Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
D rake was gone when Creslyn awoke. She knew, because she could no longer sense his presence in her bedroom. Despite the glowing warmth of flames flickering in the hearth, the air was cooler. And she missed the scent of him. That intangible sensation of traversing through mountains as snowflakes tumbled from a blanketed sky, clinging to branches of evergreen. He’d told her he would return by tomorrow, but after the slight altercation with King Marius at breakfast the day before, Creslyn was already bracing for the longest day of her life.
To make matters worse, she longed to release her magic once more.
But instead of dazzling her surroundings with beams of sunshine and sparkling rainbows, she found herself back in the Trench with Kjeld.
Cold mud and damp grass squashed beneath her feet. At least this time she’d been prepared and had made the more sensible choice to wear a pair of flats as opposed to heels. Though her movements were slightly less hindered, she still slipped and slid through the muck. She’d also opted for one of her less fashionable gowns, choosing one in a deep plum-pink shade that would hopefully disguise most of the soiled hem. It was velvet with large sleeves that ballooned over her arms, then cuffed at her wrists. The scooped neckline was embellished with tiny rainbow moonstones and the back was cut low, exposing her to the elements.
Though she was grateful there was no rain this afternoon, she supposed it was only a matter of time. She’d been out here for hours already, and the skies of Brackroth were bleak again, roiling with heavy clouds of gray that appeared ready to break and unleash another downpour.
Only Kjeld and herself were in the Trench. The other soldiers she’d seen fighting the day prior had all gone down to Dragnott—the lair of the dragons. She squinted up at the sky in haste, spying outlines of shadowy wings as the dragons and their riders soared overhead, their screeching calls igniting a tiny spark of hope inside her.
Maybe she would have a dragon of her own one day.
The sting of a wooden sword smacked her arm hard, and she winced, glaring at Kjeld.
“Ouch.” Creslyn rubbed the sore spot right below her shoulder, a line furrowing between her brows. “What was that for?”
He swung his sword out again, tapping her lightly on the top of her head. “You’re distracted again, my lady.”
“I cannot help it,” she muttered, casting her gaze to the darkening skies once more. “Training is dull.”
“Dull?” Kjeld lowered his practice weapon and stalked toward her. Wind stole through the Trench, strands of his long, dark gold hair fluttered across his face, and he shoved them back in annoyance. His summer blue eyes narrowed. “It’ll save your life one day.”
“But it’s the same thing over and over again. Parry. Step. Dodge. Attack.” She sighed, rolling her neck, then suffered him a look of boredom. “It’s tedious.”
“It’s a drill.” He spoke to her with all the patience of an adult scorning a child. His patronizing tone set her teeth on edge. “To make sure it becomes second nature to you.”
Creslyn planted one hand on her waist, cocking her hip to the side. “I’ve already memorized every move.”
His roughened, windswept features hardened, and he arched one brow in disbelief. “Have you now?”
She readied herself in a starting stance, kept her shoulders down, and raised her arms in defense. “Try me, General.”
Kjeld lunged and they fought, Creslyn blocking his every attack, dodging his attempted blows. He held nothing back against her, and she pivoted through the movements he’d taught her, motions that had swiftly become muscle memory. She spun away from him, coiling her hands into tight fists as she avoided his relentless assault. It made no difference if she had no armor, if she was without a blade and was forbidden from using her magic, she would become a weapon. She’d never been any good at the typical accomplishments of a lady. Needlework was a thorn in her side. Drawing and painting were the very bane of her existence. But for some reason, hand-to-hand combat reminded her of music. Each strike was a chord, every motion a part in a great melody, the musical composition of battle.
Finally, chest heaving and his eyes widened in awe, Kjeld staggered back. He shook his head once, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “How?”
Creslyn shrugged. Her muscles were on fire, burning from exertion, but she relished the feel of achievement. She sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the misty air, and smoothed her heavy skirt. “It is just the way I am. I learn exceptionally fast, so long as it’s something of interest.”
“So…you enjoy training?” he asked, tossing the wooden sword onto the table.
She stretched her arms overhead, then let them fall to her sides. “It’s not so different from music, I suppose.”
Kjeld mulled over her response, roughing a hand over his beard. His blue eyes flicked to her. “Well done, my lady. His Highness will be quite impressed with you upon his return.”
“It’s possible.” But she would accept his compliment either way.
The general sorted through the weapons spread on the table, drumming his fingers lightly upon the surface. “Perhaps we should move on to daggers. Or would you prefer a sword?”
She might be a quick study, but defending herself was not quite the same as swinging a sword. “I think I’d like to try?—”
“General Holtstrom!”
Creslyn whipped around as two soldiers barreled into the Trench. Sweat dripped from their brows, and their faces looked to be covered in ash or soot. They were dressed in the traditional riding leathers with an onyx dragon emblem pinned to the collars of their vests. Both of them rushed past her, not even sparing her a glance.
