It meant her mother was Vince’s daughter. The Penelope look-alike had said she was promised to someone, that she’d thought she loved him, but then she found out the truth and ran. What Penelope didn’t say was the man’s name. In all odds, he was still alive out there and he’d try to find her. Why? Faith was nothing to him.
Penelope said she was Human, but it couldn’t be, not if her father was alive and well in the Second. No Humans were allowed to cross over and live here, which meant her father was one of the Second’s many races. And so, by default, didn’t it make her less Human? Part Human and part something else?
Faith shook her head, not wanting to think about it anymore. This wasn’t why she was here.
Her body fell into a deep pool of black water. It surrounded her instantly, enveloping her in warmth, soothing her nerves like a bubble bath would.
God, what she’d give for some soap.
Once she was in the water, Faith held her nose and swam upward, gasping for breath the moment her head broke out of the water. After she wiped her eyes, she saw a stone grotto. Black stone with luminescent, purple moss growing everywhere.
She swam to the edge of the pool, heaving herself out of the water. When she stood, she was able to get a better look at the grotto. Everything had a layer of water on it, the stone and moss above her dripping onto her head. She was a wet mess, and she’d continue to remain so until she was out of here—however long it would take.
Further inside, she spotted an altar of sorts made of blackstone. Moss curled upward around its base, its vines trying its best to crawl and engulf the entire thing. Its top was dug in, which allowed the placement of something inside it. Faith moved closer, leaning over the stone altar that was no taller than her chest. What she saw shocked her.
The cloak.
His cloak. Dark material with grey fur around the neckline. It was strange seeing it here, but the sight comforted her. Faith reached inside, about to grab the cloak to cover herself when a dull voice rung out, echoing in the grotto, “Once you put it on, there is no return. You must be ready for what you will see, for how it will change everything.”
What she would see will change everything? Faith’s arm hovered over the cape. At this point, did she have any other options? No.
She was as ready as she’d ever be.
Her fingers snatched the cape, pulling it out of the hollowed altar. With a flourish that was perhaps a bit too dramatic, Faith wrapped it around her, the fur snug against her neck as she tied it together. Its length reached her knees. So odd how it could almost cover her entire body. It did nothing of the sort for Dracyrus; the Dracon could not even tie it around his neck. He wore it across his shoulders, attached to his armor, in all the visions of past memories she’d had so far.
Once it was secure around her, Faith expected to be thrust into a vision, into a memory, something. Instead, she stood in the same glowing grotto, water still dripping onto her head. Faith looked ahead of her, noticing the grotto grew in length. It wanted her to go that way, right?
Her feet drew her along, around the altar. Her toes dug into the wet, purple moss as she went. The grotto seemed to go on for miles. At this rate, she’d never—
Dracyrus stood with his arms crossed, a sneer on his face. His horns were shorter, his face a bit less rough. His wide frame wore scaled leather, tight on his strong body. The winds of Furen Phyre were cool on this day. His black gaze focused on two beings in the courtyard, an outcropping of stone in the mountain the Dracon called home. They were nearest the summit, due to their stations.
No, Faith realized, standing near him, following his gaze and spotting a tall Dracon woman. Because of her station.
She was the High Queen. She was their ruler, their leader. Not him. It had never been him.
She wore a snug dress made of the same scaled leather he did, though atop it, she wore a furry cloak. The same cloak Faith now wore, the one Cam took from the Ulen, the one Vince ripped from Dracyrus’s last corpse. Her eyes were a startling silver, her scales not as ivory white as Dracyrus’s. She was thin, thinner and taller than an Elf. Her hair was white as snow, twirled into a braid and hanging off her right shoulder. Her horns were mere stubs. She was younger than Dracyrus by quite a bit.
And she wasn’t alone.
She walked with a…a Human? A surly fellow, bearded and tanned from the sun. He looked dirty beside her noble form. So very filthy. He said something and she laughed, which made Dracyrus narrow his gaze even more.
