Chapter 12
Alora
Alora ran down the corridors, lantern clutched in hand.
She had slipped free from her guards again and moved silently now so as not to be caught.
Voices came down another hall. She quickly drew behind pillars as servants strolled by.
Evening had fallen, the castle buzzed with chatter discussing the spectacle of the banquet.
Once the coast was clear, she ran toward the forbidden wing of the castle that used to belong to her mother. The one place she was sure to be undisturbed.
Alora turned a corner and she hurried down a dark, unlit corridor. A child’s laughter echoed somewhere as if rooted within the walls.
Goosebumps sprouted on her arms.
She kept going until she reached another door carved with trees. Her mother’s garderobe.
Glancing over her shoulder, she slipped inside. It was pitch black. Alora lifted the lantern and her heart jolted at the many figures standing before her. Mannequins of dresses on display, moth-eaten and coated in spider webs.
Her heels left imprints on the floor. No one had entered here in years. If her luck was in favor, then everything would have been left untouched.
Alora made her way through the rows of garments until she reached the back wall. She smiled at the large rectangular frame resting against it, covered with a heavy cloth.
Her mother’s mirror.
She yanked off the cloth, casting dust motes into the air. It was taller than her, the frame ornate and gilded with flowers.
Alora’s heart raced as she stared at her reflection, contemplating if she wanted to do this. Either path would likely end in her doom, but at least she would decide that.
No one else.
Closing her eyes, she hummed. Softly at first. Then louder.
Alora… that same voice called her name again. Sing to me.
Something shifted. The air pulled. Like a tether tightening. The shadows shifted around her, crawling over the room. Her throat tightened, fear crawling up her spine. But she didn’t stop because she would rather fall to the shadows than into Calveron’s clutches.
She spotted a shrouded object sitting on a bureau. Pulling the sheet away, Alora uncovered her mother’s old harp. Still here, as if it had waited for this moment.
Heart pounding, Alora took it into her hands. Her fingers plucked the string with familiarity. Then she sang, her voice trembling on every line.
Tread not the path where the black winds bite
Beneath the peak where sun meets night
For there he waits with eyes of flame
The hollow shadow with many names
The shadows gathered around her, making the candlelight sputter.
Speak your wishes, your grief
And shadowed hands may grant relief
But mark this truth and pay your dues
For once he wakes, he wakes for you.
The haunting melody curled through her throat like a hand taking hold.
Blood shall burn and time shall bend
The wish you make may birth your end
So hush your cry beneath the stone
For he has heard and comes alone.
Her voice harmonized into a poignant hum as the song took over her body. She swayed, every eerie note lilting as she strummed the strings.
But mark this curse, and hold your breath
For what you wake may hunger death.
Blood shall burn and time shall rend
The cry you give may call your end
The glass surface of the mirror rippled like water. Then an eerie howl of wind surged through the windowless room, knocking over the dresses.
And the candle went out.
Shadows roared around her, clawing at her as if to drag her into the darkness. Alora screamed, dropping the harp
The floor vanished beneath her feet.
She gasped, but no sound escaped. Her scream was stolen by the void.
Darkness surged like a riptide, yanking her forward. She expected to crash into the mirror, but coldness rushed past her skin, claws of wind scraping her bare arms, tearing through the last threads of warmth. She tumbled through black and shadow, the world a blur.
Then the force released her, and she fell, landing on hard stone. A plume of dust burst upward, stinging her throat and making her cough. She groaned, palms scraping rough rock as she pushed herself up. Gasping, Alora lifted her head.
She was no longer in the castle.
A shaft of silvery moonlight streamed through a narrow fissure overhead, spilling across the center of a vast cavern. It was silent save for the ragged rhythm of her breathing. The air was heavy with sulfur, magic, and something older than either.
This was Karag D?r.
The mountain peak that rose so high it breached the storm clouds.
Something in the darkest part of the cave faintly thrummed like a living heartbeat. Alora scrambled backward, her eyes straining to distinguish it. When nothing came forth, she slowly forced herself upright, nails digging into her palms.
“Hello?” Alora called.
Her voice echoed through the hollow void, carrying on through unseen channels.
Shadows slithered up the jagged walls like vines, whispering in distorted tongues she didn’t understand. Chains creaked in the dark as a shapeless form stirred.
Then a voice, smooth as smoke, curled into her mind.
At last.
