Dragon Empress

Chapter 22

Fletcher sent the thought so forcefully that Khyvette jerked midair. She pulled away from the destroyers, and—

CRACK!

Black lightning sizzled through the sky, forking past her wings. She hissed and twirled in the air to face her new aggressor. Fletcher drew an arrow, though he had a suspicion it would be useless. Daemonion wielded regular darkmagic, not necromagic.

he thought, helping Khyvette narrow in on the pitch-black shadow.

he assured her.

An unnatural cold feeling leaked from Khyvette.

Fletcher didn’t have time to process what she’d said. The pitch-black shadow detached itself from the wall of dark fog, twisting in sinuous, wispy whorls. It coalesced in midair, becoming a familiar shape.

Panic slammed into him with crushing force.

“Earengale to everyone on comms, we need backup at Threl!” he cried. He didn’t care if it muddied the channel—they all had to know. “Ashétyn’s here!”

Ashétyn, cruelest of Necrovar’s servants. Ashétyn, who’d followed her master into the Etherworld during the Final Battle.

“Full report,” came Commander-General Caelburn’s voice.

“She materialized off the coast. I don’t think Khyvette can face her alone. Because of—of entropy.”

Now I am bonded. The dragon’s ominous words sank through him, curdling like sour milk in his stomach.

“You’re sure it’s Ashétyn?” Effrax chimed in.

“No question,” said Fletcher. “I saw her up close last year.”

I saw her get imprisoned in the Etherworld. She shouldn’t be here. How is she here?!

“The little rheenar and his lizard,” Ashétyn crowed, swooping through the skies to come within shouting distance.

Compulsively, Fletcher clenched his left fist. The shadowrash on his forearm had begun to prickle.

“I used to kill bonded pairs for sport,” the necrocrelai continued, l*****g her leathery lips with relish. “It was my favorite hobby.”

“I wasn’t aware you were capable of independent thought,” Khyvette sneered, darting east to position herself between the demon queen and the city.

“I am no mere shadowbeast. I am second-highest of the Severed Six! I am autonomous.”

“You’re a puppet, is what you are,” Khyvette shot back. “You’re little more than a puppet. Where is your master in all this?”

A feral grin split Ashétyn’s face. “With any luck, right behind me.”

Before Fletcher could do or say or even think anything, the skies erupted with black lightning.

Earth-shaking forks lanced between the cloudy heavens and eleven destroyers, sending the massive ships rocking. Shockwaves blasted forth, slamming into Khyvette. She tucked her wings as she spun toward shore, Fletcher clinging to her neck for dear life.

She righted herself, wobbling over Threl. Breathing heavily, Fletcher squinted out to sea, assessing the damage. Though the necromagical lightning had dissipated, shadowy forks still hung in the sky. Their wispy edges shimmered with black and white sparks.

A wave of unbridled terror flooded into him from Khyvette, more visceral than any feeling he’d ever received from his bondmate.

she thought.

Heart thundering, Fletcher scanned the warships.

she agreed,

“Earengale to Stormleaf,” he said, hailing the general. “We think Ashétyn was trying to summon Necrovar. She failed, but the Rift has widened over Threl, and Khyvette can’t be near it. Requesting permission to retreat, over.”

“Granted,” came the curt reply. Given Stormleaf’s raspy voice, Fletcher didn’t think the land battle was going well, either.

he thought.

Khyvette soared east, toward the open portal. Terrified screams rose from the city as she flew. Fletcher couldn’t bear it. He wanted to stay. He’d come this far because he wanted to help people.

The problem was, he no longer believed he could make a difference. Valemagic was the key to ending this war. All Fletcher had were silly words and empty promises of hope.

Khyvette hissed and pulled up short. Fletcher squinted through the smoke of war, trying to see what had addled her. On the grasslands beyond the city, Imperials battled daemonion. The portal shimmered on a hillock at the edge of the fray. Noryk was just visible within its confines, but snaking arms of otherworldly voidspace hung between them and their escape route.

thought Khyvette.

An echo of sensation shot through Fletcher as she embraced her source, but it wasn’t the warm, comforting energy he’d grown accustomed to. It felt like a phantom blade was cleaving his chest open.

“Khyvette!”

Being bonded to one of the most powerful creatures in the world had taught Fletcher quite a bit about magic. The phenomenon she described was no small thing.

he told her.

Her words seemed calm, but the agony in his chest told Fletcher that his bondmate was enduring t*****e. Fueled by panic, he did the only thing he could think of: he connected to his own source.

His glowing green fount of power sparked and sputtered when he grasped for it. Wielding was a natural life function, but it was more like a voluntary muscle group than an involuntary one. And like any muscle, if you didn’t use it enough, it atrophied.

Fletcher scooped out a handful of energy and clumsily threaded it toward Khyvette. He focused on her with all his might, willing her to be strong, to succeed.

“Stay with me,” he whispered in the language of the dragons.

She strained a few moments more, body shuddering, tail lashing. Then brightness engulfed them. Fletcher experienced the sensation of rapid expansion, followed by crushing contraction. When he slammed back into reality, he and Khyvette were elsewhere.

