The Iron Crown (Dragon Spirits Book 1)

by L. L. MacRae

  Calidra loitered near the fountain, despite the noise of constantly trickling water bringing swathes of discomfort and irritation.

  ‘Things might’ve been fine for you Johan, but for the rest of us, the Myr were devastating!’ The woman rested her hands on her hips.

  ‘Like I said, Surayo will look after us,’ the nasally man replied.

  The bigger man, Johan, shook his head and slapped his thigh. ‘You town folk are too stressed. Get some beer in you and enjoy the natural course of life, that’s what I say! And keep all profit without some distant queen taking it from you!’

  The woman glanced up and Calidra hurried on quickly. She didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Her heart pounded as she left the square, making her way through the twisting streets and towards the edge of land.

  Regardless of what the law said about speaking of the Myr, people were discussing their possible return openly.

  Built against the sheer cliff face, Tonmouth Docks were easily as large as the Ballowtown port, just spread over more area. Several large boats floated in the bay, the last of the day’s gulls soaring overhead, looking for scraps.

  Keeping a watchful eye overhead, she approached the wooden scaffolding that had been fitted to the cliff edge. A narrow, rather rickety staircase led down to the water. It would be a harrowing descent.

  Calidra peered at the noticeboard pinned to one of the larger wooden beams. It was a schedule of ships departing and arriving, along with destinations, journey durations, and costs. There was a note about the ships travelling to Foxmouth reminding passengers that the journey’s length was always subject to Neros, Spirit of the Lasseen Ocean. If the spirit was in a good mood, it meant smooth sailing. But if she was in a foul mood, it could add days, even weeks, to the voyage.

  Calidra had to hope Neros was content. She didn’t want to wait any longer than she had to.

  She glanced up as the wooden stairs creaked and a heavy-set man pulled his way up the last few steps and onto the path. He wore a thick, woolen jumper underneath an oilskin jacket, and a leather jacket that reached the back of his knees on top of that. He surveyed her for a moment with beady brown eyes, a long smoking pipe clenched between his teeth. ‘Careful, lass. Winds can blow a person clean offa this cliff. Last one fell, we had to pick up bits of guts in a bucket before the gulls got to him.’

  Calidra backed away immediately, pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders.

  He scanned the noticeboard, then tapped his hat. ‘Captain Kifil. You planning on travelling far?’

  ‘Foxmouth.’

  ‘As far as that, eh? I wouldn’t go if I were you. Fishing ain’t worth it, no matter how good they pretend it is.’

  Calidra furrowed her eyebrows, ignoring the comment about fishing. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s near Eastbrook, isn’t it? Lots of trouble being stirred up there. Seen griffins and all sorts in the skies. You’d think there was another war on.’

  She folded her arms. She wasn’t going to come this far and be dissuaded by a superstitious sailor. ‘My sister is there. It’s important I get to her sooner rather than later.’

  Kifil scratched his chin—clean-shaven, which Calidra found odd for a ship captain—and grinned. ‘Well any coin is helpful in these times, I s’pose. Inquisitors are arriving all the time. After Torsten was here last, who knows what trouble’s coming to land. Hah. Might be better to stay at sea for a while.’

  The thought didn’t fill Calidra with much confidence. But surely if there was trouble in Foxmouth just by virtue of being near the capital, it would be better for Malora to get away. They could sail back here, and keep going, all the way to the Isle of Salt. Back to Bellandri—back to safety.

  Or as safe as things could be with Hassen’s tricks. She half-expected the entire island to be an enormous bog by the time she and Jisyel made it back there.

  She looked at the noticeboard. Ships left for Foxmouth every other day, with the next voyage leaving the following morning. ‘Are you sailing there?’

  ‘I am. Ain’t got much choice! No sailing, no money.’ Kifil laughed and wiped his eyes. ‘I’ve sailed the Lasseen Ocean for years. Salt Sea and Polar Sea are much better. No spirits to play with you.’

  ‘You used to sail the Lasseen Ocean? To…to other continents?’

  The captain nodded. ‘More money, of course. More risk. Lost too many good sailors. Packed it in for good about five years ago. Didn’t want no more to do with those distant places.’

