War of the Dragons: Book Four of the Dragon-Born Saga, Page 2

  “And, together, we will sail the seas in search of mermaids and real magic.”

  She laughed at the memory as she came to the surface and sucked in a breath of fresh air. If only that were true. There was no way Rowen could keep her promise. That didn’t stop her from continuing to hope and dream of the day when they’d be reunited.

  She flipped onto her back and looked upward at the bright, blue sky and the yellow sun. Then, she counted each Dragon as they flew above. It seemed like a fun thing to do, until she realized that they were flying into a red mist. Once in the mist, they shifted into men and fell from the sky.

  To their deaths.

  “Dear gods.” She righted herself.

  What’s going on?

  “My lady!” Luca’Rosi, her lady’s maid called from the shore. “Hurry. We must get back to the manor right away.”

  “What’s going on?” Ophelia asked, frowning at the sky as more Dragons began to speed across and away from the mist.

  Luca’s gaze followed hers and toward the path that led to her home. “I think Jeparthi is under attack.”

  “By what?” Ophelia asked.

  “Wizards.”

  With those words, Ophelia’s cheeks paled as she sensed that things were about to change.

  Everything was.

  The beautiful cherry blossom trees were set ablaze while frantic screams rang. The staff was being slaughtered. Though the night was dark, bright light filled the small estate grounds as cannon balls covered in tar and lit with fire were shot right over their walls. There were hundreds of men outside.

  Soldiers.

  Wickenham Manor was under attack, and had been all day. Though fortified by a wall of stone that stood as tall as the trees of the jungle that surrounded her home, it meant nothing for the Pareans, led by a magic-user. She’d never seen soldiers dressed as such. They must be from the capital of her new home. Trinity. But, why Trinity men in armor with heavy swords curved at the ends had stormed Lord Henry Wickenham’s land was a mystery.

  Humans were supposed to stay in their realm, even though the Parean Sea was the one thing to connect the south of Draconia to the humans.

  There had been no warning.

  The world was crumbling at her feet, but, Ophelia wasn’t prepared to die without a fight.

  Henry might have been fifteen years her senior, but he was a kind husband, and didn’t hold the same conventional ideals most Dragon men had about their wives. No, he put a sword in her hand just weeks after she’d been sent away to live in his manor after their wedding. With that sword, he also hired the best swordsman to train her day in and day out.

  It was exhilarating. To lose one’s gowns and satin shoes for a pair of slacks and a sword. Ophelia had thought being betrothed to a wealthy older lord would be the epitome of boring. How surprised she’d been when she saw what the south of Draconia was really like. How even the women learned to fight. Noble born or not.

  Holding her sword at her hip, she looked from her window at the chaos and destruction below. Men and women ran as fast as they could for the woods. The gardens were on fire. The pond darkening to a deep red as the shed blood of staff and soldiers pooled into it.

  It was a war out there.

  “Lady Wickenham,” Luca’Rosi, her lady’s maid called in a whisper. She had thrown a few essentials into a bag and wore it across her body. Draped in a rich mahogany cloak and long Jeparthi gown, she was a true-born Trinity woman. “Come, we have to get you out of here. I know a secret pass that can lead us to safety.”

  Ophelia chewed her bottom lip, her chestnut-brown brows—that matched her wavy hair— creasing with worry. She could fight. But not the small army that filled the manor grounds.

  Her hesitation may have been her fatal flaw, for the door was kicked open, splitting into several shards of wood. In stepped three tall soldiers.

  Three.

  She drew in a breath and lifted her sword.

  She could manage three.

  But, then, another man of about forty stepped inside, dressed in light armor and a long gray cloak, with short black hair and gray eyes. He took one look at her and lifted a hand.

  Ophelia cried out as the hilt of her sword became too hot, and burned the palm of her hand. She dropped the sword and held her hands close to her chest, wishing the pain would go away.

