The Return of the Dragon Queen

by Farah Oomerbhoy

  Rafe ran a hand through his dark hair. “I shouldn’t have come, I know. But it was my fault Danica found out where you were going in the first place. I had to warn you, but I was too late. I should have been more careful.”

  I raised an eyebrow and looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Maybe you should be more discerning about who you take to your bed.”

  He shot me a dark look. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you went running off to get betrothed to someone else.”

  “Does it always have to come back to that?” I sighed and peeked at Tristan in my peripheral vision. “I told you, it was my grandmother who . . .” I shook my head. I was done explaining myself. I had told him the truth. If Rafe chose not to believe me, then there was nothing I could do about it. “You shouldn’t have come, Rafe. I can take care of myself.”

  His tone softened. “I know.” He added stiffly, “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t meet his eyes. I didn’t want him running back to save me every time he felt guilty. I wanted him to be with me because he wanted to, because he loved me and nobody else.

  Behind us, Tristan and Ashara were arguing.

  “Leave him alone, witch,” Tristan growled. “Penelope is a fae healer, and she has already looked at it.”

  “Whatever you say, fae,” Ashara said, holding up her hands in mock surrender and rolling her eyes.

  I stopped to talk to Tristan. “What’s wrong?”

  He scowled. “Nothing.”

  Ashara stalked up to the Duke of Silverthorne and pointed at Kalen. “That young fae has been hit by an arrow of blackened iron.” She then pointed at Tristan. “And that insufferable brother of his refuses to let me look at the wound.”

  “Why do you care?” Tristan growled at her and looked at my granduncle. “I don’t want any filthy witch magic touching Kalen. She could make it worse.”

  Penelope stepped in and put her hand on Tristan’s arm to calm him. “What is your concern, Ashara? The wound is not deep, and the arrowhead has been removed. Is there something I’ve missed?”

  Ashara nodded. “I’m no healer, but witches can sense demon magic a league away. I can still sense a shard of blackened iron in his blood.”

  Penelope wrung her hands, and her eyes darted to Silverthorne, whose face adequately portrayed the gravity of the situation. “Let’s get to the cave, and then I can have another look at it.” She turned to Ashara. “Your help is greatly appreciated, Ashara.”

  Ashara nodded, and we continued on the path through the trees.

  I looked at Penelope’s furrowed brow and lowered my voice. “He will be all right, won’t he, Penelope?”

  “I hope so.” Penelope’s expression was grim. “Let me check him first so we know how severe it is.”

  We walked the rest of the way in silence and thankfully reached the safety of the cave by nightfall. The entrance was small and overgrown with foliage; we had to cut aside branches with our swords to get to it. A small arched opening and steep stone steps carved out of the rock descended into darkness. Rafe went first, his hand lighting up with a ball of mage light. The rest of us did the same and followed him down into the depths of the ancient caves that lay below the Goldleaf Forest.

  When we reached the cave floor, which was almost two hundred feet underground, I was stunned by the absolute silence that greeted us. We trod carefully over the slippery, moss-covered stones and entered another cavern, an immense cave with stalagmites and stalactites over a hundred feet long.

  “The caves stretch out under the Goldleaf Forest and part of the mountains all the way to the town of Royn on the western coast,” Rafe explained.

  I was not the only one stunned by the massive size of these caves. Penelope was also in awe as she looked around. “I lived in the Goldleaf Forest for so many years but never knew these caves existed. How did you find them?”

  Rafe shrugged. “I stumbled upon them a few years ago.”

  Penelope created balls of light that hardened and floated upward, illuminating more of the immense cave. The air around us was cool, and a light mist seemed to hover above us as the rest of the cave came into view.

  Scores of rimstone pools dotted the cave floor, and one was almost as big as a small lake. Through the mystical underground landscape meandered a river that ran the length of the cavern and disappeared into the unknown darkness of the other caves that branched out from the main one. A light mist rolled over the surface of the water, creating an eerie preternatural feel. But the biggest surprise was a massive forest growing undisturbed deep in the heart of the cavern.

