The only upside to his father remaining the same? Braxton knows all his moves. He’s predictable.
A hush falls over the crowd as Darius enters the stage. He opens his arms, gesturing to his people. Braxton can’t help but scoff. His people despise him, yet there he stands, acting as though he’s the lords’ gift to them all. Their savior.
He says a few words, to which Braxton hardly listens. The only words he hears are “Let this be an example to you all!” Braxton lifts his gaze as the king makes his way across the platform to his throne. He notices the seat next to his father’s is empty. Where is my mother?
His thoughts scatter as an ominous cloaked figure, in all black, steps onto the platform. Behind him is a guard dragging a petite girl who is shackled from head to toe. The executioner takes the girl from the guard and begins to move her toward the block. She doesn’t seem to resist nor put up a fight; instead, she appears eerily calm, as if this is her path, her destiny.
The executioner leads her to the block and presses her shoulder so that she’s forced to kneel. She doesn’t look at the crowd, but up at the sky, almost as if she’s expecting something.
Braxton sneaks another look to his right. His gaze meets that of the falcon. Within seconds, the bird takes off. It soars overhead toward the stage.
Showtime.
As they’d discussed, Braxton pushes himself to the front of the crowd. He flails his arms in the air and begins shouting profanities.
Elvira’s head is lowered onto the block. The executioner sharpens his blade. Braxton shouts louder, pushing his way further to the front. The executioner swings the sword out in front of him. He’s just steps away from the block, from Elvira.
Why isn’t this working? Why is no one alarmed?
He spots the falcon land on a wooden post just behind the stage. Any moment now, Xerin will morph into his human form. Any moment now, Braxton will have failed. He’d been given one job: to create a distraction.
It’s then he realizes what he must do.
He spots a nearby column and darts over to it. He frantically climbs as high as he can go. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
When he gets to the top, he straightens on shaking legs and, with a deep breath, unveils his hood, revealing himself to all. “Father, you will not kill this girl!” he yells at the top of his lungs.
The entire crowd turns to look up at him. Darius shoots up from his throne and hurries to the front of the stage. The executioner’s sword clatters onto the stage. Elvira’s gaze shifts from the empty sky to Braxton.
Darius narrows his eyes. “Treachery! How dare you interrupt! Do you take me for a fool?”
Braxton tries to mask his panic, but he can feel his eyes widening against his will. “You’ve always been the fool, father.” He focuses on the back of the stage where a guard is escorting Elvira away from the commotion. Eyes the color of crimson lock on Braxton’s, and he breathes a sigh of relief knowing that Xerin is leading Elvira to safety. But his relief quickly converts to dread as Tymond’s shouts echo in the square. “Seize him!”
Swishing fills the air. Braxton follows the source of the sound, his eyes going up, up, up. Hundreds of arrows are about to rain down on him, as well as the many innocent people of Trendalath. Screams fill the air as the townspeople realize what’s going on—tripping over one another, darting to and fro—desperate to find shelter. Seeing no other choice, Braxton focuses his energy on his ability. I have to deviate the arrows.
Townspeople continue to scream and shout all around him, ducking, running for cover, making it more difficult than usual to focus. He mustn’t lose his concentration. His abilities depend entirely on the intensity of his focus; without it, he—and everyone here—will perish.
A deep stirring fills his chest as he homes in on the arrows with all the strength he can muster. He can feel the magick building, growing, little by little. His lips begin to quiver, his whole body shaking from what he’s about to do. An estranged yell escapes his throat.
The crowd gasps as the arrows begin to change. The sharp, pointed ends move clockwise, slowly at first, switching direction in midair. Shouts ring out in the background, most likely his father throwing a fit, but he pays them no attention.
This is his game now.
Braxton lets out another disgruntled yell as he deviates the arrows and pushes them back in their original direction. The guards appear so stunned by what’s happening that they don’t fire any more arrows. Instead, they watch in awe as their weapons head back toward them.
