Child of the Dragon Prophecy

by Effie Joe Stock

  She choked. “I had a family?” Her eyes brimmed with new tears, tears which shone through dead eyes. “And he took that from me?” Her heart pounded in her chest, but she felt as if a rot had taken its place. Maybe she should forgive him. After all, what if it had been the only way? But the more she learned, the more she was convinced Artigal had no right to do that to her. Her memories were her own. They were the only things that kept her tied to her parents, her home, and her family. Now she had nothing because of him. “Who were they?” The pain in her voice mingled with rage as the words hissed through her teeth.

  He shook his head. “Aeron, High Chief of Trans-Falls, his mate Frawnden, Second High Medic, and Trojan, their son and your brother.” Tears once more filled his eyes. She could sense jealousy and regret from him. “You were a very close family, very happy. I was loath to tear you from them.”

  “Aeron. Frawnden. Trojan,” she repeated their names in a whisper. They were familiar, comforting names, but they felt so strange on her tongue. Grief mixed violently with her confusing emotions. She wanted to throw something, to hit someone, but she could do no more than sit perfectly still, sinking lower into the overwhelming pit that gaped open within her. I had another mother, another father, a brother. We were happy. I was happy. And it was taken from me. She cursed Artigal under her breath. A vengeful power rose within her. Her markings burned. How dare he.

  “Curse that arrogant Centaur.”

  Dalton was quiet for a moment before he sighed. “Show him compassion, child. He cared a great deal about you. He did what was needed.”

  She sneered. “No, he didn’t. You don’t take away someone’s joy if you love them. And you most certainly do not take away their family.”

  Dalton looked away. “He promised to give them back to you. Your memories, I mean. I’ll hold him to it, Stephania. Believe me. You’ll get them back. I promise.” His fist tightened. “Or by the gods, I’ll dying trying to get them back.”

  The pregnant silence grew.

  A war waged within her. She wished she could fight against all those who had hurt her—Thaddeus, Kyrell, Artigal, all the people in New-Fars—to feel their pain and seek her revenge. But she also wanted to cry and curl up in Dalton’s arms, and wanted him to tell her it was all just a sick joke. Neither happened. She was only left with the cold, numbing shock of reality.

  The suns sank lower. The room grew darker.

  Dalton shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, Stephania. For everything. Especially keeping these secrets from you. I never wanted you to be unhappy. I didn’t want to take your memories away. Everything I did—” He choked on the emotion lodged in his throat. His eyes were red. “I did because I love you. Because your parents loved you. Because your Centaur family loved you. I wanted you safe. I wanted you happy. And I did the best I could to make it so.”

  She bit her lip. Her throat and ears stung as she struggled to hold back her sobs. She didn’t know if she could forgive him. At least, not yet.

  “You don’t have to forgive me. Just please don’t … please don’t hate me.”

  A few tears broke loose and danced down her cheeks. “Uncle Dalton, I don’t hate you. I just—” She rubbed her nose on her wrist and clenched her jaw. “I just don’t know what to think or feel anymore.”

  His shoulders sagged. “I know. I know.” He hugged her, smoothing her soft, red hair. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded against him and melted into his embrace. If only … if only we could stay like this forever. If only the world would fade away and I would feel safe. And loved.

  But time moved on.

  Dalton pulled away, and she instantly felt the cold creep back in.

  “I know this is a lot to take in. You can come down to eat dinner when you want. I’ll have something made.

  She did her best to smile at him. “Thanks.”

  The corners of his lips lifted, but the light failed to reach his dull eyes. “Of course, my child. Or should I say, my Liege?” He winked and mock bowed to her, attempting to lift her spirits.

  A blush rose to her cheeks in embarrassment. An awkward laugh jumped off her lips. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get used to people calling her ‘my Liege’, or ‘Your Majesty’. She wasn’t sure she liked it at all.

  As he left the room and shut the door behind him, she forced herself to push aside her emotions. Crying over what she couldn’t remember wouldn’t change anything. She might not remember her two families or homes, but she had Dalton, and she had this house she called home.

