by Lucia Ashta
Still, the ill-fated journey had begun in earnest. Each step took us closer to Gertrude, and also to the Lord of Darkness.
Chapter 20
The three-hour journey to Washur was long and drawn out. The conversation was sparse. What was there to say, really? I could barely hold cohesive thoughts in my mind. They seemed to have a will of their own, slipping away before I could fully understand them.
Eventually, and wisely I think, I gave up. I settled into the rhythmic swaying of the horse Sir Lancelot and I rode. I reached a hand to stroke the flank of our horse, to show our appreciation for his efforts, and once I leaned forward around Sir Lancelot to whisper words of gratitude.
I remembered how the horses had risen to the challenge of saving Marcelo’s life after Winston’s brutal attack. Without them and their extraordinary efforts, it was likely that Marcelo would have passed from this earthly world long before I attempted to climb the steep mountainside Irele Castle topped.
This was the same horse that accompanied me on that journey. It was a comfort to know this creature was an ally. Whether this horse was magical, or whether all horses were capable of this depth of understanding, I didn’t know.
But I considered my horse magical and relaxed into his confident strides.
I was dreading the arrival in Washur more than I’d dreaded anything before in my life. I wished we’d all survive. However, there were no stars to wish upon, a mass of heavy clouds blotted out any that might try to reach us.
With that wish trailed love—love for a sister and a fiancé, and for an old man that had already lived many lives, for an owl and a firedrake, and for a horse. I didn’t know the true importance of the heart then, even if a five-petal knot thrummed its message consistently, in time with the pulsing beat that gave me life.
Chapter 21
We made it to Washur well before dawn, when the night was still black. We assembled at the base of the hill at the foot of the castle and hid behind a thicket of trees, for a moment of peace before the inevitable lack of it.
Even though Mordecai insisted I didn’t have time to dismount my horse, I insisted harder. My thighs ached from the hard ride of the last several hours, compounded by lack of sleep.
I walked away from Mordecai and half of Marcelo for a moment of feigned privacy, but I didn’t walk far. The next tree over wasn’t close enough, and neither of the more experienced magicians needed to warn me about that. I hadn’t forgotten whom we’d come to deal with.
I brushed a loose strand of red hair from my forehead and rubbed both hands across my face. I needed my body to be as alert as ever. I rubbed harder, more vigorously. I jumped up and down a few times, grateful that I thought to request more sensible shoes. As the blood moved through my body, I could feel my brain prick in alertness. Yes. This was what I needed.
I shook my head like Father’s hunting dogs did, and for once I understood why they did it. My mind came alive. And for the first time all night, I felt the comforting pulse of the five-petal elements thrumming within me, keeping rhythm.
I turned on my elven heel with a ridiculous thought that didn’t take into account the peril I was already in, here so close to the evil count. Why hadn’t I thought to notice what shoes the true elves in Irele Castle wore? Perhaps my shoes weren’t elven shoes at all, but something else entirely.
I left any frivolousness behind with each of the few steps I needed to reach my comrades. By the time I arrived at Marcelo’s side, I was fully there.
As if he knew that, he crouched down on his horse. I wrapped a hand around his ever-tousled hair and pulled him toward me. I pressed his lips to mine as if it were the last chance we had to kiss, without considering that it actually might be. I kissed him. I kissed him the way I should’ve kissed his other half. With the way I kissed him, I think his other half might have felt it anyway.
This was the chance for opportunities, not for thoughts of what might be missed. I kissed him so he could feel my love. I kissed him until our lips parted and he tasted his future wife, until he knew how we’d intertwine on a deeper level, until every part of him was left to imagine the extension of this passion.
When I finally pulled away, I was breathless and more alive than I remembered ever being. I turned, looked up at the sinister castle and didn’t see anything forbidding. I was only aware of myself. My power had finally come alive, and not a moment too soon.
Gazing upward, I missed what Marcelo looked like as he dismounted his horse. I missed the glance he denied his mentor while he took the quick, clipped strides to reach me again, because the space I had set between us had been unbearably much.
But I didn’t miss a thing when he whirled me to him, my skirts swirling in the still of the night as if they had their own wind. He put one hand at the small of my back and the other against my head, and he pulled me to him. He pressed my body against his and he invited my lips to lose themselves in him, all over again.
I closed my eyes and tasted every bit of him. I heard the rushing beat of his heart echoing throughout his body. I tasted the warmth of the man, and I knew the eternal nature of the love between a man and a woman.
Time and no time passed, and neither one of us knew the difference. The old man that watched on, the one that had been in a hurry minutes before, knew better than to interrupt. Life experience had taught him to value some moments over others. This was one of those times more important than most. This was one of those times that lived on its own, floating away, encapsulated, into its own eternity.
Eventually, Mordecai, Sylvia, and Sir Lancelot looked away, giving us a semblance of privacy that we didn’t need. We had already stolen the minute to be our own.
And when Marcelo finally let me go, he had come alive too, and I was left to imagine only what it could have possibly been like if he’d been whole. How could what we shared been more? There didn’t seem to be a way.
The other half of this man was three hours to the west. Marcelo and I would make it through this night, and then I would taste the limitlessness of true possibility.
