ESSA
The goblin guard hustled me through the corridors and down hallways. I went where they led me, feeling numb as the sounds of explosions and gunfire bled in through Charcain’s walls.
At last, my entourage stopped in a room we called the Viewery.
Large, crystal windows looked out on the city and the bay beyond, and here I could see the full scale of what was taking place outside.
Countless planes streaked through the sky.
Romia, Kramat, Cronin and Bargate flew among them, fighting on dragon back.
Hundreds of ships—both Admite and Sylph—filled our harbor, but they were not firing on one another.
I wheeled on the goblins surrounding me.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.
“Just sit down,” one of the goblins snarled, moving toward me menacingly.
One of my few royal guards stepped in front of him.
In one swift, savage motion, the goblin lurched in and slashed the guard across the belly.
Even though the guard was wearing chainmail, the power of the blow left the man’s belly gaping.
His guts slithered out into his hands and he gave a pitiful groan as he fell.
The rest of my guards fell back, leaving me surrounded by goblins.
I took them in, glaring at them defiantly.
Their gaunt, pale faces. Sharp teeth. Disquieting lavender eyes.
My sword rang from its sheath. “Tell me what’s happening,” I snarled.
The horde of goblins parted and Kortoi was there, along with Hoatan and Ollie. And coming up behind them was the Sylph Lord and his entourage.
“Essa…” Ollie said as he approached, sounding relieved to find me okay. He made as if to hug me, but I nudged him aside, turning my attention, instead, on the Sylph Lord.
“You came to help us, so help us. Bid your ships open fire on the Admites. Send your goblins out to fight their soldiers.”
“Essa,” Ollie said quietly. “You can’t give the Sylph Lord orders. Please…”
“Shut up!” I barked at him. I marched up to the unnaturally tall figure of the Sylph Lord and tilted my head back to glare into the place where his eyes would have been—if the veil were not covering them.
“Are you my ally? Or my enemy?” I demanded.
The figure remained silent, but his surrogate stepped forward, speaking in that cloying, feminine voice of hers.
“We came to bring peace, Queen Essaphine. And there shall be peace.”
I pointed my sword toward the window.
“Really? Because that looks a hell of a lot like war to me. And it looks like you’re not helping.”
The Sylph Lord remained eerily still, but his mouthpiece took a step closer to me. “Tell us, Essaphine. If two children were fighting one another with sticks and wouldn’t stop, what would you do?”
I shrugged, irritated. “I don’t know.”
The tall surrogate tilted her veiled head. “You might let them beat one another for a while, until they are both tired and crying. Then you would break their sticks. And paddle them both. And you would punish them until they acknowledged your authority as the adult.”
“So you’re the adult in this scenario,” I sneered. “You’ll break both armies... Then what? You’ll take power in Maethalia—and in Admar?”
The surrogate knitted her fingers together, a maddeningly calm and demure gesture.
“We don’t have to take power. We are already in power.
Admar requires our arms, our gunpowder, our coal, and our natural gas.
In Maethalia, the true leaders we’ve installed are beholden to us—Prelate Kortoi and Torouman Hoatan.
We have been the de facto rulers of both nations for quite some time.
All we are doing now is pulling away the veil. ”
Fury boiled in me, hot as magma.
“Fine. Let’s tear away the veil, then,” I snarled.
I slashed my sword upward in a fierce arc. The tip of its blade caught the Sylph Lord’s veil and tore it free. I stared up, ready to look into the face of my enemy. But instead of a face, I saw—
“Nothing…” I whispered in awe and horror.
Where the Sylph Lord’s head and face should have been, there was just an empty hood.
The surrogate gave a disquieting laugh. “We would not be so foolish as to send the Lord here in the flesh. No, he is safe in Koratain.”
With a shriek of rage, I lunged at the surrogate, stabbing my blade into her gut. But her form dropped in a heap of empty clothes. All the other veiled sylph collapsed in the same way. The goblins around me laughed. I set my sights on the nearest one.
“I wouldn’t,” Kortoi said. “They are real enough. And far stronger than any man.”
