Chapter 51
Istare down at Aneirin’s body, and a wave of pity crashes over me. Blood from his bashed face stains the gravel, and the scent of death curls into the air.
He did all this because he was terrified of being lonely. Here in this forsaken ruin, he’d spent too much time by himself, too deep in debt for a place in society. He believed that Auberon would bring him into his court. I don’t think it was just about money. He wanted to belong.
I’m still reeling from everything he said.
Auberon lives. That’s not a shock to me, but I didn’t imagine he’d be trying to steal the ancient relics.
And I had no idea that Rion is the heir. Why did he fake his death and disappear for centuries? For a moment, I wonder if it’s true.
But then again, he told me I didn’t know his real name. Now I know why. I cast my mind back to the family tree—Lothyr’s family tree. Grandson of Merlin the Great. No wonder his magic is powerful and the oaks speak to him.
They want to bring the whole world to its knees.
There must be something beyond the relics’ symbolism, a ritual that will give them terrifying power.
Tristan sidles up next to me, looking at what’s left of Aneirin.
“Should we bury him?” I ask quietly.
But when I look at Tristan, I see his attention is already elsewhere, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “They’re here already,” Tristan says.
My heart lurches, and I look up. At first, they’re only shadows moving strangely against the night. Then, the cloaks catch in the wind. The cugol’s strange jeweled belts sway silently as they move toward us.
The cugol have already caught up to us, and they are gliding across the darkened courtyard, faster than I’ve ever seen them move before.
“Tristan!” I scream. “We need to get out of here right now!”
We run for the dragon, sprinting across the courtyard.
Already, my body is starting to heat. I never understood before how they would light you on fire. I imagined they’d drag you to a stake, just like in the Veiled Court. But it seems that their magic is at work from a distance because my body burns with a fever, oppressively hot.
It starts in my chest, like I’ve swallowed fire. Then it spreads out, burning my throat, my limbs, and my skin.
Tristan, of course, reaches the dragon within seconds. His magical speed has him already on the dragon's neck while I’m still trying to run across the courtyard, my cloak smoldering in the scorched air.
But Seronos seems to be panicked, and he’s already lumbering away from me. Please, no!
His footfalls boom across the landscape, shaking the ground with his weight, and his wings spread out.
My heart is ready to leap out of my chest as I try to chase after Seronos.
The dragon takes off into the air, stretching out his wings to fly away.
Then, as heat sears my skin and singes my clothes, the dragon swoops back down again.
Tristan angles low, grabs me, and wrenches me upward.
We lift off into the air, and I’m dangling from the dragon, kicking my legs in reflex as the ground drops away from me.
The winds rush over my body, cooling me from the heat of the cugol magic.
Tristan’s grip on me is as powerful as stone.
I force my legs to be still, trying not to make the dragon’s flight any more difficult. But just dangling here, I can tell that my weight alone is affecting Seronos’s flight. He keeps tilting to the right, frantically flapping his wings.
I twist my head to look behind me, and my gaze lands on one of the dragon’s spikes.
I reach for the spike with my left arm. When my fingers wrap around it, I start to turn my body a little bit, still supported by Tristan.
Grunting with the effort, I manage to grab it with my right hand also.
With a tremendous strain, I start to pull myself up, my muscles shaking as I shift, inch by inch.
As I try to maneuver into position, the wind whips at me, making my cloak flap like a banner around me.
I pull myself up with Tristan’s help, and he hoists me higher until I can hook my left leg over the dragon’s neck.
I lean back into him and breathe in the night air. The cool wind chills my body after the heat. My clothes are singed, but the redness of my skin is already returning to normal.
“That was close,” he whispers.
We climb higher into the sky, and I close my eyes for a moment, thanking the gods that I didn’t burn to death.
But what do I do now?
“They saw you,” Tristan says.
“I know. I’m fucked. I’ll be on the run forever now.” I am envisioning a future where I live permanently on this dragon, fleeing eternally from the Cloaked Ones and their fire magic.
“Maybe we can bargain for a dismissal,” Tristan says. “Maybe we can persuade Niniane that none of this was your fault. We can tell them about Auberon—”
He stops himself.
“She doesn’t care who’s at fault,” I say.
“She only demands utter loyalty. And what leverage do I have? I don’t have the grail anymore.