Braxton briefly moves his attention to the stage. Xerin and Elvira are nowhere to be found. He realizes that they should have planned out their actual escape, but hadn’t felt a need to since Xerin assured them he had it covered. So where are they? Just as he’s about to succumb to his feelings of panic, a deafening roar fills the air. His mouth drops open as he gazes up into the sky. What he sees at that very moment can only be described by one thing.
Illusié.
It’s stunning. The navy blue scales. The round orange eyes. The wing-tipped tail. Its colossal size. For some, it would be a creature from their nightmares—but not for Braxton. For him, this is a long awaited reunion.
At first glance, Braxton assumes Xerin has somehow morphed into the creature, even though dragons have been regarded as myth and folklore for decades. To see, with his own eyes, a real dragon flying directly overhead is almost too much to process. But it’s when the creature starts to nosedive toward the crowd that he realizes who it’s aiming for.
Xerin and Elvira.
Somehow, they’ve managed to make it to the top of an older dwelling. The dragon swoops down and turns, giving the two of them just enough time, and room, to climb onto its back.
Another realization dawns on Braxton. Elvira must be illusié. A Summoner.
She can summon dragons.
It’s enough to make him lose his grip on the post. He falls to the ground, landing hard on his left arm. All around him, feet are stamping and people are still screaming. It’s absolute chaos. Instead of standing and potentially making himself a target, he decides to crawl. He wriggles through the crowd of people, hoping that his sense of direction won’t fail him at a time like this.
Finally, he reaches the outskirts of town, presses himself upward, and takes off into the forest. He doesn’t get far when he notices an enormous shadow overhead. He slows, his footsteps coming to a halt. Above him is the mystical and illusive dragon. He stumbles over his feet as it begins to lower to the ground, giant wings and all. Its pointed tail flays back and forth, knocking a tree clear from its roots.
As the creature lowers, Xerin and Elvira come into plain sight. Xerin holds out his hand, and Braxton grasps it as he’s pulled onto the dragon’s back. Elvira sits between them.
“I thought you’d left!” Braxton yells over the loud flaps of the dragon’s wings.
Xerin shakes his head. “We just had to get out of there. And now we have to get out of here!”
“Hang on!” Elvira shouts as the dragon rises into the air.
Braxton grabs onto the sides of the dragon, but it doesn’t do much in the way of support. Elvira must sense this because she reaches behind her and takes his hands, placing them firmly on her hips. “Trust me,” she says, “this isn’t my first time.”
Braxton’s cheeks burn, but the feeling is quickly replaced by cool air whipping at his face. The dragon picks up speed and soon they’re soaring faster than he’d ever thought possible. They fly over the Roviel Woods, the sight barren since the first leaves have fallen. His teeth chatter in the wind as they fly further north to the Vaekith Mountains.
Although it doesn’t take long to reach Sardoria, Braxton is shivering by the time he dismounts the dragon. Opal runs out of the castle, her boots crunching in the snow, with bundles of blankets in hand. She hastily throws one at each of them. “Hurry inside,” she urges. “I have a fire started.”
Elvira starts after
her, followed by Braxton, but when he turns around, Xerin is standing by the dragon, unmoving. “Aren’t you coming?”
Xerin shakes his head, his cheeks flush with color. “My work isn’t done yet.”
Before Braxton can say another word, a soft yellow glow emanates from Xerin’s body. “Stand back!”
Braxton pulls Elvira and Opal underneath the castle’s overhang as Xerin grows a tail, then a scaly body, followed by wings, and an enormous head.
“He’s only been able to morph into things he’s come into contact with,” Elvira verifies, answering what everyone’s thinking. “This is the first time we’ve seen each other in years.” A smile radiates from her face. “What a wonderful reunion. For him to be able to morph into the one animal we always ‘played pretend’ as children.”
Braxton breaks his gaze from Xerin-the-dragon to look at her. “Why isn’t he staying? Where is he going?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her eyes sparkle, even in the dim morning light. “He’s going back for the other Caldari.”