  We followed Uncle Gabriel toward it. “Sections of this cavern have collapsed,” he explained, pointing to places in the cavern ceiling through which we could faintly see the moon. “In the daytime, sunlight can penetrate the darkness, allowing these ancient trees to survive here.”

  Ashara and Penelope started to weave protective spells around the cavern to ward us against intruders. Fae and witch magic intertwined to form a stronger barrier.

  But Tristan stiffened. He had heard something. I was sure of it when he swiftly drew his swords, lighting them up with silver fire.

  “What is it, Tristan?” I asked, alarmed. Had they followed us here?

  But Penelope gasped and stepped toward Tristan, putting her hand on his arm and restraining him. “Wait.”

  I squinted to see what their fae eyes saw clearly, as small shapes started to emerge from behind the massive trees within the cave.

  Penelope’s face lit up when she saw who it was. A small bedraggled brownie came into view.

  “Fitzbean!” cried Penelope as she ran forward to hug the stunned brownie. He didn’t seem to recognize her because she had changed her appearance since she lived in Pixie Bush. But he did recognize Kalen.

  “You’re alive.” Kalen came forward, his eyes lighting up as more figures started to come into focus around us—dryads, with little children, brownies, pixies, and tiny flower fairies.

  “You’re all safe.” Penelope rushed forward to hug a dryad lady, whom I recognized as her friend, Mrs. Herbchild.

  Mrs. Herbchild nodded and hugged her back as Penelope explained her change of appearance.

  “How?” asked Penelope, so happy she was at a loss for words.

  “The Black Wolf,” said Mrs. Herbchild simply. “He came to Pixie Bush last moon tide and told us to leave the village. He said war was coming. We found this place by accident and have been living in these caves ever since.”

  “All of you?” Penelope smiled, looking at Rafe, who watched quietly. They still didn’t know he was the Black Wolf, and it was better to keep it that way.

  Mrs. Herbchild shook her head. “Not everyone listened to him. Many stayed behind. Have you seen them?”

  Penelope’s face fell. “Oblek’s men attacked the village. I’m afraid there were no survivors.”

  Mrs. Herbchild nodded, her face grim, the realization that many of her people would never see their loved ones again stark in her sad brown eyes. “I will inform the others.” She went off into the trees to speak to the remaining fae about the fate of their village and loved ones.

  Penelope turned and unexpectedly hugged Rafe. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Rafe looked Penelope in the eyes and nodded. “I knew Oblek’s men had been causing trouble around here, so when I got back from Elfi—” he glanced at me briefly and back at her, “—I went to Pixie Bush and told them to leave the village. I hoped they managed to stay hidden and safe, but I didn’t have any way of knowing for sure.”

  Penelope nodded and squeezed Rafe’s arm. “You did what you could, Rafael. And I will be forever grateful for the many times you have helped our people.”

  I smiled at his quiet way of helping others. Rafe was always the one who watched out for the fae of Pixie Bush, and even in the midst of his own problems he found time to go there and warn them, without asking for anything in return. I shouldn’t have been sur
prised; it was one of the many reasons I loved him.

  Tristan smiled too as he sheathed his swords. And I could see how his opinion of Rafe had shifted significantly since they first met.

  As I helped start a fire, my thoughts returned to the ones who didn’t get away from Oblek’s men: families with children, innocent lives lost because they believed they would be safe in their homes. And they should have been, not hiding in forest caves unsure where they would go next. I could stop this. I could stop all of this. I knew I had to save my people from a life of destitution and fear. But without my magic, I didn’t know how I would ever succeed.

  Penelope sat down with Kalen on a log beside the fire and took a look at his arm. When she looked up her face was grave.

  Tristan hung his head. “I should have protected him.”

  I went over and clasped Tristan’s hand. “You were busy fighting the dark fae. There was nothing you could have done—he was too far from you. If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine. If I had my fae speed, I could have gotten to him in time.” I looked down at my feet.

