Kingdom of Fire and Fae, page 18
Spric fell to the ground, his body crumpling lifelessly, as her fiery hedges surrounded him, the flames flickering and casting eerie shadows. The scent of burning foliage filled her nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Binding Flames
THE MOMENT SPRIC DIED, the cries over the city faded as the black magic coating their skin died with him. Draven cast a weary glance around the city, his eyes taking in the sight of people awakening from their suspended animation, their faces etched with confusion and relief. Burned magic permeated the air, lingering over the battle-ridden streets.
Draven reached down and placed his hand on Nero’s chest, but only the cool, lifeless feathers radiated under his palm. There was no flutter of a heartbeat, no rise and fall of the beast’s chest. The silence was deafening. He pressed his lips together, a tight line of grief, and stepped away, turning his back on Lanae and Caelum as they pleaded with the griffin to wake up. Their desperate voices cut through the night, but he couldn’t bear to listen.
His bones tingled with the knowledge of their friend’s death, a cold sensation that settled deep within him. The realization that it had been unnecessary, as unnecessary as wasting the griffin’s precious healing powers on him, gnawed at him. He glanced toward the field, the memory of his fall vivid in his mind, and a strange noise escaped him, a mix of sorrow and frustration.
The speed of his descent, along with the height he had been falling from, was catastrophic. He should not be standing, much less breathing. That he was alive felt like an anomaly, and his faithful companion had paid the price. The weight of that knowledge was heavy on his heart.
Lanae’s hand landed on his arm, her touch warm and grounding. There were too many ifs forming on his lips, too many questions and regrets, and he forced them all down with a swallow. He met her tear-filled gaze, the sadness in her eyes mirroring his own.
“I was dead in that field.” The statement crackled with as much fire as the surrounding infernos...a raw, burning truth.
She looked at the field and then back at him. “Your wound was still bleeding.” She ran her thumb along his arm in the spot where Alestain’s blade had pierced his talon, the touch sending a shock through him. Her chin trembled, and she shrugged. “The bond still tingled when I touched you.”
He looked away, unable to bear the confusion and pain in her gaze. “You should have let me end him.”
She swung him back around to face her, her grip firm. “Nero did not want the stain of murder on any of our souls.” Her whisper caressed him, a gentle balm to his aching heart. “This was not like Alestain or Xoltan. If we had executed Spric, it would have destroyed something good in us.”
He closed his eyes, knowing she was right, but losing Nero hurt like a blade to the belly—a deep, twisting pain. “How’s your brother?”
She glanced beyond him. “I think he’ll be okay. Jenna’s doting on him, and she has some experience with healing salves.”
Lanae’s mother stepped in front of him, her presence commanding. Her imposing figure seemed to cast a shadow over him, and the air grew cooler. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the space between them. Lanae got most of her looks from her mother, but there was a steel resolve in his wife that didn’t seem to be in the woman before him.
“You’re the dragon that the seer told us of?” her mother asked, her voice filled with awe and curiosity, her eyes piercing through him like daggers.
He gave a curt nod, not trusting his voice while his throat was plugged with emotion, making it difficult to speak. His heart battered his chest, the sound echoing in his ears like the drums of war.
“Mom, this is Draven, my husband.” Lanae’s voice carried a warm lilt meant to drive away the chill of the surrounding night.
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Your father just said you were fate bound to a dragon,” she stammered, and her lips pulled back in a sneer. “Not that you would end up together. I knew we should have agreed to the deal with Xoltan Firetwill.”
Lanae’s features hardened and Draven’s teeth bared at the sentiment. When he opened his mouth, Lanae hissed, “Don’t.”
His mouth shut in an audible snap and a low growl formed in his throat. He slashed a glare at Lanae.
Her eyes blazed with intensity, a fierce protectiveness that enveloped Draven. “How dare you even insinuate that Xoltan Firetwill would have made a better choice. Draven is my husband. And you, along with this entire city, can go straight to the underworld if you can’t accept it.”
The way her mother stumbled over words made his lips tilt up at the corners despite the sorrow laced through his form. “I’m not only her husband, but I am also the king of the dragons.” He stared her down, tempted to make her bow to him.
CAELUM GOT TO HIS feet with Jenna’s help and wiped the sorrow from his cheeks. The salt of his tears lingered on his skin, a bitter reminder of the grief that still churned in his chest. He crossed to where they stood, each step heavy with fury, and he glared at his mother, his vision tinged red.
“You really shouldn’t have dropped that name here.” He turned his fiery gaze to his sister. “And you should have let us take care of that thing,” he growled, his voice rough like gravel as he pointed to Spric’s body sprawled out on the ground with an arrow sticking out of his back.
“Your sister was right,” Draven said, his tone calm and measured, a marked divergence to the storm raging inside Caelum. “That would have weighed on you and blackened a piece of your soul.”
“Are you making him say that?” he shot at Lanae. His words sliced through the air like a blade.
“Caelum—” Lanae started, but Draven put up his hand, slicing her with a look that shut her up. The tension crackled in the air, palpable and suffocating.
