Page 8

The wind was howling, stray embers flickering at the edges of her vision as the gilded scales slipped farther away.

Feeling as though she was falling, Aemyra scrabbled for purchase as the wind tore tears from her eyes. This was nothing at all like she had imagined and yet she clung desperately to her destiny. The crown was uncomfortable on her head. Heavy enough that her neck ached and her muscles strained to keep her on the back of the golden dragon she had waited her whole life for.

A push from the enormous wings and suddenly she was falling, pulled from the back of the mighty beast by the weight of the very crown she coveted…

“Fuck…” Aemyra cursed as she hit the wooden floorboards with a thump. Clawing her way back to consciousness, she sighed in relief that it had only been a dream.

A split second later, she registered the tapping at the window.

Blinking blearily, she stumbled to her feet and opened the latch to allow the silver swyft inside. The little bird deposited the scroll on the rumpled sheets and soared back into the night.

Instantly awake, Aemyra snatched the parchment up with shaking fingers as she recognized her father’s seal.

There were only three words written on it.

To the temple.

The hazy remnants of her dream came back to her. Aemyra was no Seer, and the ancient ones had all perished when the curse claimed Tìr Sgàile, but perhaps it had been a sign from Brigid.

The king was dead. Finally.

There were voices coming from downstairs, hushed whispers between Orlagh and Pàdraig.

Aemyra grabbed her headscarf from the floor. Dressing quickly, she pulled on her favorite breeches that molded to her thighs like a second skin. A crisp white shirt and tight navy tunic were followed by her dagger and belt.

Then, as if she had known the day was going to be upon her, she reached for the sword she had brought home from the forge. Slinging it across her back, leaving the hilt within reach behind her head, she buckled it on.

With one last tug on her headscarf, she stepped out of her tiny attic bedroom without a backward glance.

Slipping downstairs into the room her twin shared with Lachlann, Aemyra suddenly felt overwhelmed with what would come with the dawn.

Lachlann was already awake, dark eyes wide as he clutched a pillow to his chest. Adarian was sprawled across his too-small bed, one arm flung over his eyes.

“Adarian. Wake up.”

Not wasting time being gentle, Aemyra shook him violently.

“W-wha?” he slurred with a sleepy snort.

Aemyra smacked his stubbly cheek. “We need to get to the temple. It is time.”

Her words were enough to have his sapphire eyes flying wide. Adarian suddenly sat up, almost smacking her in the head.

“Temple, right…” he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he took stock of Aemyra wearing every weapon she owned.

Both of them glanced toward Lachlann, who looked as if he might start crying.

Aemyra reached for him as she got to her feet. “Come.”

The little boy stood automatically, slipping his hand into his big sister’s. Squaring her shoulders, she walked into Orlagh and Pàdraig’s room with Lachlann in tow. His parents’ hushed whispers had obviously woken him.

“Who told you?” Aemyra asked when she entered.

Orlagh didn’t look surprised by her daughter’s nighttime attire.

“Marilde needed herbs. The kitchens were abuzz with rumors,” Orlagh replied.

Pàdraig’s face fell and Aemyra straightened her spine. “We all knew this day would come,” she said.

Orlagh looked as if she had something stuck in her throat, but Solas tweeted indignantly, his feathers ruffling.

They all knew how dangerous Draevan’s plan was, and Aemyra gently pushed Lachlann toward his parents.

“Have you so little faith in me?” she asked with more bravado than she currently felt.

A small sob escaped Pàdraig’s throat, but Solas clicked his beak angrily. Looking at the flush that crept up Orlagh’s neck, staining her skin several shades darker, Aemyra allowed herself to soften slightly.

“You gave us both a life, a good life, when you did not have to. The three of you will always be our family.”

Aemyra met Orlagh’s soft brown eyes, remembering how those hands had cleaned her scraped knees, how she had rocked Aemyra back to sleep after nightmares, then patiently taught her how to control her magic. Orlagh was the only mother she had ever known.

Willing herself not to cry, Aemyra reached around her neck and unfastened the clasp that kept the three necklaces joined. Gathering them into her palm, she offered them to Orlagh.

“No, I couldn’t possibly—” she began to protest, but Aemyra grabbed her mother by the wrist and closed her fingers over the jewelry.

“They were a reminder of my heritage while I could not have any other.” She looked nostalgically around the small bedroom with the tartan quilt cover and Pàdraig’s slippers beside the bed. “You got me this far, now I have no more need of them.”

