Hidden Dragon (The Treasure of Paragon Book 7)

by Genevieve Jack

  “I didn’t see this turn of events. We told Colin we’d retrieve you two and be back on Aeaea by early morning,” Nathaniel said. “It’s dangerous keeping the three sisters apart. If we do this, it could be a disaster.”

  Clarissa shook him by the arm. “If we don’t do this, we may lose our chance to retrieve the fifth and final orb. Think about what this means for the resistance.”

  “I’ve ne’er been one to back down from a fight,” Xavier said. “If ma Avery goes, I go too.”

  Avery looked like she’d eaten nails for breakfast. “I don’t think I can walk away from this one. Aborella sacrificed herself to give us a chance at this. I’m the first to say that I thought the fairy was pure evil, but it appears that even she believed Eleanor needed to be stopped and was willing to pay for it with her life. I believe she was trying to help us. I can’t walk away. If we have a chance at the orb, we have to take it.”

  Sylas stared at Dianthe, looking as exhausted as she’d ever seen him. “One more for the road?”

  She bumped his fist with her own. “If we’re going to do it, we do it together.”

  “We’ll need gear,” Sylas said.

  “We have it.” Nathaniel gestured to a pile of cold-weather clothing beside him. “Clarissa and I conjured enough for everyone.”

  Dianthe sifted through and found a set in her size. “Then, in honor of Aborella’s sacrifice, let’s go find the orb of Darnuith.”

  Chapter Thirty

  With impressive speed and efficiency, the rebels dressed, packed, and exited the hunting cabin, leaving everything exactly as they’d found it. Sylas thought it would do no one any good to give the rightful owner a reason to be upset. One could never be too careful when dealing with witches.

  It took little coaxing to convince his brothers that the best course of action was to fly their mates to the Ice Forest. Traversing the mountainous terrain of the kingdom of Darnuith on foot was a task none of them wished to take on.

  “Ice Forest isn’t a misnomer,” Dianthe said.

  Sylas landed on a slippery patch of ground between white-coated trees. He was profoundly thankful for the rows of metal teeth on the bottom of the boots Nathaniel had given him to wear. Without them, he was sure he’d fall on his ass. Everything was white and slick, from the ground to the trees whose leafless branches were encased in ice. Even the occasional evergreen wore a coat of snow and ice that turned its needles white.

  “You have to admit it’s kinda beautiful,” Clarissa said from inside the fur-lined hood of her parka. “Like a winter wonderland.”

  Avery flexed the fingers of her gloves. “Fuck that. If I want a personal experience with ice, I’ll order a margarita.”

  Dianthe snorted. “I’m with Avery on this one. Fairies were definitely not built for winter.”

  “Why is it so cold here?” Clarissa asked. “The rest of the island is warm all year, right? It’s volcanic.”

  “Magic.” Nathaniel brought his pipe to his lips and lit up. “The witches intentionally make their kingdom uninhabitable to non-witches. If you ever actually visit one of their communities, you’ll find the environment there as warm and comfortable as the rest of Ouros, but to get there, you have to go through this.”

  “It wasna always thus,” Xavier said. “Only after the war with Paragon did they take this step. Dragon’s canna freeze, ye ken, but our mountain horses donna fare well on the ice.”

  “If the Obsidian Guard ever did attack, they’d be slowed significantly, giving the witches time to wage a full-on magical battle. Even dragons fear witch magic. I suppose it worked to our advantage today though, considering Eleanor didn’t reach us in time.” Sylas scanned the trees around them, feeling oddly nervous. “Aborella didn’t happen to tell you what Skelna looks like, did she?”

  “No,” Dianthe said. “Only that she’d find us if we came here.”

  Sylas cast a questioning glance in the direction of his brothers. “Any suggestions?”

  Nathaniel blew purple smoke toward the trees. He watched his spell freeze a few feet from his mouth and fall like dust to the ice. He frowned. “Hmm. Well, I’m out of ideas.”

  Xavier made a grunting sound. “Move yer dragon arses. I wager she’ll find us faster if we make ourselves a bit easier to notice.”

  He waddled forward, slipping and sliding among the trees even with spiked boots. Sylas and the others followed. They hadn’t gone far before three hoofed beasts galloped toward them, their shaggy heads white with frozen breath. The creatures passed them without even looking in their direction.

