by Simone Pond
Lugh grinned and patted Evelyn’s hand, the chains making a jarring clank.
“How did you end up here?” she asked.
“Eighteen years ago, after I killed the matriarch of the clan, one of the dragons retaliated by capturing my people. I traveled to southern Galicia to slay him and save them. But the dragon would only release them if I handed myself over to Prince Kieran to be imprisoned for life. A fate far worse than death.”
That couldn’t be right. Prince Kieran was only a few years older than Evelyn. “But the prince is not that old, Father.”
“He doesn’t age,” he explained. “And neither does his father. The dragons of Galicia share their dark magic with the Verubri bloodline. They have a longstanding alliance. The prince has kept me prisoner all these years to appease the dragons.”
Evelyn had to release him from the cuffs and free him from this dreadful dungeon. She grabbed the torchlight and began scouring the prison cell for anything to unhinge the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. All she needed was something sharp and slender to slip into the keyhole.
“I’m going to release you from these chains. And I’m going to find the healer; she’s quite gifted. I’m taking you back to Ocelum to be with Mother. Then I’ll come back and slay the dragon.”
Lugh made a commotion as he rose from the ground and shuffled over to Evelyn. He took her by the wrist and squeezed tightly.
“Dear daughter. You cannot leave Verubri. You must remain here and slay the dragon before summer solstice.”
Upon hearing the words summer solstice, Evelyn stopped fixating on finding a sharp object. “I keep hearing about this summer solstice. What is the meaning behind it? The real one …”
“Sit,” said Lugh.
Evelyn sat down on the cold ground. Lugh remained standing. Though he was hunched over and wobbly on his bare feet, some of his vitality had returned and his emerald eyes glinted in the torchlight. Underneath the veil of this tortured man, Evelyn could see remnants of the legendary dragon slayer.
“In order to restore the dragons to their former glory, sacrifices must be made,” Lugh said.
Sacrifices must be made.
A vile feeling roiled through Evelyn. She now understood what happened to the fate of a lady once she was no longer in waiting … “The prince has been giving the ladies-in-waiting to the dragons,” she said.
Lugh nodded woefully. “Appears to be the case.”
“And so what happens at the summer solstice?”
“An ultimate sacrifice. And as the book of legends prophesied, the dragons of Galicia want you, Evelyn of Gorias, daughter of Deidre and Lugh, to awaken the entire clan.”
“But that is not my fate,” said Evelyn, standing up and reaching for her father’s hand to assist him up.
The chains still clanged around his bony wrists and ankles. She thought of the illustrious illustrations she’d seen of Lugh in the book of legends—he was once a god-like specimen, grand in stature. Prince Kieran had reduced him to this pitiful state and it made her churn with rage.
“It is my fate to slay the dragon, and I most certainly will … but I’m not leaving without you. I must find my friend Doran in this hellhole. We’ll take you to the healer.”
“You don’t need to find the healer.”
She didn’t mean to chuckle; her father’s abysmal conditions were far from humorous. “Have you seen yourself lately?”
Lugh returned her laughter with his own. “Daughter, don’t you know you have the power to heal … The stone …”
Now she knew what the healer meant when she said you have the power … But there was a major snag.
“I don’t have it.”
“You know you can call for the spear,” said Lugh.
“Trust me, I’ve tried—several times—but that thing is temperamental.”
Lugh stood hunched over, pondering for a moment. “Where is it?”
“I gave it to my friend Aine because I didn’t want to risk Prince Kieran taking it. He already has the book of legends.”
“Does he? And how did he get that?” asked Lugh.
Evelyn groaned as the two shuffled slowly to the wall where the chains were attached. “Another long story … Shouldn’t the spear come to me regardless of distance?”
“Not if it’s protecting someone dear to you,” he replied.
“Well, then …” Evelyn picked up the torchlight and wedged it into one of the hooks on the wall. “We better go find Aine.”
The first hook came out of the stones without much force, but the second one required Evelyn to use her entire bodyweight in a series of grueling yanks before it finally loosened. The clamor of the chains clanking about echoed throughout the cell and the dark tunnel, but Evelyn refused to relent. She continued prying out the other two hooks until both were freed from the wall—one of them still attached to a chunk of stone.
“There,” she said, collapsing to the ground.
“Well done,” said a familiar voice.
She jerked her head around to find Doran standing by the iron bars, grinning with approval.
Evelyn jumped to her feet. “How long have you been standing there watching? I could’ve used a hand.”
Doran laughed. “You handled it quite well on your own.”
“Not the point!”
He studied Evelyn’s potato sack “dress” and headscarf. “I’ve seen you in some questionable attire, my lady, but this one takes the cake.”
She opened the gate and pulled him into the cell, hugging him. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“Me too.” He kissed her forehead. “That you’re alive, I mean.”
Evelyn squeezed him close and rested her cheek on his chest. The thump of his heart filled her head in a soothing way that reminded her of all that was important. Life. Love. Courage. We are together. Knowing this truth showered her with a comforting warmth.
“Who’s the old guy?” asked Doran.
“My father.”
