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

Chapter 26

26

Isavelle

“ W hat a terrible injury, Mr. Simpkin. Will you allow me to take a closer look?”

Master Simpkin smiles nervously at me from behind a table stacked high with books. When he doesn’t move, my eyes narrow suspiciously.

I arrived at the magical archive just a few moments ago, and instead of all the warlocks hurrying forward with happy greetings and offering me cups of tea as they usually do, the three men are keeping their distance and skulking among the shelves. Even from here, I can tell that all three of them are nursing injuries. Master Simpkin’s arm is splinted with sticks and held in a sling, and he has a swollen lip. Master Gaun is limping on his right side, and sweat has broken out on his brow as he tries not to show it. Master Artor has a cut across his nose and two black eyes.

“How did you break your arm?” I ask, circling the table. He circles as well, keeping away from me.

“Oh! Ah, I fell off a ladder reshelving books,” Master Simpkin says in a nervous rush. “Silly mistake to make.”

“And the rest of you?”

“Tripped over a cat in a dark alley,” Master Gaun calls, limping away from me with an armload of books.

“Walked into my bedroom door,” Master Artor mumbles, staring at his feet.

I glare from one man to the next, annoyed that they’re treating me like I don’t have two eyes in my head. “I do not need a witchfinder to tell me that you’re all telling lies. Who was the fourth warlock who accompanied you into the northeast two days ago? Why could you not tell Zabriel the truth? No lies, please. I would prefer silence to lies.”

I wait for an answer, hoping that they won’t give me silence.

“Yes, it was the three of us who helped the king kill his brother,” Master Gaun finally admits. The other two men look terrified.

“But who was your fourth?”

Master Gaun falls to his knees, which must be painful with his injured leg. “We cannot tell you the identity of the other warlock. I sincerely apologize, Queen Isavelle. You may punish us in any way that you believe is fitting.”

I hurry forward and help him up, and drop all the severity from my voice. “Of course I’m not going to punish you. We’re so grateful to you. I’m just confused about why you’re sworn to secrecy. If you can’t tell me anything, I understand.”

I wait hopefully for a little more explanation, but Master Gaun just looks relieved.

“Thank you, my queen. Let’s talk about something else.”

“It’s not exactly something else, but can we talk about this?” I take the lead bottle with the magical symbols out of my bag. “Is this a phylactery?”

Now that I’m not pressing him about secrets, his face brightens. “Not exactly. It’s made from lead, and the symbols and the salt within are meant to entrap a spirit, not protect it.”

I uncork the bottle, upend it, and give it a shake. Flakes of salt trickle onto my palm. “A shame that it couldn’t capture the piece of the lich’s soul. Do you know why?”

He hesitates. “Let’s just say that the warlocks who assisted you and the king at the ruined shack were not proficient with interplanar magic, unlike yourself. They—that is, we—were unable to find a way to force it into the bottle. You may have better luck in the future, so best you keep it with you from now on.”

I wouldn’t call myself proficient with interplanar magic, but I suppose I’m the only one in Maledin with some experience. I tuck the bottle back into my bag.

“Do you really want no credit for what you have done? None of you? Putting aside your mysterious friend. There’s no danger in people knowing what you have done. You need not be scared of retribution. In fact, the Maledinni will probably throw you a parade. Emmeric was beloved by no one, as a man or king, and he long ago ceased to be a prince.”

“We wouldn’t wish for any public acknowledgment, but…” Master Gaun glances at the others.

“Go on. Please ask me for a reward. You have done the king a great service.”

“As you can see, the archive is becoming quite crowded with books. I believe the candlemaker next door could be persuaded to move to another part of the city if he was offered a good price for his building.”

I smile at him. “I shall send Zabriel’s steward to make an offer. How exciting that the archive is expanding.”

“You are too kind to us, Queen Isavelle.”

“I’ll also send one of the Temple Mothers to tend to your wounds. You have patched yourselves up, haven’t you? And not very well either.”

He winces. “We did what we could. Witchfinders always had to make do with what little field medicine we knew. We appreciate your kindness, my queen.”

“Of course. But before I leave, could I ask you one more question? What do you think my chances are against the lich if I ever meet it?”