We shouldn’t let them know a thing about Auberon.
She could help him. She wants a monarchy.
For all we know, she might give him the relics.
Better to let everyone think he’s dead for now. ”
“You risked your life to save a relic of the Veiled Court. That’s the story.”
I shake my head. “You know it’s not enough, Tristan. There’s no room for failure in a monarchist’s court.”
Slowly, an idea sparks in my mind.
What if I do have leverage?
* * *
The bells are still ringing by the time we return—funeral bells, now. Aneirin lies on dirty gravel with his neck snapped and his eye gouged out. The bells ring for his death, even if no one here knows it.
Carried by Seronos, we circle over the fortress. Beneath us, nobles of the Veiled Court begin to creep out of their rooms, staring at the strange new dragon.
Goch perches on one of the outer walls of the castle, glaring at us. As we swoop closer, he roars, unleashing a blast of fire in our direction. I crouch down, taking cover behind Seronos’s neck. Our dragon answers with flame, his roar rumbling through me. Around me, the air burns hot.
We circle again, and when it seems as if Goch won’t attack, Tristan guides Seronos down into the dragon pit, right near the menagerie. We land on ashes and charred bones, and they crunch beneath the dragon’s weight. The scent of old smoke clings to the stones around us.
I’m not getting off this dragon yet.
From the shadows by the menagerie, Niniane prowls slowly, draped in blue. Wrath blazes in her eyes, and her lips press into a thin line. But she’s not in a rush. She still thinks she’s in control here.
As she walks, she draws a dagger from a holster. A cugol glides behind her, his face covered by his cowl.
“What do you think you’re doing here, Baroness?” she hisses. “You left the Veiled Court and returned with a stolen dragon?”
Still clinging to Seronos’s neck, I lift my chin. “Aneirin escaped because he stole the grail from me. I tried to reclaim it.”
Niniane makes a subtle gesture with her hand, and two soldiers move closer, aiming arrows at me.
Tristan’s hand tightens around my waist, and I can tell he’s ready to lift off with Seronos any moment.
“Treason,” she snarls. “You’re in league with him, aren’t you?”
I scan the little crowd that clusters around the pit. From the shadows, Rion is staring at me, his arms folded.
“He’s dead,” I say. “And before he killed himself, someone robbed him of the grail. I don’t know who, but I will make it my mission to get it back.”
“There’s no place for you here, Alis,” Niniane says. “You failed. You lost the grail. You broke the rules. You should burn.”
“Then you’ll never know who killed Cador,” I say.
All the color drains from her face, and she takes a step closer. “Was it you?”
My jaw clenches. “Remove the halo, and I will tell you.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Do you really think removing the halo would end all this? Do you think I’d just let it go?”
My gaze darts to the mirrors, where the noble houses watch us. “There’s no room for failure in a monarchist’s court,” I say. “You were the keeper of the grail, ultimately. And it was stolen under your watch. Do you really think this will impress the noble houses? One of your—”
She raises a hand. “Silence! Stop speaking. Branos! Dismiss this wretch.”
The cugol steps forward, reaching for my hand.
He grabs it in his, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of his eyes—pale, beautiful blue eyes.
His magic sweeps over me, wrapping around my skull like a warm embrace, then heating to a sharp blaze for a second.
It sizzles in the air around me until it goes silent.
“It’s done.” Niniane’s lip curled. “Who killed Cador?”
I sit tall on Seronos. What’s one more lie when I’m drowning in them? “Aneirin did. He confessed before he died. He was trying to interrogate Cador for information about the grail.”
She stares at me. “And I have no idea if you’re telling the truth.
Cador is the one who could have carved it out of you.
But what a shame you let us all down, Alis.
You could have had a chance, you know. Especially for what the noble houses are demanding that we do next.
You, of all people, had the best chance. ”
She’s trying to keep me here by dropping tantalizing hints, but I can’t be lured into her games.
“Time to go,” Tristan whispers. He tugs on one of Seronos’s spikes, and the dragon takes a few booming steps across the pit, angling his wings.
And now, everything lies in ruin. I saved Vero, but Avalon Tower has lost its only two spies in the court. Auberon lives, plotting from the sidelines to amass a greater power than ever.
Exiled from the Veiled Court, I can’t do a single fucking thing to stop him.
It’s over.