Dragon Empress

Chapter 11

With that, she swept out of the labyrinth.

Keriya drank the water, but didn’t follow Belbreeze. She wandered deeper into the maze. Crisp air stung her nose. Snow gathered on her lashes and melted on her warm cheeks. In the merciful silence, her nerves settled.

“I’ve decided I hate parties,” she informed a topiary that had been trimmed into the shape of a dragon. Squinting at it in the ethereal light, it looked familiar. It might be Valerion. Or Thorion.

Or Shivnath.

Keriya’s heart stuttered and she looked down, rejecting the flood of memories.

“All those people,” she told the shrubbery’s roots. “I thought they were being nice, but that last oaf? He touched me like he thought he owned me. He was talking about marriage and child-bearing and . . . and . . .”

And it finally clicked. Keriya saw a truth that she, in her naivete and inexperience, had determinedly overlooked. In a blink, the whole gilded affair became clear—every ugly nook and cranny of it.

“They’re lying to me,” she breathed, glaring toward the golden haze of the gala.

“They’re courting you.”

Keriya jumped and whirled at the sound of the familiar voice. Sebaris Ishira Wavewould, Queen of the Galantasa, was emerging from the deeper parts of the maze. It made sense for the young queen to be in attendance—everyone who was anyone was here tonight—but Keriya hadn’t seen her in weeks. Months, come to think of it.

Seba’s cobalt-blue hair fell in pretty curls around her heart-shaped face. She looked a little less frail than when Keriya had seen her last, but considerably more tired. Shadows underscored her narrow sapphire eyes, and her cheeks were pale.

“Seba. How’ve you been?” said Keriya.

“I spent some time in the northern nereid colony. Being in the water helped.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Awkward silence stretched for several moments. Before she could stop herself, Keriya blurted, “What did you mean about the courting?”

“You’re far too dangerous to be left to your own devices.” Seba settled on a nearby marble bench. “You didn’t expect the Imperial Government would let you run around doing whatever you please forever, did you?”

Keriya didn’t know what she’d expected. She was a guest in this world. Worse than that, she was an imposter. A peasant playing pretend at palace life.

“They fear your power, since power corrupts. They also love your power, because you are valuable,” Seba went on. “You can be used to cement political ties with powerful countries.”

This much, Keriya understood. In Jidaeln, the dynast had wanted Viran to ‘ingratiate himself’ to her. He’d sought to arrange their marriage.

“They want to auction me off to some stranger so Allentria can have a new alliance?”

“Something along those lines.”

Keriya’s fingers trembled, twitching for a sword that the palace staff had f*******n her to bring to such a genteel occasion. “They have no right to meddle in my personal business. Isn’t it enough that I’m going to kill Necrovar? What about that? Where’s a marriage going to fit in that?”

“You can do both,” said Seba. “They’ll make sure of it. And if you can’t kill the Shadow when he returns . . . they’ll make sure you have heirs.”

“Excuse me?”

“Children. More members of the Equilumos bloodline.”

Keriya’s stomach flopped. It was suddenly hard to breathe. A suffocating something was settling on her, heavier than anxiety. And cold, so very cold, dousing the flames of fury.

“That’s the weight of the crown,” said Seba, eyeing her sidelong.

“I don’t have a crown.”

“You have power, which comes to the same thing. Responsibility and duty to your people.”

Keriya made one last, desperate grab for righteous indignation. “They aren’t my people.”

“If you believed that, I doubt you’d have done all you did.” Seba’s fish-gill nostrils fluttered in a silent sigh. “Now you’ll do this, because Allentria needs alliances.”

“But . . . I’m with Viran,” said Keriya, knowing it was not, and would never be, the sort of excuse anyone cared about.

“Love doesn’t matter in politics. Only the trading and gambling of power.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Surprisingly, this elicited a laugh from Seba. “It might not be so bad. I had an arranged marriage. It was all politics at first, but—”

She cut herself off with an odd choking noise. Keriya tensed. They’d sailed into dangerous waters, landing on a touchy subject for both of them.

Seba was supposed to have married Maxton Windharte, heir to the Cloud Throne of the Erastate.

“I’m sorry,” Keriya murmured. “You loved him.”

“I thought I did. He made a promise, and I thought that promise would mean something.”

Keriya had no idea what to say to this. Her thoughts soured now that they were speaking of Max—but she would keep a civil tongue, because Seba had cared for him. And though he’d wronged Keriya, he certainly hadn’t deserved to die the way he did.

“I keep having the same dream.” Seba’s broken whisper sliced through Keriya’s wine-drenched thoughts. “The same horrible nightmare. I keep seeing him dying, over and over. A black sky above. A glowing river below. Moss sprinkled with blood-red flowers. Max on the ground, dead.”

Keriya, who felt like she was shifting her weight onto the thinnest part of a frozen pond, whispered, “That’s the past, Seba. He’s gone.”

Seba twitched. “He’s gone. He forgot me—and to move forward, I must forget him.”

Keriya cast around for something, anything to say. She longed to speak of lighter things, but she could think of nothing good.

“You should get back to the party,” said Seba. “It’s you they’re here to see.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Keriya thought of the man who’d grabbed her. She thought of the way they all looked at her, hungry for power, desperate to use her.

But many of these people did need help. This was her war, and she couldn’t run from it. Not when Allentria was depending on her. Not when there were dragon eggs that needed protection.