Orlagh evidently understood what was in Aemyra’s heart and accepted the necklaces, holding them tightly. Orlagh did not cry, but Pàdraig’s cheeks were wet as Adarian stepped into the room. A quiver of arrows was strung across his back, a hammer hanging from his belt. His mouth was set in a grim line, but he was not balking from the task that was ahead of them.

Lachlann was looking between his siblings like he was suddenly seeing them differently. Before he could cry, Aemyra knelt, the floorboards creaking.

“You know we do not share blood,” Aemyra said softly. “But you will always be my baby brother, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

His bottom lip started wobbling as she pressed a kiss to his brow.

“Will we have to go to Penryth now?” Lachlann asked, looking between his siblings, his voice quivering.

Aemyra mustered a smile. “Only if we fail. A ship waits in the harbor should things not go according to plan.”

“We will start packing now, a chuisle. Just in case,” Orlagh said, looking as though she couldn’t wait to see the back of this city and return to the island where she had been born.

“I have a hankering to see the salamander lagoon again,” Aemyra said with a forced smile. “Perhaps I can journey there as queen and take you for a swim. The waters are as warm as a bath.”

The idea seemed to cheer Lachlann and she couldn’t resist squeezing her baby brother one last time.

Rising to her feet, Aemyra looked toward their parents, as if waiting for their blessing.

Pàdraig didn’t move, one strong hand on Lachlann’s shoulder, but Orlagh lifted her chin, Solas’s tail feathers flaring brightly.

“Go,” she finally said. “Fulfill the destiny Brigid has bestowed upon you both.”

With an ache in her heart that she hadn’t expected, Aemyra watched as Adarian hugged Pàdraig, and then Orlagh, before mussing Lachlann’s tight curls fondly.

Aemyra couldn’t let herself embrace them. This wasn’t goodbye after all.

With nothing more than a curt nod, Aemyra turned away from the only family she had ever known—in the hopes that her people would accept her.

—

The damp streets were quiet and the moon was full as the twins slipped through the lower town. Their footfalls barely made a sound, thin cloaks whispering on the wind.

Avoiding the busiest streets where the forge and the market sat, Aemyra led her brother through the twisting alleys that she could navigate blindfolded.

“They haven’t rung the bells yet,” Adarian whispered as they paused behind a broken-down cart, propped up and rotting against the wall.

Aemyra fixed him with a glare. “I trust Father’s note. We must get to the temple before the city guards begin preparing the streets.” She looked pointedly at the array of weaponry they were carrying. “Anyone spots us sneaking around with these, questions will be asked. The last thing we need is to be hauled into a cell now.”

Giving her brother a small shove ahead of her, they continued through the bowels of the city.

Hearing laughter and moans fall upon them from the half-open windows as they loped between pleasure dens, the late hour kept them from being hailed for custom as they hurriedly traversed the city. With a population of some twenty thousand, and most streets converging on one another with no logical sense, the twins didn’t attract too much attention.

Lost in her thoughts of what might happen when she made it to the temple, Aemyra jumped when the bells began to ring.

“Fuck,” Adarian swore.

Shutters banged open and startled residents began to shout as the ominous bells pealed into the night. Deep, rhythmic clangs that could only mean one thing.

King Haedren was dead and now the whole city knew it.

Thumping her fist against the nearest wall, Aemyra cursed every Goddess who was listening and Adarian immediately intoned prayers for forgiveness on her behalf.

“We’re going to be spotted,” she seethed, as several whores hung out of the windows above them, breasts bared in the moonlight.

“It might work in our favor,” Adarian said, clutching her shoulder. “If the streets grow crowded, we can slip past the guards unnoticed. The gates will only close until the king’s body has made its journey to the temple.”

Cursing the full moon for illuminating them so well, Aemyra slunk out of the shadows and across the wide street into the next alley as people began to awaken with the bells. The city guards wouldn’t raise the gates for anyone, lest Haedren’s soul escape before the proper rituals were given.

Skirting around the square, Aemyra pushed Adarian ahead of her as they came level with Sorcha’s tavern. The streetlamps illuminated the barkeep, who stood on the front stoop, drawn out by the commotion.

Aemyra hesitated. They had been involved on and off for years. Sorcha deserved to find out the truth from her lips. The time for keeping secrets was over.

Adarian hovered in the next alley, one hand nervously fiddling with the bow strung across his shoulders, a hiss of air through his teeth a command for Aemyra to return to his side.

When she ignored him, Aemyra heard Adarian’s curse.

Sorcha wiped her hands on the cloth tucked into the thick belt around her waist. Her frown deepened as she spotted Aemyra emerging from the darkness like a shadow of death.

