Bane of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  Her heart jolted. His eyes. There was something about his eyes. Chocolate brown flecks trapped in a starburst of turquoise. They were hypnotic. Mesmerizing.

  And shaped like hers. Her hair, her cheeks, they were the same as Slavandria’s. But her nose and lips, they were all Mangus, perhaps a bit smaller, a bit more delicate, but his nonetheless. A cold washed over her. Her entire life had been nothing but a lie, a secret hidden within a truth so bizarre it bordered on the absurd.

  No. No. Anger, sadness, understanding clawed at her stomach. A tear escaped. Her parents … not hers. Her brother … not hers. And yet, they were.

  Mangus’ voice slipped into her mind. Shh, don’t cry. We will work this out. Somehow, some way. I promise.

  I don’t want to work it out with you! Charlotte retorted. You’re not my father. She’s not my mother. Neither of you ever will be!

  His gaze shifted, and she could hear the quiet exhalation of his breath. His thoughts fell upon her once more.

  I accept that and understand. That doesn’t change the fact you are my daughter, my flesh and blood, and I will lay down my life defending and protecting you, of this I swear to you.

  I don’t want your protection.

  That is too bad. You have it regardless of what you want. And then he was gone from her mind. Just like that.

  Flames licked beneath her skin, burning her from the inside out. Ooooh, you’re so infuriating! You were a bully the first time we met, and I can tell nothing has changed!

  A corner of Mangus’ mouth tugged upward as he crossed one leg over his knee. I’d watch that temper if I were you, little one. You might explode.

  Charlotte’s fingers found their way into fists, her nails digging into her flesh. You’re incorrigible! Damn you. Damn all of you. She sat back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, and huffed.

  “Is everything all right?” Lily asked, one brow raised.

  “Everything’s fine,” Charlotte answered, “except for the fact that you’ve lied to me, Lily. For almost seventeen years, you stared me in the face and lied. You’ve been a guest in my home. You’ve eaten dinner with my family. You’ve shared Christmas with us. You’ve always been like this cool aunt I never had, and you took advantage of that. You abused my trust. You deceived my parents, and even though I know why, I don’t care. The two of you and your grandfather manipulated me, my family, and David, like we were all pawns in this elaborate game. Why? Why them? Why my parents? What did they ever do to you?”

  Charlotte’s heart cracked, and for a moment, she wanted Lily to feel every ache, every pain, every moment of betrayal. She wanted her to hurt. Bad.

  “We never wanted you to find out the truth, Charlotte. Aldamar and I tried desperately to keep your identities hidden. We thought you being outside of Fallhollow would keep you safe.”

  “Yeah, well look where your thinking got you.”

  “As for your family, your parents were kind and wonderful, and they loved deeply. They wanted another child. I gave them what they wanted. I altered their memories, as well as those of their family and friends, and almost all Havendale.

  “There wasn’t much we needed to do with David. Aldamar stayed with Jillian until she passed away in the wee hours of the morning. We glamoured her body to make it appear she had just given birth. David, being the newborn infant, assumed the role of the heir to the Heiland fortune and estate, and the rest of the story fell into place. When the time came, both Mysterie and Slavandria returned to Fallhollow believing they had taken a trip that never happened, while both heirs remained in mine and Aldamar’s care, protected and hidden away from anyone who could harm them.”

  “Until the letter came,” David said. “You knew it wasn’t my parents because they didn’t know I was alive.”

  “The sad thing was I didn’t know who it was who had tracked you. There were no traces of magic anywhere, most of all from Mr. Loudermilk’s house. I’m still baffled as to how he and Avida masked themselves so well from Aldamar and Mangus’ trapper rutseer.”

  David chuckled. “And I’m baffled as to how my tattoo showed up and why I have it. You never told me.”

