Daughter of the Diamond: Book IV of the Elementals Series

by Marisol Logan

  Veria couldn’t move, rooted in place watching what she could only assume was Irea's doing.

  “Oh my Fire...” Tanisca whispered next her in shock.

  Strelzar had sat up, Raken's freeze on him apparently broken, and watched in silence, as well, as the grand house crumbled, throwing its bricks and walls and rooms around in a barrage of stone and furniture.

  Everyone was in shock, and Veria suddenly realized it.

  “Go,” she ordered her mother, urging her away with a hand on her shoulder. “Go now. All of you—take the children, please—Irea will tear the whole kingdom apart if you're not with her. Take them, and hide.”

  Tanisca nodded and took off across the lawn, toward the stables next to the giant pile of rubble that was their home only moments before. Veria rushed back to Strelzar, who was pulling himself to his feet slowly.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I will be fine, as long as no one ever does that to me again,” he answered. “Your daughter—”

  “I know...” Veria muttered.

  The collapse of the building must have taken out the Wind Magers, or they had retreated with Pascha and Raken, as she couldn't feel any of them moving nearby when she searched. She watched with relief as the carriage, driven by Virro and holding her family, left the stables and headed East. No sooner had they disappeared from her sight than Sarco came sprinting back across the lawn toward her and Strelzar, faster than she thought a man of seventy could run.

  “Go!” he yelled as he rushed toward them, waving his arms towards the stables.”They're coming back—go! Go!”

  Veria and Strelzar turned and ran to the stables, approaching hoof beats sounding behind them from the edge of the blazing forest. There were four horses left in there, all spooked by the rather large commotion going on around them, but they managed to get mounted and take off, just as Pascha and Raken were all but caught up with them.

  Sarco and Strelzar dropped behind Veria just a bit on their horses and threw fire ball and streaking flame, one after the other, behind them at the pursuing Water Mager couple. They dodged and went wide on their horses, and Veria looked over her shoulder, bouncing uncomfortably in the saddle of her stallion, to see her grandfather push a wall of flame toward Pascha, and Pascha and her horse burst right through it unscathed.

  “Dragonskin!” Veria yelled. “Get closer to me!” she shouted at the other two, latching on to as many trees as she could behind her and pulling the trunks down to the ground in front of Pascha and Raken, narrowly missing Strelzar and Sarco as they urged their horses into a faster pace to catch up to her.

  Veria watched as both Pascha and Raken's horses jumped the logs with ease and continued pursuit.

  “You'll have to pin them!” Strelzar shouted over the rush of air and thunder of hooves.

  She tried to time which tree she pulled down with when they would be under it, but they were all moving so quickly, and she was dizzy from the attempts to locate and latch onto the energy as they rushed past it.

  Just as she had been lamenting how quickly they were moving, her horse started to slow. She urged it with her heels in its ribcage but it moved even slower. Terror filled her as the steed under her shivered with cold.

  She looked frantically to her sides, and both Strelzar and Sarco's horses were behaving in the same manner.

  “They're freezing them!” Veria called to them.

  Strelzar launched himself out of his saddle, landing on the ground with a thud, and Veria did the same, her horse now hardly moving and shivering uncontrollably. She heard Sarco jump from his horse behind her as she took off running behind Strelzar.

  She looked behind her as the hoof beats of the Water Magers' horses grew louder, drew closer. She knew they would never outrun them on foot, but if she could somehow stop the horses...

  She tried, as she had in her first testing with the Guard, to connect with the metal of the horseshoes, and she managed to, immediately whipping it backward and out of sync from the timed galloping pattern of the horse. It fell froward, onto its chest and face with a loud thump and slid across the ground, sending Pascha flying over the front, tumbling and rolling in a cloud of dirt.

  Raken was closing in on them, still atop his horse, and Veria tried to make herself run faster, but her legs burned and her breath was escaping her, a searing ache spreading across her sides as she gasped for air. As he closed in, they all slowed to a strained walk as he hit all three of them at the same time with a body chill. Veria had no energy to fight it, and neither did the men, all three of them collapsing to their hands and knees.

