Iris's Guardian (White Tigers of Brigantia Book 2)

by Lisa Daniels

  King Ure and Queen Isabel cared for her, of course. She never suspected otherwise from her parents.

  Her mother had said once, “The exceptional nature of the curse led us to believe you would need to fend for yourself once the darkness takes you. We don’t know where the darkness will come from, but we can at least do everything in our power to make sure you’re prepared.”

  “Why not just get the curse reversed?”

  “Oh, we couldn’t possibly do that,” Isabel said, apparently shocked at the suggestion. “You can’t reverse curses and blessings. It just isn’t done.”

  Ruelle failed to see the logic in this. Although being blessed with forever shiny teeth and gleaming flaxen hair probably was a nice blessing, curses ranged from falling into deep sleeps and turning into frogs – depending on the fashion trend the evil fairy Godmothers happened to be following at the time. A decade ago, it became the rage to curse people to “feel the weight of their lies”, so when they lied, they grew fat. The prince of Val Kingdom now weighed something close to four hundred pounds – and no one had yet chosen to marry him.

  Still, despite everything, she enjoyed the power that came into her veins. The ability to fend off someone with a sword and shield, she knew how to do. She knew how to do flips and to stretch her body to the limits. The only thing she never learned was magic. Her despairing master tried to teach her water magic, but to no avail.

  “You must be like the water in your thoughts! Or you will be little more use than a wet rag.”

  He tried. She just didn’t have it in her blood.

  A tapping noise jolted Ruelle out her reverie. She scowled at the pixie giving her a smug grin, his little wings flapping as he bashed her wooden cage again with a stick. He resembled the size of a small bird, his tiny eyes lit up with malice.

  “Don’t you be sleeping, little girl! Got a big day for you, today!” He giggled maniacally when she spat at him. “Oh, not very ladylike, are you?” He waved two of his pixie friends over from the shadows, and they all pointed and laughed at Ruelle, who severely wished she could rip off the cage door and attack the miserable little bastards.

  She scowled at her kidnappers. One day, she’d been sitting around after a hard working session, still in her training robes by the time her other sisters and brothers gathered at the banquet. Halfway through the feast, a blue hole opened up in the middle of their table, pulsating and swirling with chaotic energy, and a bunch of people tumbled out without setting off any of the castle’s magical defenses. The invaders sent the feasters into a deep sleep with a powerful witch artefact in their possession – The Nightmare Eater.

  Though Ruelle had rather pleasant dreams, it was still a magically induced sleep, and when she woke up, Ruelle found herself in this prison, and a vast array of monsters leering and jeering at her in the cage. She didn’t know what became of all her siblings, though her older sister Xanthia sat in a cage about five rows down. Xanthia wore a beautiful yellow gown and wielded luminous brown hair. (She’d been blessed with glowing hair and the ability to always look good in yellow.)

  A troll marched past, inspecting the huge wagon the prisoners were dumped on, and the giant horses attached to the other end, ready to cart them forward. In the distance, faint music rang out. Ruelle stared into the troll’s green back and ridiculous electrocuted style hair, her thoughts filled with vengeance. The curse’s words floated into her head again.

  I’ll be taken by darkness and never see my home again.

  Everything she’d been taught, all the careful preparation her parents put in for her, had been for naught.

  To be fair, no one expected a portal to bypass the security, or such a powering sleeping enchantment, but it just went to show you you never should get complacent in a world stuffed with magic.

  Also, her mother never specifically said Ruelle received all the training to stop the curse. Just to make it easier when the inevitable happened.

  I hope Questers will be already gearing up and searching for us. She sent a little prayer, along with hatred towards the pixies. Dark and twisted trees loomed ahead, ominous and foreboding. The procession of wagons, each with caged nobles and royals stopped for a moment. The prisoners got fed, and the Dark Clan members replenished themselves, preparing for the big auction she’d heard them talking about. An auction to sell off nobles and royals to monsters.

