Tristan appeared at my side, put his arm around my waist, and gave a small squeeze. He had a way of sneaking up on me. Since my grandmother had told Tristan about her decision for us to marry, there was a new bond between us. Knowing we didn’t want this but didn’t have a choice had somehow brought us closer.
“Don’t look so worried, it’s not like she is going to announce your death sentence.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes held a trace of humor.
I knew he meant to lighten the mood, but I could tell he was as tense as I was. With everything that was happening with Morgana, this was not the time for a frivolous feast. On top of that, getting betrothed to each other was not a small step, and although it wasn’t a death sentence, with our choice taken away from us it was a sentence all the same.
I swatted his arm. “That’s not why I’m so tense.” My eyes darted around the room. “Something’s wrong.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t brush me off like Cade did. Immediately his stance changed and he scanned the room for threats.
I spotted Skye standing at the far corner of the hall with Brianna. I tried to get her attention and waved to her. She saw me but pretended not to, and turned her face. Strange, I thought, but I had other things on my mind.
My grandmother stood up; the room quieted and the music stopped.
“I have an announcement,” she began, and held out her hand to me. “Aurora, Tristan, come here.”
I moved forward, but I could tell something was wrong. She looked pale, the light and power fading from her eyes; I could sense it. Tristan moved with me, his eyes troubled.
Then my world collapsed.
The light went out from my grandmother’s eyes and she fell to the ground.
Tristan and I ran towards her. The queen of the fae was lying on the floor, her eyes closed, her power cut off. I could feel the wards around the city and the rest of the hidden valley falling apart. Only Izadora’s magic held them in place, protecting Iris from the outside world.
Erik was already protecting his queen, his great sword in his hand, daring anyone to come any closer. Rhiannon and Penelope were crouched beside Izadora, checking for life.
I ran onto the dais. Erik eyed me warily but let me pass.
I fell down on my knees beside my grandmother’s limp body. “Is she alive?”
The dowager looked up when she heard my voice and nodded. “For now. She’s been poisoned. We must get her the antidote and fast. Werewraith poison works swiftly.”
Suddenly the High Fae ladies began screaming and the men started shouting. Chaos broke out in the grand hall as I turned to see a swirling cloud of dark mist form in the corner of the room where Skye and Brianna were standing.
A portal—someone was opening a portal inside the palace. It could be from anywhere. There were no wards protecting the city anymore.
A dark-robed figure with eyes like black pits, the eyes of a demon, stepped out of the portal and looked straight at me.
Raziel! The Drakaar were inside the Crystal Castle.
The leader of the Drakaar grinned, his sharp canines flashing, and more hooded figures followed. Terror crept up my spine as low growls sounded from the first floor gallery and the stench of darkness grew, as werewraiths appeared in the grand hall and pounced on the unsuspecting High Fae.
All hell broke loose.
Penelope took over. “Rhiannon, Erik, take Izadora and get her somewhere safe,” she snapped, with an authority in her voice I hadn’t heard before. I realized why my grandmother depended on her so much.
She turned to Tristan. “Cover me, I’m going to close the portal. Aurora, with me, I need your help to do it.”
Tristan’s sword lit up with silver-fire. “This time they’ve gone too far,” he snarled, assessing the room. He put his hand on my shoulder. “You can do this.”
I nodded as he leapt off the dais and ran toward the Drakaar.
My hands shook as I removed my amulet, put it in my pocket, and took a deep breath. I was ready. If I was going to face Raziel tonight, I was going in with my full power. I willed a replica of my sword into existence and my unbound magic flared to life, lighting it up in an incandescent beam.
The dowager created a portal to take Izadora to safety at the same time as two werewraiths pounced on the dais. Erik roared, his flaming sword slicing through the werewraiths in midair, reducing them to ash. He picked up my grandmother gently and stepped through the portal as another werewraith jumped between the portal and the dowager.
