Page 33 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Aurelia

I explode out into the night, following Velda’s voice like a beacon.

Bene . She has already found Bene.

But it is not hope that quickens my pulse as I half-limp, half-run down pitted stone stairs into a weed-littered courtyard, my mother’s magical shoes keeping my steps secure despite the uneven terrain.

It is fear.

Malice will not let me get away so easily. Even after having spent mere moments in his company, I know him well enough to know that. He is surely right behind me. We have little chance of freeing Bene, Brisa, and Glorana in time.

The wind picks up, sending the dark clouds overhead billowing across the sky. Shafts of newly revealed moonlight illuminate the snarled tangle of brambles before me—the very brambles I spotted this morning when Malice flew me to Umbra Castle. The very brambles from my dream.

Except in my dream, there are roses, too.

And Bene’s voice guiding me down never-ending corridors.

Here, there are only thorns encircling a crumbling tower that spears the sky.

“He is there!” Velda exclaims, materializing just beside me. Her wings flutter so quickly that they are a mere blur of silver. “He is in there. I saw him through the window.”

My heart leaps into my throat. “But why is he unguarded?”

Where are the goblins? Where is Malice?

I glance over my shoulder, scouring the darkness.

No one. I see no one.

We truly are alone.

“Probably because you either need wings or to be able to weave Air to get past these thorns,” Velda surmises. “Come!” Delicate purple threads swirl toward me. “I am no master like Brisa, but I may be able to carry you over the thorns.”

“May?” It is all I have time to ask before I am airborne, unsteadily rising higher into the night.

I clench my jaw to keep from crying out as Velda’s weave barely manages to hoist me over the first layer of brambles.

My feet pass entirely too close to thorns thicker than my legs and sharper than any sword.

My glow flares brighter, fed by my fear, probably alerting every goblin in the castle to my location.

Gathering my mother’s gown into my hands to keep the silk from snagging, I try to quiet my thoughts and pray.

It is all I can do now.

“Please,” I softly implore the pixie flying ahead of me, tugging me along like a toy on a string.

I stare at the labyrinthine tangle of thorns just beneath me, even though that is probably the worst possible thing I could be doing.

From above, it is easy enough to see that this must have once been a hedge maze. “Can we not go any faster?”

Through gritted teeth, Velda whispers back, “Not if you want to arrive in one piece.”

I close my eyes, unable to watch our snail’s pace progress any longer. It has been entirely too long since I last remembered my breathing exercises, but I force myself to remember them now.

In through my mouth, out through my nose.

Steady. Calm. I must be in control.

When I bump against something hard, my eyes flash back open. We are here.

“Forgive me, Therya’kai ,” Velda pants, flickering weakly beside me. “I cannot lift you the rest of the way. But I can still help you climb.”

Climb?

“It is all right,” I insist, even as my stomach sinks when I look upward and realize how far away the single window is from our current point. I have never climbed anything beyond a staircase or a ladder before.

Let alone while wearing an evening gown and high-heeled slippers.

Bene needs me , I remind myself. I can do this .

I may not be a great warrior, nor a great weaver, nor a woman trained for any manner of physical pursuits.

But that does not make me helpless.

I am the daughter of Mira and Giles Weaver. I am the daughter of Liora, Queen of the Flora Vale. Na sol Therya’fey. Na sol Therya’kai .

Rough stone scrapes my fingertips as I jam my hands between bricks, finding purchase within the crumbling mortar. My feet soon follow. Sucking in a deep breath, I begin my climb.

The wind picks up, tugging at my skirts, my hair. Suddenly, I wish the strands were braided rather than fluttering loose beneath my mother’s circlet, getting in my eyes and my mouth.

Muscles I have never used before in my life flex and strain.

Threads of Air woven by Velda wrap around my waist and tug me upward, allowing me to focus more on finding secure handholds and footholds rather than struggling to hold aloft my own weight.

But still, it is slow going.

Still, my body trembles.

Still, my skin grows clammy beneath my gown.

Still, I wish I could weave a pair of wings for myself and simply fly up there like Velda can.

A sudden thought strikes me. “Velda?” I ask as I hoist myself up another few inches. “Why did you not just wake Bene yourself?”

My right hand reaches upward, fingertips scrabbling at the lip of the ledge jutting out from the window. We are almost there. I can hardly believe it, but we are truly almost there.

