Chapter Forty-Four
The inky sky was silent as they flew north, as if even the wind were in mourning.
After leaving their armor with Adarian, Aemyra and Fiorean had climbed onto Aervor for the journey. Knowing better than to disturb Terrea, the flight had taken longer than they liked.
Aemyra was doing her best to stay out of the Bond, but between her overwhelming grief and the burning of the promise mark, it was a struggle.
Leaning back into the warmth of Fiorean’s chest, Aemyra watched Aervor’s cobalt neck stretch out ahead of them.
“Are you ready to go back?” she asked.
“I’ll survive,” Fiorean muttered into her hair.
“You better.”
The faintest outline of the Deàrr Mountains was visible by the light of the moon, and she felt a momentary pang of loss at the thought that Kolreath would never again soar between the peaks.
She rubbed her hands up Fiorean’s chilled forearms, tucking them tighter around her waist.
“We must forbid anyone from Bonding to Gealach again,” she said. “It is our responsibility to safeguard the dragons, both the eggs and the adults.”
“How many times has Gealach Bonded?” Fiorean asked, words caressing the shell of her ear.
“Twice. He hatched to Queen Earie in 1765 and then Bonded my father a little over a century later.”
“Mm.”
“What?”
Fiorean drew a deep breath into his lungs. “Kolreath’s third Bond was to my father.”
“Then we make a decree when I sit the throne,” Aemyra said firmly, finally allowing herself to think of their future as king and queen.
But it was a future without her father…
A small gasp passed her lips and Fiorean’s arms tightened around her. “A ghràidh…” he muttered.
They looped around Loch Lorna, and Aervor landed lightly behind a concealed rise. Aemyra and Fiorean stretched their stiff limbs and made their way to where a boat and its thoroughly weather-beaten captain was waiting for them.
“It’s been a long time, Your Grace,” Colm said with a toothy grin.
Seeing him again was like glimpsing her past life, and Aemyra leaned into his embrace, forgoing ceremony for Pàdraig’s friend who had risked his life to pass information to his son these last months.
“We wouldn’t be winning this war without you,” she muttered into his salt-and-pepper hair. “When this is done, there’s a knighthood with your name on it.”
Colm waved her off and passed an oar to Fiorean. “Nonsense. Just pick up my tab at the tavern from now on and we’ll call it even.”
In spite of the situation, Aemyra settled into the small boat with a hollow laugh. “The royal treasury doesn’t run deep enough for that, I’m afraid.”
By the time they rowed to the opposite shore, they were both drenched in sweat.
She followed Fiorean up the shingly beach as Colm dragged the boat between two large rocks, covering it in a net.
Aemyra felt a cold presence on the back of her neck and turned, hand automatically reaching for her dagger. Her eyes fell on the patch of beach where Orlagh had been killed.
“Watch over my father, Mama,” she whispered. “Justice is near.”
The mark on her palm surged, beckoning her toward Alfred to finally complete her oath.
As the sky began to lighten, they followed Colm through a crack in the caisteal foundation. Passing underneath a grate and wading through muck, Aemyra felt like she might as well have stayed in her bloodstained armor.
“It must be dawn by now,” Aemyra whispered impatiently. “The priests will begin morning prayers in the tower soon.”
Colm shook his head. “Brodie briefed me on the plan. We are on schedule.”
Aemyra tried to calm her breathing even as Terrea’s panic pushed incessantly at the Bond.
“Close the mental link,” Fiorean whispered, having to stoop low as they walked. “You need to concentrate.”
Using the mind-stilling, Aemyra dampened the Bond on her end. Her dragon didn’t seem to notice as she burrowed into a nest deep within the southern tip of the mountains.
Not long later, Colm rapped a syncopated rhythm on a trapdoor above their heads and Aemyra knew where it would lead before it opened.
“About bloody time,” Marilde harrumphed, lowering a ladder.
Aemyra stared up into the face of the formidable cook. “We aren’t late.”
Marilde looked like she would knock Aemyra off the ladder. “It’s taken you four months to come back. You call that punctual?”
Despite the cook’s tone, there was a bone-deep relief on her face. Aemyra couldn’t imagine the strain that had been upon the rebels these last months.
“The servants know to stay away from the tower,” Marilde said, wrinkling her nose and throwing a bundle of linens at them. “Change and be on your way. I’ve got bread in the oven.”
Aemyra pulled the soiled shirt over her head, causing Colm to avert his eyes.