He hesitates. “I’m sure you will do your best. You are a creative spellcaster and a gifted witch.”

“I want the truth.”

Master Gaun sighs. “You may find the task difficult, if not impossible. The only way to command an entity such as this, that I’m aware of, is by learning its name. Its body is long gone, but names are forever. Names hold power.”

I think back through my encounters with the lich, both in this world and on other planes. Did I ever hear its name? It had no reason to speak its name, and Emmeric never called it anything. He acted as if he and the lich were one and the same. “How do I learn its name?”

Master Gaun glances sadly around the library. “We have tried. We consulted every book and scroll pertaining to the undead, but none of them contained the name of a powerful lich. If it has ever been recorded, that record was probably destroyed long ago. Prince Emmeric likely knew the lich’s true name while it possessed him, but I doubt he wrote it down or could have been persuaded to speak it.”

Disappointment washes over me. “So the only one who knows the lich’s name is the lich itself and anyone it possesses? Then we’ll never be free.”

“I did not say that, Queen Isavelle. There are other possibilities. Without a body, the lich exists as an untethered scrap of soul. Highly volatile, and impermanent on this plane of existence. The more time passes, the more likely it is to dissipate into nothing and return from whence it came.”

That sounds hopeful, but the expression on Master Gaun’s face is graver than ever.

“Go on, please. I feel as though there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“The lich will be aware that it has mere days, weeks, before it dissipates, and so it will be desperately seeking a host. A powerful one that can protect it. As soon as it does, it will seek revenge on those who have harmed it.”

My heart sinks. That means Zabriel, me, Stesha, Zenevieve, and everyone else who was at the ruined hut. “Then you’re in danger. All three of you, and your mysterious friend.”

He pats my hand. “Don’t worry about us, Queen Isavelle. You must protect yourself and your husband. And on that note, come with me. I will prepare something for you.”

That night, I lay naked in Zabriel’s arms, the warm night air wafting in around us. For the moment, Sylvi is sleeping peacefully in her cradle at the foot of the bed, but she’ll be hungry soon.

Zabriel is tracing lazy fingers up my back, and he feels the unfamiliar chain around my neck. “What’s that?”

I touch the bead around my throat. “It’s a summoning charm. Master Gaun gave it to me. If the lich suddenly appears in the castle to murder us for killing its host, holding this bead and speaking a certain word will call the archive’s warlocks to me.”

They made it plain that they would hurl themselves in the lich’s path to save my life and everyone else in the castle. I tried to refuse the necklace, telling them that I don’t want anyone to live with such a fate hanging over their heads. Master Gaun took my hands and spoke to me quietly.

“After all we have done in our terrible lives, you must allow us the chance to make up for it, even if it means our deaths. We might be afraid, weak, perhaps nearly useless, but we are ready to die for the sake of you who freed us. It would be an honor that, in our darkest days, we never believed could be possible.”

I relay this to Zabriel, and he gazes at the ceiling, deep in thought. “They were three of the warlocks who helped me finish off Emmeric. Who was the fourth?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I forget that Master Gaun and the others were witchfinders and that they hurt people for years and years. I have forgiven them, but I do not believe they forgive themselves. I think they believe they’re cowards.”

Zabriel brushes his lips over my brow. “I saw no cowards the day I killed Emmeric.”

“Neither did I.”

“I have warned Stesha that the lich will probably seek revenge on whoever attacked it in the past, and that includes Zenevieve. He was distracted, but he promised that he wouldn’t let anything happen to Zenevieve.”

“Why was he distracted?”

“Nilak is soon to lay a clutch of eggs.”

I gasp in delight. “She is? That’s wonderful news. Who is her mate?”

“She doesn’t have one, so she must have had a dalliance with a dragon who she deems merely passable.”

I laugh as I picture the proud white dragon. “Only the best for Nilak.”

I’m smiling, but I feel a tingle in the back of my mind. Fear. Now that the lich is no longer tethered to Emmeric, it could do anything, be anywhere. If there’s no sign of it within a month, will I feel relieved knowing that it’s possible the lich may have dissolved into nothingness, or will I anticipate it around every corner, wearing a new and terrifying face?

