by Simone Pond
He toasted. “To a festive night!”
Watlington lifted his cup. “To successful negotiations.”
“There’s that damn word again,” grumbled Prince Kieran, setting down his cup before drinking.
Ciara shot a look to Kateline. She didn’t want to force the prince’s hand, he’d be suspicious. But if she was going to locate the journal, she needed him to drink that mead.
Candlelight flickered, seeming to mesmerize the four of them. Watlington drank back his mead, disregarding the prince’s disdain over the topic of negotiations.
Kateline lifted her wine. “Prince, you haven’t finished your toast. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to make one and not seal it off with a sip?”
“Ah, is that so? Is that what they believe in Levant?” He leaned over and kissed Kateline’s cleavage again, making Ciara cringe in disgust. Then he picked up the mead and narrowed his eyes at Ciara. “Why don’t you make a toast, Lady Ciara. You’ll be handling the negotiations, so have a go at it.”
She nodded and stood up, staring directly into the prince’s bleary eyes. “Tonight we celebrate Prince Kieran and his ever-growing reign. May it reach throughout all of Galicia and beyond.” Then she sipped her wine and eyed the prince, watching as he drank back every last sip of his mead. He snorted and threw the cup across the room.
“Beautiful toast, my lady …” The prince began to sway from side to side.
It was working! Ciara set down her cup and held his arm. “My lord, perhaps we should take this to your private room?”
He grabbed Ciara, tearing her sleeve as he yanked her over to him. “And here I thought you were a frigid prude only wanting my kingdom to yourself.” He shoved her toward the door to his private room, slapping her bottom and howling like a wolf.
Kateline jumped up from the couch. “My lord, wait …”
Prince Kieran turned and grinned. “Don’t you worry, I’ll save some for you, too.”
Ciara’s heart froze. What was happening? Why hadn’t the prince passed out yet? Or at least lost all interest in … in having his way with her? Ciara looked at the table. He had polished off the drink, so what was wrong? Then she looked over at Watlington, who was slumped over, passed out in his chair and drooling. The prince had handed Watlington the cup that was meant for him. And now Ciara was being ushered into a room alone with a drunken beast.
Just as the prince shoved her into the room and slammed the door, locking it behind him, she was struck with a flash of genius.
“My lord, what if we invited Kateline to join us?” she purred into his ear.
His deranged laughter filled the room. “You are a wild one, aren’t you?”
She stroked his bare chest. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The golden flecks in his eyes lit up like embers and the glare that came from them was so fiery, Ciara scooted back. Prince Kieran grabbed her by the neck.
“Nor have you, my lady.”
He shoved her face forward onto the bed and ripped through the layers of her dress until she lay naked before him. He was neither kind nor gentle as he de-flowered his “most favored” lady-in-waiting. Ciara cried into the blankets, muffling each sob to keep him from hearing her anguish. She thought the misery might continue for hours until he finally let out a howl and collapsed onto the bed and passed out.
Tears scorched Ciara’s cheeks as they fell from her eyes. She trembled from the agonizing pain—not only from how rough Kieran had been, but the overwhelming humiliation was too much. She wanted to get out of that room immediately. But there was still the matter of Evelyn’s journal. If she left without it now, everything she’d suffered would’ve been for naught. She crossed the room and with meticulous caution, she opened the prince’s trunk and began quietly removing his royal garments and setting them into a neat pile. All the way at the bottom of the trunk she found a bundle wrapped in a golden cloth. She removed it from the trunk, unfolding the fabric slowly to reveal the book of legends in all of its glory. She slipped it under her dress, then carefully returned the gold cloth and all the clothes to the trunk. She wrapped a sheet from the bed around her, then tiptoed out of the room, wincing in pain.
Kateline jumped up when Ciara walked into the main cabin. She reached out to embrace Ciara. “What has he done to you?” she cried.
