Prince of Shadow and Ash

by Selina R. Gonzalez

  All this pain. All this suffering. Being dragged back from the brink of death. For what? What was so Etiros-forsaken important to the sorcerer about these artifacts and relics? Why did the sorcerer make him do all this? And why wouldn’t it just end?

  Some part of him whispered he could have let the dragon eat him. Couldn’t be brought back from digestion, right? Then again, sometimes the power of the sorcerer frightened him.

  But no. He wouldn’t give up, not now. Not this close to being free, not after he’d fought for so long. Not after everything his friends had done for him; after he’d promised to keep going. He thought of Dresden. “You’ll get through this. I’ll help.” They stayed for him; he could stay around for them.

  As the burning in his throat and mouth subsided, leaving behind a sour taste, Regulus straightened. He eyed the dragon. He’d killed countless dozens of violent beasts over his years as a mercenary. Gryphons, ice serpents, manticores, therarns—creatures of the deserts like great cats but covered in scales, and more. He’d never felt remorse for any of them. They had terrorized innocent people. But this dragon’s only offense was being in the sorcerer’s way. He shook the twinge of pity for the beautifully fearsome creature away. It had attacked him. Still, part of him whispered it hadn’t needed to die.

  He reached for the bag and realized it had fallen off. Wonderful. His boots clacked on the cave floor as he circled the dragon’s head. Its mouth was open, and Regulus struggled to force it open further. His muscles strained as he pressed on its lower lip, the dragon’s body already hardening. He had to crawl on its massive, serpentine tongue to reach his sword. It took a bit of effort to dislodge it from the back of the monster’s mouth. Then he moved the dragon’s jaw again to retrieve his hunting knife.

  Wonder if my dagger’s still in its foot. Sure enough, it was. He pulled it out, and hands full of green dragon blood-soaked blades, he began looking for his bag. Gold and silver coins, goblets, jewel-encrusted necklaces, and even a couple crowns were strewn about the cave. He searched in the fading light of the dying torch, which had been knocked to the ground during the brawl. He spotted the bag and reached in, holding his breath. His fingers closed around thick metal wire. He closed his eyes and released his breath.

  He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off his blades before he returned them to their respective sheaths. Riches glittered in the torchlight. He paused, then added a few jewel-covered gold trinkets to the bag. If he was going to play mercenary for the sorcerer, he might as well get paid. His weary steps dragged as he picked up the torch, fetched his helm, and left the dragon behind.

  The torch didn’t last long, and he had to make his way based on where the air smelled freshest. After running into a couple walls, he walked with his hands held out in front of him. Etiros, please. Get me out of here. Eventually, he spied a faint light, and made for it. The light grew blinding. As fresh air blew into his face and he glimpsed green, he sighed in relief.

  Thank you. If Etiros still heard him after all he had done, Regulus didn’t know. But he needed to believe he wasn’t alone.

  Chapter 12

  THE CORRUPTION AROUND the sorcerer’s tower had spread again. The dead trees started sooner. Charcoal leaves, as if they had been scorched, littered the forest floor and maintained a fragile grip on blackened branches. The white branches closer to the tower swayed, dead fingers clawing the sky. Sieger whinnied and snorted, tensing beneath Regulus.

  “I know, boy.” He rubbed Sieger’s neck. “I don’t like it, either.”

  Could air smell...lifeless? Not musty with the stench of decay. Just...empty, lacking vibrancy. Leaves made a dull rustle beneath Sieger’s hooves. Sieger stepped on a twig, and a sharp snap interrupted the eerie silence.

  The sorcerer waited in front of his tower, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a tight line. “I told you to kill the dragon, not get killed by the dragon!” His beard twitched in rhythm with his rapid, sharp speech. “It’s exhausting keeping you alive!”

  Then why bother? And try dying, that’s not a leisure activity! But Regulus kept his tongue in check as he dismounted and removed his helm. He pulled the relic out of his bag. “I did kill it, my lord. And here’s...whatever this is.”

  The sorcerer snatched the hollow gold egg out of his hand. “Doesn’t matter.” He looked it over, inspecting it. Apparently satisfied, he tucked it under his arm. His lips curled downward as he looked at Regulus. “This won’t do.”

