by E. A. James
“That’s a very pessimistic way to look at it.”
“I think you mean realistic.”
“According to you.” She turned to him, her head rubbing against his and sending warmth down to her torso. Her mind spun and her heart beat quickly for a few seconds. Then, she whispered, “There’s good in this world—enough good that you shouldn’t write it all off because of bad experiences.”
“You realize you were nearly murdered in bed last night.”
“And then I was rescued, and it was good people who came to my aide.”
His eyes brightened, even as his eyelids lowered.
Heat bloomed within her, leaving her breathless. She inhaled his earthy scent and closed her eyes. Perhaps it was pathetic to want what she couldn’t have, but he felt so solid against her—his voice rumbling through her flesh, his smooth eyes so dark and enticing—
“What’s that?” Adrik whispered.
She jumped, blushing for some reason. “What’s what?”
He pointed to the cell to her left. “That triangular brick.”
She forced herself to pull away from him and look where he pointed. Through the bars, below the high-hanging chains, there was a yellowish brick in the center of the wall. It was a crooked triangular, the surface jutted.
Leonie glanced to the cell at her right. No triangular brick.
She and Adrik entered the left cell, the door creaking as she pushed it aside. Her fingers slid over the bars until she stumbled against the back wall, her palm pressing against the triangular brick. It moved a little, to the side.
Adrik placed his hand on her lower back.
She curled her fingers around the triangle, her nails digging into the stone creases around it. She pushed the brick, tugged at it, and then she twisted it slightly.
It turned.
She twisted it halfway around, and then the brick popped out. She pulled it out all the way, dropping it to the ground and blinking owlishly at the new gap she had just created.
Staring back at her, was a wrought iron latch – presumably for the door that must lay hidden beyond.
“Guards!” she called as she grabbed the latch and lifted it.
The entire wall groaned, sinking backward a few centimeters.
Leonie released the handle and furrowed her brow. “Is that all it does?”
The guards rushed into the cell behind her. “Young Duchess?” one of them said.
Adrik—his hand still on her lower back—shifted forward and used one hand to push against the wall. It sank further.
Leonie pushed her entire body against the wall, her hands snapping to her bandage when her wound flared. Fortunately, Adrik’s strength—combined with a few of the guards’—made up for her weakened state, forcing the wall down a few meters before the right edge of it was liberated from the frame. It swung inward like a massive door, revealing a corridor also lit by torches.
“What was that?” Froda’s voice echoed down the corridor from…somewhere. “You, go investigate that noise.”
“Hurry,” Leonie whispered, gritting her teeth as she forced herself to speed up—out of Adrik’s arms.
Their footsteps clattered down the corridor as much quieter footsteps echoed down from an adjacent hallway.
Leonie swerved around into the mouth of this adjacent hallway, her body hunched over herself but her head still raised high. She came face-to-face with the two guards—presumably Ahmed and Wallah—their faces going slack with shock as they froze.
She stepped back, eyes wide. “What’s happening here? Explain yourselves.”
Their hands snapped to the hilt of their swords.
Adrik angled himself in front of her, his chest puffed out and his hands clenched into large fists.
The guards behind her unsheathed their own swords behind cries of surprise.
Ahmed and Wallah flinched, leaning back on their haunches. Ahmed’s hand lingered on his sword, but Wallah raised his hands in surrender.
Adrik growled at Ahmed.
Ahmed sighed, his hands falling to his sides before he—with obvious reluctance—raised them in surrender, as well.
“Take us to Princess Froda, I heard her voice echo down the chamber,” Leonie said. She came to lean against Adrik’s arm, her eyes hard on the two guards. “Now.”
They traveled down several hallways—small, cramped spaces with dust and cobwebs coating their ceilings.
And then they turned right, into a large room with tall poles that burned a bright unnatural blue on their tops. The walls glimmered like opaque glass, the area spacious except for two beds in the center. Princess Froda, eyes closed and arms crossed over her chest, rested on the right bed.
A boney, starving man lay chained in the bed beside her. He stared blankly at the ceiling, the side of his agape mouth. His inner arms had been slit open, tubes jutting out of it and leading into…
Leonie blanched, morbid curiosity forcing her to take one step after another toward the horrifying sight.
The tubes went beneath Froda’s back and head. Her fingers tapped her clavicle at a slow and steady rhythm, a black and red glow emanating from her fingertips. It was such a soft glow—Leonie nearly didn’t see it.
One of the guards hissed a curse.
Froda’s eyes snapped open, red sparkling in her irises before it faded away. She sat up and bared her teeth at them. “I knew—I knew your heresy would condemn this world. You have no idea what damage you’ll wreak on us all.”
Leonie gaped. “What? What are you talking about?” She glanced at the poor starving man and her heart lurched. “What are you doing to him?!”
