Queen of Destruction, page 2
part #2 of Queen of Extinction Series
Carian wasn’t just interested in the potion that would give Raith back his magic while under the influence of the Guardians. His Untalented brother wanted the potion that would allow Raith to make him Magical. That was all that drove Carian.
Raith barked a laugh. “This is never going to work! He’ll more likely have us hanged for our association with Aurora.” His stomach rolled with hunger at the very mention of her name.
“So what’s your plan, then?” Carian crossed his arms. “Hang around in whorehouses until Aurora and Jorah return to slaughter us both, or until Artemis catches you anyway?”
Raith had no response. He’d sworn the day Aurora had escaped that he would find her and take everything she had. That included her precious Jorah and his dragon magic. But within the past week, his hope had faded as Artemis’s patrols heightened. He could never hunt her in Warrendyte. There was no way in hell he’d survive it. All he could do was wait for her to return. And when she did—with an army of Magical at her back—unless he had the potion, he’d have no magic to fight them. To get the potion he needed, he had no choice but to do what Carian now suggested.
Carian seemed to notice the flicker of consideration on his face. He smiled broadly. “It’s a good plan, brother. Risky, yes. But it’s our only plan. And we need to put it into practice tonight.”
Raith nodded. “You win. As always. I’ll do what you want me to do.”
Fists bunched tight into the folds of her filthy dress to hide their trembles, Aurora picked her way down the gangplank of The Nautilus Spray. Narandara, capital and home of the decision-making council of the Magical in Warrendyte, loomed before her. By morning, after meeting with them, she would know if they would join forces with her to bring down the Guardians, retake Ryferia from Artemis, and destroy Raith. She would also discover if Sabrisia, Jorah’s water fae enemy on the council, would enforce the death bond she held over him. If the capricious, spiteful Sabrisia harmed Jorah, she didn’t doubt that she and her friends’ lives could be in danger, too. Whatever the risk, as rightful queen of Ryferia, she owed it to all her people—Able and Infirm—to do everything in her power to sway the Magical council to support her. She also wanted to protect Jorah, the dragon shape-shifter she hoped to make her own.
But first she had to disembark from The Nautilus Spray onto the wharf without drowning.
Rosy-pink, orange, green, and azure waterfalls tumbled over the ornately carved marble buildings lining the wharf, and colored water rushed into the streets. She gaped at a dozen or more ghostly pale, long-limbed creatures flitting on enormous iridescent wings across the sparkling swirl. Blue hair trailing like seaweed around their bat-like faces, they squealed their delight as the water seethed over their spindly bodies.
“Now those are weird,” whispered Zandor, her centaur friend and bodyguard. Her shadow, he walked next to her in human form with his bow and arrow in easy reach.
“I guess this is just the beginning of the weird,” Keahr muttered. She and Niing came up just behind Aurora and Zandor.
Aurora agreed. A lifetime protected from magic, including her own, most definitely had not prepared her for Warrendyte.
“Water nymphs,” Jorah called from the deck. He was helping Arwen, his silver-haired air fae captain, secure the caravel. Even after a week in Jorah’s company, Aurora wasn’t used to his exceptional dragon hearing. He added, “The fae consider water nymphs lesser faeries, being mere nymphs.” His usual contempt for the fae dripped from his voice.
Arwen snorted. “Jorah, do you ever listen to yourself? You feel about us fae the way my kind feel about everyone else.” He bowed at Aurora. “Present company excluded.”
Jorah laughed a low rumble, which sent shivers of delight through Aurora. “When the rest of the fae are like you, I will moderate my tone. Until then—” A shrug, followed by a nod in Aurora’s direction. “Expect the worst from the council, and you won’t be disappointed.” He turned his back and continued helping Arwen.
Sadly, since that kiss he’d bestowed on her after leaving Ryferia, he had been distant—formal—as if he regretted betraying his lost love Lila by kissing her.
It hurt. A lot.
But that wasn’t the immediate problem Aurora faced. Through the thin fabric of her dress, her fingernails dug into her palms. She was a nymph—a dryad. Would the rest of the fae think her a lesser faerie too?
