Golden Crown

by M. Lynn

  Etta took off running, needing to get to the gates. Her feet picked up speed, and she launched herself across the gully, barely coming up short of the other side. She slammed into the edge and grappled for something to hold on to, using her magic to call forth vines. As she climbed to the surface, Draconian eyes followed her. No one made a move against her as she pulled herself to her feet, not bothering to draw her sword. Her magic was all she needed.

  There was a rumble from the direction of the palace as the earth groaned and shifted. Still, no one struck. She walked through the gaggle of enemy soldiers to reach the wall. The gatehouse was still a fair distance away, and she knew what she had to do.

  She found a set of steps to the top of the wall. It had been abandoned even before the battle. She pounded up the steps, ascending to the top of Dracon.

  Tear it all down, her magic begged. Unleash the Basile wrath.

  She reached the top of the wall. On one side were Belaens and Draconians still trying to figure out how to cross the divide to resume the fight. On the other side, two armies faced off with a tiny force in the middle. That would be Ara.

  From the direction of the mountains, the larger part of the Madran Mercenary army came into view.

  And then there was the other force.

  He came. A small part of her still held on to the Gaulean king, but any love for him or joy or worry was hidden beneath the rage of her magic.

  She crouched down, laying her hands upon the rough stones protecting Dracon.

  She clenched her jaw and sweat poured down her face as she battled for control. Her throat constricted before an explosion in her chest pushed heat down her limbs. Magic pulsed out of her. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall shook. She steadied herself and poured every ounce of power she had remaining to bring this kingdom to its knees. This was her final vengeance. This was what the power wanted.

  Destroy.

  Crush.

  Bring the barrier down.

  The wall undulated, the stones rising and falling with each pulse of magic. Yet she kept going. It would have all of her. When the wall started to break, the section she stood on tilted forward, the ground beneath it moving in sync with the beat of her magic, preparing to swallow it whole.

  Her feet left the ground as the rocks sailed through the air and the wall of Dracon crumbled to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty

  “They’re moving into position,” someone called. At this point, Alex wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to. He and his entirely too small force of Gauleans had been riding hard for days with very little time for rest and still, they may have arrived too late.

  The ground shook beneath his feet. Etta. Or La Dame. Only they would have that kind of power.

  He sent out a prayer that Etta was okay.

  “Alexandre.” Amalie pushed her horse up beside him. When he didn’t answer, she tried again. “Your Highness.”

  Yes, that was right. He wasn’t a king any longer. He glanced behind him. Yet these people continued to follow him.

  “Alex,” Ara’s voice rang in his ears. “Please tell me that’s you.” His eyes jerked to the small group of soldiers standing between the two forces. As if sensing his questions, Ara kept going. “Etta is inside the walls. I’ve reached out to her but have received no response.”

  “We have to get to Ara.” Alex turned to Amalie. “Are you prepared for this?”

  “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.” Her eyes drifted to the walls of Dracon. “If Etta is in there, it means Tyson is as well. We have to help them.”

  Alex lingered for a moment, watching the girl who’d once been his betrothed. She was no longer the shy flower of the Leroy family. They were all hardened now, and he wondered if any of them would be able to find their way back to who they’d been before.

  “Let’s move.” He kicked his horse, leading his troops from the relative safety of their position. “Horn.”

  The horn of Gaule pierced the air. Who was the other force? They could be non-magic mercenaries or Draconians who would defeat them easily. But now they’d know the once-king of Gaule was coming for them.

  A volley of arrows arced toward them but fell short of their thundering horses as they neared Ara’s position.

  Alex jumped from his horse and ran to greet her.

  “I am beyond glad to see you, your Majesty,” she said, a relieved smile tilting her lips.

  He wouldn’t correct her just now. There’d be time for that later.

  “We’ve moved out of range,” she said. “But they’re preparing to press forward. The queen needed me out here to watch for surprises and alert them. I’ve been telling them to get those gates open, but her Majesty might not be able to receive my messages. She might be—”

  “Don’t,” Alex grunted. “There’s no time to think like that. Not when La Dame lies beyond those walls and we don’t know who we face here.”

  “It’s Madran mercenaries. If they were Draconians, they’d be able to reach us with their magic. Plus, La Dame is probably surrounding herself with the more powerful fighters.”

  Alex scratched the back of his neck. That was good news then.

  Ara continued. “I don’t have many magic folk. Etta couldn’t spare them. She left me with a contingent of Madran soldiers.”

  He tried to push all worries of Etta, Edmund, and Tyson from his mind but as he lifted his eyes to the wall, he saw her.

  Etta was unmistakable with her blazing golden hair.

  “What is she doing?” Amalie asked.

  Alex didn’t answer, too relieved to see her there and alive. There was something different about her, he could tell even at this distance. It was almost as if an aura of magic surrounded her, distorting the air.

  Ara grinned. “She heard me.” She met Alex’s gaze. “She’s bringing down the wall.”

  A boom burst through the air and Etta rose up with the wall beneath her before it slammed back to the ground. It cracked and broke apart at the base, happening in slow motion. All they could do was watch as Etta was thrown forward.

