The Return of the Dragon Queen

by Farah Oomerbhoy

Penelope turned to me, her eyes stern. “There was a time when the Ancient Fae enjoyed traveling to other worlds. For their convenience, they created twelve different magical tapestries that acted as portals or gateways into the most frequented worlds.”

  I nodded in understanding. “Like the tapestry in Redstone Manor.”

  “Exactly!” said Penelope. “The tapestry you came through was one of the twelve. It was thought to be the last one left, as all the other tapestries have been destroyed over the ages.”

  Rafe’s eyebrows rose. “And the Thirteenth Tapestry?”

  Penelope drew a deep breath. “The Thirteenth Tapestry was created out of dark magic by the same fae lord who used the Book of Abraxas to bring Dragath to this world.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It is the only tapestry that doesn’t lead to another world but to our own,” said Brother Victor. “Through it one can travel through time.”

  “Why would he make such a dangerous thing?” asked Rafe, his eyes stormy.

  “When the Ancient Fae lord realized his folly and the fact that he could no longer control Dragath or send him back, he used the knowledge in the Book of Abraxas to create a thirteenth tapestry, one that would take him back in time to erase what he had done. But before he could use it, Dragath killed him, shredded the tapestry, and took the book.”

  I shook my head at this story. “Who was this power-hungry fae who caused all the problems in this world?”

  The old druid looked confused, and something flickered in his eyes as he glanced at Penelope. “They don’t know?”

  Penelope looked away. “No.”

  “Penelope?” My eyes narrowed as I turned to her. “Are you keeping something from us again?”

  “Why am I not surprised?” said Tristan, his arms crossed.

  Penelope turned to look at the tapestry, her back toward us, finally resigned to the fact she could not keep this secret anymore. “The Ancient Fae lord who summoned Dragath to this world was a Nightshade.” She turned back to face us, and her gaze settled on Tristan. “Dresdaron Nightshade, the first Grand Duke of the Night Court. Kalen and Tristan’s ancestor.”

  Everyone was silent. No one had expected that, even though it had been quite obvious now that I thought back on all I had learned so far. Now I realized what she meant about the Nightshade bloodline. Why she was so worried about letting Kalen meet his father. They were all descendants of the Ancient Fae lord who was so hungry for power he brought Dragath into this world. To do what he had done required a powerful magic, a darker magic than most fae would dare to wield. That magic ran through Tristan’s blood as well as Kalen’s, and that kind of power was best left forgotten.

  Victor cleared his throat. “But there is one part of the story that is not common knowledge.” He looked at Penelope. “This tapestry was created by blood magic.” His eyes flicked to Tristan. “Only the blood of a Nightshade can make it work.”

  Penelope backed away from the tapestry. “No, Victor! It is too dangerous. If we travel back in time and something goes wrong, everything can change. The Dawnstar could cease to exist.”

  “I am well aware of the risks, Penelope,” said the old druid. “But it is imperative the Dawnstar has full knowledge of what she is up against if you want to have a chance to defeat Joreth and Morgana.” He turned his fathomless gaze on me. “If you fail, Dragath will rise again, and this time he will bring his army with him.”

  Tristan stepped forward. “What do I have to do?”

  “All we need is a little of your blood, Prince Tristan, and for you to accompany us into the tapestry. I will create a shield so no one will see or hear us. But you still have to be careful. Stay close and don’t make any sudden movements. I will do the rest.”

  “I don’t like it, Victor,” said Penelope, clasping her hands in front of her. “Are you sure it will work?”

  Victor looked sheepishly at Penelope and shook his head. “I told you it has taken over two hundred years to create. We didn’t have time to test it as well.”

  “It will work,” said Brother Sebastian from the doorway. “I’m sure of it. All we need is the blood of a Nightshade.”

  We turned toward the druid who had shielded us from the Drakwraith, and I immediately ran toward him. “Is Kalen okay?”

  Brother Sebastian nodded and looked at Penelope. “He is recovering. We finally managed to remove all the darkness from his blood.”

