Page 42

Aemyra’s legs buckled and it was only Adarian’s reflexes that had him catching her elbow before she fell.

Taking stock of the scene before her, Aemyra saw Elizabeth and Maggie standing with their husbands and several priests on the right side of the throne. Katherine was clutching Charlotte against her, gray eyes fixed on Athair Alfred, who stood beside Fiorean.

Draevan strutted into the room, Dorchadas dripping blood onto the flagstones, and ignored the twenty or so Covenanters who lined the walls.

The back of Aemyra’s neck prickled, this felt uncomfortably like a trap.

“If they throw something toward you, hold your breath,” she whispered to Adarian, remembering the cloying scent of the incense.

Fiorean’s hair was tied back, his scars visible for all to see as he lounged on the throne, hands resting on the golden frame. Aemyra felt the heartbreak like a physical pain.

“You’re in my seat,” she called, her voice flat.

This couldn’t be happening. This final, terrible betrayal had to be an illusion. Some trick.

Athair Alfred laughed. “There is nothing that is rightfully yours. Only what the Savior grants us shall we take.”

“Hela will enjoy taking her time with you,” she promised Alfred.

The priest paled.

Draevan lazily brought the tip of Dorchadas up to point at Fiorean. Aemyra noticed the purple shadows under her husband’s eyes, the rigid posture. Ducking out of Adarian’s hold, she advanced toward the throne.

“Why?” Aemyra asked, her whisper carrying throughout the room.

Fiorean’s green eyes met hers. “How can you call yourself a queen when you are merely your father’s puppet?”

Surprised, Aemyra turned to look at her father.

Draevan shrugged as he observed the prince. “Evander’s army walked right into a trap. I would have been a fool not to take advantage.”

Fiorean clenched his fists. “Our forces were trapped between a thousand flying phoenix warriors from the south and your infantry columns bordering the Deàrr Mountains.”

“What a pity,” Draevan drawled.

“You slaughtered thousands of soldiers!” Fiorean ground out.

Aemyra felt the world tilt on its axis as she looked between the two men she had trusted to help her win her throne.

Aemyra spun to look at her father. “Is this true? You ordered Maeve to attack on the plains?”

Draevan shrugged. “They were our enemies. Now they are gone.”

Aemyra’s nostrils flared with suppressed rage.

“You betrayed the orders of your queen. I told the army to remain neutral and not to engage with Clan Leuthanach. Our plan was faultless. How many are now dead because you couldn’t put your pride aside?”

There was no remorse in Draevan’s eyes. He had seen the perfect opportunity to reach for power and he had taken it.

“Was it part of your plan for Fiorean to take the throne for himself?” He drew his eyes off Aemyra. “Or are you simply keeping it warm for your wife?”

A muscle was twitching in Fiorean’s jaw, and with a jerk of his head, two Covenanters dragged a man before them, bound and gagged.

Aemyra’s blood ran cold. It was the spy from the cèilidh.

“You expect me to believe you do not know this man when I saw you dance with him? That you did not know he was the one mixing bitterberry juice into sweet pies for the royal children?” Fiorean said, his voice taut.

The spy had worked his mouth free of the gag. “My loyalty is to the true queen of Tìr Teine.”

Cold fingers of fear wrapped around her heart, and Aemyra’s grip on her sword faltered.

“I swear I knew nothing of this,” she said, shaking her head.

Fiorean’s glare was murderous. “Evander tried to tell me how suspicious it was that you knew the cause of their sickness so quickly. Whether you sanctioned it or simply used it to your advantage, I do not care.”

Unable to bear the looks of grief from Elizabeth and Charlotte, Aemyra felt as though everything she had worked for was slipping away.

Rounding on her father, Aemyra hissed, “You said you had given no orders to kill the—”

Before she could finish, Fiorean thrust his hand out toward the spy.

He collapsed with a thud to the floor. When she saw the melted eye sockets, her jaw slackened. Fiorean had boiled his blood, cooking him in his own skin.

Elizabeth was crying audibly, and Katherine looked green, but Aemyra’s eyes lingered on Fiorean’s hand.

