by Jasmine Walt
“The alternatives are to find a warlock we can trust to undo the spell, or bring her back like this and hope we can find someone in Elvenhame who can counteract the effects,” Lucyan reminded him.
Ryolas sighed. “I suppose we really don’t have much choice. But where do we find magnets? It is far too late to go to the market now, and even then, I’m not sure who sells them.”
“I actually have a few,” Draxton said, surprising them both. He pulled them out of his pocket, then gave them a sheepish look when they stared at him. “I like to play with them when I’m thinking. Helps me puzzle out problems for whatever reason.”
Lucyan took the magnets from his palm, then held them close, testing the pull. “They certainly seem strong,” he said as the magnets struggled toward each other. “Let’s give them a try.”
The three of them crowded around Basilla, who looked the same as before. Her chest rose with slow, even breaths as they approached the bed, and she looked so peaceful that if Lucyan hadn’t known she was under an enchantment, he would have been loath to wake her.
“We’ll do it together,” he said to Ryolas, handing him one of the magnets. The two of them stood on either side of the bed and leaned over. “On the count of three,” he said.
Ryolas nodded. “One, two, three.”
They pressed the magnets to the side of Basilla’s head. At first, nothing happened, but suddenly, an electrical charge sizzled around both sides of her head, blowing Lucyan and Ryolas back. Lucyan slammed into the wall so hard that something from the next room crashed to the ground—likely a picture frame. Wincing, he rubbed the back of his head as he pushed himself off the wall.
“Ryolas?” Basilla asked, sitting up in bed. Her eyes were cloudy, her voice thick with confusion as she looked around the room. “What am I doing here?”
“Oh, you’re awake!” Ryolas cried, his voice filled with joy and relief. He sat down on the edge of the bed and swept Basilla up in a fierce hug. “I am so glad,” he said, his arms wrapping tightly around her. “For a little while there I thought you were never going to wake up.”
“Do you remember anything?” Lucyan asked cautiously, watching Basilla’s face. “About what happened the last time you were awake? It’s Lucyan,” he said hastily when she stared at him, realizing she did not know his disguise.
Basilla bit her lip. “I remember Prince Mordan threatening me,” she said. “I’m not really sure what happened, but I woke up in a strange place, and he was standing before me, demanding that I marry him.” Her brow furrowed, her eyes sparking with anger as more of the memory seemed to come back to her. “He tried to use his magic to get me to submit, but I used my own powers to resist him. I think the elven goddess helped me too,” she admitted. “He used a warlock spell to try to control my will that should have worked, but I felt her presence wrap around me, and I was able to hold out against him.”
“Bastard,” Ryolas growled, his face reddening with anger. He pulled back to study his sister. “How did you keep him from beating you? Why did he put you to sleep?”
Basilla gave them a smug smile. “When he threatened to torture me, I told him I would kill myself, and that Shalia would avenge me,” she said. “He grew fed up, and used a spell to put me to sleep. I confess that I am glad he did,” she added, “as I might have gone mad otherwise. Luckily, we don’t seem to be very close to all that metal and smoke, so I have not been as badly affected as I feared.”
“That is good to hear, because you will need your strength,” Lucyan said. “You and Ryolas will be leaving very shortly.”
“You are not coming with us?” Basilla asked, alarmed.
Lucyan shook his head. “I’ve got unfinished business. But don’t worry about me. I will follow along soon enough.”
“Very well,” Basilla said. She rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug. “Thank you for helping Ryolas rescue me,” she said softly in his ear. “And whatever you’re doing, be careful. Dareena will be devastated if you don’t return.”
Lucyan hugged her back. “Believe me, I have no intention of letting these warlock scum deprive me of my home or my mate.”
He hugged Ryolas hard, saying his goodbyes and wishing them both safe travels, then slipped out and headed back to the castle. With any luck, he would manage to get a few hours of shut eye before the sergeant awoke them and put them through their usual morning torture.
