by May Sage
To Claim a King
Book one of the Age of Gold series
May Sage
Contents
Map
1. Two Strangers
2. Death
3. Flight
4. Dragoness
5. Rage
6. The Guard
7. Demon
8. First Sight
9. Dragon Blood
10. Lies
11. Wild
12. Lily
13. The Replacement
14. Dance
15. Old Tales
16. Night
17. Northway
18. Feral
19. Shadow
20. Alive
21. Fights
22. The Ball
23. Ally
Epilogue
Two weeks ago
Except of Kitty Cat
Excerpt of Shy Girls Write it Better
“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?”
― John Lennon
Map
Two Strangers
She’d felt unsteady since dawn, feeling deep in her bones that if she didn’t get out of town in time today, she would live to regret it. The young woman, hiding under a well-worn woolen cloak that had been green once, peeked left, then right, checking that no guard was standing near, then stepped out of the shadows and scaled the ten-foot stone wall that surrounded Malec, the small, backward, oppressing town of her birth.
It was the same every day; Xandrie finished her chores, then snuck out the back door, letting the heavy latch down carefully, so no one would be alerted to her departure. Not that any of them cared, to be entirely honest. Her youngest sister knew better than to worry on her behalf, and the others quite simply didn’t give a damn. She was the undisputed runt in a family of mages.
Her life might have been easier if she’d come from a clan of ordinary, run-of-the-mill mages, but she hadn’t. The members of her family were the most powerful mages for hundreds of miles, according to the talk. People of high birth and bulging wallets came from every corner of the land, to seek a healing poultice or herb-infused draught. They were the best - and twice as ashamed of her for it.
Xandrie scampered up the wall, hand over hand, her feet finding the crevices in the stone from memory. A crow, feathers so black they shone blue, greeted her at the top of the wall. She smiled, waving in its direction before jumping down. She hoisted her bow and quiver over her shoulder, and launched herself off the wall into the soft grass below. Landing in a perfect crouch, she righted herself and stretched her sore limbs, before dashing out towards the tree line, pushing her muscles as far as she could.
She needed it. She had spent her entire day scrubbing floors and polishing silver in preparation for tonight’s feast, and her muscles protested against any exertion, but her mind needed the change of pace. When she ran, she forgot everything, even her most pressing worries. Besides, if she was fast enough, she may get to see them again.
They’d arrived two days back and taken refuge in an old shelter built of that strange concrete that firmly placed it as a remnant from the previous era; as soon as she’d seen them, she’d known without a shadow of a doubt that she was standing in front of elves.
They were tall, and stood too still to be men, their eyes steady and wise. One of them wore white and blue, the other, red and gold; she found the whole thing tremendously exciting as she knew that the first wore the colors of the house of Aryn, and his companion was dressed like an Elf of Endar - and she knew the two houses were currently at war.
Xandrie sighed in delight, wondering if anything half as exciting had ever happened in this part of the world. She wished she could go right to them and ask their tales, but there was a good chance that one of them would shoot an arrow between her eyes without asking any questions, if they didn’t wish to be seen. So, she stayed at a distance, her head full of conjectures.
She’d just arrived at the house, and at first glance, it seemed empty. A shame. Xandrie sighed and tiptoed away, silently turning her heels.
Not silently enough, it would seem.
“Dragon’s scale,” she cursed, finding a long, curved dagger pointing right at her chin.
“So, here is our little spy.”
The voice - and the weapon - belonged to the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. That wasn’t saying much, as she’d never left the Var. Their men were known for the love of ale, not their grace and refinement.
The man - or rather, the Elf - had short, dark hair, which wasn’t typical of their race. One of his pointed ears was adorned by a sapphire, the same exact blue as his eyes.
He smiled, which shouldn’t be allowed because her usually steady knees gave out, and put the sword back in its sheath.
“Don’t be too hasty,” another voice pitched in, coming from above her head.
Xandrie looked up and a short laugh escaped her lips.
Never mind the first Elf; the platinum blond, long haired one perched on a large branch above ought to have been painted by the finest master.
“She may still be an enemy.”
“It’s just a girl, Argon.”
“A girl with a mouth, and you’ve just given her my name.”
Her eyes popped out of her skull, because she may not be the worldliest woman, but affairs happening beyond her borders fascinated her; whenever strangers passed by her little village, she’d listened, and asked, too. She knew of Argon, the Endar prince who’d been missing for years, and presumed dead.
Holy smoking dragonfire, they were going to slit her throat.
“Are you an agent of the Shadows, and do you intend to sell us out?”
She shook her head vehemently, and replied, “No,” for good measure.
“See? She’s fine.”
The blond-haired prince rolled his eyes. In all honesty, she might have done the same, because his argument was rather flawed - she could have, like, lied. But right now, she was all for taking the foolish Elf’s side.
“I’m a Truth Seeker, little girl,” he told her. “No one can lie to me.”
