The Rise of the Dawnstar (The Avalonia Chronicles Book 2)

by Farah Oomerbhoy

  I pushed myself up and stood on wobbly legs, willing my hands to stop shaking. I gathered my magic and shielded myself.

  The big fae-warrior turned his back to me as he faced the leader of the Drakaar. “Ah! Raziel,” he said with a smirk, seeming utterly unimpressed with the dark sorcerer. “It’s been a while.” He stepped forward with his deadly sword flashing silver in his hand, confidence rolling off him in waves. “You dare to come so close to the borders of Elfi?”

  “Tristan,” hissed the Drakaar, taking a step back, his eyes darting to Tristan’s companions who stood around us, perfectly honed warriors. “Stay out of this, it has nothing to do with you.”

  But Tristan didn’t flinch. “That is where you are wrong, Raziel.” His sharp eyes narrowed. “Princess Aurora is under the protection of the Queen of Elfi. If you want her—” he twirled his sword deftly in his hand and assumed a fighting stance “—you will have to go through me.”

  “Hey!” said a red-haired warrior on my left, glaring at Tristan. “What about us? Do we look like pixies to you?”

  Tristan turned his head slightly, and I could see the amused grin curling his lips. “Them too,” he added, jerking his head toward the rest of his companions. “Cade here would love to add your head to his collection.”

  “So be it,” said Raziel, raising his hands.

  The Drakaar called for the gorgoths, and the creatures swooped down to defend their masters. The fae-warriors fought them with strength and agility I had never seen before, whirling and slicing through flesh, bone, and shadow.

  I heard a resounding screech, and the griffins descended on the gorgoths, tearing at their limbs and wings.

  All around me more Shadow Demons sprang up, but the fire-fae warriors led by Tristan sliced through them with their flaming swords, cleaving through the darkness and leaving nothing behind. The Drakaar kept summoning more demons, but they were no match for the fae-warriors of Elfi.

  So that’s how they do it. This was what I still had to learn. Now I finally understood why I needed to be trained by the fae.

  I was completely mesmerized at the way the fae-warriors used silver fire. But out of the corner of my eye I could see a Shadow Demon moving on Santino, who, although alive, could not fight its magic.

  I dove for Santino’s sword, which lay on the ground beside me. I pushed my magic into it and it lit up, channeling my silver fire into a blade of pure light. The magic within the blade made it lighter and easier to handle than a normal sword, and I allowed my magic to take over as I ran at the Shadow Demon attacking Santino. Raising my sword as I had seen Tristan do, I sliced through the creature. It burst into black shards of shadow that vanished in the light of my concentrated silver fire.

  Tristan was beside me in a flash and glanced over briefly to check my sword, which had started to fizzle out. “Your silver fire is not strong enough. If you don’t concentrate, it won’t hold.” He moved to take care of the other demons.

  My grandmother must have sent them. But how did they find me?

  I tried to infuse more power into the sword, but only bursts of magic sparked through the metal and faded. It wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

  Tristan looked like an avenging angel, his long dark hair whipping in the wind and his sword twirling and flashing in his hand as he swiftly beheaded two of the Drakaar. It was a pleasure to see them fight—even Santino could not move with the lethal grace and surety of the fae.

  “Don’t let Raziel get away,” shouted Tristan to his red-haired companion, who stood over the severed head of one of the Drakaar.

  But the Drakaar called Raziel was already gone, and so was the third key to the Book of Abraxas.

  Tristan Nightshade

  I kneeled beside Santino, who was thankfully still alive with no deep wounds. I placed my hands on his head and chest, assisting the healing. My magic flowed more freely, and I concentrated on knitting muscles and tendons, along with healing the cracks in his ribs. Santino was strong, but he still grimaced as his body mended.

  Tristan came to stand beside me. He didn’t offer any advice or help, just sheathed his sword in the scabbard strapped to his back and watched me as he scanned the surroundings, each move smooth and lethal. I wondered if he ever let his guard down.

  “Thank you for what you did for us,” I said, looking up to address the tall warrior once I finished healing Santino.

