The Last of the Firedrakes (The Avalonia Chronicles Book 1)

by Farah Oomerbhoy

  The Last of the Firedrakes

  The Avalonia Chronicles, Book 1

  Farah Oomerbhoy

  The Last of the Firedrakes: The Avalonia Chronicles, Book 1

  Copyright © 2019 Farah Oomerbhoy

  2nd Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance of fictional characters to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All right reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-940014-72-2

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63489-283-4

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-940014-70-8

  Audiobook ISBN: 978-1-63489-279-7

  Library of Congress Catalog Number: 2015944123

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: 2019

  23 22 21 20 19    5 4 3 2 1

  Editing by A R Editorial Solutions and Proof Positive

  Cover design by Steven Meyer-Rassow

  Map design by Josh Stolarz

  Interior design by Kate Tilton’s Author Services, LLC

  Wise Ink Creative Publishing

  807 Broadway St. NE, Suite 46

  Minneapolis, MN 55413

  wiseink.com

  To my father, the most courageous man

  I have ever known. Rest in peace.

  Contents

  1. Chance

  2. Redstone Manor

  3. Kidnapped

  4. The Black Wolf

  5. Avalonia

  6. The Fae

  7. The Midnight Market

  8. Snow

  9. The Duke

  10. Silverthorne Castle

  11. Lessons in Magic

  12. Shield

  13. The Heir

  14. Journey to Evolon

  15. The Academy of Magic

  16. The Blackwaters

  17. The Lion’s Den

  18. First Love

  19. The Book of Abraxas

  20. Neris

  21. Damien

  22. Queen in Training

  23. The First Test

  24. The Summer Palace

  25. The Royal Ball

  26. The Council

  27. Morgana

  28. Return of The Dark Queen

  29. The Dagger of Dragath

  30. A Plan

  Next up for Aurora…

  The Rise of the Dawnstar: Prologue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chance

  “Get up!” said a familiar but thoroughly irritating voice. “Get up, you freak, and stop that awful shrieking.”

  I sat up in my bed, sweat pouring from me, my heart beating so fast I had to take deep breaths to calm down. I knew it was only a dream, but it always felt so real, as if I had actually lived through it.

  I shielded my eyes from the soft rays of buttery sunlight that streamed in through the small white window beside my bed as I turned to see my fuming cousin, Cornelia, glaring at me.

  She huffed and preened at herself in the mirror, applying her favorite caramel-flavored lip gloss and smacking her lips. Her perfect blonde curls were neatly styled and pulled back with an emerald green headband. “It’s eight o’clock, Aurora. Get ready. We are so late. I don’t want to get into trouble because of you again. We already missed the bus; Ms. Holden is going to have a fit.”

  She was already dressed for school, with her uniform and coat on. She flicked a glance toward me. “And if you are going to go on screaming like this every night, I am going to have to gag you. I just can’t bear it anymore.” She turned back to her perfect reflection. “Maybe you need to see a shrink,” she added as an afterthought.

  I tried to keep my anger in check as I rolled out of bed. “Okay, okay, I’m up. Give me five,” I muttered and went in for a shower.

  Cornelia was an insufferable pain in the neck and the worst person to share a room with, but she was my cousin, so I really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Maybe I did need a shrink. I couldn’t control the nightmares, and I had no idea why I kept having the same dream over and over again.

  It only started a few months ago, on the night of my sixteenth birthday. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see my mother running down an obscure, shadowy corridor, carrying me in her arms. I could actually feel the heat of the flames that licked at her heels as a woman she called Morgana came rushing toward us with a gleaming dagger raised to strike. But I never knew what happened next; it always ended the same way—with a flash of light and me screaming.

  I couldn’t remember anything about my birth parents until this dream had started. And somehow I instinctively knew that the fair-haired woman in the dream was my real mother. I was adopted when I was just over two years old and was fortunate that the clothes I was wearing at the time had my name embroidered on them when my adoptive parents found me; otherwise, I wouldn’t even know what it really was.

  The warm shower dispelled the visions of daggers and burning corridors, and I struggled to get dressed as fast as I could.

  Cornelia was pacing up and down our room as I quickly pulled on my ill-fitting uniform: a moss-colored blazer over a white shirt, tucked into a pleated tartan skirt. I adjusted the school crest on the left chest pocket.

  Cornelia’s eyes were like ice chips as she glared at me, her arms crossed, tapping her foot. “Come on. Hurry up.”

  I wore my scruffy black shoes and rummaged through the piles of books on my desk. “Where’s the rest of my homework?”

  Cornelia put her hands on her hips. “The crumpled sheets lying on your desk?”

  I glared at her and nodded.