  Charlotte’s anger slipped away at the mention of the thing that started their tumble down the rabbit hole. It seemed so long ago when he’d called her, frantic over a tattoo he swore he didn’t get. At the time, he seemed so young, so afraid. Now he was different. She squinted at his strong stature, his cobalt blue eyes, and the shadow of a beard clinging to his jaw line. When did he grow up? When had he changed? When had he become more?

  Lily stood beside the dessert cart, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. “The tattoo is a mark bestowed upon you by the heavens. All blood heirs to the throne of Hirth have one. Eric had one, as does Trog and Gildore, their father and his father before him.”

  “Eric and Trog never said anything about having the same tattoo as me,” David said.

  “Why would they? The only two who might have possibly known they had them were Gildore and Trog.”

  David looked at the king. “Your Majesty? Do you have the crest of Hirth somewhere on your body?”

  The king glanced around the room, visibly flustered. His cheeks reddened. “Y-yes, I do, on my inner thigh.”

  “And Trog?”

  “H-his backside. Our father’s was on his heel. We never spoke of it. It was a secret, according to our father.”

  David looked at Lily. “And Eric?”

  “On the back of his head. I don’t know if he knew it was there. Charlotte’s is on her neck.”

  Charlotte turned her back to David and scooped her hair up and away. “Where is it? Touch it!”

  David whispered, “Holy shit. There it is.” He touched the tip of his finger to the mark in the center of the fine hairs on her neck. “It’s about the size of a lemon and not as dark as mine.”

  Charlotte released her hair and snapped back around. “Great. I’ve been branded like cattle! Why do we have them anyway? What purpose do they serve, and how do I get rid of mine?”

  “They are there to identify the true heirs to the kingdom,” Lily said, “and it only appears when called upon to fulfill a destiny as determined by the heavens. Trog’s appeared after his father died and was to assume the role of king. Upon his abdication, the role passed to Gildore, at which time his sprang forth. David’s and Eric’s appeared almost simultaneously, right about the time David was discovered by Seyekrad, though why David’s appeared so large and in such a conspicuous place baffles me.” Lily looked at David. “The ring you wear is a family heirloom that once belonged to your true great-grandfather, Brennus. It binds you to your mark and gives you certain powers.”

  Charlotte shot her a glare. “Powers?”

  “Each heir has certain skills and abilities that they excel in. These binders accentuate them, make them stronger, more intense. Trog has foresight and strength. Eric controlled the sword with elven grace. Gildore has knowledge and wisdom far beyond that of mortal man. He sees people, their plight, understands their hearts. You, David, are an archer, far more advanced than you can even imagine. You also have speed and agility that would make the quickest of wood nymphs jealous.”

  “And Charlotte?” David asked. “What’s her special power? Healing? That doesn’t seem very powerful against a fire-breathing dragon.”

  “Um, I’m not going up against a fire-breathing dragon.”

  “Um, yeah you are,” he countered. “Now that Eric and Mirith are gone, that makes you the youngest heir to the throne of Hirth. You’re the only one who can kill him.”

  The words catapulted through her chest. Her lungs emptied. She blinked, tried to swallow, but there was a wad of gunk lodged in her throat. Electricity hummed through her body, burning, freezing … sparking. She needed air. Space.

  She fled, the voices behind her a dull thrum in her ears. She ran out the way she came in, then turned left, then right, down hallways she’d never seen. A door marked
with the word Nave appeared. She flung it open and dashed inside.

  For a second, she forgot to breathe, the vast beauty of the room snatched the air from her lungs. Massive white columns flecked with gold soared upward into the high arched ceiling where elaborately carved images of centaurs, unicorns, gods, and fauna stared down at her. Archways gilded in gold and copper hugged doorways. Head thrown back, she clipped the edge of a pew, its mahogany arm carved with a scene of a man and a woman standing before a tree, a snake wrapped around its trunk.

  David called to her from the doorway she’d passed through moments before. She shook her head and turned around, the front door of the cathedral beckoning her.

  “Leave me alone, David.”

