The Return of the Dragon Queen Page 3

  “What do you mean, Izadora?” Tristan took a step toward the mirror. “Is this another one of your tricks?”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask Penelope,” the fae queen said with a sharp glance at her sister.

  Tristan and I turned toward her. “Penelope, is this true?”

  “This was not the time to bring it up.” Penelope’s blue eyes flashed with anger. But she nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid she speaks the truth.”

  The queen of the fae shimmered in the mirror. “Take my advice and do as I say, Tristan, or there will be consequences.”

  I knew without my grandmother’s help I wouldn’t get far, even with the powers I now possessed. “But what about my mother and the Dark Dagger?”

  “All in good time,” said the queen of the fae.

  I weighed the options, and as much as I hated to admit it, she was right. My grandmother was a master strategist, and if I wanted to win back my kingdom, I should start listening to her, even though I didn’t want to. My every instinct cried out to go straight to Rafe, but running off into enemy territory on my own wasn’t an option. However much I wanted to follow my heart and run back to Rafe and my granduncle to help them, I had finally realized I had a much greater purpose beyond my own happiness.

  The mirror shimmered again, and Izadora and the Crystal Castle disappeared.

  I turned to Penelope, my mind a beehive of possibilities. “What did she mean when she said Kildaren had another son? Who is he?”

  Tristan’s jaw was tense, and he stood unmoving as Penelope sat down on a nearby chair.

  “Kildaren and I knew each other when we were young. He was my first love.” She glanced quickly at Tristan and the corner of her lips pulled up with the hint of a smile. “My sister was already queen; she refused the match, and we needed her consent for the wedding. At the time she had her heart set on an alliance with the Day Court, so Kildaren ended up marrying Selene instead. But after Tristan’s mother passed away, Kildaren came to me professing his love. Out of respect for Selene’s memory and for Tristan, we thought it would be better to wait for a while before we married. Especially after the tragic way her life ended. So we kept it a secret.”

  “Thank you,” said Tristan, his twilight-blue eyes shimmering.

  Penelope shook her head. “It was the right thing to do.”

  I thought back to the story Skye had told me about Tristan’s mother and the brutality of the mage soldiers who murdered her. My heart constricted for the sorrow and pain Tristan must have felt when he found his mother’s remains. The mages still whispered about him—the Dark Prince of the Night Court, an unforgiving fae-warrior who destroyed a whole garrison of mages and burned their fortress to the ground. But I knew why he’d done it, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  “What happened between you two? Why did he hate you so much when you came back?”

  Penelope looked out at the moonlit street beyond the window, her gaze far away. “When Izadora decided to send me to Illiador to look for you and gather information on Morgana, I could not refuse. She was distraught after having lost her only child, and she was certain that Elayna’s daughter was alive somewhere. She felt the magic of the portal that sent you to the other world. I was forbidden from telling anyone where I was going.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell Kildaren you were leaving? I’m sure he would have understood.”

  “I had no choice,” Penelope snapped, turning back to me. “Izadora warned me not to tell anyone. But I loved Kildaren, and I couldn’t leave without seeing him one last time. I went to him the night before I left so we could be together just once.” A single tear slid down her cheek. She hurriedly brushed it away and said softly, “It was only once.”

  My eyes widened, understanding dawning. “Kalen is Kildaren’s son! Isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Penelope nodded, looking at the fae prince who stood beside me, expressionless. “Kalen is the son of the Grand Duke of the Night Court and Tristan’s half brother.”

  A City of Slaves and Thieves

  “I have a brother?” Tristan said finally.

  Penelope nodded. “A half brother, yes.”

  Now that I thought about it, they did look similar, but I had never made the connection because of Kalen’s silvery blond hair, so much like his mother’s. But his chin and the shape of his face were similar to Tristan’s—a lighter, younger version of his darkness.

  “I have tried to keep him safe,” said Penelope, wringing her hands together. “He doesn’t know about his real heritage or the powers that he may come to possess.”

