Dead Moons Rising: First in the Honest Scrolls series

by Jack Whitney

  “Balandria Windwood. Venari King,” he said as he clapped her shoulder. “I couldn’t have asked for a better successor.”

  When Balandria left them, Draven practically fell backwards into the hay bales at the corner of the bars. Aydra held his hands as he cried quietly, and after a while she held him against her chest, staring out at the stars sparkling back at them in the sky. Tears came down her own face as she tried to assure him he’d done his part as being a great king, leading his people out of the shadows they’d so rested in for generations.

  Her body felt empty and full all at once.

  Empty because she knew this was the end, full because of the love she’d felt just within those last few hours. Proud of the people her siblings had become. Proud of Balandria for trying to keep a stern face in front of her king.

  It was all she could have asked for on her last night.

  The parchment Balandria had brought him was quickly filled with their story. The truth. Not whatever lies the Chronicles would say about them. Their love. Their comfort in darkness. How they’d found each other despite the fear and hatred their givers had so spewed upon their races throughout history. Upon its completion, Draven stuffed it between two rocks, securing it for whomever he thought would need it in the future.

  As he sat back against the wall, he cradled her in his arms, the both of them fighting the drooping of their heavy eyes. They’d not slept the night before, but neither wanted the morning to come any faster than it would already.

  “I have to tell you something,” Draven whispered after a while.

  She sat her chin on his chest and met his gaze. “This isn’t like the other times, is it?” she said, almost playfully. “I don’t think I can take anymore faints of surprise.”

  He chuckled under his breath, and he grasped her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. “No, not like the other times,” he promised.

  “Then tell me.”

  Draven sighed, and her eyes squinted at his suddenly solemn facade, eyes staring at the ground as his mind worked. His gaze finally met hers again, and she swallowed hard.

  “You know what I’m going to do,” he whispered.

  Her heart skipped, and she remembered the words he had spoken to her the night of the Infi attack. He toyed with her hands in his a moment, and then he continued.

  “I always knew you would never allow me to save you—”

  “Draven, you did save me,” she interjected.

  His brows knitted together, and he squeezed her hand, but he didn’t respond.

  She reached up and felt of his face, her thumb grazing the gash across his cheek. “You saved me from a noir which I did not know was killing me. From living out the rest of my days wondering what it would have felt like to know the truth of this world.”

  “You would have been fine without me,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she managed. “But you made me so happy. So loved. My equal partner, in light and in dark.”

  His jaw was trembling, and he closed his eyes. “I am taking my own revenge against this kingdom for what they have put you through. All of them. This kingdom, your giver, your brother… they will all burn for what they’ve done to you and every other queen to have ever sat subdued on that throne. The flames of darkness will envelope the sky. And the Rhamocour’s shout will be the last thing they hear before my death.”

  Aydra’s heart skipped. “You’re bringing the Noctuans here? To Magnice?”

  “The dragons,” he answered. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  She thought about it a moment, staring at their entwined hands in his lap. “Our crown does not live within a castle. It lives within a people. These walls have betrayed that crown, made it grow greedy and unyielding…” She paused, meeting his eyes. “As long as Nyssa and Dorian are safe, it can crumble to ash and smoke,” she finally determined.

  He smiled, his forehead leaning against her temple as he hugged his arms around her, knees bent and cradling her in his arms. “There’s my Queen.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  WITH THE RISING sun came the clanking of armor.

  They’d tried to stay awake as long as they could.

  But they couldn’t stop sunlight from coming.

  “No—no, wait!”

  The realization of the day hit her chest. She was ripped from his arms by a Belwark. Her heart cried out for him as she reached for the bars. “Draven!”

  Draven grappled desperately for her hands through the bars— “Aydra, no, wait!”

  Their fingertips barely touched before the pommel of the guard’s sword struck his face, and he fell onto the dirt with a thud.

  “Draven!”

  Arms wrapped around her own, and she kicked and screamed, but it was of no use.

  Her fingertips burned with the last of his touch on her skin.

  Her fight ceased as they dragged her through the castle, her own body heavy between the two Belwarks who carried her. Her dragging feet creased the black runner down the halls. The sun flickered through the windows, and she knew it wasn’t clouds hoarding over it. It was the shadows of the crows following them.

  She was thrown onto the floor between Arbina’s pool and her brother’s throne. The Council was lined up around the chairs, each standing with their hands in front of them. She didn’t have to look up to know who’s black boots were slowly coming toward her.

  She glared up at her brother through the strangles of her hair. And when he bent down in front of her, she spat the blood in her mouth onto his face.

  “Coward,” she breathed.

  His jaw tensed, and she watched as he wiped his face with the sleeve of her dress.

  “I always knew you’d betray the crown,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “By falling in love with someone that wasn’t you?” she dared. “Forgive me for wanting actual love, brother dear.”

  Rhaif’s nostrils flared. He stood and snapped his fingers above her. “Take her to the square.”

  The ropes scratched her wrists.

  She could already hear the murmurs of the people gathering around the square where she was taken. She wondered what lie the crown had told her to have them gathering stones in their hands.

