The Iron Crown (Dragon Spirits Book 1)

by L. L. MacRae

  Something cold tore through his stomach and all sense of joking fled. ‘I have the queen’s pardon right here!’ Apollo fumbled in his jacket and held it up.

  ‘It’s of no consequence. Please, Apollo. Do not make me use violence.’ Nadja placed a hand on the sword sheathed at her hip. ‘I cannot adequately explain the seriousness of my visit. You’re lucky Torsten himself is not present.’

  At the mention of Surayo’s Master Inquisitor, Apollo’s blood ran cold, rooting him to the spot.

  ‘Scary lady, you go away now!’ Renys yelled.

  Nadja didn’t flinch.

  And Apollo hoped Malora would take a long time at the butchers.

  16

  The Dream

  fenn

  Fenn was flooded with darkness so intense, he couldn’t tell which way was up.

  All his senses had left him. He couldn’t see, smell, hear, or even feel the ground below his feet. Couldn’t tell whether he stood or sat, or even if he was laying down. And yet the dreaded panic he would have expected to fill him in such a situation was missing.

  He was oddly…calm.

  Strangely, he couldn’t even muster the curiosity for why he wasn’t afraid. It was as if the darkness smothered him, cradled him. Within the darkness, he was safe.

  Fire burned in his chest, keeping him warm. It was only a small flame, hardly more than a candle flickering, but it was enough. He huddled around it with whatever semblance of himself he could find. It helped to solidify his body in the void.

  Slowly, so slowly he wasn’t sure it was happening, Fenn became aware of his limbs. His fingers didn’t seem to be connected to his hands, their edges blurring, as if he were made of sand and a vicious wind swept parts of him away.

  Fenn opened his mouth, what he thought was his mouth, but no sound emanated from his throat.

  ‘You are whole again.’

  A voice spoke in his ear. No, in his mind. Again, there was no sensation of rising panic or fear, only a faint sense of cold. He accepted the voice much as he accepted himself floating in…wherever this was.

  ‘You are on the edge.’

  The edge of what?

  ‘The edge of the spirit world.’

  Fenn wanted to frown, but he wasn’t sure he had eyebrows—even a face—to do that. That meant he had to be…

  ‘So much confusion. So much death. You are all so very, very weak. Why do the dragons covet your worship?’

  Something shifted in Fenn’s peripheral vision. A light, so faint it was just the hint of pale grey in a wash of darkness, but it was consistent and solid. He moved towards it. Or was he pulled by it?

  Light engulfed him. His body came into focus, a solid mass instead of whatever he’d been before, and with it, the sense of pressure on his skin, in his mind. Was he underwater? No, he could breathe.

  He remembered what the voice had said—he was on the edge of the spirit world.

  Did…did that mean he was dead?

  ‘You live. Just. You are unconscious. Our magic brought you here, because you were too weak to withstand it. But something is holding you at the edge, keeping you from crossing. I wonder how long it will last.’

  Fenn couldn't see a body for the voice that spoke. He tried to turn, tried to look, but his movements were sluggish, like he was trying to wade through honey.

  ‘We…cannot control you completely. Something blocks our touch.’ The voice was clipped. Frustrated. ‘You are dying. We are too powerful. Humans are too weak. There has been so much death in the pursuit of life. We have been dying, and now you are, too.’

  As the words were spoken, Fenn noticed movement somewhere below him. A vast line of people, their faces blurrex. Dozens upon dozens of grey bodies shuffled along, one behind the other, heading to some unknown destination deeper in the darkness.

  Fenn swallowed. He had a good idea they were heading into the spirit world.

  He tried to get a closer look, to see where they went, to see if he was right, but his body was held fast where it floated.

  ‘If you go, you will not come back.’

  Fear washed over him, and Fenn suddenly didn’t want to look upon where the people walked. Didn’t want to see the spirit world. ‘Why am I here?’ His voice hurt and every breath scratched his throat.

  ‘You will become an echo soon.’

  Fenn knew, though he couldn’t have said how, that the people marching to the spirit world were echoes. All the people who had died. Died…at the Myr’s hands. Or rather, their magic. ‘When?’

