Page 6

The Goddess grove by the west wall lay in ruins.

Unable to sleep after what had happened in the square, Aemyra had crept from the house before dawn to see for herself. This grove had been nothing more than a small fountain draped with ivy, but the crone had not been lying. The priests were doing more than just preaching and the city guards were doing nothing to stop them.

“Cailleach forgive us,” she whispered, fingering the broken fragments of what had once been a statue of the Great Mother.

It was quiet at this hour in the lower town, with the market stalls covered and shutters closed. Looking at the trampled snowdrops at her feet, Aemyra cursed the Chosen priests to Hela’s realm.

This senseless destruction confirmed that the priests weren’t here to worship their Savior in peace. They wanted to eradicate Goddess worship entirely and, in his madness, the king was allowing it to happen.

“I am ready to fight for you,” Aemyra growled, clenching her fingers around the broken piece of slate until it bit into her skin. “Remove the king and I will burn the stain of the Chosen from this territory for good.”

Tipping her head to the dark sky, she loosed a long breath and prayed to all of the Goddesses that they would help her find the right path.

Consumed with her thoughts, Aemyra didn’t notice someone sneaking up on her until a strong hand clamped over her mouth.

Fear, swiftly followed by rage, stabbed through Aemyra’s gut as her assailant hauled her away from the wall and into a dark alley.

Her first thought was that one of the priests from the tavern had somehow found her, but none of them possessed this level of strength. Aemyra managed to unsheathe her dagger, only for the tall man restraining her to disarm her with ease.

The weapon clattered to the cobblestones, the sound loud in the quiet night, as the shadows swallowed them both.

She bit down on the large hand until she tasted blood. Her attacker cursed from the depths of his hood, but kept his other hand fixed around her waist, dragging her farther into the deserted alley. Aemyra knew better than to scream. The city guards would only come running and she wanted to gut this lowlife herself.

She aimed a punch, but the man intercepted it with terrifying ease. Long fingers wrapped around her wrist and twisted until she felt her bones grind.

Weaponless, Aemyra did the only thing she could.

She summoned her fire.

“Burn in Hela’s realm, scum,” she ground out, power surging to her palms.

Releasing more magic than was sensible, Aemyra was beyond caring about her secrets. There was a blinding surge of fire, followed by the acrid stench of smoke as the man threw her against the wall.

Her head rattled sickeningly and her magic guttered out, but at least he had released her.

Blinking to clear her vision, Aemyra had expected to find her attacker hightailing it out of the alley with his cloak alight.

Instead, the man pushed his hood down to reveal a cunning smile.

“I thought I had taught you better than that,” he said.

Aemyra backed up against the crumbling wall in case her knees gave out as she recognized the forest green eyes illuminated by the fire now snaking across his palms.

Draevan Daercathian was in àird Lasair.

Aemyra felt a tug in her chest as she drank in the face she hadn’t seen in ten years, but resembled her own more closely than that of her twin.

“Didn’t you miss your father?” Draevan asked.

Wits returning to her, Aemyra shoved Draevan up against the opposite wall. With an indulgent quirk of his lips, her father relented to her aggression and extinguished his fire, plunging them both back into darkness.

“Are you completely mad?” Aemyra hissed. “As far as I’m aware, you are still outlawed from this city.”

The sliver of moonlight spilling over the high rooftops was just enough to make out her father’s amused expression.

“Come now, Aemyra. There can be only one reason why I have made the journey,” he said.

Aemyra narrowed her eyes, hardly daring to believe the moment they had waited a decade for was upon them.

Draevan pulled the hood of his cloak up, concealing the deep auburn hair and forest green eyes that would identify him as a Daercathian to even the drunkest swine in the lower town. “Come. I need to get off the streets and you are needed at the temple.”

Bending to pick up her dagger, Aemyra glanced toward the ruined grove and suppressed a shiver of fear that the Goddesses actually might have been listening.

Following her father up the street, they kept to the shadow of the battlements. Brigid’s temple loomed ahead of them, a large square building constructed with the same crimson bricks as the caisteal across the bridge. The high windows were illuminated by the eternal fire within, making it the very beacon of light within the city.

Each Goddess had a temple in àird Lasair, but as the capital of fire territory, Brigid’s was the most impressive.

Aemyra hurried to keep up with her father’s long stride. Leaving the filth of the streets behind, they climbed the marble steps, which gleamed thanks to the ministrations of the priestesses.

Turning her face to the starless sky, she wondered where her father’s dragon was.

