Shimmer

by Sharon Ashwood

  Alana’s mouth fell open. She was staring at the real-life version of the tapestry Barleycorn had hanging in his office. Unexpectedly reverent, she took it all in. The Wheel was the hearthstone of the fae identity, a symbol of unity among the tribes. Gripping Ronan’s shoulder, she pointed. “I want to go back and see that up close!”

  “Later,” he said. “I promise.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “I’m taking you to my old home. We should be safe there.”

  Ronan’s home? Alana’s stomach fluttered with curiosity and misgivings. “Can you do that? As a genie, I mean?”

  He shook his head, brows drawn. “I don’t know how things will be. I have not returned there since the war.”

  Alana did the math. That meant centuries had passed, assuming time moved at the same pace in the faery realm. Fae were immortal, but that was still a long absence from friends and family. What sort of welcome would he get? Who was to say his home was still there?

  They went deeper into the range, passing crag after crag until Alana had no sense of how long they’d been flying. After time, one wild vista appeared much like the next—at least to a city girl like her. Eventually—finally—Ronan guided the carpet toward a castle of gray stone so dark it was nearly black. Alana peered at the massive pile, her eyes dry from the wind in her face. The place had clearly seen battle. The massive gatehouse was missing a corner of its tower, and one of the tall spires behind it was crumbled altogether. Still, smoke rose here and there, giving signs that someone was home.

  Ronan guided the carpet up and up, passing over the front of the castle to the mountain behind. It was then Alana saw that the towers were carved from the rock face itself, making Ronan’s old home as much part of the mountain as its forest and ice-laden peak.

  A crag hung over the castle like a frowning brow crusted with icicles and stunted pines. Along its length crouched an enormous gray dragon. It was the biggest living thing Alana had ever seen, with softly shining scales that were as broad as dinner plates. Its huge, wedge-shaped head reared up as they approached, poised on a snakelike neck ridged with bony plates down its spine. At the sight of it—the great orange eyes and backswept horns—Alana forgot to breathe.

  Barleycorn had implied the dragons were dead. He’d clearly been wrong.

  The carpet touched down at the creature’s feet. Ronan leaped up before sweeping into a low bow. Thinking it best to follow his lead, Alana did the same. The dragon’s snout lowered, tendrils of smoke drifting from the wide nostrils. It sniffed Ronan, then Alana, but immediately returned to the genie. Then it gave a low, almost keening growl before butting Ronan with its nose. The gesture was affectionate, but also demanding.

  Ronan straightened, then bent his head in a show of respect. “Hello, Father.”

  Father? Alana must have made a noise, because both males turned her way. Ronan is a dragon! She’d guessed he was an air fae, but this was beyond her wildest imaginings.

  The implications crowded her mind. The great winged beasts were, literally and figuratively, at the very apex of the fae food chain. How, by the Wheel, had the Shades imprisoned a dragon? Her estimation of their power went up another frightening degree.

  “Father, may I present to you Alana Beech?”

  Alana made her best bow. Henry had taught her a few manners, along with how to punch someone in the throat. “I am honored, sir.”

  The dragon huffed softly.

  “Forgive my father’s lack of conversation,” a female voice said. “He has vowed to keep constant vigil over the land, so he remains in his beast form.”

  Alana looked over her shoulder to see a tall, dark-haired young woman standing in front of a heavy oak door that was set into the rock. Her gown of yellow silk fell in pleats to the ground. The silver-trimmed sleeves had a wide, bell-like hem that reached her knees and gave every gesture a look of measured elegance. The eyes that searched Alana’s face were the same near-black as Ronan’s.

  “Fliss!” Ronan exclaimed. His features froze, as if hiding uncertainty, and he remained poised mid-step until the young woman opened her arms. Then he rushed into her embrace, lifting her feet from the ground. “You’ve grown up!”

  “I should hope so,” she said lightly. “So, big brother, where have you been?”

  “Nowhere I treasured so much as home.”

