by Jasmine Walt
“Let me go around from the outside and get an idea of what we’re facing,” Alistair said.
Lucyan smiled. “I have a better idea,” he said, pulling out a device from his pocket. It was a shiny red sphere, and as Alistair leaned close to sniff it, he caught the stench of sulfur. “This is a magical explosive device used by warlock spies to break through doors or walls when necessary.”
Sorana scowled. “Why have you not distributed these to the Dragon Force? We could make use of items like this!”
“Because I only have a box or two, not enough for an entire army,” Lucyan said. “Shadley has a few, and I have what I was able to take with me from Inkwall.” He pressed a button on top, then set the ball in front of the door, just outside the perimeter of the ward. “Come quickly now.” He grabbed Sorana’s hand. “We must get clear before it blows!”
They sprinted down the hall as the ball began to chirp. They made it twenty feet before it exploded. Alistair clapped his hands over his ears at the deafening noise and turned to watch. The ward outside the door flared bright red, shielding the occupants from the blast, which blew a hole through the door on the other side of the hall. As Alistair stared, the ward flickered.
“It’s starting to fail!” Lucyan cried, springing forward. He ran into the flames and opened his maw wide, blasting the door with more fire. The ward tried to withstand it, but failed after only a few seconds.
Beyond the door, terrified women screamed. Alistair kicked open the door to find two beautiful, petite redheads cowering in a giant bed draped in black silk. The flames raced across the carpet toward them. The window was wide open, the drapes fluttering. King Wulorian was nowhere to be found.
“Blast it!” Alistair roared as he stamped out the flames. Lucyan ran to the window, every swear word Alistair had ever heard springing from his lips. Suddenly, his cursing turned to laughter.
“Look,” he said, pointing. “Our sister has brought us a gift.”
Alistair and Sorana hurried to the window to see Tariana hovering outside. The king was clutched in her clawed fist, wearing nothing but a black and gold robe. His black hair fluttered in the wind, his pale cheeks bright red as he struggled against Tariana’s grip, calling her every name in the sun as he flung magic at her hide. Thankfully, the amulet held, and the spells bounced off harmlessly.
“A wonderful gift indeed,” Sorana said with a grin. “I am sure King Wulorian did not imagine how his day was going to start.”
“Father!” a familiar voice cried.
Alistair turned toward the footsteps rushing down the hall. To his delight, Prince Mordan barreled into the room. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the three dragon siblings, his eyes widening in horror.
“You!” he cried, blasting them with magic. Alistair and Lucyan dove out of the way, but Sorana wasn’t quite so fast. The bolt of magic hit her in the arm. An acid scent filled Alistair’s nose, and the resulting scream chilled him straight to the bone. Horrified, Alistair watched as Sorana’s arm melted into nothing. The amulet around her neck had broken—Mordan, unlike his father, had not expended his energy on a ward, and he was too powerful for the amulet to withstand.
“Bastard!” Lucyan roared, charging at Mordan.
Smirking, Mordan sidestepped Lucyan’s sword swing. Alistair roared fire at him, but several amulets Mordan wore flared to life, absorbing the fire.
“Unlike my father, I am always prepared for battle,” Mordan sneered. He lifted his hands, magic crackling around them, and pointed one at each prince. “Tell your dragon to release my father, or I will kill you both.”
Lucyan and Alistair hesitated. They could not afford to die, not when Shalia’s Curse had not been lifted, and yet, they could not give up the king either.
“Don’t do it,” Solara panted, clutching at her arm. “Mordan is not an honorable man. He has no reason to keep his word once you give him what he wants.”
“Shut up, you stupid twat,” Mordan snapped. He pointed one of his hands at Solara rather than Lucyan. “Or do you want me to kill you instead—”
Alistair leapt high in the air, well above Mordan’s hands. He drew his dagger, gripped it in both hands, and buried it into Mordan’s skull as he came down. The warlock prince’s head split in two from the effort, brains and blood splashing all over Alistair and Lucyan. The stench was awful, especially to Alistair’s sensitive nose, and he stumbled back, gagging.
