Age of Gold Book One to Three: To Claim a King, To Catch a Prince, To Tame a Rogue (Tales of Midgard 1)

by May Sage

  The man was now solely responsible for the tiny dragonling getting washed and blessed, and it wouldn’t do to let him worry about feeding it.

  Eventually, the mages recited the spells, then the nurses washed the body and ushered everyone out of the room. Rhey then left the hospital, his ill-humor trailing behind him like plumes of thunder-clouds. He took refuge, as he always did when trouble darkened his doors, atop the endless mountains of shimmering gold that lay beneath the castle.

  Xandrie could have headed home, but the prospect wasn’t exactly appealing.

  Right at this moment, her family were entertaining some important lah-de-dahs. Most of them would have bored her pants off, and one in particular made her skin crawl every time his name was brought up. Darsen, widely touted as a fearsome and noble warrior, was the bane of her existence, and reason number one—out of five thousand or so—not to attend the feast. If she could manage it, she always high-tailed it out of there when he was due to visit.

  Her parents thrust them together at every turn and it was clear to anyone that they wanted to marry her off to him by her next birthday. Her mother had recently taken to telling anyone who’d listen that, “Alexandria has seen her twenty-fifth year,” which made her a spinster, adding to all her faults. Dearest Mother wanted the matter remedied, and Darsen was the victim she’d chosen to foist her on.

  Perfect plan; Xandrie might even have agreed to it, in order to get away from home, if the man hadn’t been a major creep, leering at her when no one was there to see his disgusting display. His whole vibe made her stomach churn and the thought of him laying hands on her filled her with a rage so deep she was almost blinded by it.

  So, nope. She wasn’t going home.

  “I’d rather be swallowed whole by a marauding dragon than let Darsen take me,” she muttered to herself.

  Not that they ever saw dragons in these parts, but, it remained true, she’d rather have had her bones crushed in the slobbering maw of a fire-breather than have that foul-breathed oaf on her skin. Talia and Aleria were welcome to all the fine food and fine clothes and adulation of their peers, if the cost was being seated at the table with a man like him.

  Xandrie threaded her way through the trees. She had no need of the trodden path. She would know her way through these woods if she were blindfolded. Her silent steps stopped and her head snapped left. Without having to think, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and primed her bow. She closed her eyes, thanked the rabbit in her sights, and let loose the arrow. It hit its mark, as it always did.

  Useless runt or not, she’d been trained—in archery, sword-play, and hand-to-hand combat—by the best. Xandrie’s eyes narrowed and she had to force back the anger and confusion. Her brother Damion had been gone for almost three years, but the pain of his parting was as fresh as the blood that dripped from the newly-departed rabbit. She might have moved on sooner if she’d had some sort of closure, but no body had been brought forward.

  Damion had never looked at her, nor treated her, differently when it was confirmed that she had no magics to speak of. Neither had he shown any favors to their younger sister, Talia, who had the power of a dozen mages, or even the eldest of the litter, Aleria, who, in addition to her craft, had been blessed with dazzling beauty—golden hair, and all that.

  Xandrie slung the rabbit over her shoulder and marched on, refusing to think on it any further. She rounded a clutch of ancient oaks and entered a clearing. There was no one there at first, but she made her presence known by speaking sweet nothings, and after a few seconds, a white tiger cub—larger than the dogs who trailed after her in town, but not yet as large as a deer—trotted from the corner where he’d stayed hidden.

  The cub, she could imagine, had been abandoned by his mother when he’d sustained an injury. Xandrie had found him a few weeks back and taken it upon herself to care for him. She changed the bandage on his paw every other day and treated his wounds with a solution her gifted sister had compounded. Talia had been good enough to prepare a salve just for her, when she’d secretly explained her purpose, and it’d certainly sped Claws’ healing along. The swelling had all but disappeared and the gash that she’d been afraid might get infected was pink, clean, and reeked of health.

  After she was done with the bandages, she took a knife from her belt and expertly severed the rabbit’s back leg, then presented the remaining rabbit to her charge. “Only the best for you. Fresh from the forest. Best you eat it and not chow down on me…” Xandrie didn’t believe Claws would raise either tooth or claw against her, but they played their parts and she told herself it gave him solace to be reminded of his wild nature.