She flinched, her breath catching sharp in her throat.
Across the stone, a monstrous figure rose, half-wreathed in smoke.
Alora swallowed, pressing a shaking fist over her racing heart.
The massive creature moved forward, claws scraping stone as the sound reverberated through the hollow space.
Beneath the heavy rhythm of his steps, the whisper of metal followed in its wake.
Wings unfurled with a leathery rustle, stretching wide as he advanced with predatory grace.
Smoke curled from his nostrils, and the heat radiating from him was suffocating, as though she stood too close to a wildfire.
Alora’s breath hitched as the beast rose to its full height, impossibly large, impossibly real, like something torn from nightmare and legend.
A dragon.
Its two crimson eyes glowed in the darkness, suspended in the air like twin flames. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the sheer enormity of him, the peril etched into every sharp, sinuous line. Scales as dark as midnight caught the faintest glimmers of red in the dim light.
Fear and fascination warred within her. This must surely be a dream.
Alora reached out with a trembling hand, but instead of air, her fingertips brushed the creature’s scaled jaw. She gasped and stumbled back until her back hit the cave wall.
Gods, this was real.
He was real.
All her courage stripped away with that knowledge. Her lungs heaved with rapid, shallow breaths. Of all things she had imagined, a dragon had not been among them. But he answered when she called to the dark, and he may be exactly what she needed.
Alora forced her spine straight, despite the tremble in her hands. “God of Shadows,” she called. “I wish to make a bargain with you.”
A low, amused growl rumbled through the cavern, vibrating in her bones.
Brave little princess. Careful what you wish for.
His voice was velvet-smooth, though it rumbled with something ancient and primal. It wove through the center of her being, making her shiver.
A long tail swayed behind him with a slow deliberation, scattering dust and debris. Those terrifying eyes remained locked onto her as he moved closer, claws raking the earth. Fear pricked at her, but awe seeped in, quiet but undeniable.
The dragon halted before stepping into the moonlight, lingering in the dark. She glanced down and found why.
Manacles were secured around the dragon’s wrists and legs, smoke rising where it touched him. Strange glyphs smoldered on the chain links. The dragon bared its teeth at them and a low growl vibrated in the cave.
The God of Shadows was bound.
Like her.
And the chains hurt him.
A strange ache of sympathy swept through her chest, but this presented a sliver of protection. He couldn’t reach her, not with his teeth at least. She shivered.
The creature’s eyes narrowed, and then the corners of his wide maw curled upward in a motion that was chillingly like a smile.
Do I frighten you, songbird?
Alora blinked at the moniker. “I-I am not afraid…” she replied shakily.
His low chuckle filled her head and she flushed. If she were to lie, she couldn’t be so obvious.
She swallowed. “What is your name?”
I have had many names over the centuries, the dragon said, settling on his haunches. The Lord of Shadows. Prince of Darkness. King of the Netherworld. Bringer of Sin and Damnation. His gaze fixed on hers, red and endless. You, princess, may call me Rune.
Alora paused, a little surprised by the simple way of it. Though what would she know of the names of the gods?
It suited him. Perhaps too well.
But an alias worn like all the rest.
“Rune…” she repeated, swallowing. “I am Alora Lark of Argyle.”
The dragon watched her intently, unnervingly still. Well, Alora Lark of Argyle, you have sung my song. What do you desire?
“A misfortune has befallen the land, and my kingdom is under siege.”
Hmm. Smoke curled lazily from his nostrils.
“Calveron has come to invade Argyle,” Alora continued. “They threaten war unless I marry their prince who seeks my father’s crown.”
The dragon glanced away, apparently bored with her plight.
“Our people are brave. Argyle’s army would march for their home, but bravery alone is not enough.” She drew in a breath. “I ask you to fight for us. To fight for me.”
Rune rose to his feet, pacing the outer rim of the cave. He circled her slowly, his massive form gracefully moving through the shadows like smoke given flesh. The chains rattled at his limbs with every step, sacred runes glowing faintly.
The princess asks a great deal, from one who is imprisoned in this cave.
Desperation rose in Alora’s throat like a scream she couldn’t voice. “Then I will free you from your chains,” she blurted. “Please. You want your freedom, and we want ours.”
The growl that escaped him was low and thunderous, shaking the ground beneath her feet.
His sharp teeth snapped and she flinched back. You have no idea what I want.