The Dragon's Throne

by Emily L K

  “Ask him! He knows the Karaliene. When he found out you were here, he rallied us together.”

  “Ho, it’s true!” Adriyn called out. He had lifted his face from Antoni’s but he still had her tucked beneath his arm, her head against his chest. “I’ve not supported the Advisor at all. I wouldn’t turn against my friends that way, Cori!”

  Her mind raced as she tried to decide what to do. She wanted to believe Adriyn, but Quart’s betrayal burned anew in her mind. Though in fairness, he had removed himself and his people from the war. Was that a show of support to her? Perhaps he only reacted in fear of the Karalis. Bretton’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Her choice then.

  She reached forward with her Hum and found the familiar sparks of Adriyn and Antoni. She focused her attention on Adriyn but she couldn’t sense any deceitful thoughts from him. Not that it meant much. She still wasn’t sure if she was connecting herself to the Hiram’s minds correctly.

  “I believe you,” she said finally, and both contingents relaxed their weapons, “but you’ll be leading the way back up the cliff.”

  “Of course, Karaliene,” the first man said. He motioned to his soldiers, and they backtracked up the cliff road.

  Cori’s own soldiers seemed to have an increase of heart at the growth in their numbers. Their chins were a little higher and their steps a little more purposeful. Orin offered her the waterskin, and she accepted it gratefully.

  They reached the top of the road without incident and Adriyn dropped back to walk with her. Orin set a hand on the pommel of his sword, a warning for the Hearthian not to try anything. Adriyn looked Orin up and down, taking in his bloodstained clothes and the regality of the sword he held. He smiled, but still set himself a respectable distance from the Karaliene.

  “We’re supposed to be watching the cliff road and patrolling the front of the palace," Adriyn explained. “Our orders were to sound the alarm the moment you gained the road. We didn’t do that so for the moment, you have the element of surprise.”

  Cori stopped, hands on hips and back arched to stretch her aching muscles. Below them, the fighting continued in Lautan and the clash of weapons and screams of the dying echoed up to them. The battle had moved back towards the gates but from this distance, Cori couldn‘t tell who had the upper hand. Along the waterfront several buildings were on fire, the smoke hazed the horizon, turning the sun to a spectral red orb.

  “How’s the Advisor?” She eventually asked. Adriyn‘s eyebrows rose.

  “Ho, how’s the Advisor you say?”

  Cori nodded and Adriyn scratched his chin, looking towards the palace. “Not that I’m high ranking enough to speak to him directly, he seems on edge. He’s tried to keep up the parties and festivities, but I‘ve heard people talking. They say he posts guards inside his bedroom at night because he’s afraid the Karalis will come back and slit his throat while he sleeps.”

  “Anything else?” That the Advisor was so uneasy despite his seizure of the throne gave Cori immense satisfaction. She’d make him squirm when she killed him.

  “Well, it’s rumoured that Rork had planned to usurp the Advisor and sit on the throne himself. He’s careful though. He wanted both yourself and the Karalis dead before he made a bid. Wanted it to be legitimate.”

  “And which way did Rork go?” Orin asked Adriyn, his voice dripping with venom. Adriyn pointed along the road where it curved out of sight around the palace to the public gardens and the open arches of the throne room. Orin moved in the direction that Adriyn pointed but Cori stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “No,” she said quietly, “I have an idea.” She quickly glanced back down the road. The group that had started up the cliff behind them was getting closer and she thought she could make out Saul at their head. Her advisors gathered around with Adriyn and the other Hearthian man who had spoken to them earlier moving closer too.

  “All right,” Cori said when they were all listening. “They’ll be expecting us to come around the front so it would be best to attack them from behind to draw them through the palace. Someone should wait here for Saul and his group, then block the road so they can’t escape,” Enya nodded her head to this, “and Adriyn, you and the Hearthians should take the main road back around and tell them we haven’t gained the cliffs yet... That side of the palace faces the ocean so they’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “And the rest of us?” Bretton asked.