A pair of Dracon men stood behind Dracyrus, neither man as impressive as he was. They looked upon their High Queen with eyes that told it all. They were her lovers. Her chosen, but the moment the Human showed up, it was like she turned into a new hatchling. She fell for the Human man, hard and fast, which wouldn’t have bothered her other men, only…
“Syric said the Human wants her to himself,” one of the Dracon men stated, his sneering form holding traces of deep sadness. “She broke apart our nethelell for him.”
“Watch him, Dracyrus,” the other spat, more angry than sad. “For the newblood will destroy her.”
As the two stormed off, a third Dracon male approached him, head bent in respect. His horns were only two inches long, childlike compared to Dracyrus’s. “Your Fae suitor is here to see you, my prince.”
Dracyrus did not take his eyes off Syric and the Human as he muttered offhandedly, “Tell her I am busy.” He blew her off, for he was far more worried about the female Dracon before him.
And so it went.
The jagged stone courtyard devoid of all greenery morphed into a dim hall. Candles hung from chandeliers, their wax melting onto the metal holding them up. Dracyrus sat, hunched over a desk, half a dozen parchments scattered before him. His black eyes scanned each one, searching for a weakness, for news, for anything he could use against the Human male. Against the first Harbinger. He did not even realize he was not alone.
A pretty, short Fae with dazzlingly orange-yellow eyes stood before him, her thin arms crossed. Her yellow hair was pulled back in an updo, her dress clinging to her almost childlike body. The very same Fae who had tried to kill Faith in the waterworld, the same one who then told her to seek out the Cave of Memories, the Well.
“I do not have time for you,” Dracyrus muttered, dismissing her without even a glance.
“You never have time,” she fumed. “All you care about is the harbinger of mankind.” The way she spoke the word, like she thought it was a joke, enraged him.
“Yulena,” he growled, “I have put up with you for all this time because I thought your magic might be useful.” His clawed hands dug into his desk, crinkling the parchment that he touched. “But even I cannot bear to listen to your whining. If you do not understand why it is of utmost importance to find out where the harbinger of mankind went, what his plans are—if he seeks to conquer us all—leave. I do not have time to play this game of pretend with you. Perhaps you should find other children to indulge in your fantasies with.”
As he spoke, she grew enraged. “I am a pure-blooded Fae. You will not speak to me with such—”
Dracyrus boldly stated, “I will speak with you however I wish to. Now go, or I will have the guards throw you out.” Venom dripped from his voice.
A portal shimmered to life behind her, blue and fiery, all magic of her own creation. “You will regret this, Dracyrus.” She stepped back through the portal, fighting the angry tears of a broken heart.
“I highly doubt it,” he muttered, returning to the task at hand. It wasn’t long before a Dracon guard ran in, eyes wide. Dracyrus didn’t need him to speak, apparently; he knew right away. Faith followed him as he ran through the halls of their mountaintop castle.
A sense of dread rose through her, as if Faith already knew what she was going to see. The ending to this story wasn’t a happy one.
Dracyrus banged on a wooden door, shouting through it, “Open this door, sister, or I will break it down.”
Sister. She was his sister.
When she did not answer, he made good on his promise. With a single kick, the wood splintered and fell apart, allowing him to step through. Syric stood near the window—the wide, open window that overlooked the courtyard hundreds of feet below. Her silver eyes were full of tears, her face betraying the fact that she wept.
The Human male had betrayed her, left her, after she’d disbanded her group of chosen men. It was all for him, and once he had her, he’d tossed her aside like she was nothing. Like garbage and not the queen she was.
“Syric,” Dracyrus pleaded, taking a few steps inside the plain room. She tensed near the window, inching closer to the opening as he outstretched a hand to her. “Come to me, sister. Together we will make all Humankind pay.”
