Chapter 74 Elowen
ELOWEN
I don’t know if I’m breathing…I don’t know if I have a body. If I do, I feel strangely disconnected from it.
There is only the pull—the terrible, wrenching pull of magic ripping me backward through time, through memory, through everything I was just forced to lose.
The Court dissolves around me in streaks of gold and shadow, the sound of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears like a drum. I clutch at the Time Weaving spell as though it might tear out of my hands and leave me stranded between tics of the clock forever.
Hold steady. Hold the image. The right moment… the right moment…I chant to myself. Don’t let go–hold on until just the right time!
The swirl slows and finally, the world begins to take shape again.
The King’s Court snaps back into place around me—the vast stone hall, the press of bodies, the murmur of voices rising and falling like the tide.
The scent of beeswax and crushed herbs fills my nose, and somewhere nearby a merchant is arguing loudly over the price of silk.
For a heartbeat, everything is exactly as it was before.
Before the smoke…before the spell…
Before Theron died right in front of me.
My chest tightens painfully, and I gasp, stumbling as my feet meet solid ground again. My gaze flies across the crowd, frantic, searching, searching…
There.
Theron stands near the front of the Court, just inside the second set of guards, his broad shoulders unmistakable even among the crush of people.
His dark hair gleams in the torchlight, his horns curving back from his temples.
He and the Old King have just finished clasping hands and glowing—their Drakes communicating somehow I guess—and he is whole and alive… for now.
I don’t hesitate…don’t give myself time to lose my courage. I don’t let myself think about what will happen if this doesn’t work. I run.
“Here now girl, what do you think you’re doing?” someone protests as I shove past them, but I don’t stop. I push through merchants and nobles alike, ignoring the startled cries and irritated glares. Nothing matters but reaching him in time–before the witch appears.
I burst out of the crowd and seize Theron by the front of his tunic, my hands fisting in the rough fabric. He looks down at me in shock, his silver eyes widening.
“Elowen? What—”
“Don’t talk,” I gasp, shaking my head, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break my ribs. “I need to speak to your Drake!”
“My Drake?” His brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
I rise on my toes, gripping him tighter, and press my forehead to his chest. I can feel the Drake beneath his skin, restless…powerful…listening. At least I hope he is.
“Please,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “Please hear me.”
And then I reach—not with my hands, not with my voice—but with something deeper. Something that has already touched him, already bound us together in ways I barely understand.
You have to listen, I send with my mind, using the strange connection that was semi-forged between Theron and me when he changed the color of my eyes. You have to listen to me now.
The Drake stirs and Theron’s skin gets warmer.
It’s like standing too close to a forge when the bellows are suddenly pumped—the heat, the presence, the awareness of something vast and ancient turning its attention toward me.
I can almost see him in my mind’s eye–his gigantic head cocked to one side as he listens to me.
Danger is coming, I tell him silently, desperately. She is coming–the witch! You must be ready.
Theron stiffens under my hands.
“Elowen, what are you—?”
No time to waste, I plead, still focusing on his Drake. No hesitation. When she appears—Shift. Burn her before she speaks. Before she casts.
For one terrible heartbeat, there is only silence.
Then…a low, rumbling growl vibrates through his chest, so deep I feel it in my bones.
The Drake has heard me.
My eyes fly open just as the air in the center of the Court shudders.
“Oh Goddess,” I gasp. “She’s coming–it’s happening! Get ready!”
The world seems to hold its breath as a dark cloud blooms out of nothing—black and purple smoke spilling outward, thick and choking. The acrid stench burns my nose and throat, making my eyes water instantly. People cry out in alarm, stumbling back, but I don’t move.
I can’t–because I know what comes next.
The smoke parts and she steps through it…Grizalyn.
She is exactly as she was just a few moments ago in the past that is now the future—tall and terrible, draped in black lace that clings to her like shadows given form. Her purple eyes blaze with cruel amusement as she surveys the Court, her lips curving in a slow, satisfied smile.
“Well, well,” she begins, her voice smooth as silk and just as deadly. “If it isn’t—”
She doesn’t get to finish.
Theron’s body jerks beneath my hands as his Drake surges forward with no hesitation and no warning. One moment he is a man—and the next—
He is not.
Heat slams into me like a physical force as his form expands, bones cracking and reshaping in a violent, breathtaking transformation.
Wings tear free–vast and powerful– and bright silver scales ripple over his skin in a wave of shiny, gleaming armor.
His horns lengthen and his eyes blaze like molten gold as his roar shakes the very walls of the Court.
The crowd screams, scattering in every direction, but Grizalyn doesn’t retreat. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second—just a fraction—before her lips curl in fury.
“You dare threaten me?” she shrieks.