  ‘We can stop this. We can help you.’

  ‘You can?’ Fenn remembered Selys had told him there might be a way to lift his curse. Something Myrish. ‘Why did you curse me in the first place? And all the other lost souls?’

  A brief hesitation. ‘An accident.’

  He tried to suck in a breath, to calm the sudden excitement. He was getting answers! Finally finding out what had happened to him. ‘What did you do? Where did you find me? Who was I?’ Questions burst from him like a river bursting its banks. ‘Why am I dying? How much time do I have left?’

  More hesitation. ‘Something important to you is lost. But you can retrieve it. Vermecio can help.’

  Fenn tried to whirl around, to find whoever spoke to him, to look them in the eyes. It would be easier to have a conversation if he could see whoever was talking to him. ‘What can help? Please! Where are you?’

  ‘Everywhere…’

  ‘Show yourself!’ As Fenn’s body became more solid, and he became more aware of himself, more of his emotions returned. Confusion. Panic. Anger.

  Some unseen force plucked him up, shifted him away from the pale grey light and the echoes of the living. Thrust back into darkness, Fenn’s emotions were smothered again, his bubbling anger soothed. Idly, he wondered if he was closer to, or further from, death.

  He fought the sensation—previously comforting—now it tried to trap him. To smother his questions.

  Something whooshed in front of his vision, a shape darker even than the void around him. A creature of magic, it was difficult to pin down in the swirling dark. Thin, angled, yet somehow sinuous. It brushed his face, leaving it cold to the touch, as if it were made of ice.

  Fenn knew then, with powerful clarity, that this thing, this creature, was one of the Myr.

  Panic and regret seized him and his chest burned with every breath.

  Again, the disembodied voice spoke, but Fenn’s attention dipped in and out of focus as he fought to escape.

  ‘…belonged to…

  …stolen…

  Memories, once…

  …lost…only fear…

  Hope gone…

  Scattered… unspoken.

  Smother…

  …unto light.

  …soon…gate…’

  Ice grew around him, its biting cold crept along his arms, his legs, and forced its way across his body.

  The darkness grew, a physical presence, a weight on his mind that he couldn’t fight. Shrieking wind filled his ears, blocking out any other words the creature spoke.

  And cold. So much cold. He was drowning in wave upon wave of it.

  Abruptly, the fire in his chest burned brighter and eclipsed everything else.

  Fenn’s eyes snapped open.

  Heat.

  Burning heat.

  With a gasp, he forced himself up, only to find several pairs of hands restraining him. ‘Fire!’

  ‘You were having a nightmare,’ Jisyel said, her voice somewhere to his left.

  ‘Seizure, more like,’ Calidra corrected.

  Fenn blinked, taking in the faces around him, trying to orientate himself. Jisyel. Calidra. Selys. He clutched his chest and took a few breaths, ensuring his throat and lungs worked. Slowly, the heat subsided.

  ‘We thought you were dead.’ Jisyel squeezed his left hand between hers, her grip so tight his fingers paled.

  ‘Jisyel. Too…too tight,’ he gasped.

  ‘Oh! S—sorry, Fenn.’ Jisyel rele
ased his hand and stepped back, embarrassed. ‘Just…just wanted to make sure you really were here. With us. I mean, in your mind.’ She broke away, cheeks red with embarrassment.

  Fenn wanted to laugh, but the mix of cold and heat had left him shaky, and he was afraid his mind would unravel and fall apart again. Had it been a nightmare? Or had he really been on the edge of the spirit world? They had thought he was dead. So had he.

  Selys would know.

  But he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask her, nor have anyone else find out what he’d just seen. They’d only just come to accept he was Myr-touched. If they discovered he’d been in the spirit world with a Myr, talking to one…They'd think he was somehow being manipulated by their magic. And maybe he was.

  Maybe he was the threat they’d worried he could be.

  Fenn struggled to work out what was real. He tried to recall the few words the Myr had said to him—something that could help restore his memories? That had been stolen? The Myr had called it Vermecio?

  And then it had said something else. Something that had sounded a sort of chant, not dissimilar to the funeral rites Selys and the others had performed on the dead.

