Dragon Empress

Chapter 20

Keriya shrieked. The rock ripped her skin apart, burrowing into her like a parasite. She reached up to yank it away, but as soon as her hands touched it, the rock latched onto them, too. Agony erupted on her fingertips. Starving, greedy, vicious strands of stone dug into her, devouring her flesh as they moved.

She screamed and flailed, trying to rid herself of the leaden rock to no avail. It spread across her body, infecting her. Soon there was no part left of her that was flesh and blood . . . but once she was made of earth, the real pain began. Diamond shards of earth-threads pierced her magicsource. The pain redoubled as the rock attacked her soul.

Keriya cried stone tears and screamed stone words. She begged Shivnath for mercy. She begged Shivnath to stop.

Just when she thought she could take no more, the pain faded. She inhaled a gasping breath, and it was not tortured, not drawn into a pair of granite lungs.

The rock receded from her body. She assumed she was b****y and broken beyond repair, but when she cracked open her eyes, her skin was smooth and intact. She lay on the ground of the canyon, ragged and limp. Her limbs trembled from the trauma.

“Now you understand,” said a distant voice. Shivnath stood on a promontory, staring down at her.

“Is it over?” Keriya managed.

“Yes—for earth. We begin again with the next magic.” Shivnath’s voice was as hard and unforgiving as the earth that had assaulted Keriya. “Are you ready?”

Keriya refused to be this weak. She refused to give in after one element. This was part of the process. She would suffer pain to gain power. But . . .

“Could I have some time to rest?”

“I told you once the process begins, I cannot stop without causing irreparable damage. Stand up. You are stronger than this.”

Biting back a moan, Keriya shoved herself upright. Being beaten during her training with the Xamarai hadn’t broken her, and neither would this.

As she steadied herself, she noticed a calm pool of glistening water had appeared for her. She staggered toward the liquid, grateful for Shivnath’s offering. At the edge of the pool she collapsed to her knees and bent to drink from its cool, inviting depths. Sweet and deliciously pure, the water slid down her parched throat.

Then it began choking her.

Liquid tendrils shoved into the lining of her esophagus. Too late, Keriya realized her mistake. She coughed and clawed at her neck. Her stomach tried to reject the water she’d drunk, because it was boiling, evaporating her from the inside out.

The pool swarmed to life, wrapping her in its embrace like a spider wraps a fly. She struggled in vain as water flowed over her mouth and nose, drowning her. That water turned to ice, and the ice was burning hot, and the sharp point of an icicle was piercing every molecule of her body.

She writhed in torment, slowly melting into a puddle. The sensation was more frightening than painful, as it reminded Keriya of the times she’d overextended herself and begun to unravel.

Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew Shivnath wouldn’t let her die. Still she yelled, begging Shivnath to stop. The only sounds she produced were watery gurgles.

After an eternity of pain, Keriya solidified. Her body’s magicthreads knit together. The water drained away, leaving her coated in nothing but her own, cold sweat.

“Keriya?”

She let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a sigh. The water hadn’t been that bad; she had been through worse, hadn’t she?

Had she? This was unlike anything she’d suffered at Necrovar’s hands.

“Keriya, get up,” Shivnath said in a soft voice.

“Can’t,” she moaned.

“You must.”

Air kissed Keriya’s face. A gentle current wrapped around her and lifted her to her feet. Her heavy eyelids flew open in terror. She tried to break from the air’s caress, but it constrained her. Its soft touch turned into a deadly embrace.

“No,” she screamed. “Let me go! Stop!”

The air crushed her, smothering her pathetic pleas. Keriya was sure her chest would burst and her body would break. She couldn’t beg for mercy, because there was no room for her lungs to expand and draw breath.

The pressure broke. Air sliced her skin, split her bones, shoved organs and muscles and blood out of its way as it sought her source. It cut into her soul with the force of a hurricane. Keriya wished the intensity of the torment would knock her senseless, but she did not feel the comforting black caress of unconsciousness—only the fierce red claws of agony.

Even when the air relinquished her at long last, the memory of that agony lingered.

Part of her hated Shivnath. Another part of her knew Shivnath was doing this for her own good, at her own behest. Yet another part of her, a small, dark voice in her head, recalled Necrovar’s words: Everyone betrays you in the end.

Fast on its heels, Shivnath’s advice slithered through her soul: You cannot trust anyone.

“Keriya,” a voice whispered, “get up.”

Keriya knew what was next. The element she’d once feared, the element that had caused her to hurt first Effrax, then Viran.

“No,” she wheezed into the dust. She was sprawled on the canyon floor, lying face-down where the air had dumped her.

“I will not listen to your protests. I can’t. The process must continue, or your soul will unravel.”

The ground shook as something heavy landed behind Keriya. The vibrations sent jolts of dull lightning through her spine. Shivnath appeared in her field of vision. The Dragon Empress’s eyes glowed a horrible shade of black.

“This is one of the most important magics for you to learn,” said Shivnath. “You owe it to this element. You owe it to yourself.”

