The Iron Crown (Dragon Spirits Book 1)

by L. L. MacRae

  ‘Have the Myr…really gone?’ Calidra asked, once the latest bout of vomiting had passed, still not trusting herself to turn around.

  ‘For now, thank Neros. But they’ll be back. They always come back,’ she said, bitter.

  Calidra wiped her face and delicately leaned back, keeping her gaze low. She didn’t care that she was kneeling on the floor—she couldn’t stand staring out at the sea any longer. ‘Are you making for land soon? I…I’m not good on the water.’

  ‘Mama! Another one!’ Renys leapt to the side of the boat and pointed eagerly over the edge.

  ‘Good girl. Let me see if we can help. Ren, can you get a towel for this lady, please?’

  ‘Okay!’

  The woman walked over to where her daughter gestured, though Calidra could only see her legs from her low position. She still didn’t have the strength to look up, nor did she want the woman to see her with vomit streaked down her chin and her clothing in such a sorry state.

  When Renys approached her with a towel and a blanket, Calidra gratefully took them. It was thick, made of a soft blend and in an ogee pattern, common in Bragalia. It reminded her of the blankets in her bedroom back in Fellwood. She frowned at it, feeling the warm material between her thumbs.

  ‘Where…in Bragalia are you from?’ Calidra towelled her face and hair, trying to get clean and dry as quickly as possible. She’d already started shivering.

  The woman didn’t answer, too busy getting her line ready to fish out another survivor from the Myr attacks.

  Renys squatted down beside Calidra and poked at her face. ‘I like fishing in boat with my da. We always get big fishes that are silver and blue and…and…’ She screwed up her face, trying to think of what she wanted to say. ‘And they’re tasty!’

  Calidra peered down at the child. She couldn’t have been more than four or five years old and had an utterly fearless nature. ‘Well, I hope you don’t eat me!’

  Renys burst into fits of laughter. ‘No, silly! You’re not fish!’

  Calidra smiled, despite herself.

  ‘Renys! Get back to the middle of the boat.’ The woman charged past, pulling a rope to adjust the sail on the mast.

  ‘Mama?’ Renys’s bottom lip poked out at her mother’s brusque voice. ‘But…we help the people swimming!’

  ‘We can’t help this one.’

  Calidra looked over the side of the small boat and instantly regretted it. A bloated corpse floated on the water’s surface. He wore a tattered sailor’s uniform, which had discoloured after so long in the sea. There was a gaping wound where his right arm should have been, and already flies and maggots had festered in what was left of the bloody pulp, squirming together in the sunlight.

  Renys shouldered her way past Calidra, heedless, to get a better look. Calidra grabbed her by the waist and pulled her away gently. ‘Go and sit down, like your mother says.’

  ‘I wanna see! Is it a big fish? I’m not scared!’

  ‘No. Do as you’re told.’

  Renys poked out her bottom lip again, eyebrows furrowing deeply, but she didn’t argue—just huffed and went to sit down on the bench in the middle of the boat.

  By the time the corpse had floated out of view, they were heading towards land. It wasn’t much more than a large, rocky outcropping, where tough, hardy grass grew, but it wasn’t on the sea and Calidra was happy about that more than anything else. Dozens of brown and grey goats chewed nonchalantly on the grass, watching the boat approach without reaction. They were obviously used to people coming and going.

  A tall tower had been built of stone—its exterior weather-beaten and slightly disfigured—with open windows near the top where oil lanterns had been lit. A lighthouse. A large stone dragon had been carved beside the entrance. It was too badly misshapen for Calidra to tell which spirit it was supposed to represent, but she assumed it was Neros.

  ‘You brought the survivors here?’ Calidra asked.

  ‘Yes. Several of us did. It was far enough away not to be caught up in the battle, and frequented enough that there were already supplies here. There weren’t a lot of options.’

