Chapter 34
T heo does not turn back immediately. He sits quietly, cramped against the walls and ceiling of his chambers, his breathing quiet but rumbling. I sit with him after ordering the guards out. With Theo behind me, eyeing them hungrily, they make no argument and flee quickly. I contemplate the possibility of one or more of them informing the king, but by the time a raven reaches him, it will be too late for him to do anything.
Because I finally have a plan.
Theo does not ask questions straight away, and I do not force information on him. I rest my head against one of his large forearms, and I let him have his peace.
???
After an hour or two, I hear the familiar wet snapping sounds of his body turning back. But instead of his skin splitting and tearing, his scales and spikes start to drop off softly. He groans and winces, but it is nothing compared to his usual screams. I watch him slowly shrink to his regular size, and when he is finished, he is not bloody but clean. The scaly skin he has left behind sits innocently like a coat he has taken off, dry and husk-like.
“Are…are you well?” I ask tentatively. He flexes his fingers, staring at them.
“Yes,” he replies, his tone surprised, before turning to look at me. “But I have questions.”
I hold back a smile.
“It would be strange if you did not. I cannot promise I can answer everything, but…” I slot my hand into his, weaving his fingers between mine. “I think I finally understand what happened to you. And your mother.”
Theo swallows hard and squeezes my hand. I breathe deep and begin.
30 Years Ago
Honora watches him from the Mossgarde town square with stars in her eyes.
The prince is handsome indeed, grinning and waving to the crowd. Honora is just another face amongst many but there is a moment, however brief, where he looks at her. Their eyes meet, and the prince’s smile widens ever so slightly. Her closest friend, Ruya, squeezes her hand.
“He looked at me,” Honora whispers to her. “ Me .”
The girls, only seven and ten, giggle and clutch each other. Honora’s cheeks ache from smiling, but she cannot help it. Her quiet town has never been so alive.
They watch with giddy glee as the prince dips his head, accepting his father’s crown. The crowd cheers, long and loud, for their new king. Despite the fragile health of his father, the king turns his back to him, facing the adoration of the crowd. His eyes meet Honora’s again, and this time, he does not look away.
27 Years Ago
Honora smooths the fabric of her gown, turning this way and that to inspect her stitching. It is the grandest dress she has ever made, and she worked until her fingers bled. But it is worth it. She will bleed as much as she must for love.
Ruya buzzes around her, adjusting Honora’s hairpins and adding more blush to her cheeks. Several items hover in the air, tinged with a purple hue. Ruya plucks at them, pulling them from the air as she needs them and letting them float away when she does not.
“Are you nervous?” she asks Honora.
“No,” she replies with a coy smile. “I could not be happier.”
“You can be both happy and nervous.”
“Are you nervous, Ruya?”
“Well…” Her friend steps back, examining her work. “I have never worked for a queen before.”
“I am your friend before I am your queen,” Honora says, taking her hands. “That comes before all else.”
Ruya smiles, her eyes crinkling, and wipes away a stray tear.
“A true love tale,” she says, her chest swelling with pride. “All of Mossgarde is here to see your wedding.”
Honora inhales deeply, settling the butterflies in her stomach.
“I am truly lucky, Ruya. To think, I nearly joined my grandparents in Coalsburgh…” Honora trails off wistfully. “I may never become Ascended in Mossgarde but I am happy with that.”
A comfortable life. The thought makes Honora smile.
“If you are happy, then you have made the right choice. The king loves you more than anything, and soon, you will be a queen.”
“Yes. He loves me.” Honora turns to look at herself in the mirror. Her dress sleeves are long, running down to cover even her wrists. A dull ache in her chest reminds her of her promise to the king—she would not show her tattoos on their wedding day. Unsightly , he had said. They distract from your beauty . When she had protested, his eyes became sad.
If you loved me, you would do me this one favour. For just one day.
And she does love him. So much so that it hurts sometimes, a sick feeling in her stomach. She runs the pad of her thumb over her fingers, feeling the callouses there from making her wedding gown. She has bled for him already, and she will do so again.
Honora tugs down the sleeves of her dress and smiles at Ruya.
“I am ready.”
26 Years Ago
“How is she?” Vanya asks, concern etched into her face. By way of an answer, Ruya collapses to a sitting position on the side of her bed, hunched over.
The servants’ quarters are quiet, with only a handful of others either sleeping or murmuring quietly to each other. Ruya’s hands quake, her au’mana flickering weakly in the palm of her hands. Vanya wraps an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, squeezing her. When Ruya looks up, her eyes are ringed with dark.
“You are exhausted,” Vanya tells her, a deep crease between her brows.
“I cannot stop,” Ruya whispers back.
“You must rest.”
“I will,” she says wearily. “It is just…we are so high from Mossgarde, and the tunnel needs so much magic.”
She sinks forward again with her head in her hands. Vanya rubs her back, Ruya’s ophid taut there.
