The Flame King’s Queen (Fire and Desire #3)

Chapter 11

11

Zabriel

“ A re you ready?”

I look up from the enormous map of Maledin spread across the table in the War Room. Stesha is standing in the doorway, and I’m alone in the War Room with only my thoughts and anxieties for company.

“I have never felt less ready in my life,” I confess.

When we recaptured Maledin, I didn’t have the luxury of a plan. Of timing and strategy. There was only the shock of our sudden release from captivity and the anger that our enemies were falsely claiming our lands as theirs. The Brethren strongholds needed to be destroyed and Lenhale retaken. Those first few days were chaotic as I gave orders to my riders, wingrunners, foot soldiers, and the Hratha’len , knowing little about our enemy but feeling more confident with every battle that we won thanks to the might of our dragons. Then in the midst of it all, I found my Omega, and my yearning for Maledin to be free and strong only sharpened my determination.

Stesha strides forward and studies the little figurines of dragons, wyverns, and soldiers assembled at the line that marks the southern barrier. “We are more prepared than when we took Maledin back from the Brethren. Stop worrying.”

“I didn’t have time to worry then, let alone plan,” I say with a tired laugh.

“You believe Kane will disrupt the barrier?”

“I don’t believe he gives a damn about us, but he will do it for the sake of his own pride and his hatred of Emmeric.”

Stesha fixes me with a stern gaze. “Then there is nothing more for you to do. Get out of here and get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

“When does your Omega return?”

“In the morning.”

“Then go ride your dragon. Actually, I have a better idea. Come make yourself useful with me.”

I allow Stesha to bully me out of the room, and I follow him as he leads me through the castle and into the Flame Temple. There are two dragon hatchlings playing in front of the blazing font, romping about and rolling over and over as they mouth each other with sharp little teeth. A third lies on its side, snoozing in the warmth. As soon as they see Stesha, they all get up, scamper over to him, and climb up his legs and onto his shoulders. I realize there are small talon holes all over Stesha’s riding leathers, and he winces but doesn’t complain as sharp little claws dig into his clothing and flesh.

He passes one to me, and it settles into my arms and tucks itself beneath my chin. A warm feeling spreads through me as I hold the trusting little creature. Its scales are a rich purple color, and she blinks pretty yellow eyes at me.

“Their mothers were patrolling today. We’ll take them back to the dragongrounds.”

“You have the sharpest little talons,” I tell the purple dragon.

A hatchling burrows into the dragonmaster’s hair, and Stesha has to untangle it. “Esmeral’s hatchlings will probably rip me apart. Something to look forward to.”

I turn to him in surprise. “Esmeral? Has she laid a clutch? I have been hoping that any day now she will.”

“Not yet. Soon, I think.”

With hatchlings resting on each of his shoulders, Stesha leads the way out of the temple and down to the dragongrounds. I don’t have to ask Stesha to whom my hatchling belongs. A lilac and gold Beta dragon calls out, and she launches herself out of my arms and scampers across the ground toward her mother.

“Good night, Ma’len , and get some sleep,” Stesha calls to me, disappearing among the dragons with the hatchlings in his arms.

Stesha seems relaxed despite the impending battle, and I should try to emulate him. When I was a boy, the former dragonmaster, Zenevieve’s grandfather, told me that a dragonmaster is happiest when his flare is growing and his leathers have been ripped by tiny talons. Stesha seems proud of the new dragons.

Scourge is proud as well, and snorts with interest as he smells a hatchling on me. He’s never fathered any dragons before. The flare will grow stronger once his offspring spread their wings.

I’m not ready for sleep yet, so I stay with my dragon for a little while. As the sky above darkens to midnight blue, I lean against Scourge’s flank with my eyes closed, listening to the steady rush of air in and out of his enormous lungs.

Isavelle’s scent is suddenly all around me. I turn, thinking that she must be here, that she’s returned sooner than expected, but I see no one. Yet I feel her all around me. I wonder what manner of witchcraft this is. My little farseeker is with her crone, so perhaps she has learned something new. I feel the brush of her lips against mine, and then the sensation and her scent fades away, and I know I am alone again.

I’m smiling as I take myself to bed.

The next morning at dawn I watch from the balcony in my room as a turquoise and golden dragon rises through the misty air and arrows off toward the west. Esmeral, going to fetch her rider home. In a few hours Isavelle will return with Fiala and Dusan, and I am impatient to see her.

