The Return of the Dragon Queen

by Farah Oomerbhoy

  I smiled at Tristan’s change of attitude. “So,” I ventured, smiling up at the big fae warrior, “I think it is safe to presume you are not still upset with me?”

  He shook his head. “No. I understand why you did what you did. And if it weren’t for my oath, I wouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.”

  I laughed and hugged Tristan. “I can live with that.” And in that moment, I knew we would always remain friends. “But I am glad you don’t find me irritating anymore.” I grinned.

  He scowled, but his midnight-blue eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, you are as irritating as ever, Princess,” he drawled. “But I don’t mind putting up with it as long as we are not bound in wedlock.”

  Someone cleared her throat as I wriggled out of the hug. I turned to find Ashara standing behind me, her arms crossed and legs apart as she regarded us. “If you two are finished with your . . .” She paused as if trying to find the right word. “. . . training.” She put her hand on her sword and looked at Tristan. “We had a sparring match scheduled, did we not, fae?”

  Tristan’s eyes started to swirl with silver stars and narrowed as he regarded Ashara. “Yes, witch. I haven’t forgotten. I thought I would give you a chance to back out.”

  Ashara smirked. “I was giving you time to do the same.” She tossed her plaited hair over one shoulder.

  Tristan’s jaw tightened. “Not likely,” he said, unstrapping his sword belt and removing his shirt. He drew both his swords, and his muscles glistened in the evening sun.

  Ashara smiled, a gleam in her dark eyes as she regarded the Prince of the Night Court in all his glory. She picked up her staff. “Trying to distract me is not going to work, fae,” she said, flushing slightly as she took on a fighting stance, her hands tightening around her staff. “I’m still going to best you.”

  Tristan smirked as he twirled his swords effortlessly in his hands and faced her. “We shall see,” he said and launched himself at Ashara as I moved out of the way.

  Twilight had started to set in as the sun disappeared past the horizon, and everyone gathered around to watch the fight.

  The warrior witch was just as fast, and nearly as tall as the big High Fae warrior, with reflexes like a jungle cat and speed that seemed to reduce her to a blur at times. They circled each other as they each looked for an opening. Ashara’s staff was more than a match for Tristan’s blades—the end of the staff opened to become a spear with a deadly sharpened tip and serrated jagged edges. The wood was magically enforced to withstand the blows of a sword. She wielded the staff as an extension of herself, just as Tristan did with his blades. They were a pleasure to watch as they danced around the deck of the ship, neither one giving in to the other at any point.

  “Looks like your fae prince has met his match.” I didn’t even notice Rafe coming up behind me. His tone was flat, guarded.

  My lips curved upward. “So it seems,” I concurred.

  Just then, Tristan ducked a blow from Ashara’s staff and, dropping one sword, caught her staff with his free hand. At the same time, he sliced her cleanly on her leg. It wasn’t a dangerous cut, just enough to end the match.

  Ashara leaned on her staff, her chest heaving from exertion, as did Tristan’s. It hadn’t been an easy fight for him, I could tell. Normally he would have drawn out a sparring match like this, toying with his opponent to assess their weaknesses. But with Ashara he had ended it fast. So far, she was the only one I had ever seen make Tristan break a sweat.

  Tristan held out his hand to her. From the expression in his eyes, I could see Ashara had finally earned his respect. “Not bad,” he said. “For a witch.”

  Ashara laughed, obviously not angry at being bested by Tristan. Not many people could stand against the Dark Prince of Elfi without paying for it with their lives. There was a reason he was a legend among the Drakaar.

  “It was a good match, fae,” said Ashara, clasping his forearm. “I look forward to getting another chance to best you.”

  Tristan raised his eyebrows, but his eyes held a hint of amusement. “You could try.”

  “I most definitely will,” said Ashara, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she spun and sauntered off.

  As night began to advance on us, I stood on the quarterdeck, the sea breeze brushing my face as I inhaled deeply, grateful for the fresh air. The cabins were stuffy and smelled faintly of fish. I was worried about Kalen. We were sailing to a destination we knew nothing about, and there was no guarantee the druids would even be there.