“Is Gealach—”

“Not until we’re inside,” Draevan interrupted, glancing over his shoulder as if he could feel the caisteal watching them from across the bridge as they ascended toward the golden doors.

Her father, walking behind her, ushered her into the temple, its serene warmth a balm to her soul.

The large altar was laden with offerings, and thousands of candles lined the walls with blessed light. They were completely alone at this hour as the eternal fire blazed in splendor against the back wall.

Painfully aware of her father’s presence behind her, Aemyra subconsciously rubbed her headscarf.

She was every inch her father’s daughter. Where Adarian had inherited blue eyes from the mother they had never known, Aemyra possessed the unmistakable Daercathian traits.

“You have done well to remain hidden under King Haedren’s nose for so many years,” Draevan said once the golden doors were closed.

Aemyra turned to face him. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Her words were laced with resentment, but her father did not rise to the bait. Orlagh and Pàdraig had sworn themselves to Draevan’s cause long before the twins had been born. When the Prince of Penryth had bid them sail for àird Lasair and put his plan in motion, they hadn’t questioned it.

Until it became apparent that they had left a prosperous life on the Sunset Isle to wait in this festering shit hole of a city for Goddess knew how long.

“You haven’t written in more than six months,” Aemyra finally said.

A faint smile passed over her father’s face, as though the idea of frequent correspondence with his only daughter amused him. Aemyra might now be a woman grown, but standing in her father’s presence she felt sixteen again.

His auburn hair had fallen out of its braid, leaving long strands cascading across the lapels of his pristine black tunic.

Her vision was swimming with fire and she blinked to clear it. “Can I take your return as a sign that my true family finally wishes to claim me?”

The bitterness in her tone was not difficult to miss and she was lucky her father, famed for his quick temper, did not rise to the bait.

“It is not a question of want, Aemyra. I have no desire to watch you burn over your birthright,” Draevan replied, his forest green eyes sincere.

“There’s still time,” Aemyra replied callously.

The corners of Draevan’s mouth lifted. “You should not taunt the Great Mother in the temple.”

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t Cailleach’s temple. In case all the fire didn’t already give that away?”

His gaze roved across his daughter’s features as if memorizing her adult face, or finding fault in what he saw.

“My spies tell me that the king does indeed hover on the edge of the Otherworld.”

Aemyra’s stomach swooped.

Draevan’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. “Are you ready to assume your rightful title?”

“I have been ready since I set sail from Penryth at age sixteen, Father,” she replied, lifting her chin. “How many journeyed with you?”

“My ship arrived yesterday, General Maeve’s the day before. Fifty Dùileach accompanied us and are sheltering in the catacombs beneath our feet.”

Aemyra’s face fell. “So few? The royal guard alone numbers a hundred men, how can you possibly hope—”

“Do not question me,” Draevan said, his tone harsh enough to remind Aemyra which parent she was speaking to. “Each of our Dùileach fighters is worth ten of King Haedren’s men. Too many would have attracted suspicion. This is not my first coup, Aemyra.”

Privately, she hoped this one would be more successful but wisely curbed her tongue.

Her father read her expression well enough. “This plan has been in place since your infancy, do not insult the sacrifices we have all made to get us to this point.”

They both turned as the high priestess emerged from a side room and locked the golden doors. Her ruby headdress gleamed in the firelight, her crimson robes sweeping the floor.

She exchanged a knowing look with Draevan, who nodded in recognition.

“Kenna acts as our liaison and her priestesses will also take the oath tonight,” he said.

Anxiety flooded Aemyra’s system, and she suddenly wished she was wearing something finer than her oldest pair of breeches.

Hiding her singed sleeve behind her back as Kenna approached, Aemyra tried to smile through her sudden nerves. Kenna made the sign of Brigid’s cross in official welcome and turned toward the statue of the Goddess, the rubies in her headdress clinking musically. “The time to fight in Brigid’s name has come.”

In response to her words, the eternal fire banked a little higher.

Kenna turned her enigmatic eyes toward Aemyra. “The oathing is but the first step. Make no mistake, even with the priestesses and the Penryth Dùileach sworn to you, it will be a fight.”

A muscle twitched in Draevan’s jaw as if in agreement. “Queen Katherine might possess no magic of her own, but do not underestimate her, or the other royals. The power she wields is her words, and they are just as dangerous as our magic.”