“You’re baking at a time like this?” she asked.
Marilde sighed. “You could do with learning the art of subterfuge. The first rule? Do nothing out of the ordinary. Remember that when you go sneaking around upstairs.”
“I’ll wait with the boat,” Colm said when Fiorean stripped off his breeches.
Feeling like she was remembering a part of herself she had forgotten, Aemyra plucked the brown headscarf from the pile and tied it around her head like Orlagh used to. She even made the knot extra tight.
Fiorean had never looked less like a prince as he donned the servant’s garb, complete with lopsided hat to cover his scars and hair. His emerald eyes roved across the tight band of her headscarf, the plain shirt and breeches.
“You looked just like this when I met you,” he whispered, dropping a reverent kiss to her cheek.
“Like what? Poor?” Aemyra asked, unwilling to get emotional.
Fiorean smirked. “Dangerous.”
It was exactly the reminder she needed as they left the kitchens.
Silently, she rehearsed the plan in her mind as they crept up the stairs and into the caisteal proper.
Fiorean would go to the east wing, walking to the guard house to alert Sir Gavin, and open the caisteal doors to let in the chimeras.
Aemyra would go to the tower and lock the attending priests inside by melting the doors closed. Then together they would go after Alfred. No hesitation. No questions.
They held neatly folded linens in their arms that would easily conceal their faces. Aemyra’s body was beginning to flag as she climbed the tightly winding stairs, exhausted from the battle and the grief she kept at bay through sheer willpower.
Emerging into the wide corridors, Aemyra tensed as a patrolling guard approached. Thankfully, she knew from personal experience how little attention people paid servants, and they both walked past unnoticed.
Through the nearest window, she could see dawn cresting the horizon and she risked a peek out at the city. Her breath caught when she witnessed the devastation. The lower town was still rubble after all these months. Brigid’s temple was boarded up, the eternal flame extinguished.
“It looks like the battle never truly ended,” she whispered.
Fiorean’s voice was dark. “It didn’t.”
She curled her fingers over the searing mark—Alfred would pay for his crimes today.
They advanced through the caisteal, sunlight beaming through the high windows as if taunting Aemyra. That the sun should rise on the day Draevan Daercathian left the world…
She felt Fiorean’s fingers squeeze her arm as he peeled away to the east wing. Practicing mind-stilling, Aemyra continued straight.
She knew the way, she had been marched down this very same path to marry Fiorean the first time.
After a few heart-stopping moments, Aemyra emerged onto the wide balcony that overlooked the mountains.
The tower loomed to her left, the wide iron doors already closed as the priests inside attended morning prayers.
Aemyra sat the linens down on a bench and summoned her magic with the promise mark searing.
She could feel it, the sheer depth of power she had been blessed with.
No one could match her, and today, no one would stop her.
“For Tìr Teine,” Aemyra whispered.
Raising her hands, she poured a torrent of fire on the doors. The iron bolts melted in place, the cracks sealing together.
So proud that she had managed it, Aemyra didn’t register the lack of screaming until a voice came from behind her.
“You have returned.”
Aemyra whirled around, promise mark throbbing so insistently she had to grit her teeth against the pain. This was the voice that had haunted her for months, creeping along her spine and making her skin itch as though she hadn’t bathed in weeks.
Alfred stood before her, flanked by a dozen Covenanters.
There were no screams from people trapped inside the tower, because there hadn’t been anyone inside. Alfred had known they were coming.
He raised his voice. “Aervor was spotted landing across the loch in the wee hours. I assume we have more rebel vermin scurrying though the bowels of the caisteal?”
Aemyra let every ounce of her hatred for the priest show on her face as she scrutinized the black robes and bald pate. She was almost embarrassed that she had built such an obviously weak man into such a monster in her head.
But their plan was royally fucked.
She was alone, and surrounded by Covenanters. Should she wait for Fiorean to muster the guard and the chimeras? She couldn’t call on Terrea; in all likelihood her dragon wouldn’t even hear her now.
Alfred stopped a few feet from Aemyra, dark eyes observing her carefully.
“We recently had news of Fiorean’s survival,” Alfred drawled. “How did he recover?”
Aemyra wouldn’t reveal Bronwyn’s existence even if he tortured her.
“You underestimate the strength of Dùileach,” she replied, straining her ears for any sound of the chimeras.
Alfred smiled. “No, I do not. But I do understand how you give in to your base desires. Look at what I was able to achieve with just a few kind words whispered in a tavern wench’s ear.”