  “Stop it, you two, it’s nobody’s fault.” Penelope wrung her hands. “This is not looking good,” she said, shaking her head. “These arrows have been forged in dwarven forges and spelled with a dark magic I don’t recognize. Usually an arrow like this is not fatal to a High Fae, unless it pierces a vital organ.” Penelope gave Silverthorne a meaningful glance. “But Ashara was right—a piece of it has broken off and entered Kalen’s bloodstream. That is the demon magic Ashara sensed still clinging to him.” Her eyes were wide, confused by this new danger. “It’s sentient. Alive. A darkness that now runs in his blood. My magic cannot remove it. Fae healing will not work.”

  Silverthorne’s face was somber. “Mage healers are not capable of dealing with this sort of darkness.”

  He looked over at Ashara, who shook her head. “We are warriors, not healers.”

  “What happens if we don’t take it out?” I prodded. I needed to know.

  Penelope took a deep breath. “It will slowly leech his magic until there is nothing left.” She ran a hand over her face as if to dispel images she could not deal with. “Once the shard reaches his heart, Kalen will die.”

  I gasped as my hand flew to my mouth. “No!” It didn’t seem possible.

  Penelope’s eyes glistened with tears; she glanced at her son, who was sitting beside her, and put an arm around his shoulders. “Kalen is strong, so we may have some time.”

  Kalen was silent through her explanation. Only his eyes indicated that he had just heard his death sentence.

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Time for what? You just said your magic cannot remove the shard and neither can Ashara’s. The mages cannot do it.” I looked down, my voice breaking. “The magic of the Dawnstar could have removed it.” It wasn’t a question.

  But Penelope confirmed it and nodded. “Yes.”

  I sank to my knees beside Kalen, tears forming and threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kalen. I should have never dragged you into this.”

  He smiled his usual cheerful grin that I had come to treasure. “It’s not your fault, Aurora. I wanted to help.”

  “There may be another way,” said Silverthorne, stroking his chin. “The druid monks of Andrysia are skilled healers and ancient scholars. They may be the only ones with enough knowledge of ancient magic to save Kalen’s life.”

  “Marcus Gold said the druids are long gone from Avalonia.” I looked at my granduncle. “They never taught us anything about them at the academy.”

  “That’s because Marcus is right,” said Uncle Gabriel. “Once there were quite a few druids in Avalonia, powerful magic users, scholars, and healers who came to these lands from beyond the great western sea and landed on the shores of Illiador and Andrysia. They were a peaceful people and resided in monasteries or traveled around, helping and healing in the villages and towns along the coast. Because their magic was strong and they could fight demons, they came to be revered among the common folk, who couldn’t depend on mages to help them when a stray demon creature attacked a citizen.

  “But the mages grew jealous of the druids’ healing powers and knowledge of ancient magic, so they turned the people against them. Over the years, the druids were run out of the southern kingdoms. They settled in northern Andrysia, in the areas surrounding Redthorn Forest, and built monasteries hidden away in the Silverspike Mountains. Fewer and fewer druids were born with magic, and their race eventually died out.”

  “But if they have died out, how do we find one?”

  “Stories emerge from time to time of druid sightings,” Penelope answered, drying her eyes, “or people being miraculously healed by a druid. But even these stories have become rare in the past twenty years or so.” She looked at Silverthorne. “I just hope we can find them before it is too late.”

  Rafe furrowed his brow and stared into the fire as if he were trying to recall something. “I know an old sailor, Captain Jarvik, who lives in the town of Royn on the coast not far from here. At the tavern he would always boast that he had met the druids. The townspeople believed him to be an old drunk making up stories.” He met Penelope’s eyes. “If there is anyone who has an idea where to start looking, it would be him.”

  Silverthorne nodded. “Then in the morning we will go to Royn and find this drunken sailor.”

  In Search of Druids

  The mood was somber as Ashara passed around some bread and dried meat. Everyone ate to sustain themselves, but no one was really hungry or took any enjoyment in it. In the morning we would set out to find the druids, and I would not rest until Kalen was healed. He seemed okay for now, and Penelope gave him a potion for the pain.