Ciara pushed away Kateline, no longer wanting to feel the spark of her touch. She didn’t want to feel anything ever again. She wanted to put the horrid night behind her. “Let us never speak of this again.”
Kateline assisted Ciara back to her stateroom and sat her down in a chair to clean her up as best she could. All the while, Ciara twitched and jerked whenever the warm cloth touched her skin. She loathed the prince for ruining the part of her that once longed for Kateline’s touch.
Ciara abruptly stood up and walked away from Kateline. Every step felt like fiery knives splitting her apart. She pulled a clean nightgown over her head, and keeping her back to Kateline, she barked, “I’d like to be alone.”
“But … are you quite sure?”
After what had happened, Ciara feared Kateline would always see her as weak and vulnerable. The only way through this would be cutting off all emotion and keeping up a strong front. She had to show her that she was powerful and could survive anything. Regardless of her feelings, she wanted Kateline to believe she didn’t need or want her around.
“Leave,” she said.
Kateline quietly exited the room.
Ciara climbed into bed, cradling the journal against her chest. She held all the power now. Carefully, she tucked the book deep inside one of the pillowcases, then piled several other pillows on top of it. The prince might’ve stolen her innocence and desire for love, but he could never steal her freedom.
20
Leaving her father behind seemed so wrong. Evelyn rushed down the tunnel toward Doran and the torchlight. Before she reached him, she brushed away her tears.
Doran glanced at her with a sadness in his eyes. “That couldn’t have been easy, but he’ll be okay. He’s the legendary Lugh of Gorias.”
“I know.” Though she sounded confident, she wasn’t a hundred percent convinced her father’s feeble state could withstand much more. But she was the only known dragon slayer in fighting condition and it was her duty to find the dragon and slay it before the summer solstice—and preferably before Prince Kieran returned from his travels.
Doran turned down a tunnel. “Trellox told me of a possible way out. Doesn’t involve fighting off watchmen or guards. He went on ahead.”
“Let me guess, it involves swimming through the moat?”
“How’d you know?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“You know the moat is teeming with water moccasins, right?”
His laughter rolled through the tunnel. “Don’t tell me the brave Evelyn of Gorias, dragon slayer, is afraid of some snakes.”
Evelyn punched his arm teasingly. He stopped walking and took her hand, pulling her against him. “I’ll protect you from the scary snakes.”
“They’re not scary, they’re disgusting. And poisonous …”
Without another word, Doran set down the torchlight. He held Evelyn’s face and placed the most gentle and sensuous kiss on her lips. His mouth covered hers and together they melded into one, the heat from their bodies radiating and pulsing. Doran’s hands moved down Evelyn’s neck and her back, then clasped around her waist. He yanked her even closer. His moaning vibrated in her bones. Each kiss penetrated deeper. Blood rushed through her veins like a storm. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to give everything—all of herself—to Doran. The torchlight flickered brightly as Evelyn and Doran moved together. Their shadows danced on the stone walls of the dank dungeon. This is not the right time … or place.
“We can’t,” she said, pulling her mouth away.
Doran leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. Evelyn kept her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his heaving chest. Sensations of
joy, elation, and deep yearning flooded through her as her smile turned into light laughter.
“What is so humorous?” asked Doran, lifting her chin up to face him.
“I can’t believe I almost lost my flower in a dungeon.”
Doran straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Forgive me, my lady … It’s just, well, that potato sack you’re wearing is irresistibly alluring.” He stroked the rough material.
She laughed, shoving him. “We must go, I have a job to do. Let’s get out of this hellhole and to the village.”
Doran kissed her cheek and picked up the torchlight to continue onward.
They trudged through the labyrinth of tunnels for nearly an hour before they reached a thick steel door that Doran assured would lead them to the armory.
“And you’re sure of this?” asked Evelyn.
“So long as Trellox wasn’t lying, we should be fine. Either way, it’s a door that leads to somewhere.”
Evelyn nodded. “Very well. I trust the kid. He’s too simple-minded to lie.”
