Page 13

“Where are they?” Aemyra yelled across the cabin of the creaking vessel.

Draevan had his palms pressed on the table that sat between them, his torso bent over the maps.

“I already told you, I don’t know. Perhaps the harbormaster was mistaken, or maybe Orlagh was busy with a patient,” her father said. “There could be any number of reasons why they didn’t make it to the ship.”

Aemyra pointed her index finger into his face, too far gone in her worry to think better of it.

“You better hope that they get out after us,” she seethed.

They hadn’t even arrived on the Sunset Isle yet and tensions were already growing. The passage through Loch Lorna, past the Deàrr Mountains, and out into the sea had been remarkably uneventful. Mostly thanks to Iona, who had plucked Aemyra from the loch and guarded them from dragonfire as they escaped the city.

But every moment they sailed farther away from the mainland, Aemyra felt as if cold hands were gripping her heart. With the knowledge that her family hadn’t escaped àird Lasair when they should have, she had no idea if Orlagh, Pàdraig, and Lachlann were alive or dead. She could only hope Sorcha had sequestered them in her tavern. Everyone who had been publicly involved with Aemyra was now in danger.

“Fucking Hela,” Aemyra cursed, slamming her hand down on top of the table.

They had known to get out at the first sign of trouble. Berths had been purchased, supplies smuggled. If any of them were caught…

The image of the arrow buried in Kenna’s back swam through her mind and Aemyra clapped a hand over her mouth as the ship swayed.

They were sailing through the waters of the Saiphir Sea, skirting the border of Tìr Uisge. Despite frequent raiding parties and skirmishes, the waters had been empty save for a gray kelpie Aemyra had spotted dancing across the surface of the water on the other side of the treaty line. While the kelpie had been beautiful, Aemyra mourned the loss of her desired beathach more than she cared to admit.

Kolreath was Bonded to Evander.

There was no undoing a Bond, save for killing one of them, and despite Draevan’s bloodlust where the àird Lasair faction of the clan was concerned, Aemyra wasn’t sure that she shared his sentiments. She would have ended Fiorean’s life to save her own, but she wasn’t about to murder him in his bed in order to claim Aervor.

“Find me a way to get the throne back without further bloodshed,” Aemyra ordered her father, plucking Kenna’s scroll from the table.

Draevan looked up at her, his auburn hair tangled from the fierce sea winds.

“I can assure you that further bloodshed is necessary,” he replied. “Thanks to you not killing Fiorean when you had the chance.”

Aemyra scowled as she fingered the edges of the parchment. “I want to be a queen the people deserve. Not a monster who kills members of her own clan.”

Draevan fixed her with a pitying look. “You are of the same clan, but not kin. Fiorean would not have hesitated to slit your throat, had he been given the opportunity. Knowing Katherine, those were her exact orders.”

Feeling like she wanted to scream, Aemyra clenched her fists together as her father scanned the maps in front of him.

“The time for fairness is over,” Draevan said, his words vengeful. “From now on, whoever takes up arms against us must die. Even our own clan.”

Taking a breath, Aemyra stood a little straighter—hard to do when the ship was rocking from side to side in the waves.

“I would like to remain a queen that my people can support without fear of losing their lives,” she said, smoothing the now crumpled scroll.

Draevan ignored her, gesturing to the western edge of a smaller map. “We will arrive on the Sunset Isle shortly.” Her father closed his eyes for a moment to commune with his dragon, before opening them again. “Katherine was as prepared as we were for the king’s death. She had the Covenanters hiding in the caisteal, waiting to strike. They likely snuck through the Blackridge Mountains before the weather turned during winter solstice.”

Aemyra squinted at the map and pointed to Tìr ùir. “Could more come through the Eternal Forest?”

Draevan was already shaking his head. “That would be a death sentence with the earth Dùileach sheltering there. Not to mention how treacherous the passes are in midwinter.” His eyes glanced toward the Smàrag Sea. “But there is nothing stopping more of them from taking the ship instead.”

The inside of the cabin suddenly felt airless. Katherine had never fully severed ties with Tìr ùir, where her father was the admiral.

Biting her wind-chapped lips, Aemyra turned to gaze out of the window behind her. She couldn’t even see mainland Tìr Teine anymore and she felt cast adrift in more ways than one, the scent of the sea enveloping her.