Kortoi. All this was his doing.
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, my blade was streaking toward his throat. A goblin blade met mine in a clash of steel, knocking my weapon from my hand, and a heavy goblin boot kicked my legs out from under me, sending me to my knees.
“Don’t worry, Essa,” the Prelate said brightly. “The Sylph Lord has promised you may remain in the castle safe and unmolested—as long as you cooperate. You will wear your crown, and stand upon the balcony, and wave to the people, so that they know all is well.”
“While the Sylph Lord is the true ruler,” I said. “While he plunders our people and our land, no doubt.”
“He will do what he wishes,” Hoatan said. “And you will do what you must. That is the nature of power. It is said: the fish that is wise swims with the stream.”
“I am to be a prisoner in my own castle,” I said. “And a puppet to a tyrant.”
“Better a puppet than a corpse,” Kortoi said with a shrug. “Of course, your mother faced the same choice. She chose the latter. But you are wiser than she, are you not?” He glanced at my arm. “You’ve always been a… survivor.”
I looked to Ollie, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze.
Kortoi glanced around the room. “Let us leave the queen. She has much to consider…” He gave me sly glance. “Fear not. We’ll place guards at every door—to keep you safe. Your Majesty.”
And with a flourish of his robes, he turned to depart. The Lacunae and goblins fell in behind him, along with Hoatan. Ollie lingered back for a moment.
“Don’t despair, Essa. The Torzame continues,” he said quietly. “It is far from over.”
It almost was over for him. I almost snatched up my sword and plunged it into his chest. Because he knew about this. I could tell from the look of shame on his face.
But he turned, then, and followed the others out, and I let him go.
Soon, everyone was gone. The last thing I saw before the doors clapped shut were the goblins they left behind—not to guard me, no doubt, but to ensure I didn’t escape.
They needn’t have worried. The poison sickness was washing over me again so badly that I could have laid down on the cold stone floor, shut my eyes, and slept in spite of everything. Instead, I turned my attention to the windows.
Outside, I could see all the way down to the harbor.
Warriors were pouring off the Sylph and Admite boats.
They were met by Maethalian commoners, fighting with whatever weapons they could find—and getting slaughtered.
Planes streaked above. Buildings were burning from their bombs.
Columns of smoke rose everywhere as Issastar burned.
I expected the scene to blur with tears at any moment, but I seemed to have no tears left anymore.
BOOM.
Something rattled one of the doors to the room and my head snapped toward the sound. I heard a shout. A cry was choked to silence. There was a clash of blades. A groan of pain.
Slowly, I picked my sword up from the floor where it had fallen.
There were several more bangs against the door. And grunts, as if someone were being punched. I took a few steps forward, my blade at the ready. Then, the door bashed open.
The first thing I saw was a dragon. Red, with fiery bright eyes. I almost didn’t recognize him. Then, his name slipped from my lips.
“Parthar?”
He gave a hoom of recognition, but he couldn’t come to me. He was still smallish for a dragon, but too large to fit through the doorway. Instead, he stepped aside—and there he was.
Charlie.
He looked like something from the void. He was pale. A cut bled on his forehead. A faint limp slowed his gait, and a goblin sword gleamed in his hand.
Still, he walked toward me. As inexorable as time. As fire. As love.
“Charlie,” I said, but I had no breath, and the word came out a whisper.
The second door burst open then, a dozen goblins pouring in.
The first one leapt into the air, swinging a massive war hammer.
With a flick of his sword, Charlie cut him down.
He was moving then, with preternatural speed.
Clotheslining one goblin. Impaling another.
Grabbing a third and tearing out its throat with his hand.
Three more goblins fell on him then, their legendary power and ferocity fearful to behold.
But Charlie’s fist struck one of them so hard it nearly took the goblin’s head off.
His sword swung, hacking a second one down.
The third, he grabbed and threw into the wall.
The goblin hit with a crunch of bones and fell, limp.
Another goblin had clambered up the wall and across the ceiling.
It dropped down on Charlie now, one of its twin daggers finding his shoulder, causing him to cry out.