“Your magic isn’t bound,” she whispered as he resumed his seat on her throne.

Fiorean could have incapacitated every Covenanter in this room singlehandedly with access to his magic.

But here he was, willingly siding against her.

Then Athair Alfred spoke.

“We mourn the untimely death of King Evander and trust that the Savior will reward his self-sacrifice in fighting for our cause. Prince Fiorean will assume the throne and the responsibilities of king. Prince Draevan Daercathian will be executed for his crimes against the late king, the present king, the people of àird Lasair, and the royal children. Prince Nael will assume the titles of Penryth. We have agreed to allow the Princess Aemyra Daercathian her life if she remains in exile.”

Draevan had the audacity to look mildly amused by his list of transgressions, but Aemyra was frozen in shock.

“You will accept these terms now, or you will be forced to surrender to the grace of the Savior,” Katherine said, her voice disconcertingly calm.

Aemyra looked between the faces of her captors. Had they been conspiring against her the entire time? Had Fiorean been relaying the details of their most intimate moments during council sessions? Had they toasted his ability to lay open the little queen’s heart and hold it perfectly poised to be broken?

Despite his lack of a crown, Fiorean looked entirely at ease on her throne.

Aemyra’s knees almost buckled as she finally pieced it together. It all made sense to her now, how readily Fiorean had agreed to their marriage, how he had manipulated her into helping him connect to Aervor and leading her army here. He had played her like a fool.

“You wanted the crown for yourself,” she said.

Still, Fiorean didn’t look at her.

The Chosen had finally stepped out of the shadows in Tìr Teine, and Aemyra had played right into their hands.

“I will never give up my birthright. As long as I breathe, my people will have a queen,” she spat.

Fiorean rose from the throne, his lithe body unfurling with deadly grace. “Your only birthright is a talent for hammering steel and a hasty temper. A legacy as unremarkable as it is forgettable. Do us all a favor and give up the crown before anyone else you love dies.”

The Fiorean who had dueled her in the harbor had returned. His truest self. The one he had been hiding during her time in the caisteal until she was sufficiently broken.

Then Alfred cleared his throat. “Aemyra Daercathian, you are a curse upon this territory. After today, your people will know it.”

Aemyra’s heart turned cold. Relinquishing her throne to Fiorean now would mean handing over Tìr Teine to the manipulation of the True Religion. The Dùileach would never be safe.

“You forget that I was chosen by Brigid herself,” Aemyra spat.

With a great rush, she summoned her fire. Flames licked eagerly up the blade of Fearsolais and she advanced toward the throne. The Covenanters lurking on the sidelines cringed away from the heat of her flames as Aemyra locked everything she felt for Fiorean behind a wall of impenetrable ice.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

He was on his feet in an instant, a magical shield thrown up to protect his family from Aemyra’s magic.

Which left him open to Aemyra’s attack.

Feeling her father and brother summon their own magic, protecting their queen, Aemyra strode toward the dais as her torrent of flame struck Fiorean in the chest.

The force was enough for him to stagger backward even as he summoned a whip of fire that snapped toward her. It lashed around her ankle, burning through the leather of her boots until she smelled her own flesh cooking. With a yank, Fiorean pulled her off her feet.

With a scream of rage, she shielded desperately as Adarian and Draevan dueled the Covenanters with fire and steel. Adarian was bravely swinging his hatchet, and Draevan was brandishing Dorchadas with bloodthirsty intent.

The whip of fire disappeared as Fiorean was forced to shed his tunic before the flames attached to his skin.

Katherine, Elizabeth, and Maggie had run from the dais and were sheltering behind the throne as if the hunk of golden metal would save them from Aemyra’s wrath.

Fiorean was all rippling muscles and fire-streaked skin as he stood before it, chest heaving.

Aemyra turned her gaze to Alfred. The man she hated even more than her husband.

“I will burn you piece by piece. Just a little bit at a time so you feel the pain but will not die. Your body will rot at my hand until it resembles your soul. When your skin is charred and you cannot breathe, perhaps then I will finally send you to Hela.”

Fury the likes of which she had never felt flooded her system when Alfred failed to look afraid.