I need to be busy. I ask Sundra to put me to work, and she sends me to the armory courtyard where I join the workers who are sharpening and polishing sword blades. Every time a dragon or wyvern passes overhead, I look up, and the soldiers catch on to the fact that I’m waiting for my queen to return.

“A lonely dragon has his eyes on the skies,” one of them says as he grinds a whetstone against a blade. It’s an old saying about dragonrider lovers missing one another, or unmated Alphas who are pining for their Omega.

“More like a hungry dragon,” replies another, and I can’t help my grin as they all laugh. I am a hungry dragon today. I long to get my teeth into my mate.

It’s the middle of the afternoon before I see the familiar turquoise and golden scales overhead.

The whetstone drops from my hand. I shoot to my feet, and I’m running across the courtyard before I realize that I’m not setting a good example for my soldiers by abandoning my duty to gratify my own heart. The raucous whistling behind me tells me that the soldiers don’t begrudge me for my need to hold their future queen.

I’m there to catch Isavelle in my arms as she comes running across the dragon bridge. The sweet scent of her and our baby bursts around me, and I press a dozen hungry kisses to her lips and face.

“How wonderful it is to kiss you again, and you are warm and solid this time.”

Isavelle pulls back and smiles at me, exclaiming with pleasure, “You felt me?”

“I did, my clever little witch. How did you do that?”

“Mistress Hawthorne taught me. All it takes is a saucer of ink and water, but I don’t think I will do it often because it’s intrusive and bad manners.”

“You may visit me through your saucer and ink whenever we are parted. It’s never bad manners to kiss your mate.”

Isavelle smiles and snuggles into my arms, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. I lift her in my arms and carry her toward the castle.

“What shall we do now?” she asks, smiling up at me.

“We shall go to bed.”

Isavelle laughs. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

“It’s only good sense, sha’lenla ,” I say innocently, and then more seriously, “remember, it’s the half-moon tonight. There won’t be time to rest until after the battle, so we must do it now.”

Isavelle and I spend the rest of the day in our bed, sometimes napping, sometimes not. Toward dusk, we eat a meal while still in bed, delaying the moment we must leave it for as long as possible.

“We will be flying at night,” Isavelle says, taking a thoughtful sip from her cup as she muses on the mission ahead of us. “It makes me think of the second time I ever saw you. I was being taken south by the Brethren to meet the Shadow King, and you and the other dragons attacked them. I didn’t know the names of the others at the time, but I studied their faces and dragons. Stesha was there, and so was Sundra. I was surprised to see a woman in battle gear, though it was low on the list of the most surprising things I saw that night. Dragonfire poured down from the night’s sky, and you knelt in the dust before me and touched my bruised cheek as though it really mattered to you that I was hurt. You, a stranger with so much love in your red eyes.”

“You must have been terrified, sha’lenla .”

“I think I was too in awe of you to feel afraid. I knew that the last place I wanted to be was with the Brethren being taken to the Shadow King.” She smiles mischievously. “But not so in awe that I didn’t remember to present you with my cheek when you tried to kiss me.”

I groan in agony remembering that thwarted kiss. “Looking and smelling as you did and not being allowed to kiss you, I just about died on the spot.”

“Thank the stars my mate is the strongest man in all of Maledin and managed to survive,” she teases, and leans forward to press a kiss to my lips. Her fingers find the knot of scar tissue on my side. “Come back to me in one piece this time. I won’t be able to bear it if I lose you.”

A few hours later, Isavelle and I are both prepared for battle. She’s wearing flexible leather armor, tooled with gold that shimmers in the moonlight along with her hair and gold-flecked eyes, and a tan-colored cloak. I have donned my black plate amour, and the night wind whips at my black and crimson cloak.

At the far side of the bridge to the dragongrounds, we share a final kiss and part ways. Her gloved fingers trail through my gauntleted ones as we move apart, our eyes filled with longing and wishes for the other’s safety. I must ride at the head of the flare, and she at the back.

I find Scourge and press my forehead against his flank, communicating with him silently, feelings of determination passing back and forth between us. We must be leaders tonight, now more than ever.

The skies are clear, and at midnight, the half-moon is visible in the west. Flaming torches light the dragongrounds as the dragon army assembles. Most of the dragons and many of the wyverns are carrying a foot soldier or two to the southern barrier. Temple Maidens are moving among the men and women carrying platters with cups of strong tea. I drink a cup down, pass it back to one of the maids with a nod of thanks, and then climb atop Scourge.

