught up to him eventually, panting as she slowed her pace. The cold morning air burned her lungs, making it hard for her to catch her breath.
Áedán laughed triumphantly. “Ha! I beat you,” he declared.
Evie shoved him gently. “You cheated though.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, laughing.
Áedán grabbed a sturdy, wooden stool and sat down beside one of the cows. As he began to milk the cow, Evie found a stool for herself and sat down to milk another cow. She grabbed the cow’s teats and worked her hands over them as the milk squirted down into the bucket.
When they finished milking the cows and taking the buckets inside to their mother, they went back out to the barn to clear the horse stalls. Áedán cleared out a stall with a pitchfork as Evie brushed and fed the horse. The air was humid from the rainy weather, and Áedán quickly broke into a sweat. He removed his shirt and draped it over the stall wall and then continued to work.
Áedán was eighteen years old, the same as she, but he already had the body of a man; muscled from years of hard work on the farm. His dark blond hair was in need of a trim and kept falling in to his blue eyes. He had been only a few weeks old when they found Evie on their doorstep. His parents took her in and named her, and his mother, Freyda, tandem nursed the babies. They brought her up as their own daughter.
Her parents had lied to the villagers and said she was the daughter of Freyda’s cousin who had passed away in childbirth. No one ever questioned it. Her father had told her once that she’d been left on their doorstep on a stormy night, and that was the end of it. None of the village women had been due to deliver around that time, so she had to have come from another village or King’s Citadel. He never said much more on the matter except that she was never to tell anyone. He muttered about bad omens and famine and superstitious farm folk. Her parents loved her as their own, and that was all that mattered to Evie.
They did their chores in the barn in companionable silence. When they were finished, they went inside to eat their morning meal, which they had skipped to get a head start on their work. The porridge was cold in the pot by the time they returned, but they ate it anyway with some boiled apple chunks. Afterward, Áedán went off with their father to work on the harder duties, while Evie helped their mother with the laundry. She hated washing because it made her hands so dry.
Her mother was humming by a large wooden bucket as she washed and scrubbed dirty clothes and linen. She moved the fabric up and down the washing board, scrubbing them clean. Evie stood next to her by another bucket of clean water and waited for her mother to hand her a shirt. Evie took the soapy shirt and plunged it into the water, squeezing the soap out of it. She brought it up, wrung it out, and then walked to the clothesline to hang it up to dry.
The ground was muddy from the night’s rain and was already ruining the hem of her dress. Evie sighed, thinking about more laundry to wash.
“Is something the matter, my sweet?” her mother asked.
Evie shook her head. “No, Mother.”
“That was some storm last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
Freyda stopped washing a dress, leaving it in the basin, and dried her hands on her apron. “It reminded me of the night we found you on our doorstep,” she said with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. She took Evie’s face in her hands. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I always wanted a daughter. I was told I couldn’t even have children, but then I had your brother. Then you came to me. I can’t believe you and your brother are eighteen years old already.” She hugged her tightly.
Evalina laughed at her mother’s sentimental mood. “Nothing is going to change, Mother.”
Her mother laughed as she pulled away and dried her tears with her apron. “I know, darling.”
Freyda went back to her washing and Evie to her hanging. Evie looked over at where her brother and father were splitting wood. She knew better than what she had told her mother. Something was already changing. She could feel it. There was even a change between Áedán and her. He stopped chopping and looked up at her, smiling. She smiled back and turned away quickly to rinse a dress her mother was trying to hand her.
CHAPTER 2
Áedán paused in his work and watched as Evalina turned her back to him. He rested his axe against the chopping stump, grabbed another piece of wood, and placed it on the stump. He still felt bad for snapping at her earlier. She had pulled the sheets off him so suddenly, exposing him to what would have been an embarrassing moment had he not rolled over quickly enough. He didn’t want her to see his morning hardness.
Evie had slept in the bed with him off and on for years whenever there was a storm, but she had never seen or noticed. He didn’t want to embarrass himself or her, or have to explain to her. Plus, he liked it when she came to share his bed, and he was afraid she would no longer come if she knew. His adopted sister was so innocent and isolated on their farm. Their mother educated them herself. They rarely took Evie into the village except when they went to the market, the dragon-choosing ceremonies, and holidays or special occasions and festivities.
Áedán gripped his axe in his hands before he slammed it down on the piece of wood, splitting it in two, and
then looked back up at Evie. She wiped her wet hands on her apron and flung her braids back over her shoulders, which only fell forward again as she leaned over the bucket to retrieve a garment. The ends of the braids brushed her breasts.
Áedán had been having many thoughts about Evie lately that he knew he shouldn’t be. She was practically his sister, although not born of his parents. She isn’t really your sister.
“Don’t think I don’t notice,” Áedán’s father said from a few feet away.
Áedán stopped watching Evie and split another piece of wood. “Notice what?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“She’s your sister,” said his father, Áed.
“But she’s not really that now, is she?”
“As far as everyone is concerned, she is your cousin and adopted sister. I plan to marry her off soon,” his father replied.
Áedán missed the wood as he slammed the axe into the stump. “What?” He felt sick to his stomach. He never thought about Evie living away from him. The way he saw it, she was brought to his family because they were meant to be together. He tossed his axe a few feet away as he stormed away. He could feel the eyes of his mother and Evie, probably wondering what made him so angry.
Áedán wandered far from the farm, following the stream to the meadow between his village and the elven forests to the east. He never dared venture past the meadow. The elves were a private race and kept to their woods except on the rare occasion of business or curiosity; although, some also lived in King’s Citadel, and he heard they were friendly. The elves were allies to men and helped patrol the boundaries to the Forbidden Lands with the King’s Army, keeping the hordes of orcs, trolls, ogres, goblins, and other nasty creatures at bay.
Dragon Chosen: The Dragon Riders of Eryieth Page 2