“We have two dragons and an army of Dùileach inside the city. You cannot win,” she shouted over the clash of steel.

Draevan was dueling five Covenanters at once, his fire unable to touch them thanks to the pendants, but rivers of blood painted Dorchadas. Adarian sank his hammer into the skull of another Covenanter and he let out a roar of triumph at his sister’s words.

“I assure you, we can,” Alfred said, accepting a strange clay pot from a trembling priest.

Immediately on the defensive, Aemyra retreated closer to her father and brother.

“I think it is time the Savior evened the playing field,” Alfred said with a sick smile.

Fiorean did nothing to stop him as Alfred raised the pot above his head and threw it to the ground in front of Aemyra.

The clay split open with an unearthly crack, smoke and liquid exploding from the inside. Instinctively, Aemyra threw up a wall of fire and held her breath.

Oily liquid burst from inside the pot, splashing in all directions as though seeking flesh. Where the droplets landed on her skin, she felt like she was burning.

Releasing her fire instantly, Aemyra choked on the noxious fumes and desperately tried to wipe the droplets off her skin. The moment she had released her magic, the pain had stopped.

Alfred was smiling. “Now you will learn why power such as yours should be extinguished.”

With a snarl, Aemyra made to throw a jet of fire toward him. Her fingertips warmed, the fire cascading through her veins as she made ready to bring it into the world. But as soon as the flames appeared, what usually felt like a pleasant heat began to burn.

A scream of pain tore up her throat as the use of her magic made it feel as though her skin was melting. Extinguishing her fire hastily and clutching her arm against her torso, she glanced up at Alfred.

“Quite the breakthrough we have been looking for, wouldn’t you agree?” Alfred asked.

Draevan summoned his own magic, as if unwilling to believe such a thing was possible. Panic took Aemyra when she witnessed her father fall to his knees from the pain.

“Your Uisge experiments will never break Dùileach spirit,” Draevan hissed, as three Covenanters wrestled him to the ground.

Before Aemyra’s eyes, her twin was restrained and a vengeful Covenanter embedded his dagger in Adarian’s thigh.

“Adarian!” Aemyra screamed.

Her twin let out a strangled cry and blood streamed down his breeches as he was forced to his knees.

Knowing if she continued to fight they would kill her brother immediately, Aemyra gritted her teeth as she was forced to the ground.

Maggie’s brown eyes met hers and Aemyra silently begged the woman to intervene, to make Fiorean see sense.

The princess looked away.

“Surrender,” Alfred said, his hands calmly folded on his stomach. “Or die with your people. You can hear their cries even now.”

Shoulders spasming from being restrained, Aemyra heard the sound of explosions coming from the other side of the bridge. The screaming intensified as every Dùileach in her army was struck with the noxious liquid and felt the pain it brought.

Alfred continued speaking calmly. “Thankfully, your people have the benevolence of the Savior’s light to protect them from bloodthirsty Dùileach. Just as we restored peace to Tìr ùir, so too will we unify Tìr Teine.”

Aemyra’s face paled as she realized how the Chosen would turn the people against her. For the first time Aemyra did not know how she was supposed to win her throne. All of her father’s scheming, all of her attempts at building alliances, would count for nothing.

She had to get everyone out. Both her army and the innocent Dùileach Alfred would round up and either execute or torture on his crusade.

The faces of the people she had lived alongside for ten years flashed through her mind, Dùileach and non-Dùileach alike. Her quest for the throne was secondary to their safety.

Before she could make her next desperate move, the wall to Aemyra’s right exploded as a black dragon burst through with claws and teeth.

With only two legs and half of her neck able to fit through the hole she had blasted in the wall, Terrea loosed a bone-shaking roar that had everyone running for cover.

Everyone except Aemyra.

Mercifully, whatever had been inside that pot didn’t affect the Bond like the binding agent had—only her magic pained her.

No longer restrained, Aemyra was on her feet in an instant. Terrea’s mouth was open, flames licking over her tongue as the dragon debated setting fire to the room.

It was only the small hand laid protectively over Maggie’s growing bump that spared them.

