Dragon Child

by Elana A. Mugdan

  Roxanne perked up at once. “Is Keriya with her?”

  He shook his head. “She got separated from Keriya and Max weeks ago, after they were captured and taken to the Erastatian Palace. Don’t worry,” he said as Roxanne’s eyes widened. “They escaped, and Seba left to track them down.”

  “What about Thorion?” asked Roxanne.

  “They were ambushed at the Galantrian border, but Thorion got away. Hopefully he’s reunited with Keriya by now. Hopefully he’s found a cure, since our other ideas have fallen through.”

  The two of them lapsed into a brief silence. Roxanne chewed on her lip, hoping against hope that Keriya and Thorion had gotten her message and were on their way to Indrath Nazrith.

  She cleared her throat. “So, you want me to come with you to talk to Seba?”

  “Only if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “I’d rather have food and a nap,” she replied, “but I want to hear her story for myself.”

  “She has news, too. Wants to hold a council, ruler to ruler.” Effrax stood and offered Roxanne his hand. She refused it, getting to her feet on her own. He shook his head again. “Stubborn as a mule, aren’t you?”

  “I kick like one, too. So you better watch yourself.”

  “Careful, Tigress. Threatening the king will land you back in the dungeons.” When he saw the look of fury that flashed across her face, he raised his hands. “Only kidding! Come on, Seba’s in the throne room. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can rest.”

  “Effrax,” she began slowly, “when we were at the Valaani Temple you said your father’s fate was linked to the fate of his kingdom. Now that you’re king, does the same hold true for you?”

  Effrax’s eyes tightened. Roxanne knew him well enough to know he hadn’t considered that question, and it had upset him.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t believe so, because I didn’t have a coronation ceremony—normally that’s when the Valaani archmages would link king and kingdom together.”

  Roxanne nodded. The question cast a gloom upon them, and she followed him into the palace silently. They passed servants who bowed to Effrax and soldiers who acknowledged him with less respect. She made a mental note to keep watch on the military men.

  They reached the grand black doors of the throne room and a pair of liveried heralds jumped to open them. Roxanne entered the chamber a few paces behind Effrax and stopped short.

  “Cezon?” she spluttered in disbelief. “Cezon Skyriver?”

  Cezon, who’d been inspecting the rubies inlaid on the steps leading to the Lava Throne, jumped at the sound of his name. A few hands from him stood a huge, muscular man with dark skin and a shaved head. Skulking in his shadow was a scrawny Galantrian.

  “You,” she gasped. She recognized that rat-like face—it was Officer Blackwater, one of Tanthflame’s lackeys.

  “It’s alright. They’re with me.” Seba, who was standing at the side of the room, stepped forward. She offered Effrax the tiniest of bows. “Thank you for meeting with us, Your Highness.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I didn’t realize your entourage would be joining us. I was under the impression that this was a state meeting.”

  “If you were under that impression, why did you bring a peasant?” she asked, sniffing in contempt. Roxanne rolled her eyes. Even now, Seba went out of her way to be obnoxious.

  “You mentioned last night that you had important information for me,” said Effrax, heading for his throne. “I invited Roxanne because I value her opinion.”

  “These men are in my employ, and I invited them because they can help relay that information,” the princess shot back. “Is this room secure?”

  “Yes, and my guards are confident that we killed the last of the shadowbeasts who’d infiltrated Fyrxav. The city is free of Necrovar’s minions, and the people who remain . . . I wouldn’t say we can trust them, but at least we know they’re on our side.”

  “You’d better be sure of that,” said Seba, “because you’ll need every able-bodied fighter you’ve got. I believe you have reason to fear an invasion from the west.”

  Effrax stopped with a foot on the bottom step leading to the throne. He turned to her, eyes burning. “What gives you that impression?”

  “The great bleedin’ army camped at your border, that’s what,” said Cezon.