  Penelope went up to him and grasped his hand. “I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for us, Brother Sebastian. I am forever in your debt.”

  Brother Sebastian smiled. “There is no need for thanks. It is what we do.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It wasn’t a victory in battle, but it was a victory nonetheless: a victory over darkness, a sliver of hope. Kalen was going to be all right. “When can I see him?”

  “The witch Ashara is standing guard; she barely let us work on him.” Brother Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I don’t think anyone is going to disturb him any time soon. But he will be better by morning. You can see him then,” he added, moving past me to inspect the tapestry just as Victor had done. He rubbed his hands together, and his eyes lit up like a child’s as he spoke to Victor. “Are we going to use it? I’ve been waiting to see if it works.”

  “Well, there is only one way to find out,” said Victor. He drew a knife from his robes. “If you would, Prince Tristan.” He held out the knife.

  Tristan took the weapon from the druid and, quick as a flash, sliced his palm.

  Victor nodded. “Good. Now place it on the tapestry. It will recognize your Nightshade blood.”

  Tristan placed his bleeding hand on the tapestry, which absorbed the blood as if it were never there. Suddenly the tapestry sprang to life, shimmering and moving like a living thing.

  “Brother Sebastian, you will have to wait here to make sure we return,” Victor said over his shoulder.

  The old druid’s face fell. “Why can’t I go in and you stay here?”

  Victor raised his eyebrow, and it was obvious who was in charge. “You shall have other opportunities to test it, Brother Sebastian.”

  He nodded. “Of course. Go, I will stand guard.”

  Victor drew a rune in the air with his staff and then touched it to the tapestry. A ripple started to form inside it, moving outward. “Follow me.”

  One by one, we followed Victor into the tapestry.

  The Thirteenth Tapestry

  The Dark Fortress loomed above us, an obsidian giant which seemed to be carved out of the massive mountain itself.

  “That’s Mount Khatral,” said Victor, “also known as the Black Mountain. This is the place where your ancestors trapped Dragath so many centuries ago.”

  The name itself sent a shiver down my spine. The air felt dead, and nothing seemed to grow for miles around. Black rocks and an even darker mountain absorbed all the light around it. I looked down. Centuries-old bones lay by the wayside, fallen and forgotten, while a mage in a dark robe climbed the carved stone steps to the base of the fortress. I recognized the crest on the robes. He was a mage of Evolon.

  Penelope gasped. His hair was short and dark, not peppered with white as it was now, but there was no mistaking who it was. “That’s Joreth.”

  Victor nodded. “Yes, before he came to work at the palace in Nerenor. His thirst for knowledge and power led him here, to the Darklands. But it was fate or a power far greater that led him to Dragath’s tomb.”

  We followed Joreth into the fortress, through dark corridors, and into an underground cavern deep within the bowels of Mount Khatral. I knew he couldn’t see or hear us, but every time he looked back, my heartbeat sped up.

  We came to a dark chamber within the cavern. The only thing in this room was a stone tomb where Dragath lay, bound by Auraken Firedrake’s magic. The floor around it had deep grooves etched in the shape of druidic runes, and I knew the druids had helped my ancestors in their war
against the demon lord.

  Joreth touched the tomb with a reverent finger, then placed both his hands flat against it. I saw him grimace in pain as dark veins forced their way through his body. He looked like he was trying to pull away, but he couldn’t—the darkness was latching on to his soul. I wished we could stop him from doing this, but Penelope had warned us of the dangers of tampering with the past. It could change the course of everything, and it rarely ever ended well.

  Finally, Joreth let go, but when he turned toward us his eyes flashed demon black. In the center of the obsidian iris glowed an ember of red evil soullessness. Joreth left the chamber with part of Dragath’s consciousness firmly embedded within him.

  Victor turned to me, speaking softly even though the shield around us created a sound barrier. “The bonds around Dragath’s prison had weakened over the centuries, allowing him to latch on to Joreth and invade his mind.”

