The Twiceborn Queen (The Proving Book 2)

by Finlayson, Marina

  The abomination was here! Captured and brought before the queen for punishment. People found reason to be in my path to sneak a peek, and I heard footsteps tapping down the tiled hallways before me, everyone rushing to get to the throne room in time for the big showdown.

  Too bad I looked so ordinary—much more soccer mum than Satan. If they expected horns they were in for a disappointment, though hopefully the show I had in mind would be worth staying for. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I took a deep breath and forced them away. Now was the time for Leandra’s steel, not Kate’s feelings.

  Kasumi glanced sideways at me as we strode through the halls, flanked by two guardsmen. The gate guard must have phoned ahead with the news, as they’d been waiting for us at the door, all guns and attitude. No doubt the guns were loaded with silver. They’d already inspected the chains before letting us in. My fake welts had drawn smiles of satisfaction, so they must have been convincing. Suspicion was a healthy thing when dealing with dragons. They were a bunch of backstabbing bastards.

  I didn’t look at her, keeping up my act of beaten-down captive. To be honest it was easier if I didn’t look. I found her ability to be absolutely anyone fascinating, and could easily forget to stop staring once I started. As far as I could recall, she was a perfect replica of this Bill Watson guy, from his short grey hair right down to his chewed-off fingernails. Her new aura still astonished me, glowing that soft wyvern blue as if she were born to it. Auras were fundamental to a shifter’s essence; that her magic could affect this as well seemed more amazing than the rest of the transformation. Would she actually be able to shift into his trueshape? I had no idea how far the kitsune’s abilities went. I was prepared to believe her capable of anything by this point. As long as the real Bill Watson didn’t turn up no one should be any the wiser.

  I stared at the intricate patterns of the tiled floors until we stopped before double doors, and one of our guards disappeared inside. Last time I’d waited at these doors had been the night of the Presentation Ball. Someone had died that time too—my sister Monique, dead before the proving was more than a few hours old. I’d narrowly escaped sharing her fate. Let’s hope my dodging skills were up to the challenge today too.

  The guard beckoned us in, and we entered the enormous throne room. Long and narrow, with bifold doors all down one side standing open onto an even larger paved terrace, the room offered a magnificent view of a golden sweep of sand below, and blue water stretching to the horizon. A cooling sea breeze brought the scent of salt and the faint sound of children’s piping voices from the beach below. With a location like this, the place must be worth a fortune. Nothing but the best for the dragon queen of Oceania.

  At the far end of the room my dearest mother sat on a carved chair that was unashamedly throne-like, raised above the crowd on a marble dais. Very old-fashioned. I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise, given she was one of the oldest queens still living.

  Though not for much longer. We paced the length of the long room, and the closer we got, the more clearly the signs of her great age showed. I’d last seen her less than a year ago, and the change in her was shocking. Even if my plan today failed, it was clear she’d be lucky to see out the year.

  Her hands clutched the arms of her chair like claws, the flesh wasted away. You could have cut glass with her cheekbones, they were so sharp, and veins showed clearly through paper-thin skin. Her eyes were a fierce but faded blue, and pink scalp gleamed through the snowy strands of what had once been a chic bob. She didn’t look old as a human looks old, all wrinkles and age spots and shaking limbs, but old like a dragon, burned out by the inner fire, fading to transparency.

  That was how it worked with dragons; our decline, when at last it came, was sudden. I guess it beat lingering in a nursing home, gumming mushy food while you slowly lost your mobility and your marbles.

  A short, rotund man stood beside the throne: Gideon Thorne, the spymaster. Sadly he showed no signs of age yet. Oceania would be a better place without his forked tongue whispering in the queen’s ear. Was he frightened by Elizabeth’s decline? He should be. There’d be no place for him at court when I took the throne.

  There were perhaps twenty other people in the room, though judging by their auras he was the only other dragon. Thank God for that. Most were humans or goblins, though I saw one leshy and a couple of sea people in the crowd. Thorne bent to murmur in Elizabeth’s ear as we approached, his flat, expressionless gaze never leaving my face.