  “I know of Windscoure’s barricades and his so-called Border Patrol,” said Effrax. “He’s been making a fuss about keeping Fironians out of his land for months. Tanthflame has done a fantastic job turning the rest of the empire against us.”

  “We saw Windscoure’s men at the border,” said Seba, “but we also saw Imperials. They had a group twice the size of the Erastatian army, and they had war machines—cannons and trebuchets and more.”

  Effrax swore under his breath. “Tanthflame’s always a step ahead, isn’t he? He must have been planning this for ages if he mustered a force so quickly.”

  “By my reckoning, Sire, it looked like a full regiment,” said the huge, dark-skinned man, bowing to Effrax. “Add Windscoure’s company and you got close to four thousand expert wielders makin’ their way to you.”

  “What should we do?” asked Effrax. His gaze landed on Roxanne. She spread her hands; she didn’t know politics or battle tactics. She didn’t know what trebuchets or regiments were. She knew they ought to be focusing on saving Thorion, but it seemed Tanthflame was going to keep them from doing that with the threat of a full-blown war. Which, she privately conceded, was an excellent tactic.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” she said. “Necrovar is making his move. He’s going to use Tanthflame to take over the state.”

  “And then the empire,” murmured Seba.

  “And then the world,” Effrax said in a hollow voice. “I don’t have the manpower to fight Imperials.”

  “If I contact my father, he’d send troops to support us,” said Seba.

  Effrax shook his head. “I doubt that. Tanthflame had to get Council approval to martial an army. The last thing your father probably heard about me was that I was a murderer and a traitor.”

  “My father will listen to me,” Seba insisted.

  “Even if he did, his reinforcements would never reach us in time.”

  “Then what’s your plan?”

  “The same plan as always,” said Roxanne. “It all depends on Keriya and Thorion.”

  Effrax sighed. “If they can kill Necrovar then maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to stop Tanthflame. But even if Thorion found a way to defeat the Shadow, it might be too late for us.”

  “’Scuse me,” Cezon interrupted. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we will be forced to fight a war in which we are vastly outnumbered,” said Effrax.

  “Right,” said Cezon, “but what’s it mean for me personally? If you’re surrounded and you ain’t gettin’ anything to or from the Galantasa, then how am I supposed to get paid? I was promised three-hundred-thousand derlei, and I’ve yet to see a single copper piece.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” growled Roxanne. “Is that all you think about? Derlei? Necrovar is trying to destroy the Fironem!”

  “Yeah, and I’d like to have enough money to leave before he manages it.”

  Roxanne closed her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to argue with Cezon. She didn’t want to think about the bloodshed that was coming. She wanted to lie in a proper bed and sleep.

  “You’ll get your payment,” Seba snapped. “I have never broken a promise and I don’t intend to start now. Your Highness, if you would be kind enough to provide rooms for these men until I can fulfill my debt to them, I would be grateful.”

  “Of course,” Effrax said distractedly, waving a careless hand.

  “Do you need me to help plan your battle?” Roxanne asked him. “Because if not, I’d like to b
e excused.”

  His harried expression softened. “You’re free to go. All of the palace staff are at your service.”

  Roxanne retreated to the doors and yanked them open. One of the boys standing watch in the corridor jumped to attention.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “The king said he had guest rooms for me,” she told him. “I’d like to see them.”

  The boy bobbed a bow and trotted away. Roxanne trudged after him, feeling once again like she was slogging through mud. Icy dread was seeping through her body, weighing her down.

  “Keriya, I hope you get here fast,” she murmured.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  “No matter what is written in the pages of life, the end is always a tragedy. Either you die, or everyone else does.”

  ~ Elsam Weros, Fourth Age

  Cezon stood before an ornamental vase on a plinth, wondering if it was worth stealing. So far during his stay in the palace, he’d pilfered two gold candlesticks, a set of silver forks and knives, and an antique crystal goblet. He had the items stashed in his guest room, but wasn’t yet sure how he was going to smuggle them past the guards. Security was at maximum level.