She dropped her hands to her side. An Infirm in Ryferia, she was more than used to being considered less than. As had Zandor and Niing. Peckle had merely been regarded as a mean-tempered cat. Nothing unusual there. If it helped her cause, she would straighten her back and take whatever the snooty fae threw at her.
She shouted up to Jorah, “Pity dryads don’t control water. I would at least have had a bash at parting this torrent so we can pass.”
Not that she would’ve been likely to succeed. Since her spectacular show of controlling the seaweed when she’d destroyed the Ryferian galley pursuing their caravel, no matter how much she searched for her powers, they had vanished. It was as if she were still trapped inside the Guardians but without the strain of physical weakness. Jorah knew that, everyone did, but no one other than Keahr had mentioned a thing about it. It was as if not talking about her failure would make it disappear. Away from everyone else, she and Keahr had spent evenings in their cabin calling on the sliver of magic in their cores. While Keahr’s grasp on her powers was sporadic, at least her magic occasionally deigned to reply. Aurora’s magic refused to even tickle her senses, leaving nothing but the screams of drowning sailors ringing in her ears each time she tried to connect with it. And now she had to face the Magical council and beg for help when they had probably already dismissed her.
Peckle skittered past her and jumped down onto the wharf. The swirling tide washed over his mottled fur. Above him, water nymphs skittered away. Hardly surprising. Even beyond the Guardians, the cat was still as gangly and sour as ever. Fur unruffled, Peckle scowled at Aurora. “It’s a glamor. Now move your butts everyone. If I’m asked to spend one more second on that boat, I’ll cough up a hairball—on your feet.”
Frozen to the spot, Aurora's eyes widened to their fullest extent. “A glamor? How much power does it take to create all this? And just for show.”
Niing brushed her hand. “Remember, my queen, Jorah mentioned that Water had taken over the chair in the council?” She nodded, still loath to step down into that swirl of magic that made a mockery of her missing powers. “It has always been tradition for the Magical chairing the council to deck the capital in their glamor until the solstice when the chair again rotates.” He nudged her. “It’s only right that you should be the first Ryferian to set foot in Warrendyte.” He threw a scowl at Peckle. “Or at least it should have been.”
Peckle licked his paw disdainfully.
The gangplank vibrated as Jorah and Arwen stepped on it. Feeling like a fool for blocking everyone’s path, Aurora hopped down onto Warrendyte turf. Crisp and misty, the colored water enveloped her but didn’t wet her skin. She turned full circle, disoriented by the translucent kaleidoscope rushing around her. The reek of salty brine, dank pondweed, ozone, and raindrops on fallen leaves made her sneeze. Those were just some of the thousand watery scents that assailed her. Head spinning, she swayed on her feet as she tried to block the overwhelming rush at her senses.
“Steady.” Zandor grabbed her hand. Nothing ever seemed to faze Zandor. Now that she was away from the Guardians, and had more body strength and energy than she could have imagined possible, she didn’t protest his help.
“I hate this,” Keahr gritted out. “It makes me feel disconnected. Like—”
“You’re outside your body,” Aurora finished for her. “Disempowering.” Her tongue recoiled from the vile clash of salty flavors on her lips.
“Exactly,” Niing said, frowning at a water nymph above him. “The show of power is designed to put—and keep—everyone in their places.” He tapped his unlit pipe against his thumb. “There can be no doubt that Water is in control. I’m sure even Jorah flaunts his magic when he takes the chair for the Shifters.”
Aurora glanced at Jorah. “You cast a glamor for the Shifters? What does that taste like?”
“Power.” He started walking through the water toward a narrow street between two majestic marble buildings. “It’s expected. Most shifters don’t have magic as such. They look to me to represent them.” A small smile at nothing. “It does the fae good to have three months of ethereal wolves, bears, centaurs, minotaurs, griffins, and the like snapping at their heels as they walk the streets.”
“Dragons, too?” Aurora demanded, easily keeping pace with his long strides. “Or is that beneath you?” Life in Warrendyte sounded every bit as awful as it was in Ryferia.