But first, this night.
Marcelo took my hand, the one with the ring that represented the power of our union, and we faced the castle at the top of the hill as a united front. I didn’t have to look down to know that the serpent and the dragon came alive from within their home of gold. I knew they glowed with power just as I knew the five-petal knot at my heart also began to glow.
Neither one of us had to say it. Mordecai knew. We were ready.
The moment had come that I had dreaded for as long as I’d known of it, and now I discovered that I didn’t dread it any longer. As much as I didn’t think it possible, somehow, I was ready for it.
It was time to go get my sister.
Chapter 22
In the end, Marcelo and Mordecai decided we should leave our horses behind after all. The advantage stealth could provide outweighed the advantage of easing our climb. Besides, horses such as these would come to our aid if we needed them. It was the sensible choice, and I wondered why it hadn’t been the plan all along.
We left the horses hidden in the copse of thick trees. It would be enough to hide them well until daybreak. After then, it might not matter much, and either way, there was no better alternative. We left them untied and with instructions. They were to save us if they could; if not, they were to save themselves.
And that was it. We were on our way, putting one foot in front of the other, each footfall leading us further into the nightmare our life had become. By the time we reached the top of the hill, it announced itself far louder than if we’d just knocked on that giant and forbidding gate that seemed to be the mouth of any hell I’d ever heard described.
The gate opened on its own, by the magic of someone yet unseen. And the torrents of fury unleashed upon us.
Chapter 23
I’d anticipated it would be bad. Since the moment Count Washur told me he’d collect me once I became powerful enough for his liking, I’d known something like
this would come.
Still, I hadn’t suspected this would happen. It was worse than I’d imagined, and I’d imagined some pretty awful things.
But there was no time to reflect on it. Like a sack filled with rocks, this confirmation of the worst was thrust upon us. It could’ve weighed us down, sunk us to the bottom of the depths, where we’d surrender.
Yet it didn’t. I was in a place above fear. Perhaps it was shock at finding myself in the lion’s den. Or maybe I was finally growing used to the idea that, with magic, the “impossible” wasn’t only possible, but achievable. Whatever it was, I wasn’t incapacitated like I was when roles were reversed and Count Washur stood at the gates of Irele Castle prepared to attack. I didn’t freeze in place like I did when Salazar honed in on me, seeking out his prey while I helplessly watched each step of his approach.
I felt as alive as I’d been just minutes before at the foothill below the castle. And I wasn’t the only one. I didn’t have to turn my head to know that Marcelo and Mordecai were fully in their power. They had both battled before, Mordecai many times in his long life. They knew what it felt like to stare into the face of someone—or something—that had only one goal in mind: your destruction.
And, without a single shred of doubt, the red glowing eyes, big enough to take in all of us in one big gulp, meant to destroy each and every one of us.
When unseen hands flung open the gate to the entry courtyard of the castle, Marcelo released my hand. The serpent and the dragon entwined in gold across my finger settled down, receding, only visibly, to the intricate carvings of metal. There was dragon enough to fill the space already.
The dragon that awaited us in the courtyard was the only one to have been sleeping on the castle grounds, and it reacted to our intrusion as did most people who didn’t want to be wakened and were comfortable in expressing their annoyance. Only it was a dragon, and I learned quickly that a disgruntled dragon was nothing like a disgruntled person.
Truly, the dragon probably would’ve reacted to us in similar fashion whether it’d been slumbering or not. This dragon, in particular, possessed a temperament that matched his owner’s. Count Washur was foul, and his dragon was fouler.
Once Mordecai’s runes revealed that a dragon was somehow intertwined with Count Washur, I read a bit about them. Several of the books on Bundry Castle’s well-stocked shelves boasted beautifully detailed illuminations of dragons, a fortune’s worth. As such, I wasn’t surprised to see the flaring nostrils and bulbous eyes, nor the draconic teeth and bear-like claws (if the bear was monstrous in size). But I was unprepared for what it felt like to be in the presence of such a monster.
I now know that not all dragons are monstrous. Like humans, dragons vary in personality, just as firedrakes do. I’ve since met amiable dragons that have changed my fundamental understanding of mythical creatures. But on our approach of Washur Castle, it was a monster that received us. Count Washur was removed from sight, undoubtedly thinking that his pet would deal with all of us and save him the trouble.
The dragon was enormous. Sylvia was almost as large as her master, and when she unfurled her wings, she spanned much longer than Mordecai was tall. Still, Count Washur’s dragon dwarfed Sylvia several times over.
Count Washur was a man of extremes. He lived longer and was more evil and vicious than anyone else alive. He wouldn’t be outdone in ambitions or desire for more power. And he housed the largest dragon Mordecai, an ancient of the magical world, had ever seen. Everything needed to be the biggest and the meanest to suit Count Washur, and this dragon was no exception. He was a refined example of everything for which Count Washur stood.