  Her mind wandered to the prophecy. She was promised a helper. To occupy herself, she dreamed of who her helper might be.

  Man or woman? What would he look like? Would he be kind or cold-hearted? Would he fight with magic or weapons, or did Duvarharians fight with both at once? What kind of dragon was he bonded with? Or would he have a dragon? I assume the Duvarharians would all have dragons, but then why doesn’t Dalton? She frowned, forcing that intrusive, con-troversial question out of her mind.

  Just as she had devised who she assumed to be her perfect helper, she disgustedly banished the thoughts from her mind. She knew well enough that as soon as she created expectations, she would be disappointed with reality. I hope they’re at least nice. I would hate to have to work with someone who’s cruel or stupid.

  Her thoughts wandered from there to her future. It seemed so far away, so unreal, and yet she knew it was closer than she could believe.

  Soon she, a Dragon Rider, would be going to Duvarharia and the Dragon Palace. She would be going home.

  Chapter 26

  Dalton’s Home

  Nearly 7 Years Earlier

  Stephania’s hand brushed against an old, rolled up piece of paper, knocking it to the floor, as she reached for a book. Her eyes followed the roll of parchment as it bounced on the carpet before coming to stop. The paper had unrolled only a little; years of being rolled up had warped its flat integrity, and it loathed to lie level.

  It was yellowed, old, and had a recently broken seal on its edge. It must have broken when it fell, she summarized. Surely, I remember it being sealed before I bumped it. Wasn’t it?

  It was a seal she had only seen on two other documents and one small chest—a seal only used on her guardian’s most private possessions.

  Just visible on the corner of the parchment was what seemed like the end of a very intricate and prestigious signature.

  Stephania forgot all about the book she had been reaching for and walked over to the unfamiliar parchment, peering down at it.

  Why have I never seen this one before? Her ankles popped as she crouched down. Her hand paused over the paper, hesitant. Should I—

  “Stephania?”

  She snatched back her hand and jumped to her feet. “Yes, Uncle Dalton?”

  “Where are you?” His head appeared around the doorway and a bright smile spread across his face. “Ah, I wondered if you’d be in here.” His eyes quickly scanned the large library, stopping at the parchment at her feet. His smile faded. “Where did you get that?” Swiftly, he strode into the room and swiped up the parchment, hastily rolling it back up tightly. He held it close, protectively, to his chest.

  “I didn’t.” Her hair waved as she quickly shook her head. “I was grabbing a book, and it fell off the shelf. I promise. It was just on the shelf.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. “The seal is broken.”

  “Uncle, I swear, it must have broken when it dropped. I didn’t open it.” Her eyes were wide, her face flushed, her hands in fists. Please believe me. She cringed.

  His eyes pierced down into hers before traveling back to the scroll. The frown deepened on his face, and he seemed to be struggling with something. His eyes reached hers again, searching her face. She tried to put all her honesty and innocence into her gaze, silently pleading with him to believe her. Finally, his eyes softened.

  His heavy sigh of relief hummed through the air. “Of course, Stephania. I’m sure
you didn’t. The seal is very old; it was destined to break soon anyway. Thank you for not looking at it. That means a lot to me.”

  She let out a breath she didn’t think she had been holding. Thank the gods I didn’t look at it, she thought. He seems so upset.

  “Of course, Uncle.”

  The man quickly grabbed a ribbon from the messy desk behind him, tied a bow securely around the rolled paper, and inserted the parch-ment into the middle drawer of the writing table.

  “Now!” He clapped his hands together. “Today is a very special day, as you must know.”

  Her eyes sparkled brightly, and a blush rose on her high cheeks. She couldn’t contain the smile that pulled her ruby lips over her perfect, white teeth.

  “So, I wanted to give you something very special.” Dramatically, he pulled a small wrapped box out from the pocket of his pants. “It was your mother’s. She gave it to me some time before she died. I think—” He paused and played with the string wrapped around the box. “I think you are old enough to have it, and I think she would have wanted you to have it.”