  And then Fliss burst into tears, as sudden as a summer storm. “Oh, Ronan, you great wandering idiot, you wouldn’t believe what it’s been like here! I’ve needed you so much.” Her wrenching sobs tore a hole in Alana’s heart.

  With a loud scrabbling, the dragon slid from the ledge and sailed out of sight with one thundering beat of wings. Evidently, he had no patience for tearful reunions.

  In contrast, Ronan held his sister close, letting the sobs gradually quiet. When the two finally broke apart, Ronan seemed shaken. “I’m sorry, Fliss.”

  “Where were you?” she said with an angry sniff.

  “In the human realm.”

  “How did you get there for pity’s sake?”

  Alana held her breath, unsure what Ronan would say. His eyes met hers, and she saw the question written there. Alana nodded. She would go along with whatever path he took. This was his family.

  “Forgive me, Fliss,” Ronan began. “I will not tell you a lie, but I’m not ready to tell you everything that has happened. Ask me no questions, I beg you.”

  Fliss’s pretty face filled with disappointment, then suspicion. “Why not?”

  “Because that is the only way I can remain.”

  Fliss stood very still, her fingers curled into fists. Alana could almost see her thoughts—how she needed Ronan there, loved him, but didn’t understand his secrets. Eventually, she took a breath and tossed back her hair. “I’ll allow you a reprieve, brother, since you’ve just returned. But you owe me one answer right away.”

  Ronan’s brows lowered in a frown. “What would that be?”

  “You were gone forever,” Fliss said, defiance in her tone. “How did you get home again?”

  Ronan relaxed. “Alana was born on the other side of the Shimmer. She brought me back. Don’t ask her how she did it.”

  Fliss’s dark gaze flicked her way. Alana repeated her bow, feeling windblown and grubby beside the beautifully dressed female. Ronan and Fliss were clearly aristocrats, far above her in rank and wealth.

  “Then welcome to Highclaw Castle.” Ronan’s sister held out both hands. “And thank you for returning this rogue to us. I am Fliss, the troublesome younger sister.”

  That surprised a laugh from Alana. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  “Come inside,” Fliss said, gesturing to the oak door. “Unless, Ronan, you’d like to stay behind and fly patrol with Father?”

  Ronan glanced at Alana, a flash of panic in his eyes. Alana connected the dots—if he could have changed into dragon form, he would have. Corby—and everyone else who annoyed him—would have become an afternoon snack. The loss of his beast form was something he didn’t want his family to know. They had to improvise.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Alana said, taking Ronan’s arm possessively. “I’m afraid he takes after his father, at least in terms of making vows.”

  “Oh?” Fliss arched an eyebrow, curiosity plain on her face. “And what vow would that be?”

  Ronan’s expression said he was wondering as well. Alana’s mind blanked. “Um—he vowed he’d stay in this handsome form until,” she hesitated, smiling brightly to cover her confusion, “until I agree to marry him.”

  He gave a slight hiss of breath, so soft she only heard it because she stood so close. Marry him? By the Wheel, where had that come from? Oh right, one of those romance novels at the store. She lowered her eyes, not wanting to see Ronan’s face just in case she broke into panicked giggles. He’s a dragon, and I just threatened to marry him! No doubt he was regretting ever leaving his lamp.

  The thought summoned a rush of mortification. Alana’s cheek
s heated, but she straightened her spine to meet whatever came next.

  “You’re making him wait,” Fliss said. “Good for you. I can’t wait to hear the details.”

  Details?

  Ronan cleared his throat. “It’s a work in progress.”

  Fliss smiled, but Alana couldn’t tell how real that expression was.

  They passed through the oak door into a vaulted hallway carved into the mountain. Fliss led them down a spiral staircase that led to the main tower of the castle. Broad hallways, high and wide enough for an adult dragon, criss-crossed between vast, ornate chambers.

  If the outside of Castle Highclaw was dark and rough, the inside was its opposite. Everything was light and spacious. Pale marble lined the floor, while whimsical frescoes covered the ceilings with birds, butterflies, and endless sunlight. Tall windows glowed with panes of colored glass, and artwork hung in gold-leafed frames. Alana had heard stories of dragons and their hoards, but she hadn’t imagined their dens quite like this. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope of jewels.

