Fate of Dragons

by Alisha Klapheke

  “I believe my kynd had a power ritual. Do you know of one?”

  King Mattin set his goblet on the arm of his throne and gazed at Vahly with ancient eyes. How long had he ruled here?

  “I do,” he said.

  Hope sang through Vahly’s bones. “Truly?” Would it be this easy? “Will you explain the details?”

  “Of course. Let us walk.” Mattin joined them on the path and they headed past the throne, into the dappled sun of the deeper forest.

  The rest of the elves who had gathered faded from view as Arc came up beside Vahly and put himself between her and the King. He didn’t glance her way or indicate there was a reason for the physical barrier, so perhaps she was reading too much into it. Her excitement had her nerves twanging like a badly tuned instrument. When Arc’s bare arm brushed her shoulder, her skin seemed to wake up, the buzzing his presence brought forth growing stronger.

  Mattin raised his chin and closed his eyes as the sun fell over his face. He actually had slight gray circles under his eyes. That had to be a first for the nearly immortal elves. Yes, they aged, but circles? That spoke of fatigue, which she didn’t think they experienced often.

  “The ritual involved Blackwater. From the spring.”

  Arc stopped. “One cannot touch the Source’s Blackwater. Your flesh would dissolve as soon as you felt its cool embrace.”

  Mattin touched Arc’s arm, then continued down the path. A stag with a wide set of pearly antlers bounded over the sandy stones and into the undergrowth of ferns and flowers. “You are correct. But there is a bowl, crafted especially for the humans’ power ritual. Our kynd formed it with magic long, long ago. The magicked stone alters the Blackwater. Diffuses it. The humans, both Touched and not, washed their hands and face in the spelled waters of the Source to raise the powers hiding inside them. Most only possessed simple earth magic.”

  “But elves cannot use the bowl to wash?” Arc asked.

  “No. The result would be immediate death.” Mattin rubbed his hands together. “I have the bowl in my possession and we will go now to find it and fill it for you, Earth Queen.”

  Vahly’s heart tripled its pace. “What will happen when I wash in the spelled Blackwater?”

  “You will gain your power. Or you will not. Sadly, the last Touched human, supposedly destined to rule the earth and check the power of the sea, had little magic at her disposal.”

  “I know that story well,” Vahly said. “She drowned at Bihotzetik.”

  “Yes.” Mattin’s velvet voice held an age of grief. “But now, you have given me hope. Perhaps the magic of earth does indeed hide inside you, strong and willing. We will know when you wash.”

  Vahly felt like kissing both elves fully on the mouth. This was the answer to all their problems. She would gain her power and save the dragons and the elves and all the land creatures. Well, if her mark wasn’t a total bust which it well could be. No, she wouldn’t be negative about it. She’d stay positive like…

  A familiar face flashed in her mind, the features of a friend, but the image slid away much like the shadows and light around the elves when she tried to see it straight-on.

  But Arc and Cassiopeia had healed her. Why wasn’t her mind acting like it should?

  “Are you certain that Cassiopeia mended me completely?”

  Arc frowned and narrowed his dark eyes. “Why?”

  “I think I’m forgetting something.”

  “It’s fatigue,” Mattin said quickly. “Your kynd consistently struggled with the problem. They slept daily if you can believe it.”

  “I can and I do.” Vahly eyed those dark circles on the King’s face. “Do elves not suffer fatigue?”

  “Indeed.” The king’s gaze touched her Blackwater mark, then sank to her throat. “I find myself tired these days. Of course, we have been readying for the autumn carnival. A king’s work is never done.”

  “The sea is rising. And fast. I hate to ruin your fun, but you should be aware.”

  “If we are to die, then why not embrace every day like it is our last?”

  Vahly and Arc agreed, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this king was lying through his nice, white teeth.

  A wall of wood rose before them, and Vahly was surprised to realize it was an oak. She’d been so busy trying to figure out the fate of the world, she hadn’t noticed they’d come upon the largest tree she’d ever seen. To call it a tree was wrong.

  It was a castle built from a single oak.