Kenna had been killed. Her family and Sorcha were missing.

Fighting the nausea that roiled through her gut, Aemyra swallowed.

“Kolreath and Aervor haven’t come after us. Perhaps they have already flown to Eshader Port to ready it for the ùir armada,” she said.

Draevan was quiet as he pulled a smaller map in front of him, a more detailed drawing of fire territory.

“They won’t dare attack the ship now that Gealach is overhead. Nor would they go so far as to seek help from Clan Iolairean. The phoenixes worship the ways of the Goddess even more loyally than we do. But perhaps Clan Leòmhann might be persuaded to support Evander. Their chimeras would be lethal fighting on the ground.”

The small whitecaps beyond the salt-encrusted window rose and fell as Aemyra contemplated the enormity of the task before her.

Convince an entire territory to support her as queen when the rest of her clan didn’t.

“My cousins will be waiting for us on the Sunset Isle. We are not alone in this,” Draevan said, correctly interpreting the stiffness of her shoulders.

Aemyra sighed. “What if they won’t support me either?” she asked, turning back to face her father.

He straightened. “They know better.”

Dorchadas gleamed darkly at his hip, a permanent reminder of how far her father was willing to go to ensure her rule.

Draevan followed her gaze and placed his hands lazily on the hilt. “They would not dare betray me. I didn’t marry the late Laird Fenella blindly. The woman was sickly, but she was powerful in both wit and title. Balnain will prove essential to our cause.”

Tucking behind her ear a strand of hair that had escaped from her long braid, Aemyra wished there was something more she could do. Some alliance she could bring to the table.

Her thoughts drifted once more to wings and fire before she squashed them down.

“Balnain sits directly in the middle of Tìr Teine. You mean to cut off Katherine’s allies before they can group together…” Aemyra said as her eyes darted across the map.

Draevan tapped the two coastal towns in the northwest corner of the map.

“We cut the territory in half at the Forc. No army will cross the river, for fear of ambush, and no caravan will take the road, for fear of the same,” Draevan said, mouth tight.

Aemyra’s eyes were still scanning the map, looking for potential allies.

“What of ships?” she asked. “If Katherine has time to rally the armada from ùir, we are doomed. There is no naval force in Tìr Teine to match it,” Aemyra said, looking toward the river that almost bisected her territory. If Katherine sent ships up the Forc, and had their forces converge on it…there would be no question of Evander winning this war.

Draevan took a large swig of wine and tore his eyes away from the map. “We have much to think over. Rest until we dock this evening. Gealach is keeping watch.”

Fear bit at Aemyra’s chest. She needed to be stronger if she had a hope of leading her clan, never mind ruling all of Tìr Teine.

Aemyra suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe in the stuffy cabin.

“I need to get some air,” she ground out, her boots loud on the wooden floor as she passed her father and threw open the door. Her dark blue tartan dress was held up to mid-calf with a thick belt, since her breeches and shirt had been ruined during the fight with Fiorean.

Storming up the steps and banging her elbow as the ship rocked, Aemyra emerged blinking into the sunlight.

The deck was busy with sailors shouting orders. The few Dùileach who had also escaped were using their collective powers to help steer and protect the ship.

Aemyra crossed over to the rail and stuck her face into the wind, hoping it would calm her racing mind. Laughter caught her ears and she turned to see the ship’s cat dancing around the deck, orange tail swishing in agitation, with his gaze fixed on the seagulls in the sky.

Iona was straddling the railing, throwing scraps of fish to the sharks as she altered currents and calmed the waves around them.

The queen’s guard had made it out of àird Lasair unscathed, and she spotted Clea across the deck. The air Dùileach’s magic filled the snowy white sails that stretched into the cerulean sky.

“Aems!” Adarian called out, hopping down from the rigging like he had been born a sailor. “Any news?”

Hair blowing over her face, she grabbed the fly-aways and tucked them behind her ears.

“No,” she said quietly, looking into the water. “We just have to pray to Cailleach that they are safe.”

Adarian’s face was downcast, but he nodded. “I am sure of it. Orlagh and Pàdraig knew the plan. They will get Lachlann out before anything happens.”

Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought of what might have happened to those who had pledged themselves to her. If the priestesses had been harmed because of their oaths…

Adarian looked concerned. “I thought you got over the seasickness yesterday?”