This news launched Doran into a state of gushing admiration. He pulled away from Evelyn and bowed before Lugh. “It is my greatest honor to meet you, Lugh of Gorias.”
Lugh stood surrounded by the pile of chains that Evelyn had ripped from the walls. He remained quiet as he observed Doran. Though he was worn down and fragile, his emerald eyes still pierced like a spear.
“I’d like to know the name of the man who was just embracing my daughter,” said Lugh, sounding protective and fatherly. This made Evelyn smile to herself. She’d always wanted to have a father looking out for her. Deirdre had done a superb job in raising her, but there was something about the masculinity of a father’s love that drove home the feeling of safety.
“I’m Doran of Navia.” He kept his head lowered.
Navia? The name had a familiar ring to it, but Evelyn couldn’t place it. Wasn’t that a river in eastern Galicia? He had mentioned he was from that region, but other than that tiny bit of information, Evelyn knew very little of Doran’s background or history. If she were to become a legendary dragon slayer, she’d have to make a habit of studying such things. Information was vital and knowledge was power.
“Your father was a good king,” said Lugh.
“King?” shouted Evelyn.
Doran glanced over and shrugged.
“I thought you said he traded silks or something!”
Lugh let out a raspy laugh. “The boy’s father did build his empire on the trade, so I guess one could put it that way.”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes at Doran. “Hmm. So not only are you a thief, but you’re also a liar …”
He walked over to her and tried holding her hands, but she snatched them away. “Look, I didn’t lie. My father is no longer King of Navia because he’s dead. He’s been dead for many years. Prince Kieran and his army destroyed my father’s kingdom and slaughtered my people. I’ve been living on my own for quite some time. Vaughn was our stable boy. I grabbed him and we took off when we saw that there was no hope of fighting ba
ck.”
It made sense why he had been so closed mouthed about his past. He’d lost everyone he loved. And if he revealed his true identity, the prince would have hunted him down and killed him.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Evelyn.
“I couldn’t say anything because …”
“I understand.”
Doran glanced over at Lugh and the pile of chains. “So … what’s your plan?”
“I just found out the monster prince is planning to use me as an ultimate sacrifice for the dragons during the summer solstice ceremony. Apparently, this will restore the entire clan. But we know that’s not going to happen. You and I are going to carry my father out of here, get to the village and find Aine and my crystal stone. Then I’m going into the mountains to slay the dragon.”
The three of them stared at the ground in chilled silence. Getting Lugh out of the dungeons with the heavy chains attached to him would increase their chances of getting caught by the watchmen. It would also add more time to their travels, and they needed to reach the village before sunset.
Evelyn had only just found her father and leaving him behind to rot in the dungeons seemed inconceivable. She had to make a decision and soon, because if they reached the village too late, Sinead and Aine would be gone—along with the crystal stone.
Evelyn stared at Lugh as he ambled over to the corner where he had made his home over the last eighteen years. He was in no condition to travel—he could barely stand on his own two feet. The answer was simple, but difficult to accept. Evelyn would have to leave him behind for the time being if she and Doran were to reach the village before sunset.
She bent down and scooped up the bundle of chains and carried them over to the corner and set them next to her father. He sat on the thin pile of hay and gave her a weary smile.
“I’ll come back for you. I promise,” she said, holding back tears.
“Duty first,” he said, then picked up a rock and started etching in the dirt.
“What is it?” asked Doran, leaning next to Evelyn.
They watched in silence as Lugh drew a masterful map of how to reach the inner core of the dragon’s den.
“The spear will guide you, but you must pay close attention to the pitfalls and traps,” said Lugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Evelyn.
“There are several obstacles set up along the path. Deadlier the deeper you enter into the den. Beware, they have the ability to bewitch your mind and trick you. And pay attention to the spear, she’ll let you know when something is off.”
Evelyn glanced up from the map, surprised. “The spear is female?”
“Of course,” said Lugh. “Healer and warrior. Only females have both.”
“Any other tips you can share about the spear? Its … her full capabilities?” asked Evelyn.
“The book has all of those details, so you must get it back. Without it, the spear will be limited to your knowledge and imagination.”
Doran perked up. “Imagination?”
“What Evelyn imagines in her heart will be communicated to the spear and brought to fruition. The bond between the two is a unique one, connected through our bloodline for many centuries.”
This new knowledge flooded Evelyn with a fresh wave of encouragement. “So I should be able to think my way out of any vexing situation?”
Lugh shook his head. “It’s not that simple. It’s not about thinking. The spear knows what is on your heart. For instance, you deeply desire for your friend Aine to remain safe, therefore the spear will not leave your friend unprotected.”
“So, how do I communicate what my deepest desire is?” asked Evelyn.
“This is something that takes time …”
Time, Evelyn thought, is something we don’t have the luxury of … “Thank you, Father. I promise to make you proud.” She turned to Doran. “We must go.”
Doran took the torchlight and headed to the tunnel. Evelyn gazed back at her father one last time, just in case it really would be the last time she’d ever see him. Her heart ached worse than the physical torment the prince had inflicted. She reached up to touch the locket her mother had given to her before she departed Ocelum. She unclasped the hook and went back over to her father.