  “You have no idea.” Tristan gave Penelope a dark look as shadows seemed to form around him. “He must be trained properly, or he will become a risk to himself and others.”

  Penelope nodded. “He is still young, and his powers have not manifested yet. I intended to tell him when the time was right.”

  The shadows surrounding Tristan flickered and dissipated as quickly as they appeared. “My father needs to be told.”

  “Not yet,” said Penelope, expelling a relieved breath as Tristan calmed himself. “At the moment it is better we keep this information to ourselves. Morgana thinks he is insignificant, and I would like to keep it that way. It is better that no one knows who he really is, or his life will be in danger because of the magic that he may or may not possess.”

  Tristan nodded. “Where is he now?”

  “In Eldoren with Rafael,” said Penelope.

  Swirls of silver started to form around the edges of Tristan’s twilight irises.

  I quickly tried to change the subject. Tristan’s mood went from surly to downright dangerous whenever Rafe’s name was mentioned, and I needed him to be cooperative right now. “So, how do we organize a meeting with Darius Detori?”

  “I will set it up,” said Penelope. She turned to the fae prince. “Tristan, can you find out where those arrows came from?”

  “I will make inquiries,” Tristan replied abruptly, and left the room.

  Penelope sighed and sat down on the window seat. “Once we get to Sanria, we will be able to better assess the situation. Santino’s spy network is even more intricate than mine. He has people stationed all over the seven kingdoms, in every court. I want to set up a meeting between you and all the rulers. Not many people really know you—they have only heard stories about you, and you have been away from this world for so long, most of them think you are merely a myth. They need to know that you are a real person, a leader who will be able to protect them from Morgana and the Drakaar. They need to have faith in you, or they will succumb to Morgana’s threats because they have no one else to help them.”

  “Do you think they will agree to meet with me?”

  “I hope so. We need to gather more forces to go up against Morgana and the Drakaar. The Brandorian cavalry consists of highly trained soldiers and is a force to be reckoned with. Once we meet with the Detori emir and assess where his allegiance lies, we will make haste to Sanria and meet with Santino Valasis and his father.”

  “What about the Silver Swords? Santino said they want to help.”

  “I’m sure they do. But the fact remains that they are not enough, even with the support of the fae army. We still need Brandorian soldiers, not to mention Santino’s mercenaries and pirates, and we need the Eldorean mages as well.”

  “So I was right? We do need Rafe’s help as King of Eldoren?”

  Penelope nodded. “Yes, but that will come later. We must secure Brandor so the fae army can march unhindered through their territory. If Brandor joins with Morgana, the fae army will be effectively cut off from the rest of the world. At the moment, Morgana’s army is the greatest force in the seven kingdoms. When united with the Drakaar and their demonic armies, their numbers far exceed our own. The army Lucian brought to Elfi was only a small part of their actual force. And we don’t even know how many more creatures they have hiding behind the Silverspike Mountains and in the farthest reaches of the Darklands. In open battle we wi
ll be sorely outnumbered.”

  I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants. “But Emir Valasis, Santino’s father, has already refused to help. He met me and he doesn’t think I am capable of taking my throne back and defeating Morgana. I’m not so sure the other rulers will agree to follow me into battle.”

  “Then we must convince them,” said Penelope, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

  “How?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  That night I slept very little and was awakened by a sudden shrill wail that sent a chill racing down my spine. It was coming from outside.

  The sun had not yet reared its head, but it was making progress. A light pink glow had started to form on the horizon, heralding its advent across the Brandorian sky. The moon, still unaware that its light would soon be rendered useless, shed an eerie glow over the foggy courtyard outside the tavern as I ran to the window. Penelope and I were sharing a room; she hurried out of her bed, following me.

  I froze at the scene unfolding outside.

  A young mahogany-skinned slave girl was shackled and kneeling on the cobblestones. A black-turbaned slave master wielded a whip, cracking it down on the girl’s back, tearing through tender flesh and drawing blood. She cried in agony as the lash hit her.