“Sweet Mother have mercy…” Sorcha said, clutching her heart. “Goddess, you scared me, Aemyra.”

The woman reached for her, taking one automatic step forward, and as much as it hurt Aemyra to do it, she held up one hand.

Sorcha stopped, blinking rapidly. Her raven locks spilled across her shoulders, olive skin stained pale in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry,” Aemyra whispered.

She watched as Sorcha’s brow furrowed, the clanging of the bells putting her on edge as much as Aemyra’s attire.

The barkeep was eyeing the sword warily. “Come upstairs and we can talk.”

“I can’t.”

Knowing she would never touch Sorcha again, Aemyra was suddenly overcome with an urge to know that she was provided for. Reaching up, she pulled the gold studs from her ears and pressed them into Sorcha’s calloused hands.

Those dark eyes widened in disbelief, suddenly realizing that this was a goodbye.

“I can’t accept these,” Sorcha said, her voice steadier.

Aemyra held up her hands, unwilling to let Sorcha give them back. Her tavern did well and was undoubtedly the only one in the city that didn’t have actual vermin occupying it, but those gold studs were worth more than Sorcha might make in a year.

“These will help you get out of the city if things go poorly,” Aemyra found herself saying.

“Why would I need to leave àird Lasair?” Sorcha asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

Aemyra felt for her dagger and pulled it from her belt fluidly.

Sorcha bunched her free hand in her woolen dress, no doubt for the knife she wore strapped to her thigh. Knowing that Sorcha would be too slow even if she tried to use it, Aemyra hooked one finger underneath her headscarf and pulled a coil of hair free. Wrapping it around her finger, she severed the lock with one deft stroke and sheathed her dagger in the same movement.

“There is a skiff floating in the harbor bound for Penryth. If things go badly for me, get on it,” Aemyra said firmly.

Sorcha dropped the folds of her dress and held out her hand, looking for answers. The barkeep’s eyes widened as she jerked her gaze up to Aemyra’s face. Then followed the sound of the bells to the spires of the caisteal.

“I thought you wrapped your hair to protect it from the forge,” Sorcha said, her jaw hardening as she unraveled the lies. Suddenly registering the green eyes and auburn hair had only ever belonged to the Daercathian royal bloodline. “That you bedded me only when it was black as pitch because you were insecure about being seen naked.”

“I’m sorry” was all Aemyra said, backing away from Sorcha before she could make her feel any guiltier.

The sound of the bells covered her footsteps as she took off at a sprint to join her twin in the alley.

“What in Brigid’s name was that?” he hissed furiously.

It took all of Aemyra’s self-control not to punch his teeth down his throat.

“She deserved to hear it from me,” she ground out as they hurried up the street.

Sorcha had been warned and would journey to Penryth at the first sign of trouble. Now Aemyra had to make sure that wouldn’t be necessary.

Nearing the north gate that led into the Deàrr Mountains where the dragons nested, Aemyra looked between the caisteal that would soon belong to her and the temple where she had so often sought refuge over the years.

The twins stopped when they saw the woman garbed in borrowed priestess robes guarding the bottom of the temple steps.

“Maeve,” Aemyra said curtly, nodding to Draevan’s general.

The general sniffed and tore her gaze away from Aemyra, focusing once more on the sprawling streets that led to the temple. Clearly they hadn’t been the only ones caught out by the bells.

Without Maeve inside the caisteal walls, they would have to rely on Draevan’s spies and informants already within. Not an ideal start to their coup, but far from a disaster.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” Maeve said without looking at the twins.

They hurried up the steps, stopping only when they reached the golden doors. As Aemyra stepped inside, her reflection was staring back at her from the giant glass globes. Adarian’s sapphire eyes darted around nervously as Aemyra tugged the cloth free of her head at last and let it fall to their feet.

She let her locks of deep auburn hair tumble from their wrappings until they spilled over her shoulders and down her back. A strong gust blew in from the west to whip several strands across her face just as the faintest light of dawn began cresting the horizon.

“We’re done hiding,” she said, feeling freer already.

The streaks of burnt orange and gold highlighted the sky and Aemyra smiled, lifting one hand to caress the stubble on Adarian’s chin that he was always so careful to shave each morning. The light caught the red strands, gilding them gold.

The sun burst into the sky in one great flush, illuminating the Daercathian twins on the cusp of fate.

Kenna smiled in welcome, pausing in the act of turning the glass globes to bow to Aemyra.

“Welcome, my queen.”