  But it was more meaningful than that.

  It had sent shivers up his spine, and actual chunks of ice had grown along his arm.

  He clutched his stomach, trying to keep the contents in one place while his head whirled. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You collapsed outside. Been unconscious about four hours,’ Calidra said, glancing out the window. ‘We’ve been checking up on you every so often. But you started screaming just now. So we all came in here in case…Well, just to make sure you were okay.’ Despite her firm voice, she looked worried—chewing her bottom lip, her gaze darting to Jisyel more often than before.

  Fenn licked his lips, trying to piece together what had happened. What he’d just experienced. It eclipsed his joy at seeing Calidra again.

  He, Jisyel, and Selys had finally made it to Fellwood. They’d had to fight their way through the crowds of people flooding out of the mansion where Calidra’s family lived. Most of them had been at the funeral, and they’d arrived as the service had finished.

  Thankfully, Selys had been able to use her rank as a priestess to gain entry.

  Calidra had been there, safe and uninjured. If anything, she looked amazingly well.

  And then…and then…

  There had been darkness. All-encompassing darkness. And cold.

  ‘Are you okay, Calidra?’ Fenn gazed around. ‘Is this…I’m in your house, right?’

  Calidra folded her arms and shifted her weight. ‘You’re in my mother’s house. Lady Vantonen. Although your welcome here is less than warm, I have to say. Do you think you can stand up?’

  Fenn shivered as another memory surfaced. He was dying. He’d been worried at the possibility, and the voice in his head—the Myr, he reminded himself—had confirmed it.

  It had also said Vermecio could help…Whoever that was.

  ‘Fenn?’ Jisyel sat on the edge of the bed and patted his arm. ‘Your face is all red.’

  ‘It’s warm in here.’

  ‘Welcome to Bragalia,’ Calidra laughed. ‘From what Jisyel and Selys were telling me, you’re wanting to head north though. Right?’

  He nodded, gently, in case the movement set off more discomfort.

  ‘All the way to the Nethal Mountains in northern Porsenthia,’ Selys said, speaking for the first time. Her glaive rested against the wall of the room. Fenn wondered how soon it would be until she had to use it.

  ‘To the Myrish construct?’ he asked.

  Selys nodded.

  ‘Does it…does it have a name?’

  She shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘What about you, Calidra? The funeral? Did you make it here in time? Did you end up in the water, too? In Ballowtown?’

  ‘Varlot and I were fine. And yes, I made the funeral. But, honestly, I don’t know how long I’m going to stay here…I…there’s one more piece of my family left. One more person I can try and reconnect with.’ Calidra took Jisyel’s hands in her own, a smile on her lips. ‘My sister lives. Quillaja told me. Malora is in Porsenthia, in a town called Foxmouth. I have to go there. I have to see her, and make amends.’

  ‘That’s incredible, Cal!’ Jisyel’s face broke into a smile. It lasted a second or two before fading. ‘But…but what about Fellwood? This whole canton? This is your home. The Myr are on its doorstep!’

  ‘Mother will have things under wraps.’

  ‘Malora isn’t going anywhere. It took you long enough to get off the island! Now you’re here, you should stay and do what you can to help. Now more than ever! Don’t look like that, I’ll be with you.’

  Calidra shook her head. ‘You don’t know my mother.’

  ‘We’re talking about the Myr, Cal. The Myr. Whatever…whatever your mother thinks of you or me, surely she’ll appreciate the extra help?’

  ‘Jisyel…’

  Turning his head away from the women, Fenn noticed a uniformed guard standing outside the window, his back to them. The window was closed and made of thick glass, but he wondered if the man had been eavesdropping.

  Following his gaze, Calidra snorted. ‘I said your welcome was cold here. Mother’s household guard is trying to keep me obedient, and it won’t be long before she wants to get rid of the rest of you. She’ll find some reason to be offended, or you’ll do something that disrespects her, and she’ll have you thrown out.’

  ‘How…unmotherly,’ Fenn muttered.

  ‘You’re telling me. Fenn, do you feel able to stand up yet? Get some food down you?’