One halted before Kjeld and snapped to attention. “General Holtstrom, sir, you’re needed at the Dragnott Lair immediately. One of the whelps has gone rogue, he’s setting fire to the stables and slaughtering the horses.”
“Shit.” Kjeld hesitated, locking his gaze onto Creslyn.
A tremor of alarm raced down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
“Take Lady Creslyn to her quarters immediately and stand guard outside of her door until my return,” he ordered, stalking closer to both riders. “Do not leave under any circumstances.”
The soldiers nodded in unison. “Yes, general.”
Kjeld walked through the damp grass to Creslyn, gripping her shoulder. “I will not be long, I promise.”
Before she could respond, he started running, vanishing into the castle and out of sight.
Creslyn whirled around and faced the two guards who averted their gazes, taking up a sudden interest in their scuffed boots.
“My lady.” One of them bowed his head, gesturing toward the door leading from the Trench and into the castle. “If you’ll come with us.”
Creslyn fiddled with the sleeves of her gown, uncertainty warring with rational thought. It would be foolish of her to refuse and stand out here in the Trench where King Marius could easily discover her alone and without Drake’s protection. At the same time, he’d warned her to only trust himself and Kjeld. Granted, she could probably make it back to her wing all by herself, but she’d rather not take any chances. And since these two guards were refusing to even look at her, she assumed their allegiance fell to Drake and not necessarily King Marius.
Left with no other choice, Creslyn followed the dragon riders through the great hall towards her wing. Their heads swiveled at the faintest noise, one hand hovering above the hilt of the swords strapped to their waists. They moved with great stealth, their footfalls near silent as they stalked through the castle, and Creslyn found herself hoisting her skirts to keep them from swishing too loudly as she attempted to walk as quietly as possible.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the door to her bedchamber came into view.
One of the soldiers reached out and opened it for her, allowing her entry, then bowed his head. “We’ll be just outside if you need anything, my lady.”
Creslyn nodded, not that it mattered. He never even looked up before shutting the door soundlessly behind him.
She stared at the closed door a moment longer, unsure of what to do now that she was yet again locked inside her bedroom. Chilled, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, her gaze lingering on the hearth where the fire had all but gone out completely. There were a few embers left, lumps of gray coals that glowed bright with the remnants of a flame. She would summon one of the maids to light it again as soon as she changed out of her mud-stained gown.
Kicking off her filthy shoes, she padded lightly across the floor, the soft fur rug cushioning her bare feet. She slid one arm out of her sleeve completely, when she caught sight of her reflection in the elaborate floor to ceiling mirror.
Another pair of eyes watched her from the far corner of the room.
Creslyn opened her mouth to scream when a rough hand clamped over her, muffling her cries for help. She struggled, clutching at her gown to cover herself, as arms swiftly wrapped around her, pinning her against a solid chest. The stench of sweat and stale tobacco overwhelmed her to the point of gagging, and though she tried to free herself from his beast-like hold, whoever held her captive only tightened his grip. Her feet lifted off the ground and she kicked, thrashing wildly, when another figure stepped out from within her closet.
He was a gangly man dressed in the black and silver of the king’s guards, and a sneer peeled back his too thin lips, revealing a set of yellowed teeth. Sharp cheekbones only highlighted his gaunt face as he stared down his hooked nose at her. He sauntered closer, and though he was positively hideous, it was the lecherous look in his eyes that sent a spike of fear into her heart. His tongue slid out, wetting his papery lips like a snake.
“By all means, don’t stop undressing on my account.” His raspy voice grated against her ears, and his mirthless smile widened as he approached. “Here, let me help you.”
The vile man reached out and grabbed her bare breast, squeezing hard, his nails digging into her flesh.
Tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. But this man’s audacity, his cruel insolence, unleashed a rush of cold rage from within her.
Creslyn’s magic exploded with blinding fury, more raw and powerful than ever before. Streaks of scorching sunbeams enveloped her in a sphere, and the arms holding her hostage fell away as screams of pain echoed throughout her bedchamber. The pungent scent of burnt flesh hung in the air as rainbow prisms morphed into shards, flying around her like sharpened blades poised to strike. She threw her hands up in front of her, barely controlling the violent beauty of intense sunbursts and shattering rainbows. The storm engulfed her as magic pumped through her veins, ripping through the room in spears of brilliant light and color, awakening the sliver of darkness locked away in the most cavernous part of her soul.
Banging and shouts sounded from outside of her bedroom door. Drake’s soldiers on the other side fought to break it down, but the solid wood held, and the handle didn’t budge.
“Put the shackles on her already!” the gangly man yelled, his gravelly voice resonating throughout the room.
Creslyn spun to face the man who ran up on her other side, and her mouth fell open in horror.