I ran at the werewraith. Its foul stench filled my nostrils as its twisted body bunched, ready to attack. Power rippled through my veins as my unfettered magic awoke in full force.
The creature snarled and pounced.
Focused, controlled, I raised my flaming sword and sliced it down on the creature’s neck. Silver-fire tore through contorted flesh and bone. The reek of rot and darkness filled my nostrils as the werewraith screamed and shrieked, dissipating into black ash.
The dowager nodded her thanks and followed Erik into the portal, closing it swiftly behind her.
At least they were safe.
Jumping off the dais, I followed Penelope and Tristan and ran toward the Drakaar.
Tristan’s sword flashed in his hand as he cut through the werewraiths smoothly and precisely. Cade was at the other end of the room, defending the guests and ushering people out of the hall through the side doors leading to the gardens. We had to get past the Drakaar to close the portal or more creatures could keep coming through.
A werewraith snarled and readied itself to pounce on Pe-nelope. My senses honed in on the creature, and I could feel time slowing down as everything became sharper. I moved in front of her, raising my sword of silver-fire, and sliced it down, striking bone with a crunch and searing through decaying flesh. The werewraith fell to the ground and I swiftly beheaded it.
Just then a Drakaar extended its hand, dark magic hitting my shield. Shadows engulfed me as I turned to face it, a dagger of silver-fire forming in my left hand. I threw it at the sorcerer of Dragath; he staggered as my dagger buried itself in his chest. He looked down and sank to his knees, shock apparent in his eyes.
The tattoos on his neck and face started swirling as his magic reached out to attack. I wasted no time, lunging at him; raising my sword, I sliced downward, severing the Drakaar’s head from his body.
But there was no time to stop, no time to breathe. The blood pounded in my ears as I ran.
Penelope was making her way toward the portal with Tristan, and Cade was still on the other side of the room. Three werewraiths had backed a bunch of fae against a wall, with no way to get out.
I had to help them; everyone else was busy.
I flung my unfettered magic at the dark creatures with one hand, hurling all three against the wall and pinning them there. I pulled forth more of my magic, drawing on the well that lay open within me, and pushed harder. The werewraiths screeched and even the Drakaar faltered to see what had made their creatures scream.
Instinctively I drew on my mage magic, mixing it with the silver-fire so that flames of gold and red licked through my body, creating a moving, writhing blaze that flared out of my hands. I focused my power and the flames grew as I created my own brand of magic, engulfing the screaming werewraiths, reducing them to ash and smoke.
So I didn’t need a sword to kill them, after all.
Tristan was a distance away, fighting two Drakaar and defending Penelope so she could close the portal. I ran to help them when a wall of dark magic crashed into me out of nowhere, flinging me to the ground. I lost my grip on the sword and it fell to the side, clattering away on the cold marble floor.
“Aurora,” Tristan roared and moved toward me as three werewraiths pounced on him from behind, pinning him to the ground. He twisted and plunged a flaming dagger into a werewraith’s eye, and it fell back. But another one had sunk its teeth into his arm.
“Tristan,” I screamed, reaching for my sword, just as Raziel pic
ked me up by my throat and slammed me into the wall.
Pain tore through me as my head hit stone. The room swam before my eyes as I tried to focus my powers and heal myself.
“So you finally learned to wield your magic properly, young fae-mage,” sneered Raziel, his eyes a bottomless pit of darkness. “And it seems you have created your own magic too. Quite impressive. But too late. Morgana’s army is coming, and the Book of Abraxas will be hers soon. Izadora will die a painful death, and you, my little princess, will join her.”
The crush of his power at my throat held me pinned to the wall. There was a great weight suppressing my magic and refusing to let it surface. An old power was feeding the Drakaar lord’s magic, and the ancient darkness tried its best to smother my light.
I looked over at Penelope—she was backed up against a wall. Tristan was still defending her and had fought off the werewraiths. But he was weakening, I could see it; the werewraith’s bite had poison in it. How long he could hold out before the poison took hold, I didn’t know. He tried to get to me, but two Drakaar and three werewraiths stood between us.