  Cori smiled. “Follow me.” She led her smaller party around the back of the stables. Within she could hear stable lads whispering as they hid, and the whinnying of spooked horses. They rounded the silent laundry next and from the corner of the building she could see abandoned baskets of half hung washing. Beyond that, pale-faced servants hurried back and forth in the doorway of the kitchen. She recognised none of them and could only assume Hale had supplied servants for the palace. She tried to remind herself that they were servants; they did as they were told and this wasn’t their war, but the thought of strangers in the space that had been her family‘s home twisted angry knots in her stomach.

  She suffered a moment’s hesitation, a fear of what she‘d find within. She braced herself against the wall of the laundry, the rough stone biting through her shirt, and she inhaled. She steeled herself and started across the grounds, Orin and Bretton at each of her shoulders. The first servant didn’t spot them until they were almost at the door, and by then it was too late. The woman cried out, pressing a hand to her enormous bosom. The other servants scattered as Cori and her soldiers darted into the kitchen, swords drawn.

  “Stop them!” Bretton called out, pointing to the door that led further into the palace. A few servants were making a break for it and Cori flung out her hand, knocking them sideways. They rolled away, groaning but still alive. Orin and Antoni rushed forward, blocking the door before more tried to escape.

  “What do we do with them?” Antoni asked. The servants cowered together in the middle of the room, surrounded by the soldiers.

  “Lock them in the sleeping quarters.” Cori waved a hand towards the rooms where she used to sleep. The servants didn’t need prodding; they moved quickly to safety with two Shaw soldiers following to lock the door. Cori let her eyes drift around the kitchen. The setup was different now, probably by preference of the new Head Cook. The benches were arranged differently but the place where her mother had died was bare and her eyes unerringly found the spot on the floor. For a moment she could see the ghostly memory of her mother’s bent and broken body there. She took a shuddering breath, forced back the tears that threatened to spill, and turned away.

  “Ready?” Antoni asked, her voice unusually soft. Cori nodded at her friend and advisor.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Antoni, on this side.”

  Antoni’s cheeks flushed to match her hair. The two Shaw soldiers returned from the sleeping quarters and locked the outer door. Cori used her magic to push a workbench in front of it for good measure.

  They left the kitchen in a quiet group and moved further into the palace. The first few corridors were empty, but they didn’t get far before they came across more people.

  Two Hiram women moved along the hall, talking in sober voices. They wore grand dresses – one in emerald, the other in navy - and were decked with fine jewellery. Their shoes tapped on the stone as Cori watched them approach, and her vision hazed red. How could these imbeciles be dressed ready for a party on a day like this?

  One woman finally looked up and saw them. She squeaked with surprise before she was slammed back against the wall with her friend. They slid to the ground, unconscious or dead; Cori didn’t care.

  “Cori,” Bretton warned, “don’t take it out on innocents.”

  “They’re not innocent,” she growled, her breathing heavy. “They’re the enemy. Everyone here is an enemy.”

  The next group of Hiram they came across was too big to contain quietly. Some fled as fast as their finery would allow while others confronted the soldiers. The first clash of
blades echoed up the hallway and those fleeing fell over each other, the whites of their eyes showing.

  Cori stormed into their midst, flinging any who opposed her aside. One man got close enough that she was able to connect her fist with his temple. She put the force of her magic behind it and his skull caved, splattering blood and brains over her hand.

  Her contingent advanced unerringly towards the throne room, pummelling those in their path. Many more fled from them now but that didn’t stop Cori from ripping out throats and smashing heads against walls. Bretton was using his axe, more to scare people off than do any damage, but Orin had switched to his Hiram magic and was seemingly as undiscriminating as Cori.

  They turned into a wider hallway and found that some Hale and Hearthian soldiers had spilled out of the throne room and were fighting. There were more nobles here, and some had joined the fight while others were cowering along the walls. Cori roared and for an indefinable moment, the fighting stilled. Eyes turned on her, some in fear, others with relief. In the quiet seconds, her eyes roved the scene, taking in every enemy, every ally. Each heart beat pounded against her rib cage, each exhale a reminder of her strength. Within, her magic whirled, a tempest and an inferno, the likes of which had never been seen before.