  It seemed I was not the only one who couldn’t sleep. Rafe stood at the railing scanning the horizon, while the stars in the night sky twinkled above like lanterns lighting our way. The memory of the things he’d said to me earlier burned through me as I made my way toward him, the timber beneath my feet creaking softly. His brow furrowed at the intrusion, but he didn’t say anything as I rested my hands on the railing beside him. We both gazed out to sea, silent except for the slap of the waves on the side of the ship.

  “Rafe,” I said, finally breaking the silence. “We need to discuss our relationship.”

  “There is nothing to discuss, Aurora.” He turned to me, his face a mass of emotions as he ran a hand through his dark tousled hair. “You were the one who ran off and became betrothed without telling me.” He laughed harshly. “I don’t even know what I am doing here. I should be in Eldoren with my people. Instead I’m here helping you chase after ghosts again.”

  “You don’t have to, you know.” I sighed and looked out to sea. “You could go back. I don’t need you to protect me anymore. I can protect myself.”

  “I know.” He came closer, pulling me toward him ever so slowly. “But that’s the thing.” His breath grazed my ear and my heartbeat sped up. “I can’t help myself.” He trailed his lips along my jaw. “Why is it I can’t stay away from you?”

  He kissed me, his arms tightening around my waist. He pulled me closer, his hard body pressed against mine, and I melted into his arms. His kiss was urgent, hard, and insistent, as if it were our first, or our last.

  When he finally broke away, his breath was as ragged as mine. We just stood there looking at each other, our foreheads touching and breath intermingling.

  “Tell me everything that happened,” Rafe said finally, holding my hands in his, his storm-gray eyes gazing into mine. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  We spent the rest of the night in his cabin talking. I told him everything that had happened to me since I left him all those months ago and went to Elfi. So much had changed, and both of us were different people now. I explained the relationship Tristan and I had down to the last detail, and what it was like to live with my grandmother and her fae court. I explained what I had heard about him and Katerina as well.

  He listened quietly, but he did have questions, and I tried to answer them.

  Rafe’s forehead creased and his eyebrows drew together as he tried to make sense of it. “So you are not in love with him?”

  I shook my head. “No, silly.” I ruffled his hair and kissed him full on the lips. “I’ve only ever loved you.”

  Rafe smiled and kissed me back, pulling me into his arms as we lay down on the small bunk, my head resting on his chest.

  “Rafe,” I ventured. “Now that you know everything, what does this mean for us?”

  He looked straight into my eyes. “I know now this is not the way you intended it to be,” Rafe said slowly. “But in the eyes of the fae court, you are still betrothed to Tristan. We cannot just ignore it and hope it will go away. At some point we will have to face it.”

  I didn’t want to meet his eyes. “If we get out of this alive.”

  He lifted my chin with a fingertip. “Things have been hard for us, Aurora,” he said, bringing my fingers to his lips. “But I have always loved you. I still do.” He drew my face toward him once more, his lips grazing my jaw. “And I suspect I always will.”

  “What about Danica?” I asked tentatively.

  He shook
his head. “Danica was a distraction. To keep my mind off you.” He gave me a sheepish smile, but his tone was low and serious. “I don’t think it worked.”

  I looked straight into his eyes. “But you did take her to your bed.”

  His eyes were like storm clouds that seemed to be subdued. “No. It never went that far,” he clarified.

  “But I saw you kiss her when she left your room that night at Caeleron Castle.”

  “And that’s all I did.” Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “I am not a saint, Aurora.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

  He kissed my forehead, and his gaze softened. “And I you.”

  The next morning was dark and gloomy as the sun refused to show itself and hid behind a cloud like a shy bride. A strange mist seemed to blanket the sea beneath us and wound its way around the ship. Captain Jarvik was at the wheel, steering our vessel expertly toward it. The mist crept on deck, weaving itself around poles and sails as the wind died down and everything went still.

  “We are close,” Captain Jarvik said, coming down to join us on the main deck.

  Penelope raised her hands and pushed at the mist with her magic, but it only crept closer. “I have never encountered mist like this.”

