A moment passed, then, “Do it, Cassi. Do it so—”
Lyana broke off. She jolted to a seated position, tilting her head as though she’d heard a troubling noise. Cassi had seen Malek behave similarly. It immediately put her on edge.
“What?”
Before she fully got the question out, the dream shattered. Lyana grabbed her spirit and flung it from her mind. She catapulted into the waking world, unable to find her balance, the scene chaotic and loud and refusing to settle. It took a moment for her to understand the truth.
An earthquake.
Lyana jumped from the bed as Xander sat up on the floor. As soon as their eyes met, they launched out the door of their guest quarters and into Hyadria. Cassi followed like a swiftly moving breeze. The trees shook. Rope bridges swayed. All around, wood splintered and groaned, drowned out only by the screams as the citizens took flight, fighting for an avenue through the thick canopy of the forest and into the open sky.
A few minutes passed.
They seemed an eternity before the isle finally fell still.
Cassi didn’t miss how her queen’s hands curled to fists by her sides or the frustration, like the desperation of a caged animal, she exuded. But there was nothing she could do either. As the King and Queen of the House of Whispers flew to help these people, Cassi abandoned them to soar over the edge and back to the room where her body lay as immobile as a corpse upon the floor.
Elias was asleep on his cot.
I’m going to get you out of here, she silently whispered. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get you out of here, so at least one of us will be free.
20
Rafe
Rafe woke from the nightmare as he always did, sweat dripping down his forehead, pulse racing. The shadow monster was close. At least, its spirit was. Rafe bolted out of the bed and ran to the window, reaching out with his mind.
Don’t leave.
Don’t go.
There was no response.
He stared into the fog until his vision grew fuzzy and the world faded. Reaching for the darkness, he touched the part of him deep inside that seemed to pull the creature, the tiniest bit of raven magic still lingering beneath his skin. Entrenched in that sliver of power, Rafe sensed a shadowy presence across the fog. It was flying…somewhere. It was looking for…something. An almost childlike curiosity filled its thoughts, at odds with the fully grown monster Rafe had seen in the streets of Karthe.
Come back.
He sent the image of his ship and his face into the connection, then the memory of waking up alone in his cabin, hoping to lure the creature back. The nightmare had been another massacre—four bodies this time, in the back alleys of a city he’d never seen. And while Rafe wanted nothing more than to keep this monster far, far away from his friends, he felt responsible somehow, as though the dead had fallen at his hands. The dreams weren’t his memories. Logically, he knew he’d played no part. But he was also the only person alive who might be able to stop the monster, so he had to try, or the guilt would destroy him.
Please, come back.
Unlike the dragons, the creature wouldn’t listen. Rafe had been trying to get through to it for days, and nothing. It heeded no commands. They were equals, except that the shadow demon flew with the stealth of a breeze, moving unseen, leaving Rafe with no way to catch him.
“Rafe!”
Brighty’s voice snapped him back to the ship. He spun just as she crashed through the door, a look of panic in her milky eyes.
“Come quick.”
“What’s going on?”
“No time!” she shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared back into the hallway.
Rafe chased after her, following her up the stairs. Halfway to the top, she stopped dead. He nearly ran her over.
“Brighty, what the—” He cut himself short.
Golden magic glittered across the air, shimmering in the dark shadows of the hull as warm as sunlight while it grazed his skin. The sight of it made his heart turn cold. Fire flooded his veins, fighting the power as it crept into his soul.
King Malek was here.
“Brighty, come on! Brighty!”
She didn’t move.
She didn’t respond.
She was stone.
Gods alive! Rafe cursed as he grabbed her biceps, picked her up, and moved her a foot to the right, out of his way. Under the king’s thrall, her body didn’t shift an inch, stiff as a board, her spirit tight in his grip.
“You can yell at me for that later,” Rafe muttered as he sprinted past her and emerged above deck.