Half his hair was singed off his head, falling to the ground in burnt clumps. His face was bleeding, the skin charred and peeling away.
Her shock was the only opportunity he needed.
He lunged for her, and when she lifted her arms in defense, something like ice clamped snugly around her wrists. The sensation was jarring, causing her to yelp in pain as the cold iron snuffed out her magic like a flame in the wind. The metal bit into her flesh, pulling the air from her lungs on a gasp. Her knees wobbled, her vision blurred. Like a swallow of poison, the iron dulled her power until it was nothing more than a faint thrum in her blood. She swayed once, her strength giving out as she collapsed onto the hardwood floor, pain ricocheting through her. Rendered weak and defenseless, she could do nothing as she was tossed over the scorched man’s shoulder like a sack of grain.
“I got her, Stygg.” He headed toward the balcony.
“Good.” The rasping voice sounded distorted to her ears, but there was no mistaking the venom spewing from his hideous mouth. “That’ll teach the fae bitch.”
Creslyn whimpered as they threw open the doors of her balcony. Frigid wind swept through the room, chilling her body, and without warning, the man holding her tossed her over the ledge. Her shriek was silenced as she landed hard on her stomach, all the air pushed from her lungs. Something cracked, splintering inside her, each breath becoming more agonizing than the last. She’d broken a rib, maybe two, and with her magic dampened by the iron, the chances of her injury healing were entirely too slim.
She rolled her head, a glimpse of silver scales glinting out of the corner of her eye.
Dragon.
The word reverberated through her mind. But her thoughts were muddled and incoherent, the iron making it nearly impossible to focus. Why would a dragon be working for the king’s men? She could’ve sworn Drake was their master. He’d told her as much.
Biting gusts of wind slapped her cheeks as she soared through the sky and frozen drops of rain pelted her arms and legs. Her chest ached fiercely, her body stiff and broken. And she couldn’t be certain, but it felt as though one of the men, likely the lanky one named Stygg, had his boot firmly planted in the center of her back.
The dragon finally landed, and bile scaled the back of Creslyn’s throat as she was dragged off its back and shoved before none other than King Marius.
He stood on a cliffside that stretched out over the roiling sea. A gray fur cloak was pinned to his shoulders, billowing around his wide frame as he ambled forward, tugging his belt up over his excessively large stomach. The king scraped his gnarled knuckles along the side of his face, then stroked his unsightly beard once. Twice.
Stygg pushed her forward again, and she stumbled, the iron cuffs around her wrist clinking noisily.
King Marius chortled, his black eyes zeroed in on her, lingering heavily on her still exposed breast. He reached down, adjusting the bulge in his pants, and Creslyn nearly retched. She grappled with her gown, tugging it up to cover herself from his lascivious glare.
“It was foolish of you not to heed my warning.” He closed the distance between them and bent down, his hot, rank breath smothering her. “When I said no magic, I meant it.”
Creslyn refused to cower before this wretched excuse of a ruler. She was a Starstorm of House Celestine, a fae of noble birth and rank, and she would only ever obey the stars. Kings and crowns be damned.
She rolled her shoulders back, clinging to the fabric of her gown. “I was defending myself against those two bastards you call guards.”
King Marius shook his head, tucking his hands behind his back. “Your excuses will not sway me. Much like your shadow prince, I always keep my word.”
Again, her knees quaked, the iron weakening her further. She fixed him with a knowing look, her voice entirely too calm when she said, “He’ll kill you for this.”
The king’s boisterous laughter sent her head spinning. “No, he won’t. Because if Drake kills me, he will forfeit his own life as well.”
Creslyn blinked, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.
He grabbed her chin, jerking her face upward. “And we both know he’d never sacrifice his power for you.”
“Liar,” she hissed between chattering teeth.
“Tell me,” King Marius mused, crowding her so she was forced to step back, closer to the dangerously high cliff. “Do you have wings?”
“N-no.” She shivered, realization settling in the pit of her stomach. Casting one desperate, fleeting look around her, she locked gazes with a set of startling blue eyes with onyx slits for pupils.
The dragon.
Help me, she pleaded, her voice hollow to her own ears. Please, help me.
But her shadow prince couldn’t hear her pleas. And neither could the dragon.
King Marius gestured to the vast expanse of empty horizon behind them, where the gray sea churned and frothy waves crashed against a jagged slope. “Then I suppose it’s time you learn how to fly.”
“No!” she cried as Stygg grabbed her, scooping her off her feet. “No! Please!”
And then he threw her off the cliff.
Creslyn screamed as blurs of slate flashed by her. A piercing screech cut through the heavens as she tumbled through the air. She would die. This is how she was going to die. Drake’s face appeared in her mind, his roguish smirk fracturing her heart. The last thing she saw was the faint outline of wings before she was swallowed by the ocean.