Page 43 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)
Chapter Thirty-one
Elowen
Calithea sharply downturns along one of the castle spires, twirling around the tower effortlessly.
Instead of taking hold of the saddle horns, I spread my arms wide, reveling in the feeling of being weightless while my saddle straps keep me attached to her.
It’s a high I’ve never experienced and know I’ll never find elsewhere.
She evens out, swooping up again and carrying me to where I’m needed.
I unhook myself and slide down her wing into the meeting room that’s open on all sides, with only a few ivy-covered pillars to offer some semblance of a barrier from the staggering fall to the bottom.
The magic within the castle must keep the plants alive, considering the Dasterians were once linked to earth magic.
Basilius shoves his head between the pillars Calithea vacated, nuzzling my stomach with his snout as I pull my glove off with my teeth. I kiss him between the eyes before he turns away, taking to the skies with the others to stand guard over me.
“How is it that it takes you longer to get here on dragonback than it does for us on horses?” Ryder asks as I stride toward the long table.
I slide my coat down my arms and hand it off to a servant.
The room is enchanted to stay heated despite the open concept, but the cold nips at my exposed shoulders and clings to the crown resting across my forehead.
A dark blue sapphire glimmers in the center and matches my off-the-shoulder corset top embellished with gold brocade along the bodice, draping sleeves, and panels of fabric that reach just below the backs of my knees.
“If you could ride a dragon, you’d never want your feet on the ground. ”
“Fair point,” he responds.
I take a seat beside Cayden in one of the upholstered chairs at the head of the polished dark wood table and wrap my fingers around a cup of tea awaiting me.
Two crystal decanters of wine rest on either side of the table, and candlelight from the chandelier hanging in the center of the elaborate ceiling dances like the flames are trapped within.
I take a moment to admire my surroundings.
When I first arrived, the Vareveth castle looked like it was an enchanted forest, and though it retains certain elements, it’s now kissed by the night.
House Veles is the only house in Ravaryn history that will possess the ability to touch the sky, and the regality cloaking our castle certainly reflects that fact.
Dragons are chiseled into the pillars surrounding the perimeter of the room, always serving as a reminder of the power I possess.
I stand beside Cayden as across from us Braxton and four battle-worn generals step through the double doors bordered with banners bearing our sigil.
Cayden’s gold crown glints as he moves, and the thick velvety material of his quilted tunic hugs his biceps and shoulders.
He looks strong, imposing. I don’t understand how Eagor looked at him and only saw a commander.
Cayden is a king, not because it’s in his blood, but because it’s in his soul.
“Generals,” Cayden says. “May I present my queen, Elowen Atarah.”
“The woman who brought dragons into the world. It’s an honor,” a man with shoulder-length auburn hair says. He’s not particularly tall, but he’s built like a mountain. I smile at him, grateful the mention of my parentage doesn’t seem to inspire any animosity in those gathered. “General Killian.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I reply as he takes the spot beside Finnian. Cayden told me bits about them over breakfast this morning. All of them were infantry soldiers that Cayden promoted after he became commander. They’ve all fought by his side in various battles. Their positions were hard-earned.
The blond woman introduces herself next, a soft smile lifting the scar that cuts through her lips.
“Ren.” A woman with hair chopped below her chin, a shade of red so deep it’s almost purple, takes the spot beside her and introduces herself as Autumn, a fitting name really.
Both women are quite tall and muscular, but Autumn has warm, golden skin whereas Ren is fairer.
Braxton smiles warmly at me before coming to stand at my side, a hand resting on his sword. There’s only one man I don’t yet know. His hair is golden blond and tumbles down his broad shoulders. “Gryffin,” he says.
I repeat the names several times in my head, willing myself not to forget them. Unease twists my gut when I think of past guards: Ailliard, Zander, Nessa, Esme…Lycus, who I couldn’t save, the others that I killed. But I shove it down, forcing myself to move forward.
“May I present Finnian Eira,” I say. “Commander of the Aestilian forces.”
Quite like Cayden, none of the finery they wear can mask the danger that wafts off them like a smoke signal. It serves as a warning. I know Cayden would never have become the demon commander of Ravaryn had he not had those loyal to him ready to do his bidding.