  Alex waited for her to use her power to stop her descent, to save herself. That moment never came. She rushed to meet the ground, stones large and small raining down around her, burying her in the rubble.

  Alex didn’t think before jumping back into his saddle and jerking the reins around while digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. They took off with the speed of an arrow, loosed expertly toward its target.

  Draconians rushed through the fallen wall and Alex yanked his bow free from where it was hooked behind him. Drawing an arrow was as easy to him as drawing a breath. He fired in rapid succession as he neared the place where she’d fallen.

  He didn’t hear his force thundering after him or the Madran mercenaries joining in the rush toward the center of Dracon. All he heard was the twang of his bowstring and the steady drumming of his horse’s hooves.

  When he loosed his last arrow, he pulled his sword free and jumped from the horse without bothering to pull him to a stop.

  He’d never claimed to be skilled with a sword, but no one could stop him from getting to her.

  His soldiers’ arrival turned the tide of the battle as they bolstered the Belaen spirits. By the time they were embroiled in the fight, magic had been drained from Belaens and Draconians alike.

  He caught sight of the familiar form of his brother, cutting his way through entire hordes of men to get to the wall. Matteo and Edmund held each other up as they fought one handed.

  Tyson reached Alex, his eyes flicking to the piles of stones. None of them could see Etta.

  “La Dame is dead,” Tyson confirmed breathlessly. “Etta killed her.”

  Alex barely heard his words. “Where is she? I saw her fall.” His eyes drifted to the canyon that now stretched far into Dracon. He shook his head. “No.”

  Tears shone in Tyson’s tired eyes and Amalie moved closer to him. As they stood still, their worlds falling apart, the battle co
ntinued to rage around them.

  “La Dame is dead.” Ara’s voice fell around each soldier—Belaen, Draconian, Madran. “The queen of Dracon is dead. Throw down your weapons. There is no more reason for our fight.”

  Alex turned from the dead-strewn battlefield as weapons were thrown down.

  “They’re doing it,” Tyson said in surprise, his voice choked.

  “Of course they are.” A man Alex didn’t recognize said. “Without La Dame, there is no one to pay the Madran mercenaries. And with her gone, the Draconians are free.”

  Dazed men and women drifted across the broken city. Buildings lay in ruins, roads were cracked, and right at the center was a dark pit that had stolen everything.

  Everything. That’s what Etta was. She was the reason Alex hadn’t fought for his crown.

  She was the queen who’d made her people believe again.

  “We can’t tell them,” Ara said quietly, her eyes drifting to the exhausted Belaen warriors who were now checking their dead. “Some will have seen, but we can’t… not yet.”

  Alex walked away without another word, back through the rubble of the fallen wall and away from everything he’d thought he could save.

  Persinette Basile wasn’t someone you could hold on to. She wasn’t someone who could be saved.

  He’d known it and yet…

  His foot slipped on a pile of tiny rocks and he fell, his butt slamming into the ground. He knew he should still be on guard. He wasn’t an idiot. The Draconians were still the enemy—maybe… hell, no one knew what they were without La Dame.

  But he didn’t care.

  He bent his knees and rested his elbows on them, letting his chin dip to his chest as people streamed by. The chaos of battle hadn’t ended, only shifted to something else, and he got lost in it.

  When Etta thought she was losing him, she’d found magic within herself to prevent that fate. But he had no magic. He couldn’t change this.

  She’d accomplished everything she’d set out to do. La Dame would no longer terrorize the world. Dracon was defeated.

  But so were they.

  They’d lost because she was lost.

  Persinette wasn’t only the Belaen queen, she was his. He would have followed her anywhere.

  A warm nose nudged the side of his face and he lifted his eyes to familiar brown ones. “We lost her, boy.”

  Vérité snorted and stomped his foot.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex whispered before narrowing his eyes in accusation. “Where were you? You’re supposed to protect her.”

  It didn’t escape his notice that for once, Vérité wasn’t trying to bite him. In this sorrow, they were together.

  Vérité kicked again.

  “I’m sorry.” He buried his face in his hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He’d always thought it was weird that Etta talked to a horse and now he found himself doing the same thing. If only he could figure out what those intense eyes were trying to tell him.

  Vérité bared his teeth and lowered his head to catch the edge of Alex’s chain mail between them and tugged.

  Alex snapped his head up. “What?”

  Vérité tugged again.

  It was a foolish hope, but hope was a foolish emotion and he wanted nothing more than to give into it, so he jumped to his feet. Vérité snorted and started walking back into Dracon.

  Edmund and Tyson called out to Alex, but he ignored them and kept going.

  Vérité stopped at the side of the canyon and stomped his foot. When Alex didn’t move, he stomped it again.

  Alex couldn’t see over the edge so he got to his knees and leaned out farther, trying not to lose his balance. The first thing he saw was the golden hair. It no longer glowed, but it still called to him. Etta was pressed to the side of the canyon with thick vines crossing her back, keeping her from falling.

  Etta’s eyelids slid open against their will. The blackness pulled her toward its peaceful nothingness.

  No.

  She wouldn’t give in.

