Dragon Empress

Chapter 36

Valerion awaited her there, surrounded by a contingent of Imperial Guards. The moment he saw Keriya’s face, his scaled visage darkened.

“Leave us,” he told the soldiers.

“But my lord,” protested the captain, “we have orders to protect you—”

“I am a dragon who cannot die. I think your talents would be put to better use elsewhere.”

Though his tone was calm—even carrying a hint of humor—the guards flinched. The captain nodded curtly, motioning for her unit to return to the palace.

Once they were gone, Keriya trudged past Valerion into the hedges. He paced after her and Roxanne, since he was small enough to squeeze between the trimmed garden rows.

“Fletch, are you around?” Roxanne’s voice still had that unusual softness as she accessed the communications channel. “We’re in the back garden if you have a moment.”

Keriya couldn’t hear Fletcher’s response, because she couldn’t use her comms ring anymore. The part of the enchantment that transmitted others’ words to her ears was designed to draw power from her source. The magical block prevented any and all forms of telepathy.

Except from my bondmate.

Another flutter of emotion rippled through her. She couldn’t afford to think about that, not when she had duties to uphold and a war to win.

Keriya suspected Fletcher would be too busy to join them, but when she emerged in the circular center of the maze, she found him and Khyvette waiting. For some reason, seeing them ready and willing to help caused a dull ache in Keriya’s chest. Strength seeped out of her, and she sank to her knees at the edge of the ornamental marble circle.

Fletcher vaulted from Khyvette’s shoulder and hurried to kneel before her. Roxanne crouched by her side. A traitorous tear leaked from Keriya’s eye. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to shove down the scalding liquid brimming, the bottled screams building.

“Keriya,” Fletcher whispered, and that was her undoing. A broken sob forced its way through her teeth. Suppressed emotion burst forth, flooding the hollowness inside her. She put her face in her hands and wept.

“It’s alright.” Fletcher’s soothing voice floated toward her, as if from leagues away.

“Nothing’s alright. I’ve lost everything.”

Her magic. Her future. Her hope.

Viran. Thorion.

Shivnath.

All gone, thanks to Keriya’s mistakes.

Distantly she became aware of Fletcher murmuring words of comfort, of Roxanne rubbing her shoulder. She flinched away from them, jerking backwards on the mossy ground.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me. You shouldn’t even care about me.” Keriya paused, breathing hard. Guilt pressed against her ribs, straining to push free the awful truth that she’d hidden from her friends.

“Shivnath made me do something terrible in the Broken Vale.”

“Sounds like a Shivnath problem,” said Roxanne, crossing her arms, “not a you problem. The more I hear about her, the more I think she’s a psychopath.”

“Let’s maybe not say that too loudly,” Fletcher cautioned, though he ducked his head to hide a smile.

Keriya drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “If I hadn’t done it, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

“You can’t know that for sure. You did what you thought was right—”

“I didn’t! I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. And I’m sorry,” she whispered to them. “I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know.”

Fletcher clasped her hand. “We’ll get through this together, Keriya. I promise.”

He and Roxanne sat with her, their presences a shield against the horrors looming on the horizon. Valerion hunkered down behind her and Khyvette joined them, curling her body so the three small mortals were protected on all sides by gleaming scales.

For the first time since the gala, Keriya felt safe. A calm settled on her—not the numb detachment of hopeless resignation, but something closer to peace.

“Don’t you all have important things to do?” she murmured.

“This is important,” said Fletcher.

Another tear wormed its way from her eye. She did not deserve friends such as these.

“What would you do?” she asked him. “If you were in my place, how would you defeat Necrovar?”

Fletcher’s face fell. “I’m not sure I know enough about valemagic to answer that question.”

“Forget valemagic. I’m asking for ideas. You always make the right choices.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we can forget valemagic.” His violet gaze gleamed with regret. “I can’t help you now, Keriya.”

“Maybe not with magic,” said Roxanne, “but we can help fight. We’ve freed the Allentrian guardians. That should count for something.”

“And the legendary Valerion Equilumos has been resurrected once more,” said Khyvette, dipping her snout to the smaller male. He flashed a mirthless grin, rolling his single eye.

Fletcher squeezed Keriya’s hand. “If I could use valemagic to solve your problems, I would. I wish I was a better wielder, a true rheenar.”

“You are a—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, waving aside her protest. ”We each have to make do with what we have, and as long as we’re all together, I believe there’s hope.”

Keriya’s lips trembled. Somehow, even when things seemed darkest, Fletcher always knew what to say.

As she sat with her little family, she made a silent vow. She had learned her lesson in the Broken Vale. Magic or no, she’d do whatever it took to protect them.

They were the one thing she was not willing to sacrifice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE“You cannot help but hurt the ones you love.”

~ Brellis Bengale, Tenth Age

Fletcher was spread too thin. Every day presented a new challenge as Allentria braced against the anticipated darksalm attack. With the eyes of the world upon him, he couldn’t afford to show weakness.

he thought to Khyvette as he pulled on his riding gloves in the palace courtyard.

Khyvette replied. She stood at the base of the teleportal dais, allowing servants to do a thorough cleaning of her scales.

Did you? Fletcher couldn’t help but wonder privately. She’d been without emotion, unable to fathom the weight of caring about things. There was no way she, despite all her draconic wisdom, could have known how the war—and their bond—would affect her.