  He drew a rune on the ground with his staff and the scene in front of us changed. We were standing in a magnificent white stone palace with marble pillars and gold leaf furnishings.

  “The Star Palace,” Penelope whispered.

  My breath hitched in my throat. This had been my home, the place where I was born, where I lived with my parents for the short time we were together. I could barely remember it except in my dreams, and now I was here. I didn’t expect to feel this way.

  “Joreth joined the palace mages,” Victor explained. “He was soon appointed military advisor to your grandfather, Ereneth, who was king at the time. Guided by Dragath, his aim was to find the Dagger, which was rumored to be buried in the vaults of the Star Palace and protected by the Firedrake line. But even with his high post, he could not get into the vaults, so he seduced Lilith, the king’s new wife.”

  My heartbeat sped up, but Rafe silently took my hand in his as we walked through the long white corridor to what looked like the throne room. We stopped outside one of the rooms, the door of which was slightly ajar, and slipped inside. Joreth was already there, looking very different from when he’d been in the Darklands. He was dressed in a fine, emerald-green doublet and dark pants with highly polished boots that singled him out as a nobleman of the realm. He had his arms around a woman, dark-haired and beautiful, with upturned eyes and lips the color of fresh blood.

  The woman broke the embrace. “We cannot do this anymore, Joreth,” she said, moving back. “It is too dangerous. If my husband finds out, he will have us both executed for treason.”

  Joreth held her hands in his, and his dark eyes grew darker still as Dragath spoke softly. “Lilith, I love you. No one has found out.”

  “It’s different now.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand, Joreth.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I am with child.”

  Joreth’s eyes widened, but he produced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. They will simply think it is the king’s child.”

  She withdrew her hands and moved back. “No, they won’t. Ereneth and I have not been together in that way for years now. If someone sees us together, then they will suspect the child is yours.”

  Joreth grabbed her by the arms, his eyes eerie with shadows that seemed to swirl around behind them. “Then we must take the throne for ourselves.”

  Lilith gasped. “You are talking treason, Joreth.”

  He nodded solemnly. “It is the only way to ensure we can be together.” He put his hand on her belly. “And the only way to make sure our child is safe.”

  Lilith stopped resisting, her stance changing, and she looked down, her hand over Joreth’s on her still-growing belly. “What do I have to do?”

  My mouth fell open. “The child. It can’t be . . .” I whispered.

  Victor’s eyes darted to me, and he nodded solemnly. “The child is Morgana.”

  I was staggered by the implications as I looked around at Rafe’s, Tristan’s, and Penelope’s faces. Slowly the pieces started to come together in my confused mind. Morgana was not really King Ereneth’s daughter and my father’s half sister. She was the daughter of Joreth and Lilith and not related to my father by blood in any way.

  I glanced at Penelope, my voice a strained whisper. “This was her big secret, the one she was trying desperately to hide. Lucian knew her true identity. That was what he held over her. Morgana is not truly a Firedrake.”

  “It seems so.” Penelope’s lips were a thin line when she nodded. “Lilith must have passed her off as the king’s daughter, when in actuality it is Joreth who is Morgana’s real father.”

  “Yes, that is why they are working together,” said Victor as he drew a rune on the ground with his staff and the scene changed. We were in another part of the castle, in a dark courtyard.

  “Where are we now?” I inquired, looking around.

  The courtyard was empty, shadows forming in the corners as clouds flitted across the moon, veiling its light.

  “We are now twenty years after the last scene,” Victor confirmed. “Joreth convinced Lilith to join him in overthrowing the king, making her believe he did it for her and the child. But his real motivation was getting to the Dagger. All Dragath’s plans rested on it. So together, they formed the Black Mages when Morgana was still a baby. They attacked the palace and fought a long battle for the throne of Illiador. But your father, Azaren, led your grandfather’s army to victory, killing Joreth and saving his father’s throne—the throne that would one day be yours.”