  It was on this same square that she had executed the Infi. This same square that she had protected the people who would now bring her to the brink of death by stone’s throw. This square that she had sworn to her raven that they would have their day.

  This would be the day the Chronicles would soon call a reckoning for the people, a mercy done forth by the King himself, to protect their land from the abomination of the child growing in her womb.

  Lies.

  Her heart shattered upon seeing Draven being dragged up the steps to the platform across from her. He stared at her through his strangles of hair.

  The Venari King shoved to his knees.

  But it was only when she saw the shears being handed to Bard that her heart truly screamed.

  “No—no, wait! DON’T—”

  Bard pulled Draven’s hair to a knot on the top of his head, and he cut it crudely.

  Aydra’s knees gave out beneath her as she watched his hair fall to the wood. Draven avoided her eyes, tears streaking his face.

  The Venari King ripped of his crown.

  Bard came around and picked up a lock of it, and then he held it high in the air with a great, mocking, bellow. The crowd cheered gleefully, its shouts and celebration making Aydra’s ears ring.

  These were the people that had once loved her.

  It amazed her what fear would do to a people.

  Perhaps the Infi had infiltrated her streets more than she’d previously thought.

  When Bard was done mutilating Draven’s hair, he spoke into the crowd, asking it for a number of lashes to be given.

  Aydra barely heard the words. Draven finally looked up and met her gaze, and he shook his head.

  She hoped Balandria was not there to witness it.

  The people decided
on fifteen lashes for Draven. His agony filled the air with each slash and break of the skin on his back, his shirt ripping from his chest. And when they were done, it was she that was suddenly brought back to her feet, her arms latched to the chain above her head.

  Bard spoke words that she didn’t hear. She couldn’t take her eyes off Draven’s figure, his stomach lying on the wood as blood poured from the lashings on his back. She heard the crowd cheer, and then saw Bard walk down front, his arm wrapping around a child’s shoulders as he handed the boy a small rock.

  It was the first stone to strike her.

  Aydra shut her eyes, trying to shut out the pain of the small rocks that hit her flesh from then on. The sun’s warmth shrouded her face. The crows sat on the buildings all around her. Her cheeks stiffened with dried tears.

  This was the sun she would die beneath upon its setting.

  The stones were nothing to the flames she knew would lick her flesh later.

  Aydra didn’t remember being moved off the pole. She wasn’t in the dungeon. She was alone in the Throne Room, only the drip of the water falling over the edge being the noise in her ears.

  Tied to Arbina’s tree.

  Her arms were above her and a rope was strapped around her middle.

  And Arbina was sitting on the steps.

  The cold wind of the sunset wrapped through the open columns of the room. Aydra looked out at the ocean, memorizing her final sunset. Orange streaks littered the ocean, blues and purples cascading over the wave-like clouds above them. The teal serenity of the ocean was stark against the pinks, and she sighed her head back against the tree.

  Arbina’s fingertips touched the water as she gazed down at her own reflection. “You could easily get out of this,” Arbina said.

  Aydra barely had the strength to speak to her. “Go away, mother,” she managed.

  Arbina’s head tilted as she laid her hands across her knees. “You would die for him? Even though his death is inevitable?”

  Aydra swallowed hard. “I will die for every Queen to have ever sat on that throne. I die so that my sister does not suffer the fate I was forced to live with. I die to show the true cowardice of this Age.” The pain of her body tore through her, but she pushed it out of mind.

  “Tell me mother,” she forced herself to say. “How long have you been whispering thoughts in my brother’s ears?”

  Arbina stood, her arms wrapping around her as her defiant gaze met Aydra’s. “Since you decided to become the kingdom’s executioner.”

  Aydra’s heart shattered, and she felt her body begin to tremble. “I should have let them freeze you,” she hissed.

  A small smile rose on Arbina’s lips. “My daughter… you should know freezing would not take to my poisoned waters.”

  The swell of what Draven had told her the night before filled her with a strength that made her smile. A quiet chuckle emitted from her lips, and Arbina’s weight shifted.

  “What?” Arbina asked.

  Aydra’s gaze met hers, and she smiled. “I wish I was going to be here to watch you burn.”

  Arbina’s eyes blazed, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the doors at the back of the room opened, and a throng of Belwarks entered.

  Draven was unconsciously dragged between the last two guards’ arms.

  He was thrown on the ground at Rhaif’s chair, and his chains were wrapped around the stone legs of it. The guards left him and filed back out the same door. She watched as they came to stand in the gallery above the open room.

  Aydra’s chest constricted with seeing him again, his hair cut short to his head, the lashings on his back. She struggled against the rope bindings despite herself.

  “Draven,” Aydra managed. “Draven, can you hear me?”

  He stirred just slightly, head moving around on the stone as though he were drunk. His palms pressed to the cold floor. She heard him grunting as he pushed himself up to his knees.

  And then she saw the realization of where he was grace his features.

  “Aydra—” He yanked on the chains, desperation in his widened eyes. “Aydra, no—”

  Tears streaked her face as the doors at the back of the room opened once more.

  The Council filed in, followed by her brother.

