by K.N. Lee
He drank it down, surprised by the sweet flavor. It went down his throat like thick molasses, and filled his belly with a warm sensation.
Then, his arms grew heavy, eyes hooded, vision blurred. He stumbled backward and settled onto the hay. Like Amalia, he was swept away by such sweet sleep that when his eyes closed, he wondered if they would ever open again.
Kylan was awakened by the crackling of lightning. He lay in the middle of a vast field of white flowers that were soft beneath his body and his palms as her ran his hands along their petals.
The sky brightened as lightning struck again.
Fantastic, its going to storm.
He shuddered as a wave of cool air swept through the meadow and sat up, rubbing his exposed arms. He didn’t have on a shirt, and gasped when he realized that he was no longer collared. The chains on his ankles were gone.
It all was.
He stood, and pulled his hair back, in awe.
He was free.
Whatever Brother Dagan had given him was better than he’d imagined. But, how long would this last?
The question left his shoulders slumping. Then, he remembered that he could not stay here for too long. He had to return to the present to find an escape and rescue Amalia from those religious fanatics.
She was everything, and he would not rest until they were reunited once more. The thunder and lightning did little to ease his weary mind or the worry that flooded and remained in his veins. His spirit rune was gone.
But, that didn't mean that the beast inside was dead.
Not even close.
It roared within his soul, eager to be set free.
Kylan would not ignore the call or disappoint the magic within. This was his chance to fly free again.
His eyes glowed and with all of his strength and might, he stomped onto the ground and leaped into the air, high above the heads of the monks who had led him out here to his death.
Ancient magic filled him, and soared through his skin and bones as it cracked and broke. The beast cried out with joy and Kylan embraced every second of pain and euphoria as he shed his human form and broke the binds that had made him prisoner.
The air was thick with humidity and cool, and as droplets of rain fell onto his black scales, he breathed in a deep breath.
As he flew above the majestic countryside, his heart was full of pride. He wasn’t a pet—non of his people or the firedrakes were. They were supreme creatures given the richest of powers—rulers of ancient civilizations and fallen empires.
And, Kylan was the supreme leader of them all.
He was born to protect and love the Erani heir, and as he blew a storm of flames into the sky, he vowed that nothing would stand in his way of saving her and the other enslaved firedrakes.
His heart raced as another dragon raced up to fly beside him.
With one large, orange eye, he gave the new dragon a sidelong glance.
They couldn’t talk in their dragon form, but members of the same clan could communicate with their minds.
Something told Kylan to try.
“Evening, brother,” he said. “Kylan, of Wregard.”
The dragon gave him a nod, and flew ahead. “Muri,” he said in a deep voice that reminded him of his father’s. “Of Erani.”
Those words sent chills up Kylan’s body, and he raced to catch up with Muri.
“You’re an ancestor of mine,” he said, overwhelmed with disbelief. He knew that name. He knew the stories of Saskia and Muri, the last of the Erani dragon rider, Mage pairings.
Muri gave him a look. “Ancestor?”
Kylan paused. How could he explain that he was from the future? He wasn’t even sure if this was a dream, or if he had indeed traveled to the past. He looked down at the stunning countryside and into the horizon of snowcapped mountains and towers jutting toward the sky.
It was breathtaking, and he knew without a doubt that he was looking at the Erani Empire, their city of lights and magic. The buildings were massive, and layered with balconies and shiny domes. Dragons flew in the air, wearing colorful emblems of the Erani. It was a gift to behold.
“I am,” he said, taking a chance by telling the truth.
There was a reason Brother Dagan let them glimpse this world. He would not squander it.
“From another time—a time where our people have been cast out of Kjos and left to wander the human and Wolf lands like lost children.”
Muri shot down to the ground, flying faster than Kylan had ever attempted. He fought to keep up, shooting through the sky like a black falling star.
When they landed, Muri shifted into his human form, and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Kylan shifted and stood before him. He was tall—taller than most—but, Muri towered over him like a giant, making him feel small.
He swallowed, a bit put off by it all, but as he looked closer, he could see the similarities. Muri and his father could have been brothers.
“Tell me about this ‘other time’ you speak of,” Muri demanded, his voice deeper than when they’d just been speaking with their minds.
Kylan scratched his chin. “Well, I suppose you can say I’m from the future. Kjos has been ravaged by The Brotherhood, and the clans have either been killed or forced to escape into the other realms. I’m from the Wregard clan, that is yours as well.”
Muri’s brows furrowed and he relaxed his arms. “Who are you, really?” he asked, circling Kylan with skeptical eyes.
“Kylan, son of Davvyn, son of Jarl, son of Borr, son of Heimdall, and so on,” he said. “We go as far back as Erani. Here. And, we are fighting our way back home.”
Muri stopped before Kylan, and tapped his lips as he studied him.
“I have to admit, I haven’t anything this ludicrous in my entire life,” Muri said. “So, that’s exactly why I believe you, young dragon. Soul of my soul. Bones of my bones. That—and I can smell that you speak the truth. That both surprises and frightens me.”