Shocked silence filled the room as Mordan’s dead body slumped to the ground. They all stared at it for a few moments, not quite able to believe it. Even the women, who had been screaming in terror, had gone completely silent. But as the seconds passed, they began to sob again, huddling against each other for comfort.
“P-please,” one of them stammered, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t kill us.”
Alistair approached the bed. “No one is going to kill you.” The women shrank back, and Alistair stopped. The sight of him covered in their prince’s blood wasn’t helping. He glanced to Sorana, but she was still clutching her shoulder, her face white with pain as she slumped on the ground. He knew how agonizing it was to lose an arm, even knowing she would grow it back.
Several strike force soldiers ran into the room, breathing hard. “We’ve secured the manor, my prince,” they said, bowing to Alistair. “There is no one left alive.”
“Good.” Alistair gestured to the women. “Please get these ladies some proper clothes, and see to it that they are not carrying any weapons or devices on their persons.” He gave them orders to watch them closely—they did not smell like warlocks, but he knew the people of Shadowhaven could do just as much damage with the aid of magical devices.
“That may have been the most horrific thing I’ve seen in my life,” Lucyan finally said once the women had been taken away. He crouched by Sorana’s side and put an arm around her. “Are you all right, sister?”
She nodded shakily. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get outside and shift.”
Alistair sighed, looking back at the dead body on the ground. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said. “It would have been much better to take him hostage as well. But under the circumstances—”
“I much prefer you saving my life to taking home a second royal prisoner,” Sorana said dryly, interrupting him. “The people of Shadowhaven will be angry that we have killed their crown prince, but they will still want their king back. We have accomplished our mission.”
“Mordan must have only gotten here last night,” Lucyan said, getting to his feet. “Or else Shadley would have known he was here.” Crouching next to the prince’s body, he did a quick search for valuables. “Oooh.” He pulled a device from the prince’s shirt that looked like some kind of pocket watch. “This will be quite useful.”
Alistair helped Sorana to her feet and guided her around them. “We’ll be waiting for you outside.” Lucyan would no doubt find quite a few useful gadgets on the prince’s person, but Alistair wasn’t interested. He just wanted to get home and put an end to this gods-forsaken war.
35
While Alistair, Lucyan, Sorana, and Tariana were out raiding King Wulorian’s country estate, Drystan and Dareena stayed behind to take care of the Keep’s affairs. The two of them buried themselves in work to keep their anxiety at bay, Dareena focusing on the wedding preparations—which her friends were eagerly helping with—while Drystan focused on various matters of state.
“My prince,” the steward said, interrupting him for the third time that morning. “I have wonderful news!”
“This had better be about King Wulorian,” Drystan said. He’d already been disappointed twice that morning, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. “Has he been captured?”
“I am not certain about that,” the steward said blithely, ignoring Drystan’s temper, “but there is a more pressing matter. The elven king and his progeny have arrived, and they wish for an audience with you and Lady Dareena.”
“King Andur is here?” Drystan exclaimed, droppin
g the report in his hands. “When you say his progeny, do you mean…”
“Prince Ryolas and Princess Basilla,” the steward confirmed. “Prince Arolas is not with them.”
Drystan sighed in relief. “Very good. I will meet them in the privy council room.”
He went back to his suite to change into something more suitable and fetch Dareena.
“Basilla is here?” she asked. “Do you know if she looks well?”
“I haven’t seen her yet. You will have to judge that for yourself.”
They finished dressing and went down to meet the elves. An otherwise momentous occasion was spoiled when Dareena and Basilla squealed simultaneously, jumping into each other’s arms like two wriggling kittens rather than future queens. King Andur seemed a little surprised, while Ryolas merely looked amused.
“King Andur,” Drystan said when the noise had finally died down and they were seated. “I thank you for coming all this way to see me in person.”
