Prince of Shadow and Ash

by Selina R. Gonzalez

  Someone knocked on the door and Adelaide jumped.

  “Adelaide?” Minerva’s voice.

  Adelaide answered the door, and Minerva entered, a deep furrow between her brows. “Are you all right? Sir Carrick said you weren’t feeling well.”

  Adelaide slumped against the door as she closed it. “I’m fine. I just...needed some space.” She looked at Minerva accusingly. “Did you see his clothes? Did you know—”

  “Heavens, no!” Minerva’s eyes widened. “Lady Drummond is very proud of herself. She thinks you’ll thank her later. I was horrified and told her as much. I’m so sorry, Ad.”

  “Well, good.” Adelaide forced herself to keep a straight face. “Because I had sworn to never speak to you again if you had anything to do with it.” She smiled, and Minerva laughed.

  “I take it you don’t care for him?”

  Adelaide twirled a ribbon on her dressing gown around her finger. “He’s...haughty. Self-absorbed. I think he hates Lord Hargreaves simply because he’s illegitimate, which is ridiculous.” She let the ribbon unravel and fall off her finger. “Maybe it’s unfair of me, but I don’t trust him.”

  “Thank Etiros.” Minerva’s relieved tone surprised Adelaide. Min sat on the edge of her bed. “I honestly don’t like him, either. I overheard some ladies claiming Nolan Carrick’s charm has...undone a few women. I hate unsubstantiated rumors, but it makes me uncomfortable.”

  “You’re uncomfortable? I don’t want to know what rumors they’ll spread about me now.” She slouched on the bed next to Minerva.

  “Are you sure you’re fine?” Minerva stroked Adelaide’s hair. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

  “I know.” Do I? They sat in silence until Adelaide couldn’t take it anymore. “I found a book on magic in Lord Drummond’s library.”

  Minerva’s hand froze on Adelaide’s back. “Ad...”

  “I know, I know. But...it’s been twenty-three years. Surely it’s safe by now.”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

  “If someone was still hunting mages, why didn’t they find me as a child?” Adelaide stood. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep this power inside me? It’s this constant pressure, begging for release.”

  Minerva dropped her gaze. “Ad—”

  “Just...look.” Adelaide formed a dagger. The blue light of the blade cast odd shadows on Minerva’s face as she held the magic weapon out to her sister.

  “Oh,” Minerva whispered, her eyes wide and jaw slack. She reached out and brushed her fingers against the hilt. “It’s...solid. That’s...” She shook her head. “You have daggers, Adelaide.”

  “But what if sometime I don’t? And what else could I do? I can help people!”

  “With a dagger?”

  Adelaide groaned. “All right, look. Mother panicked when she caught me doing this, so I’ve never told you I can. But watch. And don’t panic.” She drew the blade of her magic dagger across her palm and winced from the sharp pain.

  “Adelaide!” Minerva gasped.

  “It’s all right!” Adelaide vanished the blade and healed her hand. A comforting numb sensation spread over the cut, and the skin pulled back together. The blue glow of her palm illuminated Minerva’s horrified expression. The light dimmed, and Adelaide rinsed her hand in the water bowl on the dresser. She turned back to Minerva. “See?”

  Minerva grabbed her hand and ran her fingers over the smooth skin. “It’s...like it never happened,” she breathed.

  “Exactly!” Adelaide smiled broadly, excitement making her heart race. “Mother and Father want to keep me safe; I know that. But...isn’t magic a gift? It’s a natural part of the world. The priests say Etiros imbued all living things with magic. Isn’t it a source of goodness Etiros gave me access to for a reason?”

  Minerva’s sad eyes filled with pity. “And what about all those mages who died? What good did their gift do them?”

  “Just because they died doesn’t mean they had done nothing good with their magic before that,” Adelaide countered.

  “Ad...” Minerva massaged her forehead. “I can’t stop you. And I won’t try. But I don’t want to lose you, either. And what if it’s not only your own life you put in danger?” She rubbed her growing belly protectively.