  “I have.” Ashara stepped forward and raised her staff. The jewel on its apex glowed as a light blue magic halted the flow of the mist, pushing it back.

  Tristan raised an eyebrow as he stood on deck watching Ashara, his arms crossed. “Not bad, for a witch.”

  Ashara smirked. “You haven’t seen anything yet, fae.”

  A dark shadow seemed to pass through the mist as a second jewel on Ashara’s staff lit up. I tensed, my heart hammering as my eyes darted around the eerie thick mist. What else was out there?

  “It is as I thought.” Ashara threw a quick glance at Penelope. “Demon magic. There is something else within these mists. We need to move. Now.”

  Penelope raised her arms above her head and summoned a strong wind. She directed the wind at the sails as Ashara held her staff aloft, two stones glowing brightly and pushing back the encroaching mist.

  The tip of an island came into view, and I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The ship moved silently forward, slicing the water as Captain Jarvik steered us toward a small cove.

  We anchored close to the coast, and the crew rowed us ashore, landing on the beach at the edge of a lush overgrown forest. The island looked massive, with hills and valleys that surrounded us and a landscape that seemed untouched for centuries.

  We followed Captain Jarvik through a small overgrown path into the hills. The mist seemed to lift once we reached the island, and the sun lit our path through the forest. It was strangely quiet here; no birds chirped high in the trees, and the forest seemed deep and primeval. “What is this place? Why do the druids live out here, so far away from civilization?”

  “These islands have been this way as long as anyone can remember,” explained Penelope. “But I have no idea why the druids are here. I heard the last druid monastery burned down somewhere in the Silverspike Mountains, which is where all their monasteries used to be.”

  “What if the druids refuse to help us?” I had to ask.

  “They might,” said Rafe, lifting a dark brow. “The druids have shut themselves away for centuries. They don’t trust mages, fae, or witches for that matter.”

  Penelope nodded. She glanced over at Tristan, who was carrying Kalen in his arms. There was barely any time left. Kalen had fallen unconscious on the ship. He was still breathing, but his strength was failing; soon, it would be too late to help him. “Rafe is right. The druids are an order unto themselves, and their knowledge of the ancient world is vast. Their magic is powerful, and the secrets they guard so closely make it worth trying to find them.”

  We walked the rest of the day, only stopping to eat a few chunks of bread and cheese we had brought with us. Captain Jarvik led us farther and farther into the depths of the mysterious island. The setting sun’s rose-pink hues lit up the trees around us as we walked up a winding path through the hills, inward to the heart of the island where Captain Jarvik said the monastery was situated.

  The mist started to creep around us again, and a cold wind blew down from the mountaintops.

  Captain Jarvik hurried forward. “It’s just over this hill in the next valley.”

  We crested the hill, stones slippery as we scrambled forward, eager to get out of the cold. But when we reached the valley, there was nothing there.

  Rafe turned to the captain, our guide in this misty land. None of us had ever been here before, and Captain Jarvik was the only one who had ever seen the monastery of the druids. “Jarvik, you said you knew where they lived. There is nothing here.”

  Captain Jarvik scratched his scruffy white beard. “It was here—I’ve seen it. Twenty years ago, I brought a wounded soldier here. He knew where it was and showed me the way. He had been badly injured in the war, so I had to help him from the boat to the monastery.”

  “Twenty years is a long time, my friend,” said Rafe, coming up to put his hand on the old mariner’s shoulder. “Maybe it was another valley?”

  The captain shook his head. “Nay, it was here. I saw it. A huge giant of a fortress. Like a castle, it was.”

  A shriek rent the air. It was coming from within the mist.

  I looked up, and a dread colder than ice raced down my spine. A black shadow that looked like a Drakaar formed entirely out of mist and darkness came flying at us from the trees.

  “Drakwraith,” growled Tristan, drawing his sword as it lit up with silver fire. He could only use one sword as he slung Kalen over his shoulder, holding him with his other arm.

  Ashara aimed her staff at the Drakwraith, and the creature screamed as witch-fire slammed into it. The Drakwraith dissipated but immediately started to reform.