  In the broken and branched off western half of the tree, clean, fresh water had pooled to form a veritable lake. Aquatic plants with bulbous leaves and flat-petaled blooms of violet draped from the sides like waterfalls.

  The rest of the tree showed a doorway, not carved out, but grown into a sweeping arch that led them into a room with a ceiling of thick limbs and shiny leaves. Orbs of light shifted over the growth and lit two long tables that could have seated hundreds of elves.

  The place smelled of heartwood and fresh water and Vahly couldn’t inhale enough of it to suit her.

  A carpet of yellow and green moss brought them into another set of rooms. Four chambers led away from the feasting hall and Mattin waved a hand to a guard standing at the one farthest to the right. The elven warrior—fully armored in green and black overlapping plates of what she guessed was painted steel—bowed and left, heading the way he’d come.

  Inside, a sprawling bed had grown out of the tree to support a mattress covered in green velvet and black-dyed linen. Deep shelves lined the towering walls and countless scrolls filled every nook and cranny, their ends like gold coins and their wax seals and shining ribbons like rubies.

  What secrets hid in these scrolls? Surely they had to be worth a fortune. Maybe she could pocket a couple when Mattin wasn’t looking. The elves could spare them that was certain. They had more in this room than in the entire Lapis library.

  The word secrets pinched at Vahly. She had definitely forgotten something. Something to do with dragons, secrets, and an ally.

  But that could wait.

  Mattin opened a massive armoire made entirely of woody vines. The darkness inside swallowed the light in whole and Vahly couldn’t see what the King held until he turned to face her. More magic.

  It was a stone bowl, large enough to be called a basin. Made entirely of deep blue Lapis, the container showed thick layers of golden pyrite. It wasn’t terribly deep and bore no engravings or magical markings, but spellwork hummed from the piece, regardless. There was no doubt this bowl had a powerful kick.

  “I present to you, Earth Queen, the Blackwater Bowl.” Mattin looked past Arc and Vahly. “Canopus. Would you mind taking the bowl to the feasting grounds? Guard it with your life.”

  Canopus eyed the bowl like it might breathe flames. “Of course, my King.”

  Arc watched Canopus go, then looked to Mattin. “Cousin, how does one fill the bowl? What are the steps to completing this ritual?”

  “I must carefully fill it at the Source spring.”

  The white in Arc’s eyes showed all the way around. “I am willing to do it for you, my King.”

  Mattin smiled warmly, and for a moment, Vahly could see the family resemblance in the way their eyes crinkled at the sides. “I would never risk you like that. Especially after nearly losing you.”

  “So you can’t touch the Blackwater. But I can after it sits in the spelled bowl?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have my kynd always had this bowl?”

  “Always.” He waited until she nodded before continuing. “Tonight we will celebrate the changing of the seasons and toast the hope you have brought us all, Vahly of the Lapis. Tonight, we welcome you as a fellow flesh-kynd and a light in the darkness.”

  Flesh-kynd. She had never heard that term. It made sense. A smile tried to pull at her lips.

  A feast with elves. And then, her power ritual.

  Everything was coming up roses.

  But life had shown Vahly that roses had vicio
us thorns, and she was having a tough time believing all was as wonderful as it seemed.

  For now though, she would squash that doubt and enjoy the night and hope along with the rest of these elves who looked so much like her own kynd. She would embrace their culture and pull their acceptance around her like a well-fitted cloak.

  For once, she truly felt as though she was in the right place at the right time.

  For the first time, she truly belonged.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Haldus, the stockiest elf of the bunch, led Vahly to a room inside Mattin’s oaken castle.

  “I don't know if I can rest,” Vahly said as she followed him into a circular room.

  Two chairs sat in front of a fireplace lined in a luminous green stone she’d never seen. A round bed snuggled into a spot to the left of the door.

  “You have important business with the King later, if I am not mistaken,” Haldus said. “Don’t you want to be at your best? Your body must rest to complete its healing, and then we will feed you to help you regain your strength.” The light from numerous candles set in blue-green glass flickered over his frown. Though his words were kind enough, he kept his distance like he didn’t trust her.

