by Emma James
Adrik stiffened, stepping back so that he stood partially behind Leonie in the event the guards to their rear followed her instructions.
The guards did nothing.
Froda’s face contorted with rage. “Are you deaf?! Arrest them!” She swiped her hand toward Adrik and Leonie.
Still, the guards did nothing.
Mind reeling, Leonie’s eyes darted between the man and Froda. “Release him, Princess! I don’t have to understand much to know that you’re killing someone!” She moved forward, reaching for him.
Froda stepped up and snarled. “You know nothing! You and my father—so alike, so foolish.”
Adrik huffed. “If you must carry on in a foolish manner, at least be informing. Explain yourself, if you’re even capable.”
Froda reddened, eye twitching. “You—you Gargan filth. You—” She growled out gibberish. “King Gier’s idiocy is an insult to this kingdom! Our people are smarter and stronger than others. We know how to educate, how to protect, how to lead—we need to be guiding the world in the right direction, not letting these other kingdoms squander by their own destructive nature.
“But Gier only ever cares about Sallimor. He only ever focuses on Sallimor and their success, as if the outside politics can never affect us.”
She scoffed. “And insultingly, the man keeps living! He wrinkles and wrinkles into a twisted goblin, but he doesn’t die!”
Leonie’s mouth fell open, her posture rigid and her heart freezing over. “I…what?”
“Only I know what Olnorma needs!” Froda seethed, fingers curling like she was clawing the air. “I know how to unite us under one banner! I know how to ensure peace and equality amongst us all. But I’ll never get the chance to do any of it so long as my father has the throne to himself.”
She glanced at the starving man. “Sacrifices are necessary to ensure my power. To ensure righteousness. Gier’s life has gone on long enough. It must end, and it must end by someone with true greatness—someone who can’t be defeated.”
“Greatness?!” Rage seared up Leonie’s chest. She motioned toward the dying man. “Just let that man go! Stop this madness!” She limped toward him, her hands itching to tear apart those wretched tubes.
Hot, red light crashed into Leonie and she tumbled over the icy ground, her side burning and a cry choked in her throat. Her back skidded over the stone to a jarring halt, her watery eyes aimed upward.
Adrik cried out her name.
Leonie blinked hard, head slouching to her side. As her mind spun and jumped—trying to comprehend what had just occurred—her eyes landed on Froda, blackened veins jutting out of her flesh and red glowing in her pupils.
Leonie’s blood went cold.
Adrik fell to his knees beside her, his palm brushing against the side of her face. “Leonie, are you okay?”
She pointed at Froda.
Princess Froda’s skin shimmered, muscles bulging and eyes turning into black slits. The tubes brightened before they fell off her back.
The bony man shivered and cried out.
The guards rushed back, their swords were drawn but their faces ashen. They trembled violently and wheezed at the sight before them.
“What are you?” Adrik said, gawking at Froda.
Princess Froda gave him a toothy grin, revealing long twisted fangs. “Now?” She glanced at her victim. “I’m made of a shifter’s blood—of a dragon’s soul. I’m as powerful as the supposed gods in our lore.”
Nausea tickled the back of Leonie’s throat. “Shifters? What?” Froda couldn’t be a god—no, but a shifter? She glanced at the dying man. His chest no longer moved.
Froda moved slowly, her arms held wide and her face aimed at the ceiling. She took deep breaths and widened her grin. “The transference has taken months. It should’ve taken more time, but now—” Her spine stretched vertically, and she bent backward and laughed. “It feels so good. So much power, so much fire.” She whistled, sparks of fire bursting past her lips.
“They’re real,” Adrik breathed, gawking at the man. “They’re—she—” He shook his head and snapped his attention to the guards. “Stop her! Arrest her! Do something!”
A few guards—crouched in a defensive position—crept forward, toward their mad princess.
Froda snapped her dark eyes to them.
The guards jolted and backed up.
“A new era has arrived,” she growled, voice twisting and deepening into something monstrous. She beamed. “A new goddess has arrived!” Her arms elongated, flesh turning into dark red scales.
But…that was it. Froda didn’t appear like a dragon but like some kind of abomination. Not a goddess but a demon, dark red seeping into her irises and the whites of her eyes.
Froda pointed a black claw at Leonie. “Execute her. Your princess demands that of you.”
The guards huddled close to one another, keeping their quivering swords aimed at Froda.
Froda sneered at them. “Execute her! She’s a traitor!”
Leonie shook her head, ice coursing through her veins and clutching her clavicle. “No. You’re the traitor, Froda. But—but we can change this.” Her heart lodged itself in her throat. “We can fix this. No one else needs to be tortured, and no one needs to be killed. Please, let’s speak about this. Please.”
Froda curled, her head twisting to the side as her eyes blazed with rage. Her lips curled downward in a silent snarl. Then she screamed, fire bursting out of her mouth.