  It gave us the seconds we needed.

  Rafe took my hand. “Run!”

  “What is it?” I shouted. My heart raced and fear pooled in my stomach. My legs burned as we ran across the valley, slipping and sliding on wet rocks, but there was nowhere to hide. If we could make it back to the forest and the safety of the giant trees, we could hide ourselves. But there was no time—the Drakwraith was gaining on us.

  “Soul eater,” Penelope shouted back. “Shield yourself!”

  Penelope and Ashara were behind us, with Tristan and Captain Jarvik following after.

  A scream!

  I turned to see the Drakwraith pounce on the old mariner.

  “It gets stronger with every life it takes,” yelled Penelope as the Drakwraith devoured him, sucking out his soul. His life force was gone as the soul eater reduced him to a husk of skin and bones, his eyes a dark pool of black.

  Rafe had turned back to help the mariner, but it was too late. The wraith looked up, fixating on him.

  Rafe blasted the Drakwraith with mage fire, but it wasn’t enough. He slashed the Drakwraith with his sword, but it only hissed and attacked again.

  Falling backward, he scrambled for his sword, which had dropped beside him.

  “Rafe!” I screamed as I ran to his aid.

  Tristan handed Kalen over to Ashara swiftly, rolled his eyes, and turned to help me.

  His swords lit up as he slashed through the Drakwraith. It hissed and faltered with the power of the dark prince’s silver fire.

  Rafe and I scrambled out of the way.

  “The Drakwraith cannot be killed, only sent back to the dimension it was summoned from,” Penelope shouted as she shielded Kalen and Ashara.

  I gathered my mage magic and flung it out in a large arc, creating a shield between the Drakwraith and us. Pain seared through my skull as the Drakwraith tore through my shield, ripping at my defenses and magic. I fell to my knees.

  The Drakwraith turned its burning-red eyes on me. “Dawnsssssstar,” it hissed. The gleam in its eyes was enough to confirm it was here for me. It flew toward me, a dark and evil cloud, ready to suck out my
soul and destroy the Dawnstar forever.

  Seemingly out of thin air, a brown-robed monk appeared beside me.

  A druid!

  He held a sleek wooden staff in his right hand, the top glistening with a large crystal that changed color. He banged it on the ground, his left hand stretched out toward the Drakwraith. The earth shook as a shield formed around us all, shimmering with a bluish-white light. The Drakwraith hissed and tore at the shield, shrieking its fury at the druid who stood beside me, his old weathered face a mask of calm. I could see no fear in those fathomless brown eyes, eyes that seemed to have seen all of time.

  “Victor,” he said as another monk appeared next to him, again seemingly out of thin air. “Could you take care of this? My hands are full at the moment.”

  “Of course, Brother Sebastian,” said Victor, as calm and unruffled as the first druid.

  The bottom of Victor’s staff emitted sparks of red fire, and he used it to create a rune on the ground. “Remove the shield.”

  The first druid, Sebastian, lowered his hand, and the shield fell. The Drakwraith screamed with delight and rushed toward Victor. Victor held up his hand and banged his staff into the middle of the rune. The Drakwraith screeched with rage and tried to get away as a force more powerful than I had ever felt before emerged from the rune and pulled it into the ground.

  The rune disappeared.

  The Drakwraith was gone.

  Silence filled the air as we all caught our breath. If the druids hadn’t come when they did, we would have been dead like Captain Jarvik.

  The druid called Victor stepped forward, pushing back his hood to reveal a craggy face and deep, coffee-colored eyes that had seen lifetimes come and go. His brown woolen robe was simple, as expected of a monk, and tied at the waist with a thin rope.

  “Come,” he said to me, and started walking toward the middle of the valley.

  “Just like that?” I raised my eyebrows and ran after him. “Aren’t you going to ask who we are and why we are here?”

  The old druid turned his eyes on me. “We know who you are and why you have come, Dawnstar. We have been expecting you.” He looked at Ashara holding Kalen. “Get the young fae inside, and we will tend to him. He doesn’t have much time left.”