  Vahly’s body ached from the journey, her shoulder pulsing with the ghost of her injury. The pain wasn’t bad, but as a yawn escaped her lips, she realized grouchy Haldus here had a good point.

  Agreeing, she bid him farewell before falling into bed. Satin fern fronds decorated the velvet coverlet, soft under her hands. The fabric cocooned her fingers when she pressed down, and she sighed. It was a perfect place to sleep, but Vahly’s eyes refused to stay shut.

  The elves had carved words into the strip of wood near the ceiling.

  Be at ease. Time is not your master. Breathe in the moment and marvel at all.

  Vahly cocked an eyebrow, muttering, “Easy for you to say, woodcarver. You weren’t expected to save the world.”

  Windows lined up along one side of the circular room. The forest beyond the oaken castle showed trees that were larger around than the tunnels of the Lapis mountain palace. Green leaves glowed in the sunlight and waved gently in the breeze. The elves had cracked the leaded glass windows to let in the air. The scent of Illumahrah wafted across Vahly’s face—lavender and mint from the gardens, the warm earth of the gently sloping grounds, and the perfume of woodland wildflowers.

  A dark wood door stood beside Vahly’s bed.

  Fidgety and unable to rest, she decided to explore what other elven treasures hid in this amazing place. She turned a blue glass knob and stepped into a room that was much darker than hers. No windows graced this room. Three beeswax candles flickered on a shelf above a tub.

  A bubble-covered Arc stood up, water dripping from his body. His black eyes flashed. Droplets fell from his sharp chin, the muscles of his chest, and well, everywhere.

  Vahly sucked a breath and averted her eyes in the interest of showing respect. Her blood rushed through her veins like she had eaten one of those purple mushrooms Amona warned her about.

  “Arcturus. Apologies.” Fighting a wide grin, she kept her gaze on the planks of the floor. She had barged in without invitation, and she wasn’t sure elves were as casual about nudity as dragons. “I didn’t know this was your room. I’ll head back.” Body humming like a plucked string, she turned to leave.

  She heard splashing and supposed he was getting out of the claw-footed tub.

  “No apologies necessary, Vahly. I think Haldus will come for us when the feast is set. Is that satisfactory?”

  Stones and Blackwater, she wanted to peek at him, but she stared at the doorknob. He didn’t sound ruffled, but still, erring on the side of good manners was probably the way to go.

  “Perfect,” she said. “See you then. And thank you.” She shut the door and leaned against it, smiling.

  “For what?” Arc’s voice rumbled through the door.

  She wanted to say For the display of male beauty, but she didn’t want to be an arse and make him feel uncomfortable. She pretended not to hear his question and promptly went to her own bed. If he wanted more than a friendship, they could explore that if she lived through the ritual.

  Shaking her head at her own hormones, she forced herself to close her eyes. Her mind didn’t want to sleep. The velvet coverlet brought up thoughts of how Arc’s skin might feel under her palms. How would mating with him work? What would happen first? A kiss to the mouth? A brush of fingertips over hipbones?

  Exhaling to clear her head, she pushed the experience to the very back of her mind. Arc would never consider her as a mate. She was a human. He was an elf. Sure, they were physically compatible, but vast differences in culture and behavior remained. What would King Mattin say if she tried anything with his royal cousin?

  Just thinking about Mattin brought up worries about the upcoming ritual.

  Vahly trusted Mattin as much as she would trust newly matured dragon Xabier to watch her plate of bacon when she went to the loo.

  Which was to say, not at all.

  With the face of a card player, King Mattin could hide anything. Everything.

  Even if this ceremony and the bowl gave Vahly her earth magic, the whole thing might all end up being an elaborate ruse to take control of her. There was no real way to know. She had to go through with the ritual, playing it roll by roll, hand by hand, until it ended happily or with her as his puppet.

  Or worse.

  She read the message that ran along the ceiling and decided to take the unknown carver’s advice. Breathing deeply of the lovely Illumahrah air, she marveled at the softness of her bed and the moment of peace right here and now.

