by Ava Sinclair
And then comes the sound every Drakoryan waits for in battle. The king’s roar is distinctive. Massive and gray, King Vukuris is larger than any of us. He slams into three ShadowFell, his mighty claws slicing their throats in a spray of blood. The red-eyed beasts plummet to the ground and I manage to take off as they fall where I’d just lain moments before. The king’s arrival renews our resolve. I lock minds with my brother, tapping into our primal desire to taste the enemy’s blood. From below, spears fly upward, hitting the enemy; we take advantage of each wounded ShadowFell’s surprise to attack and kill them.
We are thinning their numbers. The tide is turning with the coming of the king.
Then everything changes.
In the distance, a ShadowFell dragon, as large as our king, lands on the Castle Mount in a display of defiant aggression. At that same moment, the Mystic Mountain itself begins to tremble and quake.
Chapter 29
Gyrvig
I will never forget the sounds. None of us will. If we survive, it will be added to our collective memories we pass on to our mates during Deepenings, to any sons born after these dark times. It is the sound of the Mystic Mountain cracking and crackling from within, and the sound of the Sisterhood of the Wyrd — always so brave and steady — crying out in despair.
Since the beginning, the only access to the inner sanctum of the witches, and the pool that held the secret to our transformation, has been by a hidden entrance. We watch now as a fissure opens in the side of the slope. The ground trembles as the mountain itself yields.
We turn as one now to see the remaining ShadowFell holding our dragons at bay as the largest ShadowFell spreads his wings and glides from the Castle Mount. Only I can see now that someone is astride him. The black-cloaked figure yields a staff and points the way. The leader of the ShadowFell disappears into the fissure, followed by others.
Arvika! King Vukuris calls to the Witch Queen.
I am sorry, comes a sorrowful voice. We could not hold them off. We could not protect the deep magic. We have failed. We have gone Inward.
Inward. They have retreated to the space between the worlds. But we fight on. We speed towards the mountain, but are too late. The ShadowFell leader is emerging from the mountain. We already feel the change. The life force is different. The red eye holds a new knowing. Our king rushes him with a cry as more transformed ShadowFell emerge from the mountain, availed now of a new nature that is a curse to us but a victory for them.
King Vukuris is enraged. He pursues the leader of the ShadowFell to the top of the Castle Mount. In my mind’s eye, I remember the last battle which saw his predecessor killed by our leader. But King Vukuris is older now, and the leader of the ShadowFell exudes power. We rush to aid the king but are cut off. The ShadowFell leader is ready to settle an old score. He spreads his mighty wings as our king rushes him with a battle cry, and in one moment of hope, it looks as if Vukuris will prevail. He has filled his fire glands. His eyes glow gold. He targets his foe. But the ShadowFell is faster and dodges the river of fire, turning as he does to strike King Vukuris with his tail, the end covered with jagged daggers that catch our liege on the side of his head. Vukuris slams into the mountain. We call to him, breaking through the line of ShadowFell. We are not fast enough. The ShadowFell leader is on him; the sound of teeth crunching bone fills us with dread. Our king’s golden eyes roll back in his head. Blood pours from his mouth. The ShadowFell doesn’t break its hold. It shakes Vukuris, limp in those massive jaws. When the ShadowFell releases his grip, our king slides down the mountain in a cascade of rocks to land, lifeless, in the ravine below.
A collective scream comes from inside the castle. Drakoyran princes are forbidden to fight when their father lives. They emerge now, but it is too late. The ShadowFell have gotten what they want.
Almost.
Where is she? We hear a new voice— soft, deep and evil. I want her back!
Who? We ask this collectively as we hover over the broken Mystic Mountain. Across the ravine, the ShadowFell hover over the Castle Mount. We are equally matched, each sizing the other up. Who do you want?
The woman. A deep laugh echoes all around. Fools. You believed she was abandoned as punishment, when all along we knew you’d do what you would to save the sister of one of your mates. We knew you’d take her here. The God of Dark Places made magic of her. She was the key to opening the mountain. She has proven herself worthy. Give her back.
Zara. He used Zara. While they sought to recapture her along with the deep magic, in this the ShadowFell failed. The witches not only used their magic to escape Inward, but to take Zara with them.
Leave this place. The sons of the fallen king move forward. Leave or we will kill you.
Do you think you can? Or would you rather bury your king?
The leader of the ShadowFell looks around. Both sides know if we battle now, either could lose.
You have lost this battle, Drakoryans. But the war is not over. We will return, and when we do, all shall bow before me, King Seadus of the ShadowFell, and you will kiss the ring on my human hand. You will deliver the flame-haired key, and maidens for my generals. Or you will all die.
He pumps his wing, lifting from the mountain. We all know in that moment that he is right. We have lost. The death of our king is as dire as any physical blow, and he will not continue the battle until he and his army are strong enough to return and battle for Zara and the other maidens.
For the first time, we have suffered defeat at the hands of the ShadowFell. Our wails of grief ring through the valley as we circle the body of our fallen king.
