Chapter 31
Along the hard ride to the southern border, on the very tip of wooded headland just across the strait from the Spearhead, Leita wouldn’t allow herself to think of anything but what awaited her.
Charis had supplied reports about what Araxos Anax was like, and Attalus had told both her and the council plenty of anecdotes.
She anticipated neat battle formations under the cool, cunning eye of a warrior king. What she, Marcades, and their forces found was barely more than a slavering beast.
An army of some one-hundred dragons had managed to gather on the sliver of land outside the faelands’ border, clinging to the cliffs like great roosting birds.
The narrow meadow was meant as a trading and meeting place, where other folk might come and seek entry into the faelands.
It was accessed only by a rocky beach and steep set of stairs carved into the headland.
Unless, of course, one could fly.
A hundred dragons packed onto a spit of cliff might’ve been amusing, their shifted forms packed tightly together and those at the back at risk of tumbling off the edge, were it not for the heaving form of Araxos Anax battering at the border with his bare claws.
Leita exchanged a troubled look with Marcades. This…wasn’t what she’d expected.
While marching to meet the anax and his outrageous demands, Leita had wondered whether she would see anything of Attalus in him. Although they were half-brothers, and differently colored besides, there might still be a resemblance. Something within him she might find to like.
Rather than ruby red like Attalus, the anax was a dark gold, almost amber color, his scales like a thousand freshly minted coins. He’d four long horns that arched back from his head as well as two horn buds erupting from his scalp—a sure sign that he was, in fact, Araxos Anax.
Leita sat atop Thalia, watching with mounting horror as the king of dragons threw himself at the border as though he meant to topple it by sheer force.
But he couldn’t…right?
I honestly don’t know, Thalia answered carefully. If anyone could, it’d be a dragon. It’s said they hold ancient knowledge even the fae don’t have.
Lovely.
She might’ve thought the other golden dragon, standing calmly beside the raging beast, was the true anax. While most of the Savrakae remained in their larger forms, this dragon stood on two legs, his clever gaze keen as he watched his king batter the border.
Well, she’d come all this way and upset her mate for this—it was time to end the nonsense and send the anax back to the Droplets where he belonged.
With the faelands’ ephemeral hand on her shoulder, Leita touched her magic to the border.
The translucent field flashed purple, and the next time Araxos rammed his head into the wall, the wall pushed back.
The anax bounced off the border hard, skidding back into his warriors and leaving thick tracks in the dirt behind.
The Savrakae hissed and spat flames, a ruckus made as the king was set on his feet.
“How dare you strike Araxos Anax?” demanded the other golden dragon.
“How dare the anax abuse my border?” Leita shouted back in decent savraka.
“You are the Queen?” the dragon asked.
She held back her snort, raising her hand when Marcades and the other fae grumbled at the slight.
“Who are you?” she asked, her patience wearing thin. If this was common behavior for the Savrakae court, no wonder Attalus didn’t miss it.
“Erastus Princeps, brother and archon of Araxos Anax.”
“Why am I talking to you and not the anax?”
Her warriors were too disciplined to snicker at her cheap insult, but it made Leita feel better to watch Erastus Princeps’s expression sour.
“I speak for my brother in his time of need,” Erastus declared, gesturing at his panting anax. “Our little brother did this to him, poisoned the king and stole his mind. Attalus must pay for his crimes.”
“I thought your charge against him was attempting to poison the anax, not that he’d succeeded.”
“Some got through, as you can see. Attalus fled like the coward he is rather than facing the charges against him.”
“Attalus is my azai, my fated mate. I won’t give him up. Name your price and I’ll meet it. Just let him be.”
“He is Savrakae before he’s your mate, Fae Queen—his life is forfeit to his anax. Produce him and the faelands will be spared.”
“I’ve grown tired of your threats, Erastus Princeps,” Leita said. Swaggering about making demands might work in the Droplets, but from where she stood, on the other side of the border, these lizards looked no better than preening peacocks.
“Not a threat, a promise.” Smacking his hand on his golden breastplate, Erastus cried, “Hand over Attalus the traitor, let justice be done! Only then will the king’s sanity return!”
“Ho, ho,” the dragons cried, smacking their own armor and chests in a mighty thunder. Their war cry shook the ground beneath Thalia’s hooves.
They’ve all gone mad, Leita shuddered.