“I still have a mind and a mouth of my own, despite the blood curse. So no, she didn’t make me say that. As a matter of fact, I said the same damn thing to her a few minutes ago. But she pointed out that our surly griffin protected us in the only way he knew how. So, for us to not honor that sacrifice is blasphemy.” Draven’s words were like a hammer, each one pounding against Caelum’s resolve, forcing him to confront the painful truth.
Caelum’s chin quivered, and he clenched his jaw to stop the emotions from slamming into him like a tossed grenade. Grief threatened to consume him, each breath heavy and labored as he struggled to keep it at bay. He turned to his mother, who watched the interaction with a skeptical expression he remembered from his youth; her eyes narrowed, a flicker of disbelief in their depths.
“I’m sorry about Dad.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
Draven shot a glance at Lanae, and his whispered question filled Caelum’s head, the echo of it reverberating in his mind.
“He recognized me.” Caelum’s voice cracked, the sound raw and broken. The air thickened, each word catching in his throat. “And then pushed me out of the way of a killing blow.” The memory of his father’s sacrifice seared into his thoughts, a haunting image that lingered like a ghost, its presence chilling his spine.
He worked his throat through a sandy swallow and turned to Jenna. “This is Jenna, the girl I’m going to marry someday.” His eyes met hers, seeing the flicker of surprise and hope dance in her gaze.
Jenna’s hand fluttered over her mouth, her breath hitching. The subtle floral scent she carried wafted toward him, grounding him in the present.
“Jenna, this is my mother.” Even though his voice carried disdain at the woman who slighted Draven, the introduction seemed to warm the chill that surrounded his mother, melting the icy demeanor as she smiled, greeting the fae with much more warmth and charm than she had Draven. The transformation in her demeanor was as more of a slight to Lanae than acceptance of the girl who made his heart ache.
Lanae took Draven’s hand, leading him away as the rest of the Solstice City guards took control of the situation. Caelum hoped that whatever his sister had done to save her dragon wouldn’t drive a wedge between her and Draven because he was rather fond of his brother-in-law.
Healing fae swarmed the grounds, offering their potions and patches to the wounded, Caelum included. And as his side knit with the help of magic, Jenna held his hand, unwilling to let go until long after the sun rose and most of the dead had been cleared away.
WHEN THE LAST OF the wounded were tended to and the only task left was removing the dead from the streets, Lanae turned to Draven. “Take me to the last place you truly felt at peace.” Lanae’s voice drifted over the silence between them, like a gentle caress in the cool night air.
His family home, before the disaster, was where he last found tranquility. The memory brought a pang of loss that tightened his chest. Draven turned to her, his gaze heavy with the past. “It no longer exists.” He glanced around at the city that had been built on his family’s ashes, the scent of smoke and charred wood still lingering in his mind. He muttered an incantation; the ancient words rolled out of his mouth in a whisper, and a portal opened. He pulled her through, the air crackling with residual magic.
They stepped into their bathroom, the warmth and familiarity of the space replacing the turmoil outside.
“But I can take you to the last place I truly experienced every ounce of your love.” He pulled her to his lips and sampled her sweetness, the softness of her mouth against his filling him with a profound sense of belonging. “I am at your command until the day we die, and then I will serve you in the afterlife through eternity,” he murmured, his voice a vow as he held her close.
Lanae pulled away, her eyes searching his. “As enticing as it sounds to have you at my beck and call, I like the side of you that challenges me and argues with me, and growls at me in aggravation. And even the one who goes against my wishes. I free you of this blood curse to obey.”
A ripple of pure magic zipped through him, his skin tingling. He shook as the warm sensation left him, the bond’s release like a weight lifting from his soul.
“Now strip,” she commanded in a sultry tone that pumped all the blood to his nether regions.
“You first, my queen.” He grinned even as the compulsion to tear his clothes off gripped him. But it had nothing to do with her command, and everything to do with wanting her skin against his.
Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t ready for them to be free of strife just yet. A pounding at the front door reverberated through the entire house, each thud sending an irritated itch down Draven’s spine. He dropped his head to Lanae’s, their foreheads touching, and closed his eyes with a sigh. Her scent, a delicate blend of lavender and earth, mingled with the damp air around them.
“Maybe if we’re quiet, they’ll go away,” Lanae whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
A sudden splintering sound echoed through the house, like a gunshot in the stillness, followed by the heavy thud of multiple footsteps in the hall. Draven’s muscles tensed, and a growl ripped from his throat, raw and primal. The bathroom door creaked open, the harsh light from the hallway spilling in, and he locked eyes with the elite guard standing there, his glare cold and unyielding.
“You broke my front door?” Lanae snapped, crossing her arms with haughty defiance.
“You two are requested to appear in front of the council. Now.” The guard’s tone left no room for argument.
Draven ran his hand over his face. The rough stubble scraped against his palm as his mind balked at the order. The cool air of the bathroom contrasted with the warmth of Lanae’s presence beside him. He just wanted to soak in a bath with his wife with no interruptions, letting the soothing water envelop them both.