  “Now what do you suppose they’re running from?” Nathaniel puffed nervously on his pipe.

  “Sylas, do you see that tree?” Dianthe tugged on his elbow.

  “I see lots of trees.”

  “It has a face,” she whispered. She pointed toward one tree in particular.

  Sylas watched its branches sway in a wind that didn’t exist, its extremities long and crooked, the tips frozen to sharp points. As they watched in wide-eyed horror, the tree pulled its roots from the ice and took a monstrous step.

  “You know how we said we would save each other?” Dianthe squeezed tight to his side. “Your turn.”

  “Xavier!” Sylas called to his brother, but it was too late. Skelna’s hand, which was no more than a collection of five frozen branches, swung through the air and stabbed him straight through his shoulder.

  Clarissa screamed. Power exploded from her voice, throwing Skelna back at least one hundred feet.

  “What’s happening to him?” Sylas rushed forward as Xavier started seizing, white foam coming from his mouth. He didn’t like how much the wound was bleeding.

  Avery rushed to Xavier’s side and pressed her hand against his wound. “He’s not healing!”

  “Goddess, Sylas, what is that thing?” Dianthe asked from behind him. He didn’t blame her for standing back. None of them were equipped for this.

  “An animated tree,” he said to her. “A demon possessed, organic organism. I need to shift.”

  “Wait!” Nathaniel grabbed his arm. “This is witch magic. It’s going to be resistant to dragon fire. Xavier’s lost consciousness and is still bleeding. Whatever that thing is, it’s poisonous to dragons.”

  Avery drew her sword and stood over her mate. Her hood had knocked back from her head, and the mounting wind whipped her dark hair around her face. Skelna had closed the gap between them, her razor-sharp branches whistling through the air, her multihinged limbs reaching for Avery, stabbing and slicing. Avery circled Fairy Killer, lopping off a wooden hand, which tumbled into the snow. The trunk of the tree roared, revealing a mouth of jagged, icy teeth.

  “Bloody hell, I think she’s royally pissed it off now,” Nathaniel said.

  Skelna’s roots crept forward. The creature’s branches were over twice as long as Avery’s sword. Without help, she’d never get a blow in before Skelna stabbed her. Sylas took charge. “Clarissa, you were able to shove it with your voice. Can you do it again? Perhaps use the other trees to hold it?”

  Clarissa nodded. She opened her mouth and sang. The trees around Skelna reached for her, animated by Clarissa’s magic. Branch tangled with branch, freezing together as a wall of wind caged the demon in. Skelna fought. Branches flew past their heads. Avery dodged and thrust, trying to get a clear shot at the trunk of the tree. The demon wailed like a banshee.

  “Nathaniel,” Sylas yelled. “Can you use your magic to transport dragon fire into its mouth?”

  “I can try,” he said with a tip of his head. He puffed on his pipe and blew a perfect bubble of smoke.

  Sylas took a deep breath and sent a spray of dragon fire toward the smoke. The flame was captured inside the hazy purple bubble.

  “Let’s see if she burns from the inside,” Sylas said.

  Nathaniel drew a symbol in the air with his hands and pushed. The bubble sailed into Skelna’s gaping maw. This time the demon shrieked in pain, flames flickering within its throat.


  “Her branches are melting!” Dianthe yelled. “It’s working.”

  Clarissa’s song couldn’t last forever. Sylas sprang forward and tore off the thickest of Skelna’s arms, casting it aside. Nathaniel followed suit, dodging the stabs and slices of her branches. Avery, not to be outdone, sank her sword into Skelna’s wooden belly. Piece by frozen piece, they dismantled the demon until she was nothing but a wailing trunk, smoking from the mouth.

  Avery glanced back at Xavier. “He’s too quiet, Sylas!”

  Dianthe rushed forward and pressed her hand to Xavier’s wound. “I have him, Avery. He’s breathing. Get the orb and we’ll take him home.”

  Avery sliced down the center of the trunk. Sylas held his breath. Was Aborella’s vision accurate? It was possible this whole thing was a trap. She might have hoped Skelna would wipe them out. He wouldn’t put it past the fairy.

  But as Avery pried the log apart, they all gagged.

