by K.N. Lee
“Come, put on your clothes and let’s get out of here before you get called away for another mission.”
Pulling her nightgown over her head, she tossed it into the corner for the maids and hurried to step into the leather pants. She tucked them into her riding boots, and pulled on the sage tunic, buckling a belt across the middle.
Her purple hair fell over her shoulders in disarray. She secured it with a clasp to keep it from flying into her eyes once they rode their horses.
She wished North and Hazel had dragons of their own. It would have been much more fun. Nonetheless, it had been awhile since she’d ridden her horse, Tiger, and soon excitement rose within her to give her old friend a visit.
Once she was dressed, and ready, they headed down the stairs. To her surprise, North waited at the bottom, dressed in a dapper waistcoat and riding pants. His curly, auburn hair glistened beneath the sun’s light that reflected through the glass ceiling.
She smiled at him, her cheeks blushing as their eyes met.
“Birthday wishes,” he said, giving her a bow, a single, red rose outstretched to her.
Her smile widened, and she wished it hadn’t. She felt like she looked like a fool when she smiled, and so she quickly tried to suppress it before he stood to his full height and embraced her.
“Thank you,” she said, breathing him in.
It was a shame she couldn’t hold him longer than the brief seconds they had, for her released her from their embrace and promptly kissed Hazel on the lips.
“Morning, darling,” he said, and Wren’s stomach sank.
“Shall we go?” Hazel asked, hands locked with that of her intended husband.
The three had been friends since childhood, residing in the Academy during training season. But, unlike Wren, they went home in the warm months, to the same village. It was only natural that they’d fall in love.
Wren nodded, shoving her unrequited feelings into the deepest pits of her stomach.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go.”
9
Wren hardly touched her breakfast of toasted bread with apple butter. She nibbled, but her mind was elsewhere. Whatever had spoken to her as she fell asleep still haunted her thoughts.
The voice was feral, and disembodied. Just thinking of it made her shudder. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t speak of it to North and Hazel, but kept it locked inside.
They left the Academy and retrieved their horses from the stable. The sun now shone from high in the sky, bright and warm against the chill of oncoming winter.
A grin stretched across Wren’s face as she raced with North and Hazel through the open meadow.
Pink and purple flowers stood out from the grass and golden straw. The wind blew through her hair, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and whistling in her long, pointed ears.
This was perhaps the best way to spend her ascension into womanhood. She’d been the first female and the youngest to be accepted into the Dragon Elite, and now the world was hers.
She was now eighteen years of age—no longer a child—no longer the ward of the Academy.
“Try to keep up,” North said, chuckling.
Wren twisted her mouth as she watched him pull ahead. Astride her horse, Tiger, she knew she’d beat them no matter how hard they rode.
“Aye,” Wren yelled. “You won’t be so cheeky once you’ve reached the gate. She knew he’d be too afraid to urge his horse to jump it. She just hoped he didn’t attempt it and kill himself.
She shook her head. She wouldn’t let him do that. She’d catch him if he fell, that much was for certain.
Hazel emerged beside her. She looked to her left, her hair bouncing around her face as the sun’s light caught the shimmering strands.
Envy bubbled in Wren’s chest.
In a sea of elves, Wren was an anomaly, born a light fairy in a world where most were extinct.
Wren clenched her jaw, and lifted herself from the saddle, leaning forward as she made her move to pass the two riding ahead of her.
She refused to lose to a healer and a scribe.
With a yell of triumph, she dashed past the others. Tiger pounded the ground with his legs and pulled ahead of her friends faster than either of them could truly comprehend what had happened.
No magic.
No tricks.
Just pure training and determination.
Her smile widened and she tossed her head back to let the sun warm her cheeks. She stared at the blue sky as Tiger raced ahead, taking her far away from the Academy.
“Wren,” North shouted from what sounded like yards behind. “Don’t go too far!”
She barely heard him, daydreaming about what it would be like to fly amongst the birds, to stretch her wings and let the wind caress her body.
It was a shame she had been left with nothing but gruesome scars on her back.
A fairy without wings was barely a fairy at all.
Five black dragons darted across the sky in a perfect formation.
Heading to the Whispering Mountain, no doubt. Though, she wondered why she hadn’t been summoned. Perhaps they were giving her a day of freedom and celebration.
Then, perhaps Flint was purposefully keeping her out of Elite dealings.
She closed her eyes with a sigh, and focused on the heat and the thumping of Tiger’s heartbeat between her thighs. It was a different sensation from riding Luna, but if she imagined it was so, she felt as though she was flying.
“Stop Wren!” Hazel’s voice screeched.
She was broken her from her thoughts and returned her full speed to the present.
Her eyes snapped open, and she pulled Tiger’s reigns tight and taut. “Easy now,” she said, her heart racing as she stared ahead at the complete darkness that stretched ahead of her.
“Dear Mother,” Hazel said. “What is that?”