Oh. Well, that changed things. Although, she didn’t think there was any Truth Seeker alive, not since…
“And the penny drops.”
The last Truth Seeker had been Turin of Aryn, and the man was very much supposed to be dead. He had been killed before her time, and that was the whole reason behind the war that had plagued their kingdoms.
“I’m not going to say a word,” she swore, “But, I’m just a little bit curious as to why you aren’t dead. Both of you.”
Xandrie didn’t expect either of them to reply; to her surprise, Turin sat down on the grass next to her, and told her a story about death, evil, and shadows. She sat next to him, listening eagerly. She only understood one word out of two, but she soaked in his voice and imagined the world as they saw it.
“Sixty years ago, I was young and foolish.”
“You’re still foolish,” the second prince interjected.
“I believed my gift meant that I could always see the truth. So, when a female Elf…”
“A very sexy female Elf.”
“Stop interrupting, or tell the story yourself, dammit!”
Argon shut it.
“When the Elf came to me, saying she needed help - that her realm was in danger - I believed it. I didn’t know that my powers don’t work on shadows.”
“What are shadows?”
The Elf was patient enough to explain it.
“There are four known elements in the world - Earth,
Water, Fire, Air - and there is a fifth acknowledged by anyone with a bit of sense.”
“Aether,” she completed, surprising the Elf. Normal people didn’t go around talking about Aether. Before they’d known she had no magics, though, her parents had instructed her well; after, she’d educated herself by sneaking books out of their library when she could.
“Very good. Aether, most know about. But there’s also Shadow.”
She frowned.
“Think of it as a conscious negative energy. The four basic elements are neutral, and Aether is positive. Shadow thrives when the world is in despair - war, violence feeds it. And just like there are some individuals infused with Aether, Shadow penetrates certain people.”
That was rather creepy.
“So, you’re saying that this Elf was an agent of evil?”
“Precisely. Anyway, I walked into a trap and I’ve lived in the Shadow Realm since.”
Xandrie’s expression said it all: she had no clue what he was talking about.
“He means he’s half dead.” That made even less sense.
“Our ever cheerful friend here happens to be a child of Aether. He can navigate the Shadow world. He brought me back; as long as I’m with him, I can walk on Eartia.”
“So, you’re on some sort of a quest to stop the Shadows, right?”
Turin nodded.
Fascinating. Xandrie picked her jaw up, and said the first thing that came to mind.
“How can I help?”
Both Elves looked amused, which could have offended her, if she didn’t know just how useless she was - her parents had said that much to her face. Repetitively.
“I don’t think I can make a huge difference, but my sister is a powerful mage- I can ask her to create potions for you. I can also buy some supplies; food, maybe?”
The Elves exchanged a glance.
“What’s your name, little girl?”
“Alexandria.” The grand name wasn’t quite her though, so she amended, “Xandrie, really. I go by Xandrie.”
“Alexandria, you’re generous and stronger than one may think at first. You’ll go with our thanks- but we cannot delay our journey further.”
Oh. She didn’t think they’d stay very long in a forest, next to a village situated right at the opposite of the most exciting point in the world, so she hid her disappointment.
“We’ll meet again.”
Argon watched the child go with a frown. Two days, they stayed in these parts, just in order to observe her.
She could have been an Elf - the way she moved in the wilderness, with grace and respect, wasn’t typical of her race.
“We’ve taken a huge risk with this child,” he told his companion.
Turin smirked, shaking his head.
“This is no child, and we did what had to be done. We may have need of her in the future.”
He sighed, conceding the point.
“She’ll be of little use to us in the Northern Var, so far from where she belongs.”
Another truth.
“Come on, Argon. You know what you need to do.”
He did. Closing his eyes, he calmed down and felt the world around him, letting the Aether infuse his body and soul.
There she was. Red and magnificent. Eight hundred miles south. The dragon he sought was a day away. He whispered words in a long forgotten tongue until she changed the course of her journey, heading to toward them instead.
“It is done.”
Little Alexandria, the first Dragon Rider he’d encountered in his life, would soon meet her fate.
Death
The cries that ricocheted off the castle walls weren’t the normal blood-curdling, curse-laden sounds of a woman bringing a new dragonling into the world. No, those birthing howls were generally followed by a blissful hush, some manly back-slapping, and the Order of the Guard’s clarion cry from the rooftops, alerting the entire Kingdom of a new arrival.
The screams that had brought the King from his private chambers, were those of a grieving father. Rhey Vasili ruled a Kingdom of great wealth and beauty, which, at its heart, had a profound tragedy: mothers were dying in childbirth.
Rhey powered his way through the Hospital. He pushed past the nurses, batted away the doctors, and threw open the delivery room doors.
The scene could not have been more devastating. A man – the one raising the roof with his guttural groans – had thrown himself across the woman lying on the gurney. The way he clutched at her, begging her to return, said he was the husband and father. The woman lay curled and still, her arm hanging to one side, the sheets around her drenched in blood.