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She blinked, holding her eyes closed for a few moments. New tears fell down her face, and when she finally opened her silver stare, she wordlessly told him what her decision was. A sad smile formed on her face and her back straightened.
Dracyrus realized it too late. “No!” he shouted, running toward the window as she fell backward. He made it to the window, nearly falling out himself as he grabbed blindly at whatever he could reach. The cape. Its bottom.
Holding onto the fabric was not the same as holding onto her, though. Syric, with one swift motion, undid the short string holding it closed against her neck, and she fell.
He watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as his sister hit the stone courtyard below, a pool of silver blood seeping from her backside, her limbs splayed in every direction. Even a Dracon, with skin thick as leather, could not survive a fall so far.
Dracyrus moved himself away from the window, stumbling as he clutched the cape, her cloak, bringing it to his face, burying his emotions in the fur as his tall form collapsed against the wall. The one who would be dubbed the Dread King cried, losing himself to misery.
She was their High Queen, his sister, and he had failed her.
Faith wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t. With a blink of her own teary eyes, she was no longer in the castle of Furen Phyre; she was in the waterworld, the cape still snug around her throat. The yellow sun shone in the distance, reflecting off the water she stood on, water that never got her wet.
“He will rue this day,” a voice, belonging to the Fae woman who was obsessed with Dracyrus, whispered behind her. “He wants war? I will give him war. I will give them both war. I will give him war until the end of time. May he never find happiness, may he never know peace until time itself ends.”
A purple light flashed, engulfing the waterworld, sending Faith back into the wet grotto.
She fell to her knees, unable to stand. So…that was it? That was the truth? It wasn’t a prophecy; it was a curse, all because Dracyrus was too busy trying to take revenge on the Human man who wronged his sister, all because a Fae woman was scorned.
Theirs was a tale of love lost.
Her eyelids lowered, and though she fought against them, tears soon swept over her, a tidal wave of emotion she could not deny.
Faith cried.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He made good time.
When the sun began its ascent in the sky, Dracyrus could see the Malus tribe’s camp on the horizon. He didn’t even care about his sword right now. He needed to reach her, needed to find her. She was so close.
Dracyrus neared the camp. It was before the Malus woke, so no one was out to see him. Odd, though. He didn’t feel her in the camp. He felt her somewhere nearby. Going around the outskirts of the camp, he spotted a structure of some sort. He had no idea what it was or why it was there, but he knew Faith was inside, so it was where he would go.
Its dark towers loomed overhead, but he paid them no mind. He ignored the itch in his skin that told him aether was nearby. Aether was a peculiar thing. It affected every race differently, though most were allergic to its raw form. Dracons were the most resistant to it—although the Fae had lived in the lands where it grew and sprouted from everything. Anyone would be able to enter this temple, he somehow knew, even an ever-allergic Elf.
He pushed open the door, entering a world of black. Behind him, the door slammed closed, a gust of air traveling past him.
“Dracyrus,” a voice spoke, a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in ages. “Step forward.”
If listening to its instructions would bring him to her, he would do it, but he would do it begrudgingly. He moved a single step further into the dark abyss, and suddenly the world around him was dark no longer. Light, blinding and bright, illuminated a circle beneath him. Hundreds of colors moved beneath his feet, forming a picture of her.
A picture of Faith, wearing golden armor, holding a shining sword. The Ageless Blade. She was…a warrior goddess.
“You know your truth,” the voice carried on, mist circling him, slowing coiling to form another figure in front of him. “Yet here you stand, wondering, a part of you still fighting it.” The voice was feminine now, and he knew why it was achingly familiar.
Before him stood Syric, his sister.
Her white hair was cut short, what small horns she had before broken into nubs at their tiny base. She wore a scaled dress, boots clinging to her legs. She was not Syric, for she was dead, but even so, her likeness to her was startling.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“You will find her, after you hear the truth from me.”
“I need to hear nothing from you, spectre.”