  She gathered sticks and kindling and made a fire. The rabbit’s leg she’d saved for herself roasted to perfection and she polished her meal off in minutes, before lying back on the ground, her head on Claws’ side, contemplating another life. Could she do it? Live in the wild, bathe in the streams, sleep under the stars, hunt game, and eat berries? She thought about the two elf princes she’d met earlier; they’d done it for years, relinquishing the mighty walls and beautiful grand halls of their respective kingdoms in favor of makeshift camping grounds.

  But she was no elf; she was just a human woman, used to having a roof over her head.

  Claws rolled and purred, his thick, soft fur an invitation to sleep. Xandrie closed her eyes and slipped into an easy deep slumber, the kind reserved for the innocent and the wild creatures. She dreamt of the thrill of the chase, the glory of the hunt, and the unending pleasure of doing as she pleased, when she pleased. She would neither bend the knee nor kiss the ring and she would never marry Darsen. Ever.

  Yes. Yes, she could—and would—run away.

  Flight

  The reports weren’t favorable—they never were. In the ten years since the former king had left, entrusting the reins of his kingdom to his only son, Rhey didn’t think he’d ever heard happy news from the Elders.

  “What do you mean, the Northern shield is gone?”

  It didn’t make any sense; their kingdom was protected by wards older than any dragon alive—old magic made of pure, untainted Aether. If these things could be undone, no one had ever told him how.

  “Just that, Sire,” Nathos, his chief advisor, reported gloomily.

  The ancient Elder never was very animated, but today he had cause for it.

  “The Duke of Norda reports that quite suddenly, and without any warning, the barrier has been lifted. He’s waiting at the door to enlighten us all.”

  Rhey nodded in response, glad to hear it. Vincent Vasili, Duke of Norda, Baron of Wellyem, and Prince of the realm, wasn’t known for speaking in riddles, at least. He’d explain what had occurred plainly, simply.

  The fair, hulking man entered the Council room, his long hair plaited on one side, and let loose on the other—he was a figure commanding attention wherever he went; a family trait.

  “Cousin,” Vincent said, one hand over his heart as he bowed to greet the king first.

  Rhey returned the greeting.

  “I hear you bear ill news.”

  “That I do. I was patrolling with two of my men and five guards last night. They’re here if you’d like to hear their account of it. A light appeared in the distance close to dusk—such a strange light. Definitely made of magics. I’d told Kross to fly over and check it, when a wave of energy emanated from it. Something shimmery, yet dark. I’ve never seen anything of the sort before. It hit our walls and the ground itself shook at the impact. While the physical wall is still in place, the shields keeping uninvited forces out were destroyed at the impact.”

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  “Any thoughts?” he asked, turning to the Elders, who were exchanging wary glances.

  He didn’t think anyone would answer at first, which was both frustrating and expected. Elders weren’t obliged to share their knowledge with the king, and they rarely chose to.

  Yet, Nathos said one word—one word that didn’t make sense, although it chilled h
is bones.

  “Shadow.”

  The morning dew lay on Xandrie’s cloak like an avalanche of pearls. Her face was buried in her tiger cub’s thick, striped fur and, for a moment, it was as though the world was perfect and her worries nothing more than fancies. Then she remembered the morning chores surely awaiting her.

  Groaning, Xandrie sprang up, threw her arms around the animal’s neck, and released him to sprint through the forest, before scaling the stone wall that surrounded her hometown.

  Xandrie was halfway home when she froze, uncomfortable. She felt someone there, lurking in the shadows, watching. Recalling all sorts of evil shadowy things, she spun, her hand already reaching for her bow, but, as it turned out, it was just a relatively harmless low- life.

  Darsen stepped forward, his enormous, muscle-bound frame blocking her way. “A pleasure, Xandrie.”

  Ugh. Him.

