The Dragon and the Queen (The Raven and the Dove Book 3)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  The ocean swelled, rising in a churning column. The wind cut underneath the hull, swirling into a vortex. Zia stepped back until she was shoulder to shoulder with Markos, both of them shooting their aero’kine magic into the mist.

  “Are you sure about this, Zia?” he murmured, leaning down so no one else would hear.

  She swallowed. They’d make it—of that she had no doubt. And for the time being, they’d be safe. She was sure of that too. But was she ready to return to the world she’d left behind? A world that had cast her out? A world that loathed magic? A world about to come crashing down?

  “No,” she whispered. “But we’ve no other choice.”

  “Hmm.” He took a deep breath, then nudged her with his elbow. His deep brown eyes held the smile his lips wouldn’t show. “At least I’ll finally see the sun.”

  A soft laugh escaped her lips as she turned her face up. The fog was thick. Gray vapors swirled with the breeze, lit by their combined magic. But soon, it would break. Soon, the sky would be blue. Soon, they would all feel a warm caress like no other, a kiss she hadn’t felt in over three decades, the soul-reviving touch of the sun.

  The bird within her soared.

  For a moment, it almost felt like flying.

  The Diary

  Fourteenth Day of the Fourth Moon

  * * *

  I meant to write more in my last entry, but my father came to my rooms, so I had to quickly hide this journal. Could you even imagine if he found it? If he read it? I shudder at the very thought.

  Back to the man from the vision.

  I heard a knock at my door and opened it to receive the Master of Arms, a ferro'kine and one of my father's closest advisors.

  "Princess," he said, then gestured from one side to another. While I'm sure there were men hiding somewhere on either side of the door, all I saw were two feathery curtains framing the opening, one honey golden and the other ashen gray. "I've brought your new guards. They'll remain outside your door during the day, and will escort you as needed."

  I nodded along as he spoke. I'd heard it all earlier that morning as my father announced the additional security measures. When he finished, I asked a simple question, one I was surprised he hadn’t yet addressed. "And do they have names?"

  "Mikhail," he said, pointing to the left where the smoky gray feathers jutted out from the edge of the doorway. Then he shifted to the right, where the seemingly sunlit brown wings curved beside the frame. "And Zavier."

  "And can they speak?" I teased, a smile on my lips and a hint of laughter in my voice.

  The Master of Arms frowned. I fear I'm the only one in the palace who still maintains a sense of humor—I'm sure I can blame my mother for that. The halls were lighter when she lived within them. Still, he took a step back and jutted out his chin, giving them space to move. The dove soldier turned around first, his skin a deep umber and his eyes a warm caramel—a false sense of sweetness since they hardened upon seeing me.

  "Princess," he said, sharp and quick, jaw clenching as soon as he was done. With his hands folded behind his back, he offered a deep bow.

  I curtsied when he stood, unbothered by his obvious discomfort. This was only the beginning of my seeing him every day, and I refused to be unnerved in my own home. Perhaps I'd win him over. "Greetings, Soldier Mikhail. Thank you for your service."

  Then the other man turned.

  Oh, I must have looked a fool!

  My jaw dropped to the floor as those elongated eagle feathers shifted out of sight, replaced by the man from my vision. Those same hazel eyes. That same sun-kissed skin. His hair was pulled into a tight knot atop his head, but I remembered it flowing around his cheeks, so soft I yearned to put my fingers through it. He must have spoken, but I didn’t hear. I was too shocked, too entranced. I could curse myself now for missing the soft timbre of his voice. I imagine it deep and soothing, like the melodic churning of waves.

  The Master of Arms coughed.

  I started.

  My legs trembled as I hastily dipped into a curtsy, murmuring a greeting though I can't be sure what I said. Even now, thinking back, my thoughts are a jumble, those few minutes lost to the pounding of my heart and the drumming of my ears. What I wouldn’t give to see into the past just once, just to relive this moment—I could do it so much better if given the chance.

  Then again, maybe not.