Doran opened the door and turned back to Evelyn. “It’s a steep staircase. Watch your step. At the top is the armory, and we’ll find something to get across the moat.”
Evelyn’s hope lifted. “You think there’s a raft?”
“Oh, goodness no. We’ll have to use our imagination. You’re good at that.” He gave her a wink. She wanted to be irritated by his quip, but he was just too handsome.
At the top of the stairs, Doran creaked open another door and crept into a shadowy room. There weren’t any windows and only one other way out. Evelyn shut the door behind her and handed the torchlight to Doran as she scanned the armory. She’d never seen so many weapons in one place. Hundreds of bows—regular and crossbows—spears, javelins, and barrels full of arrows. There were even cannons and huge balls piled in wagons. And shelves of uniforms.
“Clothes!” she said in relief.
She ran over to a stack and found the smallest pair of pants that she could, fastening them around her waist with a piece of rope. She pulled a heavy tunic over her head, then found a pair of boots that were too large, but better than going without shoes.
Once properly outfitted, she strode across the room and opened the only other door. Blinding sunlight poured into the room, and she stumbled backwards. It took a while for her eyes to adjust from being in the dungeons. But once she felt acclimated, she peeked out the door again. It opened to absolutely nothing. Air. She looked down to the moat below, then across to the grass at least a hundred feet away.
Closing the door and turning around to Doran, it took another minute for her eyes to readjust.
“Well?” he asked.
“Are you insane?”
“Possibly. But what do you think about getting across?”
There weren’t any other options, unless they wanted to grab a bunch of weapons and go into battle with an army of well-trained knights and watchmen. She knew this was the best way to escape, despite how impossible it seemed. She began scoping out the equipment again and gathering up things as she walked by.
“Can’t wait to see where this is going …” said Doran. “Also, that tunic is quite fetching.”
Evelyn ignored his goading and remained focused. When she finished gathering her supplies, she dropped a longbow, a couple of bows, and a pile of rope in front of Doran.
“What’s the plan, Evelyn of Gorias … dragon slayer?”
“You’re going to shoot two pieces of rope across the moat into that giant oak tree on the other side. We’re going to fashion a couple of bows over the rope and glide our way over the water. Don’t even have to touch a drop.”
Doran looked outside, scanning the distance to the tree. “Not bad, not bad.”
She mockingly gave a gracious curtsey.
He picked up the longbow and fastened some rope to an arrow. “Let’s hope the arrows stick.”
With precision, he shot the first line of rope across the way in a slightly downward slope; the arrow plunged deep into the oak tree on the other side of the moat. He quickly took the other arrow with the piece of rope and shot that across, creating a parallel set of lines. Evelyn grabbed the ends of the ropes and pulled them, testing their hold. Then she slipped two bows over the ends and secured the ropes around a pillar, making sure the two lines were taut.
“Who’s first?” she asked.
“You should go first to make sure the lines are secure enough. I’ll follow.”
As much as she didn’t want to go first, this made the most sense. Also, there wasn’t time to argue. They needed to get to the stables before one of the grounds staff noticed them. She grabbed the bow and slid it over to the doorway. Still gripping the bow, she sat down so her legs dangled over the side of the castle. It was the moment of truth, so to speak, and she was about to find out if her idea would hold water. Or rather, keep her from plunging into the water …
“On three,” said Doran.
But Evelyn couldn’t stand the suspense. She held her breath and in one rapid motion, slid from the opening and immediately took off, zipping down the lines with intense velocity. Her weight pulled the ropes down, but she still had plenty of space between her and the moat. She moved so fast, she hit the other side before she had time to exhale. The landing was rough, but she hadn’t touched a drop of water. It was a success.
She stood and gave Doran a nod. He scooted to the edge of the doorway and lowered his body. The air in Evelyn’s lungs caught as he lowered down. He started moving quickly, but suddenly one of arrows yanked out of the tree. She lunged for it to keep the rope tight, but she was too late. Doran’s bow tipped sideways and he lost his grip and slammed into the water below, hitting his head on a rock.