  Raken pulled his horse up next to Veria and dismounted, standing over her for a few moments before rolling her onto her back.

  “You should have done as you were told,” he sneered.

  Her heart pounded as her body went colder, and colder, her vision going blurry as it always had done when Turqa would show her how quickly the skill worked...what they all should know how to protect against.

  But she had failed. She had lost.

  “Raken, stop!” Pascha yelled hysterically as she ran up beside her husband. “She's pregnant—stop it!”

  The chill left Veria's body instantly and Pascha was on her knees next to her, staring into her eyes apologetically as she placed a hand on her shoulder gently. Veria was filled with a gentle warmth that brought her back up to her regular body temperature, but it was too late...she was so exhausted...so drained...

  “I'm so sorry,” Pascha shook her head and tears formed in her eyes.

  And everything went black.

  -XVII-

  When Veria awoke, she immediately recognized where she was. Surrounded by old stone walls and shelves upon shelves of vials and herbs and linens, the ceilings high, even though the room was in the basement level of the castle—the infirmary. It was very dark, the room dimly lit be a few candles and lanterns, and she had no idea what time it was or how long she had been out.

  She turned her head at the sound of shuffling next to her and saw Claryain, the castle physician, coming back toward her with an arm full of white sheets and towels, and a clean blue cotton nightgown and chemise.

  She handed Veria the nightgown and chemise with eyes full of pity, and went about pulling a towel out from underneath her backside. Having been relatively disoriented until that point, Veria snapped to attention when she saw the towel that Claryain removed to replace with a fresh one. She sat up quickly and her heart pounded—it was soaked in crimson blood.

  “What's going on?” she asked in panic.

  Claryain shook her head softly, a single tear streaming down her round pink cheeks. “The baby, my dear,” she sighed. “I'm afraid...”

  Veria's head dropped and throat filled with searing pain and hot tears blurred her vision. Her body flopped back down on the infirmary cot and her entire body started to prickle, then went numb.

  “There was nothing to be done, dear,” Claryain tried to soothe her. “We will see how much the body sheds its own, over the course of the day, but I may need to do a procedure—”

  “That's fine,” Veria muttered curtly. She did not want to hear another word about it.

  Claryain patted her shoulder and covered her in a fresh blanket, then left the room.

  Veria was about to let loose the sobs of agony building steadily in her throat and backing up into her chest to the point that she could hardly breathe, but her body turned to ice, so much like the affect of Raken's powers, when she heard a familiar voice consulting with Claryain in the hall outside the infirmary.

  “Is she going to be alright?” came King Browan's muffled voice.

  “Physically, yes,” Claryain answered. “There will be pain and bleeding for awhile, but she is healthy and will recover quickly. Emotionally...well—”

  “I am not concerned with that at this time,” Browan cut the physician off. “Thank you, Claryain.”

  As soon as he had finished his conversation in the hall, Browan swept into the
room and walked straight for Veria's cot where she lay, paralyzed by hatred and grief, hugging the blue nightgown to her chest as though it were a shield protecting her heart.

  “My condolences,” Browan muttered as he pulled a wooden chair up to the cot and seated himself.

  Veria turned her head from him and stared at the wall where Claryain dried her herbs and flowers as hot tears escaped the confines of her eyes and rushed down her face.

  “What do you know?” he continued, his voice turning immediately stern and cool.

  She did not speak. She could not speak to him.

  “Veria! Damnit! I know you and that infernal nuisance Plazic have been digging around—tell me now!” he roared.

  “Everything,” she whispered, turning back to him with eyes full of icy rage. “The Southern Range, the Separatist Movement...my father,” she snarled.

  His lips curled into a dark grin at the mention of her father. “You know,” he sighed, “it is a shame Gordon disapproved of my plans. I would have liked him to see it all unfold, as it was his idea.”