  Tristan shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

  I helped Santino stand up. “What about the other gorgoths in the palace?”

  “The griffins will have taken care of them.” Tristan crossed his arms as he watched me warily. “Where did you learn to heal like that?” He glanced over at Santino, who was picking up his sword.

  “At the Academy of Evolon.”

  His brows scrunched together. “You learned this healing from mages?”

  I shook my head and fidgeted under his sapphire gaze, adjusting my clothes, which were ripped and revealing too much. “I had a fae teacher.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “That explains it,” he said, then moved away to speak to one of his companions, a fae-warrior with long fair hair, a green tunic, and high leather boots who looked as deadly as Tristan. He eyed me warily as Tristan spoke to him in hushed tones.

  Santino approached the fae-warriors, his hand outstretched. “Brandor is forever in your debt.”

  Tristan turned to face him. “It was nothing.” He grasped Santino’s forearm, nodding his acknowledgement of the debt as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  “A man of few words.” Santino winked at me. “I like him.” Santino didn’t seem to be fazed by the big fae-warrior who towered over him. “I would like to offer you a place in my humble abode to stay as long as you wish. Anything your heart desires will be brought to you: food, jewels, women.” He grinned at his last offer.

  Tristan’s mouth quirked to the side in what I thought was a smile. “Thank you, but we must be on our way.”

  “As you wish,” said Santino, “but at least rest and have something to eat before you leave.” He looked up at the sky. “Dawn will soon be upon us, and I am sure you must be famished after all that fighting.”

  Tristan nodded and turned his attention to me, his eyes narrowing. “Get your things ready, Princess. We leave at first light.”

  The fair-haired warrior who stood beside Tristan put his hand on his shoulder. “Why do we have to take the half-breed with us?” He flicked a glance at me. “We should go back and send someone else to get her. As it is we had to save her. Now she will slow us down.”

  I bristled and my spine stiffened. Half-breed. Penelope had mentioned some of the noble houses of the fae looked down on anyone who was not purebred, but the animosity I felt coming from the fair-haired warrior was palpable.

  Tristan looked me over and spoke to his companion as if I weren’t there. “Our orders were to escort her to her grandmother, Aiden. She will have to keep up. It’s not my problem if she collapses when she reaches Elfi.”

  Aiden nodded at Tristan and gave me a sharp look. “And I would say good riddance.”

  The fae-warrior with short russet-colored hair walked up to us. He was dressed the same as the others, and his twin swords were already sheathed on his back. “Aiden and Tristan can’t help being rude,” he said, smiling at me. “Think nothing of it, they’re huge snobs.”

  Tristan scowled at his companion.

  I nodded but kept my mouth shut as I studied them all.

  “I apologize,” the red-haired fae said before bowing briefly. “I’m Cade. And you already know these two.” He jerked his chin at the two scowling warriors. “And that one,” he pointed to the fourth warrior, who was still surveying the premises, “is my brother, Farrell.”

  “You look alike.” I glanced at Farrell and smiled. At least one of them could speak without grunting in monosyllables or caustic remarks.

  Cade stood up straighter. “We’re twins but not identical, thank the Great Goddess. I got all the looks, as you can
see.”

  I laughed. Cade was sweet, and he was the only one who seemed to have a sense of humor.

  “Enough, Cade,” said Tristan. “Go get your things, Princess, we leave at—”

  “First light, yes,” I said tightly. “I got it the first time.” I’d had enough of his rudeness. And I didn’t want to prove Aiden right by letting them know I needed to rest. I pushed my shoulders back. “I will meet you back here when the sun rises.”

  Tristan’s eyebrow rose at my tone, but he said nothing.

  Cade laughed. “I like her.” He glanced at Tristan. “She may liven things up in Iris. The Royal Court has become so boring of late.”

  I hoped I had sounded remotely regal as I spun on my heel and sped off into the palace.

  Santino followed, practically running after me because I was walking so fast. “I can’t believe they are actually here.” His eyes looked a bit wild.

  I looked over at him and slowed my pace. Santino fell into step with me as we traversed the ornate corridors of the Red Citadel. “Who? You mean Lord Rude and Obnoxious over there? You heard Tristan, my grandmother sent them.”