She lifts her hand, drawing breath to speak…to cast.
I feel it the moment the spell gathers—the invisible threads tightening, reaching for Theron. For the curse I unknowingly helped complete…for the death I have already seen.
No–I won’t let it happen again!
I step forward, pushing my way past the edge of the Drake’s wing, ignoring the searing heat that licks at my skin. The magic is in me, I can feel it now—alive, hungry, reaching for its target.
And I understand something–I am the key.
I was always the key. I was the innocent bloom that Theron plucked–the half-fey maiden he despoiled. I’m the reason Grizalyn was able to complete her curse and kill him.
Well, she’s not doing it again!
My heart pounds as I reach out—not to Theron or to his Drake—but to the spell itself. To the magic that was shaped around me, that waited for this moment and now seeks to fulfill its purpose.
You don’t belong to her, I think fiercely. You were made through me. You answer to me.
Grizalyn’s eyes snap to mine, her expression shifting from triumph to shock.
“What do you think you’re doing you little—?”
I don’t let her finish–I take hold of the spell. It resists—of course it does—but I hold tighter, forcing my will into it, twisting it, turning it.
Not him, I think as it tries to lash out at Theron. Never him!
My teeth clench as power surges through me–sharp and burning–threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. I’ve never had so much magic running through me before, but somehow, I twist it to my will.
Her! I think, pointing the killing curse back in the direction of the witch. She’s your target–HER!
Grizalyn’s eyes go wide as she feels me twist her magic.
“No—” she begins.
But just at that moment, the Drake inhales…and then he breathes fire.
It erupts from him in a torrent of blazing gold and white—so bright it sears the air itself and so hot it steals the breath from my lungs.
The flames slam into Grizalyn at the exact moment the redirected spell strikes her–the two forces colliding in a blinding explosion of light and heat.
She screams and it’s not a human sound. It’s the sound of an animal—wounded and writhing in pain.
For just an instant I see her caught between them—the spell and the flame. Her body is writhing as the magic she cast turns inward, devouring her from within even as dragon fire consumes her from without.
Her own curse is her undoing.
“Go have the life that you deserve,” she said to me–I could say the same to her. Have the fate that you deserve.
She killed Thoren’s parents in cold blood–now she can die by the same evil magic she turned on them. And her passing is purified by the clean, bright dragon fire which is hotter than the surface of the sun.
In less than an instant, she is gone. Nothing remains but a scattering of ash and the faint, bitter scent of burned magic hanging in the air.
The Court is silent. Luckily, everyone scattered when Grizalyn appeared, so no one was hurt but her. I’m grateful for that…grateful but also incredibly weary. All that magic…I feel like a lightning bolt has just passed through me somehow without burning me.
My knees give out and I sink to the ground, my hands trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the world slowly, slowly begins to settle around me. The Drake stands over me, vast and terrible, his wings half-spread, his chest heaving as the last curls of smoke drift from his jaws.
His scales are no longer tarnished, I notice. They shine brightly in the sunlight coming through the high windows of the Court–so brightly it hurts my eyes to look at him.
Then, suddenly, he Shifts. The transformation ripples back, scales retreating, wings folding away, until Theron stands before me once more—bare-chested, breathing hard, his silver eyes fixed on mine.
They shine as brightly as the dragon’s scales, but I don’t care about that–he’s alive! That’s all that matters to me. He’s not dead. I was able to save him.
He takes a step toward me, frowning in confusion.
“Elowen,” he says hoarsely. “What the fuck just happened?”
I don’t answer him because I can’t—I have no words right now.
A sob breaks free of my chest as I lunge forward, throwing my arms around him, pressing myself against his solid, living warmth.
He catches me instantly, holding me just as tightly, his arms wrapping around me as though he never intends to let me go.
“You’re alive,” I whisper against his skin, my voice shaking. “You’re alive…”
His grip tightens.
“Of course I am,” he says, sounding bewildered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because she killed you!” I say, finding my words at last. “Grizalyn–the witch–she’s the old Court Sorcerer.
She killed your parents but the curse she used couldn’t kill you because you were innocent and you’d never stolen anyone’s innocence.
That’s why she sent me to you–so you’d deflower me!
And then the curse could take hold and kill you too.
And she did—it worked—but I used the Time Weaving and I went back. I…I…”
But I can’t talk anymore–my words dissolve into sobs, and I hold him tight, desperately happy just to feel his broad chest moving against my own as he breathes because he’s alive–alive!
“Grandson,” the Old King says gravely. “I fear I do not understand much of what just happened, but I think it’s better if we close the Court for today and talk about it.”
“I think you’re right.” Theron holds me close, rubbing my back soothingly. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “Let’s go someplace private.”