Braxton nods. “Right. They’re his family.”
She gives him a stern look. “We’re his family.”
He nods his head in understanding, then turns his gaze back to the dragon and draws the blanket up tighter for warmth. The creature flaps its wings, slowly lifting off the ground. In mere seconds, it’s high overhead, soaring in the opposite direction. He watches Xerin take off into the clouds. He can only hope Arden, Felix, and Estelle are successful in their part of the mission.
All there is to do now is wait.
DARIUS TYMOND
“WHAT ARE YOU waiting for?” Darius shrieks as the dragon soars off into the distance. “Go after them!”
The executioner mumbles something inaudible, then hurries down the steps. Darius watches as he disappears into the crowd, ears burning as he turns to face Landon. “I wasn’t only speaking to the executioner.”
Landon bows his head. “My King, I can assure you, I am much more useful to you here. I have no doubt that one of the other Savant will catch them.”
Exasperated, Darius throws his hands into the air. “You imbecile! How are they going to know? They weren’t even here to witness the blasted mess!”
Landon tilts his head and eyes the king knowingly. “Perhaps this is just my opinion, but I’m almost certain the enormous dragon—a creature we all presumed to be extinct—flying overhead will tip them off.”
Darius runs his hands over his face, his fingers catching in his beard. He closes his eyes. This is just a bad dream. I’m dreaming, that’s all.
Landon opens his mouth to speak, and the king wishes right then and there that he would just disappear. Perhaps he’d sent the executioner off prematurely. “My King, that was,” he pauses, then lowers his voice, “your son.”
Ah, yes. His son. Braxton Tymond.
Liar. Conspirator. Traitor.
He’s sure there are many other names he can add to the list, especially after this last incident—however, in that moment, all he feels is shame. Not for his poor parenting skills, but for Braxton’s complete disregard for everything he’s built over the past ten years, during a time when he wasn’t even here—when he’d decided to run away and never return.
The thought is enough to send chills down his spine. As an image of Braxton shouting from the top of the post fades, another enters his mind—Aldreda.
Landon’s said something, but Darius doesn’t bother asking him to repeat it. He whirls around and makes his way over to the carriage that is parked just behind the stage. The coachman snaps to attention and scurries to open the door. The king slaps his hand away and opens the door himself, then climbs inside. “Onward!” he shouts, and in just a few moments time, the carriage jerks to life, the town square fading from view.
A short ride later, Darius kicks the door open and jumps down from the carriage. He marches across the drawbridge and through the giant double doors of Trendalath castle. They slam shut behind him.
“Aldreda!” he bellows, knowing full well that she can’t hear him. The castle is so large that even as his voice echoes down the corridors, it’s impossible it’d reach her rooms. He picks his robes up from the sides and begins climbing the many sets of stairs leading to the bedchamber. He picks up the pace, dashing down the corridor, panting the entire way. The door is cracked, and he bursts in without announcing his presence.
The bed is rumpled and unmade. Aldreda is not in it. His eyes scan the room frantically, his heart thumping in his chest. “Aldreda?” he says again, quieter this time.
Whimpering catches his attention, and he makes his way around the armoire. Aldreda is curled up in a ball behind it, weeping. Darius can’t help but fall to his knees at the sight of her. “My love,” he says as he reaches out to her, but she doesn’t return the gesture. Her head remains in her hands. “My love, what is it?”
She slowly raises her head, her glassy eyes focusing on his. “I can’t do this again,” she croaks.
Darius shakes his head, not understanding her meaning. “Do what again?”
“This.” She lowers her hands to her abdomen. “I can’t have another child run away from us again. I can’t bear the agony for a second time.”
Darius bites his tongue. The urge to tell her about Braxton and everything that had just occurred in the town square is strong, but seeing her like this, so fragile and weak, makes him rethink his options. He scoots closer and puts an arm around her, pulling her in tight. He rocks her back and forth, just like she used to do when Braxton was a young boy. “There, there,” he soothes. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“I can’t do it again,” she whispers, burying her face further into his robes. “I just can’t.”
