Chapter 59
CHAPTER 59
I race up the stairs of the tallest tower in Castle Perillos—Morgan Tower, which overlooks the courtyard. I jump two steps at a time, my lungs burning, wheezing. My boots echo off the curving stairwell walls.
At last, I reach the top of the tower and step out onto the turret and into a downpour of icy rain that slashes at my skin. Thunder rumbles across the kingdom, and lightning cracks the sky.
A few Fey are already up here, their faces taut, staring out at the kingdom in shock.
I follow their gaze, my chest clenching.
In the churning storm clouds, two dragons clash like ancient gods resurrected, spewing fire that sears the sky in fiery lashes.
Talan rides Tarasque, who breathes red-hot flames toward Auberon. The king sits astride a golden dragon named Vellar, a ferocious, gilded beast.
I grip the stone parapet, fear sliding bony fingers around my heart. I know Talan is a better rider, but Tarasque is injured, and she’s a tiny thing next to the hulking mass of Vellar.
Tarasque swoops higher, trying to get above Vellar. As a smaller female dragon, she’s nimble. She should be able to easily manage that. But her injured wing folds with each beat, and her path is clumsy, slow.
Vellar rises quickly, a bolt of gold against the gray. He cuts off Tarasque with ease, then snaps at her wounded wing, missing by the width of a moth wing.
I gasp, and the other Fey cry out into the wind. So close. Too close.
If that wing goes, Talan falls. He dies.
Terror burns through my thoughts like wildfire. Somewhere deep inside, I feel Nimu? stir, an ache in my soul. Her son is trying to kill her grandson.
In the stormy clouds, Talan keeps trying to block Vellar. He can’t get a good angle to attack that wing. Even watching from a distance, I can see what a superior rider Talan is. He’s managing complex and misleading maneuvers, using the wind to his advantage, always keeping Tarasque one step ahead. But whenever he tries to gain the upper hand, he takes a risk.
All Auberon needs is one small win.
And maybe not even that.
Even I can see from here that Tarasque is tiring herself out. Unlike Vellar, she isn’t in good shape. Apart from the injury, she’s been flying all over the kingdom, racing in and out of portals. She’s hardly rested, and Talan won’t manage to keep this going much longer. That’s why he keeps trying to rise above Vellar, to get a good angle for attack. Now, he does it again, shifting with the wind, gaining speed, darting up into the clouds.
Tarasque moves with such breathtaking speed that it’s a miracle Talan can even stay on. Hope burns in my chest as they rise above.
But Vellar swerves and breathes a terrifying wall of fire directly at Talan. Panic jolts through me, and I cry out as flames seem to envelop Talan and his dragon.
She emerges from the other side, roaring with fury. Lightning cracks, flashing off Talan’s armor. He’s still there, still riding Tarasque.
“He’s okay,” I mutter, my heart slamming in my chest. “He’s okay. He’s okay.”
Vellar rises again, soaring higher. This time, as Tarasque turns to face him, she loses the advantage of her position.
“Look!” someone calls, pointing to the fortress walls.
There, across the open field skirting the edge of Corbinelle, a throng of revolutionaries moves like a tide, a wave of Fey armed to the teeth.
I can’t see who leads them, but I’m sure it’s Nivene.
This was part of Avalon Tower’s plan, to sow chaos and undermine Auberon’s rule. While Nivene was stationed here, she and Meriadec were building the resistance, giving them confidence that they could win against a king. Now, the commoners of Brocéliende have grown into a furious army, and they’re going to storm Perillos.
Nivene once told me the Scorched Earth Revolt happened soon after the French Revolution. It ultimately failed because Auberon had dragons.
But a mob is a dangerous thing. The French revolutionaries didn’t stop once they’d toppled the monarchy. They kept killing, severing heads until the guillotine turned on its own and cut them down, too.
Even if Talan survives this battle with his father, he’ll be the first to die at the hands of a starving, furious anti-monarchy mob. They have no idea he’s trying to save them right now, and for all they know, he’s worse than his father.
The wind and rain howl more furiously, lightning flashing on the horizon. Riding on top of the dragons, it must be almost impossible to see, the world tumbling around them, smoke and fire intermingling with the hostile weather.