The king inclined his head. “I have sat by and let others do my talking for far too long.” He held out a hand to a man sitting to his left, who placed a rolled parchment in it. “We have considered the treaty, and have written up a formal document. Let us review it now, and sign it if both parties are agreeable. Balar, my legal advisor, will assist.”
“Very good.” Drystan summoned his own legal advisor, and they all spent the next four hours negotiating the details of the agreement. There was some back and forth regarding the list of reparations, which was very long and quite detailed, but in the end, the sum was not outrageous.
In the end, the two legal advisors managed to draw up a document they were all happy with. A few extra signature lines were added—the initial document only had one for Dragonfell’s side, but Drystan insisted that Dareena and his brothers must sign as well.
“There,” Dareena said, signing her name with a flourish. She beamed, and Drystan knew she was pleased to have been included in the decision. “We will have to wait for Lucyan and Alistair to return so they can sign, but as far as I am concerned, this is official.”
“Excellent,” King Andur said. He reached across the table, and Drystan and Dareena both shook hands with him. “I am very pleased that we have come to an agreement, and look forward to the upcoming wedding and alliance between our two kingdoms.”
The door burst open, and Shadley came running in. “Apologies for interrupting,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement, “but there are four dragons headed our way.”
Drystan and Dareena jumped to their feet. “Do you know if they have the warlock king with them?” Dareena demanded as they hurried out of the room.
“They are too far away to tell,” Shadley said, “but General Tariana was spotted carrying a prisoner. It could very well be him.”
“The warlock king?” King Andur asked as he and the other elves followed after them. “Do you mean to tell me you went after him?”
“We organized a raid on his country estate,” Drystan explained as they hurried down the hall, following after Shadley. They made it outside just as the dragons landed outside the Keep’s entrance. A huge crowd had gathered to watch them come in, and the sound of their cheers filled Drystan with pride. It felt wonderful to receive praise from their people for once, rather than the scorn they had been dealing with ever since their father had abandoned his throne.
Tariana tossed the bundle in her hand on the ground—the warlock king, all trussed up and gagged. Whoever had bound him had even tied the twine into a bow, as if he were a present. The strike force soldiers hopped to the ground while the dragons shifted back to human form, then lined up and saluted Drystan and Dareena.
“Presenting King Wulorian,” Tariana said, wrapping a cloak around her body. She used her bare foot to toe at the king, who was unconscious. “We ought to get him in chains before he wakes up again. He is quite powerful, and it will be a challenge to keep him locked up.”
“We’ve already taken precautions,” Shadley assured her. He motioned for the guards to approach, and they did so, carrying heavy manacles with runes etched into them. Shadley untied Wulorian and did a thorough search for hidden amulets or charms before allowing him to be shackled. He accompanied the guards as they took the king to the cell that Lucyan and Shadley had already prepared well ahead of time.
Drystan sent up a silent prayer to the gods that the magical devices they had planted would be enough to hold the king.
With the king out of the way, Drystan finally embraced his siblings. “Did you run into any trouble during the raid?”
“Just a certain warlock prince,” Lucyan said airily. “He decided to pay his father a visit, and almost killed Sorana. Luckily, Alistair is quite handy with a dagger.”
Alistair gave Drystan an apologetic smile. “I would have preferred to bring him in alive, at least to make him answer for his crimes. But I think trying to subdue two warlock royals would have been beyond our capabilities.”
“I’m glad you killed him,” Basilla declared. “He was a horrible man. The gods only know how many women he’s tortured and raped.”
“Quite a few,” Ryolas said. “I learned quite a bit about the man when I was in Inkwall, searching for you.”
The two royal families returned indoors to discuss what should be done with the king. Drystan had initially intended to merely use him as a hostage, but King Andur pointed out that returning Wulorian to his people would only bring them more trouble.
“I think that we ought to consult the gods on this matter,” Basilla said. “If King Wulorian has truly fallen out of favor with Rumas, perhaps he does not deserve to be returned to his people. Does Shadowhaven have a high priest?”