  Fenn shuffled to the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet flat on the wooden floor. His toes were sore from all the travelling, but after Jisyel’s glinoc paste, they were already healing. With effort, he pushed himself to standing, arms held out to the side to balance himself. After a slight wobble, he straightened. ‘I’m fine. And yeah, I could eat.’ He knew he needed to stop dancing around the real issue, and asked, ‘Is there…any news on the Myr?’

  ‘The city watch has doubled bodies on the wall,’ Selys said, leaning on the wall beside her glaive. ‘We aren’t under attack yet, but who’s to say how long it’ll last. You’re Myr-touched, Fenn. Getting your memories back might help uncover information about what the Myr are up to, help our spirits prepare. The sooner we’re able to find out more, the sooner we might be able to stop the attacks happening.’

  Fenn swallowed. This was why Selys had agreed to help him. For the good of the world. For her dragon spirit, Neros. Whatever he learned could help against the Myr, could stop more people dying.

  He closed his eyes, trying to recall his dream of the spirit world. Or whatever it had been. The Myr had done something to him and the other lost souls. But…but it hadn’t worked? So many people had died. Something about their magic being too powerful?

  And he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He shuddered, remembering the freezing touch of the Myr.

  He didn’t know why he’d been picked. Perhaps he’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he was here now, and there was nothing he could do to change what had already happened. The only thing he could do was take steps to change his future.

  Fenn was determined to ensure dying wasn’t going to be part of it. Not immediately, anyway, and certainly not by the Myr’s hands.

  Jisyel frowned at him. ‘You could always come back to the Isle of Salt, you know. I’m sure gran wouldn’t mind. And when it gets busier, I’m sure she could do with a strong back and an extra pair of hands!’

  As much as that sounded lovely, Fenn shook his head. ‘I might have people waiting for me. My own friends and family. I bet they’re worried sick! I have to keep going.’

  Calidra let out a sigh. ‘I saw someone on my way to Fellwood. Another lost soul, like you. She was young, just a child.’

  Fenn frowned. Why did Calidra look so worried?

/>   ‘There was a woman looking after her. Said the girl’s brother had died. And…and the girl was dying, too. Fenn. I don’t know how much time you have.’

  ‘Sounds about the same for the other lost souls who passed through the Shrine of Neros,’ Selys said, speaking in a low voice. ‘We should go as soon as you’re ready to move.’

  Before it’s too late, Fenn assumed she’d omitted.

  Hearing it from someone else made it real. Solid. His mind reeled with images from the dream—if it really had been a dream. He wanted to focus on the positives. ‘When I get my memories back, I’ll know where I’m from. If I have any friends or family. And even if not, nowhere will be safe from the Myr. I can’t just bury my head. Besides, whatever we find out might help against the Myr. It's what Selys is banking on. Right?’

  Selys nodded, and Calidra’s gaze dropped to the floor. ‘Calidra, you must remember the killings in the war? Our spirits are the only defence against the Myr. The only ones powerful enough to drive them away, at any rate. Speed is of the essence.’

  ‘You’re right. Perhaps you’ll even get a pardon from the Inquisitors for helping out! If it helps against the Myr?’ Jisyel had clearly latched onto the one sliver of positivity in amongst Fenn’s admittance he was dying.

  ‘That’d be a relief,’ Fenn said. He winced as a sudden sharp pain stabbed through his chest.

  Calidra unfolded her arms and scratched her chin. ‘You know. I think it’d probably be better if you stayed one night.’

  Fenn frowned. ‘Why? We just said I’m on a time limit.’

  ‘It won’t mean much if you can’t walk. Look at yourself. You’re on the brink of collapse.’

  She was right. There was no point in bravado when he needed rest. He glanced at Selys, worried he was letting her down, but she offered him a smile. Fenn sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right. But we should get on tomorrow. Early.’

  Silence fell upon the room, and Fenn drifted back into his thoughts. Selys was going to go with him into Porsenthia. The priestess was just as determined as he was to get answers for her spirit. But it would leave them vulnerable, especially if Calidra and Jisyel were going to stay in Fellwood. He chewed his lip as he thought. ‘What about Varlot?’