  Every single one of the prisoners had been inspected, from showing their teeth like horses, to measuring how long each captive’s hair was. Ruelle’s golden curls cascaded just past her shoulders. She’d tried for the elegant reach of her back, but it got tangled something awful, and washing it took practically months. It was eminently more practical to keep it short, for all the fighting sessions she went through, and the amount of times she got soaked by water bolts from her master.

  She adjusted herself to be more comfortable, and afforded her sister a smile, though Xanthia didn’t return it.

  When the wagons rolled again, they were led into an enormous clearing which stretched on for many leagues, sporting an open sky above.

  It looked like an open sore upon the ground, straight within the heart of the Wilderness, where all the monsters lay and the dragons came from.

  She frowned to herself, seeing an eclectic gathering behind rope barriers, and some dragons, enormous with furled wings, tottering around the place, apparently nonplussed.

  Having never seen a dragon before, Ruelle’s gaze fixated on the scaly lizards and how they towered above everyone else. She also saw djinni and a blue genie floating around, following his current master, some kind of knight dressed in full black.

  The wagons stopped, and a set of giants lumbered over to them, picking up the cages in their huge, meaty hands, and placing them upon a crude wooden stage. One giant remained at hand. A hobgoblin with orange skin grinned at his captives with sharp teeth, his pointed chin narrow enough to hang coats on.

  Two giants on the side started bashing huge cymbals, generating a horrific cacophony that seized the attention of everyone there. Ruelle clamped hands over her ears, her teeth vibrating from the noise, wincing. Several princesses and nobles started wailing, and a witch ambled past their cages, stealing the voices from the noisy ones and storing each sound in her locket.

  A sea of monsters gaped at the captives, and the hobgoblin, who stood on a stepladder to reach the top of the podium on their wooden stage, cleared his throat.

  “Welcome, welcome, monsters and men! This month we have a brilliant haul for you, with a batch of princesses, princes and nobles, fresh out of their kingdoms!”

  A storm of cheers greeted the hobgoblins thin, reedy voice, and he smiled in a rather simpering way, adjusting the monocle wedged into his eye.

  “Yes, yes. We have a total of forty different exhibits for you today. Let’s start with lot number one! Bring her forward, Marcell!”

  The giant picked open the cage marked One with a finger, then tugged the princess out of the cage, dumping her on his palm. She screamed soundlessly, having had her voice stolen, and started tearing at her flaxen hair in distress.

  “As you can see,” the hobgoblin announced, indicating the princess with her face puffy with tears, ravaged by despair, “she’s a very traditional princess. She reacts appropriately to such a situation, and would despise being with any kind of monster. She comes from a border kingdom, so her Quest value won’t be as high as those from the central ones, but she still holds enough interest to make any monster’s life interesting. A perfect princess for all you traditionalists out there.” He gave a huge grin, and the monsters looked around excitedly, before the bidding started.

  The princess by now had collapsed into a little ball in the giant’s hand, unwilling to function, having acted out her role as captive with admirable tenacity. Ruelle even saw some of the other princesses taking notes, as they plotted how best to react in the company of monsters.

  I won’t act anything like them. I couldn’t, anyway. I’ve never been brought up that w
ay.

  The first princess got sold in the end to a rather droll faced orc, who happily stepped ahead to pay for his princess.

  On the side of the stage, Ruelle noticed a man standing there, observing the crowd. Green eyes shone out of his face. His muscular arms were folded, and he wore a sly smirk upon thin, cold lips. Ruelle vaguely recalled seeing him during the wagon procession, though she’d been mostly brooding in her cage, pissed off at having been landed in such a terrible position. To have the curse finally come to pass on her eighteenth birthday.

  He must be one of the owners of the wagon trail. One of the ones responsible for capturing and shipping everyone here. Instant hate welled up inside her, and if possible in that moment, she would have quite happily throttled him on the spot.

  No matter how irritatingly attractive he happened to be as an individual.

  When Ruelle watched dragons shift into humans and shift back again, her eyes widened as she paid closer attention to the man.

