The Dragon and the Queen (The Raven and the Dove Book 3)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  Now, that she believed. Cassi shook her head. It didn’t matter anyway. “What sort of mage?”

  “An umbra’kine.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Shadow mages could be sneaky bastards. “Does he have access to a dreamwalker?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Good. I’ll need to know more if I’m to keep us both safe, but it can wait.” She tightened her fingers around the leather book pressed against her chest and slid it free. “The diary can’t. I want to know who it belonged to, what it says, and everything it can tell us about the prophecy, and I want to know now.”

  “Answers such as those will take time.”

  “In case you haven’t looked outside recently, time is the one thing we don’t have. Da’Kin burns. The dragons are multiplying. The rift is weakening. And in a few weeks—” Cassi broke off as the words caught in the back of her throat. An earthquake had struck the House of Wisdom the day before. The light creature would soon be here, and when that happened…she didn’t know. Just the thought sent a hot rush of fear into her veins, not only for their world but also for Xander, now living among the owls. “In a few weeks, there may be nothing left.”

  The skryr lowered his gaze to the book in her hands, then lifted it back to her face, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Then I suggest you let me get to work.”

  She extended the diary.

  He snatched it, his magic bursting from his fingertips before they even touched leather. A bronze halo exploded from his palms, lighting the room in a glittering haze. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed on the bed, his body twitching. Cassi jumped to her feet to help, then froze. Breath passed evenly through his lips. No strain tightened his features. He was alive yet removed, a sensation she understood better than most. So she sat back down and propped her feet beside him, doing the only thing she could—waiting to hear what secrets he’d reveal.

  The Diary

  Twenty-Third Day of the Seventh Moon

  * * *

  I told Zavier my fears—about the dragon eggs, about the aethi'kine avian boy, about what Bastiant intends to do. We both agreed that whatever his plan is, it can’t be good. He's going to talk to Mikhail, but I fear the dove's reaction when he learns Zavier has been spying on him. Will he believe us? Will he think we work for my husband? Will he trust us?

  And if he doesn't, what then?

  * * *

  Twenty-Fourth Day of the Seventh Moon

  * * *

  We told Mikhail that Bastiant knows of the boy and is looking for him. I can't tell if he was grateful or furious, though I fear the answer lies somewhere in between. Something has changed between him and Zavier. I don't think their relationship will ever be the same. But he says the avians will take the boy from the city and hide him in a place where my husband will never find him, at least not until he's old enough to understand the power in his skin.

  I fear no such place exists.

  * * *

  Fourth Day of the Eighth Moon

  * * *

  Bastiant has been acting oddly peaceful of late. I worry he's coming closer and closer to discovering the location of the boy. He hasn't called me to his rooms. He seems to have no idea I even exist. When I see him, his eyes are glazed over, as though they’re staring into another world, perhaps the one he is on the cusp of creating.

  I'm doing everything I can to stop it.

  Zavier spies on Bastiant as often as he can, quick peeks, there and gone too swiftly to merit suspicion. We haven't caught him in a private meeting again. For my part, I try to search the future, but my magic remains as stubborn as ever, almost willing me to give in, to surrender, to let it sweep me away. But Zavier and I are the only ones who can uncover my husband's plans. What would happen if I lost myself to the power? To the future? What if time carried me away and never let me return to the present?

  No.

  I won't let the magic take me—not yet.

  Instead, I'll make do with the snippets I've received, small moments in time that form a puzzle I'm no closer to solving. I saw the girl again, a dove like I thought, with ivory wings and dark skin. This time, her palm glittered with aethi'kine magic. Where is she? Is she alive? Is she the one Bastiant will take? I fear she is far away—her clothes too regal and her smile too free to be an avian of this world.

  I saw a man too, with pale skin and blue eyes. He has wings, though I can't quite determine which kind. At first, they seemed black as night, the obsidian silk of a raven. But just before the vision ended, they shifted, flashing with orange and changing shape, too fuzzy for me to see clearly. He had magic, though I didn't see what. It was more a feeling of power, similar to his spirit, which was torn and broken yet with unwavering strength beneath it all.

  I've seen flashes of the future too. The beasts will come, unless I can stop them, and if they do, my city won't be the only one to burn. They spew fire with each breath. They are difficult to kill, with thick scaled hides and expansive leathery wings. I foresee a battle in the skies above a gleaming city I don't recognize. The air glitters with magic and burns with flames. I see avians and mages alike, but I can't tell if they fight each other or if they fight together. And I can't tell which side wins. There is too much death, too much destruction.

  Is this the future my husband races toward?

  Does he even understand the game he is playing?

  I believe he does.

  Worse still, I believe he doesn't care.

  * * *

  Fifteenth Day of the Eighth Moon

  * * *

  More visions. More desolation. More despair. Why can't the future show me things I truly want to see? Happiness. Love. Light. Is that too much to hope for?