All I do know is that for the moment, our little family is safe. From now on, I won’t take a single moment with them for granted.

Sylvi stirs in her cradle, and I get out of bed and pick her up. Zabriel sits up against the pillows, and I feed our baby within the warmth of his strong arms.

“I love you, my queen,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my neck as Sylvi suckles. “My heart beats for you. My knot hardens for you.”

My head tips back so that he may kiss more of my throat. We haven’t been intimate since she was born, and there’s a tingle low in my abdomen as his deep voice murmurs in my ear and his teeth nip my flesh.

When Sylvi is done feeding, I take her into the next room to Santha and Posette, and then return to my mate. With the closed door behind me, I give him a mischievous smile.

“ Sha’lenla ?”

I get on the bed on my hands and knees and make my way up his body to press a kiss to his lips. “I’ve missed you.”

He smiles as he realizes what I mean. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Zabriel stays where he is, propped up against the pillows with an enormous telltale bulge beneath his robe. I unfasten it, and stroke my fingers lovingly up and down his cock. His eyes close and his mouth falls open, revealing his teeth, and I long to feel them in my flesh. Those teeth, this knot, made me his mate and his queen, but his heart is what made me love him.

I can feel my slick between my thighs and an urgent clenching in my core. I straddle Zabriel’s thighs and sink slowly down on his length, moving carefully in case I’m still tender. I sigh in relief and pleasure as feeling Zabriel filling every inch of me is as good as ever.

“I want to bear you so many children,” I whisper with my arms wrapped around his neck. “I need to spend days in my nest with you while you knot me over and over again.”

Zabriel groans and digs his fingers into my ass. “I already miss you being pregnant. I can’t wait for your heat, sha’lenla .”

He sinks his teeth into the side of my throat, making me cry out in pleasure.

“Such a good Omega. Look at you taking me all the way to my knot.”

His praise sends me over the edge, and I bury my face in his shoulder as I climax. He follows me a moment later, urgently thrusting upward with his hips.

I don’t want to let him go, so when he eases down on the bed with his cock still lodged inside me, I fall asleep with the comfort of being so full of him.

I stay close to home for several days, enjoying the summer weather and delighting in every moment I spend with Sylvi, Zabriel, Esmeral, and her hatchlings. The baby dragons spend most of their time in the nesting caves, venturing out with their mother for short romps in the sunlight. They’re growing fast, and the two males who Stesha suspects will be Alphas are as long as one of my legs from snout to tail tip, but they’ll have to be a lot bigger before they leave the caves for good.

I’m cuddling the black and turquoise hatchling in the sunshine while Scourge stands proudly over us, when there’s an excited “Whoop!” above me.

It’s Anise on Ereskier, and she waves madly at me while circling Scourge. He doesn’t appreciate the disruption when his hatchlings are out of the nesting caves, and he grunts his disapproval and snaps his teeth at her.

Anise squeals in surprise, and then darts off toward the eyrie, Ereskier moving like a silver blur.

“That was your auntie Anise,” I tell the little dragon, who has opened his sleepy eyes and is staring at the sky. “I think she’s having fun, don’t you?”

I put the dragon down, and he scampers back to Esmeral—who’s dozing in the sunshine with her other hatchlings—and make my way to the wyvern eyrie with Fiala and Dusan.

While my bodyguards make a fuss over their wyverns, I approach Captain Ashton, who bows to me courteously. “Do you wish to visit your crone, Queen Isavelle?”

“Yes, I let Zabriel know that I would be flying to Amriste today.”

He smiles at me. “Then I will prepare your escort. The skies are excellent for flying.”

Apart from Zabriel, Captain Ashton is probably the most thoughtful person when it comes to me flying back and forth to Amriste all the time. Even without the enticement of Ravenna’s arms wrapped around his waist, he’s still ready to personally accompany me.

He hesitates before turning back to me. “May I ask, have you heard from Miss Ravenna since she departed Lenhale?”

My heart aches at his question, and I wish I had better news to tell him. “I have received two short letters from Ravenna, and she tells me that she’s well. She promised to give me her address so that I might write back to her or visit, but so far, she has forgotten to include it.” Ravenna hasn’t forgotten. She doesn’t want to put anyone in danger of Kane’s wrath.

