Chapter Eighteen #2
Fiorean knew what that felt like; his father had enjoyed kicking his children. Folding his hands over the pommel of his replacement sword, he thanked Brigid that Aemyra had fled.
It had taken far more force than he had wanted to use, but she was safer away from this city.
She was in no position to rule anything, she had no idea how delicate things were at court.
It didn’t matter that she had been glorious, emerging through the eternal fire.
It didn’t matter that their fight had been the most exhilarating thing he had ever experienced. She wasn’t ready.
And Fiorean had no time to teach her.
No. He would forget how her magic called to him, and how embers had crackled in his very veins each time her sword had made contact with his. It had been years since he had been so evenly matched, and he craved it—he craved her.
The rain was battering against the ground and every fat droplet worsened the pain in his head.
Fiorean tried to concentrate.
The Bond between Evander and Kolreath would calm and then they could use both dragons to get rid of Alfred. Once the territory was stable, perhaps he could court her. She was the Princess of Penryth—a match between them would be in everyone’s best interest.
But he hadn’t anticipated Sir Nairn finding and capturing Aemyra’s family. The mother should have had more sense than to see a patient the morning after her daughter’s reckless declaration. The three of them had been caught with little effort once the ship’s captain had been paid off.
Fiorean knew if they were harmed, Aemyra would leave none of them alive.
“Ev. You don’t want to begin your rule with murder. Put them in chains and call them in for questioning.”
“I am questioning them,” Evander said through gritted teeth, his wet face pale.
Pain pierced the back of his skull as Fiorean glanced behind them. Charlotte’s dark eyes were ringed with red as she mourned the death of her eldest son, her dress completely soaked through. Fiorean wondered why no one else could see the bigger picture.
Aemyra hadn’t poisoned his nephew; the woman hadn’t even gotten through the doors of the caisteal.
But she was a symbol. One Alfred was desperate to crush.
Lips pressed together in a thin line, Fiorean crossed the steps. “Mother. Stop him,” he said pleadingly.
The only person who had ever been able to exercise a modicum of control over the priest was his mother, but even her hold on him had been slipping of late.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” Katherine whispered, her arms around Charlotte.
Blinking rain out of his eyes, Fiorean turned to his other brothers. “Take them inside, they will catch their death out here.”
Elear quickly escorted a sobbing Elizabeth back into the caisteal, Nael guiding Maggie, Charlotte, and their mother inside.
“Be careful,” Nael warned, eyeing the back of Alfred’s bald head.
Pàdraig bellowed a stream of filthy curses from the ground and Fiorean quickly connected to the Bond when Aervor growled.
“Do not attack,” he said firmly, even though his dragon had never shown any understanding of his words before.
Evander straightened the crown on his head and pointed a finger down at Pàdraig.
“You harbored the false queen Aemyra in our city for years. Do not deny it. You are a traitor to the crown, and there is only one fitting punishment.”
Orlagh began to scream, blood streaming from her split lip as she tried to reach her husband. Fiorean steeled himself and hurried to his brother’s side.
“Clemency, Evander,” he muttered desperately. “Be a better ruler than our father.”
The little boy was struggling valiantly against his bonds, the guard holding him laughing at his puny attempts. Fiorean admired his bravery.
“They killed my son,” Evander seethed, rain clinging to his eyelashes. “Fergys is dead. My boy is dead!”
Aware that there were too many eyes on them for him to incapacitate his elder brother, Fiorean gripped the back of his arm, the leather squeaking.
“They did not kill Fergys, but I promise you I will find out who did and they will pay for their crime.”
Evander began to shake and the enormous golden dragon who Fiorean associated with all the worst of their father’s threats leaned farther into the courtyard.
Was it already happening? Alfred had urged Evander to Bond, and in his drunken state, Ev had agreed. Was his brother doomed to turn out just like the father they both despised?
The wall cracked under Kolreath’s mighty claws, and even Aervor balked.
Pàdraig struck back as Sir Nairn rapped him with the flat of his sword and the irate firebird twittered madly above his head.
Alfred chose that moment to step forward. “They raised the false queen and the woman is a healer with easy access to all kinds of poisons. Who knows how many friends they have within these walls. We must root their stain out at the source.”
Fiorean’s fire came to his hands unbidden. How dare Alfred interrupt them, how dare he overstep his position with such gall. He would strike the priest down now, burn him where he stood before he could cause any more harm.
“You have three other sons, Your Grace,” Alfred muttered. “Aemyra and her supporters will not stop until they eradicate all in line to the throne.”
Fiorean could see Evander’s paranoia begin to blossom, and his fire surged. For once, Aervor understood Fiorean’s desire to burn and parted his jaws, flames already licking his teeth.
Fiorean raised his hand just as Evander filled his lungs and delivered his judgment.
Sir Nairn smiled triumphantly as Kolreath roared into the sheeting rain and Orlagh’s scream rent the air as the executioner lifted the axe.
“Lachlann, no!”
It all happened too fast. Somehow the little boy had gotten away from his guard, charred rope dangling from his wrists, and was running as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him toward his father just as the axe fell.