“I am the Keeper of our line,” Kylan said, and showed him his mark on the back of his neck.
“It does look that way,” Muri said, carefully. He patted Kylan on the shoulder. “Let me show you something then.”
Kylan’s heart soared. “Yes,” he agreed, and Muri took to the skies.
He grinned, following behind, when all went black and he was ripped away.
Back to the present day.
Back to his stall…and Father Marduk stood over him.
15
When they returned from the Oasis, Brother Dagan took her to a room that was warm with steam. She had much to contemplate as he left her, barely aware of her surroundings.
The blast of hot air caressed her face, awakening her from her morbid, frightening thoughts. It was sweet with fragrant candle smoke and the oils that were being poured into the still, water by servants.
Father Marduk entered the room and she glanced over her shoulder, too spooked to be the first to speak. Now, that she knew about him, she could barely look him in the eyes.
“I’ve come to check to see you’re being treated well.”
She avoided his gaze, looking away. “What is all of this?”
Father Marduk folded his arms behind him.
“I didn't seek you out to kill you,” he said close to her ear. “You’re worth much more than the countless Mages we've sacrificed. And, you shall be treated as such.”
She now understood why he did this; to protect himself—for revenge on his siblings.
Shaking her head, she turned back to the pool of delicious water that she yearned to sink into and wash away weeks of filth.
“You are a goddess, worthy of worship and praise.”
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the knowledge she’d just been given. She prayed he could not read her thoughts or know the truth she’d learned in the temple. Brother Dagan had asked her to keep their meeting a secret. She would not betray him or his kindness.
She already had her hopes that
he would be her escape.
“And, Kylan?” Amalia asked, changing the subject. “Why have you taken him to the other firedrakes? He is not a beast to be commanded like a pet.”
“He is of no concern to you.”
“He is everything to me.”
“Is that so? You’ve just met him, and now you two claim to be soulmates.”
“Are we not bound to one another.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But, I plan to break that bond. Just wait and see.”
She clenched her jaw, and when she opened her mouth to speak, she realized that she was left alone.
Shuddering, she crossed her arms over her chest and let out a sigh. She had to get back to Kylan. Whatever Father Marduk had planned for her would not do. She would not be a pawn in this game between gods.
Now that they were returned to one another after centuries apart, she was left cold and exposed. Her body yearned for his, and she'd never be right again without him. She thought her love for Aros had been intense—it had, but what she felt for Kylan was on an entirely different level. It was almost as if she had no choice but to embrace the strong emotions their bond elicited.
Her eyes widened and she jumped with a start as two women in masks walked into the room from the side hallways.
Frowning, she observed them and their smooth, calculated movements. Their masks were white, only revealing their eyes, dark, and lined with black paint. While one took her by the arm and led her to a square raised platform, the other poured more oils into the pool. Her clothes were pulled over her head until she was naked before the silent women.
She gasped as water began to trickle down onto her from a spigot above. Cool and refreshing, she closed her eyes and let it wash over her in delicious bursts, like rainwater on a hot summer day.
Then, once layers of dirt and grime were washed off her skin, she was led to the pool. Each step was more intoxicating than the one before it. The hot water bit at her toes and then embraced and welcome the soles of her feet and her ankles. The sting was surprising, but she didn't resist. She wanted that sting to take over her entire body.
Once she walked deeper into the pool and the water reached her shoulders, the two women joined her, dressed in thin white robes that became translucent once in the water with her.
She closed her eyes, relaxing despite the uncertainty of what her new role would be in this mysterious place. They scrubbed her with salts and sugars and untangled her hair with metal combs dipped in steaming hot oil.
She sighed, letting them do whatever it was they'd been ordered to, and let her eyes roll back as her eyelids fluttered closed.
“Akasha,” one woman said to the other.
Her eyes popped open at hearing her soft voice that seemed to fill the room though it was barely louder than a whisper.
“Hmm?”
“Father Marduk wants to mark her. Don't scrub her too roughly or her skin will be raw.”
Amalia pushed Akasha away. “Get away from me. There will be no marking of my skin, or I will mark the both of you with my fists.”
Both women coiled back, paling.
When they scurried from the room, she rubbed her temples, worried that she might have just made things worse. She was certain they had run off to tattle on her. Instead, two new women came in to tend to her.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I guess I scared the others off,” she mumbled, and the new ones refused to look her in the eye.
16
After her bath, Amalia was dressed and draped in white robes. Her long, black hair was pulled back into two braids that reached mid-back. She sat there, silently. But, her eyes scanned the room, and the guards, searching for any weapon that she could sneak away for later.
Magic tickled her throat.
She coughed, clearing the tickle that she couldn't reach. The collar was a nuisance, and she wished she could fling it off and toss it at Father Marduk’s head.
