Chapter 27 #2
Half a dozen women dressed in plain white gowns had been playing violins softly at the back of the temple, and when the notes changed and the music found its way deep inside Arla’s skin, she turned to face the musicians. A gasp fell through her lips as two women began the walk down the aisle.
Their fingers entwined, the women walked to the altar, their veils as long as the temple and dazzling white. The pillars that lined the altar seemed to shrink beneath their very presence, the temple suddenly too small to contain whatever power the women possessed.
She didn’t know she’d moved until Diath’s fingers closed around her wrist. Arla looked up and met Diath’s eyes as every member of the congregation took their seats.
‘Their pull is strong, but you will get used to it,’ Diath whispered softly, their eyes fixed on the two women. Crea touched their heads, her mouth forming words Arla couldn’t hear. The tug in her core pulled again.
She hadn’t expected it to be so strong – for the need to protect the mages to overwhelm every sense. Had the feeling been growing since she had first discovered her true bloodline?
‘Be still, Dragonhart. They are not yours to protect.’
Of course they were. She had felt the magic they possessed before she had truly had a chance to look upon them. They were mages, and that meant it was her duty to keep them safe. Her duty to stand between them should any try to—
‘Enough!’ The command shattered through the bond, so loudly she jerked back in the pew, her body going taut as she snapped out of whatever daze she had lost herself in. There it was again. The lack of control.
‘They have great magic and it speaks to your blood. But you will learn to control it soon enough,’ Diath murmured softly, their fingers still tight round Arla’s wrist to …
what? Anchor her? Stop her storming down the aisle to interrupt a wedding for …
what? What did she think she was going to do when she came within touching distance?
The Dragonhart brooch felt hot through the fabric of her dress.
The service began, Crea’s voice lilting through the temple to conduct the marriage ceremony.
Arla escaped into her own mind, replaying memories from her time at Castle Grey, reciting training drills and moves she would know even if she were dead.
At some point during the ceremony, Princess Hyacinth handed over the wedding bands and took a seat next to her mother.
Arla paid none of it any attention. Her blood ached. There was an urge growing within her, something telling her to get the mages out of the temple – out of this country – and hide them in Flambriar where they would be safe.
They’re safe here.
She shook her head. Of course they were. Malarye didn’t discriminate against those with magic in their blood; the queendom had opened its doors for them, actually, and the place was so committed to the gods and their wishes that Arla knew with certainty that they would never lay a hand on a mage.
So why did that ancient thing in her bloodline want nothing more than to run to the front of the altar and drag the two women back to Flambriar where they would be safe? Where they would be hers.
Diath’s fingers tightened around her wrist again.
‘Tell me of Hadalyn, Dragonhart. What is it like since my kind fell asleep?’
Thara’s voice was a comfort and a distraction, and Arla leant into it as Crea continued with the droning nonsense of the wedding ceremony.
‘It has beautiful places, like the river and Grey Hill – once it was rebuilt after the battle. But it is beginning to fall to sickness and poverty like Kastonia already has. You can see it in the slums, how they’re growing each month and starting to encroach on noble land.
I wonder if it would already have fallen had it not been for your presence. ’
Thara rumbled softly in her head. ‘I think you are right. The gods are angry with what Kastonia’s king is doing.
They are confused and panicked. I believe they see no other way to stop him than to condemn the kingdoms and hope something better emerges from the chaos.
They have begged and bargained with the fates about how to stop the corruption of magical blood. ’
‘What have they bargained?’ Arla asked.
‘Gods’ bargains are not taken lightly. And if broken, the consequences are borne by those of us who serve. Some have taken a vow of silence in exchange for answers. All it has achieved is broken promises and dragons too weak to fly.’
There was a solemnity in Thara’s voice that curdled in Arla’s stomach. The fates had harmed the dragons because the gods had broken their vows…
She didn’t know who she hated most.
‘Have they … have they harmed you?’ She didn’t know if she wished to hear the answer.
Didn’t know if she would be able to contain the rage that simmered beneath her skin if she found out Thara had been hurt.
It was a strange thing, the bond. Somehow a mark against her dragon felt like a mark on Arla’s soul.
‘No. My god did not make a bargain to break.’
Intrigue picked at the corners of Arla’s mind, but she wouldn’t push Thara to give her more, not when this was the most her dragon had ever told her of the gods and how the fates were intervening. What had changed? Why now?
‘Why would they break their bargains? If the fates delivered answers, surely the gods could be content with that?’
Thara sighed. ‘Know that the gods did not take these vows lightly. They care for us more deeply than any bond. It has, I believe, devastated them that their dragons have been harmed for their mistake.’
‘What mistake?’
‘When the fates granted them an answer to their question, the gods did not like it. Did not understand it. The outrage it caused was enough for even the most steadfast of them to speak and break their vows.’
Arla knew what Thara would say. She could taste the bile in her throat because the fates had fooled them all. She asked the question anyway.
‘What answer did the fates give?’
‘Two words. Two words that broke gods’ bargains: Arla Reinhart.’