Page 8

Chapter Eight

T he air shifted around him as Padriag materialized in the labyrinth at Sterling’s castle. Relieved not to have appeared outside the gates, he bent at the waist in relief. The entire time he’d been at Dunimarle, he’d worried about the return to Esland.

There was no telling what would have occurred if he’d miscalculated and ended up in a place from where it would be hard to traverse without being poisoned by plants or killed by whatever creatures were out there.

He made his way into the castle and climbed the stairs toward the rooms he and Liam had been assigned.

“Padriag,” Sterling called from the first floor. “We must speak.”

The prince’s expression was grim. Either he’d done something wrong, or there was bad news considering the tight line his lips formed.

“With me,” Sterling said, motioning for Padriag to accompany him. Together they walked into what looked to be the prince’s private dining room.

Once inside, Sterling turned sharply to face him, his silver-blue eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight. “We should sit.”

Padriag swallowed against the knot tightening in his stomach. The prince’s tone, clipped and formal, gave him little doubt that whatever was about to be said wouldn’t be good. Still, he followed him in silence to a balcony where a small, ornately carved table sat beneath the open sky. The night air carried the scent of jasmine and something metallic—perhaps the lingering aura of Esland’s strange foliage.

They sat. The tension between them was palpable. Sterling’s fingers drummed against the polished surface of the table, his expression one of barely concealed impatience.

“Is there anything you wish to say to me?” the prince asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Not exactly the way Padriag had expected this conversation to begin. He frowned. “About?”

“Today.”

Padriag exhaled slowly, keeping his expression neutral. “I wasn’t around much today. I came down, had first meal, then returned to my room, changed clothes, and attempted to cross into the other realm. For the past few weeks, it has been nearly impossible. Today, it was … easier. Judging by the movement of the suns in the sky, I was gone for half a day.”

Sterling’s frown deepened, his fingers stilling. “I am certain that when Veylen explained our laws to you and Liam, he made it abundantly clear—Esland forbids travel outside the realm.”

Padriag’s brow lifted. “So your citizens are prisoners?”

The reaction was immediate. The prince’s nostrils flared, and his gaze darkened with cold fury. “They are protected, not imprisoned,” he ground out, his grip tightening on the arms of his chair. “If they wish to leave, they may do so.”

“If they manage to survive what you claim to be a poisonous and perilous wasteland.” Padriag’s tone was measured but laced with challenge. “And I assume, should they succeed, they are considered outcasts?”

Sterling’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “Do not pretend to understand the laws of my kingdom.”

It took every ounce of restraint not to push further. Padriag had already tested the prince’s temper enough and antagonizing him would get him nowhere. Instead, he inclined his head slightly.

“I will allow it just this once,” Sterling said after a long pause, his tone firm. “Perhaps you did not fully grasp the information when it was first explained to you.”

Padriag nodded, his expression schooled into something more diplomatic. “When Veylen told us that travel to the other realms was forbidden, we understood it to mean to Atlandia or Meliot’s gloomy lands—not that we were barred from dematerializing and returning home.”

Some of the fire in Sterling’s gaze dimmed, and his posture eased. “That is why I am forgiving this time.”

But Padriag understood now—Esland’s laws were meant not only for its citizens, but for visitors as well. He and Liam were no exceptions.

A heavy silence stretched between them before he spoke again, his voice calm but unwavering. “According to your law, once someone leaves this realm, they cannot return.” He met Sterling’s gaze directly. “Once Liam returns, we will leave and return to the other realm, Atlandia, or where our keep is. There is no choice but to take our chances with Meliot’s sentries.”

Sterling said nothing.

Padriag pressed on. “The only way for me to be freed is to be in Scotland when it happens. Every one of our group whose curse has been broken was in the other realm.”

He took a breath before continuing. “Sterling, do you truly intend for me to remain here for the rest of my life? To be a burden, someone who depends on you and your hospitality until death?”

The prince’s expression was unreadable once more. Then, in a voice as smooth and unwavering as steel, he said, “You are welcome to remain here as long as you wish. My hospitality has no other limitations.”

Padriag clenched his jaw, his heart pounding. A gilded cage was still a cage. And it seemed that Sterling had no intention of wavering when it came to his ability to travel between Esland and Scotland.