  The sorcerer held out his hand. Ivy-colored light emanated from his palm toward Regulus’ abdomen. The first time Regulus saw the sorcerer flashed through his mind. Shards of green light. His men dying. Irrational dread coiled in his chest, but he shoved aside the painful memory. He isn’t attacking. The torn armor screeched and groaned as the sorcerer mended the jagged hole left by the dragon’s tail. Once done, the sorcerer turned toward the tower.

  Regulus stared at the relic in the crook of the sorcerer’s arm. Two years of service, and he still had the same questions. Why do all this? What is so important? What’s he doing?

  “Why are you still standing there?” The sorcerer looked over his shoulder, pausing at the door. “What do you want? A biscuit? Go away!”

  “I fought a dragon.” Regulus rubbed the back of his neck. Asking was a bad idea. But... “A dragon. Nearly died, again. And I wondered—”

  The sorcerer laughed; deep, coarse, and mocking. “No. You still have plenty of debt to pay off.” He smiled, a patronizing flash of white teeth. “I’m keeping track. But this piece is a good step. You’re getting close. I’ll release you as soon as we’re even.”

  “Actually, my lord,” Regulus took a deep breath, “I just wondered why.”

  The sorcerer’s amused smile vanished. “Slaves don’t know their master’s business. You don’t need to know what it’s for to retrieve it, any more than a dog needs to know anatomy to chew on a bone.”

  Regulus’ jaw tightened. He turned back to Sieger.

  “Hargreaves.”

  He closed his eyes, then faced the sorcerer again. “Yes, my lord?”

  “I don’t like intrusive questions.”

  Anger and trepidation squeezed his chest. It wasn’t fair. A question didn’t demand an answer. A question wasn’t dangerous. But he knew better. He bowed his head and braced for the pain. “I apologize, my lord.”

  The sorcerer tapped his forefinger against the relic. “Are you forgetting your place?”

  “No, my lord. I apologize. I had no right to ask.” He stared at the ground, outrage battling against fear the sorcerer’s anger wouldn’t be satisfied with hurting him. “Forgive me.”

  “I think your title has gone to your head. I was planning on a mercenary, not a lord.”

  Regulus gulped, unsure how to respond. Safest to say nothing. The pain would come. The sorcerer would let him go. He just needed to avoid angering the sorcerer into taking control of his body. I can’t hurt my friends again.

  “Do you need reminded how powerless you are?”

  “No, my lord.” Desperate, he knelt and bowed his head. He would suffer any humiliation to spare his men. “You are the Prince of Shadow and Ash. I am...nothing.” Silently, he prayed to Etiros for mercy. Mercy for his friends. “I won’t question you again, my lord.”

  The sorcerer was quiet. Regulus tapped his toes inside his boot, panic rising as he cursed his own stupidity. He bowed until his hot forehead touched cool earth. Please. Please.

  “You’ve irritated me, Hargreaves. Between taking all my energy to keep you from dying, asking impertinent questions, and wasting my time, I’m feeling the need to hurt someone. Choose.”

  Regulus raised his head, the blood draining from his face. “My lord?”

  “You, or one of your friends. Choose.”

  He didn’t hesitate as relief flooded him. “Me.”

  “Predictable and boring. Suit yourself.”

  Searing heat and the sensation of thousands of tiny cuts raced up Regulus’ right arm from the mark and sp
read over his chest before covering his whole body. He bit back a cry. The pain intensified, and a strangled scream caught in his throat. He fell forward on his hands, his arms shaking. He dug his fingers into the blackened dirt as darkness pressed in on the edges of his vision. The pain pushed deeper, through his bones and organs, beyond bearing. His scream scraped his throat raw. The pain faded back toward his mark and stopped. Sweat rolled down his face, and he hung his head, his body still trembling.

  “Next time,” the sorcerer said as he headed into the tower, “you won’t get to choose.”

  REGULUS SLEPT FOR A day and a half after arriving back at his estate. When he emerged from his room, he headed to Arrano’s overgrown garden. Dresden appeared out of nowhere, waving a piece of parchment in the bright sunlight.

  “I come bearing good news!”

  Regulus eyed the parchment and grunted. He turned down another grass-infested path, his sword bumping a stone bench. As ever, Magnus followed close behind, his shaggy tan tail wagging leisurely, large pink tongue hanging out of his black muzzle.

