As she stepped carefully, still wearing silk slippers, she could hear the sounds of shouting and commotion coming from the outside. She thought she was getting close, but no matter which way she turned, she couldn’t seem to get to their voices. She could feel herself moving downward, farther into the bowels of the castle, but she hadn’t come to any more stairs. Or even the dungeons. Once she made it to the dungeons, she could follow the sewers to the river, but so far there was no sign that she was getting close. Only nothingness. Thalia began to wonder if she would die here, wandering in circles until her skin began to slough away and her eyes were blind.
Finally, she rounded a corner and saw more stairs ahead. “Thank heavens,” she sighed. She only hoped that she could reach Malik before he did something irrational. She began to run, trying to block out the throb in her head and the burning ache in her ankle. As she reached the stairs, she stumbled and fell forward, scraping her knees on the edge of the step. “Damn,” she groaned, trying not to weep. She’d been strong this long and now was not the time for sobbing like a child. She brushed herself off, ignoring the blood running down her leg, and started up the stone stairs. It only took a few steps to realize that this was the same staircase she’d been on before. As she looked around, it became frighteningly obvious that she’d been walking in circles. The dam broke, and Thalia sat down on the stairs and began to weep copiously into her hands. The tears of fear and longing—everything she’d been holding inside came rushing to the surface until she was shaking with ugly, wrenching sobs. Suddenly she was certain that never again would she see Malik or Ellythin. The whole thing, every single step of it, had been for nothing. It was all some cruel joke that had been played by the Fates.
After she’d been there for some time, Thalia began to hear an odd, squeaking sound. Looking up from her hands, she noticed a small mouse sitting on the step beside her. She gasped and tried shooing it away, but the little gray creature just stared up at her, completely unafraid. “Go away!” she shrieked tearfully. Finally it skittered down the steps and stood on the floor as if waiting. “What do you want? I don’t have any food. And I’m probably more lost than you!” It walked a few more steps and stopped, looking back. Feeling like the world’s greatest fool, Thalia stood and began to follow it down the corridor. “I’m following a mouse. I must be out of my mind.” As they emerged into the passage once more, the mouse slowed and seemed to grow. Before her eyes, the mouse shifted and changed, growing into the tall, thin form of Bella dressed in fur from head to toe.
“You’re so stubborn, mistress,” she remarked, brushing herself off.
“What… Bella? How did you get here?”
“I told you having a friend like me could prove useful. The Fae go where they like.”
Thalia couldn’t help throwing herself against the girl and embracing her tightly. “Oh, Bella! I’m so glad to see you. I’m utterly, hopelessly lost, and I have to get back to Ellythin! I have to tell Malik to stay away from here!”
“Too late.”
“What?”
“Too late. He’s already here, love.”
Thalia gasped and shook her head. “No! No, Bella… Esa… whatever you call yourself! We have to find him and get him away! Tristan means to kill him! And I can’t let him die for me!” She grabbed the girl’s arm and began pulling her down the corridor.
“Silly thing,” she chuckled, staying rooted to the spot and nearly pulling Thalia off her feet. “Do you really think that a weakling like Tristan could best a dragon?”
“But…Malik gave up his dragon form. How?”
Bella said no more and put her finger to Thalia’s lips then turned to the wall. She cocked her head to one side as if thinking very hard about something. Thalia began to pace impatiently. She wondered what the fairy could possibly be waiting for, and then she watched as the pixie drew lines of starlight in the air, making a door appear in the wall. She turned to Thalia. “Well… come on then. I have to get you out of here.”
What could she do but follow?
When Thalia emerged into the light, Bella was gone, and she found herself on the eastern battlement, headed toward the burned tower. It was still smoldering from Malik’s last visit, and the bricks were crumbling, but she was certain she would find him there. “Bella!” she hissed, spinning around and looking for the girl. Damned fairies! Fickle and unpredictable little beasties. Luckily the only people around were too busy running for their lives to notice her. She scanned her surroundings looking for any sign of Tristan. For a moment, she considered that perhaps her escape had been too easy. Perhaps this was what Tristan had wanted all along.