  And then there were the people in the castle. Tidings of Ronan’s return spread with wildfire speed even as they walked, as if whispers traveled faster than their feet. Clearly Fliss wasn’t the only one happy to see him, because the news was greeted with shouts of happiness and applause wherever they passed. Many of the castle residents were tall like Fliss and Ronan, their features similar enough Alana guessed they were also dragons. Others had horns, wings, or other markings that showed they were from different fae tribes. Most striking were the tall young warriors who bowed low enough to sweep the ground. Alana overheard their whispers.

  “The son of the dragon has returned. I bet he’s going to clean house.”

  “Ronan is back. Now the Shades will pay.”

  “He led us to victory before. He’ll do it again.”

  They entered a salon filled with tables and chairs. It seemed to be a gathering place for military officers, both old and young, who played chess or sprawled in comfortable armchairs, holding goblets of wine.

  “Greetings, gentlemen,” Ronan called out as he barged in, cutting conversation off with one sharp glance. “If you would follow me, I would like a word.”

  Some stood instantly, others with reluctance or confusion on their faces. One continued to snore until Ronan prodded him with a foot. He snorted awake, astonishment evident, and jumped to his feet. “General!” Then he bowed. “My prince.”

  Prince? Alana stopped in her tracks. Apparently sensing her sudden dismay, Ronan turned and took her hand, but she didn’t budge. Ronan was the Prince of Bright Wing? That dragon outside is King Vass!

  “What’s wrong?” he asked in a murmur.

  “You’re a prince,” she whispered.

  “And I’m yours to command.” He tugged her forward. “Come on. These people are expecting a show.”

  One after another, the warriors fell into step behind Ronan, swelling their small party until a mob filled the castle’s echoing corridor. Alana’s wits scattered like a flock of pigeons, but she began to pick up on details—that some faces registered resentment of Ronan’s return, that cobwebs clung in corners, and there was a general air of chaos.

  She leaned close to Ronan. “Is there a queen?”

  His face tightened. “No. Dragons mate for life, and my mother passed during the war.”

  Alana had never been to a royal court, but she understood pack behavior. With the king dedicated to his vigil and no queen in residence, keeping order wouldn’t be easy. No wonder Fliss had been overjoyed to see her brother home.

  Ronan led the growing entourage into a massive hall where two thrones sat upon a carved dais. He ran up the steps of the dais to stand before them, his feet apart as if to challenge any who dared to question his place. In a moment, he’d made the shift from prodigal son to future monarch. The entire company fell to one knee—some fast, some slow, but there was none who defied him. Alana knelt with everyone else, impressed by Ronan’s ability to dominate the crowd with his presence.

  “As you can see, I’m back,” Ronan said after a long moment of silence. “I see some familiar faces, old friends, and a handful I regard as teachers and second fathers. But there are many new ones as well. Brave generations have risen to pick up the swords of those who fell during the conquest.”

  A cheer went up from the young men, and the hair rose along Alana’s scalp. As different as these fae of the air were from Alana, she knew fighters. Beneath the shout, she could hear the roar of battle.

  “In the years of my absence, I heard tell of High King Jorwarth’s final defeat, of the valiant defense by the fire fae, and of the terrible losses of the merfolk of the Outward Isles. The Wheel stands bare, a grave with nothing but wind and ashes. We could not blame the stranger who believes the Kingdom of Faery is lost.”

  The room was perfectly silent. Not even the sound of breathing disturbed the expectant quiet.

  “But we are not lost,” Ronan said, his voice rising with defiance. “Bright Wing defends the last fae kingdom of the Wheel! Our brothers and sisters of the earth, fire, and water will see our defiance and remember their freedom! We shall light the beacon atop the Wheel, and call the high king back to his throne!”