Charlie grabbed the goblin’s arm before the second dagger could find his flesh, though, and swung him by it, heaving him across the room.
The goblin slid across the floor and into the wall with a bone-shattering crack.
One more goblin had snuck up on him and reared back to stab him with a long, crooked sword.
So far, I’d watched Charlie’s display, frozen in wonder. Now, I cocked back my own blade and threw it. End-over-end it flew, then it struck the final goblin in the chest, dropping him.
Charlie looked at that final, fallen goblin, then at me.
And I saw…
Blood drizzled down his chin. Unnatural fangs glistened in his mouth. Gods… was he...?
Then it made sense. That was how he’d lived—through the dark arts of the undead.
My mouth fell open. My heart seemed to split in two at the thought of the curse he now endured. It was known to be a fate worse than death. And yet, selfishly, my heart reveled that he was alive.
Not just alive. He’d come back.
His hair was matted and tousled, his clothes torn, slashed, and blood-stained. But his eyes—those were the same as ever. Deep and stormy as the Olam Sea—and they locked onto mine.
He came toward me, his steps slow, inexorable. I felt myself trembling as he neared.
“You came back,” I whispered.
“Always,” he said.
Tears filled my eyes. My lips trembled. “You shouldn’t have,” I said.
He put his fingers beneath my chin and brought my gaze up to meet his.
“Nothing could keep me from you. Not miles. Not seas. Not war. Not death. Nothing.”
I shook my head bitterly. “I did it. The bydrune. I thought you were dead... I didn’t know. And—”
He interrupted me. “I don’t care.”
I’d looked away, but his words drew my gaze back to him. I frowned in confusion. “But…”
He cupped his hand against my cheek. “I don’t care.”
I felt my trembling lips shift, becoming a grimace, a wince of pain. I had to fight to get enough breath to speak. But I had no words.
He ran his fingers down my cheek, their tips as gentle as my tears. “The wind is ours, remember? It will blow me back to you. Always.”
I shook my head again, turning away from him and moving toward the windows, where the devastation of my kingdom was on full, horrible display. Burning planes. Streaking dragons. Rampaging golenae. Carnage. Slaughter.
“The wind is a storm,” I said. “Everything is being destroyed… Ripped apart…”
I felt him come up behind me.
“Then just let me hold onto you,” he said, his voice low, his lips against my ear.
I tried to shrug away from him, but he held me, his arms strong as bands of iron. I closed my eyes, surrendering to his embrace.
“Okay,” I breathed.
From outside, there came a dragon’s roar. I looked out and saw a set of webbed wings flash past the window. Then further out, I saw another. And another.
“Dragons,” I said, in disbelief.
But it wasn’t just a few dragons, not just Romia and her friends. There were dozens of dragons. Hundreds. And most of them had no riders.
But that was impossible…
“They’re wild dragons…” I said, the realization leaving me wide-eyed with awe. I saw a flash of silver. Othura! Then I spotted the teal wings of Razune.
“Othura and Pocha and the others came… and they brought wild dragons, somehow…” I said, my excitement rising. “We have to go fight with them.”
“Yes,” Charlie whispered. “But first, I need to hold you. Please. Just for a second.”He took a slow breath, inhaling my scent.
He still stood behind me, holding me tight against his body, as if he were afraid I’d get away.
Maybe he was afraid. I felt his desire, hard against me.
His lips traced down my ear, down my neck.
Despite everything, my back arched, my hips writhed with desire.
“I’ll never let you go again,” he whispered.
“We have to fight,” I said, smiling in spite of everything.
“We will,” he whispered.
I felt his kiss—on my cheek. Then on my neck.
I felt his tongue slip slow, so slow, across the place where Braimar had cut me.
I felt his fangs, long and sharp, brush over my skin as gently as his fingers had a moment before.
I closed my eyes, shivering as desire washed over me.
I would have surrendered to him then. I would have let him take me in every way, even as the world burned around us.
But he brought his lips back up to my ear.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s fight.”
Here ends Enchantment and Iron: Dragons and Aces Book 3.