She rose in a graceful swift, the tubes still linking to the back of her being. Her hair flowed past her shoulders, her dark eyes alert and her thin mouth unmoving. She didn’t even glance at the man who was dying beside her. She just glared at Leonie. “Your ignorance dooms you.” She raised her gaze to the guards. “Arrest them. They’re sentenced to death for treason.”
Adrik stiffened, stepping back so that he stood partially behind Leonie in the event the guards to their rear followed her instructions.
The guards did nothing.
Froda’s face contorted with rage. “Are you deaf?! Arrest them!” She swiped her hand toward Adrik and Leonie.
Still, the guards did nothing.
Mind reeling, Leonie’s eyes darted between the man and Froda. “Release him, Princess! I don’t have to understand much to know that you’re killing someone!” She moved forward, reaching for him.
Froda stepped up and snarled. “You know nothing! You and my father—so alike, so foolish.”
Adrik huffed. “If you must carry on in a foolish manner, at least be informing. Explain yourself, if you’re even capable.”
Froda reddened, eye twitching. “You—you Gargan filth. You—” She growled out gibberish. “King Gier’s idiocy is an insult to this kingdom! Our people are smarter and stronger than others. We know how to educate, how to protect, how to lead—we need to be guiding the world in the right direction, not letting these other kingdoms squander by their own destructive nature.
“But Gier only ever cares about Sallimor. He only ever focuses on Sallimor and their success, as if the outside politics can never affect us.”
She scoffed. “And insultingly, the man keeps living! He wrinkles and wrinkles into a twisted goblin, but he doesn’t die!”
Leonie’s mouth fell open, her posture rigid and her heart freezing over. “I…what?”
“Only I know what Olnorma needs!” Froda seethed, fingers curling like she was clawing the air. “I know how to unite us under one banner! I know how to ensure peace and equality amongst us all. But I’ll never get the chance to do any of it so long as my father has the throne to himself.”
She glanced at the starving man. “Sacrifices are necessary to ensure my power. To ensure righteousness. Gier’s life has gone on long enough. It must end, and it must end by someone with true greatness—someone who can’t be defeated.”<
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“Greatness?!” Rage seared up Leonie’s chest. She motioned toward the dying man. “Just let that man go! Stop this madness!” She limped toward him, her hands itching to tear apart those wretched tubes.
Hot, red light crashed into Leonie and she tumbled over the icy ground, her side burning and a cry choked in her throat. Her back skidded over the stone to a jarring halt, her watery eyes aimed upward.
Adrik cried out her name.
Leonie blinked hard, head slouching to her side. As her mind spun and jumped—trying to comprehend what had just occurred—her eyes landed on Froda, blackened veins jutting out of her flesh and red glowing in her pupils.
Leonie’s blood went cold.
Adrik fell to his knees beside her, his palm brushing against the side of her face. “Leonie, are you okay?”
She pointed at Froda.
Princess Froda’s skin shimmered, muscles bulging and eyes turning into black slits. The tubes brightened before they fell off her back.
The bony man shivered and cried out.
The guards rushed back, their swords were drawn but their faces ashen. They trembled violently and wheezed at the sight before them.
“What are you?” Adrik said, gawking at Froda.
Princess Froda gave him a toothy grin, revealing long twisted fangs. “Now?” She glanced at her victim. “I’m made of a shifter’s blood—of a dragon’s soul. I’m as powerful as the supposed gods in our lore.”
Nausea tickled the back of Leonie’s throat. “Shifters? What?” Froda couldn’t be a god—no, but a shifter? She glanced at the dying man. His chest no longer moved.
Froda moved slowly, her arms held wide and her face aimed at the ceiling. She took deep breaths and widened her grin. “The transference has taken months. It should’ve taken more time, but now—” Her spine stretched vertically, and she bent backward and laughed. “It feels so good. So much power, so much fire.” She whistled, sparks of fire bursting past her lips.
“They’re real,” Adrik breathed, gawking at the man. “They’re—she—” He shook his head and snapped his attention to the guards. “Stop her! Arrest her! Do something!”
A few guards—crouched in a defensive position—crept forward, toward their mad princess.
Froda snapped her dark eyes to them.
The guards jolted and backed up.
“A new era has arrived,” she growled, voice twisting and deepening into something monstrous. She beamed. “A new goddess has arrived!” Her arms elongated, flesh turning into dark red scales.
But…that was it. Froda didn’t appear like a dragon but like some kind of abomination. Not a goddess but a demon, dark red seeping into her irises and the whites of her eyes.
Froda pointed a black claw at Leonie. “Execute her. Your princess demands that of you.”
The guards huddled close to one another, keeping their quivering swords aimed at Froda.
Froda sneered at them. “Execute her! She’s a traitor!”