“Before the lords get here, there is something you all need to be aware of and it is not to leave this room,” Cayden begins.
“Thirwen has mobilized its naval fleet, and I’ve stationed scouts along the border to alert us when they’re spotted.
” He stands from his seat, pulling the map of Ravaryn closer to him.
“They won’t travel through the center of the Dolent Sea and risk being spotted by Galakin’s naval patrols, so they’ll be closer to us.
” The rings on his fingers glint as he smooths the map’s surface.
“General Ren and General Killian, ready your forces to march at a moment’s notice. We’ll be attacking when they dock.”
“When they dock in Imirath?” Killian asks. “What if they dock on the southern tip of the peninsula? We’d have to travel through the entire kingdom to reach them.”
“They’ll be bringing provisions for the army stationed at the border, and presumably off-loading foot soldiers.
The only port deep enough for ships like that to get close to shore is Port Celestria.
We’ll move under the cover of darkness and board our ships after Thirwen passes to keep up with them.
The army will have to finish the journey by marching, but we’ll dock in a cove close by.
” He juts his chin toward me. “Elowen will burn the ships, and we’ll handle the army. ”
Port Celestria is said to be one of Imirath’s most beautiful beaches. It earns its name because the stars shine so bright that they’re reflected perfectly in the water. Waves upon waves of stars crash onto beaches bordered by obsidian stones, making it entirely night-kissed.
“Yes, sire,” they both answer in unison.
“Once we claim the port, we should be able to hold it, considering it rests on our border.”
“It’ll make Imirath look weak, and though it won’t cut off their trade route entirely, it’ll complicate matters,” Ryder surmises.
Cayden nods in response and lifts his gaze to the door as more footsteps approach. “Not another word about this.”
We sit down as three lords escorted by castle guards strut through the double doors. All look to be in their fifties, and their richly colored outfits laden with jewels create an interesting contrast to the generals in armor, leathers, and cloaks. The three men bow and occupy the remaining seats.
“Your Majesties,” the first man says. He wears a purple-and-gold coat with fur around the collar.
I take note of his features, black hair sprinkled with gray and equally dark eyes.
“My name is Lord Xantheus. Accompanying me is Lord Caspian.” He gestures to the dark-skinned man in red.
“And Lord Drystan.” He finishes by pointing to the slim man with white-blond hair.
Cayden’s hard gaze remains locked on Lord Xantheus, and I recognize his voice. He was the most vocal about his hatred for me…and my skin crawls when I recall the vile threats masked by laughter.
Saskia clears her throat. “As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now King Garrick is taking a new wife with the intention of fathering more children to displace Queen Elowen as heir. This has now become a war of succession. Elowen is his firstborn, and the throne is hers by right.”
“But Her Majesty is not a son. If King Garrick manages to have a son before the war is over, many will support his claim, even as an infant,” Drystan says in a nasally voice. “What are the plans for the child or children if they’re born before the war is over?”
“They will be welcomed into our home,” I state.
Drystan must not catch my tone because he continues, “They would be the offspring of Garrick Atarah. All his offspring should be slaughtered.”
My fingers grip the arm of my chair. I have no doubt he includes me in that statement, and the thought of children— innocents —being murdered for political gain sickens me. If I cannot hold a throne without utilizing mindless butchery then I don’t deserve to be on it.
“Mind your tongue, Drystan,” Cayden states in a low voice, not addressing the man with his proper title.
“The next time you speak of the blood that runs through Queen Elowen’s veins, I’ll throw you off this tower.
If she’s feeling merciful, she can send a dragon to retrieve you before you hit the ground, but I’ll leave that up to her. ”
Drystan’s cheeks redden, and he waves a servant over to pour his wine. “I meant no offense to Her Majesty.”
Xantheus speaks next, interjecting in a much more cheerful tone. “Many speculate there is an alternative reason for the rushed wedding. Can we expect an heir to be produced in the upcoming months?”
“You can hope, but it will go unfulfilled,” I reply. “I have battles to fight, and I will not bring a child into a war-torn kingdom.”
“The dragons are untested. What Vareveth needs is an heir, not a queen riding off into battle and potentially dying in the process.”