  “But I can help you. I know what you’re feeling.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  She turned and hurried toward freedom, past endless rows of pews, her feet pattering on the marble floor, their sound echoing off the walls.

  David’s footsteps pounded after her. “Charlotte. Please.”

  “Go away!”

  She flung open the double doors …

  And careened into a tall, dark-haired wall of sophisticated, aromatic elegance.

  David

  David caught her as she bounced back.

  The stranger who could be no more than a year or two older than David, tugged at the hem of his white and gold silk jacket, straightening it over his white trousers that bloused at the knee. Matching shoes and hosiery completed the ensemble, a sharp contrast to his chestnut skin. Silver rings adorned every finger, each one glistening like diamonds in the sun as he pulled the ruffled cuffs over his wrists.

  “Hi,” David said, stretching out his hand and introducing himself. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The man looked him up and down, a smug expression tugging his nose downward. “No, we haven’t, much more to your displeasure than to mine I can assure you.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I am Prince Izmayel Askare de Venniver the Fourth of The Floating Isles of Itas.” His cognac eyes shifted to Charlotte. “And who might this exquisite creature be?”

  David’s hackles stood on end.

  Charlotte gave David a look and nudged him aside. “I’m Charlotte. I must beg you to forgive my lack of savoir faire.”

  David crinkled his nose. “Your lack of what?”

  “I was being pursued against my will.” She looked over her shoulder at David.

  He rolled his eyes. “Give me a freaking break.”

  The man offered a wolfish grin. “The encounter was far from unpleasant, milady. Perhaps there are other social graces we can break together another time.” He winked at her.

  He winked at her!

  “Doubtful.” David stepped behind Charlotte, his hands on her shoulders. “Is there something we can help you with, Prince … ”

  “Venniver—the Fourth, and yes. I seek an audience with Sir Trogsdill Domnall. I thought, considering the circumstances, I might find him in the cathedral.”

  “You thought wrong. Besides, Trog doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. I’m sure you understand … considering the circumstances.” David pinned the prince under a tight stare.

  It was returned with sneering intensity.

  “Where did you say you were from again?” Charlotte asked, arching a brow at him.

  “The Floating Isles of Itas, milady.”

  Charlotte’s eyes brightened as if suddenly awakened from a deep sleep. “Then you know of the Edryd? You’ve seen them!” Childish excitement flooded her voice.

  Edryd. Where have I heard that name before? David kicked the word around in his mind. Oh, yeah. The silver dragons Eric told them about.

  Smiling, the prince lifted Charlotte’s hands to his lips and kissed them. “I do, and I have. I am quite friendly with their chieftain. Does this please you?”

  Unease sang through David’s body. He fought against the chill growing deep within him. This suave, pompous jerk needed to go—and soon.

  “I’m not sure if pleased is the correct word,” Charlotte said, her cheeks flushed. “I am, however, intrigued. Is Drac here as well?”

  It was Venniver’s turn to look perplexed. “No, he is not. I’m afraid he had other engagements. Why do you ask of him?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Eric mentioned him once. He said he was a shapeshifter. Are you a shapeshifter?”

  Prince Venniver stepped back, his gaze never breaking from Charlotte’s. “My, my, how rare and strange you are. Most damsels would never speak in such a forward manner. Are you always this perspicuous?”

  Charlotte looked at David, a question perched on her face.

  “Yes, she is,” Slavandria said behind them.

  David exhaled as she breezed past and offered her hand to the prince.

  “Prince Venniver. We weren’t expecting you. You are looking well.”

  He air kissed both her cheeks. “Likewise, Your Grace.” He looked beyond her and bowed his head. “King Gildore. Queen Mysterie. My deepest sympathies to you and your kingdom. My ambassadors have informed me of your most recent losses in the battle against the Dragon King.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Queen Mysterie replied. “Your thoughts and well wishes are appreciated. May we offer you food and drink at our table?”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty, however, I am here to offer my condolences to Sir Trogsdill on the loss of his squire. The young lad was always kind and respectful of the Edryd and myself. Needless to say, I was grief-stricken to learn of his demise. I understand his bravery on the battlefield was impeccable.”