“They do,” Lucyan confirmed, “but it seems the priest and the king have not spoken for some time. After he protested the use of temples for military purposes, the king cut off his funding and threatened him and his staff with torture. He still has some power in Shadowhaven, but without the financial backing of the royal family, it has been greatly diminished. Many temples across the country were forced to give in to the king’s demands to remain operational.”
Basilla shook her head. “That will not do at all. I suggest inviting him to come to Dragonfell and meet with me and your oracle. Between the three of us, we should be able to divine the gods’ wishes in this matter.”
Drystan penned a letter to Thalmar, the warlock high priest, and sent Sorana to deliver it personally. It took two days and nights, but eventually, she returned with a pale-skinned, robed man with white hair and eyes of such light blue they were nearly colorless. He was accompanied by two junior priests, large, intimidating men who Drystan guessed acted as the high priest’s bodyguards. The air of power that hummed around him gave Drystan no doubt that Sorana had returned with the right man.
“Thank you for inviting me,” the high priest said after the introductions. “Considering the sensitive nature of this matter, I think it best that I speak to the oracle and elven priestess alone.”
The brothers exchanged glances. “We mean no offense,” Drystan said, “but how can we assure their safety if we leave them alone with you?”
Thalmar raised a white eyebrow. “It is natural to have some suspicion, but if you cannot trust me to respect my own office, and the divine offices these women hold, we will never be able to work together.”
“It’s all right,” Basilla said, getting to her feet. “All three of us have the protection of our gods. We will be perfectly safe.”
“Agreed,” Rofana said, standing as well. She smiled at the princes, who did not look happy. “I know you three wish to be in control of everything, but in this matter, you must trust in us, and in the gods.”
“All right,” Drystan relented. “I expect you to inform us as soon as the three of you have reached a decision.”
The three adjourned to a private chamber, which Drystan made sure was secured before he left them alone.
“It will be all right,” Dareena soothed him as they left the
room together. “Rofana and Basilla are both wise, capable women. They will handle the warlock priest just fine.”
“Maybe so,” Alistair said, “but it still seems odd that, after all this, we are leaving the fate of a king to three people who do not actually rule.”
“It is not truly up to us to decide who rules and who does not,” Lucyan reminded him. “That decision has always been up to the gods, and look where it got the warlocks when they tried to take it into their own hands.” He shook his head. “A cruel king who forsakes the gods and crushes anyone with a dissenting opinion.”
“I agree,” Dareena said. “What kind of king both banishes his wife and threatens his high priest? He must have had an iron grip on his people to get away with that and not inspire outrage.”
The four of them settled into Drystan’s office to work while they waited for an answer. Drystan did not get much done, as they ended up spending far too much time trading stories and jokes. But he did not mind—it had been too long since he had spent quality time with his brothers and his mate. His heart filled with warmth and love as he sat in his chair, cuddling Dareena on his lap. With any luck, these familial scenes would become the norm, and not the rarity they were now.
“I think you’ve had Dareena to yourself a little too long.” Lucyan stood. “Just because this is your office doesn’t mean you are the only one allowed to cuddle with her.”
“On the contrary, that’s exactly what it means,” Drystan said, tightening his grip around Dareena a little. “My office, my rules.”
“Oh, stop it, you two,” Dareena laughed, swatting Drystan’s hand away. “I think there is more than enough of me to go around.”
“There will never be enough of you,” Lucyan said, leaning down to kiss Dareena. “Or at least, I will never be able to get enough of you.”
Drystan rolled his eyes as Lucyan kissed Dareena deeply. He didn’t miss the smug look in Lucyan’s eye when Dareena wrapped her arms around his neck. He got the message clearly—his brother thought he had won. Smirking, Drystan slid his arms around Dareena from behind and burrowed his hands beneath her skirts. She moaned when he nudged her legs open, his fingers easily finding her sweet spot.