  Another roar shook Alana’s bones. She could feel the people of the castle drinking in his words like rain after a crippling drought. Ronan had barely begun talking, but that didn’t matter. They needed a real leader. They were afraid without him. As Fliss had done, a few had burst into tears.

  Swept up in the emotion, Alana cupped her hands around her mouth and whooped.

  “My friends,” Ronan continued, “we shall do more than hold our borders. We shall defeat the enemy. We shall break their power. Then we shall scour every last Shade from the realm!”

  He thrust a fist into the air, his eyes flashing with a fury that stole Alana’s breath. Her chest ached at the sight. He was a prince, no question. He held the room with an authority that only came from hard years of earning his people’s respect.

  He’d earned Alana’s in that moment. She knew, as only a warrior could, when a leader was willing to stand and die with his troops. Yes, she would fight for him and his mission.

  Except he wasn’t free. She was his owner—at least until she used that third wish. His true master—the very one Ronan wanted to fight—held the chains that bound him. How, by the name of all that was fae, did Ronan plan to pull this off?

  13

  “Oh, stuff me down a volcano and call me cooked,” Fliss said to Alana after Ronan’s speech was done. “You’re a mess.”

  Alana shrugged, not sure what to say. “I can wash off in the stable yard.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fliss said, grabbing Alana’s sleeve and towing her down the palace corridor. “Ronan requested I take charge of you. Believe me, when he gets that stubborn look, it’s easier just to say yes. You should know that if you are to be his mate.”

  Fliss was slight as a reed, but she was strong. Alana was soon trailing in her wake. His mate. She wished she’d never mentioned marriage. “I could use something to eat,” she conceded.

  “Right.” Fliss nodded, flipping dark curls over her shoulder. “What do you eat over on your side of the Shimmer? Are we likely to have it?”

  “Just keep it simple and we should be okay.”

  “No whole raw goats still warm from the meadow?” Fliss grinned at Alana’s expression. “The older dragons like their traditions, but I think we can rustle up some bread and cheese.”

  Alana was seventy percent sure Fliss was teasing.

  They stopped in front of an arched door. “This is the part of the castle where the family lives,” Fliss said. “This used to be my big sister’s room.”

  “Did she move away?” Alana asked.

  Fliss pressed her lips into a line. “There were nine of us children before the invasion. Ronan and I are the only ones left, and I’m afraid that amount of loss was more than our poor mother could take. It’s just
been Father and me for some time. If you truly brought Ronan home, we’re forever in your debt.”

  Alana couldn’t find words. Seeing her struggle, Fliss gave a lopsided smile. “Dragons don’t give up what’s theirs, regardless of the cost. Bright Wing held its land, and kept many of the farmers safe. That’s why we wear the crown.” Pushing the door open, she led the way inside.

  Alana stopped dead, her shoulder bag dropping to the carpet. “This is far too nice for just me.”

  The chamber was twice as big as her apartment, with a large balcony overlooking a view of the mountains. The ceiling was painted with a flight of pastel dragons, and in the center of the room stood a large bed hung with silk curtains and mounded with pillows. It was all beautiful, and it made Alana feel in dire need of a bath.

  “I could find you something in the dungeons, if you prefer,” Fliss said dryly. “But it’s a long flight of stairs back to the dining room.”

  “Sorry,” Alana said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—truly I don’t. It’s just more than I’m used to.”

  Fliss hopped up on the bed, swinging her feet. Just for the moment, she seemed very young. “So tell me, Alana Beech of the mortal realm, what are you used to?”

  Alana’s heart twisted at Fliss’s bantering tone. Her mind flashed to Tina, who’d been her only real female friend. She missed the inside jokes, the pep talks, and the junk food nights. Alana shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing as exciting as you, I’m sure. You’ve been running this castle.”

  “Almost.” Fliss fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “With Father otherwise occupied, keeping order with this lot is like herding a colony of feral cats. I’ve got the job done, but not without a lot of hissing and scratching and spraying the furniture.”

  “Not literally, I hope?”

  “Not quite.” Fliss turned her head without sitting up. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Hard work,” Alana said. “I’m used to hard work.”