Ashton nods, but his jaw is tight with distress.

“Ravenna is able to protect herself. I believe her when she says she is well.”

“The lady is not well if she is not here,” he says quietly, but his words are filled with frustration. He calls over his shoulder, “Queen Isavelle’s escort, mount up. We are flying to Amriste.”

While we are still alone, I say gently, “Captain, I wish so much that it was not so, but she could not love you even if she were here.”

Captain Ashton gives me a dark, angry look that I think would be a great deal darker and angrier if I wasn’t the Queen of Maledin. “Miss Ravenna has put herself in danger for our sake yet again. I do not know what impression I have given that makes you believe I am feeling sorry for myself.”

He turns away and mounts his wyvern.

“I’m sorry that I presumed…” I call after him, but the captain isn’t listening.

My escort is ready, so I call out to Esmeral in my mind. It takes her a moment to corral her lively offsprings back into the nesting caves, and then she joins me at the eyrie.

During the flight to Amriste, I watch his back, feeling miserable for Ashton. Of course he’s worried about Ravenna. He can’t ever have her, and he doesn’t even have the comfort of knowing she’s safe or happy wherever she is.

It’s early afternoon when we land in a field by my village, and as usual, my wingrunner escort spreads throughout the village. Esmeral settles down in the field and basks in the sunshine, and I tell her I won’t be more than an hour or so. She chirrups contentedly in reply and closes her eyes.

Normally when I come to the village, Biddy’s crows are lined up along rooftops or perched on fence posts and the edge of the well. Today, many of them are flying in circles over the village and cawing. I shield my eye with my hand, wondering if there’s a bird of prey about. A hawk will sometimes upset the other birds.

A figure waves to me from a nearby path, and seeing that it’s Dad, I wave back and hurry to join him. After kissing his whiskery cheek, I ask him, “What’s up with the crows?”

Dad peers up at the sky. “Couldn’t say. They’ve been like that all day. Can I make you a cup of tea?” he asks, pointing toward the cottage.

Tea after a long flight sounds refreshing, but there’s an uneasy feeling in my belly. “Not just now, Dad, thank you. I’d like to check on Mistress Hawthorne, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, do go. I should have checked on her myself when I saw the crows were in a flap. You run along and make sure the old woman is well.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll be back soon.”

I hurry up the path to her cottage, wondering what I’m going to find when I push open the front door.

I sigh in relief as I see movement inside the cottage through the tiny, murky front window. I’d begun to get a terrible feeling that I’d find her dead on the floor.

I knock, and she calls for me to enter. When I push open the door, she’s bent over the fireplace.

“Come in, girl, and sit yourself down. I’m making tea.”

I happily plop onto a stool and begin to tell her everything about Zabriel finishing off Emmeric.

“Proud of himself, is he?” Biddy passes me a cup.

“Proud isn’t quite it. He regrets that he was forced to kill his brother.”

“Regret?” she says in a strange, flat voice. “Our poor, dear Dragon King.”

When the cup is halfway to my lips, I notice that it’s a different shade of pale greeny-gold to the tea Mistress Hawthorne usually serves, and it smells faintly bitter. I remember Kane pausing suspiciously over a cup that Ravenna presented him with, and I suddenly have a strange feeling that I absolutely shouldn’t drink this tea.

“Is there something wrong, my girl?” the old woman asks, sitting across from me in her chair.

I finally meet her gaze, and all of the hairs stand up on the nape of my neck. It’s my crone who is sitting in front of me, but I have a strong premonition that it’s not Biddy who is gazing out at me from those cloudy blue eyes. Her gaze is sharp and hungry. Her features are arranged strangely, as if she’s having evil and gleeful thoughts and isn’t quite able to hide them.

Surreptitiously, I put my hand down by my side and snap my fingers, the test I use to make sure I’m not being fed false visions. They snap easily.

“Was it you who taught the witchfinders their words of power?” I ask Biddy, and I’m surprised how calm I sound while I’m panicking on the inside. “I’ve never thought about it before, but they had to learn magic from someone. You’re a human magic user. Or you were.”