  He stood outside my door the rest of the evening, escorted me to dinner and back. I couldn't sleep knowing he stood just a few walls away, my chest aflutter with the very thought. Now, in the bright morning sun, I'm too afraid to open my door. What does he think of me? What will he say? What will I say? My mind spins.

  That's enough.

  I'm not a frightened little girl anymore. If I want this man to be mine, if I want the future I've seen to be true, then I must make it happen.

  I must do something.

  And I will.

  * * *

  Sixteenth Day of the Fourth Moon

  * * *

  I'm a coward. I've done nothing.

  For two days, Zavier and Mikhail have escorted me everywhere, and for two days, I've been mute, barely glancing up from the floor, too scared to say a word.

  It ends tomorrow.

  I don't care what I say, I must say something. What happened to all my courage? All my strength? What would my mother say if she saw me now?

  * * *

  Seventeenth Day of the Fourth Moon

  * * *

  I did it!

  Well, I tried, at the very least. This morning as Zavier and Mikhail brought me to the dining room for breakfast, I paused to look out the window and said, "It's a beautiful day, isn’t it?"

  They replied, "Yes, Princess."

  Oh, his voice. So warm and rich. A tingle shot down my spine at the sound, as though I could feel his phantom touch upon my cheek. Even now, I shiver just thinking about it. I practically jumped out of my slippers from the excitement!

  Of course, the weather is as banal a topic as I could have possibly chosen, but it was something. I broke through my fear, and like a river unleashed, I couldn't stop for the rest of the day. I chattered on and on. I'm sure I was more of an annoyance than anything else, but it's a start. Here are a few examples:

  "Where do you live?"

  "With the other birds of prey, Princess," he said politely.

  Of course! I knew that. All the avians live in segregated villages outside the city. The eagles, hawks, and falcons all group together, though I'm told having so many predators in close quarters isn’t the most peaceful existence. And Mikhail lives with the rest of the doves, a more serene part of the neighborhood, I'm sure. Still, though, I prattled on like a fool.

  "And do you like it?"

  "Of course, Princess."

  "And who do you live with?"

  "My mother, Princess."

  With that, my heart pinched with a jealousy I quickly stifled. Oh, to be free of this palace and somewhere safe with my own mother. What I wouldn’t give for that to be true.

  "No siblings?"

  "No, Princess."

  "You don’t need to end every sentence with my title."

  "I do, Princess."

  "Very well…Soldier Zavier."

  If I could only describe how delicious it was to feel his name roll through my lips, even if it was in a mocking manner. I smiled after, to show I was only teasing, and I swear, the golden sparkles in his eyes brightened.

  Mikhail continued frowning. I asked him all the same questions in probably a lame attempt to make my infatuation less obvious. But his answers were even gruffer and quicker, though I'm not sure what exactly it is I've done to earn his ire.

  Oh well.

  Better luck tomorrow.

  * * *

  Eighteenth Day of the Fourth Moon

  * * *

  My aethi'kine suitor arrives tomorrow, which, I'll admit, has put a damper on my mood. Even still, I managed to learn a few more things about Zavier.

  He
likes lemon tarts, or at least he pretended to when I offered him one, unlike Mikhail. He prefers a crossbow, though in the palace he wears only a sword. He is twenty-two, a few years older than me. I was too afraid to ask if he had a mate yet, as the avians call their spouses, but he couldn't possibly. He doesn’t. He can't.

  Moving on.

  He and Mikhail went through training together, though this is their first time working in a pair, as I suspected. Avians usually remain with their own kind—the ravens with the ravens, the songbirds with the songbirds. Avians of prey are often elite soldiers and guards, as I'm sure Zavier is, to have been given this post. Doves are more often militia, though Mikhail must be an excellent fighter to be working in the palace. Songbirds more often serve as maids or cooks. Hummingbirds are our messengers, because of their speed. Ravens are our spies, since they blend so well into the night. Owls often work as secretaries or the stronger as night watchmen. Avians of paradise are our entertainers. And when I say ‘our,’ I don't mean just my father and me—the palace would be overflowing! All the powerful mages in the kingdom have avian help. We live together and work together—mages, avians, and the poor souls with neither magic nor wings, the ones who most need my father's protection.