  “But these are not just any fae-warriors, Aurora,” he said, hardly able to contain his excitement. “That is part of Queen Izadora’s Elite Guard. The immortal High Fae knights of legend, the last of the fire-fae warriors of Elfi.” I had never seen him so worked up. He was usually calm and composed in everything he did.

  “I thought all of the fae-knights were gone.” I tried to recall what I had learned about the fae so far from Penelope and Kalen.

  “Not all of them,” said Santino. “Tristan Nightshade is a legend. Although he is one of the youngest, he is also the fiercest of Izadora’s warriors, and the deadliest. They say his silver fire can burn whole mountains to ash. Many of the Drakaar over the centuries have lost their heads to Tristan’s blade.”

  “Centuries?” My eyes grew wide. “How old is he?”

  “Around three hundred, I would say, give or take a few years.”

  “Three hundred years! But he looks in his early twenties.” My eyes narrowed. “How do you know all this?”

  “I have studied the fae, as they are our direct neighbors and I need to protect our borders. But even if I hadn’t, all Brandorians have grown up on fae stories. Everyone knows about Tristan Nightshade, Prince of the Night Court.”

  “The Prince of the Night Court?” I gasped, and an image of the ruins I saw when I was traveling to Calos flashed before my eyes. He was the one Brandon told me about; the merciless High Fae warrior who burned a mage fortress to ruin, killing everyone inside. He sounded like a monster. I shivered involuntarily. If Tristan hated mages so much, my grandmother must have quite a hold over him to get him to rescue me and take me to Elfi.

  I sat down on the edge of my bed, my thoughts reeling. I had read a little about the fae courts in passing at the library at the academy; it had been part of my research for my fae studies class. As far as I knew, there were three grand courts of the High Fae: the Day Court, the Night Court, and the Royal Court. The Day and Night Courts were ruled by a grand duke or duchess; and my grandmother, the queen of the fae, and her Royal Court presided over both the Day Court and the Night Court from the capital city of Elfi, known as Iris.

  “I will leave you to change and pack your things.” Santino stood up. “I must go check that the fae are well taken care of.”

  I nodded and tried to gather my thoughts before I proceeded on the last leg of my journey. I had no idea what to expect when I reached Elfi. The fae were steeped in tradition and old magic, and they were much more powerful than mages. Brandon had warned me against them, and although he had betrayed me, I knew there was some truth to what he had said about the High Fae. I would have to proceed very carefully from now on. My focus had to be learning to master my fae magic and understanding how to control it without my amulet. But I knew I had more to learn if I was going to be half as good as the fire-fae warriors.

  Soon Santino returned to tell me that the fae-warriors were ready and getting impatient to leave. Two maids accompanied him with trays of food.

  “I wanted to make sure you ate something before you left,” Santino said. “It will be a long journey to Elfi.”

  I went over to the breakfast tray and popped some berries and dried fruits into my mouth while Santino apprised me of his father’s plans. After this attack on the palace, the emir had forbidden him from escorting me to Elfi, as Santino was needed in Brandor. The fae-warriors were more than capable of protecting me on our journey. But I was uncomfortable around them. I wished Erien, Vivienne, or Kalen were here if Rafe couldn’t be. I needed a friend, someone to talk to, and these fae-warriors didn’t look too friendly. After what I’d heard about them, I was not sure what to expect anymore.

  I had already changed into my traveling clothes and tucked my hair under the hood of my cloak as I moved about my room, gathering the last of my things and picking at my breakfast tray. I couldn’t resist eating the whole bowl of fresh clotted cream, drizzled in honey and dried fruits, a traditional Brandorian breakfast.

  “Give me five minutes.” I couldn’t find the second dagger given to me by Rafe, and I didn’t want to leave without it.

  “What did the mastermage mean about the key Brandon stole?” asked Santino as he helped me look for the missing dagger.