Without thinking about the venomous snakes slithering in the murky water, Evelyn dived into the moat. The icy shock nearly stopped her heart, but she kicked and kicked until she found the loose end of the rope and followed it to where Doran had begun sinking. Grabbing a chestful of air, she plunged below and fished for him. When she had a secure grip around his wrist, she pulled him up to the surface. Evelyn began kicking and using her free arm, but she was swimming in circles.
“Doran! Breathe!” she shouted. “I can’t pull you across!”
Evelyn trod in place and looked for something to aid her. Terror seized her throat as she saw ripples on the surface of the water—fast-flowing “S” shapes. The snakes were making a rapid approach and she was only halfway across the moat without anything to defend against them.
She remembered the rope had an arrow attached to it. Keeping her focus on the snakes, she used her free hand to reel in the rope until she caught the sharp tip of the arrow. Doran started coughing and gurgling up the water he’d sucked it.
“Hurry, Doran! Snakes!”
He hacked out a mouthful of water and shook his head. “I’m okay to swim,” he said, coughing.
Evelyn released her grip from Doran, and the two began swimming. Doran reached the other side first. Evelyn was about to climb out when one of the snakes struck at her left leg. With reflexes she never knew she had, she skewered the snake mid-air with the arrow, then flung it back into the water. Doran grabbed her wrist and yanked her up. They darted across the grass, panting.
“We must get to the stables,” said Evelyn.
Doran’s forehead was bleeding, but he kept up the pace. “Thank you for saving my life. Sorry you had to deal with the snakes …”
“They weren’t so bad.”
They rushed into the stables, where they found the great stallion, Tynan, in the last stall. He neighed when they approached as if happy to see them. They mounted the horse—Evelyn in front of Doran—and with as much stealth as they could conjure, they rode from the stable and into the woods.
The sun sprinkled through the trees as daylight threatened to morph into twilight. Doran remained quiet as Evelyn pushed Tynan faster and faster along the paths. She was determined to reach the village before sunset—and before Sinead ra
n away with Aine and the crystal stone. Her heart thrummed as each of the sun’s last rays filtered through the dense trees. They still had a ways to go and the cut-off time was drawing near.
Evelyn thought about her father wasting away in the dungeon. She thought about her mother living alone with a broken heart for so many years. The dragons of Galicia and Prince Kieran were responsible for their loss, along with the losses of many others. And for how many centuries? She had come to the realization that everything happened for a reason, and that everything had played out just as it was supposed to. She had nothing to fear. Her fate had already been determined. Somehow she would retrieve the crystal stone and continue into the mountains to slay the dragon. And when that was finished, she would return to Verubri Castle and rescue her father and take him home to her mother.
That was Evelyn’s plan. But when she heard the faint flapping of wings coming from the distance, she knew her plan was about to be crushed. The sound sent a chill down her spine. Every hair on her body rose to the occasion. The dragon was coming. And she knew without a shadow of doubt that the beast was coming specifically for her.
Evelyn wanted to reach Aine and get the stone, but if she continued to the village the dragon would follow her. She couldn’t let the flying demon get near the village—they’d suffered enough—and she knew it wouldn’t kill her before the summer solstice. The dragon wanted her for the ritual—the ultimate sacrifice. Days remained before the ceremony, but Aine would be gone by sunset. Doran had to be the one to carry on. She shouted for Tynan to halt and leapt down to the ground.
“What are you doing?” yelled Doran.
“The dragon is coming. You must go to the village and find Aine and the stone! Then leave. I will find you.”
The air grew warmer. The thumping of the dragon’s wings against the still air grew louder.
“I’m not leaving you out here alone!” he yelled down to her.
“It wants me. Not you. If you stay, you will die. It has to keep me alive … at least until the summer solstice.”