  “Oh, cheer up.” Drez propped his arm on Regulus’ shoulder and leaned on him, holding up the parchment. “‘To Lord Regulus Hargreaves of Arrano,’” he read aloud. “‘Sir Thomas Glower and Dame Isabelle Glower cordially invite you to join them for a feast to be held on their estate a week hence on the eleventh of Verdanmunth at six o’clock in the evening.’ I told their messenger you would attend.”

  “Great. This is meant to cheer me?” Regulus shrugged Dresden off his shoulder.

  “That’s only half of the good news.” Drez pulled another letter from the back of his belt and held it out, the unbroken seal toward Regulus. “I even had the courtesy not to read this one, despite my curiosity.”

  The wax bore an impression of a rearing unicorn. Regulus’ breath caught, but he wouldn’t give Dresden the satisfaction of admitting it. Unfortunately, he grabbed the parchment too eagerly, and Drez laughed.

  Regulus turned away and opened the letter. The words indented the parchment and globs of ink marred the letters, as if she had been pressing too hard.

  Dear Lord Regulus Hargreaves,

  I apologize for any offense I caused. Please forgive my impertinence. I had no idea the Carricks were so prejudiced as to not invite you. If it helps, it was a miserable party. I hope I’ll see you at some other party. I’ve had my fill of shallow nobles, and your honesty and acceptance are refreshing.

  Sincerely,

  Lady Adelaide Belanger

  Regulus leaned against a tree, willing his heart to stop dancing. He should put the letter down. He should burn it. Instead, he read it again. And again. And again.

  “Well, is it good news? Because you’re clutching it like you’re afraid it will turn to ash in your hands, and your expression keeps flickering between pleased and confused.”

  Regulus hesitated, then handed the letter to Dresden. Dresden read it and grinned as he handed it back. “I’m so glad I told the Glowers you’re going. She’ll likely be there.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” And irritating. I can’t see her again. Because he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.

  “Pick a good outfit—”

  “Drez.” Regulus rubbed Magnus’ head. “The sorcerer says I’m getting close, but... I killed a dragon, and even that’s not enough.”

  “You killed a dragon?”

  “Did you say dragon?” a voice asked from Regulus’ right.

  Two of his knights, Caleb and Estevan, walked toward them. Both men wore swords at their sides. As usual, Estevan was playing with a knife. This one had a round hole in the end of the hilt, and he was spinning it around his forefinger and catching the grip. Spin, catch. Spin the opposite direction, catch.

  Regulus didn’t know where Estevan was from, because Estevan himself wasn’t sure. His family were gypsies, and his accent was a strange amalgam of places he’d lived. A liberal sprinkling of freckles covered his tan face. His thick, curly brown hair refused to be tamed. The wing of a tattoo of a gryphon on his back peeked out from under his shirt collar at his shoulder. At twenty-two, Estevan was the youngest of Regulus’ knights, and accordingly, the cockiest.

  “Dragon,” Regulus confirmed.

  “Like, big, scaly, horned, fire-breathing, winged dragon?” Estevan pressed.

  “Yes to everything but the wings.”

  Estevan whistled. “You kill it?”

  “Barely.”

  “It kill you?” Estevan grinned.

  “Hey!” Caleb smacked Estevan’s shoulder. “Show a little respect.”

  Caleb was in his mid-thirties but liked to act much younger. He had a lanky yet strong build, as light and deadly as the long bows he favored. His unkempt dark blond hair hung around his pale face, and a scruffy short beard covered his cheeks and chin.

  Estevan nodded. “Of course. We must always show proper respect for the dead.” Both men put on melodramatically somber expressions and bowed their heads in mock respect.

  Regulus rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Yes, it probably killed me.” He grimaced at the memory of the dragon’s sharp tail sliding out of his abdomen.

  Estevan flipped the knife again. “Not an experience I envy. Still. Would’ve been something to see a real, live dragon.”

  “Something terrifying,” Dresden said. “What would you do, throw a knife at it?”

  “Of course.” Estevan sighted down the blade. “Right at its eye. Blind it. Then when it tries to spit fire, throw one down its gullet.”

  “Hm.” Regulus nodded. “Not a terrible plan. I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll use a bow, though.”