  With a manic laugh, Orin jumped into the fray and the stillness shattered. Cori followed him. Both her hands were free. She couldn’t remember what had happened to her sword. Bretton joined them with more vigour now, swinging his axe and decapitating a Hale soldier.

  A man in a silk shirt and deep blue vest lunged towards Cori with a shout, sword in one hand, the other raised. Too late she felt his push of Hiram magic. She tumbled back into one of her own soldiers.

  “Up you go, Karaliene!” The soldier righted her. With a grin, Cori clapped her hands together and the blue-vested man’s head exploded off his shoulders. Her laugh was drowned out by a squeal from her right. Without even turning, she made an instinctive grab for the jugular. Her eyes followed her hand and she froze. Suspended at the end of her grasp, wearing a pretty pink dress and her hair in their customary curls, was Olivia of Hale.

  “Well,” Cori gasped, her chest heaving, the hand held before her dripping with blood, “haven’t the tables turned.” She tightened her fingers and Olivia made a choking noise. The Hiram girl’s face was turning a mottled purple as blood welled under the skin. Cori felt the ghost of her pulse against her palm. It would only take a small amount of pressure, just the tiniest backing of magic to crush this horrible girl’s throat. It would serve her right. She deserved it.

  Do you want that on your conscience?

  Shut up, Cori told the memory of Rowan’s voice. But it was too late. The red haze vanished, and her joy at killing evaporated. Nonetheless, she still held enough anger within her to finish this feud with Olivia. Her grip tightened and she stalked towards the girl until her fingers touched real flesh. Olivia’s eyes bulged in her head and her mouth gaped wordlessly.

  “I hope you see me in your nightmares,” Cori whispered before pressing her lips briefly to Olivia’s. She released her. Olivia crumpled to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. Eyes wide with fear, her face smeared with the blood of Cori’s victims, she scrabbled across the stone floor, slick with blood, and pressed herself against the wall. The Karaliene smiled and turned away.

  The fighting was almost done, but she didn’t join in again. Instead, she moved towards the throne room, her small band of soldiers falling in around her.

  There was more skirmishing in the throne room but Cori only had eyes for the throne itself. Sitting upon it, his hair smooth and his clothes meticulous, was the Advisor. His expression was set, but only just. Cori could tell by the rapid scanning of his eyes and the tightness in which he grasped the arm of the chair that he was afraid. Rork stood beside him, broadsword in hand. He spotted Cori first.

  “Kill her!” He roared, pointing with his sword “Kill her!” His voice echoed around the hall, but Cori didn’t pause in her stride towards the throne. The Hale soldiers jumped at their leader’s demand but they didn’t get close to her. Her own warriors roared to her defense, their bloodlust still unsated. Cori glided up the hall, untouched by the fighting.

  “I see you did away with my predecessor,” the Advisor said. His voice was strong but his eyes darted left and right, marking her passage towards him but never settling on her directly. “I knew you’d kill him off, you scheming brat. I tried to tell him about your ambitions, but he wouldn’t listen. Blinded by his infatuation with you no doubt.”

  Cori didn’t have a response for his words. She wanted this to be over and she wanted him dead; she wouldn’t fall for his attempt to stall her with words. She reached out for him with her Hum and found his familiar, angry presence, but his mind was curiously blank.

  “If you’re trying that mind controlling trick, it won’t work,” he informed her smugly. “I’ve built a tolerance to it over the years.”

  Cori assumed that the tolerance was because of Rowan’s constant need to monitor this particular Advisor. A shame, she would have liked to have had him kill himself, watched his fear as she forced him to lift a knife to his own throat.

  “Have you nothing to say, Cori Cook?” His hands lifted and his fingers splayed, an offering. She came to a halt a little further than halfway up the hall.

  “Get off my throne,” she told him.