She groaned and turned toward the gala.

“That’s the spirit,” said Seba.

“Gods damn it all,” Keriya muttered. “Why am I like this?”

“The weight of the crown,” Seba repeated. “The more you care, the heavier it sits.”

CHAPTER SIX“In fleeing destiny, you submit to it.”

~ Tortavan Proverb

Keriya suffered through the remainder of the gala, playing her part. Now that she understood her role in Belbreeze’s schemes, everything that had happened since the first overseas vessels had arrived took on a new and sinister shine.

At midnight, bells rang from all of Noryk’s towers. Fireworks exploded across the sky, painting the snowy clouds with a rainbow of color. Glittering motes descended on the city like a shower of falling stars. Belbreeze positioned Keriya atop the flagstone steps and led the guests in a toast: “To the Dragon Speaker, the Master of Valemagic—may she lead Selaras into a new and better age!”

“To the Master of Valemagic,” the guests chorused.

Keriya hadn’t felt this miserable since the not-Final Battle.

She remained at the gallery entrance to bid guests good-night as they filtered out of the garden. Tethryn Indrossae kissed her hand before departing. The middle-aged human who’d dared to grab Keriya tried to do the same. She turned the full weight of her unearthly gaze on him and he faltered in his tracks, hurrying into the palace without touching her.

Weariness struck her like a war hammer. Craning her neck, she looked over the stragglers to see where her friends had gone, but there was no sign of them. Likely Khyvette had teleported them away when the festivities had finished.

She longed to speak with Fletcher and Roxanne. She wanted Effrax to laugh and tell her it wasn’t as bad as she imagined. She wished Viran were standing by her side—instead it was Belbreeze, forcing her to smile at each tipsy dignitary who tottered past.

By the time the far-off clock towers tolled two, the last of the guests had gone. White-clad servants cleaned, silent and efficient. Belbreeze turned to Keriya, an appraising look on her face.

“Over at last,” said Keriya.

“This is only the beginning.” The Erastatian’s portentous words lanced through Keriya. “Earlier, you claimed you were willing to do whatever it took to win the Shadow War. I want to know if that’s true.”

Conflict raged inside Keriya, making her nauseous again. She longed to scream at Belbreeze, unleash her pent-up power. She wanted to tell the Allentrians she owed them nothing.

If you really believed that, I doubt you’d have done all you did.

Seba’s words swam back, settling in her soul.

“I am,” she said in a low voice.

Belbreeze smiled, and Keriya saw relief in her expression. “Tomorrow we begin negotiations with foreign factions. The expanded World Alliance will draw up plans to kill Necrovar and his followers. You must be prepared to follow orders when the time comes. If you’re commanded to wield valemagic, you will do so.”

Just like that, Keriya was incandescent with fury once more. She’d allowed herself to care, and in doing so, had made herself weak. The threads that kept her anchored to Selaras and its people had become iron bars. She would never be free again.

But she silenced the voice of her anger, because in its burning cry, she heard the echo of a voice that had thirsted for more than freedom. That voice had wanted victory. Power.

That voice had driven her to the brink of destruction.

Stifling her traitorous instincts, she turned away from Belbreeze. The tiny woman might own the rest of her tomorrows, but Keriya remained free tonight.

She teleported to the Norythian Mountains, to the plateau where the greatest treasure in the world lay hidden behind layers of enchantments. A breeze nipped her cheeks. Snow whirled in delicate flurries. The fragrance of featherpines filled the sky.

A shape rose from the shadows at the far end of the plateau, plodding toward her: Clauye, the mother of the eggs. Her eyes glowed, washing her topaz scales and rocky surroundings with eerie purple light. That meant the dragons were now using their ultimate power to protect and nurture their children.

Keriya sensed the change. Valemagic made the air thrum with energy. She could almost taste the tang of it. It called to her, and she yearned to reach out and embrace it.

“Dragonspeaker,” came a soft rumble. A dark-scaled behemoth perched on a rock spire behind her, eyes burning like twin stars.

“Nordrion,” she greeted the formidable sentinel, blinking water out of her own glowing eyes. They were watering because of the wind, she told herself—the sting of the first day of winter.

“Tears are impractical,” Nordrion informed her, perhaps laboring under the impression that he was providing helpful information. “They are a waste of vital fluids.”

“I’m aware.” Keriya stumbled toward the center of the plateau, her tired feet finding every uneven ridge of rock in the darkness.

“Why are you here?” asked Clauye.

“Dunno.” The lightmagic illusion flickered as Keriya passed through it. The eggs were revealed in all their glory, glowing softly.

She pressed her palm against one, imagining she could feel a faint pulse emanating through its shell. Sagging against the pedestal, she buried her face in her arms, flooding her gaze with blinding reflected light as she wept.

“What is the scientific rationale behind this behavior in humans?” she heard Clauye inquire.

“As I understand it, it forces their bodies to produce calming chemicals,” Nordrion replied.

“She does not appear calm.”

“I’m fine,” Keriya hiccuped. “Just remembering Thorion.”

Remembering what I fight for. Because these days, appalling as it was to admit, she found herself forgetting. Sometimes the hunger for more overcame every other desire. Everything could be hers, if she dared to wield valemagic.

Only the memory of her drackling kept her rooted in responsibility.

“I couldn’t save him,” she whispered. “And I couldn’t save Valerion.”