Page 19

The flight had taken the rest of the night, and the entirety of the next day.

The Blackridge Mountains, marking the border between Tìr Teine and the cursed Tìr Sgàile, loomed miles ahead. As Terrea’s night-dark scales rippled in the moonlight, Aemyra considered the fact that she would never see what lay beyond the mountains now that she was Bonded.

It did not matter. Her priority was Tìr Teine, and the safety of her people. For that reason, Fiorean and Evander had to be stopped.

As Terrea’s dark wings bore them silently through the sky toward Fiorean’s last known location, Aemyra hoped they wouldn’t run into Aervor. Despite the cobalt dragon being younger than Terrea, with a good fifty years of growing to do before he caught up with the other male dragons, he had been Bonded to Fiorean for more than a decade.

Terrea was ferocious, that much was without doubt, but Aemyra wasn’t ready to do battle on her back. A fight between dragons was deadly to all who participated. The Battle of the Five Brothers in 1833 had proven as much.

With a nervous swallow, Aemyra sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She had inherited her father’s ability to scheme and had grown up with a commoner’s knack for observation.

Aemyra had an entirely different plan.

Several hours later, the moon filtered down through bare tree branches to dapple the forest floor. Having bid Terrea remain airborne, Aemyra had resigned herself to a long walk.

With no idea how to track a person through the tangle of trees, nor the ability to hunt for her supper, she pricked up her ears and gathered her wits. Hiking deeper into the forest, she decided to use the skills she did possess to find the inn Fiorean had been sighted at.

Aemyra headed out of the tangle of trees toward the dirt path that snaked through the Silent Forest, deciding to lurk in the shadows and see what she could overhear from travelers passing through.

Fiorean wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous character, with his tall frame and auburn hair. If he was nearby, someone would have seen him.

Realizing the same could be said about herself, Aemyra turned her cloak inside out so that the plainer side was visible and scooped up some mud from the ground, smearing it on her cheeks and around her hairline. Then she pulled up her hood.

Hearing the creaking of wheels on the road, Aemyra slipped behind a tree and fell silent. There were men talking in loud voices, clearly not afraid of being overheard. Chancing a glance around the thick trunk, she saw a wagon driven by a portly man, three others lounging in the cart behind him. They all seemed mildly inebriated.

“Just up ahead, lads,” the driver said with a sigh.

The inn.

Pulling her cloak around her, she followed the wagon from the tree line until a pleasant-looking building with clean windows emerged in a clearing. The inside seemed cozy and inviting and Aemyra’s stomach growled. What she wouldn’t give for a mug of ale and one of Sorcha’s hot pies.

None of Draevan’s correspondence had said a word about her former lover, and Aemyra prayed that Sorcha was still alive.

As the men disappeared through the open door, Aemyra resigned herself to a long wait.

After an hour spent freezing her toes off, she hadn’t heard anything of note and was cursing every Daercathian who called àird Lasair home.

“That great bloody dragon…”

The words washed over Aemyra, jolting her out of a stupor, and she snapped her head up in the direction of the voice. It was a young man. Slim, but tall. She couldn’t make out what clan tartan he was wearing.

“Aye, saw it yesterday when we came back from hunting. Damn near gave us a heart attack. Then that prince was trying to encourage us to give up the boar we’d caught to feed his dragon. Not like we ain’t starving or nothing.” He belched softly. “Bloody royals think because they have magic, they’re entitled to everything. The more I hear those priests talk, the more sense they make.”

Aemyra’s eyes narrowed. A prince and a dragon deep within the Silent Forest made no sense.

Unless…

The Covenanters.

The main trade route through the Blackridge Mountains toward Tìr ùir passed directly through the Silent Forest. Fiorean was either trying to control trade to other territories, or swell the ranks of Evander’s army with the militia of the True Religion.

Borrowed sword heavy across her back, Aemyra prayed Fiorean was indeed inside. He would pay for his affront to the Goddesses, and for what he had done to her family, with his life.

She waited until the hunter had wandered off to take a piss in the trees before she made her move.

“Who the fuck is—” he started to say, one hand clutching his limp dick. But he fell silent when he saw her face under the hood.

“Well, it’s a bit small right now, love, but give it a minute in your warm hands and it’ll soon do the job,” he said, licking his lips.

Aemyra felt her gorge rise. No wonder this man loved the Chosen if this was how he viewed women. She looked at his face. “I heard you talking about the Daercathian prince. Is he inside?”

Finished pissing, he began working his cock in one hand and pursing his lips at her. “I’ll tell you if you give me a kiss.”

