by K.N. Lee
Clasping his hands behind his back, he shook his head. “I don’t.”
“I’m not even sure I will survive the spell,” she admitted.
“If not, it will be a worthy cause.”
Her brows furrowed, making tight lines in her forehead.
“The princess, what has she said about all of this?”
“She will comply.”
“Brilliant,” Priscilla said, clapping. She yawned again, the color draining from her face. Laying back onto the pillow beside the queen. “Now, leave us. I have work to do.”
Warwick nodded and left her to her work. They might have what they came for before night’s end.
He could only hope.
As he turned to leave the room, Priscilla opened an eye and glanced his way. “What will you do now?”
He paused, a sinister smile ghosting across his face.
“I’m going to make the princess fall for me—not that it will take much.”
Her hearty chuckle echoed across the room.
“You are wicked,” she said, shaking with laughter as he left the room.
He closed the door behind him and headed to the princess’ personal apartment. He rubbed his knuckles across his lips and imagined all of the things he’d like to do with the beautiful Dragon. Though he hated their kind, when in their human form, they were tolerable to look at, lovely even.
Warwick wasn’t above sating the pleasures of the body, and did so sparingly. But, the princess and her impish smile, full lips, and creamy bosom stirred a need within his loins.
Wicked, she’d said.
“Indeed, I am.”
Chapter 13
Gavin waited outside the palace. It had been hours since he’d been summoned by his master, and each passing moment left him more and more nervous. The sun began to set, casting pinks and purples across the cornflower sky.
As he walked the perimeter of the stone-enclosed courtyard and rose gardens, worry began to set it.
Fear filled his belly, leaving him sick and covered in a sheen of sweat.
He couldn’t go in there—not when he knew what his master’s sister was doing to Rowen—not when he knew that the child she was carrying was the key to everything.
How could he convince Warwick of the truth without risking Rowen’s life?
The Red Dragon in her belly could save the humans and the Dragons. He just didn’t know how to reveal what evil lurked in the shadows. Could he even trust the wizard who had taken him in as a boy and trained him in the magic arts?
That remained to be seen.
He folded his arms across his chest and stepped away from the staircase that led into the palace. He peered up the gray stone toward the windows.
For a moment, he thought he saw Rowen standing there, looking down at him with her stormy gray eyes.
His throat tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, no one was there. He blew out a sigh and scratched the back of his neck.
Sleep had evaded him since Warwick’s arrival. Priscilla was tormenting Rowen, and he was letting it happen.
His stomach roiled and he walked down the path and out of the courtyard.
No—he couldn’t do this. He needed to find a way inside the palace to save her from the curse Priscilla had put on her. The spell was strong, and he had tried once before with Feyda. There had to be a way.
Gilly was gone.
Rowen was in constant torment.
It was all his fault.
“Gavin,” Warwick called, making Gavin pause mid-step.
His face paled as he glanced over his shoulder. Swallowing, he lifted a questioning brow.
“Where are you going?” Warwick asked, swinging his cane—a cane he knew to hold great power. Those blue eyes searched his face, as if reading the secrets written on his swiftly beating heart.
He turned away from him, unsure of what to say. He backed away, his hands raised. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? You weren’t planning on leaving, were you? I’ve known you since you were but a boy. You’ve never been a quitter. I didn’t send you to spy on Captain Westin because you were a frightened child. I thought you were a man, ready to prove himself and make his mark on the world.”
The coldness in Warwick’s voice overshadowed the attempt to sound injured by Gavin’s actions.
“I—”
Warwick lifted a hand, silencing him. He began walking toward Gavin, the steel in his gaze softening.
“You don’t need to explain. I understand. You’ve come to care for the half-blood. It’s only natural. She’s a beautiful woman. Trust me, I’ve seen her and even I almost buckled at my duty. But, do not forget the truth, Gavin. She is a Dragon. One drip of Dragon’s blood is all it takes to taint a soul. And, we both know why they can’t be allowed to inhabit our world anymore.”
He swallowed again, his throat drying. Tears burned behind his eyes and he tightened his jaw, willing them away. It was shocking. He didn’t think anything could affect him in such a way after Gilly’s death.
Still, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was watch his master and try to forget the memories that threatened to rip through his soul, and destroy him.
Memories of his past.
Images he wished he could burn from his mind.
Before he could blink away a hot tear, Warwick was before him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked away, ashamed as he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
“It’s all right, son,” he said, and Gavin shot a glare at Warwick.
“Don’t you ever call me that,” he growled. “You are not my father.”
Nodding, Warwick took his hand back and placed both over the handle of his cane.
“That’s true. Dragons took your father away from you. Your mother, too. It’s not your fault. It never was. You were a child and you were spared because you had a greater calling.”
His nostrils flared. Heat boiled in his chest and spilled into his veins, clambering up his arms and into his throat, his cheeks. If Warwick proceeded in this manner, he was certain he would snap.
Magic—it sparked from his fingertips.
Warwick saw it, but proceeded to step closer.
“Now, what are you going to do about that?”
