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

  She frowned at the unexpectedly civilized arrangement.

  “What if there’s a war between, say, the Var and the Highlands?”

  The Tutor shrugged. “Such foolishness doesn’t have to do with mages, in general, and Enchantresses in particular.”

  That sounded too good to be true, and she said so.

  “Not quite. You still need to pay taxes.”

  Typical.

  The Blessings were grander than any ceremony she’d ever attended, weddings and funerals of holy men included. They were all presented with a kingly gift, as well as a parchment citing their new station: Talia’s was an armor that made her blush from head to toe.

  “Why isn’t this covering anything?” she whispered, once the king had moved on to the next victim.

  “The silvery metal is Maille,” Trudy whispered back. “My uncle has some. It deflects most spells, and even dragonfire, from what I’ve heard. Just a little bit in contact with your skin is enough.”

  “Right. So why does it look like this?”

  It wasn’t an armor as much as a tunic, basically open at her crotch, paired with the smallest of shorts and high boots. She’d only consider wearing that if death was the alternative.

  “Because,” said Guillaume, “the tailor is a man.”

  That was as good an explanation as any.

  They laughed, drank, and promised to stay in touch. The next morning, they all went different ways, going back to the world of proper plumbing after months of using chamber pots. Talia didn’t expect to regret it half as much.

  Traveling west, back to Malek, Talia was thinking about the Tutor’s words again. “Use it wisely,” he’d said of her newfound powers. She was still wondering what that meant. A little voice at the back of her mind told her that her Tutor and her new friends didn’t expect her to spend the rest of her life in her small village, curing various ailments of the nobles who came to her parents’ door.

  She had to go away again, some day. Perhaps even soon. The notion was a little painful; she’d loved her excursion to the capital, but leaving for good? There wasn’t much to recommend Malek, except her family.

  She could imagine that leaving her parents behind wouldn’t be a hardship; seeing them only occasionally for the blessed days. But what of her sisters? Her chest tightened. Aleria might do well enough, but poor Xandrie had little to please her at home. Talia was her one ally; could she abandon her? No, she couldn’t. So, if she went away, she was going to have to convince her sister to accompany her.

  She bit her lip, as the carriage arrived in front of her parents’ house . Had it always been so small?

  Something felt wrong. She knew it even before she knocked on the door.

  When her mother greeted her with open arms and a sunny smile, she frowned. Her first words were, “Where is Xandrie?”

  Talia was back out the door within minutes of passing the threshold. Next to her, her beautiful sister wore her thickest coat and carried a large bag with provisions, and, no doubt, plenty of money. This was Aleria, after all.

  That she’d followed without so much as a question was surprising. For all her coldness, her silent and haughty air, apparently Aleria preferred her sister’s company to a life of comfort.

  “What now?”

  Talia bit her lip, wishing she had a concrete plan. They had to go to Xandrie’s aid, that much was clear, but how?

  Dragons come from Farden or Absolia, a voice inside her said. A familiar, dark whisper, which felt like exploding and destroying at the idea of their sister in danger. Both are south of here.

  “Now, we go south. A dragon flew out of Malek. It won’t have gone unnoticed. We listen to the rumors and follow Xandrie’s abductor to the kingdom of Gold, or the kingdom of Fiery Shadow.”

  She expected her sister to call her insane. To say they, two mere women, had no chance of coming out of this quest alive. Protest that Xandrie wasn’t worth it, perhaps.

  “Right. Let’s go buy horses.”

  The Ceremony

  One month later

  * * *

  Vincent stood in his cousin’s chamber, arms crossed behind his back again, staring at the walls beyond their capital city. The last few weeks had been insane. First, their strongest Aether-made walls fell at the hands of an unknown evil, then, a Dragon rider - the first Dragon rider in a thousand years - came to them.

  Something was changing. He felt it in the air.

  He had been summoned early, on the morning of Rhey’s wedding, because there was a disturbing report to speak of.