  Adelaide’s posture fell. Maybe her sister was right. But maybe she wasn’t. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Thank you.” Minerva held out her hand, and Adelaide helped her stand. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  In the morning, Adelaide faked illness as an excuse to avoid breakfast. Gaius and Minerva stole a few indulgently sweet fruit-filled pastries, which Adelaide devoured as she waited for their carriage in the bustling courtyard. She spied Nolan wandering the chaos of departing guests as if searching for someone. Their carriage pulled around, and she rushed inside. Relief filled her when Carrick castle faded from sight.

  Chapter 11

  REGULUS REINED IN SIEGER at the crest of a hill covered in tall grass. A wide valley that deepened and narrowed into a ravine stretched out ahead of them. Beyond, the spur of the Pelandian Mountains known as the Barren Range rose behind a blue-gray haze. Oaks, maples, and juniper bushes grew scattered near the valley entrance, and the mouths of caves yawned dark in the ravine walls. A strong breeze tugged on his cloak and carried the scent of apple trees. The gust moved across the cave mouths, creating a faint sound somewhere between a whistle and a soft cry.

  The famous Singing Caves.

  He clicked his tongue and Sieger started forward again at a gentle trot. At the entrance to the valley, he tied Sieger to a low branch of a young maple, tight enough the horse wouldn’t wander off, but loose enough if something came at Sieger and he tried to run, he could pull free. He removed his cloak and hung it over another branch. A cloak was a liability in battle, and anyone who happened by would assume the owner was nearby and likely leave Sieger alone. Before setting out, he double-checked his gear and supplies. He had the massive black sword from the sorcerer, a hunting knife across his lower back, and a dagger and water horn on his right hip. Blackened iron covered the front of a kite-shaped shield, its wooden back wrapped in hardened leather. He slung a bag of miscellaneous supplies over his shoulder and started out.

  Regulus chewed on dried venison as he walked, savoring the salty, smoky flavor. Only the rustle of grass, leaves, and the sighing of wind in the caves reached his ears. He hadn’t seen a living thing since before the last hill. He peered into each cave as he passed, listening and watching the shadows. Nothing moved in the valley or the caves. The valley deepened, the hills on either side rising the closer he got to the Barren Mountains. Gradually, the ravine narrowed. The sides became more uneven, with more caves and craggy spurs of rock. More places for things to hide.

  At last, he spied the white elm with golden leaves. It grew so close to the mouth of the cave the trunk had melded with the stone. The branches spread over the entrance, deepening the shadows within. The mouth of the cave stretched over twice as tall as Regulus, and nearly as wide. Okay. The dragon’s no bigger than the entrance, right? Big, but not as big as I feared. The golden leaves of the white elm rustled in the breeze while the caves moaned and whistled. Wind snuck between his helm and the back of his breastplate, chilling his neck. His instincts told him not to enter that cave. He ate a last bite of venison, pulled a torch from his bag, and lit it. He held it at arm’s length and peered into the darkness filling the cave. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he headed in.

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the cave and the torchlight, Regulus scanned the shadows. He kept his right hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Breezes swirled past, occasionally whistling in the caves. His footsteps echoed, every clank of his armor magnified as the sound bounced. After a while, he heard the trickle of water. Rivulets ran down the sides of the cave. The cave widened and curved as he progressed, making it difficult to see into the dark shadows. All sunlight had long since disappe
ared. The air grew dank, heavy, and stale as the wind stopped. A rotten and burnt smell became more apparent. After walking for around half an hour, he heard a new sound. Like the sighing, whistling wind, but different.

  Several minutes later, the cave forked. To his right, the roof of the cave sloped down, and the cave narrowed. To his left, the cave widened. The noise, which sounded uncomfortably like breathing, came from the left.

  Why are you hesitating? You know the dragon’s to the left. He took a deep breath. Well, yes, that’s why I’m hesitating. I’ve never faced an actual dragon before.

  He stretched as much as his armor and the shield strapped to his left arm would allow and double-checked his weapons. “Here goes,” he said aloud. His voice sounded hollow in his helm. Head held high and every muscle straining with nervous energy, he strode into the left passage.

  After a couple minutes, he had no doubt the sound was breathing. He passed a pile of bones. A deer, maybe. More unsettling was what looked like massive troll bones. A slight, warm, fetid breeze rushed toward him in time with the breathing. The stench worsened, and the cool dampness of the cave transitioned into warm humidity. Sweat rolled down his forehead under his helm. He rounded yet another curve. Where is that infernal—

  Dragon.