  His words reminded her of what Varlot had said about the Myr. Their homeland was on a continent far to the south. Had this captain seen something?

  No. She was jumping to conclusions again. Plenty of ships sailed the Lasseen Ocean, even now. There was no way he would have any insider knowledge or be part of whatever was happening with Fenn and the other lost souls.

  ‘Ship leaves right before lunch. Let’s hope for a fair wind so you can see your sister, eh?’

  Calidra nodded, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to answer verbally.

  Kifil chuckled as he walked past her, most likely heading for his own warm bed—probably a stiff drink or two before. ‘It gets plenty cold up north. You’ll want to wrap up warm.’

  She nodded again, gave him as much of a smile as she could muster, then he was heading into the darkening streets. The sun had almost set, creating bars of red and orange across the Salt Sea.

  Fenn had first seen one of those Myrish creatures when they’d crossed the Salt Sea. Would she see one, too? Calidra peered out across the water, the waves and ripples dizzying when she focussed on them for too long.

  The Myr. Lost Souls. Curses.

  If she and Jisyel had stayed on the island, she’d never have known about any of it. Wouldn’t have had to deal with her mother, either.

  But as she stared out over the water, she realised she’d never have found out about Malora. Or her child. An entirely new part of her family had appeared, when another had firmly closed the door on her.

  Whatever lay ahead, at least she had Jisyel. At least she was doing what felt right—running towards her dreams instead of away from them.

  And whatever awaited in Foxmouth, she’d be ready.

  24

  The Trap

  Apollo

  The palace was more intimidating than Apollo remembered it. When he’d last been here, just over five years ago, he’d been getting his pardon from Queen Surayo. The mage queen had removed the curse she’d put upon him—she’d been able to tell where in the world he was, and no doubt inflict an instant, grisly death had he disobeyed her command—and just being in the shadow of the enormous building made his thigh twinge, where the queen’s magic had touched his skin.

  Maybe curses never really went away.

  He couldn’t shake the sight of that lost soul writhing in pain, as if their own skin was poison. And if he’d had anything to do with that…if he’d really, truly messed up by not feeding that blasted key to Paragos? Perhaps he didn’t deserve the freedom and the life he’d built with Malora.

  The thought was an unwelcome weight that roiled in his stomach like a sickness.

  A horn blew loud and clear, announcing their arrival. Nadja raised one fist high to the sentry atop the massive iron gates, and they slowly opened to reveal the palace beyond. Although adorned predominantly with iron in the same way Toriaken’s Shrine had been, the palace was less magnificent. To Apollo, it was just another prison.

  The courtyard was busier than Apollo had ever seen it before, with numerous troops assembling in the vast, sandy grounds that filled the inner keep. A dozen guards stood at attention around the palace perimeter, and more patrolled in twos or threes. Several chariots had been prepared, waiting along the length of the wall, where horses were being outfitted in plates of ceremonial armour. Apollo spotted several Inquisitors, their dark uniforms standing out in a sea of grey and white armoured soldiers.

  After everything Nadja had told him—he didn’t think this Inquisitor cou
ld lie—and after everything he’d seen, it was clear things were changing in Porsenthia if Surayo was amassing her military.

  A high-pitched shriek caught his attention, and, alarmed, he glanced over to the far side of the courtyard, where three enormous griffins paced in a large compound, their huge talons churning up dust with each step. The biggest one had feathers of cherry-red, and a beak that looked like it could snap a person in two—armour and all.

  Apollo flinched at the sight of the fearsome creatures. He’d never seen one before, and to be thrust so close to them was almost more than his nerves could take. He turned in his seat, but his chestnut mare hardly broke her stride, following Nadja without being distracted.

  If griffins were here, saddled griffins, that meant there were Olmese here, too.

  Things were more serious than he’d allowed himself to believe.

  Nadja reined in her horse, the piebald whickering gently at her command. Two guards were already making their way towards them, having approached the moment they passed through the gates. Both carried spears and wore full armour, which clinked as they hurried over to them. While they bowed respectfully to Nadja, Apollo couldn’t help but notice one guard sneer at him, his disgusted gaze lingering on the scar across Apollo’s face.