A great beauty with amber skin and emerald eyes stood at the foot of the bed, the newborn dragonling in her arms. Her eyes told Rhey she was beyond sad, beyond pissed, and beyond fed up with the entire situation. “Again, Rhey.” Her voice was devoid of any emotion. She’d shut herself off to be able to bear the pain. “It has happened again. She was a good woman, decent and kind; excited to bring a new life into the world and now…now she’s...nothing.”
Rhey gently took the dragonling from his friend’s arms. The tiny creature squirmed and blinked, oblivious to the fact that his mother lay dead not ten feet away. Rhey kissed his forehead, and handed him to a nurse. He put his arm around Princess Demelza, but she wasn’t in a state to accept any form of comfort. She wouldn’t be for days, or months.
If he had the heart, he would order her to stop attending to these births, but he couldn’t. As a noble blood female, blessing the newborns of those sworn to her house was her duty, and her privilege. Kings had no business in these matters. He also knew that while Demelza was barely holding her rage, her calm, regal presence was making everyone else - nurses, doctors, mages, and guards - keep it together.
Rhey did the one thing he could do to ease her burden.
“Go, fly. I’ll stay in your stead. The grief won’t leave you, but the air under your wings will at least cool your humors.”
Demelza briefly kissed his hand, and left the delivery room without a backward glance.
She was right to be enraged. One in two women died in childbirth, leaving scores of orphans and devastated husbands. It hadn’t always been that way, according to the tales. Rhey had only walked Earthia for two centuries, but it was said that in the old days, women brought their dragonlings to term without incident. Something had changed, though no one knew what that might be.
“If the damned Elders prioritized this problem, instead of spending their time meddling in my affairs, we might find a solution to this catastrophe.”
If the nurses were listening, they didn’t let on. Everyone knew the King wasn’t happy that the Elders had declared The Claiming would be held at the next full moon, but there was nothing they could do to change how the King’s mate was to be chosen, so they went about their work, pretending they hadn’t heard a thing.
He felt some shame at lamenting his fate; now wasn’t the time, and certainly not the place. Turning to the newly widowed man who didn’t even seem to see him, he said, “You’ll be excused from your duties indefinitely, and paid your current worth.”
The man was now solely responsible for the tiny dragonling getting washed and blessed, and it wouldn’t do to let him worry about feeding it.
Eventually, the mages recited the spells, the nurses washed the body and ushered everyone out of the room. Rhey then left the hospital, his ill-humor trailing behind him like plumes of thunder-clouds. He took refuge, as he always did when trouble darkened his doors, atop the endless mountains of shimmering gold that lay beneath the castle.
Xandrie could have headed home, but the prospect wasn’t exactly appealing.
Right at this moment, her family were entertaining some important lah-de-dahs. Most of them would have bored her pants off, and one in particular made her skin crawl every time his name was brought up. Darsen, widely touted as a fearsome and noble warrior, was the bane of her existence, and reason number one - out of five thousand or so - not t
o attend the feast. If she could manage it, she always high-tailed it out of there when he was due to visit.
Her parents thrust them together at every turn and it was clear to anyone that they wanted to marry her off to him by her next birthday. Her mother had recently taken to telling anyone who’d listen that, “Alexandria has seen her twenty-fifth year,” which made her a spinster, adding to all her faults. Dearest Mother wanted the matter remedied, and Darsen was the victim she’d chosen to foist her on.
Perfect plan; Xandrie may even have agreed to it, in order to get away from home, if the man hadn’t been a major creep, leering at her when no one was there to see his disgusting display. His whole vibe made her stomach churn and the thought of him laying hands on her filled her with a rage so deep she was almost blinded by it.
So, nope. She wasn’t going home.
“I’d rather be swallowed whole by a marauding dragon than let Darsen take me,” she muttered to herself.
Not that they ever saw dragons in these parts but, it remained true, she’d rather have had her bones crushed in the slobbering maw of a fire-breather than have that foul-breathed oaf on her skin. Talia and Aleria were welcome to all the fine food and fine clothes and adulation of their peers, if the cost was being seated at the table with a man like him.
Xandrie threaded her way through the trees. She had no need of the trodden path. She would know her way through these woods if she were blindfolded. Her silent steps stopped and her head snapped left. Without having to think, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and primed her bow. She closed her eyes, thanked the rabbit in her sights, and let loose the arrow. It hit its mark, as it always did.
Useless runt or not, she’d been trained – in archery, sword-play, and hand-to-hand combat – by the best. Xandrie’s eyes narrowed and she had to force back the anger and confusion. Her brother Damion had been gone for almost three years, but the pain of his parting was as fresh as the blood that dripped from the newly-departed rabbit. She might have moved on sooner if she’d had some sort of closure, but no body had been brought forward.