  “Stomach. Intestines,” Nathaniel said. “What was this creature?”

  Avery sliced open the stomach to the mutual groans of the others. There, inside the gory pit of the thing, was the blue orb, twinkling up at them like a hidden treasure.

  “By the Mountain, that is nasty business,” Nathaniel said.

  Sylas gave him a slanted look and snorted before reaching in and pulling the crystal from the thing’s bowels.

  “You mess with my mate, you mess with me.” Avery twisted her blade before removing it from Skelna’s remains.

  “Avery, you’re bleeding!” Dianthe exclaimed.

  Avery glanced down at her arm and blinked. “Oh. It must have gotten me.”

  Sylas saw it now too. Skelna had torn through her parka at her forearm and blood had soaked through the inner fluff.

  Clarissa pressed her hand to Avery’s wound. “We need to find a healer. You’ve had Xavier’s tooth, right? It’s just a cut. It will heal soon.”

  But Sylas wasn’t so sure. Xavier’s wound was oozing a strange, poisonous green, and he was still unconscious although breathing evenly.

  “Actually, no.” Avery cracked her neck. “I’m immune to magic. He tried to give me his tooth, but every time I put it into my mouth, it turned back into an actual dragon’s tooth. No way to swallow that sucker.”

  “Oh Avery…” Clarissa frowned.

  Sylas winced. For all intents and purposes, that meant Avery was human. “It may have saved your life,” he said. “The poison affected Xavier immediately. Aside from the bleeding, you look fine.”

  “I feel fine. I just need a few stitches, I’m guessing.” Avery shrugged off her sister’s grip and dropped to Xavier’s side. “But what about Xavier? He needs help.”

  “Nathaniel, can you get us back to Aeaea?” Sylas asked.

  “Possibly,” he said through his teeth. “I can’t simply tear a portal between realms. Clarissa, Avery, and I need to teleport everyone. It’s heavy magical work, and we’re all exhausted. Xavier isn’t even conscious. Avery is hurt. I’m not sure we have enough juice to get us there.”

  “Sylas, Xavier’s lips are turning blue,” Avery yelled. “We need to find help.”

  Sylas wanted to punch something. He was their leader. He needed to do something, but what? A frustrated growl tore through his chest, making the frozen branches around them tinkle like wind chimes.

  The sound of barking dogs called Sylas’s attention to the dark mountain ridge that bordered the Ice Forest. A sled rushed toward them, pulled by a team of tall and lanky canines with long, shaggy hair, eyes that glowed red, and wolfish teeth. The person guiding the sled was too swaddled in furs for Sylas to tell if it was a man or a woman.

  Avery stood from her mate and drew her sword, blood dripping from her wound and sizzling on the ice. Sylas, Nathaniel, and Clarissa stepped to her side, protectively blocking Dianthe and Xavier. The sled came to a stop in front of them.

  “Tell the girl to put her sword away, Sylas. I prefer not to be threatened when I’m offering aid.” The hood swept back from a round, red-cheeked face with a bulbous nose.

  Sylas rushed forward and embraced the innkeeper, his chest flooding with relief. “Zander Wraithwing! Mountain, am I glad to see you!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Eleanor, empress of Paragon, was not used to losing. Since she’d advanced to practicing dark magic, she rarely had to compromise and almost always got her way. Everfield, for example, had finally fallen. Just yesterday, Chancellor Ciro, unable to rebuild after the loss of the Empyrean Wood, had finally steered Everfield’s Highborn representatives to vote to become Paragonian citizens. Of course, everyone expected that the population of Everfield might resist this decision once they heard the news, but it didn’t really matter. The fairies had no power and thus no choices.

  Power was important.

  Power was what allowed her to tear through the Palace of Nightfall while the citizens of Nochtbend slept. Although they’d made threats of retaliation, Master Demidicus knew as well as she did that a society of vampires could never best an army of dragons. Dragons didn’t sleep during the day. Didn’t have to sleep much at all, to be sure. A few hours a week would suffice. And a dragon’s ability to breathe fire was surely a bane to vampires, who could die of burning. Immortal vampires might be, but they were remarkably fragile during the day.