There had to be something she could do. But, curiosity kept her calm—kept her still. She would let them pamper and dress her, and when the time was right, she would make her move.
Once they were satisfied with her appearance, she was led to another room; one only lit by the scant traces of moonlight and candles that lined the walls.
Her voice caught in her throat when she noticed that someone else was in the room.
With dark skin the shade of ash, she had long lavender hair that reached her ankles, and eyes that glowed like orbs.
Dark elf.
Amalia had never seen one before and had begun to wonder if they were a myth or a tale told to children before bed.
The doors were closed behind her, and Amalia tensed when she realized that she'd been left alone with a creature who until today had just been a legend.
“You're still alive,” she said, taking a step closer, her arms covering her bosom. She wasn't dressed like Amalia. Her gown was scantier and embellished with jewels and gold.
“What a wonder that is,” she added, looking Amalia up and down. “Who are you?”
She licked her lips. “My name is Amalia.”
“I don't care about your name,” the dark elf girl said, brows furrowed. “Who are you? What are you?”
She tensed. “I’m nobody.”
The elf scoffed. “You do not expect me to believe such lies. You must surely know the truth of what you are. If you don’t, there is no hope for any of us.”
Amalia shook her head, confused.
The elf turned away. “I knew it. You’re utterly clueless.”
Though she said those words, Amalia could detect a hint of fear and sorrow. The elf was terrified of something, and it wasn’t her.
“I haven't come to harm anyone,” Amalia said. “I’ve been dragged across seas and sand.”
“So was I,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. The tears in her eyes glistened and she rubbed them away with the back of her wrist. “So, was I.”
Amalia took a step toward her, the urge to embrace her stronger than her own fear of an uncertain future.
“Keep away from me, Mage. I know what you are—who you are. If he has brought you here, it is for nothing that will benefit the world. It is for destruction and chaos. You will be his weapon. You will be his champion.”
The bitterness in the elf’s voice was unmistakable. How could someone think such awful things about her?
She’d spent her life being the perfect daughter, the dutiful young maiden prepared to marry the first suitor her parents asked her to. For someone to think such harsh things about her cut to her core. If there was anything she abhorred; it was injustice.
“I will not,” she assured her. “I have a will of my own.”
She laughed. “You think you do. But, there is a collar on your neck, is it not? I’d like to see one person exhibit their will over such dark, detestable magic.”
Hands dropping to her sides, Amalia froze and lifted her head. “What do you want from me then? I did not ask to be brought here. Who are you to judge me?”
She shook her head and walked to a plush sofa where she slumped down and rested on her back. She looked up at the domed ceiling and answered Amalia's question in a monotone voice, devoid of any emotion.
“I am Eiko, a Shi’Syn Cleric of the highest rank,” she said. Then, she closed her eyes, sighing as she rubbed her temples. “I’m the marked elf who sent them to find you.”
17
Amalia wasn’t sure how she felt about being in the same room as the elf who had given her whereabouts up to the monks—the one who believed she would ruin the world single-handedly.
“Why would you do such a thing if you were truly afraid of the consequences of bringing me here?” Amalia asked, glaring at her. When Eiko didn’t reply, she breathed in frustration, smoothed her hair and new gown, and looked away.
Eiko walked toward the window. “You see,” she began. “I had no choice. You have no idea what they do to me every crescent moon. You think you’ve suffered?”
Amalia lifted a brow and Eiko scoffed.
“I’ve literally died twelve times since I’ve been here.”
Those words were chilling, and Amalia didn’t understand what they meant.
“Died? How is that possible?”
Eiko turned to her, the red mountains outside the window shimmering in the moonlight as diamonds caught the light just right.
“I am a Shi’Syn Cleric,” she explained.
Amalia blinked.
“What does that mean? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re from a small village in Skal where the outside world never touches you.”
She lifted a brow, surprised that Eiko knew where she was from. She crossed her arms over her chest and listened, intrigued.
“I also know which dead god gave you his power. Enit and Eris are clever, and they never leave anything to chance. It was their brother who gave the Erani their power, your ancestors.”
“Einar,” she said, and Eiko nodded.
“You do know something of your lineage, then,” she said. “That’s good. I don’t have to teach you too much then.”
Shame filled her veins as she thought of all that she knew about Einar. It made her sick to think that she was who she was because of Marduk.
“You see, I know all about you, Amalia. I’ve seen you in my dreams and foretold prophecies about you and your destiny. I am from the dark elf kingdom of Lordisburg, where I was raised in the dark arts. My mother died giving birth to me. It is the way it is. The power is too strong to give birth to a Mage like me. But, my father raised me and my sisters, grooming us to become clerics for the different dark elf kingdoms. I was supposed to go to Froud. But, the Brotherhood stole me.
They knew I was the most powerful of them all. I have the power to see the future, but only on the brink of death. My body has been taken to the door of the dead so many times that those inside know my name, and call to me.”
Her face blanched and she approached her. “That’s terrible. How do you come back from that?”