The skies were lit by magic. Waves of gold crashed against the ship, dampening the yellow streaks of aero’kine power whipping into the sails and the flood of hydro’kine power sinking into the sea. Not a soul moved. The entire crew was frozen in time. Captain held the wheel, her lips in a grim line. Beside her, Patch’s mouth hung open as though calling out an alarm. Squirrel lay curled on his side by the main mast, his body fallen from the ropes. Leech knelt over his plants. Pyro stood at the bow, flames still dancing around her raised hand. Jolt, with Archer by her side, had been caught in the middle of a laugh while telling a story. Spout stood beside them, her forearms resting casually on the rails as she turned to glance behind her. Magic swirled about their fingertips, the only clue they were still alive, still conscious, still fighting against the king they had no hope to best. Though he couldn’t see them, Rafe had no doubt Shadow and Cook had also been detained. Aethi’kine power couldn’t be stopped by walls.
He should have known this would happen.
He should have forced them to take Lyana’s advice. The crew would be safe now, if they’d just gone to the House of Peace. Instead, the most powerful man in the world was breathing down their necks, and it was all his fault.
Rafe flew the rest of the distance to the captain, the king’s power burning away the moment it touched his body, and landed before her. “I’m going to get us out of this.”
She gave no indication that she heard. He flicked his gaze to Patch, then back to her, biting his tongue. He hadn’t exactly been honest these past few days, but there was no time like the present. So what if the first mate knew? On this ship, nothing remained a secret for long.
“I’m going to call a dragon for help,” he said in a rush, the words flowing together in one continuous sound. “I know it sounds insane, but they listen to me. They heed my orders. I’ll command it to attack the king’s ship, and in the chaos, I’ll distract the king. He can’t touch me. When you have an opening, take it, even if I’m not here. I’ll get away. I’ll meet you on the sea.”
Nothing.
No bother. He’d get an earful later, he was sure. For now, it was his plan or, well, he didn’t even want to think about what the king might have in store. The crew had spent their lives hunting dragons—it was high time one came to their rescue instead.
Rafe soared to the crow’s nest where he found it easier to think, surrounded by wind and fog. Then he sent his mind searching the mist for the scent of fire and smoke.
There.
The connection was faint, but unmistakable. Rafe held on to that line, the way he’d been practicing ever since that day at the outpost. The bond strengthened.
Come.
He pushed the command toward the dragon, along with images of the ship and the memory of the king’s aethi’kine magic. Hunger twisted his stomach and he forced that down the line too, stirring up a mix of craving and emptiness, luring the beast closer.
Come.
Voices carried on the wind. Rafe snapped open his eyes just in time to see the outline of a ship cutting through the fog. The king was close.
Come!
Lightning crackled, exploding in the air above the oncoming ship, turning the fog lavender as it splintered down from the sky. Before touching the sails it froze, and the king’s crew sailed harmlessly underneath. Stirred by Spout’s magic, the seas turned choppy, waves rising and crashing with an angry z
eal, until blue sparks cut across the mist and dove into the water, urging it to calm. Winds clashed, opposite forces swirling, laced with yellow flares, but no side gained the upper hand.
The king’s ship closed in. Like a living figurehead, Malek stood at the bow, his hands gripping the rails. Golden power exploded from him, so bright it nearly stung the eyes. On either flank his mages stood, waiting with stoic faces.
Rafe felt for the dragon.
It was close—but not close enough.
The king was minutes away.
No concern for himself, thinking only of his crew, Rafe dove off the crow’s nest and took to the sky, making a beeline for Malek. If he were honest, he’d been waiting for this meeting since the moment these fiery wings had been forced onto his back. Maybe even earlier, since the moment Captain first told him of the king, the moment he’d seen his raven wings bundled on Malek’s desk, or earlier still, the moment Cassi had cut them from his back. Revenge blazed like its own fire in his heart, coming entirely from the man and not the beast sharing his soul.
The sea erupted.
Rafe swerved around the spout as droplets sizzled against his wings. Another exploded, then another and another, not quick enough to slow him as his wings carved deftly through the air. A blast of pure light stole his sight. He gritted his teeth against the burn, using his dragon senses to follow the magic, not needing his eyes to see. Winds surged, but he was a creature of the sky, and no gale was strong enough to stop him.