  Outside Mattin’s oaken castle, in the emerald-green moss and feather-soft grasses, Vahly, Arc, and the rest of the elves gathered to celebrate what was to come. Scattered throughout the crowd, willow baskets held black cherries, brazenberries, and a leafy vegetable that Vahly had never seen. The elves drank deep red wine from rough crystal goblets and spoke in their soft voices, orbs of light floating around them as they laughed. Their language was so lovely—lyrical and full of sounds that were more music than spoken word. She was glad to understand them.

  The lapis lazuli bowl glittered in the fading rays of the sun slipping through the trees.

  Arc saw it too and gave Vahly’s hand a quick squeeze. She swallowed, admiring the strength in his fingers.

  “You are meant for this, Vahly. All will be well,” he said.

  Vahly took a crystal goblet from an elf with bright green eyes who seemed to be working as a servant. “I sure hope elves are as wise as they seem,” she said to Arc, “because I still feel like I’m not the creature everyone here thinks I am.” The goblet’s base was rock and the crystal sprouting from it hollowed into a smooth cup. The wine tasted like cherries and wood smoke.

  “Don’t fret. We are the wisest.” Arc winked.

  “And the most arrogant.” Vahly elbowed him gently.

  Hopefully, the sleep she’d had during the day had prepared her body for the ritual. Everything had to be perfect. From what Mattin said, one did not repeat this ceremony. Once she’d washed in the spelled Blackwater, that was it. Or so he claimed.

  Now, with the sun setting and twilight descending over the forest, a sweet-scented fog drifted through a stretch of papery birches. The fading rays of the sun highlighted the violet flowers that grew beyond the feasting area.

  Arc had donned a clean, long-sleeved linen shirt and a new, black surcoat with the half moon, half sun symbol. His hair was tied back, highlighting his jawline and the long column of his neck.

  They shared a bowl of cherries with Cassiopeia and Haldus and took turns shooting arrows at a target on the outskirts of the gathering. The target hung from the wide arm of an oak tree, and a symbol marked the center. It was disturbingly similar to the sign of the Lapis—dragon wings over a slitted eye.

  Vahly took the bow from Cassiopeia and a green and silver fletched arrow from Haldus’s wide palm. “That�
��s not the Lapis symbol, is it?” The target showed wear along its sides and many arrow holes from use that went much further back than today.

  Cassiopeia’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t even think of removing it to help you feel more at ease.”

  “Oh, I don’t expect you to do that. I’m a guest here. A grateful guest. I was just … curious.”

  Haldus walked toward the target, then bent to snatch up a blue-tinted fern. He crushed the plant in his hands and painted the bull’s eye a deep sapphire color, covering the Lapis symbol. He turned and smiled. “Better? We want you to feel at home here, Earth Queen.”

  He’d had a change of heart. When he’d brought her to her room, he’d been taciturn and now he was all gracious smiles. Vahly glanced at Arc. Had he talked to Haldus? Arc just nodded his head, mysterious as usual.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Vahly said to Haldus. “But thank you.” She took the bow and shot three times, hitting the bull’s eye every time.

  The elves applauded her efforts. She handed the bow to Arc. His fingers brushed hers and his gaze lingered on her face. Vahly found herself breathing too quickly for only shooting a few arrows.

  “Great shooting,” Arc said. “I suppose you are a sharp hunter.”

  She snorted. “Not compared to dragons.”

  “Why would you need to compare your skills to theirs? You are not a flying reptile. You are a fleshed highbeast.”

  “Take it from me. If you ever venture near Lapis lands again, do not let the dragons hear you say that.”

  Arc chuckled. “I am only joking. I respect dragons. They are vicious and beautiful in their way.”

  Haldus sneered. “I didn’t realize you had such a soft spot for the creatures, Arcturus.”

  Cassiopeia touched Haldus on the shoulder, and he visibly relaxed.

  Arc aimed the bow, the muscles under his sleeves tensing. With his head dipped down and his gaze so focused, he looked dangerous.