  Santino had proved he could be trusted, so I told him briefly about Morgana’s search for the Book of Abraxas. He needed to know what was at stake, what Morgana and the Drakaar were truly after, but I did not tell him about the Dawnstar. He didn’t need to know about it yet, not until I knew more about it myself.

  I had to begin thinking strategically. If Santino could convince his father and the other emirs to stand against Morgana, we could have a chance to defend Elfi. Brandor was the bordering kingdom, and Morgana would have to go through Brandor to get her army to Elfi, if it ever came to that.

  Santino listened carefully, not saying a word until I had finished. He ran a hand over his mouth and short beard. “My spies have heard rumors Morgana’s people have been looking for ancient magical artifacts. But I never suspected this was what she was after.” He started to pace. “But this may be what we need to get my father to stand against Morgana. He would not be so foolish as to let her get her hands on the Book of Abraxas.”

  I nodded. “Yes, exactly. If we can get the kingdoms to unite against Morgana, we may have a chance.”

  Santino stopped pacing and gripped the windowsill. “I have heard of a rebel group that hides in the Darkwood on the border of Illiador.”

  “Yes, Brandon mentioned them; the Silver Swords, I think they call themselves.”

  “Precisely,” said Santino. “You are surprisingly well informed.” He turned to face me. “I had some of my spies infiltrate the rebel camps. It seems most of the rebel leaders are comprised of the common people brought together by remnants of noble houses who were loyal to your parents. When Azaren and Elayna were killed, the survivors of your father’s court hid in the Darkwood, biding their time and helping the people of Illiador who were tortured by Morgana’s Shadow Guards.”

  “Where are you going with this?” Could the Silver Swords help us? Would they?

  “Ever since word of your return reached the rebels, plans have been made to amass an army.”

  “What army?”

  “Your army, Aurora. For you to lead and take back your kingdom.”

  I knew it was coming to this, but the reality hadn’t struck me until now. “And who leads the Silver Swords?” I had my own suspicions about who it was.

  “My latest intelligence has revealed Duke Gabriel Silverthorne is the leader and commander of the Silver Swords.” Santino’s eyes never left my face.

  “I thought as much,” I muttered. Uncle Gabriel was quite a resourceful fellow. “I hope Rafe manages to free him from the dungeons.”

  “Prince Rafael is in touch with the rebels—they will help him free the duke, if it can be done.” />
  “How does he know them?” Rafe had never mentioned it.

  “Rafael has been working for your uncle for some time now, taking messages back and forth between Silverthorne and the Silver Swords. The Black Wolf was his cover.”

  I shook my head. “But why didn’t he tell me any of this?”

  Santino shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know why he kept it from you. But I’m sure he and Silverthorne had their reasons and would have told you eventually.”

  This was what Uncle Gabriel and Rafe were planning all along. I wished I had listened and trusted my uncle when he said he had a plan, although the mastermage had pointed out it was fate that sent me from the palace that day. Otherwise I might have been captured along with Uncle Gabriel. Or worse, already dead.

  “I have my people in touch with Rafael. I will aid when I can to help free your uncle. You concentrate on mastering your powers until we can get you in contact with the Silver Swords. I have sent more spies on the lookout for your cousin and aunt.”

  “Thank you so much, Santino, you have helped us a lot. And I know I’ve said this before, but I appreciate everything you have done. I am forever in your debt.”

  Santino moved from the window, but he didn’t come closer. “And I in yours.”

  I hesitated. I still had reservations. “I don’t know how much help I am going to be to you. I have failed at everything I have tried to do so far. Why would the rebels follow me? Why would anyone follow me? I’ve proved nothing so far except my own naïveté. My magic is still too wild, and I am not sure if I will ever be able to master it completely. Maybe I should take your father’s advice and disappear entirely. I will never be strong enough to stand against the Drakaar, and Morgana will never stop hunting me. I am no queen, and I’m not sure if I ever will be.”

  I had never truly realized the magnitude of what we were up against until I met the Drakaar and the High Fae. These were warriors and magic-wielders with centuries of experience under their belts. I was facing immortal hardened killers who had magic that threatened to suffocate all faith and light from this world. My only hope was a legendary weapon that may or may not exist.