  Raised voices echoed down the corridor and Cezon scampered to hide behind an ivory statue. No one could prove he’d been doing anything wrong, but it was habit.

  He peeked around the statue’s arm and saw a group of Fironian soldiers hurrying along an adjacent hall. A pack of servants hastened after them. Cezon frowned. Something about the tension in their movements and the quaver in their voices made his scalp prickle. What was going on?

  Quiet as a mouse, he slunk toward his guest chambers. He stopped first at Endred’s door and rapped sharply with his knuckles. He knew Endred would be in—unlike Cezon and Iako, who scoured the palace for pilferable items every chance they got, he was content to stay put and read.

  The door creaked open, revealing Endred’s hulking figure.

  “You got south-facing windows, right?” Cezon barged into the room, heading to a set of large windows that had been thrown open to tempt in a breeze. There was a commotion in the sandstone gallery below. People were rushing this way and that, but Cezon couldn’t identify the source of the uproar.

  “What d’you reckon?” asked Effrax, looking over Cezon’s shoulder. “More trouble with shadowbeasts?”

  “Nah, they don’t look like they’re gettin’ ready to fight,” said Cezon, tapping his finger to his chin. “But they do look awful distracted.”

  “Cezon,” Endred began in a warning tone. “Whatever you’re thinkin’ of doing, don’t.”

  “I just got some business to take care of,” Cezon said airily. He slipped around Endred and made for the door. “I’ll scope out the situation, and if it looks safe I’ll pop back and grab a few things I been lookin’ to trade in the marketplace.”

  He exited the room. Footsteps behind him told him Endred was following. Cezon wove his way through corridors and down a flight of stairs until he reached the wide passage that led to the throne room. Soldiers and servants were clustered around the black doors, speaking in hushed voices.

  Cezon strode around and nonchalantly glanced down the main staircase. The steps and the entry foyer beyond were empty. It was too perfect. He turned, ready to dash to his room and sneak out his stolen treasures. Then he caught a snippet of the guards’ whispered conversation.

  “. . . Dragon Speaker’s saying he’s gone.”

  “What’s she mean by that?”

  “Dunno, but I can’t imagine it’s good news.”

  Cezon scowled. “Did you hear that?” he hissed to Endred.

  “I did. They were talkin’ about Miss Soulstar.”

  “So the little troublemaker made it,” Cezon grumbled. All thoughts of taking his burgled items to the marketplace vanished, and suddenly he was itching with curiosity. As soon as he rounded the corner, he moved close to the wall and ran his fingers along it.

  “What are you—”

  “Aha!” Cezon interrupted Endred’s question with a cry of triumph. He’d found the hidden servants’ door to the throne room. There was always a secret way to get in and out of important places.

  He didn’t have to search long before he located the latch, and he eased the door inwards. He and Endred slipped into a shadowy area between the wall and the alabaster pillars that lined the room. Voices echoed toward them, amplified by the acoustics of the chamber.

  “I take it you received Roxanne’s message?” That particular voice belonged to the newly crowned king.

  “We did.” And that was Keriya Soulstar. Cezon stole toward the nearest pillar and peeked around its smooth trunk.

  Keriya and Maxton Windharte stood alone in the center of the floor, staring at Emberwill. He sat on the Lava Throne, a marvel of magic and design: it was made of black magma, but the living light of fire glowed through the cracks and porous gaps in its crust. Legend said the throne had been sculpted ages ago after a volcanic eruption, and a mage had woven a stasis enchantment on it to trap the heat within it forever.

  Cezon wondered how much a chair like that was worth.

  “I assume you’ve heard what’s happened since then?” Emberwill was saying.

  “We know you’re the king, yes,” Maxton replied.

  “A busy king. The Fironem is facing threats from all sides. An Imperial army is marching toward us as we speak, and—forgive me for saying so—your father has been quite the warmonger of late.”

  “This we also know,” the Erastatian said with a bite in his tone.