“Hold onto this,” she said. “You can give it to my mother once again when you see her.”
Lugh’s emerald eyes sparkled and a tear rolled down his gaunt cheek. He held Evelyn’s hands. “Be safe, daughter. And remember, Kieran has been around for many years, and he’s a powerful force. He will stop at nothing to ensure the restoration of the dragon clan. Do what you can to slay the head dragon before the solstice.” He paused and kissed her fingers. “And try to avoid getting sacrificed.”
Evelyn loved that her father—legendary dragon slayer, hopelessly imprisoned in the Verubri dungeons for eighteen years—could have a sense of humor at the worst possible situation. Perhaps that’s what kept him alive all of those years. She brushed a kiss across his weathered cheek, and stood up to quickly exit the cell before she changed her mind.
19
After having knocked on Prince Kieran’s door several times, Ciara and Kateline were growing impatient standing out in the hallway. Some sort of ruckus was going on inside the cabin.
“Sounds drunk,” whispered Kateline.
Ciara smiled and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. The ladies had kept their styles simple and demure—just the way the prince seemed to like it. Ciara had a feeling he had far different tastes behind closed doors, which was probably why her attempts at making Evelyn out to be a whore had backfired.
The door finally opened and Prince Kieran’s portly chief of staff appeared. He was even more appalling up close, thought Ciara, with his bulbous features and freckled bald head.
“Good evening. May I help you?” He hiccuped.
Ciara hadn’t expected the prince to have company. This put a hitch in her wagon wheel. “Um, we’re here to see Prince Kieran.”
“Who’s there?” shouted the prince in a slurred voice.
The rotund man turned his head and told the prince he had two lady visitors.
“Let ’em in!” he hollered just as something crashed to the floor.
“I’m afraid the prince is in no condition for visitors. He’s … seasick.”
Ciara tried to stifle a giggle, but found it difficult. Kateline stepped forward and pushed open the door, stepping into the room.
“Prince Kieran. Lady Ciara and I are here to visit. Are you not well enough to receive us?”
Ciara watched as the bare-chested prince took in Kateline’s red gown, his eyes flickering with a burning desire he didn’t bother concealing or restraining. Ciara pushed past the stubby man and glided gracefully over next to Kateline.
“Good evening, my lord.” She curtsied, glancing up with feigned shyness.
“Seems as though the gods rain down favor on me this eve.” He stumbled away from his desk, wearing only black pantaloons. His chest rippled with muscles and perspiration. What had he been doing in here, Ciara wondered.
The chief of staff toddled over to Prince Kieran and grabbed his arm. “My lord, I must insist you send these ladies away. You need your rest for our upcoming negotiations.”
Prince Kieran batted the stout fellow off to the side and staggered toward Kateline and Ciara. He reached his sinewy arms around each of their shoulders and ushered them over to the couch. The three of them plunked down in a heap. The girls giggled and flirted for added effect.
“Watlington! Get the ladies something to imbibe! And perhaps something for yourself to lighten up a bit, old man.”
“My lord …”
Prince Kieran waved his sloppy hand around. “Negotiations … negotiations … Silly old chap. I don’t have a thing to worry about.” He grabbed Ciara’s cheeks and dug his fingers into her skin. “This one—clever little wench that she is—is going to handle all of the negotiations. Queen Boudicca doesn’t talk to men. A lover of her own kind,
no doubt!” He laughed and released Ciara’s face. The way he spoke of Boudicca with such disgust made her stiffen. She clenched her jaw to contain her rage, wishing she could take the crystal vase on the table and slam it over his pompous head.
Watlington approached the couch with a bottle of mead and four cups, setting the tray down on the table next to the vase Ciara had homed in on. The prince was too busy fondling Kateline’s bosom to notice the drinks had arrived. Ciara needed the tub of lard to give her some space so she could pour the passionflower into Prince Kieran’s glass. But the pug plopped down in the chair next to her and placed his grubby hand on her leg. She shuddered, but smiled politely.
“Dear sir, I’m afraid mead doesn’t agree with me. Might you fetch me some simple red wine?”
Kateline poked her head up from the mass of brown hair smothering her with unwanted kisses. “Yes, red wine for me too. It helps take down my guard.”
The prince turned to Watlington. “By all means, get the red wine! And make haste, you old fool. Yours may grow tired of you.” He glanced at Ciara and winked. “Oh, don’t worry, my lady, I won’t let him pluck your flower. That’s for me alone.”
She smiled, though her insides twisted into knots. “My lord, it will be an honor.”
Watlington huffed and grunted as he got back up to retrieve the wine. Kateline looked over at Ciara, then the cup of mead. She pulled the prince closer into her bosom and giggled hysterically. While the prince was buried between Kateline’s breasts and Watlington was trudging back to the bar, Ciara quickly poured the tincture of passionflower into the prince’s cup. She wished she had saved some for Watlington’s cup, just in case he got any ideas. But it was too late.
When Watlington arrived with the wine, the prince grabbed the bottle and poured two heaping cups. He handed one to Kateline and the other to Ciara. Then he handed one cup of mead to Watlington and took the other for himself.