Aemyra’s lip curled in revulsion.

As he stumbled toward her, she grasped her dagger and moved it so swiftly that the man didn’t notice until the cold steel was touching his stiffening penis.

“You have one more chance to answer me before your favorite appendage becomes a snack for the wolves. Where is Prince Fiorean?” she asked firmly.

The man began shaking, cock rapidly shriveling in his hand.

“He’s inside!” the hunter whispered hoarsely. “He pulled us from the mud when our horses threw us off and brought us up to the inn. He has a room at the top of the stairs.”

Aemyra’s chest contracted painfully. Fiorean had been here the whole time.

“Thank you. You have been most helpful,” she muttered, letting her dagger drop from what was now just his fist, his cock having retreated in fear. Not wanting him to run off and warn anyone of her presence, Aemyra struck him once on the temple with the pommel of her dagger, and he sank to the hard ground with a muffled thump.

Hoping that anyone who stumbled across him would assume he was just drunk, Aemyra moved into the shadows.

Her heart was pounding, and she tried not to think about her baby brother lest she lose control of her magic. She was so close to her vengeance.

She crouched down behind a fallen tree trunk and tried to glimpse Fiorean through the candlelit windows. The inn seemed crowded at this late hour, but she’d easily spot his auburn hair. Her father’s words rattled against her skull.

Prince Fiorean gave the order for his dragon to execute them in the caisteal courtyard.

Had her little brother known that death awaited him? Had Fiorean taunted her parents before commanding his dragon to burn them alive?

Fire Dùileach were no strangers to burns, but even the strongest magical shields could not protect them from dragonfire. Aemyra screwed her eyes shut against the grief and knew this was where her war would truly begin.

The door of the inn opened.

A hooded figure strode from the entrance, his silhouette illuminated by the roaring fire inside. She couldn’t make out any of his features, but she recognized his walk from when he had visited the forge.

It was Fiorean.

Adrenaline surging in her veins, she made to follow him at a distance, doing everything she could not to accidentally step on a twig or bramble.

This was better than she could have hoped for. She had him alone and without Aervor.

He was walking swiftly into the forest with the stride of a man who had nothing to fear.

Tonight, she would make sure he feared her before he died.

Aemyra lurked behind the trees, the forest around them peppered with shards of moonlight as she watched his cloak billow with his momentum.

“Stop skulking in the woods, Princess. It is unseemly,” he drawled.

Fucking Hela.

Heart pounding against her rib cage, she stepped out onto the soggy path. Fiorean did not turn.

She could try throwing her dagger and hope that it embedded itself in the meaty part of his back. It was unlikely, her throwing arm frequently went wide.

Fiorean turned slowly, his face moon-pale beneath his hood.

Dropping the pretenses, Aemyra pulled her own hood off and unbuttoned her cloak. She didn’t want it getting in the way of her sword.

Fiorean had the gall to smirk. “You can keep your clothes on, Princess. Unlike my brother, I am a gentleman.”

Her temper sparked. There was nothing gentlemanly about this prince who had taken her family from her.

“Last time I took your jewel, but tonight I will take your tongue,” she seethed, holding up the garnet between her thumb and forefinger.

Fiorean cocked his head. “I see that you have been loath to part with me.”

“It has been serving as a reminder,” she spat.

“Of what? My good looks?”

“Of your murderous inclinations. Of the fact that I failed my family when I showed you mercy.”

Fiorean stepped toward her lazily, hands still clasped behind his back. Each stride full of purposeful intent. Aemyra held her ground.

“How is dear Draevan? I do hope that he isn’t too fragile after the unraveling of all his carefully laid plans. I am sure your father is despairing at having sired such a pathetic daughter who couldn’t even hold on to her crown for a day.”

Aemyra drew her sword, wishing it was the magic-forged weapon she had been forced to part with the day she had fled àird Lasair.

Fiorean continued advancing, his left hand caressing a dagger strapped around his narrow hips.

“Does your twin blame you? I would, if it were me. Forced to play prince because his big sister didn’t know her place in the world. Perhaps you will lose him next.”

Having heard enough, Aemyra swung first. Fiorean ducked as she parried and then ducked again. He dodged her blade no matter where she swung it, his hands still empty.

“Fight me, you coward,” she spat at him, bristling with anger.

“Are you sure you are ready for that, Princess?” he taunted, opening his cloak and palming the scabbard of a new sword.