  Veria clutched her lower abdomen as a wave of cramping squeezed her. She fought against a fresh flood of tears and despair as the cramp was followed by the distinct warm wetness of more blood between her legs.

  “He once said to me, 'Trade is always chaos. If you want to get your way, you have to emerge as the hero amongst that chaos',” Browan said. “I never was very good at trade negotiations, like he was, but I think I found a better way to apply his sentiment,” he added with pride.

  “You won't get away with it,” Veria growled.

  “Who is going to stop me, Veria?” Browan asked, cocking his head. “The only three people in the world who knew about my plan, besides you, are dead. You disposed of two of them for me, for which I thank you.”

  “Ellory...” Veria sighed.

  “Your little brigand unit of reject elementals, including your precious servant boy, currently litter my dungeons,” Browan continued, “And it's only a matter of time before my guards find Coriant and your mother and children.”

  Anger and hatred filled her throat, spilling into her mouth with a putrescent, sour taste, and she clenched her jaw against a new bout of sorrow. Andon, Strelzar, Sarco...in the dungeon. Guards searching for her family...

  “I must admit, though, you trained your little Esperan pet well, Veria,” Browan remarked. “It took a solid dozen Elemental Guards to pull him off that ship in Solderess. Anytime one would get close, they would fall flat on their faces, totally incapacitated. But, one of my newer Earth Magers finally sent him plummeting down through the deck floor, to the brig below. I'm afraid that rendered him the incapacitated one.”

  Veria's stomach churned and her clenched jaw turned to grinding teeth as she fought the urge to strangle the man next to her cot. Her heart raced out of control with worry for Andon, her children, her family...

  “I want to see him,” she demanded, her tone icy and harsh.

  “I can arrange that,” Browan nodded, “but you and I need to have a discussion first.”

  “About what?” Veria spat.

  “Well, I can't very well let you all go, knowing what you know,” Browan sighed, “without some sort of guarantee that you won't go telling the world and starting some rebellion.”

  “What do you want, Browan?” she groaned.

  “I will let them all go,” he said, “if you marry me.”

  Veria rolled onto her back and arched her neck wildly as hysterical, icy laughter pealed from her lips and echoed through the infirmary.

  “Why on earth would I marry you?!” she scoffed. “You attacked my family—”

  “That was your fault for not obeying your King's orders—”

  “You kicked me out into the pouring rain and called me a whore, and caused me to go into early labor,” Veria continued, ignoring his interjection.

  “I said I was sorry for that.”

  “You killed my father!” she shrieked, sitting up and whipping her legs around to the side of the cot so she could lean toward him with an intimidating glare.

  “I didn't kill him, Veria,” Browan said softly. “Cadit Ohren did.”

  “You gave the order!” she shouted her rebuttal, continuing to stare him down, her chest heaving with her angered breath.

  “Temper, temper, little dragon,” Browan shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Are you going to breath fire?”

  “If I could kill you, Browan, I would,” she spat.

  “I know you would,” he said, “which is exactly why I am keeping the two people you love most in the world in a dungeon cell. I promise you if any harm comes to me, a wind blade will find both their necks rather quickly.”

  A tremble in her lip betrayed the intimidating facade she was trying to maintain as fear for Andon and Strelzar and longing for their safety consumed her.

  “You can save them,” he offered. “Just become my queen.”

  “Why do you want me as your queen, Browan?” Veria cried in confusion and frustration. “You don't love me! By all rights, you probably hate me! And I sure as Fire hate you, so I don't understand why you would want me as your wife.”

  “To guarantee your silence, of course,” Browan stated plainly. “If a Queen speaks out against her King, the public will demand she be hanged for treason. It is not looked kindly upon. And if you try to tell anyone of my plans, I will conveniently happen upon some information that you and Strelzar are the Twin Dragons, and you both manipulated me into marrying you so you could take over the kingdom. Just to be sure that the world will be calling for your heads.