Kenna’s blue eyes narrowed as she excused herself to prepare for the ritual. The high priestess was well acquainted with the royal family and, despite Queen Katherine’s faith, was often invited to the caisteal to dine. Her support would be instrumental in winning Aemyra her rightful throne.

“I vow to all five Goddesses that I will protect the people of Tìr Teine,” Aemyra said quietly as priestesses began to file into the room.

“I don’t doubt it,” Draevan replied, shirking his cloak. “My grandfather might have been exiled by King Realor after the Battle of the Five Brothers, but you are the true heir. The first female born to Clan Daercathian in more than a century. They might be able to outlaw me to Penryth, but they cannot banish a Goddess-blessed female with royal blood in her veins, no matter how diluted.”

Her father’s words were like steel, and she eyed the black hilt of the sword sheathed at his side—Dorchadas. The blade was as legendary as her father. The stories of the bloody battles he had fought on his crusade for the Goddesses were still told in taverns across the territory.

Aemyra looked down at her hands, feeling the well of power that lurked within her. Depth of power that had only ever belonged to the Daercathian royal line.

No one knew that it wasn’t coal, or wood, or peat that fueled the forges of àird Lasair.

It was Aemyra herself.

“A hundred years is a long time without a rightful heir, Aemyra. But people have long memories no matter what they have become accustomed to. They will rally behind their true queen,” he said, his voice steady. “Especially when they see how the Goddess has blessed her.”

Aemyra felt her fire prickle at the edges of her skin as if it were pressing to be let out. As a Bonded Dùileach, her father possessed considerable magic, but Aemyra’s un-Bonded power had rivaled his from childhood.

“Kolreath has been forced to commit atrocities in the king’s name for too long. Upon his death I will Bond to him and give the people a queen they deserve,” she said.

Draevan observed her for a moment, as if he were seeing something beneath the surface that he hadn’t yet glimpsed.

Aemyra lifted her chin. “You trained me well, Father. I have not forgotten my sixteen years of education at your hand.”

The scars on her body from his thorough tutoring with a blade wouldn’t allow her to.

It seemed a lifetime ago now. Using the secret passageways in Caisteal Penryth to scurry unseen between Orlagh’s apothecary and Draevan’s study, Aemyra had been expected to arrive before dawn to study languages, history, and politics with the door barred and books open. While the caisteal servants witnessed Orlagh’s daughter pounding herbs into fine powder during the day, Draevan had been raising a little queen in the wee hours.

“I hope you continued training with the sword,” Draevan replied, scrutinizing her figure. “I was decidedly unimpressed in that alleyway.”

Shouldering the disappointment, Aemyra replied, “My brother has not bested me in a sparring match since we were eighteen, Father. There is plenty of space behind the forge for me to practice footwork and combinations.”

“Good. I have no intention of losing you,” he replied stiffly.

Aemyra tried not to wonder who he would mourn more if the worst came to pass—his daughter, or his heir.

The priestesses began to chant as they ushered Draevan’s soldiers into the room and Aemyra’s blood stirred. This time, she did not pull away when her father reached for her.

“When the Goddess whose very temple we stand in blessed you with such power, I resolved to make you ready to restore our clan to the matriarchy,” he said, tracing her palm where Kenna’s blade would soon slice her skin.

Aemyra worked to stop her disappointment from showing on her face. She knew that her father loved her, but he loved power more. And she was his key to it.

Without her, he was just a prince born into the wrong branch of the clan. Draevan may have cemented himself as one of the last dragon riders, but he could never truly change the fate of Tìr Teine.

Until he had fathered a daughter. A Goddess-blessed babe with forest green eyes and auburn hair reminiscent of the ancient Queen Lissandrea herself.

When the twins’ mother, a commoner Draevan had loved beyond reason, had died in childbirth, he had done the only thing he could. Trusted the twins with two of his most loyal servants who possessed enough power to hide the truth for as long as was necessary. Had he found out, King Haedren would have killed her to protect the succession of his own male heirs.

“You won’t disappoint me, magpie,” Draevan said in a gentler tone, touching one of the gold pendants on her neck. “Your time will come.”

Her father smirked at the sight of her wearing almost every single piece of jewelry that he had gifted her over the years. The only things she had inherited from her father that she didn’t have to hide.

With a deep breath, Aemyra prepared to take this first step toward giving him what he so desired.

Draevan craved power, and a way to finally exceed the shame his ancestor had brought on their line.

Aemyra desired to restore Tìr Teine to its former glory. To be Queen Lissandrea born again.

All she needed was a gold dragon of her own and the title that was rightfully hers.