  “Halt.” Her voice, at least, was still commanding. “That’s close enough, Mr Watson. I can’t abide her filthy human stench in my nostrils.”

  “That’s a little harsh, Mother. I’m sure even you wouldn’t smell like a bed of roses chained up in this heat.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I am not your mother, abomination.”

  “What, you only want to claim the winners? You’re running awfully short of daughters in that case, with Valeria gone, and Monique and Ingrid too. Just me and Alicia left now.”

  “You will not speak, filth.”

  Damn. I’d been hoping for some gloating revelation about the rumoured sixth sister. If only this were a James Bond movie, where the baddie laid out his whole evil plan in the moment of his triumph. Instead the compulsion in her voice rocked me where I stood, as I tried to stand tall in the teeth of a mental gale. Her power was still immense.

  But not strong enough to cow me. Whatever she chose to believe, I was her daughter, after all.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Mother.” I lifted my chin and glared at her, ranging my own mental forces against her. Surprise flickered in her eyes at my resistance. “You’re breaking your own law, you know, interfering in the proving like this. Not very sporting to send bounty hunters after me. What do you think the penalty should be?”

  The portly little man at her side stirred restlessly.

  “You’re right, Gideon,” she said, though he hadn’t spoken. “This creature is beneath our notice.”

  “Shall I dispatch it, Your Majesty?”

  She inclined her head, and he stepped down from the dais and strode across to the wall where an array of weapons hung. Swords of every length, some curved, some straight, spears, maces—but nothing since the invention of gunpowder. It was like a shrine to the good old days, when dragons ruled the earth and peasants could be mowed down without consequence by every jumped-up lordling. A murmur whispered through the crowd like a wind sighing through leaves as he took down a massive axe.

  A headsman’s axe, not a battle axe.

  I held myself still, though my pulse quickened as he made a theatrical swing with the great axe. I was confident, but hell, confidence only goes so far. Kasumi stood like a rock by my side, holding the end of my chain as if I were some dog on a leash. She hadn’t moved a muscle. I drew a deep breath and tried to emulate her calm.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Thorne followed the direction of my gaze with a smirk. “It’s very sharp. Your head will be rolling across the floor before you even realise you’re dead.”

  He swished the damn thing through the air a couple more times, his grin growing wider. Elizabeth hunched forward on her throne like a vulture anticipating a feast.

  “Your Majesty.” Kasumi stepped forward and bowed deeply. “A favour, I beg of you.”

  “Yes, Mr Watson?”

  “She killed my late master.” She shot me a look of hatred so convincing it sent chills down my spine. All of Garth’s gloomy warnings echoed in my ears. “I invoke the Right of Retribution. May I be the one to wield the axe, in his name?”

  A long moment passed while Elizabeth deliberated. Carl Davison had been dead before I even arrived at the rendezvous, and I had no idea who’d killed him, or why. Perhaps someone had wanted to stop him telling me whatever he’d been going to tell me. But his death could have been completely unrelated. It wasn’t as if most dragons were short of enemies. If Elizabeth had asked for proof that I really had been responsible, Kasumi would be on shaky g
round.

  Fortunately Elizabeth wasn’t interested in justice, only in seeing me dead. Even if she’d ordered Carl killed herself—which was entirely possible—she was happy to accept Kasumi’s version of events.

  She studied Kasumi’s borrowed face. “That seems fitting. Dear Carl would be proud of your loyalty, I’m sure. Perhaps you would like to gather all his former staff, so that they may see justice done. We could wait.”

  “Begging your pardon, my queen, but the Right of Retribution allows me to claim immediate justice.” Kasumi glared at me. “And I do.”

  Fingers of fear crept up my spine again. Either she was a brilliant actress, or I’d been well and truly played. What was my Option B? But a glance around the room showed that even Option A would be a struggle. Too many people. Two dragons. Kasumi herself. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of my chains. But their silver had no power over me any more. I still had that element of surprise.