Leonie shook her head, ice coursing through her veins and clutching her clavicle. “No. You’re the traitor, Froda. But—but we can change this.” Her heart lodged itself in her throat. “We can fix this. No one else needs to be tortured, and no one needs to be killed. Please, let’s speak about this. Please.”
Froda curled, her head twisting to the side as her eyes blazed with rage. Her lips curled downward in a silent snarl. Then she screamed, fire bursting out of her mouth.
The light blinded Leonie for a split second, sensations rushing out of her body.
Darkness washed over her. The brief scent of earth rushed through Leonie’s nose before fire and ash burst once more behind the dark figure. Heat brushed against her sides before chill overtook the air yet again.
Her vision began to clear, but her chest felt as though it had cracked open. “Adrik,” she called out.
He hovered over her, one hand pressed to the ground and his other arm wrapped around her waist. He wheezed, head bowed and chest moving unevenly. Ash remained thick in the air—thick on him, the edges of his shirt black with char.
“Adrik,” she breathed, clutching his neck. Ice encased her, her lungs frozen in place. “Are you—?”
More fire burst behind him before crashing into his back.
He reeled forward and gasped, his grip on her tightening and his temple shoving against her forehead.
“Adrik!”
Another wave of fire smacked against him, blackening his shirt completely before it fell off him in wisps of ash. He choked, but he didn’t move—didn’t pull away.
Leonie pushed his torso—tried to get him to dodge the next attack—but her arms quivered with the pointless effort. Her eyes watered, a sob brushing against the back of her throat. “Adrik, please, move. Please—”
“Stop, foul creature!” a guard shouted. “Cease your actions, or we will be forced to take action!”
Froda snarled. “You dare defy me!”
A guttural shriek burst in the air before the fiery wave shot out to the right of Adrik—away from him.
Guards screamed and ran, and others charged forward.
Froda shrieked again.
Adrik finally fell to the side, coughs crackling past his lips and his eyes glassy and distant.
Leonie rose a little, ignoring her pain as she curled around Adrik to inspect his back. Her fingers quivered and ghosted over the soot. If he had been human he would have been incinerated.
Maybe it was worse because he wasn’t human. She knew so little about Gargans…
“Adrik,” she breathed, cringing as more guards screamed and Froda continued her assault. “Adrik, talk to me. How do I—how can I help?” She patted his upper back, her fingers coming back coated in black.
He coughed, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Just…warm.” He hacked and shuddered, black saliva dripping from his mouth.
Leonie scooted back—scooted around to get a better look at his back. Her eyes ended up landing in the nearby distant, Froda slashing at men and shooting bursts of fire from her mouth. She roared and shook with a palpable rage.
Many of the guards laid scattered on the floor, blood and black ash staining their uniforms.
Adrik hacked again, trying to reach up to his shoulder before he gave up and let his arm collapse to the ground. His head lowered, swaying. “I’m fine,” he rasped again.
Leonie’s torso constricted and a grievous anger pulsed through her. She pushed herself to her feet and glared at Froda—at that monster. Leonie ground her teeth together and, thoughtlessly, limped toward the crazed princess.
This couldn’t stand. Even to Leonie—a duchess of Asawiss, a kingdom that hadn’t experience a war in several generations—violence was necessary to make this right.
“Leonie?” Adrik whispered, sounding dazed. “Leonie?”
Froda cornered one guard and slammed her claws down on his shoulders, fire trickling from her mouth.
The guard screamed and tried to reel away, but Froda’s grip was too strong—claws too sharp and sturdy.
Leonie’s heart beat harder. Her nostrils flared, pain ebbing as she was filled with primal rage. Leonie limped toward the monster before her.
A sword gleamed on the ground—beside the corpse of the dark haired guard whose name she had never even bothered to learn.
Her gut clenched, and she gritted her teeth against the wretched sensation. Without stopping—ignoring her side—she bent down, picked up the sword, and continued to Froda, whose twisted back was to Leonie.
Froda tossed aside the guard—now dead—and blew fire at another group of guards, hiding behind the mouth of the small hallway. One guard threw a dagger at Froda, the blade slicing her arm.
Froda didn’t seem to notice, still belching fire at them.
Leonie walked around her. The sword was at Leonie’s side, her eyes glued to Froda’s spine—jutting up out of her back like a bony mountain covered by satin clothing. Leonie tightened her grip on her weapon before closing the d
istance.
Froda shrieked at the guards as she approached them. She moved like an animal, scuttling around on all fours, trying to corner the guards.
The guards sank deeper into the hallway, swords raised defensively.
Froda twisted her head into the corridor and fire erupted once again, filling the hall with orange light.
Leonie sneered at the monster’s back. Her footsteps must’ve been loud—smacking against the ground as she struggled to hold her head high—but if they were, Froda still didn’t seem to notice her.