Chapter 30
THERA
It is the second full moon since the ShadowFell attacked, and again, the lives of my people have changed.
Gone is the innocence of a simple and just existence. They have seen the horrors of a dragon war. The village now has a graveyard where women and children sob over mounds of dirt covering the bodies of their loved ones. Physical hunger seems irrelevant now. The pain of loss is so much worse. I know because I have felt it.
Sometimes I feel guilty, having five surviving mates when many of my friends lost their husbands. I hold them while they cry, and at night, my mates hold me while I cry for those who have died.
I am a Drakoryan Bride now, a Fire Bride, Isla tells me. We have become friends, bonded over caring for her sister who was returned to us a fortnight after the attack. Zara will not speak of what happened. When the memories return, they do so in mercifully small measure. Even so, they are enough to make her sobs and shake. She wakes in the night screaming for us to protect her from the black dragon who vowed to take her for his mate.
She does not remember her time wandering in the woods. She does not remember being in the trance, of being kept alive as she wandered in her wraith-like state as living bait.
We are in Castle Za’vol, and I have left care of the village in the hands of two apprentices I am training to replace me. While I will always serve my people, I realize my place will one day be in a castle like this. My mates need my care, too. For the first time, they have learned what it is to suffer loss.
The funeral for King Vukuris was different than the funeral for any king before him. His sons, the princes, deemed that those who fell with him would be honored — both human and Drakoryan alike.
Among the lost were elders who insisted on joining the fight. Lord Egir of Em’Ril, father of Lord Turin of Za’vol. Lord Bartax, one of the three mates of Lady Enid of Gry’lan. House Ty’Bor in the south of the empire lost two lords—Lords Shilor and Morkna. Their mate, Elna, has only one remaining mate to comfort her and her three sons. There are others whose names I do not recall, but my mates speak of them.
King Vukuris was placed on a pyre. Lower pyres cradling bodies of the fallen lords surrounded his. The dead of the village and serving class, covered in linen shrouds, lay in a line below.
Songs were sung, songs of the history of the Drakoryans, and songs of the history of our people and
those of the serving class. Men stepped forward to lift the shrouded bodies of the human soldiers. They moved back as the Drakoryan princes shifted to surround their father. They burned his body, emitting fires as the Drakoryan lords called to the Lord and Lady to receive his spirit. I was inspired by their faith. Even with what they have been through, they have not broken allegiance with the deities that did not come to save them.
Survivors of the fallen Drakoryans burned their own, and for the first time, I saw dragons weep. I also experienced the sisterhood of the Fire Brides, who surrounded the newly widowed to offer comfort. I will never forget the eldest son of the southern lords. Lord Erdorin told me later that it must have taken the lad great strength to keep from sobbing. Only a year away from shifting, he will go through the rite without feeling his father’s pride.
Much has changed, but some things do not. I still enjoy the comfort of my mates. They remain the guardians of the village, and each night as four patrol, one remains with me. Or two when it is the twins who come to my bed.
Tonight it is Gyrvig, who stares into my eyes as he moves in and out of my body with slow, steady thrusts. I cling to him, the ship in my storm of emotions. The sweet release leaves my body with less tension.
Afterwards, he takes me in his arms. I look out the window, towards Castle Za’vol.
“What will come of Zara?” I ask. “I overheard Lord Jayx speaking to Erdorin of her today.”
Gyrvig trails a finger down my arm. “I am not supposed to say. It is yet a secret.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and scowl down at him. “A secret? You will keep no secrets from me.”
He chuckles. “If I tell you, you must promise to keep it to yourself. Lady Isla and her lords will tell Zara tonight.”
“Tell her what?”
He sighs. “The ShadowFell King thinks he will return to claim Zara. Victory has made him proud. He does not know that the sons of King Vukuris plan to deny him his prize. Zara will not be his bride. She will be the next Drakoryan queen.”
I feel myself gasp. “The princes plan to take her as a mate?”
“Yes.” He reaches up to touch my face. “Even though the witches have gone inward, they still speak to us. King Seadus was right. Zara is a key, a conduit for great magic. The God of Deep Places used her for ill, but as a queen, the witches can emerge to use her for good. For victory.”
I lay down slowly on the bed, thinking that there is still hope in these dark times. Unions will be made. A new king will be crowned. The land will have a queen. Lyla of Fra’hir will have a baby.
I think of all the virgins taken from rocks, think of how the Drakoryans told me I would be theirs, Then I think on how vital we are, the women of this Drakoryan Empire.
Beside me, Gyrvig has read my thoughts. “We are nothing without you,” he says.
I plant a kiss on his forehead as he pulls me into his arms.
“Be happy,” Bran had said.
And I am. Despite everything that has happened, and everything that may come, I am.
BOOKS IN THIS SERIES
The Drakoryan Brides Series
Sacrifice
Fire Bride
War Bride
Rebel Bride
Standalone Books in the Drakoryan World
Night of the Drakoryans