North stared ahead, his cheeks paling.
He looked to Wren, jaw clenched.
“I think its Necro,” he said, in disbelief.
Confused, she beheld the terror that was known as Necro, as North and Hazel came to a stop on either side of her. North edged ahead, as if to shield them from danger. Green eyes flickered a worried glance back at her.
“We have to hurry and tell Master Alistair,” North said, pushing fallen curls from his face as a wind laden with the scent of smoke wafted from the darkness. “Before the barriers are destroyed.”
The lush forest was gone. Every silver birch tree, bush, and flower had been sucked away by the dark force sweeping in from afar. Once the darkness spread, he would appear.
The King King—a force of legend—was here.
Right at their door.
“How is it getting so close?” Hazel asked, her soft voice nearly carried away by the wind that had begun to blow at their faces.
Wren exchanged a glance with North. Terror gripped at her throat as she imagined the death and destruction to come.
“It isn’t supposed to,” North said.
“No,” Wren agreed. “He isn’t supposed to.”
The being—the force—responsible for nearly wiping out her race had returned.
A Titan was in their midst.
10
The fear of what they’d just witnessed drove Wren and the others to racing back to the Academy. They bypassed the other students crowding the halls and gardens to request an audience with the headmaster.
As an Elite, she was allowed straight to his door.
While they waited outside of Master Alistair’s doors, Wren made eye contact with one of the guards. Her brows furrowed as he peered down at her from his helmet, and grimaced.
Was she that awful to look at?
She turned away, facing North, and exhaled. Terror still simmered in her gut, leaving her nauseous. He must have noticed, for he wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her into an embrace.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered to her, and she breathed him in, praying his words were true.
They both knew what had happened to her people—to the fairies destroyed by Necro. She never truly expected to have to face him again.
No one did.
Hazel placed a hand on her back, and cool healing energy seeped through her shirt and into her flesh.
The doors were opened, and relief flooded Wren along with her friend’s love and healing.
She was lucky to have North and Hazel.
They were all she’d ever had.
“You may enter,” one of the guards said.
Inside Master Alistair’s study was High Cleric Zella. Once they’d opened the door to allow entry, Wren had an uncanny feeling that they’d just walked into a room in which her name had been spoken just moments prior.
As their eyes lingered on her, and barely glanced at North or Hazel, she was almost certain of it. Shelves of rolled parchment and artifacts lined the walls where tapestries were hung, and torches lit the space.
It smelled of juniper berries, and Wren spied a burning candle on the headmaster’s desk that wrapped around the back side of the room. It looked out to the sea that crashed and gleamed along the south of the Academy grounds.
“Why do you all look as if you’ve fallen down into a dark pit filled with snakes?” High Cleric Zella asked, lifting a thin, red brow.
“Necro,” North said, catching his breath. The two elders stared at them with widened eyes. “I think Necro has returned.”
“What did you see?” Zella asked, her voice almost too soft to hear. “Tell us everything.”
“Darkness is stretched from the ground and into the sky, and its moving toward us,” Wren said, exchanging looks with Hazel and North. “We saw it just outside of the wheat fields at the base of Saldoria.”
“We must summon more barriers,” Zella said, her eyes twinkling, and brows furrowing.
Master Alistair nodded, his arms folded across his broad chest. As a descendant of a demi-god, he stood two feet taller than North, who was the tallest of them all, and had a massive frame that made him look more like a giant than an elf. With his muscular build, he could have easily been a warrior, instead of the powerful mage he was.
His black hair was pulled into a tight knot at the top of his head, and narrow, silver eyes glanced into Wren’s before looking out over the balcony. He was master of the Academy, and protector of every student within its gates, but not even he could stop what was determined to come.
“I’ll strengthen the barriers and put up new ones,” he said, and Zella nodded. “I might even need to ask for aid from our ancestors. If Necro has truly returned, we ned to be ready.”
“You three best be on your way,” Master Alistair said. “We will handle things from here.”
Wren and the others nodded, and turned to leave Master Alistair’s study.
“And, don’t worry about Necro,” Zella said. “Rest assured that we will keep it at bay.”
North and Hazel nodded, confident in their elders, but Wren glanced over her shoulder once more. Her face was solemn, as if resolved to their fate, and Zella followed her outside the door.
“Why don’t you two head on back to your rooms?” Zella asked with a kind smile. Despite her smile, Wren knew she hadn’t followed her into the hallway to spread cheer. “I need to speak with Wren.”
“Of course,” Hazel said. “See you at supper.”
Wren waved and they left her alone with the beautiful elf who had been more of a mother to her than a teacher.
Zella had been both, and that was almost saddening—that Wren had only had one person in her entire life to show her love.
Fidgeting with the frayed leather of her tunic’s belt, she looked down at her boots.
“What is it?” Zella asked. “Tell me what troubles you.”
Wren lifted a brow. “Necro, of course,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Zella lifted her chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. “There is something more than that.”