  * * *

  Seventeenth Day of the Eighth Moon

  * * *

  Part of my prayer was answered. I saw the girl and boy in a vision again, but this time they were together, their faces close, their gazes yearning, their bodies pulled toward each other as though by strings. Ash fell all around them, or maybe it was snow, I couldn’t quite tell, though the orange glow of flames flickered clearly across their faces. What struck me the most was their spirits. The connection between their souls was so absolute I could feel it across time. They are lovers, and yet all I see for them when I look into their future is pain.

  I hope I'm wrong.

  I hope it with everything I have.

  The vision so affected me, even hours later, that I couldn't shake the image of their desperate faces or the sensation of their breaking hearts. Odd that after so many pictures of death and decay, of blood and gore, of screams and snarls, it is the sight of love that has left me undone. When Zavier came to my room that night, I crumbled into his arms. After all the nights I’ve spent in his room, my husband has yet to break me, but these forlorn lovers in a faraway future have touched me deeply. Perhaps I see myself in them—myself and Zavier. Perhaps I want us all to have the happy endings we crave.

  Zavier held me until my tears had passed, not demanding answers, simply providing solace. Then I kissed him with a fervor I didn’t need to explain, one he felt too. Even without chrono'kine magic, he can sense time slipping away from us, from the world. We'll take advantage of whatever stolen moments we have left.

  * * *

  Twenty-First Day of the Eighth Moon

  * * *

  I fear the tides have shifted. My husband leaves in the morning, though he refuses to tell me where he’s going. In my heart, I already know.

  He's found the boy.

  Our time is up.

  * * *

  Twenty-Fourth Day of the Eighth Moon

  * * *

  Mikhail came to us in a panic. The boy is gone, as I suspected.

  Without my husband home, any pretense of covering our tracks is finished. I know the avians would never rat out one of their own, even if he is cavorting with the enemy, and Bastiant's advisors practically ignore me, just as my meek persona allows. We spy for him d
ay and night. We've seen the boy, but they don't seem to be bringing him back to the palace. They're going somewhere else. The avians sent a team to try to retrieve the boy, but all it did was anger my husband and cause ten more to lose their lives.

  Aethi'kine magic is unbeatable.

  So how in the world are we going to stop him? Won't my magic show me that? What use is seeing the future if I've no way to stop the worst from happening? I wonder if it's time to succumb to the future's alluring pull, but my gut tells me not yet.

  So I wait, and watch, as helpless as I've ever been.

  * * *

  Twenty-Sixth Day of the Eighth Moon

  * * *

  The world is ended.

  I know it.

  We were too late, too weak, too unprepared, too outmatched, too everything. And my husband was too. The enemy is here, and it is unlike any enemy I've ever seen before. Zavier and I are the only people alive who bore witness to the downfall of man, so I will record it here, in the hopes that history won't be lost like all things to time.

  By the time Zavier formed the spying window this morning, Bastiant's spatio'kine had already opened the rift and disappeared inside it. My husband stood in the middle of a clearing, staring at it, his hand wrapped around the boy's forearm, gold magic glittering around them like a cage. I don’t know why they opened the rift in the woods instead of coming back home—perhaps to keep other mages from sensing the magic, perhaps to keep the other eggs safely away in case something went awry. Either way, against my husband’s magic there was nothing Zavier or I could do but watch. So we did, studying the rift for any change. Minutes passed. It could have been an hour. I know not. My eyes grew dry. My fingers ached from clutching Zavier's hand. We both jolted when we finally saw movement.

  The spatio'kine tore through the rift rolling an egg before him, the surface a mix of black and red, speckled with flecks of yellow and as smooth as the others I'd seen. His eyes were wide with fear and his clothes were in tatters, shredded and burned, still smoldering as he swatted at the edge of his jacket, leaving embers in his wake.

  "It's coming!" he shouted. "It's coming!"

  "Close the rift," Bastiant ordered.

  His power rushed across the distance to wrap around the egg and pull it toward him. As soon as he laid a palm on the curved surface, a smile I fear will haunt my nightmares spread across his face. The boy cried, but there was no way to fight. Bastiant’s magic shifted, wrapping around the boy he held with one hand and the egg he touched with the other.

  The soul joining had begun.

  Behind him, the spatio'kine struggled to undo his weave, the threads of space growing slippery in his hands, weak and injured as he was. With every passing moment, his back hunched closer and closer to the ground. He wobbled on unsteady feet, his knees trembling as he swayed.

  My husband didn't notice or didn’t care. He was too deep in his power, seeing not the world but the two souls he intended to fuse. The egg shifted from black to gold, again and again, magic shimmering over its surface. The boy's transformation was more gruesome. His skin bubbled with scales, wings flashed at his back, and claws hovered over his fingertips. When he tried to shout, the bright spark of a flame erupted from his lips instead. With my husband still clutching his forearm, the boy eventually succumbed to the pain, dropping to the ground as though dead, but he wasn't. He had a worse fate in store.

  "My king!" the spatio'kine screamed.

  Bastiant was beyond hearing. The boy and the egg oscillated in spirit faster and faster, becoming little more than two blurs, until finally, with a gasp, my husband released them and stepped back. His magic dispersed.

