Page 18 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Twelve

Cayden

Beyond the forest stands a village made of several cottages built around icy rivers and winding dirt roads.

Smoke rises from chimneys and candlelight shines through several windows bordered by colorful shutters.

Mountains reach high into the sky all around us, and a waterfall tumbles down one of the staggering cliffs in the distance.

“Gods,” Saskia breathes, her boots crunching in the snow beside mine. “This place is beautiful.”

I say nothing, not denying or confirming her statement as I keep my eyes on the back of Elowen’s head, pulling away only to scan the surroundings.

Sure, I suppose it’s charming, but I’ll never be able to overlook the way Elowen has spoken of the burden on her shoulders.

My goal with moving these people is to make her life easier, not theirs.

She is the only reason I’m here, not because it’s the right thing to do. Morals would’ve gotten me killed if I held them in high regard.

Reminiscing is pointless aside from using it to feed my anger, but as I watch a mother and son sip from mugs, buried in blankets while watching the sunrise, I can’t help but think of my own mother.

What would her life have been if she had left my father?

If we’d found a place like this? I can still hear her screams, the way she choked on her own blood.

Bitterness so potent it would sour the sweetest fruit curdles my stomach.

I’ve been forced to mourn her longer than I knew her. My father didn’t even bury her after she died; for all I know she was burned, buried in an unmarked grave by the villagers, or left for an animal to feast upon.

I’d never belong in a place like this. Since the moment that Imirath soldier carved my face open, I’ve burned with an anger that grows by the day.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m in this world, but I’m not of it.

I was forged by hatred and sharpened in violence.

I’ve survived everyone who has tried to kill me, and though I killed parts of myself to achieve such victories, I’d walk through this world as a corpse before I let an enemy escape me.

Being blessed by the God of Death is a laughable notion. The gods have no place in my life. They never have.

“Cayden.” Saskia lowers her tone, slowing her steps slightly to keep our conversation private. “With Aestilian off Elowen’s mind, we’ll need to discuss Imirath’s succession.”

I grind my teeth, recalling when Elowen told me she has never wanted a permanent place in Imirath. Falling for her was never supposed to happen. I was supposed to take my revenge—kill Garrick, sign a treaty, and dust my hands of it, but that’s impossible now. “I’ll talk to her when we’re home.”

“Garrick has no other children? Not even bastards?” she rushes out, and if her concern wasn’t so clear, I’d walk away.

“A bastard will never have a stronger claim than a legitimate daughter,” I say. “And no, he does not.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Saskia shoves her hands into her coat pockets. “I’ll try to find out what’s being discussed in Imirath. At least Elowen will have more information when it comes to making a decision.”

Ryder gestures for Saskia to catch up as Finnian leads her and my soldiers to what I assume is the guard house.

My strides quickly eat up the distance between me and Elowen, and I lace her arm through mine to keep her from slipping on any ice patches.

I ignore the way people peek out of their windows to get a look at us, some even throwing their doors open and rejoicing for their returned queen.

Elowen tightens her hand on my arm, looking up at me with the kind of smile one might wear when bringing their lover home. “Smile, demon. You got us into this mess, so play your part.”

“I hardly smiled before we were betrothed, and it didn’t stop people from believing I’m in love with you.” I look down at her when she flinches, but her expression hasn’t wavered.

“My people will not be so easily fooled.”

I grasp her chin with my free hand. “If you want me to kiss you, all you have to do is ask.”

A flush creeps up her neck as she glances at my lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m just offering a way to strengthen our image.” She glares at me before turning to knock on the door we’ve stopped in front of. “You know how much it enlivens my day to see your vexation written so plainly on your pretty features.”

She ignores me as it’s ripped open and the scent of rosemary, yarrow, and freshly brewed tea wafts down the steps.

A woman with warm brown skin and shoulder-length raven hair cries out, pulling Elowen into her arms. Elowen stiffens at first, but soon melts into the quick embrace as she’s ushered inside.

I take another quick glance around before shutting the door behind me.

“My girl,” Nyrinn says, her tone almost motherly. “I knew you’d be back.”

Elowen brushes her fingers down one of the posts jutting from floor to ceiling. “You’re our first stop.”