  “Our spies tell us there’s talk of a new Enchantress, born in the north. We can’t be sure, but they say she’s headed southeast.”

  Towards them.

  “Enchantresses aren’t a force of evil,” Nathos reasoned

  “And perhaps, in her mind, annihilating dragons is no evil deed. Our kind isn’t known for our warm and fuzzies.” He turned to the king. “We should delay your wedding. Investigate this Enchantress before the whole country decides to drink for a week.”

  Weddings were always an event for their kind - dragons were long lived and rarely formed a union more than once in their lifetime, which made for quite the party when one of them tied the knot. A royal wedding? No one was going to be sober this month. There would be guards posted at all times but Vincent couldn’t tell what state they’d be in. It was fair to assume that the security of their realm would be a little lax, for a time.

  Rhey growled in response to that proposition. Actually growled, before baring his teeth. Vincent had to laugh, holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Right. No more talk of delaying your nuptials.” It was good to see the king in such disposition. Gone were the vacant looks, the darkness. Madness had been chased away the moment he’d found a woman who could complete his soul. “But let me double the guard, at least. I could also take a few men now, go investigate the threat and come back…”

  “You plan on missing my wedding?” Now the king sounded hurt.

  Vincent sighed. “Fine. Let’s just ignore these rumors. What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?”

  He intended to be entirely ironic, but the king chose to take his words at face value. “Good. Let us tie that noose around my neck, shall we?”

  Never had he seen a man so keen to relinquish his freedom. Forcing his worries out of his mind, at least for a few hours, Vincent smiled.

  “Yes, cousin. Let’s.”

  He was truly glad for Rhey, even though his parents would be positively unbearable now, no doubt. If his cousin, so close to him in age, could get married, surely Vincent could oblige them and do the same.

  Viktor and Mula were right in front of the Thrones, pointedly staring at their son; Vincent ignored them as much as he could.

  It wasn’t his fault. He had no Xandrie - no magical, mystical Dragon rider made for him. When they found him a woman who looked at him the way the bride looked at her king as she walked down the long path from the door to the back of the Throne Hall, they could talk. Until then, none of their protests would move him.

  “She was shaped after a goddess,” Rhey declared, although Xandrie was thinner than what was fashionable. Her athletic built was evident, even in her flowing gold dress.

  Vincent tapped Rhey’s shoulder in a show of support.

  All was well, until, all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

  What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen? He’d asked in jest, forgetting that fate had a way of playing with the words poor mortals saw fit to say.

  The doors opened violently and Vincent felt his body freeze before he could rush towards the threat. His, and every other man, woman, and child in the room. How was this possible? He knew of no power able to control a horde of dragons, bears, and other creatures, with so much ease. Yet she did, effortlessly; he’d just seen her wave her hand.

  Vincent was forced to witness the whole horrific thing, entirely powerless to place himself between the threat and his cousin’s b
ride, as his instincts demanded.

  The mage was covered by a dark cloak, just like the one who’d broken their ward, the one they’d only just defeated at Norda.

  How had she broken the wards for the second time, without them hearing a single word from their guards? There had been no raven, no messenger. His mind couldn’t comprehend it.

  The second thing he didn’t quite get was the fact that he wasn’t really panicking, now that he’d taken a good look at her. He should have been. This creature could seize a sword and behead them all and they wouldn’t be able to stop her. Now was the time for his heart to thump hard in his chest, for adrenaline to course through his core.

  None of that happened.

  The mage stopped in her tracks and removed the hood that fell over her green eyes. Green eyes he’d seen before; he recognized them down to his soul.

  The mage wasn’t beautiful; her chin was small, her little nose, turned up, and her mouth, pouty. Adorable is what he would have called her, if she hadn’t been so powerful. There was a little mole at the corner of her mouth and her shapely eyebrows had been pierced. So, adorable and fierce, edgy.