“Honora is strong. She can fight—”
“He wants her pregnant.”
Vanya falls silent, her throat constricting.
“What?” she croaks out.
“I heard one of the guards,” Ruya says miserably. “He…if he succeeds, she cannot shapeshift. It is too dangerous for the baby.”
“She will be unable to fight back,” Vanya finishes quietly. “Has she said anything?”
Ruya shakes her head.
“Not since that night,” she says, remembering the blood and claws. The night Honora finally told him ‘no.’ “She is barely lucid. The lavender tonic addles her mind. ”
Vanya clenches her fists. Ruya slumps forward, head in hands.
“We have been fools,” she whispers, a sob stuck in her throat. “How could we ever have trusted him?”
“No.” Vanya turns to grab her friend by the wrists, forcing her to lock eyes. “The blame is with him. Not Honora, nor us. If he were a good man, we would not be in this mess. Do you understand?”
Through tears, Ruya nods.
“We need to proceed as planned,” Vanya continues, releasing her. “Before we are out of time.”
25 Years Ago
The castle is quiet as Queen Honora slips out of her bed in the dead of night.
She is wearing an outfit she made herself, tight enough to stop any snagging but flexible enough to be comfortable. Dark as the night sky to creep through shadows undetected. Her chestnut hair is pulled back and tied, trailing down her back.
She glances at her bookcase, standing tall and silent in her chambers. She knows the secret it holds, but…she cannot. She mu st find Ruya and Vanya first. She awoke with cold sweat across her brow and dread in her chest. Her baby kicks, unsettled, as panic shoots through her veins. Something is wrong with him—she is certain of it. She needs her friends.
Honora eases open her chamber door, wary of the creaking noise it makes, and peeks through the halls. The guards are on their shift change, she knows, and there is a small window of a few minutes where there is no one stationed outside her door. She clutches her swollen stomach and moves as quickly as she can to the hidden door behind a large landscape painting. Ruya had told her about the passageways the servants used to get around quickly, and she had kept the knowledge firmly in her mind, biding her time. She closes the hidden door behind her softly.
The passageway is dimly lit, with only a few small torches dotted across the walls, but she has always had keen eyesight in the dark. It does not deter her. She strokes her stomach, heavy and uncomfortable, and whispers to the baby.
“We can do this,” Honora tells him—and herself—before she strides on. Her jaw is set.
The only sound is her laboured breathing mingled with the damp drips of the brick walls. The air is thick with moisture, making it harder for her to breathe, especially with swollen feet and a sore back. Nevertheless, she grits her teeth and continues.
When she reaches the other end of the passageway, she knows she will be outside the kitchens. She presses her forehead against the door, catching her breath for a moment and listening on the other side. The guards do not patrol this area often, so she should be safe. But there is always a chance one is passing through…
Honora shakes this doubt out of her head. It is not a useful thought and she does not have space for things which do not help her. She takes another deep inhale before cracking the door open slightly.
As she does, she becomes aware of a wetness at her feet, and her thighs glide off each other as she moves forward. Glancing down, she sees the puddle of fluid on the passageway floor. She stares at it, her resolve wavering. She is running out of time.
You are Honora , she tells herself. Daughter of dragons.
The image of her husband flashes through her mind and her nerves harden into steel. He has taken my life from me , she thinks, but he will not take my baby’s.
The corridor is silent and dark, the torches burning low. She narrows her eyes and surveys both ways before creeping out. Honora wastes no time and hurries towards the servants’ quarters, where she knows they have their own entrance. And exit .
She is almost there when she feels the first sharp pain just below her stomach. She halts, squeezing her teeth together to stop from groaning, and presses a hand against the wall. It passes after a few seconds, and she blinks, taking deep, quiet breaths. She knows what is happening, but she cannot afford to stop. She must push on.
She walks on shaky legs as sweat begins to form on her brow. She wipes it away irritably and makes it to the servants’ quarters as the next contraction kicks in. This time it is worse, like someone has reached inside her and grabbed her womb with a tight fist. A whimper escapes her lips before she presses them firmly together in a thin line. She stops, clutching her stomach as sweat runs down the sides of her face. She cannot wake the servants. She needs to make it to the exit.
She stumbles on, gasping, her legs threatening to crumble beneath her at any moment. She sees the exit and Ruya standing in front of it, waiting for her. She tries to raise a hand, but the contractions are coming quickly now and lasting longer. Ruya spots her, bent over double and rushes over.
“Your Highness,” she gasps, horrified. “We must get you to your bed!”
“No,” Honora moans through gritted teeth. “No, there is no time. We need to leave—ah! ”
She cries out and collapses, but Ruya manages to catch her.
“Honora, please, think of the baby.” Ruya scoops an arm under her back. She can hear the servants begin to rouse from their sleep.