He sits there for hours, mostly in silence, with her body molded into his. At some point, her weeping ceases and she lets out a faint snore.
She’s literally cried herself to sleep.
He breaks contact as gently as he can and carefully rises to his feet. Before she slumps over, he catches her and sweeps her up off the ground in one swift movement, then places her gently on the bed. He pulls the covers over her and blows out a lone lantern. She doesn’t stir.
Closing the door behind him, Darius looks at her one last time, then breathes a sigh of relief. He ensures the door is completely shut before beginning his stroll down the corridor. The castle is unusually quiet—an opportune time to get his thoughts in order. It doesn’t take long for him to realize what he must do.
Arden is no longer his priority. Braxton is.
ARDEN ELIRI
EVEN FROM DEEP within the dungeon, I can hear people screaming and shouting outside. Executions are normally quiet—solemn—so the noise level outside indicates that something’s gone terribly wrong. And, hopefully, that something involves Xerin and Braxton.
Estelle, Felix, and I huddle around each other, walking in sync as we head down the steps to the dungeon. Estelle has all three of us cloaked. It’s a strange feeling, walking through the town and the castle, right in front of people, and not having them see you. It makes me feel invincible, and I wonder if this is how Estelle feels every day.
I gaze down at my hands, noticing their faint glow. What I am crosses my mind for what feels like the hundredth time that day: Healer. Honestly, after finding out I was illusié, I was sort of hoping my abilities would be on the more rare end of the spectrum. To be an assassin and a healer seems just a bit counterintuitive—like a constant, internal battle will wage on inside of me for the rest of my life.
Who am I kidding? That’s the life I live right now.
The dungeon is dimly lit, and as we descend further down the stairs, I almost trip over my feet and fall into Felix, but Estelle catches my arm just in time. I look at her to say thank you, but she has her index finger pressed against her lips. Her eyes tell me not to say a word.
I don’t know why we have to be so quiet; there doesn’t seem to be anyone down here. But I
trust Estelle enough to listen to her. We walk as silently as possible until we finally reach the bottom level. Voices echo throughout the chamber, but I can’t discern whether they are those of prisoners or of guards. Why would prisoners be talking amongst themselves? Then again, isn’t that what got Rydan into this situation in the first place?
I stay on Felix’s heels as we round the corner. Estelle is right next to me, shoulder to shoulder. I can hardly hear her breathing. Felix pokes his head around one of the corners. He mouths, “Guards,” and then lifts up two fingers.
Part two of our plan is about to commence.
Estelle releases him from his cloaked state, but she and I remain unseen. Felix takes a stroll around the corner, even having the nerve to whistle. I look at Estelle and roll my eyes. Well, that will surely draw their attention.
“Who are you?” a gruff voice demands.
“What are you doing down here?” says another.
Estelle and I slip around the corner, still cloaked. My eyes catch the cell at the far end, the one housing Rydan. A lump catches in my throat. I’m nervous, anxious, and irritated all at once. My anger hasn’t faded in the slightest whenever I think back to that day in Lonia—if anything, it’s grown worse. Especially knowing that he’d decided to head back to Trendalath even after I’d explicitly told him how I felt about King Tymond, and that the Soames’ mission was just plain wrong. But he’d shown his true colors—he’d chosen to go back anyway.
Felix’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “You have something I need,” he says. He’s standing in front of the guards now, just a mere five feet away.
“Hands behind your back,” the lanky one orders as he rises from his seat, “and kneel.”
A coy smile tugs at Felix’s lips. “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
The other guard rises and they both unsheathe their swords. They head directly for Felix, but he just stands there, smiling. I feel a momentary flicker of panic, but it dissipates when the guards stop moving and drop their weapons. Their faces contort into expressions I’ve witnessed time and time again.
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