  The man’s dark eyes glowed white and he lowered his hand. A look of wonder filled his eyes as he looked her over. “This one, take her alive. The king will want her untouched and unharmed. Do you understand?”

  The men nodded in unison.

  “Harm one hair on her head and your heads will be removed from your shoulders,” he said, and turned to leave the room. “Bring the Jeparthi woman as well.”

  Luca’Rosi clung to Ophelia, like a mother, glaring at the men with her large oval brown eyes. “This is Lady Ophelia Wickenham, wife to the lord of this estate, and daughter of the Duke of Harrow. Sister to the queen of Draconia. Her husband will not allow this,” she demanded in a thick southern accent from the Jeparthi islands where men and women had brown skin, big eyes, and curly black hair worn under silk scarves.

  The man—whom Ophelia realized had to be a wizard by the staff in his hand—glanced over his shoulder and looked from Luca’Rosi to Ophelia.

  “Lord Wickenham is dead,” he said in a steady voice. “As is her father. As her sister will soon be.”

  Chapter 4

  His body was wrapped in magic-binding cloth and locked in a chest made of silver and steel. The key was to be kept in the underground vaults and guarded by at least four well-trained soldiers at all times. This was not an ordinary dead body.

  No, this was the body of one of the wizards who cursed an entire race of men and women.

  This was the body of Captain Elian Westin.

  Rowen stared at the silver embossed lid of the chest as it was lowered into a spot in the ground. He had been her father and he had been her enemy. She ran her hand along the cool steel, tracing the raised emblem with her fingertip.

  How many times had she wished to find her father one day and development a relationship she never had with her stepfather? All of those stories her mother had told her of how she had loved him were lies. They were falsehoods embedded into her mother's memory by a spiteful wizard.

  At least he had fallen in love with her. That much was true. Or, was it simply an unhealthy infatuation? She may never truly know the truth, but something within her was unsettled. There was too much she didn’t know. Too much she couldn’t make sense of. If there was an order of ancient wizards hiding in the four corners of the world, why had they cursed her people? What did they gain from such a thing? Above all, why did her father choose piracy over the prestige of the ancient craft the wizards sought to keep alive in a world where magic was frowned upon.

  Perhaps she’d just answered her own question. Could it have been that he wanted some semblance of a normal life?

  She shook her head with a sigh. Now, she’d never know.

  “Rowen,” King Rickard said, softly, breaking her from her thoughts.

  In a moment of panic, she had awakened Rickard and urged him to join her in the vault to check on Elian’s body. She’d half expected to arrive and find it had vanished. Though she looked at the chest and knew he was still in there, it did not soothe her frazzled nerves. It did not calm the worry that bubbled in her stomach like drunken bees fighting to fight their way out.

  She turned to him and lifted a brow, her face absent of any emotion. If she had any skill, it was that, to show nothing of what she felt.

  “See? He is still here.” He knocked on the steel that encased the chest, and the sound echoed off the stone walls. “No need to worry.”

  Staring into his eyes, she found herself praying that were true. Though, she knew otherwise. Her dream from the night before haunted her. With it came death, destruction, and the revelation that Elian might one day rise from his burial tomb.

  She shuddered, and Rickard t
ook her into his arms. “Come, love,” he said, stroking her cheek as he lowered his forehead against hers. He sighed. “Let's leave this place. He won't be escaping any time soon. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll double the guards, and add more fortification to the tomb.”

  She nodded, but something told her that wasn't true. It wouldn’t be enough to stop someone as powerful as her father. Maybe it wouldn't be soon, but Elian wasn't dead. They had yet to find a way to kill him. Though Ioan, the infamous Red Dragon had pierced him in the chest with his tail, Elian's magic sustained him. Weakened as he was, he was in nothing more than a deep sleep. Waiting to be revived.

  Rickard took her hand, and together they left the vault. She heard the stone door get pushed closed by the guards, and shuddered. It was if the air was sucked out of the room and a low vibration rumbled against the sole of her shoes.