  “The others will go free, if you accept my proposal, and they will not utter a word of this to anyone or I will happen upon that convenient information sooner rather than later, and they will watch you swing from the gallows. If you don't accept, they stay in the dungeon for as long as it takes them to wither and die. In your grandfather's case, that might not be long. And Villicrey...” he clicked his tongue and shook his head facetiously, “he has injuries from his fall that need immediate attention.”

  Nothing he was saying was a lie. Though her head was filled with heat and rage and the steam of her fuming anger, there were no alarms. He was telling the truth.

  Andon and Sarco would die soon if she didn't...she shuddered at the thought...marry him.

  She had no choice, and she knew it. She would never let anything happen to her family, and Browan knew that. How long had he been waiting to snare her in this trap...? she wondered as she prepared her mouth to force the words she had to say to set them all free—everyone but herself. She would be stuck with him, again, away from everyone she loved.

  “Alright,” she muttered, tears sneaking from the corners of her eyes, and a fresh pooling of blood escaping her body and reminding her of the empty, hollow grief of losing the child that she and Andon had hoped for so much. “I will marry you.”

  “Wonderful,” Browan said, a wicked grin parting his lips and a devious twinkle of triumph in his golden eyes.

  “Now let me go see them,” Veria demanded.

  Browan stood and gestured toward the door. “There are two guards outside the door. They will escort you to the dungeon whenever you're ready. I'll ready a unit of Elementals to take Strelzar back to Plazic Peak, and I will have Claryain send her aids to fetch Villicrey and your grandfather for treatment. Then you will meet me in my chambers and rest. Claryain will check on you there after she is finished with the others. Half an hour. That's it.”

  He left, and as soon as he was gone, Veria's body lost all its strength. She slid off the cot and collapsed on the cold stone floor and bawled uncontrollably, her body shaking violently with each deep, wailing sob of agony and heartbreak. Slowly, through the ache in her muscles from the fighting and fleeing at Longberme, and the heavy, seemingly unending tears and cries, she managed to change out of her blood-stained nightgown and silk dressing robe and into the clean set of garments Claryain had provided.

  Her body shook as
she took deep breath after deep breath, trying to compose herself before going to the dungeon, where the men she'd be visiting did not need to see her in pain—it would only add to theirs. Checking her face in a mirror before she left, and satisfied with the minimal redness that tinged her cheeks and eyes, she headed toward the dungeon, escorted by the guards Browan had mentioned. Every step hurt, her legs burning with ache and so tight against their trauma that her gait was reduced to a mere shuffle.

  When she entered the dungeon, all three of its inhabitants stirred and alerted, which for Strelzar was an agile leap to standing, and for Andon and Sarco was a roll to barely sitting up. Her heart plummeted to see their suffering.

  “Birdie!” Strelzar uttered in elation.

  “Veria...” Andon groaned as he scooted closer to the bars and grabbed them tightly to help prop himself up.

  She knelt down next to Andon's cell and slipped a hand through the bars to gently caress his face, which appeared to be badly bruised. She smelled his sweat from his struggle, and detected the distinct aroma of blood.

  “I would stand and embrace you through these bars, but...my leg—I am fairly certain it's broken,” Andon whispered in despair.

  “It's alright, Andon,” Veria murmured in a soothing tone, sliding her hands down to rest on his shoulders. “You are going to get out of here, and you will get treatment for your leg. The castle physician is sending nurses to transport you, and you as well, Sarco, to the infirmary. They will be here soon. Strelzar, you are being transported back to Plazic Peak.”

  Strelzar eyed her carefully, his brows furrowed and his face tight with scrutiny.

  “What did you do?” he asked slowly.

  “Strelzar...” she sighed, pulling her hands from Andon's cell and placing them in her lap.

  “What did he want from you?” he demanded. “What did you do Veria?! He wouldn't let the three of us go like this without getting what he wanted out of it!”

  Veria swallowed hard and hung her head.