Nyrinn whips her head toward the door with the realization that someone else is present, and she keeps her chin raised as she drops to a curtsy. “Apologies, Your Highness. I had assumed you were a guard.”

“No formalities necessary, and I do serve as Elowen’s guard.” I stick my hand out, despite never doing this when meeting new people. “Cayden.”

She clasps a calloused, much smaller hand around mine. “Nyrinn. If you haven’t heard of me, I’ll be gravely offended.”

I manage a half smile. “What you taught Elowen has aided me on several occasions, and she’s always spoken highly of you.”

Nyrinn seems pleased by the response and turns to Elowen again. “Do commanders and kings often serve as guards over their women or are you still hell-bent on death finding you before it’s ready?”

“I am not hell-bent on death.” Elowen rolls her eyes, staring at the woman with a warmth I desperately miss.

The memories sink claws into my mind, making me long for the past in a way I never have.

I lament over the loss of her laughter, the softening of her eyes when she looks at me, the way she melts into my body because she feels safe in my arms. “Cayden is hell-bent on keeping me alive. There’s a difference. ”

“Smart man,” she huffs, her dark gaze pinging between the two of us. “However, it appears you left out quite a few details in your letter a few weeks ago.”

“Can’t seem to recall anything noteworthy.” Elowen claps her hands. “Where is Lycus? I assume he’ll be in one of the spare rooms?”

Nyrinn pulls out a chair at her table, her expression becoming remorseful while gesturing for Elowen to take the one beside her.

She hesitates for only a moment, but does as Nyrinn wishes.

Her fingers tug her moonstone pendant along the gold chain, and she whispers the words I already know. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“The guards cut him deep. There was too much damage, and too much blood loss. All I could do was make him comfortable.” Nyrinn shakes her head. “However, he wanted me to pass on his last words to you. He said, ‘It is an honor to die for the dragon queen.’ ”

Elowen releases her necklace, planting her elbows on the table and dropping her head into her hands.

I push off the wall and kneel beside her, pulling the chair out enough to make her face me.

“His blood is not on your hands. He did his duty as a loyal soldier and stood against those who betrayed you. You’ve already executed the guilty. ”

Elowen rubs at her arms like she’s trying to clean some invisible filth from her skin. “He should’ve let them go.”

“Loyalty and betrayal are old friends. One can’t exist without the other, and we wouldn’t know the value of the former without the presence of the latter,” I say. “Death during wartime is unavoidable, but we will honor his sacrifice by winning.”

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, tormented eyes latching on to mine.

I know she has a hard time accepting comfort, but it doesn’t stop me from trying.

Sometimes I think she takes on the pain around her and internalizes it so that when she looks for someone to blame, it’ll always be herself. “When is the funeral?” Elowen asks.

“Today,” Nyrinn answers. “After news of Ailliard reached us, and the mutiny of the guards, we knew you’d return. It didn’t feel right to burn him without you present. We also suspect you have a plan for how to handle the situation.”

“I do.” Elowen breathes deeply, turning to face Nyrinn as I get to my feet and slide my hand along her shoulders.

“Aestilian must be evacuated for the safety of the people. As queen of Vareveth, I offer refuge to anyone willing to make the journey. Housing will be provided as well as funds for those who need it to help them get on their feet in a new kingdom.”

Nyrinn looks around her shop, standing from the chair and trailing her fingers along the glass vials on the shelves, the bundled flowers hanging from the ceiling, taking her time as Elowen’s knuckles become white while she grips the chair.

“Please don’t stay here, Nyrinn. It isn’t safe.

Cayden gifted me a healing shop and you’re more than welcome to use it. ”

“Has he?” The woman turns toward us, curiosity lighting her eyes as she notes the hands I rest on Elowen’s shoulders. “That sounds far more generous than the rumors report him to be.”

“The rumors are correct,” I state.

Nyrinn snorts as she opens the lid of an empty trunk pressed against the wall. Her hands grip the sides as she bows her head and takes a deep breath. “Inform me of the shop’s inventory and start grabbing jars of whatever you lack.”