At least this will be over soon, he thought as he ran swiftly, sticking to the shadows. He couldn’t wait to be back home with his family and find out what they’d been up to in his absence.
22
Later that afternoon, Drystan introduced Alistair and Dareena to Rofana, the new oracle. Alistair was pleased to see she was not a young, inexperienced thing, but a worldly woman who seemed to conduct herself with grace. She had a sage aura about her, and a smile that seemed to know all the secrets in the world.
All good qualities to have when you were an oracle, Alistair decided.
“It is a shame so many of our people are superstitious against magic,” Alistair said as they had tea in the sitting room of Rofana’s quarters. Drystan had set her up in one of their most lavish suites, as was only befitting her new station. “You would think that in a realm ruled by dragons, they would not be so closed-minded.”
Rofana shrugged. “Many of them believe only those who have been chosen by the gods should be allowed to wield power. It comforts them, because as humans, they will never be able to do it themselves. They must justify it in their heads as to why the dragon kings and the elves are able to do such amazing things, while they cannot.”
Dareena shook her head. “As a human myself, I’ve never understood it. We may not have magic, but that does not make us less worthy. Humans are capable of greatness, just like any other race.”
Drystan nodded. “As much as I dislike the warlocks, I admit their kingdom is a perfect example of this. Unlike us, they have allowed their humans to embrace technology, and they have made great strides with their civilization. Perhaps we should do the same.”
“I’m sure Lucyan will have all sorts of suggestions and ideas when he comes back,” Alistair said. He glanced at Rofana. “Do you think he will come back safely?”
She smiled at him. “I have not seen anything to indicate otherwise,” she said. “I have not met him, but from the impressions I have gotten from the dragon god, he is very skilled and clever at what he does. I believe he will bring you something of great import on his return.”
“Excellent,” Dareena said. “Hopefully that means Basilla.”
“And information on what the warlocks are planning,” Drystan added.
A knock came at the door, which turned out to be the seamstress and her assistant.
Dareena squealed in delight when she saw what they were bringing in. “Are these your new robes?” she asked as they laid the silken garment out on the freshly cleaned table. It shimmered in the late morning light, pure white shot through with threads of gilded orange.
“They are,” Rofana said, beaming. “Drystan and I found a set stashed away in the temple, and we had them refitted for me, since the last owner was a man.”
“You should really have some new ones of your own,” Dareena said. “It seems a shame to reuse the ones worn by an imposter.”
The oracle shrugged. “It does not bother me,” she said. “These robes are only a construct, anyway, to convince those who see only with their eyes of the validity of my station.”
Drystan snorted. “You sound far more confident of your position than you did when I first met you,” he said. “It is as if you’ve grown into it overnight.”
Rofana smiled. “The dragon god visited me in my sleep last night. He helped me make sense of all this. I am a bit nervous about taking on the position, but I know without a doubt that this is what the god wanted, and I intend to serve him to the best of my ability. It is an honor.”
The seamstress ushered Rofana off to her bedroom to try
on the robe. When she came out, she looked resplendent, the robes flowing around her body in a majestic fashion. There was an almost divine glow about her, Alistair noted curiously. Something that had been absent in the past oracle. He wondered how anyone had thought the imposter had been the genuine article now that he was looking upon the real thing.
“You look wonderful,” Dareena said, skimming her hand over Rofana’s arm to feel the fabric. “If anyone should look upon you and think you are an imposter, that man is a fool.”
Rofana laughed. “You are far too kind.” She turned to thank the seamstresses. “You have done a wonderful job.”
The woman and her assistant bowed. “I am honored to have the privilege.”
Drystan tried to pay the woman for her services, but she refused, claiming she could take no payment for something done in the service of their god. Instead, she merely asked that he credit her, and recommend her services to others. Alistair thought it was quite a nice gesture—though of course, an endorsement from any one of the dragon princes would bring the woman far more gold than what he would have paid her today.