  Aether help me, I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore. My mind fills with the image of his face and my hand keeps scrawling brainlessly on.

  Time for bed.

  Tomorrow, I meet my future husband. I doubt his gaze will leave a mark on my skin the way Zavier's does. His burns so hot even my mother's magic would melt beneath the blaze.

  * * *

  Nineteenth Day of the Fourth Moon

  * * *

  I was right. The aethi'kine has cool eyes filled with secrets, their gray-blue color as chilly as ice, even though his hair flames red. I should've known he would be just like my father, and I did, but still, I never expected him to—

  I'm getting ahead of myself.

  He arrived early in the afternoon with a small group of men and women, mages no doubt, the beginnings of his future council. We greeted him in the throne room. My father looked impressive surrounded by shimmering gilt and crimson velvet, the crown gleaming atop his head, the ceremonial weapons at his waist—but mostly the glittering aura of magic resting above his clasped palms. Beside him, I probably looked rather mousy, petite in my own throne, swallowed by the red silks of my gown, a golden tiara nestled into my brow, though I kept my back straight and my chin proud as Mother taught me. I've become too at home alone in my rooms, nothing but this journal, my sewing, and my often-wandering mind to keep me company. Displays of power just make me feel all the meeker.

  I knew the moment he stepped in the room that my father's fears were not unfounded. The way he walked, strong and straight, without a care in the world. The subtle grin upon his lips, one end twisted as though caught in a private joke. The sweep of his eyes, commanding and possessive, as though already taking stock of what would one day be his. We needed him more than he needed us, and he knew it. He bowed, and though he did everything by the book, I couldn't shake the sense that his every move was a mockery.

  My father launched into a welcome speech, but I admit, I tuned most of it out. Magic tickled my skin, first a subtle prickle at the back of my neck, growing and growing, to a tingle that spread to the very ends of my fingers and toes. I could almost feel time rearranging before my eyes, this meeting and this moment shifting the gears of fate, the future narrowing toward a certain point, no longer full of a thousand different possibilities. The aethi'kine was changing something. He was at the center of something.

  I waited for the vision.

  Waited and waited.

  Then, after I don't know how long, the aethi'kine stepped up to my throne, offering a deep bow. As he rose, that cold-as-ice gaze swept over me. It was all I could do not to shiver. The fascination in his eyes was impossible to ignore. It was not directed at me, I knew, but at the subtle rosy sheen emanating from my skin. Perhaps the greatest downside of magic is that it's impossible to hide from one of our own.

  "Princess Miralee," he said, extending his arm.

  "Lord Bastiant," I replied, digging through the depths of my memory for his name as I offered him my hand.

  The moment our fingers touched, the vision took over. At first it was pure chaos, nothing but the sound of screams in my ears as a sense of dread enveloped my body, making my hairs stand on end. I blinked to clear the darkness from my eyes, and when I opened them, the throne room was burning. Fire swooped in an arc across the floor, catching the curtains, which erupted in flames. A deafening roar shook the very foundations of the palace, the ground quaking in the aftermath, a sound unlike any I've heard an animal of this world make. Before the monster stepped into view, the vision fell away, fire and madness replaced by polished walls and heavy silence. Bastiant pressed a soft kiss to my palm, his gaze never leaving my face. I've enough experience with visions, and I've learned not to give the game away. I'm certain my expression was stone, carefully blanked by a lifetime of practice, but his eyes still swirled with questions.

  I should have known he'd come looking for answers.

  I should have, and yet it was still a surprise when he cornered me on my way back from what was an uneventful dinner filled with polite if ostentatious conversation—a show if I've ever seen one. No, later that night, the aethi'kine revealed his true form, and it was not the sociable, well-mannered man on display in the banquet hall.