“I am thinking of the baby!” Honora cries. The pain is too great, her face is contorted with it, and all sense of stealth has left her mind. “He cannot be born here. I will not let the king have him!”
Honora is on the brink of blacking out, her vision sprinkled with bright spots. The servants have woken and are concerned, gathering around her.
“What is wrong with the queen?” a small voice asks. A young girl stands, rubbing her eyes.
“Go back to bed, Inez,” Ruya tells her firmly before turning back to Honora. “We need to get her somewhere safe. Now!”
The servants immediately oblige, putting Honora’s arms over their shoulders and taking her back. No , she wants to scream, do not take me back .
They bring her to her chambers and help her onto the bed. She tries to claw her way off it, but they hold her tight.
“The baby is coming, Your Highness,” they tell her. “We need to deliver him.”
“No, no…” Honora sobs as another wave of pain wracks her body. “I need to save him.”
Ruya’s face is streaked with tears but she makes soothing sounds for the queen, wiping her sweat-soaked forehead with a cool cloth. She wants to pour her au’mana into something to help, but there is nothing to ease her now. Honora’s stormy eyes begin to glow a furious gold, bright as molten glass, the fear and pain overwhelming her.
“Your Highness!” Ruya cries. “You cannot turn!”
Honora growls with lengthening teeth.
“The baby!” her handmaiden pleads. “You will hurt the baby if you turn!”
Immediately, the gold is extinguished, and the buds of her transformation shrivel. Honora succumbs to huge, heaving sobs. Defeated.
And then she hears him. Goosebumps spring up along the back of her neck as dread crawls up her spine.
“Everyone out.” The king stands silhouetted in the doorway, his voice cool.
The servants hesitate, glancing between each other.
“I said, out!” he booms. “If she is fit to survive this, she will.”
The servants jump and scatter, but Ruya shoots a venomous look at him.
“No,” she snarls, keeping hold of Honora’s hand. “She needs help to deliver him safely. I will not leave her.”
The king fixes her with an even look.
“You think I am unaware of your machinations behind my back? Whatever you have concocted, I hope it was worth your head,” he says, his tone almost bored. Two guards walk forth and wrap their grip around Ruya’s arms.
She shrieks and kicks at them, drawing on her au’mana. The room begins to glow purple, every sharp item around her turning to point at them. They hover ominously, a protective bubble around the witch and the queen. The king, eyes narrowed, flicks his hand.
A guard darts forward and pushes a wet rag against her mouth. Ruya squirms out of his grip and flings her au’mana. The sharp objects fly at the king, who falls back with a startled cry and a clang of armour. When he stands up again, a letter opener has sliced his cheek open. He touches it with a shaking hand, blood on his fingers.
“Close her magic off! Now!” he barks.
The guards hold the wet rag to Ruya’s mouth and nose. She tries to claw at them, but the other guards pin her arms back. She coughs, inhaling the foul drug, and her au’mana vanishes. The glow disappears, and the items drop back down again with a clatter. Impotent, Ruya is dragged away as she fights desperately to reach her magic again.
Honora watches, eyes wide and red-ringed, but can do nothing. The baby is coming. She can feel him. He is going to rip her apart, but she does not care. She only wants him to be safe .
The king gives her one last apathetic look and slams the door closed, locking it behind him. Honora unleashes a scream from the bottom of her soul through her body.
Prince Theo is born in wrath and blood.
The sheets are soaked red. Her son is crying for her, and she wants so much to reach for him, to hold him, but she cannot lift her arms. Exhaustion sweeps her, and she nearly closes her eyes.
No , she whispers to herself and snaps them open. In the corner of the room, cloaked in gloom, two figures stand. Their faces and bodies are covered, adorned in white silk, akin to marble statues. They stand and they watch and they do not move. Not yet.
Reapers.
Honora knows what this means. She looks back at them and shakes her head. Even if she has lost her battle, she feels her power swell. Ascended.
Her gaze swivels down to Theo. She will not be able to save him so she must protect him instead.
Honora summons every well of energy she has left and leans forward to pick him up. He is slippery with blood, but she holds him close, putting a supportive hand under his head.
“Oh, Theo…” she whispers. Even as she speaks, she can taste the faeth around her.
Looking at him then, she smiles despite the pain and fatigue. He settles down, gurgling, and tiny scales appear and disappear along his skin. She presses a kiss to his forehead, her tears spilling freely. She inhales slowly, closing her eyes and clearing her mind.
In the lonely dark of the room, with her baby clutched to her chest, Queen Honora hugs him close and draws on her Ascension. She whispers in dragon speech, her home tongue, a spell she hopes with her whole heart will work. She rocks back and forth, the words sliding and rolling over her tongue. Dark marks form on Theo’s back, spreading like smoke across his skin. She speaks and speaks until the mark is complete. She presses one last kiss to his forehead and utters the last word that will seal it.
Svellenta.
I love you.