Malek.
Malek.
Malek.
That single name was his war cry. The king would regret hunting down his friends. The king would regret not leaving him free. The king would regret turning him into this monster.
Knives shot across the sky.
Rafe ducked underneath the first one and released his raven cry. The shriek bounded across the waves and smashed into the ship with a force no mage could stop. The blades dropped harmlessly into the sea. The ocean calmed. The winds died. All the magic lighting the skies blinked out of existence. The king widened his eyes in surprise the second before they went blank, and then Rafe was there.
He grabbed Malek by his jacket, lifted him from the deck, and flew across the wooden planks to slam the king’s spine into the mast. The man gasped. Rafe punched his cheek and Malek’s face snapped to the side. Blood dribbled from the corner of his lip. As the magic of the raven cry faded, the king’s gaze sharpened and golden power emanated from his skin, but it was useless. Rafe drank the spirit magic in, absorbing the power as though it were an elixir of life revitalizing his every aching muscle and providing newfound strength. Malek hissed, his body failing as the connection to Rafe’s spirit burned him from the inside out. The golden aura vanished, but Rafe didn’t stop fighting. He had the king right where he’d wanted him for so long. Without his power, Malek was weak. And Rafe intended to show him exactly what it felt like to be the one without control.
He slammed his fist into the man’s stomach, satisfied when he heard him grunt, and kneed him in the groin. Catching him before he fell, Rafe then tossed Malek across the deck. His body rolled helplessly over the wood. Just as he started to rise, Rafe pumped his wings and sailed into his chest, knocking him back to the floor. His fist found the king’s face, again and again, his knuckles turning bloody.
So consumed, Rafe forgot about the other mages—a mistake that cost him dearly. As he reeled back for another punch, a strip of metal latched over his mouth, blocking his raven cry. Then chains wrapped around his torso, securing his arms to his chest. The metal jerked and he stumbled back. Rafe beat his wings, struggling against his binds. On the floor, the king eased onto his elbow, his skin already swelling as he wiped the blood from his chin. Hatred darkened his eyes.
“Jacinta,” he seethed. “If you would—”
A roar thundered across the sky, making the air itself tremble. A wave of fire rained down from the fog, casting the ship in an orange blaze. Malek looked up, shooting out his golden magic just in time to catch the flames before they touched his skin.
The rest of the ship wasn’t so lucky.
The sails caught, turning to an inferno. The wood crackled and popped as the masts burned. Shouts cut across the chaos, but not of pain, thank the gods. Rafe didn’t want them hurt, just distracted, which they were. Chutes of water rose from the sea while the fire swirled toward a single figure to his left. Already, the blackened wood was regenerating, sparks of green simmering around the damage. The mages worked on securing the ship, all but the one he most needed off his back.
Reaching for the bond, he sent the metal mage’s face into the dragon’s mind, not needing to see her to remember the harsh line of her cheekbones, the severe angle of her chin, the deep onyx of her hair. He’d never forget the woman’s face, and deep down a part of him he couldn’t deny wanted her to feel just a little bit of the terror he’d felt as she’d dragged him helplessly across the warehouse to his doom.
Descending through the mist, the dragon dove into the ship and gripped the main mast in its claws, snapping the wood in half. It roared and another blaze flooded the deck. The king kept most of the flames from getting too close, but hidden within the bubbling orange, the beast spun. Its tail slammed into the metal mage’s gut, and she flew backward, disappearing over the side of the ship. The metal end of a rope sparked green and rushed after her, but not before Rafe heard a splash. The chains fell from his torso and landed with a thunk on the wood. The muzzle slipped harmlessly from his lips.
Rafe turned on the king.
Fear flashed in the man’s eyes.
He could end him right now. He could destroy him.
The very thought made Rafe pause.