Isavelle and Esmeral are with the Temple Mothers who are riding wyverns, and they will provide support to any wounded soldiers during the battle. I catch my mate’s eye across the sea of shining armor and dragon wings. Isavelle looks pale and nervous in the firelight, but she manages a smile for me.

There are two figures astride Nilak, one tall and broad with long, white hair, the other small and slight with a plait of dark hair. Zenevieve sits between Stesha’s thighs, sideways on the saddle with her ankles crossed together. She’s gazing up at him as they talk and she plays with the end of her plait. They’re actually speaking to each other. It has been a long time since I have seen that, or the sight of them riding together on Nilak. I can’t tell what Stesha is thinking from his expression. His hands are resting on his thighs, and he’s engrossed by whatever his former ward is saying. A battle can bring two people together. A mission such as the one they share, to bring Shar home, even more so, as friends, family, or lovers. I’ve never been sure what those two are to one another.

My dragons are prepared. When I receive the nod from Sundra and Ashton that the soldiers and wingrunners are ready, I shout loud enough for all to hear me.

“Dragon army, on me.” Scourge spreads his mighty wings, and with a defiant roar, he launches into the sky. I hear the flare’s answering roars and the thunder of wings behind us.

We fly south through the night to battle. To victory. To Emmeric’s death, which tonight must be final after all these centuries.

An hour before dawn, the dragon army is assembled in formation at the southern barrier, a towering, flickering edifice of magic. We are ready to attack Emmeric’s castle and end the war in Maledin. Only the barrier still stands, and there’s no sign of Auryn in the skies.

As the sky lightens with the sun that’s about to rise, I can feel my anger mounting. Despite Kane’s aggression toward my flare, my home, and the two precious Omegas in the kingdom, I have been more than fair and open-minded about his presence.

A sliver of sunshine breaks over the horizon. Dawn is upon us, and we stand uselessly at the barrier.

Sundra’s dragon is next to Scourge, and she calls to me, “ Ma’len , how will we proceed if Kane does not come?”

I’ve tried to tell myself that we will find another way, but we won’t. We can’t. The warlocks who run the magical archive in the city have already made it clear that they’re not powerful enough to disrupt this barrier. One of my spellbreakers is dead, and the other is a traitor. Only Kane can do this.

On the other side of the barrier, I can feel Emmeric laughing at me. He must be aware that we’re here. I’m sure he’s entertained by the sight of the dragon army assembled where they can’t get to him. He’ll be delighted when we all have to turn around and slink back to where we came from.

There’s a shout from one of my soldiers. “Dragon approaching from the northwest.”

I look around. A golden dragon is skimming toward us through the skies. As he lines up to pass over us, his throat glows golden. Auryn is preparing to deluge us with dragonfire. Scourge rumbles a warning and gathers his legs beneath him.

I’m about to call out for the army to scatter when the golden dragon veers away. The flare will not panic if we do not. I press a steadying hand to Scourge’s scales. Hold .

Auryn passes overhead, and Kane shouts, “ Nah-vahneh .”

The word echoes through the skies, loud, but not loud enough. The barrier shudders and crackles with menace, but it doesn’t break. All the dragons grow restless at the sound, clawing at the dirt and raising their heads with their jaws parted.

Auryn wheels around to fly by the barrier a second time, and as he whistles past us, I’m close enough to see the sweat gleaming on Kane’s brow. His chest expands as he draws in a deep breath and he opens his mouth to shout, but changes his mind and closes it again. Auryn’s talons flash over our heads, almost close enough to decapitate. Kane seems to be struggling to control his dragon.

Behind me, Nilak screams. I just catch Stesha’s furious words. “What is he doing ? Can the idiot not control his own dragon?”

Auryn makes a third pass, and this time, I feel the heat from his soul core. As he shouts once more, there is a deafening crack, a flash of light, and a great rush of wind.

I fling my arm up to shield my eyes from the blinding light and dust. When I lower it again, what a different sight I see. Not the pulsating barrier, but an expanse of open ground, and a ramshackle castle of old dark stone.

Auryn hovers in midair, his great wings beating while his rider surveys what he has done. There’s a wild gleam in his eye as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

I raise my sword in thanks, and it catches the rider’s attention. When I tilt my head toward the castle, inviting Kane to join in the battle against a man he despises, he casts me a haughty look with a curling lip. Auryn beats his wings, climbs into the sky, and heads for the northwest.

No matter. I already have an army.

