Chapter 1 #3
Da cups my cheek. “This isn’t fair, but you’re ready, Thorn. I wish that I didn’t have to ask this of you. But I do. Be brave.”
“I’m not brave enough.”
“You are. Life is a cycle, remember? This isn’t the end. I’m so proud, my son. I’ve always been proud…”
To my horror, Da’s eyes slip closed. His hand falls away from my face.
“Nay…” I leap up, clasping his lax hand in mine.
My wings extend like black blades.
The Shadow Dragons did this.
Morrigan lets out a mournful cry, before flapping her wings and flying away toward the Sacred Blossom Tree.
When I glance up through my eyes that are blinded by tears, the emerald dome above the Winter Court wavers and then dies.
I howl in primal grief.
As if in answer, roars rumble from the sky.
I stumble back a step in shock.
Adrenaline spikes through me.
It can’t be.
The bloody bastards were waiting for this…poisoning us wasn’t enough. The dragons aren’t going to face us in a fair fight.
They intend to commit genocide on our Winter Court itself.
Suddenly, huge ruby war dragons, as if they’re birthed from the sun itself, stream like flares across the sky.
I snarl, baring my teeth.
My elemental magic surges through me. Storm clouds gather, summoned by my grief.
I ready to fly up into the sky in my rage, but unexpectedly, strong arms pull me down.
“Don’t be more of an idiot than usual.” Wren holds me in place as I struggle. “They’ll kill you.”
“They killed…” I can’t look away from Da on his throne. “They’ll kill us all.”
“Probably,” Wren replies, coolly. “But we’ll die together. You’ll be with your people and not dying like some fool.”
Suddenly, a silver dragon flies overhead like sleek death.
Horns curve from his head, and the scales down his long tail glint. Shadows armor his sinuous back and around his head; they disintegrate from the tips of his wings like ash.
It’s King Tarquin.
What does it mean that he’s leading this assault himself?
Once, I thought that there would be the possibility of peace between the kingdoms. Yet Tarquin has chosen the day of my Crowning to attack.
He is hitting at the heart of our kingdom — the sacred Mound in the Winter Court itself.
He waited until the King died, knowing that his magic would dissolve the protective spell.
He has no honor.
He means to slaughter us all.
Did my parents know?
Then Tarquin opens his jaws, and fire rakes the tables covered in honeyed oatcakes and roast beef, the dancing fae, and the wooden roundhouses decorated in ribbons.
Screams, ash, and seared feathers fill the air, where before there had been laughter and dancing.
Wren flinches, when the Druids are burned to ash, attempting to shield a huddled group of dancers.
The Sacred Blossom Tree is set alight like a woman with burning hair. The embers of the petals float through the air like burning snow.
My hair is coated in their ash, along with the ash of the people who I was meant to govern.
I am a King of ash.
King of a fallen kingdom.
King of the dead.
Elatha and Ciara are coated in ash as they run back to me; their eyes are wild.
They are screaming at me, but I can’t hear them. They try to tug me away from the Mound, but I refuse to leave Da.
Who else can protect him?
The world around me is aflame.
Am I burning?
Is this hell?
Then Ma is there, thrusting something small and wailing into my arms.
I stare numbly at the Beta baby with ladybug wings.
“You are all he has now,” Ma says simply.
What happened to the bard, his da?
My stomach sinks because I know.
Ma’s left wing is singed. Her robe is ripped.
She settles in the throne next to Da, gently taking his hand in hers like they are at a formal state occasion, and our world isn’t being burned around us.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she has never looked as beautiful as she does now.
She tilts up her chin, defiantly. “Take the secret tunnel through the Mound and underneath the labyrinth.”
“I won’t leave you.” I step forward.
“Save the kids and babes,” she screams.
I freeze.
She has never yelled at me before.
I turn, holding the baby to my chest, and run toward the group of kids.
I am sobbing, as I feel my friends close around me. My ravens circle above me.
I risk a single glance over my shoulder.
Ma is staring glassily out at her burning court. She is still clutching Da’s hand.
King Branna and Queen Aine, legendary soulmates. People wrote songs and stories about their love.
I hoped that one day…
Tarquin heads straight for my parents. Then he releases a stream of fire, and my parents are turned to ash.
Grief makes me double over.
How is this pain survivable? Why do I have to wear this heavy crown and protect my people, when I want to become ash too?
Yet the ring on my thumb heats, scorching my skin.
I stare down at it in shock.
I jolt, sucking in a breath at the intense sensation that burrows deep into my magic.
So many spirits…ghosts…unjustly killed on this holy ground by the dragons are being pulled into the bronze ring.
I can sense their screams for justice being drawn in by the primal magic.
I glance over the baby’s head at the ring in horror.
How many souls am I now responsible for?
The crown on my head weighs down my neck.
Somehow, I must find a way to rescue the kids. Then somehow, we must survive as outlaws, hunted by the dragons, since my kingdom has fallen.
Yet now, I am responsible for something far greater.
“I swear by the Shadow Devils,” I mutter, as I am covered in the ash and feathers of the dead, “that I will return to reclaim my Winter Court. Then I will use the enemy blood of the House of Draca to bring the spirits back to life.”