  My mother’s. The young girl’s dark eyes widened; she was at a loss for words. Solemnly, she reached for the wrapped box he handed her. Slowly, she pulled the strings of the bow, the wrapping paper falling open. A plain brown box was inside. She placed the wrapping on the overflowing desk. A still, expectant silence hung in the air.

  The top half slid off easily from the bottom half, as if the box had been opened many times.

  A small gasp parted her lips.

  In the box was a ring—a beautiful silver ring with a red stone in the middle. Oddly, the stone matched almost perfectly with the mysterious pendant Stephania always wore around her neck. Coincidence? Was the pendant my mother’s too? She looked down at her neck. No, the two pieces of jewelry were too different. The necklace had symbols from a language she knew nothing of. The ring was more plain. And yet the two pieces seemed to vibrate with the same energy. Something was still so oddly familiar about the ring, as if the two adornments were not so different as they seemed.

  “Happy tenth birthday, Stephania!” Dalton smiled broadly. She snapped awake from her thoughts, grinning happily back at Dalton, forgetting the deeper musings that weighted on her mind. The sealed scroll was quickly pushed to the depths of her mind. “Thank you, Uncle.” She daintily slid the ring onto her thumb—the only finger it would fit on her small hand. “It’s beautiful.”

  “But not as beautiful as you, child.” He winked at her.

  She laughed before throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek.

  “I love you, Uncle Dalton,” her soft voice tickled his ear.

  “I love you too, Stephania.” He gently pulled away from her embrace and planted his hands on her shoulders. “Now then, today calls for a big celebration! Why don’t you find something nice to wear, and we will go have dinner in the village tonight?”

  Before her bright smile had finished blossoming on her face, she had already taken off to her room to prepare for their dinner. It was so very rare that they treated themselves to dinner in New-Fars, seeing as Dalton wasn’t wealthy in currency.

  §

  Dalton stood for a while, smiling after her, before his joy faded and his gaze was drawn to the middle drawer of the desk.

  Dare I look at it? His hands shook and sweat beaded on his forehead. An illness rose within him. He wanted to walk away, to forget what lay written on the paper, to forget what he had worked so hard to erase.

  His hand moved on its own. The drawer opened. The parchment now rested in his hands.

  He rubbed his mouth, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not once opened and beheld it since it had been sealed all those years ago.

  He pulled back the paper, uncurling its secrets.

  The print glared harshly back at him. Tears glistened in his eyes as the words stabbed him like a cold stone knife.

  “Official Command and Terms of Banishment from Duvarharia Regarding Dalton Lefone, the once and no longer rider of Saorise.”

  Chapter 27

  Present Day

  Dawn approached the quiet valley and sprinkled the dew-covered land with the warming rays of the suns.

  The muffled beats of a horse’s hooves thudded on the soft, cold soil as its rider guided the beast along the narrow dirt path.

  The rider gently halted the horse and gazed over the land, her pale face covered by a dark brown cloak that was wrapped around her. A wisp of her bloodred hair, unhindered by the hood, blew with the soft wind.

  After spending so many days in their home, left with nothing but her own thoughts, Stephania had finally found the strength within her to break out of the mental cage and get fresh air.

  Despite their heart-to-heart conversation, the thought of Dalton withholding so much from her and never doing anything to help her fit in caused her to harbor a bitterness she had previously been a stranger to. Her grip tightened on the leather reins. She knew she was just taking her anger out on him, and she hated that. Of course he wasn’t the one at fault. He didn’t deserve her anger. No. That would be saved for Thaddeus, Kyrell, the Etas, Artigal, and New-Fars.

  Urging the buckskin stallion once more into a slow walk, she took her time riding back to the stables after she had galloped away from the barn hours ago. She was in no rush to get back.

  She found herself not riding back home, but into town. She frowned. Why did I choose this way? She wasn’t sure why she wanted to go to New-Fars all of the sudden, but something in her heart whispered revenge.