Servants entered and quietly placed a tray before them which held what looked to be a tea pot along with two empty cups and a pair of plates with a baked pastry.

A women poured the dark liquid, while the other, a man lifted the plates and placed them in front of the prince and then Padriag.

Sterling waved them away wordlessly. Both ignored the offerings.

“I appreciate your hospitality If we’d understood your laws, we would have declined the offer.”

“You speak for Liam Murray. How do you know he agrees?”

It seemed that Prince Sterling had never been part of a team but had a solitary life. Those surrounding him were there because he was ruler. His only family, the ruling sisters of Atlandia, lived in another realm. From what Padriag had seen over the years, the siblings rarely communicated.

“Liam has ties to our homeland, Scotland. He is in a relationship, tied to another and will never agree to the prohibition of travel between the realms. Despite the fact that he can remain there, he chooses to travel back here to ensure my well-being.”

“As I said. You are welcome to remain here as long as you wish. If it is to be the rest of your life, so be it. This can be your home.” The Prince leaned back and looked out to the view.

Admittedly, Esland was wild and beautiful. The pleasing sounds of the waterfalls, the misting water and rainbows reminded Padriag of kingdoms described in fairytales.

“For centuries, I have fought for my people’s safety,” the prince said, breaking Padriag away from studying the landscape. The prince’s attention remained directed past him toward the village.

“When I was a young boy, Esland was a huge realm, many times the size of the land now with a far larger amount of people.”

“What happened?” Padriag asked.

Keeping his face turned away, Sterling continued. “Our borders were not protected then. A people of peace, there never was a need for any army. My parents, they never got along. Father ruled over Esland and Mother over Atlandia. It was that way for many centuries.”

He was silent for a moment, as if assessing how to proceed. When he spoke again, his tone was grave. “Meliot’s father was killed. Many say it was the dark wizard himself who killed him in order to absorb his sire’s powers. In Meliot’s bloodline, the powers pass to whomever kills them. I am not sure of all the intricacies of the Dark Realm. One thing I do know is that after his sire’s death, Meliot became powerful, able to create an army of virtually indestructible warriors. Attacks on Atlandia and Esland decimated our people and our resources.”

“How did you survive?” Padriag was truly intrigued about how the kingdoms survived the wars.

“Dragons,” Sterling replied. “During my wanderings, I went into a cave where I had found a dying dragon with two hatchlings. I brought the mother and hatchlings fruit and small beasts, doing my best to help. She recovered and was able to keep watch over her young. I didn’t see them again for years. I was afraid they’d see me as a meal.”

The prince smiled while speaking, seeming fond of those moments. “When I was a very young warrior, a boy still really, the mother dragon often flew over where I rode. After a while, the other warriors became accustomed to her presence. She defended me from death many times.

“Then one day, she landed and waited for me to come near. I understood I was to ride her. From then on, we have become inseparable.”

The story wasn’t at all what Padriag had thought when first seeing Sterling with his dragon. “Is she still alive?”

“Yes, she is Amai, my dragon. The one who saved you from Meliot’s castle,” Sterling replied, referring to when Meliot had taken Tammie and Erin captive just before Niall was rescued.

“So the others, the ones flying around here are all her children?”

Sterling nodded. “They are.”

Dragons took at least ten years to reach maturity, which meant the war waged on until the prince was a full-grown man. Strange that Sterling was a warrior, from Padriag’s experience, royalty was usually shielded from true danger.

Padriag was enthralled.

Sterling shook his head. “The dragons defended both Esland and Atlandia, they killed many of the dark forces, but in the end, we lost huge portions of our lands to the dark mists.”

“Why is Esland still separate from Atlandia?” Padriag asked since the prince seemed in a mood to share.

“When the war ended things changed. My sisters were resentful that I didn’t give their realm dragons. As much as I tried to explain that dragons are territorial and would always return to Esland, they didn’t understand, insisting it was my choice.”

“So the dark mists belong to Meliot?” Padriag inquired.

Prince Sterling shook his head. “Once dark mists took over an area, it became uninhabitable to anyone, including Meliot’s dark forces.