The light blinded Leonie for a split second, sensations rushing out of her body.
Darkness washed over her. The brief scent of earth rushed through Leonie’s nose before fire and ash burst once more behind the dark figure. Heat brushed against her sides before chill overtook the air yet again.
Her vision began to clear, but her chest felt as though it had cracked open. “Adrik,” she called out.
He hovered over her, one hand pressed to the ground and his other arm wrapped around her waist. He wheezed, head bowed and chest moving unevenly. Ash remained thick in the air—thick on him, the edges of his shirt black with char.
“Adrik,” she breathed, clutching his neck. Ice encased her, her lungs frozen in place. “Are you—?”
More fire burst behind him before crashing into his back.
He reeled forward and gasped, his grip on her tightening and his temple shoving against her forehead.
“Adrik!”
Another wave of fire smacked against him, blackening his shirt completely before it fell off him in wisps of ash. He choked, but he didn’t move—didn’t pull away.
Leonie pushed his torso—tried to get him to dodge the next attack—but her arms quivered with the pointless effort. Her eyes watered, a sob brushing against the back of her throat. “Adrik, please, move. Please—”
“Stop, foul creature!” a guard shouted. “Cease your actions, or we will be forced to take action!”
Froda snarled. “You dare defy me!”
A guttural shriek burst in the air before the fiery wave shot out to the right of Adrik—away from him.
Guards screamed and ran, and others charged forward.
Froda shrieked again.
Adrik finally fell to the side, coughs crackling past his lips and his eyes glassy and distant.
Leonie rose a little, ignoring her pain as she curled around Adrik to inspect his back. Her fingers quivered and ghosted over the soot. If he had been human he would have been incinerated.
Maybe it was worse because he wasn’t human. She knew so little about Gargans…
“Adrik,” she breathed, cringing as more guards screamed and Froda continued her assault. “Adrik, talk to me. How do I—how can I help?” She patted his upper back, her fingers coming back coated in black.
He coughed, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Just…warm.” He hacked and shuddered, black saliva dripping from his mouth.
Leonie scooted back—scooted around to get a better look at his back. Her eyes ended up landing in
the nearby distant, Froda slashing at men and shooting bursts of fire from her mouth. She roared and shook with a palpable rage.
Many of the guards laid scattered on the floor, blood and black ash staining their uniforms.
Adrik hacked again, trying to reach up to his shoulder before he gave up and let his arm collapse to the ground. His head lowered, swaying. “I’m fine,” he rasped again.
Leonie’s torso constricted and a grievous anger pulsed through her. She pushed herself to her feet and glared at Froda—at that monster. Leonie ground her teeth together and, thoughtlessly, limped toward the crazed princess.
This couldn’t stand. Even to Leonie—a duchess of Asawiss, a kingdom that hadn’t experience a war in several generations—violence was necessary to make this right.
“Leonie?” Adrik whispered, sounding dazed. “Leonie?”
Froda cornered one guard and slammed her claws down on his shoulders, fire trickling from her mouth.
The guard screamed and tried to reel away, but Froda’s grip was too strong—claws too sharp and sturdy.
Leonie’s heart beat harder. Her nostrils flared, pain ebbing as she was filled with primal rage. Leonie limped toward the monster before her.
A sword gleamed on the ground—beside the corpse of the dark haired guard whose name she had never even bothered to learn.
Her gut clenched, and she gritted her teeth against the wretched sensation. Without stopping—ignoring her side—she bent down, picked up the sword, and continued to Froda, whose twisted back was to Leonie.
Froda tossed aside the guard—now dead—and blew fire at another group of guards, hiding behind the mouth of the small hallway. One guard threw a dagger at Froda, the blade slicing her arm.
Froda didn’t seem to notice, still belching fire at them.
Leonie walked around her. The sword was at Leonie’s side, her eyes glued to Froda’s spine—jutting up out of her back like a bony mountain covered by satin clothing. Leonie tightened her grip on her weapon before closing the distance.
Froda shrieked at the guards as she approached them. She moved like an animal, scuttling around on all fours, trying to corner the guards.
The guards sank deeper into the hallway, swords raised defensively.
Froda twisted her head into the corridor and fire erupted once again, filling the hall with orange light.
Leonie sneered at the monster’s back. Her footsteps must’ve been loud—smacking against the ground as she struggled to hold her head high—but if they were, Froda still didn’t seem to notice her.
Leonie brought her other hand to the hilt of the sword—grabbing it. With both hands, she raised the sword and aimed its tip at where she thought Froda’s heart would be in this new twisted form.
Froda cackled with madness as the fire continued to pour out of her towards the guards, some falling as she did so.
Leonie cried out and threw all of her weight into her thrust, driving the sword deep into Froda’s back.