  The beast slept on a mound of gold, silver, jewels, and bones, curled into a ball like a gargantuan cat. It looked like an oversized lizard, covered in dull scales the color of dried sage. The dragon’s head, longer than Regulus’ height, rested on a front foot the size of Regulus’ torso and legs, with five claws the length of his forearm. Dull black horns curled back from the crown of its head. Its nostrils flared as it breathed out, its breath sulfuric and hot. The tip of its tail, shaped like a barbed arrow as wide as Regulus’ chest, twitched in front of its snout. It had no wings, just four legs like oak trees.

  Regulus swallowed and looked around for the relic in the dim light. His torch sputtered in the dragon’s breath, making the shadows in the cave flicker. As quietly as possible, he walked around the dragon. He saw nothing that looked like the drawing in the pile under the dragon, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Hopefully the sorcerer was right, and it was somewhere else in the cave.

  Technically, the sorcerer had told him to kill the dragon if necessary and take the relic. If he could skip the fighting the dragon part, he would do so. True, the dragon couldn’t kill him. But it could burn him, cut him, scar him. Dying was still painful. The feeling of death without the release of dying was a hellish experience, one he tried to avoid.

  He proceeded cautiously, holding up his torch to illuminate as much of the cave as possible. The dragon’s breath vibrated the floor. Behind the dragon, near the back of the cave, a white stone caught the torchlight. The square pedestal stood about as tall as Regulus’ waist. A faded, repulsive gray-brown rotting pillow rested on top. Cradled on the pillow lay an object made of thick gold wire twisted into the shape of a hollow egg and coated in dust.

  The relic was about half a foot long and slightly narrower, with a short rod in the hollow center that looked like a mount for something that was missing. He picked it up and shook off some of the dust, but with the humidity of the room, most of it stuck. He shrugged and deposited it in his bag, then froze.

  The rhythm of the dragon’s breathing had changed. Clink. Clink. Metallic rustling and clattering echoed in the cave. Regulus pressed his eyes closed. You couldn’t stay asleep, could you? He adjusted his grip on his shield, set the torch down on the pillow, which caught fire, and drew his sword. A low growl reverberated around the room and resonated in his chest. He turned, praying dragons didn’t really breathe fire.

  The dragon, now towering over him, its red serpentine eyes flashing, snarled. Its mouth glowed orange. Regulus yanked his shield up, hiding as much of his body behind it as possible. Fire pummeled the shield. The heat was terrible, the roar of the flames loud, the force of the blast startling. He leaned into the shield, pushing hard against the rock floor to brace himself. Without his enhanced strength, he wouldn’t have withstood the onslaught. The stream of fire ended, and Regulus blinked sweat out of his eyes.

  The dragon roared, the sound deafening in the cave. Regulus straightened and ran forward, keeping the shield between him and the dragon. He swung at the dragon’s neck. The blade met scales with an echoing clang as a shock ran up his arm. He yanked the sword down, leaving only a scratch. Regulus gulped. This is not good. The dragon snarled again, baring sharp, yellowed teeth.

  Regulus blocked a swipe of its huge front foot with his shield, but the force knocked him sideways. Its claws dragged against the front of the shield with a piercing grating noise. The weight pulled his arm down. He dropped his sword, drew his dagger, and reached over the shield, stabbing into the dragon’s foot right between two black-clawed toes. The blade slipped between scales and Regulus pushed it in to its hilt. The dragon roared. It yanked its foot back, tearing the dagger out of Regulus’ hand. As the dragon howled, Regulus spotted a small, lighter area unprotected by thick scales at the top of its neck, under its chin. He snatched the sword back up and lunged toward the dragon’s neck, breathing hard.

  The dragon recovered, and Regulus narrowly dodged another swipe of its foot. But now the dragon had tucked down its head, and rows of pointed teeth were between him and his target. He spun to the side, trying to disorient the creature. The dragon dove, and he ducked. Teeth as big as his hands clamped onto the shield. Frantic, he pulled his arm out of the shield. His gauntlet caught on the first strap. Too tight! His heart raced as he fought against the dragon’s pull and the strap.

