Chapter One #2
Aemyra truly didn’t know how much more her twin could take. Remembering how the Covenanters had restrained them in the throne room, the pain of the rejection agent turning their magic against them, the knife plunging into Adarian’s thigh…
It had been so like the way Sir Nairn’s knife had slit Orlagh’s throat on the banks of the loch.
Aemyra shook her hands, magic stuttering to life. The lingering pain of the rejection agent was enough for sweat to break out on her forehead, but she knew the agony of losing her twin would be far worse should she fail.
“You can’t have him today,” Aemyra growled at Hela herself as she managed to summon enough fire to cauterize the wound. As soon as the bleeding stopped, she stumbled away, gasping for breath.
“Go. Ride hard and don’t look back.”
Laoise did not hesitate, kicking the horse into a frantic gallop.
This time, Aemyra took off after them, the Covenanters almost upon Draevan and the queen’s guard.
Her muscles were aching, bent armor digging into her hip until she was dragging her right leg. Smoke choked her dry throat, and she would have gladly drank the most stagnant water.
Just a little farther…
Struggling to summon the magic she knew would protect her, Aemyra stumbled as the memory of Athair Alfred’s smiling face swam through her mind. Placing one hand on her abdomen, she dry-heaved at what the worshippers of the True Religion had already done to her.
She would not escape them. She had declared herself queen of Tìr Teine and was now the symbol of everything they had vowed to destroy.
Dark thoughts swirled through her mind like vicious shadows. The Covenanters would kill everyone she loved and torture her until she begged for death at the hands of their precious priests.
Aemyra was the key to Tìr Teine’s salvation—and its destruction.
“No,” she growled, trying to force fire out of her palms.
Draevan sprinted toward her, gore dripping from Dorchadas’s blade as the queen’s guard retreated.
Her army had found the shelter of the trees, but fifty Covenanters were still determinedly pursuing them through the clearing. Her magic could hold them off if she could just—
A scream of frustration escaped her lips as she reached for that great well of fire she had been gifted with at birth, and found nothing.
Terrea loosed a roar, barbed tail lashing angrily overhead.
Still trying to summon an ember, she felt her father’s hand clamp down on her arm.
“You are the queen! If you die, there is nothing left to fight for. Summon your flame or get moving!” Draevan shouted.
“You do not give me orders,” Aemyra cried, anger surging to the surface.
Draevan’s eyes flashed with temper. “You are my heir. Your claim to the throne is through me and I will not see you squander it.”
Disgusted, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp.
“You wanted an heir. I needed a father,” she said.
Draevan’s eyes narrowed in disdain at the mark on her palm. “Then I guess neither of us got what we wanted.”
His words rattled through her, shattering what was left of her confidence, and her dragon responded.
Loath to burn her entire territory, Aemyra had struggled to control Terrea’s urge to set fire to the forests as they fled. Knowing a wildfire could just as easily change direction and consume her army, Aemyra hadn’t risked it.
But in the Covenanters’ eagerness to give chase, spurred on by the thinning ranks of Aemyra’s army, they had galloped out into the clearing.
Leaving just enough space for a dragon to maneuver.
“Advance!” the Covenanter in front shouted, his magic-repelling pendant gleaming proudly against his dark breastplate.
Aemyra didn’t need to look up to feel Terrea spearing for the ground.
Onyx scales gleamed as the dragon stretched her slender neck, sharp teeth flickering with fire as she descended from the sky.
The power of the dragon rent the air as men and horses were sent flying with a powerful flap of her wings. Covenanters disarmed by the downdraft were powerless as Terrea landed heavily to protect the limping army.
Terrea snaked her neck hungrily toward the black-armored soldiers, eager to eviscerate them with claws and teeth as the emerald dragon roared his approval from high above.
“Gealach is too injured to land in close quarters,” Draevan said, thrusting Aemyra ahead of him. “Go!”
Terrea began painting the clearing crimson, her claws digging great grooves into the earth.
Their labored footfalls were swallowed by the roar of a dragon as they sprinted through the trees. Aemyra’s body felt leaden, the weight of her head almost too much for her neck to support.
The ancient she-dragon guarded the army, teeth bared and wings flared. Terrea threw the body of a Covenanter across the clearing where it broke apart with a satisfying crunch.
The Bond flickered and Aemyra debated the wisdom of drawing on Terrea’s magic to strengthen her own. She would be no use to her army if she collapsed now.
With her own fire extinguished by something that had nothing to do with exhaustion, Aemyra blindly grasped for her dragon’s—and Terrea forcefully shoved her out.
Stumbling over a root, Aemyra went sprawling to the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt. Fear flooded her system and she scrambled back to her feet before her father could literally kick her while she was down.
Aemyra pressed a hand to her breastplate as though she could shock her heart back into a steady rhythm. Without magic she was useless.
Even if her army made it to the sanctuary of Balnain, Alfred was still out there, Fiorean had stolen her throne, and the True Religion were poised to take over her territory.
A great wave of dread smothered her, worse than anything she had felt under the effects of the Chosen’s chemical agents.
Struggling to breathe, she tried to clear her vision as the smell of blood and the screams of dying soldiers made her senses dull to everything else.
With numb fingers, she dropped her sword as her magic slipped out of reach.
The words Fiorean had spat at her in the throne room echoed through her mind: Your only birthright is a talent for hammering steel and a hasty temper. A legacy as unremarkable as it is forgettable. Do us all a favor and give up the crown before anyone else you love dies.
What if he was right?
Her fire guttered and died in her veins, the vast well of magic extinguished as if she had snuffed a candle.
Aemyra didn’t dare reach for it.
She had failed her people, failed the Goddess, and Brigid had revoked her blessing.
“Aemyra?”
Her father was calling her name, but she felt trapped in the very worst of her nightmares.
“No, no, please…” Aemyra heard herself whimpering.
Draevan’s shields went up around them and she felt her father lift her into his arms.
Evander had been wrong.
Aemyra hadn’t needed to wear the crown to break at all.