  He couldn’t stop staring at her, like she was a puzzle he needed to make sense of.

  Vincent took a while to realize that he’d been released from the spell holding him in place; he couldn’t yet move, but he saw Rhey trying to pull Xandrie behind him. His bride wasn’t having any of that. She pushed past him and advanced towards the stranger.

  “Talia?” said she.

  Vincent turned to his future queen, watching in disbelief as she moved to embrace the dangerous mage. The entire kingdom gasped when the mage returned her hug, holding her close, pulling her as hard as her arms could.

  Watching from the sideline, Vincent saw a great many things in this hug. He saw protectiveness, relief, and above all, love.

  “You’re here,” the mage said softly. She’d whispered, yet her raspy voice rang clear as a bell; Vincent committed it to memory. “You’re really all right.”

  The mage had been worried; no, terrified. She seemed close to tears now.

  Rhey’s shoulders relaxed. “At ease,” the king ordered.

  The hundred men in the Hall sheathed their swords; Vincent hadn’t even drawn his, fascinated as he was.

  Meanwhile, the bride took the mage’s hand and pulled her forward, almost running to bring her close to the thrones.

  “Talia,” Xandrie turned to Rhey, “meet my future husband. You made it just in time.” And then, she astounded them all; all except Vincent, who’d seen it in her eyes long before the words flew out of Xandrie’s mouth. “Rhey, this is my little sister.”

  Her little sister.

  Vincent snorted, thinking of the grumbling Elders who’d cried that Xandrie brought them nothing; no dukedom, no army, no foreign relations. It had mattered very little, for she’d won the Claiming, so the point was moot. But now, they were twice as foolish, for the future queen may just have made their kingdom ally to an Enchantress.

  The Pretty Man

  “I’m so glad you’re here for this,” said Xandrie, and Talia wondered when she’d be pulled out of this dream.

  It was truly unbelievable to see her sister thus appareled, a king watching her like she was, indeed, a queen. Unbelievable, and yet, not at all, now she saw it with her own eyes. Her new station seemed to suit Xandrie very well, although Talia could still recall her running around with her tattered dresses, hems dirty, as she’d been gone into the wilderness all day. That sister was still there, behind it all.

  Xandrie certainly wasn’t dirty now, in her white and gold ceremonial gown, a diadem on her soft, dark hair.

  “I was going to send word home soon - I figured you’d still be getting Blessed at the capital.”

  Ah. That.

  Of course there would be questions about it. Talia’s jaw tightened.

  She hadn’t yet spoken of what had occurred in Leyres, because what could she say when her sisters asked how she’d been made into what she was now? That she had made her deal with her Shadow? Her Darkness? That she was evil?

  She wasn’t. Her Shadow wasn’t. But she’d certainly be perceived that way.

  “I was sent back home four weeks ago,” she replied carefully. “And when I found out what happened to you, I set out south with Aleria, to help you.”

  Xandrie’s eyes widened and a coughing fit started. “Aleria?” she repeated, astonished. She then twisted her neck to look behind them. “Where is she now?”

  “Outside the gate, with our horses. The idea was to get you out of here and flee.” The king raised a brow, as if daring her to try, but Talia shrugged it off. If he’d heard his sister had been last seen getting carried off by a dragon, he might also have stormed the gates. “I’ll go get her.”

  “Nonsense, you stay right here; we’ll send someone. I’ve missed you so.” Xandrie embraced Talia a little tighter. “Aleria is our elder sister,” she told her king and the man standing at his side.

  Now that he caught Talia’s attention, she had a hard time turning her head away from him. Not the king; his best man. With dark blond tresses, tied in elaborated knots on the side of his head and let down on the other side, he would have been quite pretty if there hadn’t been a raw, masculine, dangerous edge to his beauty. While the king, with his majestic allure and his powerful stance, was the first to silently demand anyone’s deference, his companion seemed wilder. Darker. Just as handsome.