Froda went rigid, head canted back into a stiff position. For one second, it was silent, Leonie hanging off the sword’s hilt as the blade sunk in a little deeper. Leonie sucked in a breath through her mouth.
Froda screamed, claws flying upward and head remaining in place. Her back shuddered and warped. She slashed backward, claws missing Leonie be centimeters, before stumbling and falling forward.
Leonie released the sword and fell against the wall, using her legs to drive herself back and put some distance between them.
Froda shrieked and choked, squirming over the ground and puffing out smoke. She twisted herself and snarled at Leonie.
Leonie balked, nausea drenching all other emotions.
Froda snapped her jaws, smoke coating her sharp teeth. Then, as she reached out toward Leonie, the monster’s eyes dulled. Its body went limp a second later, smoke vanishing.
Leonie cried out in relief, and then her pain came crashing back. It was too hot—too cold—she panted and rubbed her hammering heart. Her vision blurred at the edges, world swirling for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and constricted her throat against the strong scent of blood and ash.
“Adrik,” she blurted, opening her eyes and glancing back at him. Her eyes bulged.
Adrik walked up to her, but his pebble gaze was aimed at Froda’s body. His bare torso moved organically as he breathed, the surface gritty and gray but…flexible. At least, it looked like it could be flexible—stretched, twisted a little. He breathed heavy and his large round shoulders sagged.
Leonie let her eyes run over him, and then she turned crimson as delightful warmth tickled her flesh. She shouldn’t be feeling any kind of warmth in such horrible circumstances.
“You alright?” Adrik croaked, blinking at Froda.
“I think so,” Leonie breathed. She nodded jaggedly and forced herself to look away from his muscular arms. She stiffened at the surviving guards, who peeked out of the hallway. She nearly swore. “Are you all alright? Is anyone severely hurt?” She limped toward them, but after they glanced at one another, they shook their heads.
“Many causalities,” an older guard said, face lowering.
Leonie sighed brokenly, chest aching. “I’m so sorry.”
The guard nodded, gaze still low as he set off to inspect the others that had fallen to the beast.
Adrik rested his fingers on her shoulder. “Leonie, you saved the rest of us. You have nothing to apologize for.” He glared at Froda. “Her lunacy was born out of her own sadistic ambition.”
“But others suffered because of it,” she said. She pointedly raised her gaze to the man chained to the bed.
He blinked at the ceiling, his mouth open as he breathed deeply.
Leonie's heart soared. “He’s alive,” she blurted, pushing past Adrik and limping over to the bed. “Thank the gods.”
The man’s face had regained some color, the flesh on his bones thickening more and more as the seconds went by. He still stared—eyes distant and breaths wet—but he was alive.
“Sir,” Leonie said, coming to his side. She prodded at the chain on his wrist. “Can you hear me? Can you understand? We’re here to free you.” The chain remained stubborn in its place. Leonie tightened her grip and struggled to pull it apart, arms quivering with the effort. “Sir?” she gritted out.
“I hear you,” he croaked, eyelids lowering. “And I thank you.” He closed his eyes fully, face relaxing.
“Stay with me,” Leonie said quickly. “Please, stay awake, alright?”
The man opened his eyes, wincing. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”
Adrik went to the man’s other side. Then he grabbed the chain and squeezed it, the metal groaning and withering under the strong grip. As he pulled the metal upward, it cracked apart.
Leonie smiled, a breathless chuckle filling her mouth. “I’m envious, Adrik. Truly.” Her heart stuttered when she remembered his back—his stony flesh. “How are you feeling?”
He turned around and swiped at his blackened back. His hand came away covered in ash, but he had successfully rubbed away the black, the skin beneath remained intact.
Leonie nearly wobbled on her feet, she was so relieved.
“The heat was cumbersome,” Adrik said, moving to the man’s chained feet, “but I feel better now.”
“Thank the gods,” she said again.
“Or perhaps evolution,” Adrik said, smirking. “But to each his own.”
She rolled her eyes.
The man raised his free hand, clenching and unclenching it. The growing muscles in his arm contracted accordingly. “The gods,” he whispered.
“What?” Leonie asked, leaning closer to him as Adrik broke the chain on his ankle.
The man’s eyelids fluttered, cheeks coloring. “I…” He shook his head. “No, you must not know. You must not know about me.” He looked at her, and despite the bags under his eyes, his eyes still managed to gleam with raw fear. “Please, you cannot inform the world about what I am. It’s…Olnorma cannot
know.”
“Why?”
He closed his eyes.
Adrik freed his other ankle.
“I’m sorry,” the man choked out. “I just…it’s for the best if shifters are myths. Or better yet, unknown. If our existence is revealed then our people will be in danger. Please, be merciful and keep this secret. My secret. Please.” He coughed, the sound practically silent it was so dry.