  Calidra got to her feet, the towel wrapped around her shoulders. Once certain she wasn’t going to topple over, she turned to finally face the woman who had saved her life. ‘I didn’t thank you for helping me out of the water. I’m Cali—’

  She gaped. It couldn’t be. ‘M…Malora?’

  Malora hardly looked a year older than when she’d last seen her, despite having had a child and living in this awful climate. Her hair had grown, and her eyes had a few crow’s feet around them, but there was no other significant change.

  It made the realisation all the more shocking.

  How could she have been on the same boat as her sister and not realised?

  ‘Calidra?’ Malora was equally incredulous. ‘What…what are you doing here? How did you get here? What…?’

  As the boat nudged land, coming to a stop on the pebble beach at the rocky island’s base, the two women hugged each other tightly. Calidra no longer cared about her appearance, about the vomiting. This was her sister. Who she’d thought had died years prior. Whose death she’d blamed herself for.

  Calidra’s whole body trembled, and for one terrible moment she was afraid she was about to vomit all over Malora. Then, tears fell down her cheeks. They stung her raw skin but she didn’t care.

  She had found her sister.

  ‘Mal, it’s…it’s such a long story.’ Calidra wiped her face, embarrassed, and stepped back. ‘I need to see if Jisyel is here. I can’t…I’m shaking so much. I don’t know what I’ll do if she isn’t here!’

  ‘If she isn’t, we’re still looking for people.’ Malora bent to scoop up Renys. ‘Come on. I’ll take you inside and you can look.’

  The lighthouse was much bigger inside than Calidra had expected.

  There was a long, stone building built into the bottom of the tower—no doubt to provide accommodation for those working there—and it was being used as a base for the survivors found amongst the wreckage.

  Calidra was impressed at Malora’s ingenuity. It was a cosy maze of rooms, with low ceilings, crooked beams, and uneven walls that had probably been shaped more by years of wind and sea than the original stonesmiths who’d crafted them.

  An enormous cookfire burned in the kitchen, used so often for so long that the flagstone floor around it had been charred black. It heated the building, and Malora had arranged beds in the rooms directly beside the kitchen to keep them warm.

  In the first room, nine sailors rested. They each sported injuries, but none were life-threatening.

  The second room held a woman who had been burned badly down one side of her body.

  More people were in the third room. At least a dozen. None were sailors, and from their shell-shocked expressions, Calidra assumed they were all citizens of Foxmouth, caught off-guard in the attack. There weren’t enough beds to go around, so the people in this room had to make do with floor mats and bundled up clothing for comfort.

  Calidra was about to leave for the next room when she spotted auburn hair poking out from under a patchwork blanket. Heart in her throat, she darted over. ‘Jisyel?’

  She held her breath and knelt down beside the blanket. Gently, she shook the woman’s shoulders.

  ‘Too…early…’

  Calidra cried again as relief flooded her. She’d been through too much recently to bottle up her emotions anymore, and she didn’t even try to stop her tears. ‘Oh thank Neros. Jisyel, are you okay?’

  Jisyel rolled over, her hair sticking out at all angles, one eye shut with sleep. ‘Is the boat…in Foxmouth yet?’

  Calidra threw her arms around the woman. ‘I had to find you, Jisyel. I had to get back, and know you were safe.’

  ‘Back…? I haven’t gone…anywhere. I’ve been…asleep.’ Jisyel slurred.

  Calidra wiped away her tears. There was no need to explain the atrocities to her just yet. She could enjoy her rest—she
needed it. ‘It’s okay. You can sleep. I’m here.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Jisyel’s other eye closed.

  Calidra gently laid her back on the mat and pulled the blanket over her shoulders, content to let her sleep.

  Malora found Calidra in the same position some hours later. ‘It’s not the best, but it’ll help.’ She handed her sister a steaming mug of coffee. ‘No cinnamon I’m afraid.’

  At the smell of hot coffee, Calidra smiled. ‘Mal, I lo—’ She cut herself off. She did love her sister, but they’d parted on such poor terms, the thought of saying it aloud made it awkward. She hadn’t even had the time to apologise yet. ‘I’ve really missed you.’