“No!” Fiorean shouted as Aemyra’s mother continued to scream.
Abandoning Evander, Fiorean shot down the stone steps, taking them two at a time, desperate to intercept the boy.
Terrified of Kolreath, misunderstanding his Dùileach’s urge to burn Alfred, Aervor tried to stop it all.
Golden flames engulfed the courtyard, and soon it wasn’t just Orlagh screaming.
Fiorean summoned his shields, throwing them out to cover Aemyra’s mother and everyone who had come to witness the execution. The surge of magic cost him greatly, doubling his headache and making his vision swim. People were fleeing through the portcullis as Kolreath took flight.
“Aervor!” Fiorean roared in frustration and anger, sliding to a halt at the bottom of the steps.
Confused, his dragon snuffed out his flames, one eye tracking Kolreath’s progress.
The rain sizzled, evaporating into mist, and the world seemed poised on the edge of a knife as the air cleared.
Fiorean held his breath and felt his fate change when he beheld nothing but ash before him.
Aemyra would never forgive him for this.
He did not deserve forgiveness.
—
“NO!”
Aemyra lurched back into consciousness with the sulfuric fumes from Aervor’s fire choking her.
“No, no, no,” she cried, writhing on the rug.
Her magic was pressing against her skin with no way to be released. Briefly, she wondered if it might be possible to be smothered from the inside.
Shoving Riya out of the way, Aemyra vomited into the chamber pot.
“What did you see?” Riya asked, passing her a cup of water.
She sat up slowly, fighting the nausea churning in her stomach. “I saw my family die.”
Riya frowned. “You should have no memory of that, you weren’t there.”
Aemyra took a shaky breath. “I’ve been seeing things.”
“Perhaps it’s time to elaborate.”
The laird had witnessed more of Aemyra’s vulnerability than she cared to admit, but no one else could help her.
“I think the dragon Bond is driving me mad. I keep having flashes into Fiorean’s memories, glimpses of his past.” She rolled her shoulders, stiff from sitting so tensely.
The bridge of Riya’s nose wrinkled as she puzzled this through. “If your dragons are mated, everything Fiorean once shared with Aervor can be shared with you.”
Her head shot up. “What?”
Aemyra reached mentally for Terrea, exploring the Bond more intently. “I-I would know if my beathach was mated.”
Terrea growled when she felt the surge of insistent emotion, and resisted opening her mind enough to let the truth flicker through.
“Terrea…” Aemyra warned through gritted teeth.
With a reluctant mewl, the dragon finally dropped her guard and Aemyra gasped at the colorful emotions, thoughts, and feelings that rushed into her.
It was like Bonding all over again as the cobalt dragon’s memories shoved their way into her mind, clearer and more focused than they ever had been in dreams.
Terrea had kept this locked away, visions slipping through only when she slept. The dragon had seen the fragility of Aemyra’s mind and had wanted to protect her.
“Is this what you’ve been hiding from me?” Aemyra whispered.
Terrea gave a low growl before pushing her Dùileach firmly out.
Aemyra sat there, reeling. She was seeing glimpses of Fiorean’s past through his dragon, which meant every nightmare, every vision, had been real.
A sudden thought horrified her.
“Would this mating bond only work for memories? Or can it be harnessed like the Bond with our beathaichean—seeing things as they happen?” she asked.
Riya shrugged. “I can communicate with Sujaron’s mate, but it is less clear than our Bond, and it is not often encouraged to share your consciousness with more than one other being.”
“Then Fiorean was spying on us through Terrea,” Aemyra whispered, wishing it wasn’t true.
“What?” Riya asked, instantly alert.
How could she have been so stupid?
If Fiorean had known their minds were linked while he was still alive, he could have used it to his advantage.
“All the battles we lost in the three months after àird Lasair, the way the Covenanters knew to attack Balnain, the fact that we had taken both dragons to àird Caolas…” Aemyra muttered. “Fiorean had been spying on me the whole time.”
Riya was clearly considering it, but to her credit said, “Even if that were the case, it doesn’t matter now.
He’s dead.” She picked up the teacup. “You need to put the ramifications of your choices out of your mind and focus on the memories blocking you from processing your emotions. It is too late to change what has happened, but you can control this going forward.”
Aemyra hugged her knees to her chest and thought about what the tea had made her see.
As horrific as it had been to witness, at least she could stop feeling guilty for believing Fiorean, and for believing herself completely responsible for their deaths.
But if Fiorean had wanted Alfred dead, what had changed so drastically that he had ended up siding with him instead?
There was a new ache in her soul, but the weight on her shoulders felt marginally lighter.
Riya squeezed her hands. “Do not be embarrassed for grieving. Or for surviving what most could never hope to endure.”
Aemyra grew nervous when the laird poured another cup, warming the teapot with her magic. “How many more times must I drink?” she asked.
Riya sighed. “Until you are able to cope with the memories that currently overwhelm you. Your magic will only return when fear no longer controls you.”
“Until I can bend instead of breaking,” Aemyra whispered.