More people than I thought possible fill the place Elowen referred to as Mourning Meadow. Lycus rests on a grand pyre, his sword clasped between his sickly gray hands. The brown leathers he wears match the hair neatly braided down his skull.

“I don’t know much about the afterlife,” Elowen murmurs. “Ailliard usually spoke during the funerals.”

“I know a bit.”

“Do you know anything I can say to him as a final blessing?”

The memory slams into me: dirt-and-blood-caked hands clutching a token of the past as metal bars pressed into my back. I haven’t said the words since, never had a reason. “May your soul cross the river and find peace.”

It’s said there are many layers to hell, and the closer to the top you are, the better you were in life, but there are rivers throughout.

A soul can’t find rest until they accept death and cross.

Some are reincarnated if the God of Death thinks they deserve another chance to prove themselves, but he’s known to be ruthless.

I’ll have to find a way to climb the mountains of the underworld after I die because Elowen will definitely be at the top, and my wretched soul will find a way to hers no matter the distance.

Elowen swipes a stray tear off her cheek and squeezes Lycus’s hands. “May your soul cross the river and find peace, Lycus.”

She tightens her hold on my arm as we return to Finnian, Saskia, and Ryder. Sorin lands beside the pyre, causing several parents to pull their children closer. Elowen’s eyes glow gold for a moment, and the heat of Sorin’s flames slams into my face as the pyre is set ablaze.

“Did you learn that from your books?” Elowen asks.

“No.” I clear my throat. “My mother used to tell me tales while she knitted blankets in the winter.”

Elowen steps closer to me. “What was her name?”

I swallow. “Asterin.”

“That’s beautiful,” Elowen whispers.

“The blankets weren’t,” I murmur, wanting to give her a distraction as she’s given me on numerous occasions.

“She was never taught how to properly knit. Ladies at court practiced needlepoint. The blankets she made always came out misshapen and riddled with holes, but they were the warmest damn things I ever owned. If I could’ve saved one thing from the fire it would’ve been one of those. ”

“It makes me happy to know how deeply she loved you.” Elowen’s gloved hand slides into mine, the first sign of affection since the betrothal that I know to be true. “We will avenge her, Cayden.”

I rub my thumb over her knuckles but cut myself off when Finnian steps forward. His slender shoulders are rigid when he turns to face the crowd, and the blazing flames at his back are reflected in his determined gaze.

“What’s he doing?” Ryder asks.

“I don’t know,” Elowen answers. “He’s never spoken at a funeral.”

“I first came to Aestilian when I was a child—orphaned and alone,” Finnian begins, his voice echoing throughout the valley.

“My family lived on godly land, and I never thought much of kings and queens, never understood why so many people in great tales would give their lives for them. That was before I met a queen not much older than me: Elowen Atarah.”

Her hand tightens on mine as Finnian continues.

“Lycus stood against those who betrayed her, and for that his soul will know peace in the afterlife. He was a brave and loyal soldier, and one who we should all strive to emulate. Do not let his sacrifice go in vain. Elowen is the only queen I will ever know. She is the ruler I choose to follow until the day the gods claim my soul. She has fought for us since she was a child, and now it is our time to return the favor. She rides to war against her father, and we must ride with her. If Lycus can raise his sword in her name against friends, then we should all be able to raise ours against foes. How many rulers have made a kingdom while exiled? How many people not only brought dragons into the world but ride them?”

Swords are unsheathed and hoisted in the air as the crowd grows louder.

Finnian speaks in a tone I’ve never heard him use before.

It demands attention, and commands respect.

Sorin exposes his teeth and roars as Elowen strides toward Finnian.

I don’t hear what they say above the cheering, but the love shared between them is evident in their eyes.

She’s not wearing a crown, and yet anyone looking at her would know she’s a queen by the way she carries herself.

“We fight for our queen!” Finnian unsheathes the sword at his waist, raising it high above his head. “The dragon queen!”

“The dragon queen!” the crowd echoes once, twice, until it becomes a chant and a sea of raised blades, glinting in the sun as all those in attendance drop to their knees.

The dragon queen.

Not the queen of Aestilian. Not the queen of Vareveth. A queen her people will follow to any land, to any end, to war and beyond.