Biddy smiles, but it’s a strange, pointed smile. “Me, girl? I wouldn’t teach those craven men anything, for I am a witch.”

“Are you? Rrus-nahl .” The content of the teacup glows brightly.

I upend the cup and pour the contents out on the floor.

Green light blazes in Biddy’s eyes, and she bares her teeth in an angry snarl. A scream rises up in my throat, and it’s so tempting to let it out. A good, throat-rattling scream, followed by running from this cottage with my hands in the air and sobbing.

I hear, not Biddy’s voice, but the seething, unearthly voice of the lich. “You foul, disobedient wench.”

A witch doesn’t lose her head. My crone taught me better than that. “Let Biddy go,” I order the lich.

With a spine-chilling grin on Biddy’s face, the lich forces her to reach for a sharpened knife that is laying on the table. She holds out her other arm, and I realize what the lich means to make her do.

I leap to my feet and scream the word that the witchfinders use to shatter someone’s magic. “ Nah-vahneh .”

I may as well have sung a ditty for all the good that the word does. The knife sinks into Biddy’s flesh and she drags it up her forearm. Blood wells up and spills to the floor, but still my crone sits there grinning.

I scream the word louder, tears pouring down my cheeks. When I lunge for the knife to wrestle it away from her, I’m blasted off my feet. My back hits the wall and I am pinned in place.

“Do you think that word will work on me when I am the one who taught it to the priests? You cannot best me. You cannot destroy me. My revenge will be great and terrible. I am forever. I am immortal.”

I watch helplessly as the lich makes Biddy stab herself over and over. In the stomach. In the chest. In the throat. Even in her face.

“No.” I’m sobbing so hard I can barely see. “Please, leave her alone. She never hurt you.”

But the lich knows better. It possesses her, and it understands that Biddy Hawthorne has watched over me since the day I was born. She knew I was a witch before I ever suspected it myself. She protected me from the witchfinders. She guided me, giving me stern words and loving ones as I needed them. Without Biddy, I probably wouldn’t have survived long enough to summon Zabriel out from beneath the mountain.

Biddy’s movements are growing weaker. Her dress is soaked with blood and it drips from her fingers onto the floor.

“There are others you love, Dragon Witch. I will kill everyone who has dared cross me and continue my reign long after you have all turned to dust.”

The green light fades from Biddy’s eyes, and I’m finally able to move. I pick myself up off the floor and cross the room to her. The knife has fallen from her grasp. There are so many that I don’t know which of her wounds to bind first. With shaking hands, I use her torn sleeves to bandage her wrists.

Through my tears, I tell her, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll get help for you.”

But what help can I summon for wounds as terrible as these when the only healing witch I know is far to the east?

Biddy whispers a word that sounds like, “Car…Caraxmorenas.”

“What does that mean? Is it a spell? Is it a word that the warlocks can use?”

I remember the bead around my neck. I hold it and gasp the summoning charm that the warlocks taught me. There’s a great rush of wind that sends dust and dried herbs into the air, and when it clears, Masters Gaun, Simpkin, and Artor are coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces.

Master Gaun sees me through the dust. “Oh, my. The dust in here. Is that you, Queen Isa—”

I grasp Master Gauns robes and beseech him. “Help her, please. She’s dying.”

He turns to Biddy, and the color drains from his face. Master Artor coaxes me to my feet and draws me away from my crone while Gaun and Simpkin examine her. It only takes them a moment before they turn back to me with grave expressions.

Master Gaun takes my sticky, bloody hand. “I’m so sorry, Queen Isavelle. Mistress Hawthorne has passed on.”

I sink down before her to my knees and sob with my head in her lap. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I should have known that it would target her. I should have protected her.”

“It was the lich, my queen?” Master Simpkin asks.

“It was here. It spoke with her lips, and it said… It said…” I sit up with a gasp. “It’s going to the castle now. It will attack Zabriel. Stesha. Zenevieve. You three must return to the capital at once and protect them until I get there.”

“We can’t, Queen Isavelle. We have not the power to travel instantly such vast distances. The summoning charm works only in one direction. Is this your village of Amriste?”