“The time has come for you to die, Aurora Shadowbreaker,” sneered Raziel. “Once you are gone, all of Avalonia will kneel before the might of Morgana’s army, and Dragath will rise once more.” Shadow demons appeared beside him and he raised his dark sword, swirling with the blackest of magic, ready to plunge it into my heart. He was enjoying tormenting me, letting me know Morgana had won.
But she hadn’t won, not yet.
I shut out the sneering voice and calmed my racing heart. I plunged down within, deep into my well of magic, unbound, unfettered, raw, and powerful. Further down I went, to a place I had never been before, and awoke the real Aurora Firedrake—the queen that I was meant to be.
Courage and hope infused my magic as an enormous power roiled up inside me, uncoiling itself from depths I never knew I had, and pushed itself to the surface. Without the amulet binding me, I had to focus, to not allow it to get the better of me. I had to control it; I could control it.
My eyes went flat as all fear fell away. I stared straight into the eyes of the sneering Drakaar and said in the voice of a queen, “Morgana and Dragath will never force Avalonia to its knees. Not as long as I am still alive.”
I started to glow as power filled my very pores and Raziel’s eyes widened in terror; his magic could not hold me back any longer. I pushed at the wall of suffocating ancient darkness and shattered it. My unbound power reared its mighty head, as twin swords blazing with silver-fire appeared in my hands.
Using all my strength and the swiftness of my fae senses, I brought my arms up in wide sweeping arcs, slicing them across Raziel’s neck, severing the Drakaar lord’s head from his body.
The other two Drakaar turned in shock to see their commander fall. Tristan took the opening and, with the last bit of his strength, swung his sword at the other Drakaar’s head. Tristan’s foe dropped to the ground.
But I was not done.
I flung out my arms, pushing my magic at the remaining werewraiths in the hall, mixing mage magic with my fae-fire, creating the flame that could reduce a werewraith to ash. The werewraiths screamed in fury as a wall of silver and gold flames engulfed them. Fur and flesh burned with an acrid stench and dissolved into smoke.
But there was still one Drakaar left, moving backward toward the portal, and toward Penelope who was trying to close it.
Tristan had fallen, the werewraith poison in his blood draining him of strength and magic.
From across the room, I lifted my hand and caught the Drakaar in a magical hold, picking him up, his legs dangling a foot above the ground. His eyes widened in shock at the strength of my powers.
I spoke clearly so the Drakaar could hear me as I walked towards him. “Tell Morgana what happened here today.” I fortified my hold over the Drakaar, crushing his darkness with my light. “Tell her Raziel is dead, and that the fae will never bow to her. Tell her to prepare for the fight of her life. Tell her Aurora Firedrake is coming to take back her kingdom and her throne.”
I gathered more power and flung the Drakaar backward through the portal. Waving my hand in front of me and weaving an intricate web of magic as I had been taught, I closed the portal and the swirling mist disappeared. The Crystal Castle was safe.
23
Traitor
The grand hall was streaked with blood and ash, and the bodies of High Fae that didn’t get away from the werewraiths and the Drakaar were strewn haphazardly around the room. Cade had managed to get most of the fae out of the hall and into the gardens. Now palace guards were rounding them up and questioning them. No one had seen anything, and we still had no idea who had opened the portal.
I ran to Tristan as he lay on the ground. He tried to push himself up when he saw me.
“I can heal you,” I said, kneeling beside him.
Penelope came up behind me and knelt down to inspect his wounds. “Werewraith poison is not expelled that easily. If you try with your magic, you could cause it to spread faster.”
“The dowager said there is an antidote.” I tried to remember what I had learned about werewraiths and their poison.
Penelope nodded. “There is.” She put Tristan’s arm around her shoulders, and I helped her by taking the other. “Come, help him up. We’ll take him to my chambers and I will make the antidote.”