Even the Covenanters were smiling and Aemyra felt trapped. Every man before her was wearing the pendant, so she wouldn’t be able to use her magic, but she had Fearsolais, an antidote, and grim determination.
Alfred sniffed. “We will make a spectacle of your execution, both to send a message to any who may rise up to avenge the false queen, and to purify your soul for the Savior’s judgment.
It is all we can do for you now. I do believe drawing and quartering will suffice to quash this little rebellion easily enough. ”
Aemyra’s face paled at the thought and she felt her fire pressing against her skin. “There is nothing little about it. Do not demean my people’s sacrifices with your condescension.”
Alfred waggled his finger like she was nothing more than an errant child. “Don’t go getting any wild ideas about escaping. I learned exactly how to control an emotional Dùileach when Fiorean played the part of king for me.”
Before Aemyra could spit in his face, she heard a blood-curdling scream splinter through a high window. A scream she had heard once before, in her nightmares.
Her blood chilled and she nearly dropped her sword.
“Fiorean!” she answered, his name ripping from her torn throat.
He screamed again, the sound raw and animalistic and echoed by Aervor on the other side of Loch Lorna.
The Bond split open and suddenly Aemyra was assaulted with pain. From both Terrea and Fiorean. Her vision swam.
Alfred smiled again. “If you cooperate, I will give him the mercy of a quick death. Now, my Covenanters will see you to the dungeons.”
Clawing her way out of the dragons’ minds, Aemyra threw herself at the Covenanters with Fearsolais drawn.
But from the minute she had been cornered, she knew it was a fight she could not win. They all wore pendants, and she was disastrously outnumbered.
Nevertheless, she managed to kill two in her attempt to reach Alfred before she found herself forcibly restrained.
Black gauntleted hands shoved her to her knees, her headscarf was ripped off, and Alfred gestured to the two Covenanters now bleeding on the ground.
“Your husband will pay the price for your violence.” He snapped his fingers at the Covenanters restraining her. “Take her to the dungeons.”
Mind-stilling through the panic threatening to consume her, Aemyra arrowed through the Bond. Slamming her connection to Terrea closed, she tried to summon Aervor, to show him where she was.
The dragon roared into the dawn as she summoned a flame.
Alfred was the only one who did not flinch. “Fiorean will die before his dragon lands.”
Sagging, Aemyra slammed the Bond closed entirely as manacles were fastened around her wrists. Guessing that they had been dipped in the rejection agent, Aemyra pretended to let her magic stutter out.
Nevertheless, she rattled the chains convincingly enough as Fiorean screamed again.
She closed her eyes against the sound.
Alfred took one step forward, and she prayed he wouldn’t touch her. “There are far more people you care about to be disposed of. Go quietly.”
“I care about every person in this territory. Will you slaughter them all?” Aemyra spat back.
“But do your people care about you?” Alfred mused, confident with a dozen Covenanters surrounding him. “The queen who has brought them a war after two hundred years of peace.”
Baring her teeth, Aemyra snarled. “What you call peace, I call oppression. I fight for my people’s freedom, and for the Goddesses.”
Alfred eyed her disgustedly. “I should have thrown each of Katherine’s sons from the battlements when they were born Dùileach.
We have been successfully breeding magic out of the Daercathian line for generations by marrying with chaste ùir women.
No amount of punishment can purge the sinful magic infecting you. ”
Aemyra’s stomach roiled and the manacles clattered together as she began to shake with rage. The promise mark was burning, screaming at her to kill this man. But if she wanted her husband to live, she dared not so much as raise her hand.
“I swear on Brigid’s light you will rot in the Otherworld for eternity,” Aemyra spat as a Covenanter wafted an incense holder as though worried the manacles wouldn’t be enough to hold her.
The noxious mist permeated the corridor as she was dragged inside.
They didn’t know about the antidote, and she still had her magic. She could salvage this.
Alfred tutted his tongue at the sight of her. “Now, now. I thought you would have learned from your past transgressions.”
A flush was creeping up Aemyra’s neck as if she would strangle Alfred with her bare hands.
“Don’t try to struggle. You will only make it worse for Fiorean,” Alfred said callously.
As if on cue, another scream ripped from her husband’s lips and shattered her heart.
Knowing she didn’t have the best luck when diverging from carefully laid plans, Aemyra allowed herself to be dragged down the stairs to the dungeons and prayed Fiorean was strong enough to withstand more pain.