  And Kasumi knew that. Surely if she planned to betray me she wouldn’t be going through with this charade. She would have done it as soon as we walked in. Relax. You said you trusted her. So trust her.

  “Very well. Give the axe to Mr Watson, please, Gideon.”

  Kasumi left me with the two guards and strode forward to receive the axe. Thorne relinquished it with bad grace. He must have really been looking forward to lopping my head off. Well, he’d just have to cry into his Dom Perignon later, if he lived so long. My heart began to thud in anticipation.

  The two men bowed very formally to each other as Thorne handed the weapon across. So polite. Elizabeth nodded approvingly.

  Then Kasumi leapt onto the dais, whirling the axe above her head. She moved so fast the blade was a gleaming blur. Elizabeth’s mouth had barely begun to form an “O” of surprise before the axe bit into her neck and her head went bouncing across the floor.

  Thorne was right. That sucker was sharp.

  Time seemed to stand still as the headless body folded gently forward and toppled from its seat. As if in slow motion the guards at my side, and the two behind the throne, also collapsed, like puppets whose strings had been cut—thralls, shocked senseless by the sudden severing of their bond with their mistress.

  Thorne leapt forward with a roar of fury, exploding into dragon form. Black, and monstrous, he was the biggest dragon I’d ever seen. If he’d caught Kasumi in those massive jaws she would have been crushed like matchsticks, but she was already gone, dancing among the screaming onlookers with her bloody axe.

  I answered his roar with one of my own, pulling myself into trueshape and bursting free of my chains. My claws bit deep into the floor as I launched myself across the room, putting my golden body between Kasumi and the black dragon’s fury.

  “Stop!” I bellowed, pouring every drop of compulsion I possessed into the command.

  Every creature in the crowd froze, some even caught mid-change. The leshy I’d noticed earlier now wore a bear’s head on top of his business suit. Foul blue goblin blood spattered the suit, and the goblin who’d been standing next to him lay at his feet, his head some distance away. Kasumi looked enquiringly over her shoulder, axe trembling at the high point of its swing. Even the black dragon paused, his yellow eyes drawn unwillingly to mine.

  “The queen is dead.” The rumble of my voice filled the room as I paced forward, claws clicking loudly in the silence. I stepped over Elizabeth’s feeble human form and up onto the dais. No one moved as I set my right foot on the tiny chair that stood there. “The throne is mine by right of conquest and inheritance. Swear fealty to me now and I’ll spare your lives.”

  The black dragon’s tail lashed angrily as he circled. “The proving is not over! You are not queen till all other claimants are dead.” His eyes narrowed, filled with hate. “And not even then, if I have anything to do with it.”

  “You’d rather one of the overseas queens took the throne? They circle the proving like vultures. You want us to lose Oceania like Elizabeth lost England?”

  Smoke rose from his nostrils. I watched carefully for the first hint of attack. Blue sky beckoned beyond the open doors to the terrace. If I had to fight I’d rather do it out there where I had room to manoeuvre—but it would be better not to fight at all. He had a huge size advantage on me. Kasumi circled round behind him, but he took no notice. In this form she mattered less than a buzzing insect to him. All his attention was fixed on me.

  “I would rather a dragon sat the throne,” he hissed. “Not an abomination like you.”

  I gave a dragon version of a shrug, half opening my wings. “Well, you know what they say—if it walks like a dragon and breathes fire like a dragon … it’s probably a dragon. I think you’re getting caught up on technicalities here.”

  Kasumi had discarded the axe and now crouched by one of his massive back feet. He could crush her without even knowing she was there. What the hell was she doing?

  He growled, a sound like a jackhammer starting up, and I tensed, ready to leap for the relative safety of the open sky. Kasumi would have to take her chances with the handful of shifters who remained functional. Pretty good odds for her. I had faith.

  Thorne’s tail lashed back and forth. I watched his eyes, waiting for his spring, and so I saw the moment when he lost focus. The growling stopped, and he sat back on his haunches with the look of someone who’d accidentally swallowed a bug.