  For a moment, she thought she heard someone whisper her name.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she lifted a brow and looked to the guards. The door was locked, and they stood at attention.

  Still, fear creeped onto her and warnings bubbled in her belly.

  “What is it?” Rickard asked. “You don’t look well.”

  “Nothing. I don’t like this place.”

  “The vaults are the most secure place in Withrae, almost as secure as the palace. I assure you, there is nothing to fear.”

  She forced a smile. “Just glad its all over. I finally feel free.”

  “You are free, and while I’m around, no one will ever harm you,” he said, and kissed her knuckles. “Now, let’s get back to the palace. One of the lords has requested an audience with me. He’s heard rumors of Parean ships heading this way.”

  Parean ships? Why would the humans be sailing toward Withrae? They’d reinforced the peace treaties after King Thorne’s death.

  As they ascended the stairs and out into the main hallways of the Withrae Keep, she thought of how long it had taken her to claim her independence. After growing up in the household of a man who despised her and then being forced to leave home in hopes of seducing the crown prince, Rowen knew all too well what suffering was. Having the Withrae Navy hunt her down for the prince’s death was just the cream on the cake.

  They stepped outside, and into the sun.

  She looked skyward to the puffy clouds that rolled across a sea of blue at a steady pace, and held her crown steady. It would never feel exactly right. She’d rather take it off, but it was required when out in public.

  Now, she was queen of the Withraen Dragons.

  And, married to the Dragon she’d once hated.

  No, though her heart soared whenever she woke at his side, she hadn’t seen that coming. Nothing that had happened over the past few months was anything she could have dreamed of. She got the man, and the crown. Happiness should have followed. As each day went by, Rowen began to understand that nothing ever happened as it should, and that the road to happiness was still quite long.

  Rickard ran for the cliff, and leaped, shifting into his Dragon form, mid-air.

  Rowen followed, and with a swirl that lifted her dress and propelled her into the air, she shifted into a beautiful white and scarlet Dragon. The transformation became easier with each try. Now, it was fluid and effortless. The bending of her bones and the flickering of scales across her skin was instant and she embraced the euphoria she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl leaping from the balcony in hopes of achieving flight.

  Indeed, she was lucky to be alive. She’d nearly killed herself from her attempts to fly on several occasions.

  Together, they flew through the clouds over lush green terrain and toward the mountainous city where their palace overlooked the oldest Dragon cities to have existed. Though her stomach was in knots, she made an effort to cleanse her mind and enjoy the flight. The wind was cool on her belly and her wings flapped with the breeze. Being a Dragon was all she’d ever wanted. Now that she could fly as a human and in her Dragon form, she felt whole.

  The Withraen countryside below was stunningly beautiful. She took in the lush evergreen trees and the pure, white ice and snow that covered the mountains. Small villages stood huddled near the river and in the center of the wheat fields. After the fields awaited a grand city with tall buildings, Gatekeeper towers, and the Withraen Palace which overlooked the sea.

  Then, her heart skipped a beat as she saw something odd in the city. She paused, and hovered in the air, using her enhanced Dragon sight to peer down at the capital city.

  The chimneys emitted their usual smoke, but there was a new mist wafting upward. It was a faint red fog that came from the ground and ascended into the air. The Dragons below didn’t seem to mind, carrying on about their days in the human form, seemingly oblivious to what was all around them. Did they not see it?

  She turned away and tried to catch up with Rickard. The racing of her heart increased speed as worry began to set in. This was something she would need to investigate as soon as possible. It couldn’t be natural. Which meant it was probably something dangerous, and she was committed to keeping her people safe. Even if they didn’t appreciate it.

  Once she landed in front of the palace, Rickard shifted back into his human form. He straightened his clothing and headed inside. Rowen, shifted as well, dressed in a simple blue gown with tiny beads along the low neckline. She brushed a fallen lock of golden hair and followed him into the massive palace that faced the sea and towered over the city below.