“Well,” Dareena said, looping her arm through Rofana’s. She seemed to have taken quite a liking to the woman, not that Alistair was surprised. He imagined Dareena would feel a kinship since they were both women chosen by the dragon god. “I think you are more than ready. Let us go and introduce you to the council, shall we?”
Rofana smiled broadly. “I am very much looking forward to meeting them.”
They headed to the council room together, where the lords and ladies were already waiting. They looked surprised when Rofana walked in, and audible gasps filled the room as they took in the robes she was wearing.
“Lords and Ladies,” Drystan announced, quieting them down. “I would like to introduce you to Rofana Selorian, our new oracle.”
There was some scattered clapping, mostly from the women on the council, though a few men joined in. Many looked skeptical, and Alistair glanced at Rofana and his brother, gauging their reaction. Drystan looked irritated, but Rofana merely smiled, as if she had expected this.
They all had.
“How do we know that this woman is not another imposter?” Lord Brimlow scoffed, raking the oracle with a scathing glare. “We have not had a female oracle in living memory.”
“Seeing as how you are getting on in years, Lord Brimlow,” Lady Blakely said blithely, “I don’t think your memory is one we should be relying on.” Laughter rippled through the room at that, and his face reddened. “There have been female oracles in our kingdom’s history. I think it is unwise to slight the dragon god by claiming that the new one is an imposter merely because of her sex.”
“I agree,” Lord Renflaw said as the other councilman sputtered. “Surely there is a reason Prince Drystan has selected her. You just returned from speaking with the dragon god, did you not? Did he perhaps give you some sort of sign?”
Drystan opened his mouth, no doubt to tell them about the mark on the back of Rofana’s neck. But before he could, Rofana raised her arms. Suddenly, she was enveloped in a golden light so bright, Alistair was forced to throw his arm over his face to keep from being blinded. Cries of terror and shock rang throughout the room, but they were quickly overtaken by a deep, booming male voice.
“Lift your heads now, and look upon the mortal I have chosen as my vessel,” the voice commanded. Alistair’s arm dropped of its own will, and the light lessened, allowing him to look directly at the oracle. Her mouth was moving, but it was clearly the dragon god’s voice spilling out of her, a voice that inspired such terror and awe that Alistair could see it rippling through the council. “The people of Dragonfell have demanded an oracle, and I have provided. Now stop quibbling about the way she looks and get on with the business of saving my country.”
The light abruptly disappeared, leaving the room stunned. Chairs scraped back from the tables as every man and woman in the room bowed deeply, looking thoroughly cowed.
“A thousand pardons for what I said earlier,” Lord Brimlow said, his face pasty and beaded with sweat. “I did not mean any offense.”
“Yes, you did,” Rofana said dryly, “but I shall forgive you for your ignorance. Now, as the dragon god said, let us get on with the business we came here to discuss. I believe that is the scheduling of the upcoming wedding and coronation?” she asked Drystan.
Drystan smiled, and Alistair hid a chuckle. The way the new oracle conducted herself had thoroughly impressed him, and he looked forward to having her marry the four of them. “That is correct,” Drystan said as they took their seats at the table. “The dragon god has ordered that we have both the coronation and the wedding ceremony soon, well before Lady Dareena gives birth.”
They spent the next thirty minutes arguing with the council about this. Even knowing that Rofana was legitimately the oracle, and hearing the dragon god’s wishes in this matter, they were still having trouble wrapping their heads around the idea of having three kings. And what of Dareena herself? Would they really be crowning her queen? It was one thing for her to be the Dragon’s Gift, but she was still only a commoner. What right did she have to rule?
“This matter is not up for debate,” Alistair finally said, cutting through all the noise. “The dragon god has made his wishes very clear. If the law does not allow for such a union, then we must rewrite it.”
“It is not our duty to make the dragon god change his rulings to suit our human traditions,” Rofana added. “If we must change our rules to carry out his commands, then so be it.”