  Cornelia grinned, a sly look creeping into her eyes, and shrugged. “I threw them out with the trash last night after you went to sleep. Mummy said to clean the room, so I did.”

  “But those were my notes,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

  Cornelia dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Well, you shouldn’t leave them lying all over the place if they are so important.”

  My fingers balled into fists, and I was moments away from punching her in the face. “They were not lying around. They were on my desk.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Like I said, you should have taken better care of your things.”

  Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to make up some plausible story about my lost homework. My history teacher was not going to be pleased, but I had long since discovered that arguing with Cornelia never got me anywhere. She always wanted the last word and would go to any lengths to make sure that she got the better of me.

  I glanced at the mirror. There was no point in bothering with my unruly black hair, which had now grown so long it touched my waist. Tying it in a rough ponytail would have to suffice.

  “My mom is supposed to drive us to school,” Cornelia said as we rushed downstairs. “You know how she hates to be kept waiting.”

  Aunt Arianna was standing in the kitchen, drumming her cherry-colored false fingernails on the counter, looking extremely irritated. Her dark, wispy hair was pulled back in an elegant bun, and her sharp, beady eyes glared daggers at me when I walked in. “Can’t you ever be on time, Aurora?” Her voice had a scathing tone to it. “Tar
diness is not tolerated in this house.”

  I gave her a sulky nod.

  “For the life of me, I cannot figure out why my husband agreed to take you in,” my aunt continued as she picked up the car keys from the counter. “If it were up to me, I would have sent you back to the slum you came from.” She shot a glance at me, and her lips curved upward in a sneer. “You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.”

  Cornelia laughed at this and gave me a sly grin, nodding her head.

  I flinched at her harsh words but chose to ignore them. That was the only way to deal with my aunt when she got like this. She was waiting for me to react so she could find some more insults to hurl at me. It wasn’t as if this were the first time she had said something like this. I was used to it, in a way. I knew my aunt hated me and didn’t want me staying in her house. It was my uncle, Christopher, who had insisted I stay with them until I turned eighteen. I had tried being courteous and respectful, and I cleaned my room and helped with the chores, but she was still nasty to me whenever she got a chance. After a while I had given up trying.

  So I kept my mouth shut and got into the backseat of my aunt’s battered blue Volvo. She handed me a piece of toast as she got in and shot me a withering glare. “I don’t want you fainting in school because you had no time to eat breakfast.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Thank you.”

  She started the car. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. I just don’t want to be called into school to pick you up later today. I have a very busy day ahead, and I don’t have any time for your silly fainting spells.”

  My spine stiffened and I gritted my teeth. I had to keep reminding myself that I only had to stay with them for a little while longer. I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen; only then would I be free of the tyranny of my Aunt Arianna and Cornelia, both of whom were also probably counting the days until I left their house.

  Unruly tears welled in my eyes, but I brushed them away quickly. It had been two years since my adoptive parents died in a horrific car crash, and I had been staying with my adoptive father’s brother, his wife, and his daughter at their London home ever since. It was a small, comfortable townhouse in Chelsea, and I guess I was lucky that they’d agreed to be my guardians; I don’t think they really needed to, since I was not actually family, just adopted. But anything was better than being put in the foster system.

  Although one and a half years is not really such a long time, to me, at that moment, it seemed like a lifetime.

  School was a disaster.

  I had to hand in an incomplete homework assignment because of Cornelia, and I got a week of detention because of it. I knew Cornelia hated me as much as her mother did, but she was much more clever and sly about it.

  As the day trudged on, things steadily got worse. I failed my algebra test since I couldn’t concentrate, got kicked off the volleyball team because I was late for practice again. And to top it all off, I had no friends, so as usual I had to eat lunch on my own. Just a regular crappy day in my life.

  I was sitting in the school cafeteria, minding my own business and moving a piece of dried-up meatloaf around my plate, when a mousy girl with huge glasses whose name I couldn’t remember came up to my empty table and handed me a note.

  I took it and looked up at her, my eyes narrowing. “What’s this?”

  She looked down as she shuffled her feet, avoided my eyes, and walked away.

  I opened the note and glanced over it hurriedly. My heartbeat quickened. This was no ordinary note. It was from Alex Carrington, the most popular boy in school.

  I scanned the crowded lunchroom rapidly. Alex was sitting at a corner table, chatting animatedly with a group of his friends, all part of the football team.

  While I was busy admiring his high cheekbones and stylishly cut blond hair he looked up, and our eyes locked. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and to my utter surprise he smiled and winked at me conspiratorially. My eyes darted back to my plate, my face flushed. How embarrassing to be caught staring at him.