Gathering her skirts, she began to run toward the tower. She said a silent prayer that along the way she might find another weapon. She didn’t know what she would find when she got there, but one thing was certain: Tristan was a coward, and he wouldn’t be facing his brother alone.
“Thalia!”
The voice grabbed Thalia by the heart, and she nearly stepped off the edge of the battlement. She whipped around to see Malik sprinting toward her. He was wearing armor fashioned from his own scales, and he moved with a newfound grace. Suddenly, every ounce of strength she had drained away, and as he reached her, she fell into his arms. “Can it be? Is it really you?” she breathed, kissing him over and over.
“Of course it’s me, Mouse,” he said, embracing her tightly. “You didn’t think I’d leave you, did you?”
“You idiot!” she snapped, pushing against his chest with both hands. “You shouldn’t risk yourself for me!”
“Don’t be stupid, Thalia. Tristan would have to bring more than a couple of hundred inept castle guards and a stone fortress to keep me away from you.” She laughed and embraced him once more. Their lips met in a desperate kiss that stole Thalia’s breath with its ferocity. “Thank you,” she repeated against his mouth, reveling in his bittersweet taste.
He pulled away from her roughly. “What about you? How did you get here? I thought Tristan had locked you away in the tower.”
“What?” she whimpered.
“I was supposed to rescue you! But you’ve already escaped!”
“So?”
“So… you’re supposed to be the damsel in distress.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” she chuckled.
“No, you aren’t.” He growled and licked her mouth. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll go away… far away from Osghast where no one will ever find us.”
“But Bella… the curse… you’re the rightful king, Malik.”
Malik shook his head. “I don’t care. It has nothing to do with us.”
He pulled her into his arms once more and silenced her protests with another kiss. She felt it in her center, and it radiated out through the rest of her body. Suddenly she didn’t care about Tristan or Osghast or any of the rest of it. All that mattered was here and now.
Then pain. Stabbing, searing pain in the center of her back. It took her breath, and she bowed backward, unable to move. “Thalia?” Malik held her as her body went limp. “Thalia, what’s wrong?” Her mouth worked, but no sound would come. In her head, she was screaming, I’m dying, but the words died in the blood already collecting her throat. The pain dulled to a throb that burned with every heartbeat. Slowly Malik lowered her to the floor as she stared up at him. Thalia could feel herself slipping away, fleeing the agony, but she wanted to be sure that the last thing she saw in this life were his eyes of fire and ice.
“Well. The prodigal son returns to Thane at last.” Tristan’s eyes were cold and calculating as he stared down at his brother. The blade still lodged in Thalia’s back acted as a stopper, keeping the blood from pouring onto the floor, making it seep slowly from the wound. Malik was fascinated by the sticky warmth running down his wrist. Looking down, he could see her blood soaking into the sleeve of his tunic. It was a reminder of the life that was slipping away like a curling plume of incense. The king had done his job well, throwing the dagger with fatal precision. “It’s a
shame really, brother. She would have made an exquisite corpse hanging from my battlements.” Tristan stalked to where Malik knelt over her, cradling her dying body to his chest. He brandished his sword as he paced around Malik.
“Thalia… please,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “Don’t leave me.” He drew her into his embrace, holding her tight to him as if he might will her wounds to heal.
“Cold… Malik,” she whispered. “I’m… so sorry…”
“Shush,” he said, brushing her hair back from her brow. “I’m going to get you out of here, Thalia. You’re going to be…” He choked on the lie, feeling the tears stinging his eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”
Thalia forced a breathy laugh. “Liar.”
Before Malik could respond, Thalia shuddered violently. “No, Thalia… No! You stay with me!” he commanded.
Her breath came in watery, heaving gasps. “Always,” she whispered. “I always loved you… Malik. And… always will.” Her heart gave one last flutter before she fell against him, lifeless. Malik held her tight, sitting down hard on the stone floor. Tristan, Osghast, being king… it all seemed so far away. Nothing mattered now. He could feel his heart breaking, his true human heart. The one he had so long kept buried and still in his chest. It was too much for him to bear, and he let out a cry of agony more frightening than the roar of any dragon, rocking Thalia’s body as if to send her to sleep.