I almost wish Talan would use the ferocity of the storm to escape. Fly away to regroup, maybe catch up with the host of dragons he sent to the north. But the second he leaves, Auberon will incinerate the subjects marching toward the kingdom. Talan won’t let it happen. He won’t let his father light them up like torches.
My mind roars. Maybe this was never about winning. Maybe he’s just trying to buy the resistance time, to hold the skies long enough for the army below to breach the castle.
Vellar is getting more aggressive. Auberon smells blood in the water. He knows his enemy is growing weaker. Vellar swoops at Tarasque with renewed fury, snapping and clawing at her, breathing clouds of fire. My fingers clench, grabbing the stone surface of the parapet as I watch the two dragons try to rip each other to shreds.
And then Vellar disappears. Auberon is gone.
The Fey on the parapet gasp in shock. Tarasque and Talan circle the air, but the fight is over. Has he fled?
But just as I start to release my grip on the stone parapet, I see where Auberon went.
It’s strange what your mind does when faced with horror. All the noise, the shouts of the Fey, the shrieking of the wind, the roar of the dragons, fades to silence. There’s nothing in the world but Talan—and Auberon surging down from above.
Auberon opened a portal and flew Vellar through it, reappearing just above Talan.
He swoops, hidden by the clouds, the smoke, the lashing rain, and Talan and Tarasque can’t see him coming from behind and above them. Here, from afar, I can see exactly what’s happening, but Talan doesn’t know this is the end.
Panicked, I fumble for our connection and scream into his mind. Behind you!
But his mind is too hectic to hear my warning.
With the Power of the Three, I strengthen my magical connection, narrowing it to a pinpoint focus. Their energy surges in me, and my violet telepathy powers unfurl. My magic rushes from my body, through the air, higher and higher toward Talan.
Tendrils of my violet power slide into his mind.
Nia? What…?
Behind and above you! I let him see what I’ve seen, picturing it as vividly as possible.
I feel his sharp realization, the pang of alarm. He knows that he must swoop aside, to dodge Vellar’s rush.
But he doesn’t. He just keeps flying straight and slow.
Talan, you have to ? —
Trust me, my lovely wife . His soothing thoughts brush mine, and then he cuts me off.
I gasp. I was only in his mind for a second.
Vellar is still diving. Tarasque is flying slowly, an easy kill.
At the last moment, she turns and rockets upward like a hurtling spear.
Vellar is too late. He overshoots his target. He keeps racing down, giving Talan what he wanted from the very first second of this battle: a position above Vellar.
Tarasque whips around, plunging at Vellar. Her claws rip into Vellar’s back, wounding him severely. But more importantly, she hits Auberon, and the king tumbles off Vellar’s back.
I watch the tiny figure turning in the air, his crown tumbling off. He plummets toward the ground and disappears.
One last portal to save his life. I feel Nimu?’s sigh of relief inside me.
Vellar, bleeding and riderless, flees into the clouds.
Tarasque circles above the courtyard once, twice, a third time, like a raven. Then she swoops back toward Castle Perillos.
Around me, people scream, some in awe, some in horror.
At last, Talan lands in the courtyard, not far from the willow tree.
But there’s no time to breathe. Talan is alive, but the starving mob is advancing, marching toward this very castle.
Below, the Fey soldiers have formed ranks in the courtyard—swords drawn, armor on, magic pulsing at their fingertips. Even without the king, someone took charge. The marquis, maybe.
My blood turns to ice as I wonder if the real battle hasn’t even begun.
I race down the tower stairwell to meet Talan.
And by the time I slam through the castle doors, he is stalking toward the Marquis de Bosclair.
Arwenna’s father falls to his knees, shrieking in horror, gripping his skull. Talan has taken hold of his mind. Quick as lightning, he snaps the marquis’s neck.
The marquis’s body crumples.
Talan turns to face his soldiers, breathing hard. His commanding voice stretches across the courtyard, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Your king has left you because he cannot face the rebellion he created. I will lead you today, but you will not touch a single Fey subject unless you are about to die. These subjects are mine. They are starving. And I will not let them fall.”