Shrugging, Wren pursed her lips. She couldn’t reveal the turmoil brewing in her heart.
“Very well,” she said. “Run along.”
Run along? You’d think she was a child. Still, Wren kept quiet, and bowed to Zella instead of voicing her retort.
She left the elvish cleric standing there, watching her, as she strode down the hall toward the training grounds.
She coiled the end of her long hair around her finger.
Necro was coming, and the Dragon Elite would be needed more than ever.
The sun shone on her through the wall of open arches and left her skin shimmering like diamonds.
Wren wasn’t one to sit around and wait for someone to save her…she was going to be ready.
11
Ember awakened with tears in his eyes.
Something was wrong. Tension filled his body and left him cold. He sat up, with a start, and shot a look to the door to his private quarters.
He knew she was coming, and he feared why.
A knock came on the door.
With a wave of his hand, he opened the door, and left the comfort of his bed.
He was weary, having had just returned from a pilgrimage to the land of his birth in search for answers.
After all of this time, he still had few that were satisfying.
To his surprise, High Cleric, Fern entered the bedroom, her robes swishing around her feet as she shuffled across the slick floor. She wore a circlet with a stone in the center, and it glowed as she rushed inside.
The room was silent before she stepped in, but the air tightened as she did so.
She rarely left the Keep to venture to the palace, but as she approached, he could tell that something was amiss. Her face was pale, eyes clouded with tears.
She stopped before him, fidgeting her robe’s sleeve.
“High Cleric, Fern,” he said, giving her his full attention. “Is there something wrong?”
She tilted her head, and a tear fell down her cheek. “High Cleric, Laurel is dead,” she said, and he frowned.
“Nonsense.” His voice came out more forcefully than intended, but there was a history there.
Fern shook her head. “It’s true.”
“How?”
Her next word sent a shiver up his body, and for the first time in ages, he felt real fear.
Her brows furrowed. “Necro,” she said. “He’s back.”
His throat went dry, and he found himself swallowing back a lump. “Where?”
“The Vale, your majesty.”
“This cannot be.”
“But, it is,” she said. “They need us. The world needs us to come together, one more time.”
He’d fought in wars against Necro once before, in a time when the Titans roamed the world in hordes.
Ember stood, his heart racing, and outstretched his arms. In a rage of red light and fire, he shifted into that of a creature so beautiful that most couldn’t look directly at him when in this form.
A phoenix.
Golden wings of fire and fury flapped and heat up the entire room as he ascended toward the domed ceiling, and out the cylindrical opening that led to the sky.
If what he had heard was true, there was no time to waste. It was time to summon his sword, and prepare for war.
12
Wren quickly left the Academy, and ran down to the front garden where mages congregated.
Whispers of what was coming filled her ears.
Her hands shook as she outstretched the orb.
“Awaken,” she called, and the dragon presented itself.
There was no time to waste, she mounted, and grabbed the reigns. “To the Whispering Mountain,” she said, and Luna gave a snort before propelling them into the sky.
They left the Academy grounds behind, and flew high above to the clouds. The green rolling hills and lush groves were quickly left behind.
Racing through the sky was exhilarating, but—today—unease bubbled in Wren’s belly every time she glanced to the south where Necro’s dark presence was spreading
.
Now, her frightful dreams began to return to her.
Mine, a voice had said, and she shuddered at the memory.
Wind blew at her face and the countryside below raced by in swirls of color.
Luna wasn’t the fastest dragon in the Elite, but she was impeccably fast, crossing the countryside within less than an hour.
Once they reached the Whispering Mountain, Wren leaped from Luna’s back. She landed on the smooth white stone at the top of the mountain.
She pushed her hair from her face as thick fog and cool mist wrapped around her. She could barely see through it as Luna flew off to join the other dragons in the caves of the mountain. She was only a summoning away.
As she headed to the cavern doors that led inside, someone emerged from the fog.
Tall, slender, and armed with a sword, Flint approached.
She corrected her posture and bowed her head.
“I’ve come to offer my assistance, Captain,” she said.
Flint stopped just before her, and tilted her head upward by her chin.
His touch was cold, but tender. Still, it was unwelcome, and she grimaced as their eyes met.
“I do love hearing you call me that,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.
“I am certain you do,” she said. He was only two years older than her, and had become captain faster than anyone had anticipated.
She could still remember him pulling her hair and tying it into a knot when they were children. She now knew the reason behind his attention.
Flint stepped even closer, nearly bumping into her chest. He was one of the tallest elves she’d ever seen—and most in The Vale were quite tall. With golden hair worn straight down and over his shoulders, and crystalline blue eyes, he was truly a vision, yet Wren would rather push his face into the dirt than kiss him like most of the other girls in the Academy.
She backed away, and he shrugged, rubbing his knuckles across his chin.
Even as she had that thought, her cheeks reddened. Despite her distaste for him…he had been her first and only kiss thus far.