Scourge and I swing around to face Emmeric’s castle in unison. There is an open, dusty expanse of ground between us and the battlements, one I do not trust.

I shout so the dragonriders around us can all hear. “First group, on me.”

The dragons take to the skies, and dragonfire rumbles in the throats of one and all. We lay down a path of fire, the smoke from which obscures the foot soldiers as they maneuver to flank the castle. Figures appear on the battlements and flashes of green light flicker among them. Mages casting spells. Behind me, the wyverns shriek as the wingrunners are given orders from their captain to attack. The wyverns shoot over and between the dragons, becoming silvery blurs as they dive for the mages. Several of them are caught up in the wyverns’ talons and hurled to the ground, which is a long, long way down.

Amid the smoke, the screaming, and the sight of dragons soaring over the unprotected castle, I feel my lips curve into a smile. We are coming for you, Emmeric. Do you understand your numbered days are over?

Do you fear me now?

I imagine him shaking in fear, pitiful and outmatched. Vulnerable now that his barrier has been turned down.

The ground churns and boils, and up from the morass, human figures rise, dressed in rags and rusted armor, clinging to blades with skeletal hands. Some have yellowed eyeballs. Others have no eyes at all.

An army of the undead. Emmeric was never going to make this easy for us.

I grit my teeth and raise my sword, signaling to the riders to attack. We must clear a path for the foot soldiers, and dragonfire will be the fastest way to do it.

Maddeningly, these undead seem to have some protection from fire. Abandoning our first plan to burn them to a crisp, Scourge flies low over the slow, shuffling army and rips into them with his talons.

Flying this low, I can see that the undead army is made up of not only fallen Brethren Guard, but fallen Maledinni soldiers as well. I recognize their tattered armor and rusted weapons. I pray that I don’t recognize any faces.

Behind us, Merrex breathes fire over the injured undead, and they burst into flames. But there are still hundreds more, and they have reached the foot soldiers. I can hear the clashes and screams of battle.

A boulder sails over us and crashes into the undead, rolling over a dozen of them. Scourge follows up with fire as white wings flash overhead. Nilak dives down and picks up the boulder in her talons, her enormous wings laboring as she rises back into the air. She turns, banking to the left, and once she has reached a good speed, she hurls the stone at one of the castle turrets. This must be near Shar’s prison. The structure shakes but does not fall. Nilak screams as she dives to collect the boulder once more, but I must turn my attention elsewhere and focus on the battle.

It’s an exhausting fight for the dragons, and they breathe fire again and again. Every now and then, one is gripped by a lightning or darkness spell, and they’re engulfed in lightning or inky shadows until a wingrunner is able to find the enemy mage and kill them.

Scourge roars in pain as white-blue chain lightning dances and crackles over his wings. I feel his pain in my chest and stabbing through my fingers. He’s paralyzed in midair while we are far above the battle, and he starts to fall. This is how riders and their dragons die. I remember my best friend Onderz, who flew into an electrical storm so that he and his dragon would perish. We found their bodies broken upon the ground after falling from a great height, the dragon’s wings scorched by lightning.

Scourge roars in defiance, flings up his tail, and lowers his head. He can’t move his wings, but he can dive toward the battlements. Trusting in my dragon, I lay forward along his neck and hold on tight, knowing that our landing will be far from gentle. With the last of the fire in his soul core, he unleashes a torrent of flame.

The huge wooden gates into the castle keep are closed and barred. With his bony, horned head lowered, we crash through the gates in a shower of splinters, broken rock, and embers.

Scourge has slid on his belly, but his wings are no longer gripped by lightning, and he raises them up and gets to his feet. With a mighty bellow, he signals to my army that the castle has been breached.

I dismount, slide to the ground, and draw my sword. Now that the foot soldiers have a way into the castle, the battle is turning our way.

I’m braced for an onslaught of mages or undead, but the enormous courtyard is empty. Scourge lowers his head and snarls at the shadows, but they conceal nothing but dust and wisps of grass.

Several wingrunners dart over me, ready to protect their king, but after a moment, they settle onto the ground. The wyverns’ beady eyes search the area, their heads turning sharply. Captain Ashton dismounts and approaches my side, gripping a bloody halberd.

“Your orders, Ma’len ?”

I don’t trust how quiet this place is. “Search the place. Kill Emmeric. Locate any phylacteries that the lich may have made and destroy them.”

That thing has had five hundred years to find a new way of binding its soul to this plane. Killing the man I once called my brother is only the first step in defeating it forever. We can’t leave any way for it to come back.