“Look.” Sterling pointed to the distance. “From here you can see where Esland ends.”

Indeed past the mountains at the edges, what seemed to be dark smoke, or mist rose from the ground, creating a hazy wall.

“I say all this,” Sterling continued, “so that you understand. I am not trying to keep my people captive. Many remember the darkness taking over. Many lost entire families to the mist. They want to be safe. Letting people come and go from our realm could make us vulnerable.”

“I understand,” Padriag replied. “More than you know.”

* * *

“So we leave. Perhaps we can go to Atlandia. Ask the princesses for asylum.” Liam let out an indignant snort. “I understand why he has such strict rules, but surely he knows we would never cause harm to the realm.”

“Nothing to do about it, he is inflexible.” Padriag pointed at Liam. “Please go back. Stay there. You can pop back once I’m settled elsewhere. There really is no need for you guard me, or whatever you think to be doing. It’s annoying.”

The Brit looked up to the ceiling, his jaw muscle tightening. “I made a vow to keep you safe.”

“I already told you. I am over the whole killing me incident. As you can see, fully healed with only a scar that’s pretty sexy.”

“I’m going to sleep.” Liam turned towards his room.

“Wait,” Padriag called out, not ready for his friend to leave. “Since you spent time with the others … anything I should know?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral, devoid of the yearning that gnawed at his insides, but it was a losing battle. The ache of separation had settled deep in his bones. It was inevitable. For centuries, he had lived side by side with Tristan, Gavin, Niall, and Liam—fought with them, laughed with them, bled with them. Now, the absence of their familiar presence left an emptiness so vast, some mornings he awoke expecting to hear their voices drifting through the halls, the distant sound of Niall’s hammering on whatever project he worked on, the scrape of boots on stone. But the silence met him instead, and it was deafening.

Liam turned, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “They are well,” he said evenly, but there was an undertone of something heavier in his voice. “And, as expected, quite worried about your plight.” He hesitated, as if choosing his next words carefully. “They urged me to tell you that no one has given up hope, and that they will battle for as long as it takes to find a way to free you.”

A tightness coiled in Padriag’s chest. Of course, he had never doubted them—not for a single moment. They were bound not just by time, but by something far deeper, their brotherhood. And yet, it pained him to know they would waste their days chasing a lost cause. He would have done the same if the roles were reversed, but that didn’t make it easier to accept.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face before meeting Liam’s gaze. “Once we leave Esland, please Liam, return to Scotland.” His voice was firm, steady, though every part of him wished he didn’t have to say it. “I mean it, Liam. Go to John. He may not be as patient as he’s been for much longer.”

Liam’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as if bracing for a fight. “Then he is not the person for me,” he bit out, his tone defiant. Without waiting for a response, he turned away, his shoulders tense.

Padriag knew that wasn’t the truth. He and Liam had been friends long enough to see through each other’s facades, and this was no different. Liam cared—perhaps more than he was willing to admit—but he was stubborn. Loyal to a fault. And though Padriag appreciated it, he couldn’t let it continue.

Keeping his voice even, he pressed on. “If I am to stay behind, I need to get used to it. I must start life on my own, not depending on you to be here. Because the day will come when you won’t be able to.” He let the words settle, hoping they would sink in. “You and I both know that day is coming. May as well let it begin now.”

Liam remained rigid, unmoving. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, the only sound between them for a long, weighted moment. Finally, without turning around, Liam spoke, his voice quieter now. “Go to sleep. We have much to do tomorrow.”

Padriag exhaled, knowing the conversation was over—for now. But the words had been spoken, and they would linger, just as the ghosts of his old life did.

He went to a chair and leaned back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long it would take before he truly believed the things he had just said.

Sterling was absent at first meal. Undoubtedly, he expected that Padriag would inform Liam of the conversation they’d had about Esland laws.

The meal was flavorful, but unusual. There was a sort of porridge, slices of meat, which Padriag guessed to be native to Esland as well as tea that tasted somewhat like coffee. A bread-like item was served in a loaf from which they could tear chunks. It tasted like wood chips to Padriag, but he figured the more he ate, the better suited he’d be physically for leaving the realm.