  "My king! You need to heal me. I need—"

  The spatio'kine dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach and he bent over in pain, a groan escaping his lips instead. Bastiant didn't bother to turn around. His gaze was fixed on the boy and the egg, watching their spirits battle for control.

  "What's happening?" Zavier asked by my side.

  He was an avian. His body had waged this war once, but he'd been too young to remember, and he’d probably never borne witness to the change the way I had by my father's side. "Their souls are battling for dominance. Only one will win—the boy or the beast."

  "How will we know who does?"

  "Whichever body is left at the end is the winner," I explained, silently urging the boy to fight this otherworldly creature, to be the more powerful soul. When avians got their wings, the human soul was almost always more powerful than the bird's. We're the more intelligent beings with more commanding minds and a stronger sense of self to pull us through. There were some casualties, of course, but not many. These beasts were different, though. There was no telling what they were capable of, and as I stared at the twitching body of the little boy, I feared the spirit residing in that egg, even if not fully developed, was the stronger of the two.

  My fears were confirmed moments later.

  An explosion of energy knocked Bastiant back. Zavier and I turned away from his rift as a bright light flashed, temporarily blinding our eyes. By the time my vision returned, it was done. The boy was gone. My husband stood beside a gleaming golden egg, his covetous palm pressed against the surface, a victorious look in his eyes. It was my vision come to life.

  "My king!" the spatio'kine screamed again.

  Bastiant turned, annoyance twisting his features. "What—"

  His words were cut off by a bubbling wave of fire barreling through the rift. Before the blast swallowed him, I saw my husband lift his hand, aethi'kine magic already rising to the defense. When the flames cleared, he was unharmed. I could not say the same for his spatio'kine. The man's skin was black, flaking from his face and his arms, melted in some places and charred in others. Breath hardly stirred his chest. A pained wheeze escaped his lips. Bastiant sighed and knelt beside his mage, sinking his healing magic into the man's skin. For a moment, I thought maybe that would be it.

  Then a beast flew through the rift.

  It was immense, far larger than I realized even in my visions, its jaw the same size as Bastiant's entire body. He had barely enough time to shift the focus of his magic before the thing was upon him, fire tearing from its throat as its claws reached for his head. Those expansive wings pumped with such force the leaves ripped free from the surrounding trees. When it roared, even Zavier and I flinched where we sat safely in the palace.

  Aethi'kine magic wrapped around the beast, encircling it in a web of glittering gold. I waited for it to fly back through the rift, to be gone from our world, to succumb to my husband's will.

  It didn’t.

  Bastiant stumbled back with his hands outstretched as he sank all his focus into his magic. A grimace slowly spread across his face as more and more time passed. The beast took the onslaught head-on, flapping its wings and stomping its feet, getting no closer to my husband but going no farther away either. The more I watched, the more awed I became, realizing that even Bastiant's magic wasn't enough to hold this beast at bay. My husband stumbled and fell. His skin began to bubble in spots, as though melting from the inside out. I'd seen this once before, in a vision of my father—the vision of his death. I'd wondered at the time what could burn an aethi'kine, and now I knew. This beast and the incomprehensible power residing in its skin.

  As my husband weakened, the beast strengthened, as though it absorbed his magic and took his power for itself. My gaze dropped away from the battle nearing its end to the golden egg sitting on the ground. If that was a beast without human magic, I could only imagine what sort of demon Bastiant had birthed with his power—part beast, part aethi'kine, the strongest of two worlds united into one unfathomable monster.

  We needed to close the rift.

  We needed to close it with that egg safely on the other side.

  "Zavier, he's going to lose." I clutched his hand, unable to look away even as the horror of it all fought to steal the words from my lips. "They're going to die."

  "I know."


  "We need to close the rift."

  "Not we, Mira."

  I turned to him with a protest on my lips, but it was too late. His hazel eyes were already hardened by determination and laced with apology, a combination that tore the breath from my chest. All I could manage was a soft, "No."

  "I love you," he whispered.

  Then he fell through his rift and sealed it behind him.

  I waited, unmoving, for what felt like an eternity, uncaring as my muscles grew stiff, my mind’s eye not in my room, but still watching those horrors unfold. Horrors the man who had come to mean everything to me had just chosen to face without me. I knew there was little I could've done to help—my magic was useless in battle, my body even more so—but the not knowing was excruciating.

  Zavier came tumbling into my room in a flash of white magic. The egg rolled across my carpet as a scream tore from his throat. I spun just in time to see a cloud of flame barreling toward me before the rift sealed, and it was gone, nothing but a cloud of quickly disappearing smoke. We sat in silence for a moment, except for his ragged breathing, as my gaze shifted to the golden egg gleaming in the candlelight.

  "What happened?" I murmured softly.

  "I couldn't close it," he said, his tone rough, his eyes hollow with a despair I will remember for the rest of my days. "I tried, Mira. I did everything I could, but it wouldn’t let me close it. I don't know why. I'm not trained well enough to understand why. Perhaps because it's another mage's rift. Perhaps the very foundations of that world fight me. Perhaps these beasts do. I know not, but I know I couldn't close it. And I couldn't let them have that thing either."