  And then finally her youngers.

  With Lex bringing up the end.

  Aydra struggled against her bindings at the sight of Nyssa’s sobbing face and Lex attempting to hold herself together. “No— No, Lex! Get them out of here! Take care of them!” she shouted. “Don’t—”

  “They will watch their traitorous sister burn with the rest of us,” said one of the Council members. “Watch what happens when you betray the crown.”

  “Enough,” Rhaif said, coming around to the front. He paused in front of Draven. “Venari King on his knees, void of the shroud of hair he so called his crown.” Rhaif pushed his hands behind his back, chest puffing out proudly. “I always knew this day would come.”

  “Coward,” Draven spat.

  The back of Rhaif’s hand seared across Draven’s face.

  “You will watch her burn, Venari. This is all because of you. This is your fault,” Rhaif hissed.

  Draven spat the blood from his mouth onto the ground. “Long live my Queen,” he breathed.

  Rhaif’s jaw tightened so that the veins in his neck popped to the surface. He pulled his sword from his belt and struck Draven across the cheek again, making him fall to the ground.

  With a final huff, Rhaif handed his sword to Bard, and he stepped to the edge of the pool directly in front of Aydra.

  “Last words, my sister,” he asked of her.

  Her nostrils flared at the sight of him standing there, injured yet proud, in front of her. She swallowed hard, begging her voice to be loud enough so that they could all hear her.

  “I hope you remember the days we played together,” she started shakily, her chest beginning to heave. “I hope you remember all the times we laughed. The times we cried. When we loved each other… I hope those beautiful moments haunt you for the rest of the cursed days you walk this land. I hope the sounds of my screams fill your ears when you sleep, and that every time you use your fire on another that all you see is my face in the flames. For every time you burned me. For every time you raped me. For every time you told me it was the last. For every promise that you didn’t keep. And when the day comes that someone does finally end your life, I hope they do it with as little mercy as you showed your loving sister. Your sister who was put to death for simply falling in love with someone who wasn’t you.”

  The words seethed from her lips, and she felt her body tremble violently, saliva dripping from her mouth. Rhaif’s eye glistened, and she could see the flame rising up from his core.

  “Burn her,” came his final words.

  Aydra’s core emptied itself of its void.

  The council filed out one by one. The doors closed behind Rhaif. Aydra could see them lining up to the next level above the Throne Room as the Belwarks had done before. Lex wrapped her arms around both Dorian and Nyssa, and then she held up a tightened fist to the sky. Aydra saw the ring on Lex’s finger, and Lex gave her a slow nod.

  “Aydra—”

  Her gaze averted from down to Draven’s struggling figure. His eyes pleaded with her as he sat full up on his knees, struggling once more against the chains. She could see his chest heaving up and down, and he swallowed hard.

  “From once a wind—”

  Her heart crumbled, and a lone tear streaked down her cheek.

  “And brisk of leaves—”

  Her eyes never left his as her shaky voice joined his. She barely got the words out.

  There came a night.

  So dark it seemed

  No more light

  The curse it brings

  And so the dying moons said to the sun

  “Set me free,” they both managed to end.

  Draven’s jaw trembled and he tugged on the chains once more. Her knees weakened, sh
e could feel her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, and as she stared at him, she memorized his beautiful face.

  “I’ll meet you at the Edge when it’s done,” he promised. “Nothing less.”

  The tear stretched the length of her cheek, her heart bleeding in her chest at his words. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Draven’s head shook, and she watched his throat move as he swallowed his tears. “I love you.”

  Two guards appeared from the back of the room, flaming arrows in their hands. They pulled them back on their bows, and Aydra drew a jagged breath upon seeing the flames soar through the air towards her body.

  The pain of the two arrows hit her. Flames licked at her flesh. She screamed, struggling at the anxiety of it engulfing her body. She felt her heartbeat slowly deteriorate in her chest at the one arrow that had hit her high.

  Her head sighed back against the tree trunk, and she screamed only a few moments longer at the angst of the fire before succumbing to the weight of the Edge.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  DRAVEN’S SHOUTS WAILED through the darkening sky with Aydra’s own shrieks. His eyes swelled with the tears he couldn’t fight. Her screams bled his ears. He felt as though someone had ripped his insides clean from his body and fed them to his own kind, as though the Berdijay was there playing tricks on him.

  His only reprieve was that her screams didn’t last long.

  One of the men’s arrows had pierced her high on the chest.

  He wasn’t sure who the guard was, but he was sure the guard would pay for the mercy he’d shown their Queen.

  Draven sat back on his knees and watched in a trance-like state as his love turned to ash in the same pool she’d been born in.

  And then he collapsed onto the floor.

  His insides were numb, his body limp, when he was picked up off the ground of the Throne Room, and then taken to the tower dungeon once the flames had died.

  He was thrown mercilessly into the cage, and the door was locked behind them. He could hear the Belwarks mocking him as they left the room. It was dark outside. He picked himself up to a seated position and curled his legs into his chest. His foot began to tap nervously as he sat in the corner of the cell, allowing Aydra’s screams to fill his core.