  “Rickard,” she called, prepared to tell him what she saw.

  They both froze when General Roth approached from the main hall. Sword at his hip, and in chainmail and shining silver and blue armor, he was taller than Rickard with a bald head and long brown beard.

  “Your majesty,” he said, bowing his head.

  Something told Rowen whatever he had to say would not be good.

  Her intuition was proven correct when she watched him hand a letter to Rickard.

  The color in his face paled as he read it and handed it to her.

  Her heart thumped in her chest as she realized the seal was from King Kelton of Trinity, the eldest of three human brothers who ruled the islands to the south, just beyond the sea and the barrier. They smelled blood in the water. Weakness. What had King Thorne and Lawson done?

  It made sense. The rumors of Parean ships sailing to Draconia were true. King Kelton’s brother, Tilton was king of Parea, the eastern kingdom of Trinity.

  But, what she read was worse than anything she could imagine.

  He had a prisoner. A hostage.

  She crumpled the letter in her hand and clenched her jaw as panic filled her throat and burned her eyes.

  He had her younger sister.

  Chapter 5

  Warwick and Priscilla stepped from the small boat and onto the Jeparthi shore. Staff in hand, and sword at his hip, he breathed in the salty air and looked skyward. Dragons were falling like leaves off of a tree in autumn.

  It was glorious.

  “Remarkable work,” Priscilla said, tucking her hands in the deep pockets of her olive-colored trousers. “I almost doubted you could pull it off. After what we went through in Elendell, I was ready to abandon our true calling.”

  He lifted a brow and pursed his lips. He noticed the way she tensed and stroked the cheek of her porcelain cheek whenever she mentioned Elendell, which wasn’t often. She’d suffered greatly. Perhaps it had been a lesson for her to learn. A lesson to never disobey him again.

  “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me.”

  She shrugged. “Not yet. Elendell wasn’t your fault. But, there’s still time for you to let me down.”

  For a brief moment, her comment annoyed him. Then, she cracked a crocked smile and he realized she was teasing him.

  With a chuckle, he nodded for her to follow as he headed toward the Wickenham Estate, following the Parean soldiers into the jungle.

  He held his staff into the air, and cast the spell that would change the world and a grin came
to his face.

  “Come, sister. Let’s start a war.”

  Step one of the destruction of Withrae was complete. Step two was underway as Warwick and Priscilla watched the Parean soldiers herd all of the staff of the Wickenham Estate out into the courtyard.

  With a blast of energy, he sent red smoke from his staff, and it lifted into the air until it was so thick and widespread that it blocked out the sun.

  “They didn’t put up much of a fight,” Priscilla said, looking over her shoulder as Warwick used his staff to evoke the spell he’d been perfecting for half of his life.

  He nodded, half-listening, as his focus was on using his energy and power to make the curse stronger. “They won’t if this curse continues to work.”

  Dragons continued to fall from the sky by the dozen. While the Dragon soldiers had been mobilized and sent to quash the invaders, it was futile. No one would be able to touch them. They fell to their deaths, crashing to the rocks of the beach and to the ground in their human forms. The sound of bones breaking and heads being smashed was like a victory cheer to his ears. It brought a small smirk to his lips.

  This war was personal.

  He didn’t sail half-way across the world to fail.

  “Let me finish them off,” Priscilla said, rubbing her hands together.

  She’d barely had to lift a finger on this mission. Warwick had everything prepared and every last detail had been well thought out. He might have not needed her on this mission, but if the prophecies were correct, she’d be useful once they had the half-blood.

  “No. It is not time. Don’t worry. You will have your chance soon enough.”

  “But, look at them. They are quite useless without their shifting ability.”

  “The world is about to change. Dragons will never be the same.”

  “Dragons have always looked down on us, when it was our ancestors who gave them their power,” she said, sitting on the ground beside him and folding her legs under her.

  He lowered his staff and glanced at her. “Let’s see how they enjoy being our equals.”