by Meg Cowley
Eve was glad, most of all, to be able to help build and restore things rather than destroy them. She had had her taste of war. Death and suffering was not for her to inflict, and she never would; she was quite certain of that. One good thing had come of this. Through all the suffering her people had seen, she had also shown them her magical skills and that the powers of the Eldarkind were a force for good.
She had openly used her powers to heal those in need. Never would she be ashamed of her identity again. Now, she could be proud of her heritage and her skills, and be certain of her place in the world at last. And her people, through knowing and trusting her, trusted in that also.
A few of the Eldarkind had arrived several days before on their way home from Pandora to rebuild their own lives. They had stopped to help her, too. Tarrell was amongst them. It seemed he felt personal guilt for the attack on Arlyn, though he could not have foreseen or prevented it. Together, they healed the people’s injuries and left to start their own lives once more.
After that, instead of hushed tales of child-stealing terrors in the night, the people whispered of the Eldarkind, with their hair of starlight and their healing hands, and Eve’s by extension.
Eve’s father left the running of the county wholly to her, and that was a responsibility she made her own. His health had neither improved, nor deteriorated. He endured. Eve was sad, but it only made her more determined to succeed in her own way.
“How goes it?” asked her father when she visited that afternoon. He was in the drawing room again—his new favourite haunt—with another book and a fire, even though it was spring and warming fast.
“Well,” she replied, and recounted the week’s progress.
“I am most glad, my little dove. I am proud of you.” He smiled and Eve grinned herself, pleased with the praise. His face filled with warmth when he smiled, and Eve loved that. His cheeks were pinker today. He looks much better today. Today is a good day. A frisson crossed her stomach and she stood taller. Today is the day.
“Father, I have something to tell you.”
Karn’s brow furrowed and his lips twitched in a small smile, amused at her seriousness. “Yes?”
“I wish to marry. I have found a husband. I will not be dissuaded.”
Her father laughed reflexively. “I beg your pardon?” He looked at her askance. “You are serious?”
“Yes.”
He quieted. “What have you done?”
“Nothing!” Eve protested and blushed. “Worry not, Father. I’ve cast no shame upon our family. I mean, that you wished me to find a husband, and I do not want to marry anyone I do not choose for myself. I have found a prospective husband of my choice.”
“Who?”
“Luke. Lucan, I mean,” she stumbled, affording him his proper name.
“The guard?” Her father was incredulous.
“Yes.”
“And you want my blessing?”
Eve stood straighter. “Yes.”
Her father sighed. “Did you know I defied my father’s own will to marry your mother?”
Eve frowned. “What?”
“I did.” Karn chuckled. “He did not speak to me for a year, but I was so in love, I did it anyway.” He shook his head. “If you truly feel so strongly, I cannot force you otherwise. Above all else, I desire your happiness and security. I want you to have a husband who will care for you the rest of your days. If you place your faith in this choice, then I shall respect your wishes. You… You are no longer a little girl, Eve.”
She knew he referred to her managing Arrow county on his behalf. No, I am not, she thought. That innocence was lost forever. Her father’s improvement was slow, if at all. Eve knew she would have to lead the county for much longer in her father’s stead. She excused herself and ran to find Luke, who was toiling on one of the myriad of building projects.
For a moment, she stood to watch him as he heaved and hauled rubble with a crew of strong, young men. His muscles corded under the strain and he was too lost in his concentration to notice her. She could not help but smile.
“Luke,” she called softly after a few moments. At once, he stopped and looked up, grinning as he saw her. He straightened and wiped a grimy hand across his sweat-stained brow. Eve beckoned him over, and he excused himself and jogged towards her.
“Is everything well?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled, unable to keep the grin from her face. “I spoke to my father. About… us.”
Luke’s smile faded and his expression clouded. “And?” he asked cautiously.
“He gives us his blessing.”
Luke raised his eyebrows and she nodded to confirm it. He broke into an even wider grin. “Then it means?”
“Yes.”
“You will be my wife?”
“Yes.”
Luke paced forward and grabbed her in a tight embrace. She held onto him, not caring that the dust and grime smeared her clothes—nor who saw them embrace.
“Not yet, though,” she added.
He released her, looking puzzled, but she gestured around them. “We have work to do first.”
Luke smiled ruefully. “That we do.”
As they sat upon the walls later that day, looking down over Arlyn as the sun set behind the mountains, Luke tucked her under his arm. “For all that has happened over the past couple of years, I cannot help but be glad.” He squeezed her closer.
She patted him on the chest. “I am, too.” Her eyes fixated on her scars once more, and she was glad Luke did not seem to see or mind them. She was still not used to them herself. And then, her eyes lingered on his own blackened fingertips. The frostbite had not healed as the monks had rightly said, but neither had it gotten worse.
Those were just the visible signs of all they had endured, and marks they would carry for life. Yet, the physical remnants seemed inconsequential to what else they had endured, and what they had become as people: strong and independent, and the choosers of their own destinies.
“What a journey,” Eve said. Somehow, the path wandered and I still find myself exactly where I would want.
“It’s been a long one.”
“Mm. There’s much more to come yet.”
“I’m sure.”
“But for now, some peace, I hope,” Eve added.
Luke chuckled. “I hope so, too. I promise, by the end of the year, I’ll have a house raised for us. I’ll ask your father for your hand, as I ought to. We'll do this properly, as we should have done the first time around.”
“I’d like that very much.” Eve leaned closer and Luke planted a kiss upon her forehead and clasped one of her scarred hands in his own maimed grasp.