  He had barely freed his arm when the dragon forced its jaws closed. The shield bent, the metal making a piercing grinding sound as wood splinters flew everywhere. The dragon spit the shield away, flames curling around the crushed metal and remaining fragments of wood. Regulus scrambled back. Focus. He had found a potential striking point. He just needed to get close enough. Curse the sorcerer’s showy armor. What he needed was maneuverability, not a dramatic appearance.

  Something slammed into his stomach, throwing him back against the cave wall. His sword fell from his hand with a clatter. Whatever had hit him tore through his armor with a metallic rending that tormented his ears. Regulus screamed as pain flared. He grabbed for whatever had lodged itself in his torso and found the barbed arrowhead tip of the dragon’s tail buried in his abdomen. His blood flowed between dark scales. He choked as blood forced its way up his throat. He couldn’t. Breathe.

  His chest tightened and his neck stiffened as he attempted to cough up the blood gagging him, but the dragon’s tail had destroyed his abdominal muscles. The dragon yanked its tail away, and Regulus collapsed to his knees. Pain turned the world white. His own rumbling pulse filled his ears.

  He could breathe again. Pulling and pinching added to his already immeasurable pain as dark magic coursed through his body. He rolled onto his side, screaming, unable to even think about the dragon. He felt the gash mending back together; like millions of white-hot needles stitching him together from the inside out with thread laced with poison ivy. He looked up and saw the dragon’s wide-open mouth careening toward him.

  On instinct, he rolled to the side. The dragon slammed its snout into the cave floor as Regulus struggled to his knees. There. His sword lay only a few feet away. The dragon growled and shook its head. It raised a massive forefoot to step on him. Regulus waited as long as he dared before darting forward, his gut wrenching.

  The claws hit the cave floor with a sharp clack. Dust and pebbles flew. Regulus crawled forward and grasped the hilt of his sword. He rolled onto his back as the dragon lunged again, its tongue flicking between its teeth. From his back, Regulus thrust his sword up as the dragon’s open mouth descended. He looked away, clenching his eyes shut and grimacing. Some part of him wondered whether he would finally die if the dragon bit him in half.

  Sword met flesh. The dragon’s growl vibrated his arms. The force of the dragon’s attack drove the sw
ord down, but Regulus pushed up, his eyes still pressed closed as the dragon’s breath scorched his skin. His sword pulled to the side, and he lost his grip. He opened his eyes to the dragon staggering and pawing at the sword buried deep in the roof of its mouth. Smoke curled from its flaring nostrils and its eyes rolled, turning white. He staggered to his feet while drawing his hunting knife. The dragon roared and flailed, sending gold and jewels flying.

  Regulus jumped forward and skirted a blindly thrown foot. He stumbled over the whipping tail. Coins pinged off his armor. His wound had closed. It still throbbed, but it was healed. The dragon, still holding its mouth wide open, looked up at the cave ceiling. Regulus jumped onto the monster’s leg, clutching the knife with both hands. He pushed off the leg with a shout and leapt toward the dragon’s throat, his gaze fixed on the paler, less scaled patch.

  With every ounce of his strength, he thrust up into the dragon’s throat. The knife dug into the center of the spot. The dragon screeched. Regulus pushed the blade in deep. The momentum of his jump spent, he fell. With a grunt, he yanked the knife back out and bubbling deep green blood flowed out, splattering over his armor.

  He landed hard on the ground as the dragon stumbled. Regulus scurried back. With a crash, the cacophony of treasure being scattered, and the scrape of scales on stone, the dragon fell. The cave shook and Regulus stumbled. Its eyes rolled around in its head, then went still. A great sigh rushed through the cave like wind, and the dragon stopped breathing.

  Regulus watched, unmoving. His nerves buzzed and his muscles twitched. He crept forward and nudged the dragon’s muzzle with the tip of his boot. Dead. He exhaled heavily, wrenched off his helm, and tossed it away with a clatter. His hands on his knees, he gulped in putrid air as if he had been drowning. Which, he supposed, he probably had nearly drowned, choking on his own blood. With a shudder, he vomited. Bloody bile splashed onto his dragon-blood flecked greaves.