  When she came back to herself, she was suspended over a wide-open hole. A hole she’d created. She didn’t know what was happening above but the last few moments came back to her. She’d taken down the wall and given all the magic she had left. It had rushed out of her and then she was falling, unable to call it back.

  With the last bit of power she could summon, she’d brought forth the vines. It was the most basic of her magic, not a part of the Basile power. Making things grow was only her, just Etta. It had seemed right for that to be the last thing she ever did.

  She hadn’t expected to wake. Not when she’d drained herself so completely.

  Someone called to her, but the voice seemed far away.

  “Etta.”

  It was like waking from a dream. She remembered it all. Every person she’d slain. The charred, broken body of La Dame. The harsh words she’d spoken. But they didn’t feel like her memories. The rage and the hate weren’t her emotions.

  For the first time since the Basile magic coursed through her, her mind was truly clear. She knew who she was. She was the queen of Bela. She was Persinette Basile. But most of all, she was still Etta.

  Reaching up, she grabbed onto the vines holding her and pulled. Her magic released.

  The vines pulled her up to the lip of the ravine and she prepared to rejoin the battle, with her sword, not her magic, pulling it free of its scabbard.

  Her vision cleared and two faces looked down on her. Chocolate eyes scanned her face. Her best friend. Vérité shook his head, his mane flopping to the side.

  The second was a face she never thought she’d see again, and it felt as if she was seeing him for the first time. There was no curse holding them together and no magic keeping them apart. She reached the top, and he held out his hand. She took it without hesitation and allowed him to pull her the rest of the way up. He fell back on his knees clutching her to him. She let herself sink into his embrace as she tentatively ran her fingers over his jaw and down to his chest.

  A throat cleared behind them and for the first time, she saw something other than Alex. The battle no longer roared with its ugly song. People wept alongside fallen friends. Others tried to gather themselves and get far from this tainted place.

  Tyson rushed forward and dropped down next to Etta, wrapping his arms around both her and Alex.

  “We thought you were gone.” His voice clogged with tears.

  As the memories assaulted her, she knew he didn’t just mean after the wall fell.

  “I was,” she whispered. “I—” She sucked in a breath and buried her face in Alex’s shoulder. “It took control of me.”

  Tyson nodded in his too-understanding way. “But you did it. La Dame is gone. You beat her.”

  Etta shook her head. She could picture the woman’s final moment, but she wouldn’t truly believe it until she saw her palace empty. She pushed away from Alex and tried to stand. Her legs were too weak, but he jumped up to steady her.

  “I need to see it,” she pleaded.

  He led her to Vérité. The horse took a moment to nuzzle her before Alex lifted her into the saddle. He climbed up behind her and she directed him toward the palace.

  The grand home of La Dame built into the side of the mountain now lay as broken as the rest of the kingdom. The doorway was all but collapsed, with only a small opening. They left Vérité outside and climbed over fallen pillars and past the image of Rapunzel.

  Etta hoped she’d done her ancestor proud. Rapunzel was the first to defy La Dame when she let Phillip spirit her away. Persinette was the last to defy her. Maybe that was why her father had given her such a powerful name. It didn’t mean much to Etta, but it would to the Draconians. Maybe it would allow for peace.

  Etta had never been trained to break the curse. Her father told her it couldn’t be done. She’d thought that meant he didn’t believe in her. Maybe giving her the name Persinette was his way of showing her what he’d feared she’d been meant for. Maybe
he’d had faith in her after all.

  Etta’s legs strengthened with each step she took, her energy returning to her. It wasn’t the same as the Basile magic, but if all she had left was the Basile determination, she’d take it.

  The doorway to the treasure room was still intact but the room itself was in disarray. Shattered glass, scattered prizes, and a single body.

  When Etta peered into the home of her family’s greatest enemy, she only felt sorrow. La Dame’s curse destroyed Bela and imprisoned generations of Basiles, but in the end, Etta saw her for what she was. A lonely woman who’d been twisted by magic.

  Etta had a taste of it. The Basile magic had been too much. That much power wasn’t meant to be held by one person. It only created anger and hatred. When she’d taken La Dame’s power into her as well, it destroyed everything she was. The dark Draconian magic warred with the Basile until they crushed each other, almost taking Etta with it.

  Never again.

  That power was gone, released into the atmosphere. Drained from Etta. In the throes of her rage, she’d used too much magic at once and it had saved her life.

  Tearing her eyes from the spot she’d taken the only thing La Dame truly cared about—her magic, Etta caught sight of a flash of dark curls.

  “Maiya,” she said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The young girl appeared, her hands clasped behind her back and her lip between her teeth.

  Alex narrowed his eyes, but Etta put a hand on his arm. She was tired of animosity.

  “Come here.” It wasn’t a demand, but Maiya took it as such. “Is your mother…”

  “Dead,” Maiya confirmed, no remorse in her voice.

  “I see.”

  Maiya dropped to her knees as tears spilled from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Etta, I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You will call her by her title,” Alex barked.

  “Alex.” Etta sighed. “Please. No more anger. Let her speak.”

  “Thank you, y-your Majesty,” she stuttered. “I didn’t know my mother. That was true. And my father didn’t have a choice. La Dame was threatening me.”