Zabriel could be in danger at this very moment. That thing could be hurting our child. I grasp a saucer and fill it with water, but I can find no ink. Blood from my fingers turns the water red, and though it breaks my heart to scry with my crone’s blood, I try it anyway. But to scry, I need a clear and calm mind, and I’m filled with too much turmoil to successfully contact my mate.

“It’s useless. I must leave, but before I go, Mistress Hawthorne said something before she died. I think she spoke the words or name of a spell. Caraxmorenas. Does that mean anything to you?”

Their blank faces make my heart sink. “I’m afraid not, Queen Isavelle, I’ve never heard…”

I run for the door. “My bodyguards are in the field below the village with their wyverns. Ask them to take you back to the castle and meet me there, for I must fly straight back home now.”

I call to Esmeral with my mind, and she’s with me in a moment. As we take to the skies, I hear cries of alarm from the wingrunners, no doubt wondering why I’m leaving without them. “Bring the warlocks,” I shout over my shoulder, hoping that Ashton or Fiala hear me.

As I fly east on Esmeral, I hunt through my mind for any way to vanquish the lich. The lead bottle is in my satchel, but even if I’d remembered to take it out at Biddy’s cottage, I don’t know any way to force that thing inside it. I wonder if I’m going to return to Lenhale only to witness the people I love and care about being forced to kill themselves while that thing laughs at me. The timing seems significant. Ravenna and Kane have left Lenhale. I went to Amriste. Was it waiting for the most powerful magic users in the country to leave the capital to begin its attack?

The flight back to the castle has never felt longer.

I picture vividly the lich invading the minds and bodies of innocent people and using them to slaughter unsuspecting victims. Forcing Stesha to hurt Zenevieve and Zabriel to—

I swallow a sob, remembering Sylvi asleep in her cradle the last time I saw her. Small and defenseless, and so fragile.

As I near Lenhale, I see smoke on the horizon. Panic seizes my heart, and Esmeral cries out in alarm. We’re still too far away to see what’s happening, but as we draw close I see the glow of fires in the city and smell the stench of acrid smoke. There are hundreds, even thousands, of tiny figures at the closed city gates, and flashes of evil green magic.

Bells are sounding the alarm. Soldiers are racing along the streets. But where is the dragon army? There should be dozens of dragons in the skies fighting off the attackers. Where is their commander and king, and why isn’t he leading them?

I can feel Esmeral’s panic for Scourge and her hatchlings, but she stays on course and flies straight to the castle instead of the dragongrounds. She drops me within a castle courtyard and then flies away.

Inside the castle, everyone is in turmoil and the stench of fear is in the air. People run this way and that way in panic or huddle in corners weeping. I always took it for granted that the people of Maledin understood instinctively what to do in a crisis, somehow better and smarter than humans. Now I realize that it was Zabriel’s leadership that gave people courage and instilled purpose, because now that he is absent, no one seems to know what to do.

I seize a castle guard by the arms. “Where’s King Zabriel?”

The man’s eyes are wide with fright as he looks everywhere but at me. “Is it true what people are saying? There’s an army of mon—monsters at the gates?”

I shake him to get his attention. “King Zabriel. Where is he?”

“I have not seen him. No one has.”

I gulp down my panic and run for the stairs that lead up to our quarters. As I pass by the entrance to the Great Hall, I hear someone calling my name.

“Queen Isavelle!”

I think it’s Stesha, but I’m already halfway up the stairs. Zabriel needs to know what happened so that the dragon army can hunt down the lich and kill it once and for all. We need our king.

I burst into our room, and the sounds of the ringing bells and panicked people fade away. Zabriel is standing over the crib at the end of the bed with his back to me. There is something strange and unsettling about how motionless he is, even though he must have heard me come into the room.

“Zabriel?” I call out to him.

The door slams shut behind me.

His head turns slowly toward me, and my blood runs cold as I see that Zabriel’s mouth is stretched wide in a hideous smile. The red in his eyes has been entirely replaced by a sickly flickering green.

“I’m so happy you’re finally here, my dear,” he says in a cracked, rasping voice. The lich’s voice. The thing controlling my mate reaches down into the cradle. “Look at this little treasure. We have such a pretty child.”