Kenna cleared her throat beside them and they both turned. A genuine smile spread across Aemyra’s face when she recognized the young priestess who was holding the chalice.

“You grant me the highest honor, Your Grace,” Eilidh said, her hands shaking slightly.

Eilidh had been six years old when Aemyra had rescued her from the back of a cart bound for the caisteal dungeons. Thankfully Sir Nairn had been so distracted with his purge of the city’s criminals upon his promotion to captain that he hadn’t noticed Aemyra spiriting the orphaned thief away to the temple.

Kenna had immediately given Eilidh shelter, and the opportunity to work as a scullery maid. A few years later, Eilidh pledged herself to Brigid.

Surprised by the girl’s nerves, Aemyra smiled warmly, hoping she could offset Draevan’s intimidating presence. A gold headband, which signified Eilidh’s ascension from attendant to priestess, now decorated her brow.

Kenna turned her inscrutable eyes on Eilidh as the temple grew crowded with priestesses and soldiers facing the altar. “Shouldn’t you be contemplating your oath in quiet reflection?”

Blushing, Eilidh stumbled slightly on her robes as she backed away from Aemyra and bowed her head.

Aemyra could hear muffled coughs and people shuffling their feet. Several soldiers stifled yawns and she suppressed the urge to laugh. She wasn’t the only one who had gotten a poor night’s sleep.

All eyes were on the queen standing before the altar in her wrinkled shirt as the high priestess reached up to pull the headscarf from Aemyra’s head.

She tensed instinctively, but Kenna’s fingers were gentle as she revealed the auburn curls Aemyra was always so careful to keep hidden.

“I, Kenna, high priestess of the fire Goddess Brigid, do claim you, Aemyra Daercathian, as the true queen of Tìr Teine from this moment until your final moment.”

If possible, the eternal fire surged higher behind the statue of the Goddess, and Kenna raised the knife. The blade glinted in the light of the fire, even as dawn lightened the sky through the high windows.

Aemyra held her right hand out willingly and allowed Kenna to make a deep cut across her palm. Bright red blood, the exact color of the jewels decorating the high priestess’s headdress, welled in her palm and Eilidh hurried forward with the golden chalice.

Meeting her father’s eye, Aemyra swallowed nervously as Draevan Daercathian sank to his knees. With her back to the altar, the eternal fire was roaring in her ears and she felt sweat drip between her shoulder blades.

Draevan’s expression was devout as he unbuckled Dorchadas from around his narrow hips and laid it at her feet.

“Daercathian blood runs in her veins and I claim her as the true queen,” Draevan said, his voice echoing through the cavernous temple.

Then more voices were raised across the temple as soldiers and priestesses followed suit.

“I claim her as the true queen.”

Draevan remained kneeling, making the sign of Brigid’s cross carefully with his hands, his expression one of utter devotion. When the chalice was half-full of Aemyra’s blood, she removed her hand with a nod from Kenna and let the last few drops spill onto the altar in offering. Praying that she could remember the right words, she raised her face to the eternal fire.

“I ask Brigid to lend me her strength to protect my people. I beseech Beira to bless me with wisdom to lead them. I implore Cliodna to give me grace as queen and beg Brenna to bring balance to my rule. May the Great Mother Cailleach bless my reign.”

The fire scalded Aemyra’s face but she did not turn until she heard every person behind her sink to their knees.

Heart straining against her rib cage in a way that made her light-headed, Aemyra pressed her thumb into the wound on her palm. Without words, she anointed her father’s brow with her blood as Eilidh passed him the chalice, granting Draevan the honor of being the first to oath himself to the new queen.

Lips and teeth stained red from her blood, he wrapped Aemyra’s hand reverently with his handkerchief as he stood. The colors of Clan Daecathian, crimson and gold, were patterned upon it.

“My daughter, and my queen,” he said quietly.

As the light of dawn began to filter through the temple, the priestesses and soldiers formed an orderly line behind Kenna to make their oaths before the city awoke.

Aemyra’s thumb brushed the rubies of Kenna’s headdress as she anointed her with blood, going through the motions of a ceremony she had only ever read about in books.

When the next person knelt before her, Draevan leaned forward to whisper into her ear.

“You were born for this.”

With a smile, Aemyra looked upon the people gathered within the temple. When those who worshipped the Goddesses found out that the priestesses had accepted Aemyra as queen, there would be no undoing it.

“The moment you unleash me upon this kingdom, Tìr Teine will know what it means to belong to fire,” she replied.