  Malora grinned. ‘I know your favourites.’

  Calidra gasped, suddenly remembering. ‘I…I actually brought you some pickles from Fellwood. But they…but the ship…’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Malora said, ‘why don’t you get up from the floor. I know it’s warm and toasty in here, but you need to stretch your legs.’

  Calidra’s gaze drifted back to Jisyel.

  ‘She’ll be fine. A few of us from Foxmouth are running shifts here, keeping an eye on the people we’ve brought in, cooking food, getting supplies. She won’t be alone.’

  After considering it for a moment, Calidra nodded. She followed Malora out of the warm room, through a few narrow hallways, and outside. It was some time past midday, judging by the sun’s position, and surprisingly warm.

  The grass here was kept short by the numerous goats that roamed freely, although it was thick and full of hardy wildflowers. A stone wall surrounded the lighthouse grounds, providing a secure area for them and Renys—who raced up and down the grass without a care in the world.

  Several people were also in the garden—the people from Foxmouth her sister had mentioned, Calidra assumed—many were digging an area for vegetables, others were sorting supplies and hauling in barrels. A few small boats the same size as her sister’s bobbed in the sea beside the lighthouse, where more survivors were brought in to have their injuries checked.

  Another two boats were already heading towards the island, gently cutting through the churning sea.

  ‘The Myr attacked Eastbrook first,’ Malora said, without preamble. She took a sip of her own coffee and sat on the stone wall. ‘Toriaken fought them, of course. Drove them up the coast, away from the palace.’

  ‘Straight to Foxmouth?’ Calidra raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I don’t know if it was intentional.’

  Even though the small island was some distance from Foxmouth, Calidra had a clear view of the smoking ruin. Swathes of fire were yet to be extinguished, and most of the buildings were rubble. It was hard to believe.

  A town had stood there one minute. Now, it was gone. ‘I’m so sorry, Mal. I’m glad you and Ren were able to get out. It’s…it’s lovely to meet her.’ She watched her niece as she picked flowers and showed them off to anyone who would pay her attention. ‘She’s bold, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Malora beamed.

  Far above, against the white-grey clouds that covered the sky, griffins flew. Their high-pitched cries could be heard for leagues, and Calidra had never lost that child-like sense of awe when she stared up at them.

  She wondered whether Amsel and Hailathlyl were there, soaring alongside their warrior brethren, or whether they were still in Fellwood at Furyn’s disposal. She wondered whether anyone in Fellwood had heard of the attacks, yet. Briefly, she considered mentioning their childhood home, talking about her mother, about the funeral. But Calidra wanted to savour her reunion, and talking about home would sully it.

  Eastbrook and Foxmouth, both attacked, but only one had survived. Toriaken was the only real defence against the Myr, that much was clear. Although Neros had been powerful enough to drive them off, Foxmouth had been lost.

  ‘I…I want to ask Chryam for his blessing again.’ Malora said after a time.

  Calidra was stunned. ‘What? After everything that spirit put you through?’

  Malora shook her head. ‘I know. Of course I know! But if I’d had the spirit’s power, fewer people would have died. Foxmouth might still exist.’

  ‘Mal, if Neros couldn’t save Foxmouth, you couldn’t have.’

  ‘How do you know that? Perhaps I would have made a difference.’

  Calidra sighed. She couldn’t believe what her sister was saying. ‘You must’ve swallowed too much seawater because you aren’t making any sense.’

  Malora pursed her lips and looked away, her gaze drawn to her daughter as she played with the goats and their kids, chasing them up and down the rocks while they brayed in protest.

  Two boats nestled in beside the others already docked, and Calidra glanced over as several people disembarked. They brought more injured with them—one, a man who had lost his left foot, who hopped along while leaning on the people on either side of him. Another was a woman who clutched a broken arm.

  Calidra was in shock at the devastation the Myr had caused in a single attack. It wouldn’t be long before they ran out of survivors and started finding bodies instead.

