by Sarah Dalton
“I regret to report on the failure of my mission to the Ash Mountains. I had been sent there by you, Your Majesty, to wipe out the Menti rebels who had grouped there, and to bring you my brother, Prince Luca, for you to execute for the crime of murder.”
“And?” Davead implored. “What of their fates?”
“My men fought bravely,” Prince Stefan continued. “We attacked them from the east and west with archers, infantry, and cavalry. As you know, I took a small battalion with me to the place of battle. It was an arduous journey, but the men arrived in good health and well prepared. We outnumbered them, and we were the better fighters in battle, but they had their sorcerer’s tricks to rely upon. We beat them back. We were at the point of victory when Prince Luca himself let out a blast of fire so powerful that it instantly killed my generals and maimed me badly, as you can see. We were forced to retreat. I… I confess, father, I lost consciousness during the attack. The pain was so great that I could not stay awake to command my troops. It was Brother Mikkel who saved my life.”
“You say that Prince Luca is alive?” Davead asked.
Stefan’s voice turned cold. “Yes, father. He is alive. After he maimed me so gravely he went back to his rebels.”
King Davead could not help the smile that crossed his lips. But when he saw the twisted grimace of Stefan’s face he rearranged his face to a more solemn expression.
“Have you been treated for the wounds?” Davead asked.
“I sought a physician in Gold Port,” Stefan said. “But I fear they were not of a standard we are used to in Estala. I seem to have also picked up a fever in Xantos. The place is filthy so I am not surprised.”
Davead nodded. “You will be treated here for your wounds. I am sure they will heal well.” Though Davead was doubtful.
Stefan shook his head. “My wounds will not heal well, father. They will heal some, but they will not heal well. That is because my own brother burned me with his sorcerer’s fire.” Stefan’s voice raised to a shout. The right half of his face turned as red as his burned skin. “I have fought for you, father. I have led a battalion of men into war against the filthy Menti for you, and the first thing for which you seem to show even the slightest bit of concern is my murderous brother.”
“Oh, you are not pure, my son, and do not claim to be. You have killed. I know it. You have murdered with that zealot you call a Governor. You sacrifice men in the name of your God and you drink the blood of the men you sacrifice. That is not pure. You, Stefan, are the murderer. YOU.”
Stefan strode towards him so that King Davead could smell the rotting scent of his breath. He turned his head away from the boy’s scars, ashamed to admit that they unsettled him to the core, as the Hag had once done.
“Spare me,” Stefan said. “Spare me your judgement and your condemnation. You are not worthy to judge me. You are no worthy king. I do not understand why I never comprehended what you are before. I looked up to you once. You were tall to me, Father. The tallest man I knew. You were everything I ever wanted to be and more. But not anymore. Now I know what I must be and I am sorry.”
Davead opened his mouth to ask what he should be sorry for, but then he abruptly shut his jaw with a snap. He staggered back, unable to comprehend what was happening before him. His son burst from his clothing as he shifted into a great monster. Davead raised his arms in protection as Stefan unfolded into a dragon that filled his room. So shocked was he that he forgot to scream. He forgot to call for his guards. He was too in awe of the sight. For he had judged Stefan as someone weak as he had entered Nesra’s Keep, but he’d had it all wrong. Stefan was the opposite. He was ebony scales and yellowing teeth. He was claws and wings that stretched across the space of his room.
Davead had worried about his son since he was a child, but he had never known what he was worrying about. Now, all the clues clicked into place like a child’s puzzle box. He had worried that Stefan would grow up to be a monster.
He had been right to worry.
Davead reached for his neck to snatch the iron chain from his throat. Perhaps he could shift into his hawk form and escape. But before his fingers reached the metal, the dragon lurched forward and grasped him by the shoulders with its huge teeth. In one long swoop, the dragon threw him out of the balcony window. King Davead flew over the balustrades of his balcony into the salty air. The Sea of Kings was a blur in the distance as he began to plummet down with his shoulder bleeding from the deep wound from Stefan’s teeth. This was it. This was his death.
As King Davead plunged into the moat of his castle, he was sure he heard the sound of the Hag laughing.
A Note from the Author
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About the Author
Sarah grew up in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of Derbyshire and as a result has an over-active imagination. She has been an avid reader for most of her life, taking inspiration from the stories she read as a child, and the novels she devoured as an adult.
Sarah mainly writes speculative fiction for a Young Adult audience and has had pieces of short fiction published in the Medulla Literary Review, Apex Magazine, PANK magazine and the British Fantasy Society publication Dark Horizons.
There are books aplenty, from YA fantasy to YA horror, so keep in touch for more information!
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