  Her fingers grabbed her bow a little tighter for an instant, and she contemplated shooting an arrow, but then regretfully released their hold. Xandrie knew better than to put the weapon away, though. She’d seen how the poorest women—the servants, the beggars—looked at him, with fear and disgust. Xandrie’s birth made her a step above them, as far as their standing went—she was mage-born, after all, so she didn’t believe he’d harm her, but there was no harm in being cautious with men like him.

  Darsen grimaced in greeting; in any case, his lip curled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Xandrie bit back the urge to tell him he hadn’t got “smiling” down right. He had all the component parts—his mouth moved, the cast of his eyes sort of changed, and all the required muscles in his chiseled face moved—but it added up to a serious case of gross and off-putting.

  How she would have loved to just tell him to fuck the hell off, and jump off a cliff while he was at it, but she knew how that would be received when it reached her parents’ ears, so she mumbled a “G’day,” bowed, and slid around him, scraping her elbow on the rough stone wall as she went. The scuff didn’t matter if it meant she didn’t have to touch him.

  She dodged through alleyways and thoroughfares and was home just as her mother made it down for her morning brew.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Get the dining room cleaned up by lunch if you want any food.”

  Xandrie rolled her eyes, not bothering to point out that, as she was the one who prepared lunches on normal days when no chef was hired, she could always eat in the kitchen before the meal was served—in fact, she preferred it.

  Her sisters followed, then her father. No one asked where she’d been, or what she’d been doing. Her father remarked, “You’re dirty,” which was particularly observant of him—usually he didn’t look at her long enough to notice.

  Talia, however, looked concerned as she said, “Your elbow is bleeding.”

  Her little sister rested her soft hand over her forearm and whispered soft spells. Warmth spread through her core and the scratch was quick to disappear.

  “Look how easily our daughter performed that healing spell, Lars!” her mother exclaimed fondly, singing her younger sister’s praises, and not taking the time to ask how her middle child had gotten herself wounded in the first place.

  Good thing, too—she wouldn’t have liked the answer.

  Xandrie stoked the fire, set the table, and threw together breakfast. Wonder what they’d do if I just up and quit? She knew the answer. They wouldn’t notice if it weren’t for the missed meals and ever-mounting piles of laundry. They’d sigh, shake their heads, then hire a maid. Probably pay her something, too. Not quite true. Talia would miss her, at least a little. She was so busy with her craft and magics and healing, she barely had time for herself, let alone Xandrie, but she knew her younger sister loved her.

  Xandrie set about scouring the pots and pans and plates left over from the night before. She could imagine that asshole Darsen, spearing a hunk of dripping venison with his knife and devouring it in four gulps. He was classy like that. Her parents would have spent the night fawning over him, telling him how wonderful he was, how delighted they were that he favored Xandrie, how they looked forward to the ‘happy day.’

  “Gag me with a dishrag,” she muttered disgustedly.

  The dirty dishwater slopped over the side of the sink, soaking her shoes. Xandrie untied her apron, scanned the kitchen to make sure it was in decent enough shape, then high-tailed it back towards the wall and the place she felt most at home: the wild.

  Though she’d only been gone a few hours, Claws greeted her with a deep, resonant purr that only deepened when she pulled a branch from the ground and took the stance her brother had taught her. “Strength comes from the inside,” Damion always said. “You see the strike, you become the strike.”

  She didn’t know why, but she practiced when she could—perhaps she felt a little closer to her brother that way.

  The tiger knew what was expected of him. Tail beating the air, Claws reared up and lunged at Xandrie, eager to train. Neither of them held back or played it safe. If she was to improve, she needed all sixty pounds of white tiger cub coming at her at full strength. They lunged and swiped, jabbed and spun, rolled and kicked and ran dizzying rings around the clearing they called home.

  After an hour of sparring, the two of them lounged on the soft moss beneath a magnificent beech, whose branches spread wide above them, dappling them in sun and shade. Xandrie’s chest heaved and Claws’ tongue hung out of his mouth, the two of them happy and exhausted in equal measure.

  In a split second, their bliss was cut short. The air around them crackled. The hairs stood up on Xandrie’s arms. Claws sniffed the air, his eyes wide and wild. Xandrie strode into the clearing and scanned the sky. She could see no clouds. It didn’t feel like an electrical storm. She had never felt that energy before; it made her heart beat faster in her chest, and everything in her awakened, warmed over.