Tristan struck the stone floor with his sword, throwing sparks around them. “Get up. Let us finish this. Women are like flowers. When one is used up, there are so many others in the garden.”
“She was nothing to you,” Malik snarled. “Just a tool and nothing more.”
“On the contrary, brother. She brought us together.”
His brother’s words brought forth all the rage Malik had been holding inside for all his life. It exploded like Greek fire, fueled by the arrogance of Tristan’s grin. The only thing he’d ever loved in this world had been destroyed. Bella had been right. One of the brothers was a monster. “You are not my brother!” Malik roared. He leapt to his feet, his dragon form bursting forth from his skin in a rain of fire.
Tristan gasped, watching as the dragon grew, stretching its limbs and wings. Malik shook his head, the horned protrusions breaking stone and mortar until he towered over this meager king. With a hiss, he breathed a wide spume of flame. Tristan rolled away, barely dodging the embers. Drawing his sword, he charged at the beast, but Malik waved him away with a slight flinch of his wing. The force sent Tristan sprawling across the floor, crashing into a pillar that shattered with the impact. Tristan managed to regain his footing and ran toward the dragon. Despite Malik’s size, he was quick, and he turned, catching Tristan with a swipe of his tail.
“Hardly a fair fight, brother!” Tristan shouted. Malik swiped again, but this time, Tristan was faster, grabbing the tail and swinging himself onto the dragon’s back. Immediately, he began raining blows across the scaled flanks as he made his way higher. Malik twisted, trying to reach him with his teeth to no avail. The blade of Tristan’s sword bounced off his scales, and he cursed. Finally, he jabbed, the blade slipping between the scales to slash at his brother’s skin. Malik roared again, breathing another column of fire in his frustration. Just as Tristan reached the base of his skull, Malik threw his wings back, stretching his body then contracting. The shift was fast, throwing Tristan to the side. Malik screamed as his bones and skin reconfigured, but the pain only fueled his rage. He rolled to his feet and grabbed the sword that lay discarded where Thalia had fallen.
“Clearly you have me at a disadvantage, brother.”
Both men froze as the doors leading to the battlements burst open. Knights began pouring into the narrow passage, rushing to defend their king. Malik took a deep breath, praying that he would have the strength to shift again. But as he watched, he realized that the men were rallying to him, not Tristan. Knights, guards, and even townspeople created a barrier, blocking the royal guards from coming close. It was a mess of confusion with swords clanging and fists flying. Despite his best efforts, Tristan would be facing him alone.
“Perhaps your subjects aren’t so loyal as you’d like,” Malik said.
Tristan responded with a swing of his sword that whizzed past Malik’s ear so close he could hear the blade singing. He dodged with an awkward jerk, stumbling backward. Tristan took full advantage, bearing down upon him with enraged blows. Again and again their swords clanged together. Malik could only block as Tristan slashed at him over and over. Finally, he tackled Malik to the floor, using the weight of his body and the awkward length of his sword to disarm him. “They’ll bow to me when I have your head!” Tristan bellowed, nudging the tip of his blade under Malik’s chin.
Malik smiled, “Good luck.” He managed to get his knee under Tristan’s chest and pushed him back with all his might. It was enough to fend off Tristan’s blade but that was all he needed. Once more he shifted, using the force of the magic as another weapon against his brother.
“The dragon!” some of the guards behind them shouted, throwing down their weapons to run.
Tristan was thrown back against the stones, sliding across the floor and losing his sword. The dragon stalked toward him, dragging the horned tips of his wings along the floor. Slowly he slithered, head down and shoulders hunched, closing in on his prey. And Tristan understood that he was the prey this time. “Enough games, sire!” Malik spat. “If you wish to have my head, come and get it.”