  He stepped from the shadows as I neared the entrance to my room, golden power swirling around his palms. Even if I had noticed the shimmer of magic in the air, there was little I could do anyway. Before me, Zavier reached for his sword. Behind me, I was sure Mikhail did the same. I appreciated the effort, but we all knew it was useless. At a flick of his fingers, Zavier and Mikhail stumbled to the other side of the hall. Part of me yearned to run, but the better part of me stood strong. If my father taught me anything, it's that fear is a weakness. Bastiant's power crept along my limbs, but he didn’t need to use it to hold me still. I faced him with my head held proud, defiant in a way I hadn't felt in a long while.

  "Princess." His voice slithered like a snake across the hall.

  "Lord Bastiant."

  "You had a vision in the throne room. I'd like to know what it was."

  "I'm sure you would."

  "It was about me."

  "Perhaps."

  "What did you see?"

  His fingers gripped my chin at that point, his chilling eyes staring straight through mine, seeing me, I knew, not as a person but as a possession. He wasn't the first aethi'kine to look at me like that, noticing not who I was, but what I could be to him.

  “Tell me, Lord Bastiant," I replied absently, my voice steady and calm despite the pounding of my heart. "Do you always get your way?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I'm afraid our marriage will be a disappointment. My visions are mine, and mine alone. And no matter your power, even aethi'kine magic isn’t strong enough to force a woman to disclose her secrets. Not everyone is meant to know the future."

  He dropped his hand from my chin in disgust.

  Behind me, the ringing of a sword slipping free of its scabbard filled the silence. Zavier stepped forward, a sorry look in his eyes as he raised his weapon, my neck at the other end of one graceful swing.

  "I'm not afraid to die," I told Lord Bastiant, my voice bored. "At least then I'd have the security of knowing I took my secrets to the grave."

  "And what of pain?"

  His golden magic shot across the room, and before I could move, Zavier acted with all the grace and speed of a predator. The tip of his sword cut through my cheek, deep enough to draw blood, but his eyes revealed silent horror. I cried out. How could I not? The burn was immense. And though I wish I didn't, I couldn't help but lift my hand to my cheek as a whimper escaped my lips. But no words passed. And they never would. Though I’m sure he never meant to, my father had taught me one important lesson—how to keep
my secrets.

  Zavier attacked again.

  I didn’t even try to fight back. His sword sliced through my arm, carefully missing my sleeve as another line of red erupted on my skin. This time I bit my lips to keep from making a sound as I met Bastiant's eyes, my own, I'm sure, filled with fire. It took all the strength I had to arch my brows at him, as though to say, ‘Is that all you've got?’

  His lip curled.

  Zavier stumbled back to where Mikhail stood, both watching with strained muscles, fighting what I knew was an impossible fight for freedom.

  "I could heal you," Bastiant said, his voice now shifting to sickly sweet.

  A laugh escaped my lips. "I suspect you will regardless, unless you want my father asking questions tomorrow morning. It would hardly be the first time aethi'kine magic has been used to cover up my abuse."

  He stepped forward, and this time his power was the only thing to keep me from stepping away as he lifted his hand to my cheek. Warmth sank beneath my skin, sealing my cuts before the blood evidence could reach the fabric of my gown, though against the crimson, I'm not sure it would have been seen.

  "You forget something about my magic," he whispered as his thumb grazed my skin, almost lovingly if I didn’t know better. Then he leaned even closer, until his scarlet hair brushed my cheek and his lips were close enough I could feel his breath against my neck. "I don’t just control spirits. I see through them. Your walls may be made of iron to everyone else, but to me, they're glass. You're a she-wolf with a soft heart—all bark, and no bite."

  He stepped back and a golden arc of power shot across the hall. Metal clinked as Zavier and Mikhail stepped forward, facing one another with their weapons raised. Bastiant arched his brow in my direction, his power sizzling above his palm, one fatal command away. I'd like to think my reaction would have been the same no matter who stood before me, that I would always value life before my own stubborn pride, but I can't deny that as I stared at those swords poised to strike, my mind flashed back to the vision in which Zavier's hazel eyes looked at me as though I were his whole world, and I acted.