  He was used to it, but on Queen Surayo’s doorstep—the place he’d tried to rob once, which had earned him the thief’s scar in the first place—it felt more ominous.

  Apollo kept his head down while Nadja gave her orders, then he was getting off his horse. He groaned at the ache in his legs, and patted the animal affectionately as he dismounted. ‘What now?’

  ‘Ordinarily, you’d be kept in a cell until such time as Queen Surayo summoned you. However, she has been eagerly awaiting your arrival, and we will see her presently.’ Nadja flicked her dagger, the iron around Apollo’s legs rejoining. She once again brushed down her uniform, getting rid of stray hairs, dust, and grime picked up. Even her hair, which she’d maintained with careful combing throughout their journey, wasn’t allowed to be messy or out of place.

  Another member of the palace staff approached them—a stableboy from his muddy apron—and took the horses’ reins from Nadja. He was young, with long, flaxen hair that had bits of hay sticking in it.

  ‘Make sure they’re well-rested.’ The Inquisitor rubbed the muzzle of her piebald. ‘They did well.’

  ‘Of course, Inquisitor.’ The young lad bowed low, his hair covering his eyes.

  Nadja took hold of the iron chain dangling from Apollo’s wrist. ‘Come on, Apollo. Your queen awaits.’

  He followed, obedient. They’d spent so long on the road that he knew he should have a failsafe excuse ready by now. Some argument to challenge the queen’s questions. But he had nothing. Only the growing sense of guilt for what was happening to Tassar.

  If he was the cause, Surayo would have him hanged immediately.

  Even now, he couldn’t see a way out of his situation. More guards were posted at regular intervals from the bottom of the enormous stone stairwell all the way to the top, where it led to the palace’s main entrance. He stared at the back of Nadja’s head as she led them up the steps. Would she let him send a message back to Foxmouth? Or would she just be notifying Malora of the queen’s justice after the event?

  The thought of never seeing Malora again rattled around in his mind like a maelstrom. Never seeing Renys again. Hearing her laugh with delight at one of his silly pranks.

  His left knee buckled and he dropped to the ground with a crack.

  Nadja stumbled, pulled down by the chain she gripped, but she didn’t fall. ‘Apollo!’ She wound the chain around her hand and heaved him back up. ‘You’ve been good this whole journey. Don’t start getting any stupid ideas now. It’s far too late for that.’

  Apollo staggered onto his feet, but his knees were weak. It was too much. How in all of Tassar was he going to get himself out of this mess? Nadja was right, it was far too late. ‘I slipped!’

  She narrowed her eyes but didn’t berate him. ‘Mind your step. I’ll widen the fetters.’ Pulling out her dagger, she flicked the tip towards him. Immediately, the iron reacted, melding like water, and lengthening Apollo’s permitted stride.

  He knew he needed to keep an eye out for exits, threats, places he could hide. But the walk up the rest of the stairs and through the grand halls passed in a blur. The guilt was overwhelming. Crippling. Apollo was vaguely aware of plants and greenery within the palace walls, of guards stopping to stare at him, of the oppressive pressure that filled the air. Conversations died down as they passed.

  His breathing grew shallow. ‘Nadja. I don’t suppose there’s time to send a bird home? Let Malora know I’m here safe and sound, hmm?’

  ‘No. Queen Surayo awaits.’

  He pulled at his wrist restraints, but they were as immovable as they had been back in Foxmouth. ‘Nadja, would…you send one? In case…I can’t?’ He didn’t want to give it words.

  Nadja shook her head and quickened her pace.

  When they passed through narrower corridors, where living guards were replaced by the Iron Guard, Apollo focussed on his breathing. He was in the eye of the storm now.

  One pair of the Iron Guard, each on either side of the corridor, moved as they passed, falling into step and marching behind them.