  “So that’s when Joreth came to the druids to heal?”

  Victor nodded and held up his hand. We turned to see two figures come into the courtyard.

  Morgana! She was young and beautiful and not much older than I was now.

  I involuntarily moved farther back into the shadows.

  The man beside her removed his hood. It was unmistakably Joreth, older and scarred with a short white beard and salt-and-pepper hair.

  “Why are you here again?” Morgana spat. “I told you, you can’t be my father. I’m a princess of the royal house of the Firedrakes.” She turned to leave. “I’m going to tell my brother about you, and he will get rid of you for good.”

  Joreth caught her arm in a viselike grip. “You are no more a Firedrake than I am,” he snarled.

  Morgana snarled back at him, and I could see a faint resemblance, not in their looks but in their attitude. “You are a liar,” she spat, pulling her arm free and lifting her chin. “I even look like a Firedrake.”

  Joreth laughed. “A simple spell conjured up by your mother when you were born,” he said.

  Morgana stood rooted to the spot at his words.

  He softened his voice. “What do you think your dear brother will do when he realizes you are not really of his bloodline? He will throw you out and take everything from you. And that is the best-case scenario.”

  Morgana’s brow furrowed, and she rubbed her arm. “What do you want?”

  Joreth smiled, sinister shadows moving around him in the dark courtyard. “It’s not what I want that’s important. I’m your father, Morgana. I only want what’s best for you. I can give you what you always wanted. Power beyond your wildest dreams. I can make you undisputed Queen of Illiador and beyond.”

  “How?” Morgana looked skeptically at her father. “Azaren will be king for a long time, and after him, his daughter Aurora.”

  “But we can change that.” He put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Kill Azaren and his brat of a child, and you shall have your crown.”

  Morgana’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. “You want me to kill my brother and niece?”

  “Haven’t you been listening, Morgana? He is not your brother, and she is not your niece. I am the only family you have left.”

  She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. “No! I cannot kill him. I will not do it. I will tell Azaren the truth. He will understand it is not my fault my mother had an affair.” She turned from him and started to walk away.

  Joreth raised his hand, and his magic grabbed Morgana and
spun her around to face him. “Foolish girl,” he hissed. “He will kill you as soon as he learns the truth. He will not give you time to explain. He killed your mother and tried to kill me. Why do you think he will treat you any differently? He will think you are a spy, or worse, a traitor.”

  I could see the confusion in Morgana’s eyes. She was still young, her fate still undecided. It was the moment that would change everything for my family. I wished I could have said something to stop her from taking the wrong path. But I just stood there, unable to interfere, unable to do anything but watch Joreth turn his daughter into the monster she was today.

  Morgana raised her eyes to her father’s, a determination in them that wasn’t there before. She echoed her mother’s words unknowingly. “What do I have to do?”

  Joreth smiled. “Go to the Firedrake vaults and find the Dagger of Dragath. If you want to kill Azaren and his child, you will have to get rid of the fae-warrior first.”

  “Elayna?”

  Joreth nodded. “The fae queen’s daughter is an elite fire-fae warrior of Elfi and too powerful to defeat without the Dagger. She is an immortal, and she will protect her child with her life. Elayna is almost impossible to kill. The only way to get rid of her is to trap her within the Dagger of Dragath.”

  Morgana clasped her hands in front of her and raised her chin. “It will be done, Father.”

  Victor drew a rune with his staff and the scene shifted again. Morgana and Joreth were in a room at the palace. In her hand was the Dagger I recognized so well, curved and twisted with a massive ruby on its hilt. They had managed to find what no one else had. Just seeing it again, even though it couldn’t hurt me now, brought a bone-chilling fear I could not control. How would I be able to face it again? When the Dagger had cut me, I’d felt its magic. It was strong, powerful—too powerful, in fact. It had stripped me of my magic so easily, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  Rafe, alert as always, took my hand and squeezed it. His ability to read what I was feeling was uncanny, and his presence always made me feel safe.