  David’s jaw flexed.

  “Yes, it was,” Charlotte said, her tone suddenly ice cold, void of its childish enthusiasm. “It was a shame you weren’t there to witness it first hand and help the cause. We could have used the Edryd’s assistance.”

  The prince turned his face toward her with an exaggerated slowness. “The Edryd are peaceful. They do not engage in war.”

  “How then did you hear of Eric’s passing?”

  “They were there. Watching. They told me.”

  “Wow. I don’t believe it. You’re telling me these so-called peaceful creatures sat on the sidelines watching the battle as if it were some sort of sporting event, waiting for the winner to be announced so they could report back to you with the spoils? How chivalrous of them and you.” There was spitfire in her eyes, fierceness in her stance. “You’re disgusting.”

  David’s insides jumped and scattered. How much had Venniver learned of Eric and Trog? Did he know the truth? How could he find out?

  “Ahh, the fox is displeased with the chanticleer,” Venniver said. His eyes danced with mischief, a corner of his lip turning up. “How can I ever fall back into your good graces?”

  “Whatever made you think you were in them?” She shot Slavandria a look. “If you will excuse me, I have some place to be.” David took a step to follow, but she stopped him with a palm to his chest. “Not now. I need to be alone.”

  He looked after her as she walked toward Crafter’s Row, the tips of her hair sweeping the ground. What had become of her, his friend, the girl he loved? Was it possible he would never see that girl again? He choked on the fear unfurling in his soul. He couldn’t lose her, not to this fate. There had to be a way to undo what had been done. There had to be a way to bring her back.

  “David,” Slavandria said, “Lady Emelia approached me earlier requesting assistance in the Healer’s Ward. Why don’t you find your way there and see what you can do to help?”

  “Yes,” Prince Venniver droned. “Perhaps the wounded and dying will find your presence more … agreeable.”

  A retort hung on David’s lips. He pursed them tight and glared at the prince, heat rising in his face. Who did this jerk think he was, acting all high and mighty like his poop didn’t stink? Did he think because he was royalty he was better than everyone else? He had news for Prince Vinny. Those people i
n the hospital and all those who died on the battlefield were far better people than Mr. Jerkface would ever be. At least they fought for what they believed in, not hid behind some title so they didn’t have to get their fingernails dirty.

  As if sensing the time bomb about to explode, Slavandria caught David’s eye and pressed her palm to his arm. “Go. I think you’ll find the east entrance less dispiriting.”

  David gathered himself up and tromped away, but not before throwing the prince the vilest look he could muster as he passed, not that it would do any good, but it made him feel better. He glanced back as he opened the hospital door.

  All the royals were gone.

  Inside, the rancid smell of rot and blood filled his senses, and the sounds of illness and pain echoed through the walls, clean into his bones. Several shime walked by carrying bandages and trays of water, their human faces drawn, stoic, purposeful as they made their way into a connecting room. David followed and stood in the doorway unsure if he should yell or cry. Too many shime lay in agony, some with scales ripped away, others missing wings. Arms and legs lay twisted and mangled or were gone altogether. He balled his fingers into fists. These gargoylish dragon people had fought side by side with their human friends to defend their home, their land, and their right to survive. Some had paid the ultimate sacrifice. The ones who remained cried, bled, and begged for mercy together in one voice. They were no longer shime. They were Hirthinians. He closed his eyes and prayed for their recovery.

  “It’s a miracle how much we understand when we shut our eyes and open our ears, don’t you think?”

  David spun around as a girl passed behind him, her airy presence sending a shiver along his spine. A memory trickled in. Porcelain face. Curly red hair. He’d met her once before, with Eric.

  “Lady Emelia.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and cleared the gravel from his throat. “You’re just the person I was looking for. Slavandria told me to come see you.”

  She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. “You’re David.”