The foot soldiers have reached the broken gates of the castle and are running inside the courtyard to join us. Ashton relays my orders to them, and they split into groups of a dozen and begin to search the castle.

I move into the castle’s hall, carrying my drawn sword. Nothing moves. There are no sounds apart from my own soldiers’ running feet. This place feels abandoned. Dead.

Isavelle described being taken to a tower, and I hunt for stairs that will take me to the upper levels. A twisting staircase takes me up and up, and it finally opens into a large circular room. The room has been lived in recently. There are papers and books on the tables, but there is very little dust. When I touch a blown-out candle, it is faintly warm.

There’s writing on several unwound scrolls in a language I don’t understand, but I recognize the handwriting. I saw it every day when Emmeric and I were both youths suffering under the glares of our tutors. Neither of us were good students. I was too careless, and Emmeric was too arrogant. Even after all these years, I know my brother’s handwriting.

Emmeric was here recently. So where is he now? I suppose when his barrier came down, he fled. We didn’t breach the castle fast enough, and he found a way to escape.

I trudge downstairs, disappointment heavy on my shoulders. My soldiers will search the castle thoroughly, but I have little hope now that they will find Emmeric.

Ashton approaches me with a report. “No sign of Emmeric, Ma’len , but we have taken several mages prisoner. At least, I think they are mages.” He looks a little sickened.

There’s a cluster of men surrounded by wingrunners and loomed over by Scourge, who has his jaws menacingly parted. They’re all unarmed but still dangerous if they are mages. When I look closer, I see what has made Ashton so uncomfortable. The men’s flesh is dead-looking. Their veins are blackened, and some of them have clouded eyes. But they’re still very much animated.

“Bind their hands and gag them so they cannot cast spells,” I say, and the wingrunners do so, though I can see from their expressions of revulsion that they don’t enjoy being this close to the undead.

One of the mages is watching me with minute focus. There are chunks of flesh missing from his gray, clammy cheeks, but the wounds do not bleed. It raises the hair on the back of my neck to look at him, but I sense that he has something to say.

I step forward and pull the gag from between his teeth. “Where is Emmeric?”

“You will never find him,” the mage says. “You are not worthy to behold one of such power.”

Completely useless. What should I do with the prisoners? I don’t kill those who have been captured or surrendered, but none of them have beating hearts. They won’t be able to swear allegiance to me and assimilate among the people of Maledin when they were created to serve an undead master.

Green light flares in the mage’s eyes. “Seek me all you wish,” the man rasps in a very different voice. “You will never find me. I will always be out of your reach.”

I’m speaking with the thing that possessed my brother, and as I stare into its disturbing eyes, I wonder how Emmeric was able to welcome it willingly. He must have hated us all so much.

“Death to the black prince. Death to his bloodline. It will perish and be no more.”

The words send a chill down my spine, and I wonder if Emmeric somehow knows about Isavelle having my baby. The light fades away, and the mage goes limp like a doll. His skin flakes and flutters away on the breeze. His bones crumble to ash. All around us, the undead soldiers are dissolving and floating away on the wind.

I turn slowly on the spot, hunting for any sign of Emmeric, but there’s none.

All around me, riders and soldiers are coming to the realization that the battle is over. I push through the groups of men and women, seeking my mate. She’s near where I left her, tending to injured soldiers with the Hratha’len .

My mate looks up, and as soon as she sees me, she jumps to her feet and runs to me. “They told me you were unhurt, but it is a relief to see you for myself.”

I pull Isavelle into my arms and press my palm against her belly, my fingers splayed so I can hold as much of our child all at once.

Isavelle reaches up and caresses my cheek. “Is everything all right, Zabriel?”

That thing mentioned my unborn child. We have secured the southern border, but it doesn’t feel like we have won anything.

I hold Isavelle in my arms as my soldiers and riders report about the battle. Wingrunner scouts scour the area, but there’s no sign of Emmeric.

“I wanted him dead. A clean, uncomplicated victory for Maledin.”

Speaking in a soft voice, Isavelle says, “The lich is gone. You have driven him out of Maledin, and all your soldiers and riders will fight to keep the borders secure. You have won today. I feared for my mate’s life, but he stands strong and tall on his own lands, and the enemy is vanquished.”

She’s right, but I still can’t manage to feel victorious. Until Emmeric is dead and that thing inside him has dissolved into nothing or has been trapped forever where it can no longer cause harm, this isn’t over.