Aemyra rocked on the balls of her feet. “No embellishments on this one. You’re learning,” she said, eyeing the plain hilt. “I beat you once. And this time I won’t show you mercy.”

Fiorean’s eyes gleamed. “No magic?”

Aemyra shook her head, despite the flames crackling in her throat. “I want to see the light leave your eyes.”

Fiorean drew his sword so quickly that she barely had time to brace for the attack. With the darkness still thick around them, Aemyra had hoped he would be at more of a disadvantage. To her surprise, he seemed to prefer the shadows.

Bracing for each ruthless assault, her muscles screamed as she circled him to get her breath back, his sword pointed toward her chest.

“You should have finished it when you had the chance. I won’t let you get that close again,” Fiorean promised.

Bending her knees, Aemyra aimed low, but Fiorean was ready, blocking the blow and aiming a punch with his other hand that landed on her cheek. Reeling, she stumbled backward, barely getting her sword up in time to block his next swing.

He was unyielding, and even though she knew he was tiring her out, she was powerless to do anything but defend against his every move. Her legs began to tremble and she unsheathed her dagger, attempting to use her sword to swing and her dagger to thrust. But each time he danced out of the way like he had endless reserves of energy, auburn hair flying around him like a curtain of blood.

Aemyra’s breath was coming in great gasps and her arms felt like lead, but still she fought.

“You are the reason people have begun dying. This territory was at peace, and now you have started a war,” he said venomously.

The words hit Aemyra like a punch in the gut as he struck her forearm with the pommel of his sword, her fingers releasing the dagger unwillingly.

Forgetting her earlier promise, Aemyra threw tongues of fire toward him, planting her feet in the dirt and letting them snake around his body. She had hoped that her fire would trap him, leaving him open to attack, but she hesitated when Fiorean simply extended his hands and stepped through it.

His shields were powerful enough to withstand even her amplified magic.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled more fire from that great well of power that lurked inside of her, careful not to take any from Terrea and give away her best advantage. Aemyra was forced to duck and then roll across the dirt again to avoid Fiorean’s whip of fire that almost lashed around her ankle.

“You might have considerable power,” Fiorean drawled, “but you do not yet understand how to use it.”

His words made Aemyra furious. Orlagh and Pàdraig had taught her everything she needed to know about her magic. She might have been forced to keep the extent of it a secret, but using her fire felt as natural to her as breathing.

Throwing a cascade of golden flames from her palms, she cursed when Fiorean dodged them. Before she could react, thick smoke began billowing toward her. His long fingers guided the inky darkness, emerald eyes shadowed.

Sending forth bursts of flame did no good. The smoke parted but did not slow its advance, and Aemyra took several steps backward, heart racing. She could no longer see Fiorean.

Terrea’s frightened roar echoed in her mind and Aemyra mentally slammed their connection closed. If Aervor was close by, Aemyra wanted Terrea out of harm’s way.

Tightening her grip on the sword, flames crackling between the fingers of her other hand, she braced herself.

Smoke engulfed her, setting her eyes streaming and her throat tightening until white spots burst in front of her eyes. Aemyra’s fire died out completely as she fought for breath, automatically crouching lower, seeking out any clear air she could find.

The smoke parted, moonlight gilding the trees around them and illuminating the black armor of the men who now surrounded her.

Covenanters.

Fiorean’s smile did not reach his eyes as he stared down at her. “For one who proclaims to be queen, you are rather na?ve.”

Clawing at the dirt as the smoke choked down her throat, Aemyra cursed her own stupidity. Her father hadn’t been keeping vital information about Fiorean’s location from her. He had known it was a trap all along.

Smoke licked across Fiorean’s shoulders as he crouched before her. “I thought we might trap a general, or even a prince. Lucky me to have snared the false queen so easily.”

Suddenly Aemyra’s sword was kicked out of her grip, and she found herself flat on the ground. Eyes burning, she blinked furiously as Fiorean flipped her onto her back.

“Murderer,” she hissed through her teeth as she thrust her hands upward to wrap around his neck. Without flinching, he grasped both of her wrists in one hand.

“There’s no one to help you now,” Fiorean whispered against her skin, his lips grazing her cheek. “I wonder how the pariah prince will react when he hears of his daughter’s demise. Perhaps he will finally give up on his quest for control of this territory and concede defeat before more blood has to be spilled.”

“Never,” Aemyra managed to choke out.

Fiorean loomed over her, dark smoke casting the angles of his face into sharp relief.

“It seems I will have to find another way to torment him, then.”

Fiorean slammed Aemyra’s head back into the ground and the world went black.