He stopped and canted his head at her. “I didn’t make this tradition, my nymph. It predates us all. Maleficent was the first to show displays of power like this when she ruled our world. And I’ve learned to fight the fights that matter. If it pleases the shifters, who look to me to protect them from the fae, to have a glamored, fire-breathing dragon roaring day and night in the sky above the capital, then what does it cost me to comply?” He started walking. “The bit of life force I spend to create the illusion is quickly replenished.”
Since leaving Ryferia, she had learned that all magic came at a cost in life force, which had to be carefully balanced. Expend too much too quickly, and, at best, the wielder would fall into a deep sleep and would remain sleeping until their body rebuilt its reserves. At worst, he or she would die. Or so Niing had told her. Jorah had said precious little to her in the last week.
Zandor rolled his eyes as he strode between Aurora and Jorah. “Last thing I want is seeing your ugly-ass dragon face in the sky.”
Jorah snorted. “Watch it, pony. You’re on my turf now.” But there was no malice in his voice. Zandor now fell under the jurisdiction of shifters Jorah was charged with protecting.
“It was one of the reasons Peckle and I stayed in Ryferia after the war with Nethric.” Niing’s breath wheezed as his little legs struggled to keep up. “We wanted a fairer system where life wasn’t all power plays.” His crinkled face grimaced. “We all know how well that worked out for us.”
Aurora’s eyebrows nudged together when she spotted a domed building across the way from the harbor. While the strange water glamor swirled around it, the moment it touched the building, it turned to steam and evaporated. She stopped. “What is that place? Why won’t it let the glamor touch it?”
Jorah came up beside her. “It’s the home of the Silver-Tongued Oracle I told you about when we were in Ryferia.” He curled his lip. “It does a roaring trade from people who like being spoken to in riddles.”
Keahr scoffed. “Much like you’re doing right now. What is it?”
Peckle darted between Aurora’s legs. “The Oracle is whatever you want it to be. Fish heads, if that’s what excites you.” His eyes glazed happily at the prospect of food. “For a price, it will speak through your chosen object and tell you the desires of your heart. A good ally should tomorrow’s meeting with the council fail.”
Jorah snorted. “Fish heads just about sums it up.” He gave Aurora a wry smile. “It will be a sad day indeed if we are relying on the Oracle to help us win back your throne.”
Aurora agreed. She harrumphed in Peckle’s direction. “The desires of my heart? Your favorite Oracle will merely tell me what I want to know and not the truth.”
Jorah started walking through the buffeting mist down a narrow street. “It’s not called ‘Silver-Tongued’ for nothing.”
Peckle glared up at them as he followed. “In the likelihood that Sabrisia refuses you, Jorah, do you have an army stashed somewhere up your sleeve?”
Jorah threw up his hands. “You know the answer to that. I can call on the shifters and probably Earth, and they will come, but that would not be enough. Not if we end up standing against both Sabrisia and Artemis.”
“It will also merely broaden the rift between the Magical in Warrendyte.” Aurora dodged a pair of tiny, cobalt-colored, pixie-like creatures dressed in livid purple tunics and yellow breeches. “Even if it’s already gaping.”
Three fae, carrying green bottles, stumbled from a tavern just as the pixies tittered by. One of the fae glowered and shouted, “Filthy elves!” His companion spat, kicking out at the pair. He missed and stumbled into a wall.
Faces as pale as the sky at noonday, the elves clasped hands and hurried down the street on tiny legs that could never outrun the rowdy fae.
“Get out of here! We don’t want your kind here!” one of the fae yelled, chucking his bottle after them.
The elves yelped as it smashed beside them, spraying glass on their clothes.
The three fae buckled over in fits of laughter.
Anger rolling through her, Aurora hiked up her dress, ready to challenge the drunks.
A firm hand on her arm stopped her. “No, my nymph.” Jorah pulled her away from the tavern. “You don’t want to do that.”
Aurora couldn't believe her ears. “Didn’t you see what they did?”
Once out of earshot of the fae, he stopped and loomed over her. “You cannot get off to a bad start with the fae. You’ll fail before we even step foot in the council tomorrow.”