  No, Eleanor was not used to losing, which was why she’d screamed when she’d found Aborella gone, taken from her cage in the tower. She’d smelled Sylas in that room and someone else, a fairy. She should have killed her son when she’d had the chance. Should have bathed in his blood. Not only had he taken her seer, but he’d also destroyed the mosaic in the floor of the veranda. Why, she wasn’t sure yet, but it gave her a terrible feeling that her son was one step ahead of her.

  Still, she’d had the bond. She’d tugged on her connection to Aborella, tracking it to somewhere in the mountains of Darnuith. Ransom had prepared a small task force to track the fairy down. He’d sent a falcon to the witch queen, asking for permission to retrieve her seer. She knew better than to pick a fight with the witches now. It was too early in the game for such a brazen move.

  But before she received a response, the bond went slack. Eleanor cried out at the emptiness left behind. Perched on her throne, she gripped her chest and howled at the pain. Aborella was dead. Nothing short of death could break a dragon’s bond, and theirs was most definitely broken. She was dead. Eleanor knew it as if she’d been there to see it herself. The worst part? She’d felt a surge of joy come down the bond seconds before it was severed. Aborella, she suspected, had found a way to kill herself.

  Eleanor writhed in torment at the thought. How dare the fairy remove herself from serving Eleanor’s needs? The seer was hers. Hers. And now she was gone.

  “Empress?” Ransom stood near the back of the throne room, the coward clearly too afraid to come any closer.

  “What’s the matter, Ransom? Haven’t you ever seen a grown woman cry?”

  He swallowed. “The witch queen has given her permission for up to four guardsmen to accompany you on your search of Darnuith. We have twenty-four hours.”

  “Write her back. Tell her we won’t need to enter her territory after all. Aborella is dead.”

  Ransom’s brow furrowed. “You found her?”

  Eleanor squinted at the man… boy, really. He truly was a pretty idiot. “She is dead.”

  He cleared his throat. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Come to my chambers tonight, at nightfall. I’ll think of a way you can comfort me.”

  His throat bobbed. He bowed low before backing out of the room. So he knew enough not to turn his back to her. Maybe he was smarter than he looked.

  Eleanor strode out of the throne room, through the great hall, and onto the destroyed floor of the veranda. She slipped out of her dress and shifted into her dragon form, her gold scales gleaming in the sun. She offered no explanation to her guards as she took to the skies and flew north, leaving Ouros and crossing into the real
m of the gods. She landed on the island of Kryptos. This was Hera’s island and the closest the goddess could get to Paragon as long as Aitna, the goddess of the mountain, lived.

  Eleanor touched the peacock feather that waited in the temple at the center of the island. There was a flash of blinding light and the goddess appeared, her golden hair shining like a star.

  “Do you have the book, Eleanor?”

  Eleanor shifted back to her soma form to speak, standing naked and vulnerable before the goddess. “Not yet, but I will soon. The rebels are assembling a key that will access the place where the book is hidden.”

  “The rebels.” Hera’s lips pressed into a flat line. “And how do you plan to get my grimoire from the rebels? If they have the key, won’t they have the book?”

  Eleanor crossed her arms. “Hardly. I need the three sisters to risk their lives to build the key and find the book; then I will use my considerable magic to take it from them. This is good news. After all this time, I have reason to believe that they are the only ones capable of retrieving your grimoire. The only ones capable of undoing Medea’s protections on it. The fact they are collecting the orbs proves the book is on Paragon. I have spies everywhere. Once they have your book, I will know and I will retrieve it. Soon you will be free to roam Paragon at will.”

  The light that flared from Hera’s body was blinding. Eleanor’s skin burned with Hera’s anger to the point she was sure had she not been a dragon, she would have been incinerated. “I do not want to roam Paragon! I want my book!”

  “And you shall have it.” Eleanor placed a finger in the crook of her chin. “Only, my seer is now dead. It would be easier for me to take back the book if I had more power. Perhaps if I ascended now—”

  “Quiet,” Hera seethed. “You have plenty of power. I’ve given you the darkest of magic and all you’ve done is waste it on trivial matters. I am a patient goddess, Eleanor, but what has been given can be taken away. Bring me that book, or there will be no ascension. On the contrary, I will introduce you to Hades myself.” Hera sneered. “He’s not the charmer you might expect.”