She lowered her head to look him in the eye. she thought, her mindvoice firm.

Fletcher leaned his brow against her snout, allowing himself a small smile.

A klaxon siren shattered the stillness of the morning, making him jump. Others joined it, wailing to life, their keening chorus echoing through the far-off skyscrapers. His stomach plummeted as he recognized the distinctive audio pattern.

He’d heard the same sirens when the Moorfainians had invaded Threl.

“We’re under attack!” he cried, breaking away from Khyvette to check the teleportal. Sure enough, the changemagic was boiling. Slowly, a desolate coastal city overlooking an ice-scabbed ocean shimmered into view. Flakes of wet snow fell thick and fast, obscuring the buildings, but there was no mistaking the explosions of necromagic at the base of the cliffs.

“It’s Oravel!” shouted a nearby servant, pointing.

Immediately, the courtyard descended into the barely organized chaos of battle prep. Fletcher drew himself up to his full height, ignoring the fear rising within him. He’d known this was coming—they all had—but he’d prayed to Shivnath that Allentria would have more time before the next attack.

Perhaps I prayed to the wrong god, he thought bitterly.

“Attention, all members of the World Alliance,” he said, willing his words to reach everyone. “Shadowtroops are attacking Oravel. Khyvette and I are going in, over.”

“Standby until you have reinforcements,” came the immediate reply from Commander-General Caelburn. “We’re sending a reserve battery from the Noryk garrison, over.”

Fletcher shared a glance with Khyvette.

She scowled but nodded, acknowledging Caelburn’s wisdom. At this point, entropy and exhaustion were just as deadly to her as shadowtroops.

As Fletcher watched the attack unfold, shaking with the effort of restraint, Danisan emerged from the crowd. The elf was dressed for war, black leather armor and headscarf in place, twin silver blades in his hands.

“Lumina Taeleia is on her way,” he announced. “She will serve as our healer.”

“Just her?” Fletcher’s stomach sank further. It had taken three mages to knit Khyvette’s wounds from the Port Cinder battle.

Danisan’s ears drooped. “We are undermanned again. Our army has divided itself across too many locations.”

“I know,” growled Fetcher, massaging an ache that was building in his temples. The World Alliance had stationed troops in every major city to guard against darksalm. Their forces were scattered to the winds. Perhaps yet another move the shadowtroops had anticipated.

Beyond the teleportal, a line of Imperials marched through the southern arched entrance, led by General Stormleaf. Everyone scrambled to clear a path for the approaching contingent.

Khyvette extended a foreleg for Fletcher and Danisan. Fletcher was about to clamber aboard when a bright flash drew his attention to the corner of the portal. He whipped off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, certain they were playing tricks on him.

“Seba?” he gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard your message on comms,” she croaked, shivering in a thin silk dress. Her hands trembled as she tucked away her enchanted switchblade. “I’m coming to Oravel.”

“You are absolutely not,” said Fletcher. “You’re not dressed for the cold or war.”

That was the easier, safer argument to make. The truth was that Seba looked awful. She was skin and bones—barely able to stand, let alone breathe.

“This is my kingdom!” She regained a hint of her old spark as she flung out an arm, indicating the coastal city. “It’s my duty to protect it.”

“As queen, you do that from the safety of your palace,” said Danisan.

“My capital city is empty, thanks to the Red Tide,” Seba retorted, fish-gill nostrils flaring not with anger, but with labored breaths. “Amanzi is in charge, organizing statewide defense from Irongarde as we speak. I’m coming.”

She made to stride through the portal. Quick as a wink, Danisan stepped in her way.

“Don’t even think about it,” she snapped. “Assaulting a member of one of the royal families of Allentria is still a crime.”

Danisan’s eyes narrowed. “I do not wish to hurt you. I merely wish to keep you well.”

“I’m already unwell, and there’s no helping that. And so help me Zumarra, if you try to stop me, I’ll have you arrested.”

They stood at odds for a moment, the hulking elf towering over the tiny queen in a silent battle of wills. In the end, Danisan conceded. He stood aside, muttering something under his breath that sounded distinctly like, “Humans are foolish.”

“Sebaris, we need a general stationed in Noryk to direct reinforcements,” said Khyvette. “You are the highest-ranked government official present, so you should oversee that.”

The dragon’s words quelled Seba at last. She gazed through the portal, flinching when necromagic struck the city. A gust of snow and debris blasted into Noryk, stinging Fletcher’s face.

“Company attention!” General Stormleaf’s voice boomed across the yard as the Imperials approached the far side of the portal. “Make ready!”

“That’s our cue,” said Fletcher. He shot one final look at Seba. Her momentary burst of energy had fizzled out. Now she swayed in the wind, watching Oravel with a bleak expression. Trusting that she would stay put, he scrambled onto Khyvette’s back with Danisan.

“Fletcher!”

He’d just settled in when the shout reached him. He jerked around to see Keriya and Valerion soaring toward him, descending from the palace peaks.

A great cheer rose from the Imperials. The servants sank into bows. Valerion’s miraculous return from the dead—again—had elevated his legendary status to unparalleled heights. The white dragon backwinged and landed amidst gales of applause. On his back, Keriya drew Sethildras.