Tristan crawled backward, dragging himself across the stones. He eyed the discarded sword, trying to work out how he might grab it. He looked to the guards who stood there speechless. The silence was deafening as all the fighting ceased. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Grafton, cowering behind the line of woodsmen. “Grafton! Help me!” he shouted. The old gypsy’s eyes were wide and full of fear. He shook his head. “You… treasonous coward!” The guards stood silent. He shouted to the young boy, Kiernan, from the militia. “You there! Boy! My sword!”
“You are not my king,” the boy choked. He held up the dagger he’d taken from Malik in the forest. “Malik, Dragon Lord of Ellythin carries this and by rights is the heir of Christophe.”
“You fool! That dagger means nothing! I have the other…” Tristan whipped his head around. He was looking for Thalia’s body where the twin blade still lay. But she was gone. “I am the king!”
Malik laughed and hissed black steam. “Betrayal has many faces… brother.” He spat this last word with venom and malice, tasting the sweet revenge of it on his tongue. Before Tristan could reply, he charged him, grabbing his body with his razor-sharp talons and streaking into the sky. Higher and higher they climbed until Malik’s form was a mere speck of cloud across the setting moon.
“Please…” Tristan begged, gulping for air. “Spare me, brother! I was only trying to save our people!”
“And so am I.” And with that, Malik let him go, watching as his body plummeted toward the earth and crashed on the rocky crags below.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bella held Thalia’s body close, shielding her from the heavy rain that had begun to fall on Thane. It was a cleansing rain that would hopefully wash any trace of Tristan and his evil away from this place. But for now, there were more important matters to attend. In all the commotion, Bella had managed to pull Thalia away from the fight and into the burned-out tower. She’d watched from above as Malik defeated Tristan and the people of Thane bowed to him. He would be king, and this world would be safe. But as she looked down at the ruined body of poor Thalia, she wondered if the price had been too high. She stroked Thalia’s hair back from her brow and kissed it lightly. She’d tried to pull her back from the clutches of death, but the girl was beyond Bella’s powers to heal. The Fae were only able to heal if the soul was still intact, but Thalia’s spirit was already gone. Her body was a mere empty vessel. She’d saved Malik, her son, only to destroy him again. Holding the girl against her, she wept, her impo
tent tears silver and cold.
“Bella.” She looked up to see Malik land on the edge of the tower, shifting back to his human form in an instant.
“Oh, Malik,” she cried. “I am so sorry… so sorry.”
He went to her and knelt at her side. The anger that he expected never came, only an emptiness that settled in his chest. He put an arm around Bella’s shoulders and kissed her hair. “For what? You didn’t kill Thalia.”
“Yes, I did! I killed her just as much as Tristan. I should never have let her go back. I should have forced her to leave with me!”
Malik shook his head, embracing the fairy. “Everything happens for a reason.”
She scoffed, laying Thalia on the ground between them. “No. What possible reason could there be for the death of this innocent?”
“Restoring honor. Faith.” He tipped Belladonna’s chin higher. “You saved my life in so many ways, Bella.”
“But not hers!” she spat. “I couldn’t save her!”
“No. But I can.” This new voice broke the stillness of the room, and both turned to see Queen Mab herself standing in the moonlight, staring down at them. Her silver hair and pale skin made her appear to glow in the dimness of the secluded tower. She wandered the tower, pausing to stare down at Thalia’s limp body.
Belladonna bowed low. “My queen.”
“Get up, banished brat servant,” Mab said, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Then she turned her eyes to Malik. “Well, it would appear you’ve grown, my lord.”
Malik stood and started toward Mab. “Arrogant, scheming pixie!” he snarled. Bella could feel the heat radiating off him. Any second he was going to shift and burn the Faerie Queen to ash. “This is all your fault!”
“You might want to pipe down, my lord. While I admire your passion, if you smite me, then there’ll be no saving your queen.” She brushed her fingertips through his hair and laughed as he ducked away. “I must admit, the two of you managed to outsmart me. When I told Bella here to destroy the dragon, I meant drowning it in the river, not making it a man.”
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