She accepted the waterskin he handed her. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this infernal swaying.”

In comparison, Iona was quite literally in her element as she jumped overboard to swim with the sharks.

Aemyra summoned a small flame into her palm. “Fire isn’t much use out here,” she said miserably. “All those years we hid the extent of what we could do, trusting that it was the right thing. Now look at where keeping secrets has gotten us.”

Like she had been doing for four days, Aemyra dipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and rubbed her thumb over the smooth garnet that was as large as a quail’s egg.

“I had hoped we could avoid outright war,” she whispered.

Her brother looked north, over the great expanse of ocean, toward where the conflict-ridden Tìr Uisge lay.

“I think war was coming for us whether we wanted it or not,” Adarian said. “This is bigger than who sits the throne, Aemyra. We may be the last territory they have touched, but the Chosen will not stop until they have driven the ways of the Goddesses from the hearts and minds of every citizen of Erisocia. If Katherine and Evander plan to let that happen, you would have had to stop them eventually.” He looked across the deck to where a sailor was securing a length of rope. “When they have torn down our temples, they will go after the beathaichean.”

Adarian motioned for the sailor to join them at the rail. He was young, but with a generous smattering of gray in his dark hair.

“Martyn, would you share your story with my sister?” Adarian asked.

Aemyra turned to the air Dùileach, recognizing him as Clea’s partner.

“Your Majesty,” Martyn said, with a bow of his head. “The Chosen journeyed to Port Astra last year. They spent months convincing people that Dùileach were trying to oppress those with no magic.” Martyn shifted his feet uncomfortably. “The priests spread rumors that Bonding granted individuals too much power and made them unstable. Non-Dùileach grew fearful, and our own people rioted against us.”

Grief lined his face, and Aemyra remained silent. Tìr Adhair was no stranger to civil wars, but never before between Dùileach and non-Dùileach.

“Clea’s Bonded simurgh was felled by an arrow,” Martyn said, his voice trembling. “Mine clawed out the eyes of three priests before a club finally made contact with his skull.”

Aemyra suddenly understood the haunted look in his eyes. Both Martyn and Clea had lost their beathaichean and would stop at nothing to overthrow the True Religion now. Her father hadn’t only recruited talented Dùileach to their cause, he was already building her an army fueled by loyalty.

Martyn was called away by the quartermaster and Adarian stepped closer to her.

“Tìr Teine might only have three dragons left, but the Chosen have failed to overthrow this territory because of them,” Adarian said.

“Two of those dragons are now fighting for the royals,” Aemyra said dejectedly. “Who have clearly sided with the True Religion thanks to Katherine’s influence. I wish Father had succeeded in his coup to prevent her from marrying King Haedren, our territory would be stronger for it.”

Adarian shook his head. “It’s well known that Haedren wanted the ùir armada to strengthen our territory. His actions in marrying Katherine were misguided but well intentioned.”

“You defend a mad king who allowed the Covenanters to infiltrate his own caisteal?”

“We all make mistakes, Aemyra,” he said quietly.

Aemyra clutched the rail as she struggled to keep her magic contained as she thought of how she had let Kolreath slip through her fingers. “Why do the Chosen hate Dùileach so much? What have we ever done to them?”

Her brother continued searching the horizon and shrugged. “Because we were born with power and they were not. They saw their chance to take it for themselves in Tìr ùir after the Fifty Year War.” Adarian turned to her. “But we were gifted our power, while the Chosen take it. And those who grasp for power will never keep it.”

Aemyra felt the truth in his words, but it didn’t make her feel much better.

“I have grasped for power,” she said dejectedly.

To her surprise, Adarian smiled. “No. Father grasps for power. He is the one down there poring over maps and charts and sending silver swyfts with messages to everyone who owes him a favor. You are up here worrying about the fate of those we left behind in àird Lasair.” He gave her a nudge. “You might want to be queen, but you want it for the right reasons.”

A member of the crew called out to Adarian and with a quick clap on his sister’s back, he went to lend his strength to unfurl the second sail.

Removing her hands from the rail, she left behind two charred handprints before sinking down onto the step. Running her fingers over the healing cut on her palm, she hated that the priestesses’ oaths had come to nothing. The public declaration hadn’t made any difference, and now she was returning to Penryth without a crown.