  The fog shifted, and the light of dawn illuminated her form. I noticed patterns on her body, tattoos marking her from the tribes of Rohron.

  My fingers clenched and opened as I moved forward and grabbed the windowsill. It was a few feet to the ground, and I had jumped much farther than that during my training sessions in the forest with Tristan.

  Penelope grabbed my arm. “You cannot interfere, Aurora. Slavery is an age-old custom here in Brandor. You cannot do anything for the girl.”

  I twisted out of her hold and put my foot on the windowsill. “Let them try and stop me.”

  The slave master raised his arm, poised to bring the whip down upon the girl’s bleeding back once again.

  My fae senses took over as I landed in a crouch between them.

  He raised the whip above his head, and it lashed out toward me.

  I moved swiftly before the weapon struck, the blood roaring in my ears as my magic awoke. My fae senses guided me as I dodged, avoiding the blow and catching the whip in my hand. I wrapped it firmly around my arm and pulled. The slave master flew forward and landed face-first in the mud at my feet.

  He pushed himself up, sputtering through the mud. “Guards!” he croaked. “Guards! Arrest her!”

  I raised my arms and unleashed my magic, flinging the slave master clean across the courtyard. His head cracked on the stone wall, and he fell to the ground.

  There was silence.

  A young nobleman stepped out of the shadows. Oval eyes studied me from under his lavender turban. He had a round face with skin the color of honey. His eyes widened when he saw me. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you interfere with my slaves?”

  My hands balled into fists as I pushed my magic back down. “Is this the way you treat the people who work for you? This girl is barely conscious.”

  The nobleman lifted his chin. “She must be punished for daring to try to escape.” His beady brown eyes flashed in warning.

  But I could not let this go. “A few more lashes and she could have died,” I ground out between clenched teeth.

  The nobleman waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “Who cares what happens to her? She is of no consequence.”

  Even though I knew slavery was rife in Brandor, I had never paid attention; I had allowed myself to be blind to this until now. It wasn’t my problem and I stayed out of it. But after seeing this girl and the suffering she’d endured, I realized that Illiador was not the only kingdom I had to save. I was the Dawnstar, the light that filled the world with magic. I could not let anyone—man, woman, or child—in any kingdom endure such cruelty as long as I could help it.

  “Every person is of consequence,” I growled. “Your worth is not determined by your fancy clothes or the color of your skin. It is the choices you make and the way you treat people that show who you truly are.” I moved closer to the girl to shield her from his glare. “I suggest you let her go.”

  “Never!” the young nobleman snarled, his hands on his hips.

  The empty streets had started to fill up as the Brandorians woke to another day and started going about their business. Onlookers who had gathered were whispering among themselves.

  I ignored him and moved to break the chains that held the girl. I could heal her back, but the internal scars would not fade so easily.

  “Don’t touch my slaves,” the nobleman shouted. “Guards!”

  Before I could free her, the guards moved toward me, their swords out, wariness flickering in their eyes.

  I had had enough. I stood up slowly, my hands lighting up with silver fire. My eyes flashed with fury. “Try it and you’re dead.”

  They stopped in their tracks. But the girl was not afraid of me; she stayed behind me as I faced the guards.

  Tristan appeared beside me, twin swords blazing in his hands. “I thought we were going to keep a low profile, not announce to the whole city where we are,” he muttered under his breath.

  The guards took a few steps back.

  “I’m handling it,” I snapped.

  “I can see that,” Tristan ground out, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

  I shrugged. “We were going to leave this city soon anyway.”

  The nobleman moved backward and stood behind one of the guards, shouting over his shoulder. “I said, seize her!”

  “That is enough for today,” said a deep voice from somewhere within the crowd.

  The onlookers parted immediately as another nobleman entered the fray. People started to bow and move out of the way for the crimson-turbaned nobleman. He was tall and well-built, towering over the red-faced shorter man. He had a sharp nose and deep-set brown eyes, slightly upturned at the corners. His short beard and mustache were clipped and neat, enhancing his full lips. His crimson robe was heavily embroidered with gold thread, and jewels twinkled on his fingers and on chains around his neck.