  She sensed the same kind of presence about him that the other dragons possessed – an air of command, a superior hold of their shoulders, a cold gaze.

  Even if he is a dragon, it will make no difference to my fate. It did make her feel a little better, however, to focus and contemplate on something. To obtain some sort of control, even as her turn for being auctioned neared.

  As long as it’s a powerful creature, I should be worth a lot to decent Questers.

  The hobgoblin auctioned off six more people to monsters such as ogres, werewolves, vampires and minotaurs. With every sell, the man with his blue tunic and matching pants stood there, his bearing as imperious as a mature kingdom prince.

  When Xanthia was placed upon the stand, excitement rose at the idea of a central kingdom princess. Far more dragons raised their limbs, trying to secure a central woman for themselves. Xanthia did the soundless screaming routine, beating her fists uselessly against the giant’s palm, who appeared to completely ignore all her attempts to punch him.

  Eventually, Xanthia got sold to a rather lecherous looking dragon with gray skin, who had a disconcerting way of standing on his rear legs, and folding in his arms at the front in dragon form, appearing hunched and awkward.

  Good luck, Xanthia. Hope you get rescued soon.

  Ruelle kept running through her options, not wanting to resort to screaming like the others. She still held her voice, though the voice stealing witch glared at her suspiciously, fondling her necklace. At times, Ruelle felt convinced she heard the screams of all the princesses locked up in there, as if from a great distance.

  When Ruelle’s turn finally arrived, the giant’s hand reached down to her cage, opening and plucking her out of the small enclosure, rolling her onto his palm.

  Instantly, as the hobgoblin started introducing her, she launched herself off his hand, tucking and preparing to break her fall. The impact with the wood diverted itself through her roll and feet to shoulder contact, and she ended up by the hobgoblin’s side. The hobgoblin let out a squeak, just before she flattened her hand and chopped him in the neck, making him fall unconscious within an eyeblink.

  The crowd gawped at Ruelle, who, tucked in her simple white training robes, appeared nothing like a princess. She dodged a swipe from the giant and hastily dug into the hobgoblin’s pockets, fishing out a dagger, and backflipped to avoid the giant’s grasping palms.

  Before she made a serious bid for escape, the passive man on the side of the stage had now suddenly decided to stop being passive. Green eyes fixated on her. His longish dark hair flowed behind him as he charged towards Ruelle, who now figured her best chances were to escape the stage and make it for the forests.

  Even if the forests might be full of monsters and enchantments, she could simply adopt the guise of a Quester and make it her Quest to return home.

  At least she knew how to fight. So that was something.

  The curse declared I’d never make it back to the kingdom. Well, I’ll just have to find a way to break the curse.

  Determined, Ruelle avoided another swipe, now dealing with the man with the green eyes. Sensing she couldn’t block his blows, she swerved as he bulled past, even as the nobles and royals all gaped at her in shock, and the monster crowd had resorted to cheers and shouts. They were enjoying the spectacle, of all things.

  An ogre attempted to block her way, and she skidded underneath his wide apart legs, ducking an attack from a harpy. Several monsters in her way simply cheered, encouraging her on, and she headed towards the densest patch of woodland she saw, hoping to lose the crowd, hoping they wouldn’t stop procedures to chase one bothersome princess.

  She heard the distinctive thunder of feet behind her, and glanced back to spot the green-eyed man charging her again, hearing him bark at the others to continue the auction.

  Her dreams of freedom cut themselves short when the charging man morphed into a huge black dragon, and in a few easy bounds, caught up with her and blasted fire in front of her, forcing her to stop for one heart-rending second. He took the opportunity to seize her in his talons.

  Scooped up in tough claws, she heard the dragon growl, “Well, guess I’ll take you for myself.”

  Not wasting her time, Ruelle attempted to focus on finding a weak spot in his hands. She used her dagger to push at his scales, but did no damage at all.

  The dragon let out a sigh. “Still trying, even now?” He held her close to his face and inspected her for a moment, snout pressed against his hands, puffing hot air onto her. “You will do perfectly.”