  I tried to keep a straight face while my overjoyed heart did somersaults. Could it be possible that Alex Carrington had actually noticed me? I’d had a crush on him ever since the seventh grade, but he’d never given me a second glance. Until now, I thought with a silly smile on my face.

  His note said that he wanted me to go with him to Kimberly Walden’s party on Friday night. He could have come over and asked me himself, since he didn’t seem the note-passing type. But I could have been wrong; maybe he was just being discreet.

  I wanted to get a moment alone with him. I gathered my courage and waited outside the cafeteria, preparing myself to finally talk to the boy of my dreams.

  He walked out of the school lunchroom surrounded by his friends and a gaggle of giggling girls, some of whom I recognized as Cornelia’s friends.

  “Hi Alex,” I said abruptly, as he passed by me standing awkwardly alone in the hall.

  He stopped and turned. “Well, hello there.” His boyish charm utterly disarmed me, and I forgot what I was going to say.

  He put one hand on the wall beside me, his blond hair flopping into his twinkling cerulean eyes. “So, what’s up?” His voice was soft like a caress.

  “Um, I got your note.” I looked down and shifted from one foot to the other. This was the first time I had actually talked to him, and I desperately wanted to make a good impression. Although I knew I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

  He raised his eyebrows, an amused smile forming on his lips. “My note?”

  “Yes.” I figured that maybe he didn’t want his friends to know about us yet, so I lowered my voice. “To go to Kimberly’s party on Friday. I just wanted to tell you in person that I would love to go with you.”

  To my utter dismay, Alex Carrington laughed at me. “Why would I go to Kimberly’s party with you?”

  “But the note?” I spluttered, fishing it out from my scruffy blue knapsack, still confused, while a growing dread started to creep into the depths of my stomach.

  Alex took the note from my shaky hand, stopped laughing, and scanned it quickly. Finally, he looked up. “I didn’t write this. I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name.”

  My eyes narrowed as I started to come to terms with what was happening. “Then why did you wink at me during lunch?”

  A cold smile curled his lips, revealing his pristine white teeth. “I wink at all the girls, honey. Especially those that look at me the way you were staring at me in the cafeteria.”

  “Oh!” My face heated and I fumbled with my backpack as my hands shook harder.

  Alex raised his eyebrows, a knowing look in his eyes—confidence born from the knowledge that every girl in school was dying to go out with him. “I thought everyone knew I was going with Cornelia to the party.”

  Suddenly raucous laughter erupted behind me. Someone had played a cruel joke. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. Cornelia and her friends were laughing their heads off at my utter humiliation.

  I turned and fled down the school corridor, disappearing into the girls’ bathroom, the dissipating sounds of Cornelia’s evil laughter ringing in my ears. I was never a popular girl in school, but now my already wobbly confidence was crushed beneath Cornelia’s perfectly manicured feet. I would be the school joke, the person everybody whispered about behind their back.

  After an hour of crying and feeling sorry for myself, I finally managed to dry my tears and wash my face. I looked in the mirror. My skin was blotchy, and my usually bright green eyes were dull and bloodshot. I had to pull myself together so I could get to my next class.

  I dragged myself out of the bathroom and managed to slip into my English class. I sat at the back, where I would not attract undue attention, and tried to listen as Mr. Roberts warbled on about the significance of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, but my mind was elsewhere.

  I knew my grades had slipped drastically, and I was working on it
, but there were some days when I still could not function properly. I would lie in my bed for hours, thinking about my adoptive parents. They may not have been my birth parents, but they’d cared for me as if I were their real daughter.

  My mind was filled with memories that I held on to like a lifeline. Picnics in the park, holidays by the sea, people who actually loved me—and then I would realize that it was gone, that I was all alone and nobody wanted me. And I would cry into my pillow at night, muffling my sobs so that Cornelia would not hear me.

  I had long ago given up wondering about my birth parents: who they were and why they gave me up. No one ever had any answers, and soon I stopped asking altogether. But now this recurring dream had begun, and I didn’t know if it was a real memory or just a figment of my imagination. I tried not to think about it, but the mysterious woman in a crimson cloak who held a dagger to my mother’s heart seemed all too real.

  I shivered at the thought and clutched the medallion that I wore around my neck, turning it around between my fingers. Besides the clothes on my back, it was all I’d had with me when I was adopted. Shaped like an antique gold coin, the carvings on it were in a script that I did not recognize. But it was my only link to my birth parents, and I never took it off. It was my lucky charm, and although it wasn’t much, having it with me made me feel safe.

  “Aurora Darlington,” came the crisp voice of Ms. Holden, the headmistress of my school, jarring me out of my reverie. I looked up. I hadn’t even noticed her come into the classroom.