Windy plains rippled beneath them, stretching in every direction. Fletcher’s chest pain vanished, but his heart twisted anew when he saw how enervated Khyvette looked, how haggard and weak.

A terrible weight settled on his soul. Guilt swept through his veins, corrosive like acid.

Her mindvoice was soft, but a wall had risen between them, closing off her innermost thoughts. Whatever was going through her head, she didn’t want him to see.

She’s lying, he realized. Lying to make me feel better.

It was his fault. He’d poisoned Khyvette.

In bonding to him, she had weakened herself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN“Every victory is written in the blood of the defeated.”

~ Amanzi Caisu, Twelfth Age

Khyvette was lying to Fletcher.

Every day, she woke up and lived a lie. If he knew half the things she hid from him in the darkest parts of her mind, he would hate her.

“The shadowtroops have taken Threl and are pushing east,” said Commander-General Caelburn, striding back and forth in front of his cadre of generals. “Our objective today is to force them south, toward the Chasm and the coast. Lady Khyvette, are you prepared to helm the battalion?”

“Yes,” she heard herself say.

Another lie.

Caelburn gave her an approving nod. He turned, pacing on the trampled grass of the Erastatian plain where their army had camped. “We’ll avoid the Rift as best we can in our operations, but we have reports from all across Allentria that it’s widening. Our only hope is to drive the enemy out as quickly as possible.”

Khyvette wanted to tell the mortals it was a lost cause, but doing so at this point wouldn’t be helpful—it would simply be cruel. Even if the World Alliance managed to drive the Moorfainians and necrocrelai off the continent, the Rift would remain and continue to widen. They had entropy to thank for that.

And they had Shivnath to thank for the rise of entropy. The Dragon Empress had doomed Selaras with her dark enchantments, her secret schemes, her web of lies.

A growl of resentment simmered deep in Khyvette’s chest.

Fletcher asked.

But she no longer felt the calm, dispassionate certainty that had flowed through her veins when she’d been sovereign. In bonding to a mortal, she had become mortal. She’d surrendered her longevity, her immunity to the base magics. She’d willfully weakened her mind by allowing emotion to run rampant.

The worst side effect of bonding was that she could no longer wield her valemagic. Such was the decreed balance, the forced price. Also thanks to the Dragon Empress.

She silently cursed Shivnath as Fletcher clambered up her leg, though she knew this was one edict the Dragon Empress had not wielded out of treachery, spite, or pure evil.

A hundred-thousand years ago, Shivnath had used valemagic to save the dragons from destroying themselves. She had sewn it into their souls, unifying the kin via the hive-mind. She had also used it to disconnect them from their emotions.

This, ironically, was one decision Khyvette supported. Emotion caused hatred, selfishness, and irrationality—three things that did not mix well with valemagic. It was too dangerous a power for emotional beings to wield. In the hands of lesser creatures, it could destroy the world.

I am one of those lesser creatures now, Khyvette thought bitterly, stretching to limber her aching muscles as the first tendrils of dawn brushed the eastern sky.

“Generals, sound off!” cried Caelburn.

“Third Battalion, at the ready,” General Stormleaf replied from the point of the arrowhead formation.

“Healers, at the ready,” said Taeleia Alenciae, who led a battery of elves. Danisan stood with her, garbed head-to-toe in black, twin silver blades flashing in the torchlight.

“Odhonata fleet, at the ready,” cried Enwha.

The Ghoren Islanders had arrived overnight to lend aerial support. They had been Allentria’s staunchest ally since their arrival last year. Unlike many of the nations who’d shown up since, Enwha’s people sought not power, but justice. They’d heard Allentria was battling Moorfain, and they wanted to help stamp out the influence of the Black Temple.

“Sylphs and Flame’shikrim, at the ready,” called Roxanne. Effrax hovered close behind her—he’d insisted on following her to the battlefront.

“Dragon Speaker, at the ready!” Fletcher’s voice was strong, but Khyvette sensed his unease.

she thought.

She wasn’t yet sure if that was a lie. It wasn’t a question of motives—she would die before allowing her bondmate to suffer—but whether she had the ability to protect him was a different matter.

“Launch,” barked Caelburn.

Khyvette sprang from the ground. She flapped to gain altitude and leveled off a hundred heights above the division, peering west. Now that the sky was lightening, she could pick out pitch-black bands against the clouds—the ever-widening Rift.

It pulled at her, even from this distance. Spectral claws snaked around her soul, tugging gently, tempting her near while whispering promises of horror.

she lied, moving her consciousness close to Fletcher’s in advance of battle.

A bugle sounded, indicating their enemy was on the move. Khyvette spotted shadows racing east across the ground. The shadows solidified into daemonion. The chimerical creatures galloped forward, spurred by human masters who hid safe behind enemy lines.

Irrational instinct seized her. Khyvette longed to wield against the demons, but she was there solely to fight Ashétyn. The necrocrelai queen was Allentria’s most powerful and dangerous opponent. And Khyvette, as Allentria’s most powerful and dangerous defender, was the only one who could keep her at bay.

She banked past the daemonion, rising on a chilly wind. Behind her, the odhonata fleet buzzed in formation. Ghoori riders attacked the demons with arrows and earthmagic, thinning the enemy ranks.