“But he won’t die, will he?” I asked, thinking of the priestess in the temple.
Penelope shook her head. “I hope not. Werewraith poison is resistant to most magic and can kill an immortal. But some of us healers always keep a small amount of ingredients for this antidote. It must be freshly made or it cannot work.”
Although I tried not to admit it to myself, I didn’t know what I would do if anything happened to Tristan. I had come to depend on him so much, and despite everything he had become my friend. He was the only one I could trust. I wasn’t in love and I wasn’t under any illusions that I was. Rafe had destroyed that part of my heart. But Tristan was intelligent and handsome, a warrior without equal, and he was the Prince of the Night Court, with an army to match. Being married to him wouldn’t be so bad. If I had to marry any of the High Fae and had a choice, I would have chosen him.
“What about my grandmother? Where is she?”
“Somewhere safe,” said Penelope. “Don’t worry about that now. Rhiannon knows what to do. She is also a skilled healer—she will do what she can to save Izadora’s life.”
Cade ran up to us and took Tristan, carrying the massive warrior to Penelope’s chambers.
“Who could have done this?” I asked Penelope as Cade laid Tristan gently down on the bed.
“I don’t know,” she said. ”The wards around the whole kingdom have fallen. The city and this entire valley are exposed. The Elder Fae will put up what wards they can, but without Izadora, they won’t hold long.”
Tristan groaned, and I rushed to his side.
“I will make the antidote immediately.” Penelope turned to a wall in her room and waved her hand.
The wall fell away to reveal a small secret room, walls stacked with books, and shelves overflowing with vials and bottles and small crystal decanters with liquids of every color swirling within them. A small wooden worktable was in the center of the room, covered with pewter and copper bowls of various sizes along with curious implements.
“I will need your help, Aurora. This potion is difficult to make and your magic can speed up the process.” Penelope started taking down books from the shelves and skimming through them. “We must complete it before the poison reaches his heart.”
I proceeded to help her measure out liquids and heat them with my mage fire. She added powders and herbs and instructed me on what to do. Cade sat with Tristan while he went through the pain, a silent grimace the only indication of the agony he was in. Werewraith poison burned the fae from the inside; I could only imagine what it must feel like. And for this poison to take down Tristan and my grandmother, it
must be very deadly.
But who would have wanted to harm my grandmother? It had to be someone on the inside. Skye was standing near the portal when it opened. But as far as I knew she had no spirit magic, nor did Brianna. And if it wasn’t one of them, then who?
Penelope created the potion and fed it to Tristan. He could barely drink, and we had to force the liquid down his throat.
I looked at the fallen warrior who lay so still and pale on the bed. “Now what?”
“Now we wait,” said Penelope. “We cannot do any more. It all depends on the immortal’s resistance to the poison.”
Sometime before dawn I fell asleep on the chair beside Tristan’s bed. A sharp knock at the door woke me and I looked over at Tristan, who did not seem any better. Had the antidote worked? I had no way of knowing.
Penelope answered the door, and Tristan’s father walked in, followed by three of his personal guards from the Night Court: huge fae warriors dressed all in black, with a silver star emblazoned on their chests, their hands resting on the massive swords at their waists.
He ignored me and spoke to Penelope, but he didn’t go closer to see or touch his son. “How is he?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” said Penelope. “I have administered the antidote, but we need to give it a day to work. He is strong, do not lose hope.”
The Grand Duke of the Night Court narrowed his eyes. “I will have my own healers look after him.”
“He can’t be moved,” I interrupted. “Tristan needs to rest. And there is no better healer here than Penelope.”
He turned his sapphire eyes on me. “I will decide whose care my son will be under. And you, half-breed,” he said with a sneer, “have absolutely no say in what happens in this kingdom. Penelope is under arrest,” he said, gesturing to his men. They came forward and caught her by the arms.
The Rise of the Dawnstar Page 24