Aurora glared up at him, but couldn’t deny that he was right. She had lived her whole life in a divided kingdom and didn’t want to be responsible for exacerbating existing problems here.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t right, too. She knew firsthand what it was like to be treated as an inferior. She inched closer so only Jorah could hear. “Did the war with Nethric teach your people nothing about what injustice leads to?”
Jorah flinched. His gaze softened, and she hoped he understood. “We’ll talk more when we get to my Keep. We risk Sabrisia learning our plans if we remain out in the open.”
It brought Aurora’s quest into focus.
“We still have a few hours of daylight. Can we go straight to the council? I want to get this done as quickly as possible.”
Niing joined their private huddle. He tsked. “Dressed in those rags? Hardly, my queen.”
He had a point. She still wore the dress she’d had on when escaping Ryferia. Once soft lavender silk, it now hung on her in filthy shreds.
Jorah smiled at her, a sight so rare over the past week it made her blood swirl, despite her anger. “The dwarf is right. To take on the fae successfully, you have to look the part. Let’s spend the night in my home.” He started walking again. She followed, careful of how she placed her unseen feet on the cobbles. Jorah continued, “My estate manager, Feloran, will get his elves sewing for you. By morning, you will have a dress that even Sabrisia will kill for.” His smile turned grim. “Perhaps a bad turn of phrase, given everything.”
According to the death bond Jorah had agreed to with Sabrisia, he should have destroyed the Guardians, killed Raith, and married her. None of that had yet been achieved.
Aurora risked touching his arm. Usually, he pulled away, but his time he didn’t. “I will not see you harmed for things that were beyond your control. I will fight for you.”
He patted her small hand with his big one. “I appreciate that, my nymph, but I can fight my battles—and yours. I brought you here to get help for your quest. I will not fail you.” His hand touched his heart. “Not like I did in Ryferia. On that, I give you my word.”
Zandor had sidled up to join them. “But the death bond—”
“Sabrisia is not as smart as she thinks she is. A death bond without a timeframe is just wishful thinking. I would never have agreed to it if it hadn’t been set up like that.” The grin Jorah shot was reptilian in the extreme. Even after a week with him, it surprised her how animalistic he was outside of the Guardians oppressive boundaries. She wondered if there was an obvious change in her, too.
“So she won’t conveniently die if you win?” Zandor pressed.
Jorah’s smile faded. “She would never have insisted on a bond that risked her life; she’s far too cowardly for that. It was all on me, which made me even less willing at the time to point out her error.”
“That’s rather disappointing,” Zandor said.
“But was the bond sealed?” Niing probed.
Jorah patted his chest. “It was. I felt it all the way to my heart. But you know how capricious the Silver-Tongue can be. It would have no problem accepting a meaningless bond.” He stopped walking again. “The solstice week is just about done, so most of Water will have returned to their homes and their work, but as you’ve seen, there are still diehards partying. We aren’t mere elves, but still, not all of them will be friendly. My home is in the country, and we will need to hire a couple of rickshaws to get everyone there. Until we’re safely out of town, let’s all stick together.”
Aurora and the others huddled closer as Jorah and Arwen led them out onto a wide avenue between gracefully carved marble buildings. Her breath hitched as a black-and-green snake, propelled by great veined wings tipped with sharp spikes, swept through the glamored water toward her. Almost the length of the long avenue, its girth was as broad as an oak tree. Keahr clutched Aurora’s hand as the monster’s maw gaped, showing fangs the size of a sea unicorn’s horn. She and Keahr stumbled back. Zandor nocked an arrow as the monster’s forked tongue probed them.
Peckle scoffed, the sound loud in the oppressive silence. To Jorah, he said, “This lot is going to drive me crazy before we even get to your lair.”
It had to be another glamor.
Aurora allowed herself to relax when Jorah confirmed it by saying, “Give them a break, Peckle. I remember making glamor balls for you to chase when you were a kitten. Drove you crazy with them, too, as I recall.”
That won Jorah a scowl and a hiss from the cat. “Almost two hundred years ago.”
“If someone as sour as Peckle can find amusement in glamor balls, then there’s hope for the rest of us,” Aurora snapped to hide her embarrassment. She brushed her hand against the snake. It tingled as it slipped through the magic. “What’s this thing supposed to be, anyway?”