“I just want a bath,” Lanae whined, her voice carrying a note of desperation. “Can you at least give us that?”
Draven’s lips tilted in a smirk. It was as if she were in his mind, sharing his exact thoughts.
But the guard was not moved by her plea at all. “Now.” The guard’s voice was cold and unyielding as he stepped inside the room, his heavy boots thudding against the tiled floor. He reached for Lanae’s arm, his fingers nearly reaching her skin.
“If you lay a hand on my wife, I will turn you to dust.” Draven’s voice was low and menacing, each word dripping with a promise of retribution.
The guard’s stern expression morphed into fear, his eyes widening as he pulled his hand back to rest on the pommel of his sword. His entire demeanor changed as he sensed the dangerous path he was walking, Draven’s threat hanging heavily in the air.
“There will be time for a bath later,” he said in a more conciliatory tone. “But the council said this was an urgent matter that could not wait.”
“Fine.” Lanae’s frustration pulled her lips down into a scowl. She threaded her fingers through Draven’s, the touch grounding him as they followed the guards out of the house. “Since you broke our door, can one of you stay to make sure we aren’t robbed?” Lanae waved at the splintered front door, her glare sharp and unyielding as she cast it at the guards surrounding them.
They got a nod in return, the guard’s helmet glinting in the morning light as one of them peeled off and stood at their doorstep, his posture rigid, guarding the house as Lanae requested. With the city in a state of chaos from the attack, it was a necessary precaution. Smoke clung to the air, blending with the distant cries of the wounded.
They marched in formation, with two in front of them and three behind. Their footsteps echoed off the cobblestone streets. The rhythm of the march seemed more oppressive than liberating. It reminded him of being led to a death sentence as opposed to an inquisition.
Especially after the last time he had appeared before the council, their chambers filled with the icy tension of judgment. Their prejudice of him as a dragon was as tangible as the smoke still settling on the streets. The scent of charred wood and ash clung to his clothes in a bitter testament to the recent destruction. Destruction he had a hand in rendering.
His view of the cityscape from street level was far different than it had been from the skies. From above, the city had looked like a sprawling network of lights and shadows, but down here, the harsh reality of destruction was impossible to ignore. A bank of buildings crumbling sent a shock wave through him, the ground beneath his feet trembling with the force of the collapse.
Those were the same ones that Alestain’s magic had slammed him into, and the memory of impact flashed through his mind—the searing pain, the explosion of debris, and the sour tang of smoke filling his nostrils. His jaw dropped at the extent of damage his dragon form had caused, the jagged remains of once-proud structures now lying in ruins.
The Citadel stood unharmed in the center of the city, its imposing structure a stark contrast to the surrounding destruction. As they entered the building, the cool air within washed over them, and a symphony of voices rose in the distance, echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. The higher they climbed, the more noise greeted them, a blend of anxious whispers and authoritative commands.
Draven’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a relentless drum in his chest. Lanae’s hand tightened around his, her grip grounding him as they stepped into the ornate council chambers. The room was filled to the brim with fae and other beings, their eyes glittering with curiosity and judgment.
Granger, the guard who had killed Spric and whom both he and Caelum had saved, stood in the center of the council room, his armor covered in battle gore. Silence settled around them like a heavy shroud, making Draven’s ears ring from the abrupt absence of noise.
Granger cleared his throat, the sound resonating in the quiet space. “I haven’t been back in Solstice City for more than a couple of weeks. I had been sent on a secret mission, one requested by Thalorian Nightshade, many years ago.”
Draven’s gaze landed on Lanae’s, and he lifted his eyebrow in a silent question. She shrugged and looked back at Granger.
A rumble of whispering voices filled the room, and even Lanae’s mother looked stunned.
“He sent me to find the last dragon. The one being capable of saving his daughter from the grips of pure evil.” He glanced over his shoulder at Draven and Lanae. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the dragon, but he certainly found Thalorian’s daughter without my intervention.”
“Thalorian never told me this,” Lanae’s mother snapped.
Granger stared her down. “Considering you were the one who begged him to make the original deal with Firetwill, he didn’t think you’d condone my orders.”
Her lips thinned as her dagger-like gaze moved to Draven’s.
“If it pleases the court, I would like to introduce King Draven Emberwing.” He waved at Draven and then dropped to his knee in a formal bow that Draven hadn’t seen since his childhood. The rustle of clothing filled the room as all the people at the floor level and in the stands surrounding the council followed Granger’s lead.
Draven glanced at Lanae in stunned silence for a beat before he spoke, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “And I would like to introduce my queen. Lanae Nightshade Emberwing.” He nodded at her and brought her hand to his lips. Although he was still unsure what to think of the display, especially considering none of the council members took a knee, their gazes unwavering and filled with an air of superiority.
“Step forward,” Faide demanded, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension-filled air.
Granger gave them a warm smile that should have calmed his racing heart, but it was not shared with the council running this city. Their gazes were sharp and condescending as they stared down their noses at him.