“Because,” she pants, clearly just as exhausted as I am, “the weave is too complicated for me to unravel on my own. It will require both of us to undo it.”

“What?” I gasp, shooting her a look. “But I cannot weave . I cannot break a sleeping curse.”

“You must,” she breathlessly urges, tugging harder on the Air wrapped around my waist, straining to help pull me the rest of the way.

“Please. You must try. For Bene’s sake. And my sisters, too.

You are stronger than you know. And besides”—she barely manages to exhale the words as she collapses onto the ledge—“curses are meant to be broken. There is always a way.”

Shaking, I grasp the edge of the ledge with my left hand and haul myself upward until I’m finally able to peek over the edge into the room at the top of the tower. Until I can finally see Bene for myself through the grime-coated window, lying on the floor.

Malice didn’t even have the decency to give him a proper bed.

Hope swells within me against my better judgment. Na’theryn . There he is—so close, I can almost touch him. He is here. Alive. Even through the glass, I can see his chest rise and fall. I can see his body twitch in his sleep.

But I can also see the weave overlaying him—threads of gold and silver and even a hint of black for all that Velda and Bene both insist dark magic does not exist. The strands are woven together into such a complicated design that I cannot see where one thread begins and the other ends.

My mind races. My muscles quiver. My grip on the ledge begins to slip.

Doubts rush in.

What if I can’t do it? What if I make it this far simply to fail right at the end?

“Yes,” a voice purrs from the shadows lingering about the edges of the tower’s roof. “What if you fail? Or, more importantly—what if you fall ?”

“Aurelia!” Velda cries, too late.

My heart seizes as Malice’s hand shoots out of the darkness, as his long fingers wrap about my throat and lift me clean into the air as if I weigh nothing at all. Slowly, he rises from his gargoyle-like crouch, bringing me with him.

How long has he been there? How long has he been within my thoughts?

My feet kick uselessly at nothing.

My fingers claw at his hand, all in vain.

He does not need to hold my throat. His Air weave beneath my feet cushions me well enough to keep me aloft. It is all an excuse to touch me again.

He dares to touch me again, after I told him not to.

Malice’s emerald eyes burn in the darkness as he lowers his gaze to my neck, stroking his thumb against my skin.

“A throat like this should never be left bare,” he murmurs, his breath caressing my face with each word.

“I will have Grime and Ghoul bring you some jewelry in the morning, selira feyra .”

I recoil from his touch. His words.

Anger flares through me hot and bright.

I would rather fall to my death than spend one more moment in this creature’s company. I would rather be impaled upon the thorns below than be further manhandled by him .

Malice tightens his fingers around my throat like a living collar, refusing to let me go. His smile mocks me. His eyes dance, as if he delights in my rising fury.

“Only Bene may call me selira feyra ,” I whisper, carefully enunciating each syllable. “And you , Malice the false king”—I snarl his name to ensure he knows how much he disgusts me—“will never touch me again.”

The moment that final word tumbles from my lips, something snaps into place between us—a something that resounds through my soul, that vibrates the very air, that flickers through Malice’s gaze in a flash of silver and gold.

His eyes widen, surprise visible there for the briefest moment.

But then that moment passes.

His grip on my throat loosens. His Air weave beneath my feet dissolves.

“Aurelia!” Velda screams as I tumble backward into the night.

Falling.

No! My fingers grasp at nothing. The wind whips past. Above me, Malice shifts and roars, the sound threatening to rend the sky. But he makes no move to catch me.

Only Velda flies after me, desperately trying to weave more Air to slow my fall. But it is not enough. Her light flickers, dimming by the moment. She no longer has the strength to weave.

She cannot help me now.

No one can.

“No!” I scream aloud, my eyes squeezing shut. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to fail.

Please, no .

Air snaps taut around me, stopping me midair. My head whips back. My eyes fly open. I shudder, barely daring to breathe as I look down and see the wicked points of the thorns waiting just beneath me.

I hover mere inches from a most gruesome death.

A panicked laugh escapes me, my body shaking. I suck in deep of the night air, my chest heaving. I’m alive.

Malice must have saved me. He must have waited until the last moment to frighten me.

But as I look up at the great dragon hovering above the tower, as I feel the anger roiling off of him in hot waves even from that distance, I know it was not him who saved me. He would have let me break against the thorns.