  His fingers curled to fists and his face mottled red with anger. “No. I worked hard for this throne, and I won’t be stood over by a child, and a servant at that.” With a gesture from the Advisor, Rork bounded down the stairs towards her. Orin intercepted him, the dragon sword in its sheath at his belt. His hands came together, the backs of his palms touching and he made a prying motion with his fingers, as if opening a pair of double doors. He roared with exertion.

  Rork cried out and staggered to a halt, his sword clattering to the ground. The front of his vest clove open as did his chest. His ribs peeled outwards, cracking as they did to reveal his lungs and heart. Orin let go and pushed through the air. Rork keeled over, hitting the ground with a thud.

  For a moment the hall seemed to ring with silence. Even Cori gave pause to Orin’s exceptional show of strength. Then, with an unearthly yell, the Advisor flung out his hand, knocking the new Head of Resso backwards. Caught off guard, Orin careened back into Cori and they both tumbled to the ground.

  The fighting ceased, all eyes now on the confrontation with the Advisor. Nobody moved to help them, all waiting with bated breath. Cori struggled to her knees, intending to hit the Advisor with a blow that would send him through the chair and into the painted wall behind him. Before she could lift her hands, she felt a touch at her mind; strange, reptilian and close by. She wasn’t afraid though; she knew who this was.

  Arasy, she greeted the throne.

  Little One, he replied, amused. He was enjoying the surrounding chaos. Perhaps I can be of assistance?

  Bloodied hands on the floor, fingers splayed wide to stablise herself, Cori pushed herself to standing. Orin, energy spent and father’s death avenged, stayed low. The mixture of soldiers around them watched warily now, waiting to know who their new ruler would be. The Advisor narrowed his eyes, his body tense, though he made no move to give up the throne, nor attack her further.

  “Arasy,” Cori said aloud and her voice carried impressively. “Dispel the false Karalis from the throne, if you will.”

  A low mutter ran around the hall. Who was Arasy?

  With pleasure, the dragon throne said. For a moment everything was still. A mocking sneer rose on the Advisor’s lips, then the tail of the wooden dragon curled about Advisor’s arm, pinning it down.

  The Advisor yelped in alarm and tried to pull away, but it was too late; Arasy roared to life, a wooden dragon made real. He wrapped his sinuous body around the false Karalis, crushing him back into the throne. The Advisor screamed once, his bones cracking with deafening volume. Blood spurted from his mouth and his eyes bulged, then he was sile
nt. Arasy uncoiled himself, returning to his chair state. The shattered mess that was the Advisor slid to the floor.

  “Only the true Karalis can sit upon the Dragon’s Throne,” Cori declared. Soldiers still on their feet – from all states – dipped to their knees in deference.

  His Karaliene is deserving of the throne too, Arasy informed her. She acknowledged the dragon soul with a brush of her mind against his, but said nothing further. The Advisor now dead, she felt hollow. Avenging the throne and her lost loved ones didn’t fulfil her the way she’d expected it to. Her mother was still dead. Rowan was still gone. Her hand went to her chest, and she pressed it briefly over the still aching hole. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she gazed at the vacant throne.

  “Enough now,” she said in a quiet voice, lowering herself back to the floor beside Orin. She wiped her bloodied hands on her pants and lowered her forehead to her knees. “Enough.”

  Epilogue

  “Are you sure about this?” Antoni asked, and not for the first time.

  “As sure as I’ve ever been,” Cori responded.

  It had been three days since the war and after burying the dead, cleaning the streets and detaining anyone from Hale who was still in the city, this was the first time Cori had been afforded time to sit down with her advisors and dignitaries from Hearth, Resso and Shaw. She had then given them her decision regarding her own position as Karaliene.

  “The throne needs to be held,” Cori explained, “and I will hold it in my name until a more appropriate time to consider the rulership of Tauta. But for the moment, I think you, Antoni, are the most suitable person to take guardianship of the estates of Auksas.”

  “Where will you go?” Bretton asked. Cori glanced towards Saasha before answering. She‘d been desperately relieved to find her sister alive after the war. She didn’t think she could survive another of her family leaving her. Saasha, cradling a bandaged arm against her chest, nodded her encouragement. Cori turned back to the group at large.