  An uneasy feeling had settled on my shoulders. It was hard to believe there was anything that could kill the immortal fae. But apparently there was, and Morgana was equipping her whole army with it.

  Once we were settled around the fire, Uncle Gabriel told us what had happened to him. It was quite a fantastic story. Apparently, it was Maggie, the Alkana, who changed his form and snuck him out of the dungeons, putting someone else in his place.

  “But how did no one see through the glamour?”

  It was Tristan who answered. “The Alkana’s magic is more powerful than any spirit-fae, so it cannot be detected by anyone, mage, fae—” he glanced over at Ashara, “—or witch.”

  Uncle Gabriel smiled and nodded. “True. Maggie managed to glamour one of the prisoners to look like me. He was the one who went to the block in my place.”

  Tristan glared at Uncle Gabriel. “You let someone else die in your place?”

  I knew Tristan valued courage above all, and what Uncle Gabriel had done would seem cowardly to him.

  Uncle Gabriel looked calmly at Tristan. “The man she glamoured to take my place was a child rapist. He had raped and mutilated twenty children in the past year alone, but the magistrate only gave him a ten-year sentence in prison because the children were servants or commoners.”

  Tristan’s midnight-blue eyes shone with silver sparks. “So justice was done.”

  “He will never hurt another child again,” said the Duke of Silverthorne, his eyes pure steel.

  Tristan nodded, satisfied by the outcome.

  “But why didn’t you tell us you were alive earlier?” I asked.

  “It is far easier to get things done when people think you are dead,” said Uncle Gabriel. “I’ve tried to teach you to always have a second and third plan in place.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I don’t think the plan was to get yourself thrown in the dungeon.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t it?”

  Kalen laughed at this. “And what was your second plan, Your Grace? Getting yourself executed?”

  Uncle Gabriel smiled at Kalen. “Exactly!”

  My jaw dropped. “You couldn’t have possibly planned for that too.”

  My granduncle looked me straight in the eyes. “Couldn’t I? Didn’t I
say that it was far easier to get things done if everyone thinks you’re dead?”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “You did plan it!”

  He rubbed his chin, and his blue eyes twinkled when he nodded.

  “How?” asked Penelope.

  “I sent word to Maggie as soon as you came to me with the news about Lilith taking over the king’s body.” He turned his knowing gaze back on me. “I instructed Rafe to get Serena, Erien, Penelope, and Kalen out of the castle. If I had left as well, they would have hunted us all down.”

  “So you sacrificed yourself for us,” said Kalen, his eyes wide as saucers.

  Uncle Gabriel chuckled. “Not exactly. I knew Maggie would come and get me out. And I needed all of you to be safe so I could do what needed to be done.”

  “Which was?”

  “The Alkana told me it was of utmost importance to journey to Rohron and meet with the witches. She tasked me to convince the witch king and his witches to join us. At the time it seemed like an impossible task. But Maggie assured me they would listen.” He looked over at Ashara, who was sitting on the other side of me listening to the story. “The witches are known for staying away from mage wars; they do not normally interfere or help. And I was right. When I first got there, the witch king refused to help—that is, until I mentioned we would be fighting for you.”

  I looked at Ashara, who smiled and nodded. “The witch king also agreed to send more witch warriors to Brandor to assist Prince Santino in shutting down the mines and rescuing the slaves.”

  “Thank you,” I said, genuinely grateful for their help.

  Ashara crossed her powerful arms in front of her. “Many of the slaves are our own people. Justice will be swift—the witches take no prisoners.”

  “Good,” said Tristan nodding, suitably pleased with Ashara’s brand of justice.

  Uncle Gabriel continued his story. “I accompanied them to Brandor to meet with Santino and to let my daughter know I was alive.”

  “Aunt Serena must have been so happy to see you,” I said, thinking back to the state my poor aunt was in when I left Brandor. “She was distraught, to say the least, when she heard what had happened to you.”