  On his own will, the horse began to trot, and she quickly settled into the rhythmic beat.

  Her thoughts began to drift once again, even though she wanted dearly to be left with a blank mind.

  If Dalton had lied to me about my real identity, then what else was he lying about now? And what about himself? She had always known he was hiding something. The sealed scrolls he was so protective of, the dodged questions—it was obvious he had not told all the truth. Her thoughts ran rampant with disturbing questions that had no answers. Who is he really? Where is his dragon? Why is he halfway across Ventronovia instead of where he belonged in Duvarharia? How old is he really? And why would he rather live with the thickheaded humans? And what about all of the other magical creatures? If Centaurs existed, why haven’t I seen them or signs of them? And what about Fauns? Why did I only see a Faun when I obtained the lyre? And what about the Wyriders?

  Her fingers subconsciously brushed against the half-hidden instrument strapped to the horse’s saddle. It was the lyre she had been given. Slowly, she had begun to accept the fact that she hadn’t been dreaming. She had seen a Faun, and he had given her a strange magical instrument. Too afraid and too naïve in the ways of Fauns, she had resisted the urge to play the lyre. Even so, a strange dread gripped her when it wasn’t with her, and so she felt compelled to carry it constantly.

  Why hadn’t Dalton asked her about it? Surely he had seen it—she knew he had!

  Gods of all, Stephania, she cursed to herself, forcefully stopping her wild thoughts. This wasn’t helping anything. It only brought up more questions.

  She had reached the edge of town. The village was just stirring to life.

  As she guided her horse through the streets, the square fell silent. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the hood off her face, adjusting so the markings on her neck were concealed. Trying as hard as she could to be polite, she spoke out in a delicate voice. However, her tone carried a hint of danger, as if daring them. “Well, there’s no need to be afraid.”

  The silence only grew as everyone stared at her, some in fear, some in anger. Finally, a man stepped forward.

  His eyes were narrow, though his nose was rather large.

  She instantly recognized him to be the blacksmith whose swords she had used when fighting Jackson. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, glad, at least, that Dalton had paid the man.

  “You’re alone.” His glare deepened.

  She was disa
rmed by his statement. “Why, yes. Is that so illegal?” Though she put on an air of indifference, an unease settled in her. Now that she thought about it, she had never before come into town alone. Dalton had always made sure to come with her.

  The blacksmith’s gaze skittered over her and her horse before he huffed and slid back into the crowd, murmuring something under his breath.

  Impatience crept into her when no one responded, smiled, or stopped staring. Perhaps there was a reason Dalton never let me come alone.

  “Well? What are you all looking at?” Her eyes flashed dangerously. Braken stomped with shared unease.

  Most of the citizens recoiled from her gaze.

  “What is it about me that you find so shocking that you must rudely stare at me like a slave on auction?”

  The crowd stepped back, and a middle-aged man stepped out from everyone else.

  “Your hair is like that of a demon!” he shouted out, his fist held high as he shook it menacingly at her, and everyone else readily agreed.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I have no more control over what my hair color looks like than you do. If you’re so put out about it, you should really talk to my parents.” She eyed them coldly. “I thought you were a kind, accepting people. Why am I so different?”

  “Because you have no parents!” An old lady’s raspy voice cut through the air as she forced her way to the front of the crowd.

  “I do have parents!” Stephania tightened her hold on her horse’s reigns. By the gods. Are they stupid? Everyone has parents!

  “Then where are they? Perhaps they dumped you off, unable to stand how much of a disgrace you are.” The old woman deviously rubbed her hands together, her cackle ringing loudly through the murmuring crowd.

  “How dare you?” Stephania’s breath was hot in her chest, and her cheeks burned from anger and embarrassment. “My parents died to save me. They loved me.”

  “Yes, fine, but who were they?”

  Stephania blanched. The only thing she knew about her parents was that they were Duvarharian. Her memories were gone. She didn’t know who they really were.