  One tall man approached them from the second boat. He wore a breastplate and helm of iron, but his face was young, with a thin moustache. ‘Malora Tamlin?’

  ‘Yes?’ Malora straightened up.

  ‘A letter for you. From the palace.’ He held out a rolled up parchment, which had been burned at the edge.

  Malora glanced at Calidra. ‘From the palace?’

  ‘Yes. It was tied to one of those red pigeons the Inquisitors use. Found the poor thing half-dead in the dovecote. I don’t suppose anyone had thought to check it after…everything.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Malora took the parchment from him, offering Calidra a confused frown as she did so. It was torn and weather-beaten, blackened at the edge. If the message had turned up in this condition, it was a wonder the pigeon had survived the flight.

  Malora unrolled it and read, quickly. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘What?’ Calidra was by her side a moment later. ‘What does it say?’

  Malora offered no resistance as Calidra took the message from her.

  Malora Tamlin,

  I write to inform you of your husband’s situation.

  The queen’s Master Inquisitor is currently interviewing him. I expect the process will take some time, and a guilty verdict is likely. Should this be the case, he will be executed without delay for crimes against Tassar, and high treason to the Iron Crown.

  I suggest getting your affairs in order at your earliest convenience.

  Inquisitor Nadja

  Calidra pursed her lips. Her own journey had started with news of her father’s death. She wondered whether Malora’s would start with news of her husband’s imminent one. She didn’t remember much about Apollo Tamlin, other than the man was a thief who’d managed to steal from their mother.

  He’d had a charming way about him, she could admit that, but he was a crook.

  Calidra had shared in her mother’s distaste for Apollo, and she’d assumed he’d led Malora into a life of crime and, ultimately, a terrible end.

  ‘He’s alive. I know it.’

  Malora’s whisper was so low that Calidra almost missed it. ‘Mal…He’s in the palace. No-one escapes from there. And what crimes against Tassar has he committed? What have you got yourself involved with this time?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it matters! Why else would Torsten have him? I’m sorry, Mal. He’s a dead man.’ Calidra shook her head. ‘Think of Ren. You have to—’

  ‘He’s alive!’ Malora whirled around to face her, tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t care about Torsten! I don’t care about the queen! I don’t care if it was Toriaken himself!’

  Calidra understood her sister’s fury, her fear. ‘Getting upset isn’t going to help—’

  ‘And what would you know about getting upset? You were always the one who never laughed, never cried. Had to get a barrel of ale down you before you’d even ta
lk to me like a real person!’

  Malora’s words stung. Calidra bit back the argument that was already on the tip of her tongue, considering her words before she spoke them. She missed their closeness from childhood. It had been shattered once they’d reached their teens, once Malora had been blessed by the Spirit of Gold and whisked away by some Porsenthian thief.

  She needed to move on from the past. So, she shook her head and raised her hands. ‘I know. And that was just how I coped with mother. Like you coped by running away.’

  Malora pursed her lips.

  ‘Neither of us were right, but what’s done is done. We’re here, now. Together. Let’s not drive each other away again. Especially not after all this.’

  Malora’s lip trembled. ‘Apollo is my husband, Cal. I can’t…I can’t…’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Calidra embraced her sister, wrapping her arms around Malora’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay.’

  Calidra had to be strong. Had to be the older sister, who looked after Malora. She didn’t care for Apollo, even less if what he was being charged for was true, but she loved her sister, and that was all that mattered. S

  he wouldn’t let her down.

  Not ever again.

  32

  The Curse

  Fenn

  Spurred on by their dragon spirits, Fenn and Selys reached Westbrook shortly after dawn the day after their encounter with Torsten. Selys’s shoulder wound had worsened through the night, which had slowed her down somewhat. Thankfully after several hours of sleep, Fenn had awoken stronger than ever. He’d quickened their pace as much as possible, especially when a fine sheen of sweat broke out across her face. His own leg stung from the wound on his thigh, which thankfully wasn’t deep.