Checking the bandage around her right bicep, she comforted herself in knowing that she had at least escaped with her life. There had been a moment when she had heard Fiorean’s arrow loose from his bow that she hadn’t been so sure.

Given that Aemyra had dueled who she was sure was the best swordsman in àird Lasair and lived to tell the tale, she should be grateful that she wasn’t more wounded.

Remembering the way she had cracked Fiorean’s head against the cobblestones, she refused to feel sorry for it. If she hadn’t been completely ruthless, he would have killed her. Draevan had confirmed as much. At least Evander had been too concerned for his brother to set Kolreath after the ship. By the time they were behind Iona’s shields, the dragon could not reach them.

Before she could think too much about the fear in Fiorean’s eyes as she had thrust her dagger toward his face, a shout went up from the bow. Aemyra jumped to her feet, automatically scanning the skies.

Iona hopped up onto the deck, riding a wave of her own creation, her palms holding swirling torrents of water. Following her lead, Aemyra summoned her flame. Although, if Fiorean and Evander had finally found them and decided to attack with two dragons, Iona’s shields might not be enough to protect them.

An earsplitting screech rent the air and Aemyra steeled herself, wishing that she still had her sword.

Striding for her twin, she met him in the middle of the deck, both automatically assuming fighting positions back-to-back. The clouds above them swirled and Aemyra held her breath, ready for whatever appeared.

Before she could summon more flame, Draevan strode from belowdecks, his auburn hair falling from its knot, a grin on his face.

“Stand down!” he commanded the crew, utterly at ease.

Gealach, her father’s enormous emerald dragon, sailed out from the clouds with his wings spread wide.

When Gealach opened his massive jaws, Aemyra glimpsed rows of dagger-sharp teeth before he loosed a tongue of fire so hot that even she flinched from it.

The ship’s cat sprinted belowdecks, but Draevan gazed lovingly up at his dragon, as if the mere presence of his beathach lifted his spirits.

As the viridescent scales glittered in the sunlight, Aemyra watched the wing membranes ripple as Gealach banked to circle overhead. At over a hundred years of age, the dragon was twice as long as the ship and immensely powerful.

Running across the deck, Aemyra hoisted herself up into the rigging, needing to get closer to the dragon. The rocking of the ship and her skirts made it difficult to get her footing in the ropes. With her shoulders protesting, she clambered into the crow’s nest.

The air Dùileach funneled more wind into the sails and the ship juddered as it attempted to keep up with the dragon.

Gealach completed his circle around the ship and banked to fly overhead once more. Aemyra watched him approach, feeling smaller than she ever had before. She had never seen her father’s dragon this close and was surprised when she could make out several scars on his underbelly and wings. Whether they were from long-ago fights with other dragons, or from battles fought with Draevan, she didn’t know.

As the dragon passed directly overhead, Aemyra tilted her face back and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Without conscious thought, she raised her hand above her head as if she might be able to brush her fingertips across those scales, just to know what they felt like.

Just once.

But Gealach didn’t pause his flight, nor did he hesitate as he flew west to where Aemyra could just about see the outline of the Sunset Isle from her perch.

Tears flowing freely down her cheeks, she watched as Penryth came into view and its beauty hit her like a punch in the gut.

The sun was beginning its descent in a furious flush of oranges and dusky pinks behind a singular mountain that loomed so large, she felt as if Gealach himself would not be able to fly above it.

Beinn Deataiche, the Mountain of Smoke. The jagged peak was covered in snow, and the slopes were cast in its shadow. With the sunset staining the water in a spectacular array of color, and the mountain dominating the dense forest that sprawled across the rest of the isle, Aemyra knew why it had been named as such.

If she thought that she felt close to Brigid in the temple, it was nothing compared to this. This place was…ethereal.

Goddess, she had missed it.

As Gealach spread his wings and loosed a roar loud enough to shake the foundations of the great mountain, Aemyra felt tears wet her cheeks as she returned home.

She might not be Bonded, but she was still the queen.

Remaining in the crow’s nest as the crew sailed them through the rocky shores that led to the deep inlet where her father’s caisteal sat, Aemyra tried to envision the future that now lay ahead of her.

An exiled queen fighting Covenanters and clansmen without a dragon.

How could she ever hope to succeed?