He tasted blood. He’d bit the inside of his lip, but didn’t care. Rage rose in his throat as his eyes rose to meet Warwick’s.
“I’m going to end this.”
“Good,” Warwick said. “Very good.”
Chapter 14
They kept a small flat in an old building in High Garden, and though night fell, Gavin couldn’t sleep. The memories that haunted him wouldn’t loosen their grasp. Quick images of huts ablaze with Dragon’s Fire and the screams of horrified villagers echoed in his mind.
His mother and father hadn’t sent him away like he told Elian. No, he’d been forced into the arms of the monks after everything he knew and loved had been destroyed.
He tossed and turned in bed, unable to properly settle. When he opened his eyes, moonlight cast a white glow into the dank room that was little more than a closet.
He had money, as did Warwick, but the wizard wanted to stay somewhere unassuming—somewhere they wouldn’t draw attention or suspicion from the locals. It was odd enough being a human amongst Dragons, but Gavin had gotten used to it over the past months.
In a cold sweat, he shot up in bed and shot a glance out the window beside the bed. The two candles on the side table flickered even though the flames were near death.
The air was stale, and he wished for a cool wind that would sooth his nerves. Wiping his brow and neck, he stood. He picked up a flask of hardened cider and pushed the wooden shutters outward.
“Good bloody night,” he muttered, taking another sip of the tart liquid.
The green mist hovered there, like a toxic fume, and he closed the shutters.
Something nagged at him, a faint warning, a quiet plea. Lifting a brow, he glanced over his shoulde
r at his pack.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
Lowering himself to the floor, he pulled the pack to him and revealed the ancient text he and Rowen had been reading together the night Warwick arrived and cast the entire kingdom into chaos.
With a deep sigh, he undid the leather snaps that kept the pages closed. Then, he opened the ancient tome and breathed in the scent of old candle smoke and musk.
When words were involved, his senses heightened and set forth a trance that took Gavin to an entirely different place. His eyes narrowed, and a cloud filled his brain, one that gave him the ability to read and remember everything he saw with a supernatural efficiency. He flipped through the pages, traced symbols with his fingertips, and solidified what he already knew.
Nothing was missed the first time.
No, as he closed the book and leaned his back against the bed, he knew for certain what lay ahead.
The baby within Rowen’s belly would change everything.
But, were the Dragons and humans ready for such change?
Were the ready to spark a new age of peace and unity with Dragons and humans living amongst one another, cross-breeding and joining forces against an even greater threat?
Perhaps—it was a lovely concept—but there was just one problem.
Warwick would never allow such a thing. The wizard didn’t want peace. Hate drove him, and he wanted to watch the world burn.
Chapter 15
Gavin knocked on the door and waited. Hands in his pockets, cloak raised, he glanced over his shoulder at the dark shadows hovering in the alley.
They played tricks on him as clouds passed over the moon, blocking its light at times and revealing bright yellow at others.
The green mist rose like a heavy fog from the stone street. The smell of rust filled his nostrils. It didn’t seem to affect humans in any way from what Gavin could gather.
The Dragons were distraught over the suppression of their ability to transform into beasts. It was only a matter of time before the revolts began.
He’d seen what could happen if the people became too agitated—their struggles unattended to. If only Rowen would awaken, they might have a chance.
He had an idea.
One she wouldn’t like, but one that might save her life.
The palms of his hands were slick with sweat.
“Come on,” he growled, banging on the door once again. “Open the bloody door.”
He was antsy. Sir Warwick would be expecting him back at the palace soon. What he had planned would destroy Withrae—if not Draconia as a whole. Something had to be done.
The door opened and a pale young man with bone-straight blond hair and brown eyes stood before him, yawning. His scowl turned into a thin-lipped smile as he looked Gavin up and down.
“What do I owe this surprise visit?” Perdan asked, leaning forward, eyes aglow.
“I must speak to Feyda.”
Covering another yawn with his fist, Perdan stepped aside.
Gavin shrugged off his cloak and walked into the small flat that Perdan and Feyda shared behind the pub. Meager lodgings, but they had furnished it with the best Draconian wooden chairs, tables, and artwork.
After only a few short months, their new home appeared properly lived in. Scented candles burned, and the crackling of a wood-burning hearth in the back sang its soothing melody.
“This isn’t a social call,” Gavin said, grabbing a bottle of wine from their dinner table and pouring a glass.
He picked up the glass, then reconsidered, downing the entire bottle while Perdan watched cocking his head, lifting a single brow.
“Yet, you play on my generosity,” he said, mildly annoyed. “I was saving that bottle, you know?”
Gavin wiped his mouth and set the empty bottle back on the table. He fished a gold crown out of his coin purse and tossed it to Perdan who let it hit him in the chest and fall onto the floor.
Shaking his head, Gavin slumped into the nearest wooden chair and rubbed his temples. Feyda entered the room from the short hallway that led to the back of the flat where she and Perdan shared a bedroom.
“You’ve come to execute Rowen’s last wishes?” Feyda asked, stopping before him.
He looked up at her, studying her serious face. She was pale, eyes sunken. Had she been crying?