Nausea rippled through Keriya. Memories of the Aerian practice of burning witches flashed through her head. It was almost enough to make her vomit, but some hidden vestige of inner strength prevailed. She managed to rise, though her heart trembled with cowardice.

Shivnath blinked, and a small flame burst into life before Keriya. Upon seeing it, instinct claimed her. She turned to run. The fire grew, blocking her escape, creating a wall. A towering inferno spread to entomb her in its center.

A crackling roar filled Keriya’s ears. Heat distorted the air and blistered her skin. The fire was waiting, making her suffer before it struck. The calm before the storm—but she knew this storm would be far worse than anything she could ever imagine.

“Come on,” she screamed, blinking against the impossible heat. She shuddered with tearless sobs. A wild, hysterical laugh escaped her. “Come and get me!”

And the fire struck.

She was melting again, but this time she was liquid flame. The fire was cruel; it began consuming her feet and worked its way up. It burned off her clothes. It was strong enough to pick her up and hold her, suspended above the canyon, perpetually tormenting but never killing.

She wished she could die.

“No,” she shrieked. “Shivnath, stop! I can’t take anymore!”

Neither Shivnath nor the fire seemed to care. They didn’t understand that Keriya wouldn’t survive the pain this time.

Her mind, which refused to lose consciousness, sought other avenues of escape. She hallucinated. She saw Thorion, Viran, Roxanne, Fletcher. She cried out for each of them, but they ignored her.

All except Fletcher. He paused and tilted his head.

“Fletcher!”

Miraculously, Fletcher turned. His form wavered in the fire as he took a hesitant step toward her. Even if he was a hallucination, his mere presence was a blessing.

“Keriya? What’s happening to you?”

“Help,” she sobbed, her sinews snapping, her flesh evaporating, her bones turning to ash. “She’s destroying me!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN“I have no desire to rule and no delusions that I deserve to.”

~ Maxton Windharte, Twelfth Age

Fletcher’s eyes flew open and he sat up in bed, cold sweat beading on his brow.

“Just a nightmare,” he whispered.

He’d slept in the Imperial Eyrie, an outpost north of the palace intended to house rheenarae. Wishful thinking on the Allentrians’ part—they’d hoped more dragons would have bonded with mortals by now—but the deserted quarters gave him and Khyvette some much-needed privacy. A dozen cavernous rooms graced the building, each appointed with sleeping places for both a dragon and a human.

Khyvette lifted her head from her mossy boulder bed. “Fletcher? Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He donned his glasses with shaking fingers. “Had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“You dreamed of Keriya,” she murmured. “I did, too.”

“My nightmare must have spilled over into your—”

“All the kin heard her cry.”

His mouth suddenly felt parched—a reminder of the stifling heat in the dream. Rolling off his mattress, he said in a voice of forced calm, “What does that mean?”

“It is a good sign, I suppose, in that it means Keriya is alive,” said Khyvette. “But that vision . . . I saw her burning in endless fire. I fear for her. I fear for Selaras.”

A wave of cold, sluggish dread rolled through Fletcher.

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “What I meant to say was that Keriya is resilient and strong enough to face whatever happens in the Broken Vale. I’m sure she’ll be back in no time.”

“You know I can see your thoughts, right?” said Fletcher, smoothing the front of his sleep-rumpled uniform.

Khyvette’s ears drooped. “I thought a lie might make you feel better.”

He crossed their room, offering a hand to her. She gently bumped her snout against his outstretched palm.

Hidden worries and images seeped into his head alongside her thoughts. He patted her scales, sending her waves of comfort.

They leaned against each other for a peaceful moment, but the peace was not to last. Fletcher’s wristwatch chimed seven, and he groaned.

“Time to start the day,” he said, grabbing his quiver from its hook on the smooth stone wall.

No longer could they frivolously teleport. With entropy on the rise and the weight of a nation on Khyvette’s shoulders, they had to pick their battles. So it was that they ascended to the eyrie launchpad and returned to the palace by air.

They landed on the dew-soaked lawn outside the eastern wing. Fletcher vaulted from her back, and together they approached the teleportal dais. Droves of healers and soldiers tromped across the great cobblestone courtyard, carrying supplies between the palace and the gated exit leading to midtown Noryk.

Where once Khyvette would have been greeted with courteous bows and obsequious comments, now mortals passed in silence, shooting the two of them dark looks.

thought Khyvette.

Fletcher didn’t respond. Caught between his loyalty to Khyvette and his desire to help his people, there was nothing he could say. Valemagic could have solved all their problems . . . yet valemagic, it seemed, had caused all those problems, too.

His spirits lifted when he saw Danisan awaiting them on the dais, standing beside a stack of wooden crates.

“You look ill,” said Danisan, holding out a clawed hand to Fletcher. “What can I do to help?”

“You’re doing it.” Fletcher drew the elf into a hug. “Just by being here, you’re helping.”

Yet Danisan’s presence reminded him of who was absent.

“It feels like it’s always me,” he murmured into Danisan’s chest. “I’m the one who has to take on every responsibility. I just want to live my life and be happy.”