  “Now that you’re here, we can start working on plans for a counterattack. While Valaan can’t help Thorion, I believe there are other ways to—”

  “He’s gone.”

  Emberwill paused and stared at Keriya, who had interrupted him. “Who’s gone?”

  Keriya closed her eyes. It occurred to Cezon that she seemed smaller. Perhaps it was the way she was holding herself, shoulders hunched and head bowed, shivering though the throne room was close to being uncomfortably warm.

  “Thorion,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean, he’s gone? Where’s he gone?”

  “He’s . . .” She didn’t appear to be able to finish her sentence. She covered her face with her hands and sagged beneath an invisible weight.

  The truth struck Cezon and the young king at the same moment. A punch of adrenaline winded Cezon. Perched on his priceless throne, Emberwill’s face went slack. He stood and took a step toward the pale girl. Then he stopped. Slowly he sank onto the throne, gripping the armrests of the glowing chair.

  “How?” he croaked.

  “We were attacked by shadowbeasts at the border,” Maxton explained.

  “I don’t believe this,” Emberwill breathed. “It’s over. Necrovar won. The Fironem is doomed.”

  “That’s all you ever cared about, isn’t it?” Keriya snarled, glaring at him through her fingers. “You never cared about Thorion. You wanted to bring him here from the beginning. Here, into danger.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Emberwill said hastily. He stood again. “I am so, so sorry that he—”

  “You’re a liar!” She tore herself from Maxton and advanced on the king. “This is what you always wanted: praise and attention and expensive things. You admitted your interests were self-serving on the day we met. You got your wish, and you didn’t even have to use my dragon—though not for lack of trying.”

  “Keriya,” Emberwill began, voice choked and eyes wide, “I don’t—”

  “If you’re king, why did you let this happen? Why did you let the Shadow take over your state?”

  “Why did I let this happen?” Emberwill descended the steps of the throne dais, now looking as angry as Keriya herself. A warning thrill shot through Cezon’s nerves. “I’ve been king for less than a month. If you’re
so eager to point fingers, Dragon Speaker, let’s point one at you. You could have kept the Shadow from conquering my state if you’d come here sooner, like I asked you to half a year ago.”

  She let loose a bitter laugh. “Bringing Thorion here only would have killed him sooner. But I forgot, you don’t care about him.”

  “Of course I care! I cared about Thorion as much as—”

  “Do not,” she spat, “finish that sentence. Do not presume to know what this feels like.”

  “Keriya, stop. You’re only going to upset yourself again,” Maxton said in a low voice.

  “Again? I am broken. There will never be another day in my life when I’m not upset, when I don’t wonder what I could have done differently, when I don’t regret every decision I ever made. But you,” she growled at Emberwill, her teeth bared in a snarl, “you aren’t sorry at all.”

  Silence settled in the throne room. Cezon didn’t dare to breathe for fear he would be heard. The king and Keriya faced off, hostility blazing in the space between them.

  “Perhaps you forget who you’re speaking to,” Emberwill said in a controlled voice. “I am Effrax Emberwill, King of the Fironem.”

  “Give yourself any title you want,” she said. “You call yourself Emberwill, I call myself Soulstar, but names won’t change what we are. You have no claim to any title or land in this state. Who did you blackmail and betray so you could sit on that throne?”

  Emberwill’s face darkened like a thunderhead. “I could have you locked up for saying something like that.”

  “That’s right, hide behind your power, punish anyone who doesn’t agree with you. You know who you remind me of? Gohrbryn Tanthflame. Are you doing this because you’re a nameless bastard child with something to prove to the world, or are all fire wielders just evil?”

  “Well, if that’s not the coals calling the fire hot. I think Allentria’s failed hero has a bit of reckoning to do with herself.”

  Keriya’s face twisted with torment. Something about her expression made Cezon’s innards tighten and burn with something frighteningly close to pity. He dug a fist into his side, trying to dispel the sensation—this was no time for him to be going soft.