  Kasumi! For one horrible moment I thought she’d been crushed by a giant dragon butt. But there was no sign of her at all, just a faint wisp of yellow mist that swirled around the dragon’s foot and disappeared.

  “Twiceborn, I’ve got him.”

  The words came from Thorne’s mouth, but certainly not from Thorne’s consciousness.

  “Kasumi?” I could hardly believe it. Was there no end to the miracles this kitsune could perform? “Is that you?”

  “Yes.” Thorne panted, and his great head jerked from side to side. “He’s strong … wait … let me try—”

  The black dragon dissolved into a naked man sitting on the tiles, his scrawny legs splayed wide. Thorne was no oil painting at the best of times, but without his clothes he was enough to turn even a dragon off sex for life. With his beer gut sitting in his lap he looked nine months pregnant, and the dazed look on his face made him seem a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I stepped forward and nuzzled at him. He made no move to resist me. He certainly smelled like Thorne.

  “But where is—where’s Bill?” No sign of Kasumi’s previous form remained, nor of her own petite Japanese self.

  Thorne staggered to his feet, reeling like a drunkard. “He’s too … strong. I’m losing him!” He clutched at his head, then fell against my leg, hands scrabbling at my scales. “Get my hoshi no tama! I can’t hold him. Suggest you … knock me out … now!”

  Expressions chased themselves across his face: pleading, rage, cunning, back to pleading. Curiouser and curiouser. Still, this was no time to start ignoring Kasumi’s always-excellent advice.

  I raised a foot and knocked Thorne halfway across the room. He skidded across the tiles and his head met the wall with an audible thump. Following orders had never been so satisfying.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The leshy had subsided back into human form, though the vibrant green of his skin showed he was still unsettled. He huddled with two goblins and a selkie against the far wall, watching me as if expecting every minute to be his last.

  If I was any other dragon it probably would have been.

  Dragons weren’t big on clemency. Where was the sense in leaving the supporters of your rivals alive to plot against you? Better to kill and move on than leave your back exposed. Thralls were different, of course—you could turn them to your own use, if the death of their previous master or mistress hadn’t sent them insane or killed them. But shifters …

  “I don’t remember you,” I said to the leshy. He quailed visibly at being singled out, and the selkie took a very unsubtle step away, as if the green man’s bad luck might rub
off on her. “What’s your name?”

  “Robert Macadam, ma’am.” He swallowed convulsively. “But most—most people call me Bear.”

  “Bear.” I moved closer, looming over the little group. Goblins were a dime a dozen, but it was a shame to waste a leshy. I’d seen what they were capable of in the battle at Alicia’s bush property, where a handful of leshies had held off Valeria’s troops, at least until Valeria herself had joined the fight. They couldn’t stand against dragonfire, though they were brave and versatile in form. Unlike most shifters, who only had one trueshape, they could shift at will between many options, which made them hard to fight. No prize for guessing why this one was known as “Bear”. It was one of their favourite forms. “How long have you worked for my mother, Bear?”

  “All my life.” He stared at a point somewhere on my shoulder, avoiding my gaze. As if that would make any difference. I might not be able to enthral a fellow shifter permanently, but I could certainly bend one to my will long enough for most purposes, whether or not they looked into my eyes.

  His human form looked to be in his late fifties, with a shock of grey hair receding up his green forehead. Odd that I didn’t recognise him, then, if he’d worked for Elizabeth all his life. Maybe he was one of Gideon’s spies.

  “I thought all the local leshies supported Alicia.”

  “Not all. Some of us remained loyal to the queen.”

  “Your queen is dead. What will you do now?”

  “I could—” He gulped and tried again. “I could be loyal to a new queen.”

  I smiled, though I was aware the effect wasn’t terribly reassuring in dragon form. No one liked to see such big teeth on display.

  The selkie beside him nodded so vigorously her brown curls bounced. “Yes, my lady! We’ll support you.”

  A drop of sweat trickled from her temple down her cheek. It was a hot day, but not that hot. I leaned closer, the breath from my nostrils ruffling her hair, and she cringed away in terror.