A horrid shriek pierced her ears, and Araxos threw himself forward, a volley of flame loosed upon the border. The magical wall hissed and sizzled—and all the fae watched in horror as great globs of clear, melted magic oozed off the border.
“Nothing can withstand dragonfire, not even magic!” Erastus proclaimed. “Give us Attalus, or Araxos Anax will destroy your border in almighty flame and deliver justice himself!”
Pulling her legs up to get her feet under her, Leita leapt from Thalia’s back, flying up to the growing hole in the border. Marcades called after her, but there was nothing his arrows and shields could do. With the faelands at her back, Leita threw magic at the border, shoring up its strength.
The wall of magic shivered, pained by the onslaught. Heat radiated across its face, scalding Leita’s cheeks on the other side.
“Enough!” she shouted. “You’ll run out of flame before I do of magic. This display is pointless.”
“The anax will have his justice!”
Fuck, maybe she should be arguing with the king—he might be more reasonable than his brother, even in his madness.
The border rippled in purples and reds, the hole Araxos burned dripping spent magic. Stalactites of magic and enchantments gathered like wax on a mantelpiece before dropping to the ground in globs that hissed and smoked.
Leita hovered midair, facing down the torrent of flames. She looked into its center, undeterred. With the faelands beside her, she could face this—even the horrible pressure in her chest was set on denying Araxos Anax.
Just beyond the flame and smoke, she saw movement from the corner of her eye. The Savrakae shuffled about, making way and closing ranks, wings and tails confusing what they did.
“Give it here,” she heard Erastus call, not to her.
Araxos’s flame expanded, the fire belching from his throat an inferno that threatened to set the whole meadow ablaze.
The border creaked and whined under the assault, and Leita went cold feeling cracks begin to radiate out from the burning hole. She stuffed magic in the gaps and fissures, snuffing every little spark that tried to get through.
Watch out! Thalia cried.
Something metal shot into the border near the flames—had they begun attacking it with weapons?
Leita gasped when hot metal sliced through the border and sailed at her. Thick grappling chain swung round her, weighted by an iron diamond.
For a horrible moment, Leita hung in the air, one wing desperately trying to keep her aloft. Sickening memories flooded her mind and bile scalded her throat—the chain was spelled.
Leita plummeted.
Not just down but forward, crashing into the border. The wall wriggled and cried, the chain corroding through its magic. On the other side, Erastus held the chain looped round his arm, and a dozen dragons formed a line behind him.
“Heave!” Erastus commanded. “We’ve got her. Heave!”
Leita, no!
“Protect Queen Leita!”
“Aim at the anax!”
So much shouting—but—loudest of all was the faelands. Bellowing with the might of the river carving the valley, the faelands grasped at her with phantom hands, trying to keep her inside the border. It wailed in agony when it touched the chain, feeling its own power sapped by the spell.
“Heave!”
Leita screamed, the pain and pressure threatening to tear her in two.
Desperate, she did the only thing she could. She let go of the faelands and kicked through the hole in the border made by the chain, careening through to the other side.
She crashed onto the scorched earth below.
All around her, dragons roared in triumph. Smoke hung in the air, and the afternoon sun was blinding, bouncing off so many colorful scales.
Leita groaned, trying to take a breath.
For the first time in a fortnight, the pressure in her chest was gone. She’d disconnected from the faelands, leaving it behind the border.
Without that bond, her magic being drained away by the chain, Leita had her first clear thought in days.
What have I done?
Stubborn, reckless woman!
Attalus wasn’t proud of all the scorch marks he’d left across their bedchamber. It’d be hell to get the smokiness out of all the fine fabrics. But what pissed him off most was that these fucking restraints wouldn’t budge.
He raged and pulled at and fought the invisible chains binding his hands to the chamber floor. He threatened and cajoled and negotiated with the faelands, not sure if it even heard him or cared.
He did anything he could think of, then did it again although it’d already failed, for Attalus had to do something. He wouldn’t languish here, a prisoner of his mate, forced to stand by and let her endanger herself for him. Absolutely not.
Whether the faelands heard him or not, Attalus made no secret of his confinement. He shouted and screamed—letting the whole of Fallorian know that he would be free.
And oh, when he got his hands on Leita, fuck, she wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for days. He could already hear the crack of his palm across her ass as he told her never again. He’d fuck her until she couldn’t see straight, until she needed him so badly, she’d never part from his side.