He was a man, not a monster—at least, he didn’t want to be. And refusing to murder was the only thing keeping him on the human side of the line. A memory stirred, of Lyana on those long-ago nights in Pylaeon, healing the injured in their sleep. He didn’t want to be like that shadow creature, a thing of fear. He wanted to be like her, a symbol of hope. And maybe he could be, but not if he destroyed the man whom the rest of the world viewed as their savior.
Malek was the king of prophecy and Lyana needed him.
For that alone, he would live.
Go, Rafe thought, sending thoughts of danger and fear into the bond to the dragon. Go and save yourself.
The beast didn’t listen. The magic in the air was too potent, too alluring for a creature of pure instinct to ignore. But Rafe still had his wits. So before the ferro’kine came back from the sea, he launched into the sky, leaving the king behind him.
21
Captain Rokaro
Rafe emerged from the flames, a black spot in a flood of orange, seemingly unharmed as he cut across the fog.
“Did you see?” Brighty whispered by her side. “Did you see?”
Oh, she’d seen.
Rafe, totally unaffected by the king’s magic. Rafe, beating Malek to a pulp. Rafe, calling upon a dragon. Rafe, escaping unharmed. He was either the King Born in Fire or the destruction of them all, but one thing was certain—this wasn’t a decision that should rest in her hands any longer. He needed to know, and so did the queen.
Zia turned to Brighty, meeting her pleading eyes. “We tell him tonight.”
“Tonight? But—”
“Silence.”
Brighty growled but sealed her lips, unprepared to defy a direct order from her captain. At least for now. Zia knew she was pushing the mage’s loyalty, but she had no other choice. Rafe landed beside them, his chest puffed with all the words he ached to say. The boy had no poker face. His every desire was written in his eyes, his every fear too. He was afraid of himself. Good. She was starting to fear him too.
“We need to go to the House of Peace, now,” he said in a rush, placing his hands on the wheel to gain her full attention. Dried blood covered his knuckles, gruesome against his pale skin. Under her scrutiny, Rafe swallowed and dropped his arms, softening his tone as the fire along his wings
dampened. “The king will keep coming and I’m not sure if that trick with the raven cry will work a second time. He’ll be more prepared. We need to get away. We need to go somewhere he won’t follow.”
“Rafe,” Brighty chided, rolling her eyes. “We talked about this. The isles are falling. None of us have wings. You see how those two facts don’t really—”
“I agree,” Zia interrupted.
Rafe grinned.
Brighty dropped her jaw. “You what?”
“We go to the House of Peace. Now.”
“Captain—”
“Enough, Brighty.”
Zia sensed the presence of her first mate nearby, always there watching her back, the support she so dearly needed. When she stepped to the side, Markos took her place at the wheel, his thick olive hands gripping the spokes.
“Listen up,” she shouted, cupping her hands around her lips.
The crew stopped what they were doing and turned. She’d earned their respect. She’d earned their trust. Every last soul on this ship had come to her at the lowest point in their lives, when there was nowhere else to turn, and she’d been their guide ever since—through storms and rough seas, against dragons and against the sort of demons that couldn’t be seen. She was steady. She was sure. She was their captain. So she stifled the nerves fluttering beneath her skin and hardened her tone.
“The sea is no longer safe, so we only have one choice—it’s time to take to the sky. Spout, carry us as high as we can go. Leech and Archer, push with every ounce of magic you possess. It’s going to take everything we’ve got to lift this hulk of wood above the fog, but I’m not leaving her behind. Patch, stay with me. Everyone else, stay out of our way.”
Not giving them a moment to argue, Zia released her magic into the sky and a gust blew across the deck. The snapping sails whipped them to attention. A wave of green agro’kine magic erupted from Leech’s palms, flooding the deck and wrapping around the ship as he urged the wood up. Deeper pine sparks cut through the haze as Archer did the same with the metal. Spout stood at the rail, hydro’kine magic pouring from her arms and diving into the sea. The ship shuddered, boards groaning. They pushed harder.
The Dragon and the Queen (The Raven and the Dove Book 3) Page 14