Page 18

“Again,” Aemyra panted, lifting the sword she had borrowed from the Strathaven armory.

Facing off with Maeve, she watched the general wipe the sweat from her brow.

“I yield, my queen.”

The camp was waking up, horses snorting and stamping their feet.

“You still need to teach me how you shot that flaming arrow,” Aemyra said, crossing to the bench where they had discarded their waterskins.

Maeve grinned. “Gladly, Your Grace, although with your aim I highly doubt you will hit the target regardless of whether the arrow is flaming or not.”

Allowing the insult, Aemyra drank deeply from her flask. Flying for four days around the Sunset Isle before crossing to Strathaven had solidified her Bond with Terrea. When they had rejoined her army, Aemyra felt ready to step into her role as queen.

Summoning fire to her palm, Aemyra turned back toward Maeve. “Shall we continue?”

The general looked longingly toward the breakfast tent. “Might we have some porridge first? I don’t think you will see battle for a few weeks at least.”

Suddenly a roar sounded above them, horses whinnying shrilly as they tried to flee the emerald dragon that had emerged from the mist.

“Famous last words,” Aemyra muttered, dropping her flask back onto the bench as Draevan guided Gealach to land on the beach far below.

The dragon made a tight turn, his left wing almost clipping the cliff face as he descended to the sand.

“He’s in a hurry,” Maeve mused.

No sooner had a concerned look passed between them than they rushed out of camp. People were popping their heads out of their tents at the commotion and Aemyra’s boots thudded on the hard ground as she raced to her father. There could be any number of reasons why he had returned with such urgency.

“If Clan Leòmhann will not support me…”

Maeve was shaking her head. “We’ll worry about that if your father confirms it.”

Aemyra jumped over tent ropes and dodged smoldering campfires with her thoughts racing. What if the chimeras had already sided with Evander? Fiorean could have been sent there as an envoy with Aervor before Draevan had arrived. Or what if Draevan had received news from Balnain—had her small fleet of ships been burned before they had even set sail?

She didn’t let herself finish the thought as she hurried down the cliff path toward the beach, the heavy garnet bouncing in her pocket. Maeve was right, better to let Draevan bring her the news and then she could act accordingly.

Slipping slightly on the crumbling path, Aemyra held on to the heather sprouting out of the side of the rock to make sure she didn’t tumble right over the edge.

As soon as her boots hit the sand, she was running again.

Draevan dismounted heavily from Gealach, the dragon’s sides heaving as he drew in lungfuls of air through his fluted nostrils. Evidently Draevan had pushed him hard on their flight back.

Aemyra’s anxieties grew.

“Father!” she called out, not caring if it was undignified for a queen to be seen racing across a beach toward a relative.

Draevan lifted his head, already pulling off his leather gloves, his auburn hair escaping its knot.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Aemyra asked, skidding to a stop. He had been gone for just over a week, what could possibly have gone wrong in that time?

Draevan approached her carefully, like she was a horse that might spook, before nodding a greeting to his most trusted general.

Aemyra knew the look of grief that was etched onto her father’s face. Something was very wrong.

“What happened?” she repeated. “Did Clan Leòmhann not agree to support my claim? Will the west fight for Evander?”

Wanting to strangle the news out of her father, Aemyra waited with her heart in her mouth as Gealach yawned, his massive jaw parting to reveal the fire that lurked at the back of his throat.

Maeve spoke when the silence stretched. “Laird Camryn has been cooperating nicely. Strathaven has an excellent armory, and a well-stocked granary—”

“My news concerns your younger brother, Lachlann,” Draevan interrupted, as if he had finally found the strength to say it. “And your adoptive parents.”

White-hot fear stabbed through Aemyra’s gut.

“I received a messenger swyft this morning with the news that they have been killed.”

Aemyra couldn’t breathe. Her lungs closed up, and she made a choking sound that caused Maeve to hurry to her side. Shaking her head as if she could banish the words from her ears, Aemyra pushed the woman away.

No. Not Lachlann. He couldn’t be gone. They couldn’t be.

A world without her baby brother was unthinkable. Aemyra had wanted to change the world for him, had even begun hoping he might one day Bond to a dragon of his own.

“No. No, it can’t be true.”

Her path forward suddenly grew hazy, the weight of grief on her soul shaking the very foundation of her beliefs. Lachlann had been delivered into her arms, she had cut the cord tying him to Orlagh and…

Orlagh.

A keening sound made its way up her throat before she could stop it. This grief was too much. Losing one of them would have been impossible to bear, but losing all three?

Aemyra staggered as the beach spun and she blinked to clear her vision. She growled at Draevan.

“Who?”

Her father’s eyes were haunted. Straightening himself, he drew a deep breath in through his nose.

“Evander ordered a sweep of the city to find anyone with ties to you. Athair Alfred, the leader of the Chosen and Katherine’s closest companion, sent fifty Covenanters out to assist the city guards. They found your family as they tried to escape. The three of them were taken into custody and when they refused to give information, Prince Fiorean gave the order for his dragon to execute them in the caisteal courtyard.”

Aemyra became aware that someone was screaming. Screaming so loudly that Gealach roared in protest and took flight.