I breathed deeply, focused on keeping serene while I stared into red eyes as large as small boulders. The dragon was uncurling itself from the ground, where it took up most of the courtyard, pushing against its walls in some parts, when I first felt Sir Lancelot shaking from his perch on my shoulder. I raised a hand more to comfort him than to still him and ran it down the soft feathers of his back, impressed as I often was by how small he actually was beneath all those feathers. His bravery and intelligence far outsized his pygmy body.
Without moving my gaze from each of the dragon’s unfurling movements, I whispered, “My dear friend, save yourself. You are so small that this monster could eat you in one gulp without even realizing it.” The dragon might not even taste the little owl as he went down.
“No, I’ll stay and fight with you, Lady Clara.” Sir Lancelot’s voice was shaky despite his resolve.
“Please go, Sir Lancelot. You can’t do magic, and the only way to fight a monster that outmatches us so greatly is with magic, you know that. He can crush us almost as easily as he can you.”
Sir Lancelot’s response was silent. He still trembled, but he wasn’t leaving.
Finally, I turned, taking my eyes from the dragon for only a few seconds, but I should never have diverted my gaze. I wish one of the books I consulted had told me that. “Please, dear Sir Lancelot. Your mind is valuable, too valuable to risk when you can hope for no gain. Go. Please.”
There was no time to see whether my words had finally convinced the little owl to spare his life. The choice was taken from Sir Lancelot, as it was from me, and before I realized what had happened, Sir Lancelot and I were in the air, flying.
Chapter 24
I was capable of graceful flight. I’d proven this to myself before. However, there was nothing graceful about how I flew now.
When the dragon swatted at me with one of its front paws, I was taken by surprise. Before I averted my eyes, it didn’t seem like the dragon was ready for much more than its lazy, yet still terrifying, stretches. But if its swat at me had been lazy, I shuddered to think what it was capable of when it focused on something with intent and energy.
As it happened, I wasn’t capable of much more than attempting to minimize the damage of my inevitable fall. Had I been practiced in the art of magical warfare as my companions were, perhaps I could have saved myself from injury by bracing my fall with magic. Instead, as I rocketed through the sky, I turned the little focus I could muster to softening my body, so that when it met the ground, it wouldn’t break but rather bruise.
Thankfully, Marcelo, even though he was only half of his usual self, kept his wits, and his feet, firmly rooted. Without even turning around to see me, he extended a hand behind him to interrupt my fall. He never took his eyes from the dragon as he brought me down to the ground, where the earth felt soft and comforting after the terror of suddenly finding myself airborne.
I allowed myself to lay on the earth for one moment, grateful for her stillness, before prodding myself upward. I’d turned my gaze from the dragon once, and I was quick to learn from my mistakes. I didn’t even search for Sir Lancelot. His body was innately designed for flight. He was fine, wherever he was, somewhere safe and removed from the dragon’s reach, I hoped.
My legs felt a bit unsteady beneath me, but it didn’t show outwardly. I stared at the dragon intently, as intently as it stared at me. If this is how you want it to be, then this is how it will be. I shook my head slightly to return to its place anything my fall had knocked around. I found it just where I had left it: resolve, focus, and power. I wasn’t angry, I was ready.
It was not me that advanced on the dragon first, however. It was Sylvia. Concern leapt as I watched Sylvia uncurl herself from Mordecai’s shoulder, her nostrils flaring just as much as the dragon’s, though they were a fraction of the size. Mordecai said something to her that I didn’t catch, and then she was in flight. She was designed for this. Yet, I worried.
Sylvia had become like a family member, replacing the family I abandoned in Norland. We weren’t affectionate toward each other, yet I was bonded to her. Since magic came into my life, I’d discovered something I’d always remember: Blood ties did not determine family. There were bonds that were stronger than branches on genealogical trees. Sylvia tugged on one of those ties as I watched her square off to confront a giant dragon.
My breath caught for a moment before I forced myself to breathe steadily once more. I would do no one else here any good if I lost my resolve. I reminded myself that I was the intangible, unpredictable force on which we were all relying. I was the secret weapon we were wagering on, the stakes much too high for anyone’s liking.
Life was such a fragile thing and, facing this dragon, it was even more fragile.
The dragon pulled back a breath, and I tensed. Marcelo and Mordecai put shields up around us, and Sylvia rose up in sudden upward flight. We all anticipated that viciously destructive breath of fire.
Still, the dragon didn’t belch or groan the fire that bubbled over in anger within him. Instead, he released a roar that could wake the dead.
The Count’s ancestors must be buried nearby, as they usually were in these family estates. I dearly hoped they didn’t possess the same talents and interests as the Count. I hoped they were truly dead and buried. The dragon’s cry was enough to shake awake even the faintest flake of life within any being.
Its cry reverberated within flesh, bone, and tissue, rattling my eyeballs in their sockets.
When the dragon finally quieted, the ground beneath my feet in the courtyard seemed still to tremble with the aftershock.
There would be no more calm that day that was only just beginning to break. Not even the semblance of it was within sight.
All at once, Sylvia, Mordecai, Marcelo, and I were in motion. My sister’s rescue had begun in earnest.
Chapter 25
I didn’t have a plan of attack, and I couldn’t tell if my companions did either. In a faraway recess of my mind, I hoped one of us knew what we were doing, because the dragon certainly seemed to.