  “You heard Her Grace,” the man’s suave and low voice said. “Go get her sister.”

  Behind him, three men inclined their heads and wordlessly obeyed his command. Talia was so startled and impressed she might just have left them to walk to their doom, but she regained hold of her senses in time.

  “No, wait,” she called. “I do really have to go. Aleria will behead whichever one of you she doesn’t manage to bespell if you approach her without warning.”

  Xandrie laughed. “And what man doesn’t she bespell?” she turned to her fiancé and warned him, “Aleria, you see, is the beautiful one amongst us. You’d better not change your mind and wed her after seeing her.”

  The king replied, “Never,” and Talia swooned on her sister’s behalf.

  “Go, and come back to us promptly, then. This wedding will have to be delayed until I have both my sisters at my side. And tomorrow, Talia, we will talk.”

  Talia squeezed her tight, before turning on her heels and running out the doors.

  She was out, under the glorious early afternoon sunshine, before she noticed steps trailing her; four sets of feet, to be exact. She was going too quickly to stop suddenly, but from the corner of her eye, she could see the Pretty Man with a braid running right next to her. Only, while she was going as quickly as her feet could carry her, he seemed to barely exert any effort. Show off. She turned her head to see three guards behind them. Who was he, that he needed such an escort whenever he stepped out?

  “I found my way here, I’ll certainly find my way back, gentlemen.”

  “No doubt, but the king will not see his wedding delayed further than necessary. We’ll ensure no guard gets in the way.”

  “Come, now. Your hair’s longer than mine, and in better state, too. You can’t think I seriously need your protection.”

  If she’d doubted it, Pretty Man revealed that he was a dragon, as he growled low, threateningly; a sound so raw and primal the ground beneath her feet shook a little.

  She refused to admit that it made her weak in the knees as much as it amused her.

  “You misunderstand me entirely, witch,” he replied. “I was thinking of protecting the guard.”

  So, the man wasn’t stupid then. She smiled.

  “What sorcery should we expect of the beautiful one?” he asked, visibly intrigued.

  Talia managed not to roll her eyes.

  “If Aleria bathed in the blood of a thousand virgins, she couldn’t be fairer. But the sorcery you’d get if you intended her any harm would be al
ong the line of warts as big as fists on your face and itches in the crack of your backside.”

  They’d reached the gates of the lovely city, with its gold tower, its white paved roads and the hundreds of flat-roofed, columned antique homes.

  Talia hadn’t observed Telenar with a kind eye on her way in, as she’d believed her sister imprisoned within its high walls. Now she saw it for what it was, and saw why it was called the Golden City.

  They left the gates, heading to the border of the nearby woods, and, at last, a familiar presence made itself known.

  “No trick, Aleria, they’re with me.”

  They were only answered by silence. “Xandrie isn’t captive. She is, believe it or not, to be wedded as soon as we return.”

  That did get her cautious sister to come out from behind a tree.

  “Wedded?” she repeated with a frown.

  Talia felt the four dragons behind her stiffen when they got a good look at the annoyingly perfect creature waiting for them.

  “Yes, wedded.”

  “Last time a man had the pretense of wanting to wed our sister, she burned the heck out of him, and with good reason, too.”

  “Well, he was a weasel, more than a man - and he certainly didn’t look like the freaking king she’s somehow ended up snagging in four months.”

  Aleria dropped her guard.

  “You jest.”

  “On my honor, I do not. She’s sent me to bring you back, so we may witness the whole thing.”

  “A royal wedding?” Aleria pouted. “Right after traveling for three weeks, being sweaty, dirty, and dressed in rags?”

  Talia self-consciously looked down at herself; her sister was right, on all accounts.

  “I can affirm that, should the two of you wear nothing but potato bags, you’d still lighten any room you walk into,” said the Pretty Man, offering his arm to Aleria as he pacified her.

  Talia managed not to roll her eyes again.