  “Yes, your knife-throwing skills are...non-existent.” Estevan threw the knife past Regulus’ head. It whirred past his ear, and Regulus turned as the knife stuck into a tree a few paces behind him. He turned back toward Estevan, who bowed with a flourish.

  “Show-off.”

  “The words of the dead can’t hurt me.” Estevan strode past him, his posture self-assured. “We’re headed to town and the tavern, if anyone is interested. Grabbing Perce and Jerrick, too.”

  Dresden snorted. “It’s barely past three.”

  “By the time we arrive, it will be quarter to five,” Caleb said.

  Estevan retrieved the knife and stuck it in his boot. “Gives time to get a nice steak pie, down a few pints, flirt with a few barmaids, smoke a pipe, and get back at a decent hour.”

  “Well,” Caleb grinned as he followed Estevan, “the hour we get back depends on how well the flirting goes.”

  A smile betrayed Regulus’ amusement. He looked at Drez. “If nothing else, I better go to keep an eye on them.”

  “On one condition.” Drez crossed his arms. “You promise to go the Glower’s banquet and talk to Lady Belanger.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased I’m going with them, the way you go on about leaving the castle.” Regulus headed toward the stables. “You going to stop me if I say no?”

  He did want to go to the party. He wanted to see Adelaide. But he couldn’t. The abomination who didn’t die when a dragon ripped open his gut didn’t deserve her. And when a misstep with the sorcerer endangered his loved ones, he couldn’t put her in danger. Not that the sorcerer would know about her. I could keep the relationship secret. I could be free soon.

  “Stop you? No.” Dresden strolled next to him. “I’ll get Caleb to sing and play his lute at the tavern, which will make Perceval drink more. Which will make it easy to trick Perceval into starting a brawl that Jerrick will join. Then I’ll tell Leonora and Sarah you started the fight. Or at least didn’t stop them.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Would. They’ll let loose on you, then on their husbands, and then Perce and Jerrick will complain to you...it’ll be a nightmare.”

  “Drez.” Regulus ran his hand through his hair and rested it on the pommel of his sword. “I don’t deserve Adel—”

  “No.” Drez shook his head, his eyes flashing. �
�I won’t have it. You’re more than good enough, and you deserve to be happy.”

  Arguing would only make Dresden more stubborn. Besides, he would like to believe Dresden. Regulus switched tactics. “It’s too danger—”

  “No. No excuses. Look at us.” Drez spread his arms out. “We’re all fine. You’ll be free before long. You’ve managed not to anger the sorcerer in over a year and a half.”

  That I’ve told you. Still, Regulus’ resolve was crumbling. He never would have guessed she would write him again, and it only heightened his curiosity and interest. Would she consider him as a suitor? It was a foolish thought, but he stubbornly wanted to know.

  “I’m not kidding about Sarah and Leonora.” Drez winked.

  “Aw, fine.” Regulus pushed Dresden away, frowning to keep from smiling. “I’ll go! Barring any sorcerous intervention, I’ll go.”

  Drez rubbed his shoulder, even though Regulus hadn’t shoved him hard enough to warrant such drama. “Excellent.” Dresden stuck his thumbs in his belt and whistled as he headed to the stables. Magnus bounded after Drez. Regulus followed, wondering if Adelaide liked dogs.

  Chapter 13

  THE DOOR CLICKED SHUT and the Prince of Shadow and Ash leaned against it, allowing himself to catch his breath. Curse it all. He would never let on to Hargreaves that torturing him wasn’t effortless. It wasn’t terrible—already most of the expended magical energy had returned—but how often he needed to divert power into controlling Hargreaves made him irritable. At least it had some benefits.

  He smiled, cherishing the agony on Hargreaves’ face, the scream his slave had tried to suppress. A welcome diversion from the monotony of planning his vengeance.

  He had known Hargreaves would choose pain for himself before he allowed any of his men to be harmed. However, torturing Hargreaves through the bond was far less draining than taking control of his body—especially with the fight Hargreaves put up. The man’s mental thrashing whenever the Prince took over gave him a headache for hours afterward. He would rather not spend the requisite energy to force Hargreaves to hurt his own friends. But Hargreaves needn’t know that. The threat was enough.