“You must. There is no changing this. This reckoning has been written in time the moment time began. You will heed my words, brother, or you will fall as I did.” When he only glared at her, she continued, “After my choice, my death, you were consumed with grief. You knew only hatred and sorrow. You enlisted the Orcs, wiping their entire race out as you sought to defeat the man who broke my heart. He was conniving, he wore lies on his face, and every other race believed him. You were doomed to fail, even with your numbers.”
Dracyrus scowled. He did not need a history lesson.
“Years passed, and though the war raged on, you could not let it go. How many Dracon were felled because of you? How much have we lost because you sought revenge above all else? You hated everything, everyone, even before my death. The Fae sorceress took the brunt of it, and for that, you would pay. And you have. Each time a new Harbinger came, cursed to fight you as you fought the first man thousands of years ago, she demanded things from you, took things you never gave in your first life. She did love you, at first, in her own twisted way.”
He felt his jaw clenching, for those encounters were most certainly not something he wanted to recall. Yulena was—none of the memories she inhabited, whether in his past or in the waterworld, were pleasant. She was the most innocent-faced bitch.
“But it matters little now, doesn’t it? For you were never going to love her, not in the way she desired. You put all your energy on me, on trying to help me govern our people, helping me find mates who were worthy of me. And I threw them all away for a Human. I was young and foolish.”
Though he knew it wasn’t her, Dracyrus found himself muttering, “I could never fault you for your choices.”
“I know.” Her words reverberated through the large, empty space. “But I find fault with yours. You know why you’ve never broken the curse, brother. You must know, deep down, it is because you never fought to. You wanted the mayhem and the chaos. You wanted the blood of the Harbinger on your hands, even if the Harbinger was not the same man as the one who broke my heart.” There was a pause as she added, “Would you still take the Harbinger’s blood, even if the Harbinger is Faith Blackwell?”
“I…” He wanted to kill the Harbinger, but he did not wish to kill Faith. A conundrum, certainly.
Syric was before him suddenly, her hands on his cheeks, a gentle smile on her face. That smile—how he’d missed it. Her silver stare, so different from his, shook with intensity. “Prove to me you can move past your hatred, brother, and the curse will be broken forever
more. Her magic dwindles. It is time to finish it. You must make the final step of this journey.” Her hands slowly fell, and she stepped back. “And you must make it alone.” She vanished, leaving him alone on the platform.
The picture of Faith shattered. Glass flew everywhere, and Dracyrus didn’t bother shielding himself. The floor fell out, and he felt his body become weightless. Was this how she felt before she hit the ground? Did she hear the sound she made as she connected with the stone? Did she feel pain?
Such questions he never asked himself until this moment. What a selfish fool he’d been all this time.
After a minute of falling in blackness, he met with a pool of colorless water. Dracyrus almost immediately bobbed to the surface. His kind did not sink. His blood was more buoyant than others, even though his kind towered over most.
A cave of sorts, though it was nothing like the cave where the Ageless Blade was. That had been guarded by mermen and other vicious creatures. This was a small pool surrounded by rocks and violet plant life.
Heaving himself out of the water, Dracyrus shook off. His hair gained too much weight when it was wet, so he wrung it out, stopping only when he saw an altar before him. Sneering, he strode up to it, peering. A longsword, his blade, sat on its surface, its metal shining the same purple as the plants.
He took it, staring at his warped reflection in the silver metal. How many Harbingers had this blade felled? How much of his own blood was stained on it, too? And, besides that, how in all the kingdoms did it get here? This place, this temple, teemed with aether. This entire area was nothing but magic, and magic was unpredictable.
His ears heard sobbing off ahead, and in his heart he knew it was Faith. Dracyrus took off toward her, hand tightening on the hilt of his longsword. Could he forgive the Harbinger? Could he not kill her, simply because he didn’t want to? He never had to ask himself these questions before, because he never cared enough to.
After a minute of walking, he saw her.
The Dread King: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 3) Page 18