  With the air still spitting and hissing all about them, Claws took off running. Xandrie called after him, but he didn’t so much as pause. Then a deer broke the tree line behind her. Then another. And another. There were deer, antelope, and wild horses, all of them in a stampede. She caught sight of a massive grey wolf, which would have explained the madness, were it not for the pine martins and lop-eared rabbits underfoot. Hawks, owls, and nuthatches swarmed overhead. Every bird and beast—whether hunter or prey, nocturnal or diurnal—fled westward, though Xandrie had no clue as to why.

  Westward. The oaths caught in her throat. To the west were chalk cliffs that plunged into a deep, jagged ravine. Claws was headed towards death. Xandrie pounded after her beloved cub. She couldn’t let anything happen to him. He was her friend, perhaps her only friend, pathetic as it was.

  She turned a corner just as Claws’ injured leg gave out under him and she watched in horror as he slid towards the cliff edge. She sent up an entreaty. “Not him. Please, not him.”

  Claws tipped over the edge and was gone. Xandrie cried out in despair, but as she neared the edge, she saw a tuft of white fur poking up over the lip of the cliff. She fell on her belly and crawled towards him. Claws was dangling over the canyon, held aloft only by his leg, which was wedged tight in a crevice.

  “To me,” said Xandrie. “Come to me.”

  Claws executed the world’s most perfect sit up, tensing his abdominal muscles to raise himself back over the cliff edge and away from certain death.

  Xandrie grabbed hold of his forepaw, and managed to pull him up, using all her strength. Safe. He was safe.

  She sighed in relief, but, just then, a large rock skittered down the cliff face, clattering and smashing on the rocks below, taking her with it.

  She was airborne, tumbling and screaming, yet knowing there was no escaping her fate.

  The last thing Xandrie saw before she blacked out was a red dragon.

  Dragoness

  “She’s not back yet?” Rhey repeated, confused.

  It had been over a day since Demelza had left; he’d expected her to take a
n hour of freedom and then head back to the palace, but she’d been gone for a day.

  He’d given the order—his nobles all over the kingdom, and their subjects, were to return to the Golden City, their fair Tenelar. dragons were fond of space and, as such, the royal city was large enough for all the Farden folks to live there. For a time, they would. They’d be uncomfortable and crowded, but safe. As one of their outer shield walls—the largest one—had been breached, their lands would soon be crowded by goblins, and other scum. Until they got to the bottom of this, and found a mage powerful enough to rebuild their protection, he wanted his people safe within his walls.

  And that certainly included Demelza.

  Vincent, who’d volunteered his service as a guard now that he was free of his usual duties, took a step forward, and offered, “I saw her pass us by yesterday. She flew at high speed, heading for the Lakelands.”

  Well, that didn’t make any sense. At all.

  “Let’s give her a day.” He’d send her guard after her if she didn’t make it back by the morrow. “Other than Elza, are we missing any nobles?”

  The clerk shook his head. Everyone had made it within the city safely.

  Everyone, except his closest friend.

  But the dragon Princess could take care of herself, so he chased away his premature worry, focusing on the rest of his kingdom.

  Xandrie opened her eyes and jumped to her feet, disoriented and out of place. Where in Eartia’s name was she? How had she ended up there? Claws was lying at her feet, which settled her frazzled mind some. She blinked, forcing herself to concentrate on the unfamiliar surroundings. There was moss beneath her and stalactites above, so, she deduced, she was in a cave. The fire cackling nearby puzzled her. It certainly hadn’t made itself and she had no memory of making it.

  Her eyes caught the shape of a figure—by the cast of her shoulders and the slightness of her build, a woman, most likely—on the other side of the fire. At least, Xandrie hoped it was a woman; she’d heard what Fae did to random humans stumbling into their sacred spaces and didn’t much fancy ending up a nematode or creeping vine or whatever other transmogrification punishment an angry Fae might dream into being. She didn’t want to startle whoever shared the cave and fire—be she Fae or female—so she coughed gently.