  Apollo turned to look, walking backwards so he didn’t end up being pulled by Nadja, fascinated and horrified by the queen’s unnatural soldiers. He’d seen them before, of course. When he’d broken into the palace, when the queen had put her curse on him, and when she’d removed it. They’d just stood silently in the queen’s rooms before. They unnerved him as much now as they had then, especially when they moved of their own accord, and he turned back with a shudder.

  Clearly Queen Surayo wasn’t taking any chances with him this time.

  Eventually, Nadja came to a halt by a wide door made of dark rosewood. Apollo found it peculiar. Every door within the palace’s innermost sanctum had been made of iron. He wondered why the queen had opted for a rosewood door that led to her personal chamber. If that was where Nadja had brought him.

  ‘You will show deference to Queen Surayo at all times.’

  Apollo didn’t reply.

  Nadja didn’t knock, but they waited in front of the door for several seconds before Apollo heard a heavy click as it was unlocked. It swayed forward without so much as a creak, and Apollo was once again in the presence of Surayo, Mage Queen and Supreme Ruler of the Porsenthian Empire.

  She was alone, save her Iron Guard. There wasn’t so much as a handmaiden in sight.

  Apollo swallowed. Whatever was to be discussed, the queen didn’t want anyone to hear.

  Nadja stepped inside, giving Apollo’s chain a short, sharp pull to force him in behind her. The Iron Guard followed them into the circular room, one on either side of Apollo, keeping just outside his peripheral vision. It put him on edge, which he supposed was the point.

  Queen Surayo herself was seated in a throne made of rosewood—the same as her door—raised on a small altar and surrounded by open windows, the sea beyond a vibrant blue. There were no lit sconces, no fireplace, no tapestries on the walls, nothing that would suggest this room was where Surayo met with people. A dozen of her Iron Guard stood motionless at the walls. Ever silent. Ever watching.

  ‘My queen. I have returned with Apollo Tamlin, as you requested. He was obedient and quiet, and gave me no trouble during our journey.’ Nadja dropped into a low bow.

  Surayo tapped the back of her right hand—the closest she ever got to applause. It was a sure sign of her acceptance.

  Apollo remained standing, though he lowered his head in a sort of half-bow. After Nadja had come as close to praising him as she would get, he didn’t want to squander that by being disrespectful. He knew it would probably be better to hold his tongue, let Nadja do all the talking, but he couldn’t—not when his life was on the line. And ever since he’d been a boy, Apollo had covered up his nerves with talking an
d humour. ‘Queen Surayo, I hadn’t thought we’d ever meet again.’

  At his words, Surayo’s sharp eyes turned to him.

  Her look reminded him of Malora, she had the same brown eyes—pools so dark he could lose himself forever in them—and he remembered Surayo was just another person.

  She might be known as the Iron Queen, but she had a heart. Emotions. Feelings. She had to.

  ‘I had hoped never to see you see you again, thief.’

  ‘Well, you gave me a pardon. I thought that was the end of our professional relationship. I could live my life, have my family.’

  ‘You are here because the threat is greater than your family’s importance. I would assume my Inquisitor has already told you this.’

  ‘She did. But—’

  ‘Be silent! Your queen speaks.’ The Iron Guard trembled with barely contained movement.

  Apollo cursed inwardly and bit his tongue.

  ‘If my Inquisitor has told you this, then you understand the gravity of the situation. You were sent to Malnova for one specific task—to feed that magical artefact to Paragos. Did you complete this task?’

  ‘The key is gone!’

  ‘Did you complete this task?’ Surayo repeated, slower.

  Apollo pursed his lips, remembering the Moonlight Palace. The Myr. The Spirit of the Eternal Blizzard that claimed dominion over the area. ‘Paragos certainly…has control of the key, now.’ If only the queen had told him what he was carrying. He wouldn’t feel so much damned guilt!

  ‘Well, the veracity of your claim is in doubt.’

  ‘I’m afraid my questioning ended up in much the same way.’ Nadja placed her hands behind her back. ‘A silver tongue, this one. Perhaps a few days in the cells will loosen it.’

  ‘I should have expected nothing less.’ But Surayo didn’t sound angry—she sounded contemplative. ‘There is more than one way to get the truth from a person, Apollo. You must be aware of this?’