Concerned with getting him to safety, Aemyra slipped in her brother’s blood and pulled him to his feet. Adarian’s leg shook, the knife protruding from the muscle, as she dragged him toward Terrea.

Her dragon was growling loudly enough to shake the very foundations of the caisteal as Draevan helped Adarian up the spikes.

With the dust settling and Covenanters fleeing the dragon, Aemyra pointed her blood-soaked blade toward Fiorean, who was helping Katherine to safety.

“I vowed to kill you once before and failed.” She raised her left palm and sliced the meaty part of her hand on her blade. “By the Goddess, I will not fail next time.”

Aemyra felt the tug of the death promise settle behind her navel as her blood spilled and Fiorean stiffened as he felt it too. Katherine’s cry of fear was swallowed by the roar of a second dragon outside the window.

Terrea’s claws were cracking the marble floor, huge chunks of stone falling to the loch far below. Sheathing Fearsolais across her back, Aemyra scrambled onto her dragon’s back in front of Adarian.

The minute they were secure, Terrea flung herself from the caisteal and into the air.

“Father!” Adarian shouted, twisting around to look.

Aemyra did not spare a glance for Draevan knowing Gealach was already on his way. She had to get her people out of the city before she lost everything worth fighting for.

An outraged roar sounded directly above them and Aervor’s cobalt scales replaced the rain-soaked sky. Adarian’s grip tightened in fear.

As Aemyra prepared to turn Terrea and engage the male, a feeling of surety shot through the Bond.

Terrea refused to fight Aervor.

“What is he doing?” Adarian asked, yelling over the roar of the wind.

Aemyra shook her head incredulously. “He is covering our retreat.”

Even as Fiorean sat on a throne that did not belong to him, his dragon landed in the middle of the lower town, blocking the Covenanters from pursuing the lines of Aemyra’s soldiers fleeing the city. Evidently Aervor still deferred to Terrea’s dominance.

Hearing another set of wings, Aemyra wished that the men in her life could have been half as convinced of her ability to lead them as these two dragons were of Terrea.

Ignoring the anguish threatening to choke her, Aemyra urged Terrea away from the city.

“Retreat!” Aemyra yelled.

The three dragons herded the Dùileach away from the clutches of the True Religion.

Adarian’s grip grew weak, and she twisted around to look at him. His wound was leaking around the blade and running in scarlet rivulets down Terrea’s scales.

“Fuck, Adarian, this is bad,” she whispered.

Gritting her teeth, she attempted to summon her fire for a hasty cauterization, but almost lost consciousness from the pain that flooded her veins. Whatever had been inside those pots was lingering like the binding agent. Squashing her panic, Aemyra could only hope that it would wear off.

“I need to get you to a healer,” Aemyra said.

“?’M fine,” Adarian muttered sleepily, resting his cheek against her back.

Aemyra reached around and thumped Adarian hard above his wound.

A strangled cry left his lips.

“Stay awake,” Aemyra threatened, her voice wavering. “I refuse to lose you too.”

He didn’t reply, but his grip tightened as Aervor snapped his jaws toward the Covenanters on the ground and Gealach razed the fields between the army and the battlements.

Aemyra looked down at her city and felt a sob choke up her throat.

It was burning.

Houses and buildings were destroyed, and people lay bleeding or dead in the streets. The line of soldiers retreating through the main gate was a trickle compared to the flood of fighters who had stormed àird Lasair only hours before.

The forge was gone, rubble and burning wood were all that was left of the market. Charred husks of bodies littered the streets. Aemyra had only witnessed such destruction once before.

At a small village on the Sunset Isle, after The Terror had descended with fire and fury.

“They will blame me for this,” Aemyra breathed, tears ripping from her eyes with the fierce wind. “And they would be right to do so.”

As they flew out of the billowing smoke, sparks of dragonfire and glittering embers cascaded around her. Terrea’s wings rose with determination, and Aemyra knew they would stop at nothing to free Tìr Teine from tyranny.

The cut on her palm burned with the death promise she had made to Fiorean.

Aemyra had been forged in fire, but a queen would rise from the ashes.