  “But Prince Shiraz,” sputtered the lavender-turbaned nobleman, pointing at me. “She was interfering with my slaves.”

  Prince Shiraz turned his eyes on me. “Was she now?”

  “Aurora!” Penelope hurried over and whispered under her breath so only I could hear. “It is not your place to interfere with the internal workings of the kingdoms. Prince Shiraz is Darius Detori’s son. Izadora is going to be livid.”

  “How could you condone such a barbarous practice?” I snarled at Penelope.

  “It is the way things have always been in Brandor,” said Penelope softly. “I don’t condone it, but now is not the time to interfere and go around freeing slaves.”

  I tried to keep my cool. “So when would it be a good time to free slaves, Penelope? After they have been beaten to death?”

  Penelope looked straight at me. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  One of the crimson-clad guards whispered in Prince Shiraz’s ear, and I could see the fear in the guard’s eyes as he spoke to the emir’s son. I could tell some of them had recognized me. I had forgotten my turban and glamour when I leapt out of the window to help the girl. I had acted impulsively and knew my actions would have consequences, but I didn’t regret standing against slavery and saving the girl’s life.

  More onlookers and guards had started milling around to get a better look. Shiraz Detori’s eyes widened as he looked me over, assessing me.

  “My lord,” said one guard, terror showing plainly on his young face. “That’s Aurora Firedrake, the Shadowbreaker. They say she can kill a hundred Drakaar with one blow.”

  I snorted and shrugged my shoulders. “True,” I said, and gave them all a wide grin. If people wanted to exaggerate my powers, I wasn’t going to argue. This was the way legends were created, and I needed to be larger than life if I was going to get people to follow me agains
t Morgana.

  “I don’t care!” The lavender-turbaned nobleman stomped his foot like a spoiled child. “My slave is mine to punish,” he screeched, picking up the slave master’s fallen whip.

  Shiraz Detori caught the whip and flung it to the ground. “This slave doesn’t belong to you anymore, Berzaan.” His voice was low and calm, but his tone was one that was used to being obeyed.

  “No!” Berzaan’s face was getting redder by the minute. “You cannot take away my slaves, Prince Shiraz.”

  “I just did,” said Shiraz Detori, dismissing Berzaan with a wave of his hand. He looked at the guards. “Release the girl.”

  But I didn’t let them near her, and they didn’t even try. I turned and broke the girl’s shackles with my magic, severing the cold cuffs away from her raw bleeding wrists. I pushed a little healing magic into her to ease the pain. I could have healed her back completely, but there were too many people watching, and Penelope had warned me about using my healing powers in front of others.

  “She belongs to you now,” said Shiraz Detori, as if he were giving me a gift.

  “I don’t keep slaves. She is a free person,” I snapped.

  He held up his hands in front of him as if it would calm me. “It’s up to you. She’s yours to do with as you wish.”

  Berzaan glowered at me, but I could see fear in his beady brown eyes. He lifted his chin and stalked away into the crowd.

  Prince Shiraz cleared his throat. “As a gesture of good faith, I would like to invite you—” he paused and looked at Penelope and Tristan, “—and your companions to stay at the palace for a few days. My father is out of the city at the moment, but he will be back soon, and I know he would love to meet with the Shadowbreaker herself.” The way he said my title was not with awe as others tended to do. I was sure he meant for it to sound as such, but it sounded like an insult when he said it.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Penelope nod once. This was the perfect opportunity to find out where the Detoris’ loyalty lay. My grandmother had instructed me to convince the Detoris to ally with us and gain their support before I secured the rest of Brandor—and what better way to do it than staying at the palace as Shiraz Detori’s guest? The Detoris were the most powerful of the emirs after Roderigo Valasis, Santino’s father. If the Detori and the Valasis families were with us, the rest of the emirs would follow.