It wasn’t until she felt Maeve’s arms restraining her that Aemyra became aware the noise was coming from her.

“Let me go!” she yelled, trying to claw her way out of the general’s grip.

Maeve, while strong, was no match for Aemyra’s magic as it exploded out of her. Maeve leaped backward to avoid being burned as the rage and grief poured out of Aemyra in great tongues of flame. The few longboats that had been hauled up onto the beach were incinerated, the crimson and gold banners staked into the ground turned to ash within seconds. The golden dragons of the Daercathian clan’s crest melted like they didn’t matter anymore.

Because they didn’t. Her baby brother was dead. Pàdraig and Or—

Terrea’s roar could be heard above the camp as the beathach felt her pain. Aemyra wasn’t sure if it was a human scream coming from her mouth or a dragon’s roar as she felt embers choking in her throat.

“You promised me,” she roared at her father.

Shaking with the effort of bringing her magic back under control, she launched herself toward the cliff path. She didn’t make it two steps before Draevan pulled her back, trapping her arms to her sides in a viselike grip. Her father’s own magic shielding him from hers.

“Let go of me! I will kill him. I will make Fiorean pay for this!” Aemyra screamed, struggling against her father’s grip as stinging tears flooded her eyes. “I have Terrea. I have the biggest chance of killing him. Let me go!”

Draevan said nothing and continued to hold her until she had struggled herself into exhaustion, cinders drifting across the beach like dark snow.

Her flames finally winking out, the air thick with smoke, Aemyra collapsed against her father.

“It’s my fault. I should have killed Fiorean when I had the chance. If I hadn’t shown him mercy when we escaped, they would still be alive.”

The words came out between wracking sobs, and her father held her in his embrace without contradicting her.

Because Draevan agreed.

The weight of the garnet she carried in her pocket felt unbearable.

“I will avenge my family. You cannot stop me,” Aemyra swore, her voice thick with tears.

Draevan finally released her and sat back heavily on the ground as if he didn’t have the energy to stand.

“We will get revenge by reclaiming your throne,” Draevan said, his words low and threatening.

Maeve was staring down at Draevan, waiting for his next order.

“We move our forces south at first light the day after tomorrow,” Draevan said, his voice dripping with poison and his eyes far away. “We join with Adarian at Atholl and march onward to the northern Forc, where the Balnain fleet lies in wait.”

Aemyra blinked away her tears and remembered that she was supposed to be the queen. She needed to be stronger than this. She had to learn how to bear this grief before she broke the news to her twin.

Blessed Brigid, how could she tell Adarian?

“The river lords stand with the queen the Goddess chose. As you can see from our camp, Strathaven is mobilizing as we speak,” Maeve reported.

Screwing up her eyes, Aemyra stood.

Praying to all of the Goddesses that Adarian would not blame her for the death of their loved ones, she could see only one way to absolve herself.

Draevan was already lost in his plans. “I will leave you alone this evening. There is much I must discuss with Laird Camryn before we depart.”

Her fury giving way to an exhaustion so complete, it was an effort for Aemyra to even make it to the top of the cliff path, never mind into the lavishly furnished rooms that Laird Camryn had provided for her in Caisteal Stratha.

Finally reaching them, she collapsed on top of her bedcovers. She lay there smothered in grief, her leathers still on, pillow growing damp beneath her face as the day wore on. As the soldiers outside the caisteal walls prepared for war, Aemyra hardened her heart for vengeance.

—

Creeping silently out of her room, Aemyra wound through the airy corridors, the smell of the sea blowing in through the open windows.

Aemyra cursed the poorly oiled hinges of the door that led to the room her council had commandeered.

Igniting a small flame at her fingertip, Aemyra slipped inside. Scanning the disordered spread of maps, several chairs, and candle stubs, her eyes fell on the desk beside the window. Aemyra rifled through every swyft correspondence that had reached them here in Strathaven until she found what she was looking for.

Reading by the light of her own flame, Aemyra hardened her heart when she realized how much her father had kept from her.

He knew exactly where Fiorean was.

None of the guards stopped Aemyra as she left, heading for the cliffs where Terrea and Gealach had made their nests. Her father’s dragon was snoring softly, resting after his long flight from àird Caolas. The she-dragon was awake and waiting for her Dùileach.

Her crested head resting on dark claws, Terrea sent a multitude of thoughts and feelings down the Bond. There was sadness of course, a touch of confusion, and an overwhelming amount of empathy. Enough to make Aemyra wonder what her dragon had endured throughout her long life.

Aemyra reached up to stroke the softer scales between Terrea’s jaw and neck, marveling at the fact that she was able to get so close to such a mighty creature. Her heart gave a painful thump as she realized Lachlann would never get to meet her beathach.

Squeezing her eyes shut before the tears could overwhelm her, Aemyra pressed her forehead to Terrea’s cheek.

“I have to do this,” she whispered. “I have to be the kind of queen who won’t let senseless violence stand.”

Terrea agreed with a low growl, getting to her feet. No sooner was the dragon up than Aemyra was hoisting herself onto her broad back.

Gealach didn’t stir as Terrea drifted from the cliff top on whisper-soft wings, the two of them soaring east, in search of the person who had dared harm those dear to a queen.