“Remember,” Drystan reminded them, “if we should ignore them, there is a very good chance that Shalia’s Curse will remain unbroken. We have been crippled by this terrible spell for far too long. It is high time that dragons roamed these skies once more, and not merely from the royal family. Your own lines may one day birth dragons,” he said, meeting the eyes of the nobles, many of whom were dragon born. “Would you really work to stop that from happening, merely because of your sensibilities?”
There was some grumbling about that, but ultimately, the council agreed. “We will come up with new legislation to cover this arrangement,” Lord Renflaw said. “Since all of this must be done in short order, I think we should do both the wedding and the coronation within the same week. Two months’ time should be sufficient to make the announcements and ensure everyone of import is invited.”
“Excellent,” Dareena said. “Preparations are already underway.” She beamed at the council, as if they hadn’t just collectively insulted her by acting as if her commoner status made her unworthy of the crown. “You’ll be pleased to know that I met with a delegation from Elvenhame yesterday. They have agreed to a truce while we negotiate the peace treaty between us. So long as we return their prince and princess safely to them, they are willing to sign the agreement.”
“We have also agreed to give them limited reparations,” Lord Renflaw said. Some of the nobles grumbled about this, and Alistair briefly wondered if Lord Renflaw was about to pit them against Dareena. But he was pleased when the councilmen merely said that they were waiting for the elves to draw up a list of damages before they made any decision, and that while they might not pay all of them, in light of recovering the treasure, they could afford to make a gesture of goodwill toward the elves.
“And what of the warlocks?” one of the lords asked. “I heard the recent strike force raid was a success. Will we be able to defeat them without engaging in open warfare?”
“It is too early in the game to say,” Alistair said. “We have carried out a second raid that was also successful, and have recovered quite a few important devices and artifacts the warlocks would have otherwise used against us. But King Wulorian will eventually guess what we are about. Right now, it is merely a waiting game, until Prince Lucyan returns and tells us what he has learned. He has infiltrated the warlock king’s castle.”
The council murmured at this. “I am still not certain it was wise to send one of our princes
into enemy territory,” Lord Renflaw said, “but now that he is already there, I do hope we will have something to show for it.”
“Are we certain the warlocks truly are engaging in secret warfare against both Elvenhame and Dragonfell?” one of the lords at the far end of the table asked. “It seems like a lot for one kingdom to take on.”
“We already know it to be true from questioning the imposter oracle,” Drystan reminded him. “He was a warlock, and he confessed to murdering the previous Dragon’s Gift on King Wulorian’s orders.” More gasps of shock filled the room. “We also caught the warlocks trying to steal the treasure our father had hidden in the mountains.”
“There must be some mistake,” the man protested. “The warlocks are peaceful people. Perhaps this imposter was merely acting alone.”
Dareena’s eyes flashed. “Are you daft?” she asked, leaning forward. “He not only escaped, but kidnapped Princess Basilla as well. Why would he do that and yet leave no ransom note?”
“Lord Pharlis,” Rofana said in a calm voice, rising from the table. A ripple of nervous energy went through the room as all eyes went to her. “Stand up and take off your clothes.”
The man’s face colored. “I will do no such thing!” he sputtered. “What kind of woman would ask a man to remove his clothes in front of the others? Are you some kind of harlot?”
“Take off your clothes,” she said again, her voice rippling with power. Alistair stared in shock as the man immediately jumped out of his chair and began removing his clothing. Sweat ran down his brow, and his hands shook, as though he were trying to resist.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Renflaw cried, turning to face the oracle.
Rofana ignored him, keeping her gaze trained on the other man. “This man is an imposter,” she said calmly as he stripped down to his underwear. “Take it all off,” she commanded when he tried to stop. “And your jewelry as well.”
Lord Pharlis complied, though his skin had flushed so deep a red, Alistair thought he might explode. When he removed the pendant hanging from around his neck, his features changed. Suddenly, he went from a short, rotund man to a tall, lean one, his thick head of hair replaced by a shaven crown. His blue eyes widened with fear, and he lifted his hands, magic crackling at his fingertips.