“I don’t think the outskirts of Atlandia are far from here.” Liam studied the food on the table, as if deciphering the contents. “Hopefully we can reach the small village just outside Atlandia and the people will remember us.”

Heavy footfalls sounded, Veylen appeared and joined them. Not bothering with a greeting, the warrior piled food on his plate and began eating.

“Good Rising to you,” Padriag said in a jovial tone.

Veylen gave him a wry look. “We cannot escort you to the border today. Perhaps in a day or two. There is a matter of urgency on our northern border.” He continued eating, refilling his plate, obviously preparing for battle and perhaps long days with little to eat.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Liam, forever a knight, asked.

“Doubtful,” Veylen replied, his accessing gaze moving over Liam. “Your offer is appreciated.”

At least the man had manners, Padriag thought.

“Liam is an accomplished cook. He can come along and ensure the men are fed,” Padriag offered. “I would offer my sword but am unsure of fighting from the back of an auroch. I’m sure I can learn quickly.”

“I do not cook,” Liam said in a clipped tone. “Besides their food is unlike anything we’ve ever eaten.”

Padriag grinned. “You can be a sous chef to whoever the cook is.”

“Shut up.” Liam lifted the tea to his lips and took a long sip. “This is a serious matter, not a time for you to jest.”

“Hey, trying to help as you are so keen on going to battle, or whatever they are going to the northern border to do.”

Veylen shook his head. “We are prepared for battle, but it is doubtful it will come to that. Your presence would hinder and not help.”

Picturing the realm borders, Padriag tried to think what lands were north to Esland. He’d assumed it was the mists.

“Sterling told me you were surrounded by mists on the sides not on the Atlandia border.” Padriag studied Veylen, who’s face shuttered.

The warrior pushed back from the table. “As I said, it may be several days before escort can be arranged.” With that he walked from the room.

“If we had horses, we could leave on our own,” Liam said leaning back. “I suppose a few days reprieve gives us time to plan better.”

It was true, but their options were limited. Other than heading to Atlandia, there was nowhere else to go. Unlike the villagers there, Padraig was not physically able to survive the icing storms that occurred almost daily. How those people managed to grow food and keep livestock alive was a testament to their tenacity.

“Do you remember that mountain not too far from the keep?” Padriag asked, picturing the location of one of their quests when they’d chased a dragon. “If I recall correctly, there was a village up there. The weather is better and maybe I can negotiate living there in exchange for something. Protection, magic, shit I don’t know.”

Liam nodded. “I do remember it. Believe it to be called Briaga, the people seemed accepting. You can offer to be the village idiot.”

“I could, but my wit is too sharp for most, and they’d quickly vote me as their leader. I am not prepared for the responsibility,” Padriag quipped. “What about blacksmithing? Niall taught me quite a bit.”

“If there is a need for one in the village, one is probably already there.” Liam shook his head. “I am sure you can make do. You are quick on your feet.”

Visions of wearing torn rags and begging for food swarmed through his mind, and Padriag shook them off. This was not the time for negative thinking.

At the sharp cries echoing through the air, the two men jolted upright and rushed onto the balcony. Below, a formation of nearly a hundred warriors sat astride massive, horned aurochs, their muscular frames shifting beneath gleaming armor. The enormous beasts bellowed, nostrils flaring as they pawed the earth, their breath misting in the crisp morning air. From every window and balcony, people leaned out, waving vibrant cloths of crimson, gold, and emerald, their voices rising in rhythmic chants that pulsed like a heartbeat through the city.

Above them, the sounds of the powerful sweep of dragon wings. A dozen great beasts circled, their scales catching the light, flashing hues of deep sapphire, fiery copper, and obsidian black. But among them, one stood out—a breathtaking iridescent dragon, its shimmering scales reflecting a rainbow of shifting colors. Atop its powerful back sat Sterling, his silhouette regal against the dawn.

Though other dragons loomed larger, their forms more fearsome, none could rival the ethereal beauty of Sterling’s mount. The dragon let out a piercing, bone-shaking screech, its throat swelling before it unleashed a torrent of flames—blazing ribbons of orange and red that streaked across the sky.

At the command, the Eslandian army surged forward in unison, their mounts’ huge hooves like thunder as they headed northward.