Chapter Thirty Seven
The halls of Pandora castle were the noisiest they had ever been. They should have been at their quietest, for the dragons left for Kotyir swiftly and the Eldarkind for Ednor, but Soren had opened the castle to the citizens of Pandora. So much of the city was destroyed and they had nowhere else to go. He would not see them out on the streets. It was against convention and wholly unplanned, but Soren had to admit, it was the most homely the castle had felt in a long time.
It was meant to be lived in—used, Soren thought with satisfaction. Families occupied every spare room, and some slept in the corridors. Some of the lords thought it an atrocious judgment, but Soren did not give a mind to their concerns. He would not have his people starve outside and endure cold nights and the spring rains without shelter. Soren had seen the slums of Roher; they were frail, shoddy, and squalid. His people would be treated differently. And so the castle filled each night with the chatter of a thousand voices, and emptied each day as they all left—Soren included—to lend a hand rebuilding the city.
It would take a long time, and several generations to rebuild parts, like the cathedral, but Soren left those in ruins. Housing came first, at whatever price the crown could afford to give the people who had lost everything.
It was the first time since he had been a naive pri
nce that he worked without fear or worry, for it was the first time he had not needed to watch over his shoulders for the threat of assassination, the worry of treason, or the pressure of war looming.
Somehow, against all the odds, he had done it. He had regained his throne from Zaki, the usurper. He had avenged his mother and brought her murderer to justice. He had even removed the threat of Roher. Not even his mother had managed to curb Harad’s ambition.
Most importantly of all, he had secured a new, lasting bond between the three races of men, Eldarkind, and dragons that would see peace and a secure future for Caledan long after he had gone. Now, they could live openly together, and their alliance could be celebrated. Dragons would be the champions of the realm, and the Eldarkind’s magic would become the tales of legend, not twisted fairytales.
The danger of Cies was gone forever, and the much greater threat of the elementals, also. Though, that was something most of Soren’s people would never know of. They did not need to know the real terrors that haunted nightmares.
Soren toiled that day alongside his subjects, feeling proud of all he had accomplished. A new age would dawn, an age of lasting peace, he hoped, now that he had proven himself. It had not been easy, and it had cost a lot to achieve.
With each brick he lifted, another face swam across his memory. His father. His mother. Edmund. Dane. There were countless others, too. Many had died that he had never seen or known. He wished it could be different. It did not seem worth it in a way, that they would not be here to see it, but he was glad their deaths had not been in vain. My parents and Edmund would be proud of me, now. If only they could see.
He had gained, too: new friendships and alliances that never would have seemed possible.
He was no longer a naive prince, that was certain. Now, Soren was a strong king, secure in his realm. Perfectly placed to lead it for many peaceful years. War would come again one day; that much was inevitable. He had learned at great cost that peace only seemed to come from violence. Perhaps he could change that, and perhaps he could not. But for now, there was peace, and Soren, King Soren, First of His Name, Dragon’s Bane, Eldar-friend, Dragon Friend, Bane of Elementals, Vanquisher of Roher, and Bringer of Peace had earned his rest.
The end.
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The First Crown
A Caledan Prequel Novelette
The Tainted Crown
The First Book of Caledan
The Brooding Crown
The Second Book of Caledan
The Shattered Crown
The Third Book of Caledan
Books of Caledan Boxset
(Books 1, 2, 3 and prequel novelette)
(Coming May 2017)
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It's easy to kill a man. It's hard to kill a dragon. Is it impossible to kill a god?
Bahr, the god of Fire and War, is terrorising the land, annihilating men, Eldarkind and dragons alike. Nothing can stand before him and Beren, chief amongst men, faces everything he loves being lost to Bahr’s fickle fires.
After witnessing Bahr’s devastating power, Beren despairs, until the mysterious king of the Eldarkind offers him one glimmer of hope – but it comes at great cost. To have any chance of success, Beren must have faith in the enigmatic Eldarkind, set aside his lifelong differences with the dragons, and place his trust in the enemy who has destroyed his home and family. Unless he does so, they are all doomed.
As Bahr’s vengeful eye turns to their hostile alliance, their differences threaten to divide man, Eldarkind, and dragon. Can Beren forge the strongest allies from his bitterest enemies before Bahr destroys them all?
Discover how the epic fantasy tale begins in this prequel, The First Crown: A Caledan Novelette, set 1,000 years before the Books of Caledan trilogy. If you liked The Lord of the Rings, The Inheritance Cycle, or the Books of Pellinor, then you’ll love the Books of Caledan series.
Click to read for free today - limited time offer!
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Thali and Ali for your support wrangling the dragons, elementals, humans, and Eldarkind into order for the finale of the trilogy.
About the Author
Meg is an indie author and illustrator living in Yorkshire, England with her husband and two cats Jet and Pixie.
Meg thanks her parents for her vivid imagination, as they fed her early reading and drawing addiction. She spent years in the school library and in bed with a torch, unable to stop devouring books. At home, Meg had a 'making table', where her mum and dad contained the arty mess she created with various drawing and craft projects. The first story Meg remembers writing as a child was about a clever fox (it was terrible, and will never see the light of day). At school, if Meg wasn't reading a book under the desk, she was getting told off for drawing in all her classwork books.
Now, she spends most of her days writing or illustrating in her studio, whilst serenaded by snoring cats.
Visit www.megcowley.com to find out more, and connect on social media.
Join Team Meg at fiction.megcowley.com to hear all her latest fiction news, get advance previews of new books, discover great book recommendations, reading deals, access bonus content and more.
Published in 2017 by
Jolly Creative Atelier
United Kingdom
© 2017 Meg Cowley
www.megcowley.com
Cover design © Muhammad Asad
All characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is purely coincidental.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored or distributed in any form, without prior written permission of the publisher.