He shot to his feet. “What do you mean last wishes?” The concept alone was enough to send his heart racing.
“I think you know what I meant,” Feyda said in a soft voice. “After we tried to awaken her, we both witnessed how powerful the sorcerers controlling the palace are.”
Perdan sat down at the edge of a chair, his hands clasped as they hung between his legs. Eyes cast downward, Gavin knew that even Perdan shared his thoughts.
Gavin’s brows wrinkled. “She’s not going to die,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t let her. I will do whatever it takes to save her life. You have no idea what Rowen means to me.”
Pursing his lips, he took a step back and ran a hand through his hair that had become oily and tangled over the past few weeks since Rowen fell ill.
“What do you mean?” Feyda asked, narrowing her eyes as she approached him.
He licked his lips and looked from Perdan to Feyda.
“She’s with child,” he said, and by the way Feyda’s eyes widened, he knew she had no idea.
Feyda gave him a dazed look, her fingertips touching her parted lips. “Are you certain?”
Nodding, he warmed his hands before the fireplace, ignoring Feyda and Perdan’s underthings drying above it. “The child is the key to something massive. There was a prophecy written down about the Red Dragon ages ago.”
“Not Ioan?”
“No,” he said, lifting a finger. “Elian, Rickard, everyone had it wrong. It is not the Red Dragon that will change everything. It is the Crimson Dragon. They read it wrong. Ioan is not the key to saving the world from what’s coming.”
“I don’t understand,” Perdan said. “Aren’t the red and crimson dragon the same thing?”
Gavin shook his head. “No, my friend. The Crimson Dragon is an entirely different entity. It is Rowen’s child is.”
He gave them both a grave look, seeing how the color drained from both of their faces.
“Oh, dear. Tell me everything,” she said, sitting down and ushering him to do the same. “Perdan, put the kettle on. We’re going to need tea.”
Sighing, Gavin sat down, eyeing the empty bottle of wine. He was going to need more than tea.
Chapter 16
Perdan fed another chopped log to the fire and sat on the floor at his mother’s feet.
Tired, drained, they spoke at length throughout the entirety of the night, Feyda—nodding and sipping cup after cup of hot tea—Gavin sputtering every detail of Warwick and Priscilla’s devious plot.
“Well,” Feyda said, yawning. She stood from her seat, stretched her lower back, and took her cup to a small wash basin. “We cannot let them succeed. Rowen needs us more than ever. We owe it to her to save her and the child.”
“What of her sister?”
Feyda shook her head. “If King Tilton is as good of a man as Warwick believes him to be, she will be safer there than in Withrae.”
Perdan leaned back against the plush, red sofa, crossing his legs out before him. “This place is becoming shite. Ophelia is safer there with the humans than here.”
“Am I hearing you two correctly? She is a Dragon. The humans hate them so much that they built a wall to keep them out,” Gavin said. “I will not have them harm her. Rowen wanted me to save her and I will.”
“Would you have us bring her here?” Feyda asked. “With Nimah and Ioan back in the Wastelands, I don’t think we can protect her from those who would take her from us and use her against Rowen.”
“I’d rescue her and take her somewhere safe, somewhere neutral.”
She thought for a moment, tugging the emerald jewel on a silver chain around her neck.
“B
ut, we will need someone crazy enough to sail us across the sea from Draconia to Parean.”
Gavin cracked a grin. “I know someone,” he said. “Someone just insane enough to do it.”
Dawn came and went, and after gathering enough supplies for the journey, Feyda and Gavin left Perdan behind to keep an eye on Rowen, and set off for the docks.
A quick exchange of coin with the Gatekeeper’s Tower, and they were transported far from Withrae, to Pirate’s Bay, a port well-known for smugglers and pirates.
They’d packed their cloaks away, and changed into attire fitting the sweltering hot weather. Sweat pooled down from Gavin’s scalp and he pulled his hair back, realizing that it had grown quite long.
“I do hope you know what you’re doing,” Feyda said as they waited to meet the captain of the only ship who agreed to take them to Parea. “I spent nearly all of the money I’d been saving on that single Gate to this filthy place.”
It was indeed much different than the port at Harrow, or anywhere Gavin had been. The small city that faced the sea was bustling with criminals and cut-throats. No one was particularly keen on policing this port, so the men and women of Pirate’s Bay were free to do as they pleased, governed by the one and only Captain Blackthorn.
She swatted at a mosquito and grimaced at the smear of blood on the palm of her hand. She rubbed it on her skirt and gave him a look.
“Better be worth it.”
“Trust me,” he said. “It will be worth every Drac penny.”
She scoffed and looked ahead, leaning against a wooden barrel.
“Good, or you’d pay for it with your hide.” She smacked his bottom and laughed. “Certain it’ll fetch a pretty sum.”
He laughed and glanced toward the calm, blue-green ocean as a ship pulled forward. Hope stood right before him. If all went well, he would have saved Rowen and her sister, and perhaps all of Draconia. He never set out to be a hero, but perhaps it was time to do something truly meaningful. For his parents.
For Gilly.
“There,” he said, picking up his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. “That’s the ship we want.”