  Without understanding what she’d be perfect for, the dragon flapped his great wings and soared away from the clearing, Ruelle trapped within.

  Chapter Two

  Arriving at the dragon’s lair, a cave in the middle of a dark, mountainous forest, Ruelle was dumped on a small, ratty brown sofa before he transformed back into human form. The place looked like a dump, without any sense of grandeur placed in the room, without any kind of dignity showing with the bare bones structure of the furniture. A double bed lay on the side, where he obviously slept if he chose his human form.

  Even with the minuscule cave, and the sound of rain dripping outside, Ruelle knew her value to Questers would now be through the roof. Past the Dark Clans, inside the deep woods with hundreds of monsters on either side, and the careless, strewn riches bulging out of a wooden side door, suggesting an already full treasure room – surely, hundreds of Questers would be vying to defeat the dragon.

  Maybe I won’t be captured very long at all.

  The dragon introduced himself as Kerric, and lit candles with a match, illuminating his green eyes in the flickers of flame. There was a small irony, Ruelle thought, that a dragon even needed to resort to matches at all.

  “Most dragons would force their princesses to clean home and do incredibly boring tasks,” Kerric declared, folding his arms and giving her a dangerous, heart churning smile, “but considering the fire you showed at the auction, I have a very different idea in mind for you.”

  Ruelle glared at him flatly, not impressed, not intending to cajole to any of his whims. “Yeah?”

  Kerric yawned. When he moved, his body rippled with power. Full of control, screaming to Ruelle of the danger that lay under his skin. His next words punched through her observations. “I’m going to train you to fight.”

  For a moment, Ruelle blinked, utterly confused at the statement. She’d been expecting something like becoming a slave in a dungeon, or being forced to muck through toilets as well as other embarrassing, unprincesslike scenarios.

  But fight?

  “What?” Her voice came out curt.

  Kerric enjoyed her reaction, even chuckling. “I can tell you weren’t expecting that part. Let’s put it like this. Did you know we ‘monsters’ have our own version of Questing as well? You humans Quest for glory, fame, princesses and sometimes just trying to better yourselves. We do the same. There’s a Quest that’s been around in the Wilderness for a long time. It’s a challenging, some might
even say impossible one. And I think you’re what I’ve been looking for.”

  Despite herself, at the mention of a Quest, and more importantly, one that a princess might be able to do, Ruelle found herself intrigued.

  “It’s not a Quest that requires a virgin sacrifice into a volcano, is it? I’ve heard about those.”

  “Oh, no. There are no sacrifices. Unless you call sacrificing your time such a thing. But first, before I go into detail, you will take this.” He handed her a glass of clear water. “Drink.”

  “Why?” Ruelle became instantly suspicious. “What’s in it?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll tip it down your throat myself. And never you mind what’s in it.” His voice brooked no opposition. If she refused, he had the strength to administer it. Reluctant, convinced it had some kind of incurable poison in it, Ruelle held the glass in her hand for a moment before downing it. As she did, his smile grew wider, along with a brief flicker of relief.

  Ruelle wiped her mouth, repeating, “What was in it?”

  “A binding enchantment. If you attempt to harm me in any way, or escape from me, you’ll be turned into a poison dart frog. I hear they’re not so popular for being kissed by princes.”

  “You bastard,” Ruelle hissed. “You wouldn’t do that! What if I got lost by accident?”

  Kerric puckered up his lips. “I’m immune to all poisons. I’ll gladly kiss you back to humanity. There’s no known antidote for this one either. So, thank you for taking the potion, princess.”

  Ruelle fell into a black silence at that announcement, furious at being forced to drink it, to be bound to a bastard of a dragon. He gave her time out, letting her storm into a small room with a single bed, concealed in the back of the cave.

  It took Ruelle a few hours before she wanted to even attempt to let him talk to her again. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do in the cave itself. No way to entertain herself. Nothing to stimulate her mind. Skies, did this dragon have no concept of suitable living? The cave appeared as black as his soul.