The Dragon (Creasan #2)

Thea tried to move her body in time with Aestus, but the freezing cold wind slashed at her as he shot through the sky. Thea’s hair whipped around her, biting at her cheeks.

She couldn’t believe she’d actually managed it. Everyone had warned her this was impossible and yet there she sat atop a real dragon.

From this height, she could see the side of the mountain plunging down beneath her followed by the tall trees rushing by. The route they had taken was eaten up quickly by Aestus’ speed. It went by so fast, in fact, that Thea had to close her eyes or she’d be sick.

With her eyes closed and the wind whistling by, images of her father appeared behind her lids. The cold and rhythmic pumping of Aestus’ wings made her feel like she was in her own world. Alone without anyone to see her, she felt the urge to cry creeping up on her. She felt the pressure behind her eyes, the burning in her nose. She was seconds away from bursting and she couldn’t seem to stop.

At least she’d been able to see her father. Lief had been murdered so viciously there hadn’t been any part of him left to bury. That thought nearly sent her into hysterics. But Thea gripped Aestus tighter and breathed through it.

Before she knew it, the shadow of the palace was in their view, just barely visible through the clouds.

She wondered if anyone had seen them coming. If anyone had told the king a dragon was on its way. She wished she could see his face when he discovered such a thing. She wished she could see his face when he realized it was her that rode the dragon.

But a curious thing happened then: She expected to feel the corners of her lips turn up at the prospect of the stunned king. She expected to feel smug and righteous. But she didn’t. She just felt…hollow. Numb. Blank. While she yearned for those feelings of redemption and arrogance, she just couldn’t seem to find it in her to care.

She wondered if her mind was trying to protect her from the pain of seeing her father. She suspected it was. She didn’t try to fight it; she welcomed the numbness with open arms. Anything would be better than the slowly slipping control she had felt behind her eyes.

It was much easier not to feel than to feel that.

A horn blared somewhere outside of the king’s study.

Favian whirled away from his discussion with Destrian, toward the window. That wasn’t a victorious horn or even a welcoming one. It was a warning. “What now?” Favian demanded.

Destrian’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the sound. He hurried over to the window and looked out. Instantly, his jaw dropped.

Favian watched his reaction with impatience. He’d put his son in the dungeon—not his son, he reminded himself—and also he had to attend to his wife being held in the western tower. He did not have time to deal with whatever was going on outside. He certainly didn’t have time for the stunned silence Destrian was giving. He prodded, “Well?”

“Sire, I…” The advisor trailed off as his face went slack again.

“Destrian, what is it?” Favian came up beside the old man and looked out. His eyes immediately alighted on the source of Destrian’s shock. He felt his eyes bulge. Surely, he thought, this must be some sort of trick of the light. An hallucination.

But his head did not thump. His hearing did not echo. The image in front of him was sharp and unwavering. Yet it seemed impossible.

For flying at full speed toward his palace was a dragon.

Favian’s breath stuttered in his chest. He’d never seen a dragon before. He could hardly make it out now, but there was no mistaking the shape of the creature in the sky. That was a dragon. And any dragon that was heading straight for the palace could only be one dragon. He breathed his name, “Aestus.”

He heard Destrian gulp loudly beside him.

Several different thoughts rushed through Favian’s mind at that instant. About next steps; how did one welcome a god into one’s home? Did he organize a banquet? Did he go to the gates to greet him?

But then Favian had another thought: Why would Aestus come to Creasan now? There was a Lance on the throne, as there always should be. All the creatures were allied. What could there be to urge Aestus’ second coming—

Favian froze with his eyes going wide. Of course! He should’ve known. It was Althalos! Althalos was not a true Lance. Aestus would not want Favian’s heir to be illegitimate. Well, Favian would fix this before Aestus even spoke. “Destrian,” he said, “execute Althalos.”

Destrian’s head whipped to the king. “I beg your pardon, sire?”

“Immediately. And spread word as quickly as you can that it’s been done.”

Destrian’s eyes widened. “But…why? I thought you were going to let him live—”

“It is not your place to ask questions!” Favian’s head gave a horrifyingly painful throb, like a butcher’s knife had just slammed down on his brain. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against it. “My wife has been locked away in a tower and my son has been killed. That is what you will say. Now, go.”

Favian didn’t see the way Destrian’s mouth curled in disgust. But he simply bowed and whispered, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Ana paced the length of her tiny room with fevered steps before turning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction. The room in the tower Favian had picked for her was aptly the size of a prison cell; there was just enough room for a twin-sized bed but nothing else. A chill blew in through the perpetually open window, and when Ana had first been thrown in here, she had immediately begun shivering. The circular shape of the room turned the outdoor breeze into a cyclone of cold. It was nearly unbearable.

But now she hardly felt it as she turned and paced back toward the door. She’d heard the Guards on the other side talking about her son, and it was driving her nearly insane not knowing if it was mere gossip or the truth.

They spoke of the king’s orders to execute Althalos. One of the Guards said it had been done already.

Ana had cried about it. She’d let the tears come swiftly and forcefully, but now all she felt was loathing and fury. How dare Favian lock her up in a tower. How dare he take her son from her. How dare he even consider harming a hair on his head!

Ana froze when she heard the voices outside mention Althalos again. She hurried to press her ear to the door.

Two men were talking. Her Guards. The first one sounded sad. The kind of sad one feels when someone else’s loved one has died. “…just now,” he was saying. “I heard it from the poor bloke on his way to carry it out.”

“A real shame, isn’t it?” replied the other Guard. “I almost wish the little prince had managed it.”

“Yeah. But he botched it. King ordered immediate execution. Should be happening right now.”

Ana covered her mouth to hide her horrified gasp.

The second Guard grunted in sympathy. “Like I said, a real shame.”

Then their conversation ended, and Ana assumed they’d returned to their silent watch over her.

It was no secret that she hadn’t liked the king in some time, but an intense hatred bubbled up inside her that was new. It was acidic, eating at the edges of her and making her fingertips tingle with the adrenaline of it. She embraced it. Buried her face in it. Because it gave her a plan, a goal, something to hold onto until she was released from this godforsaken room.

As soon as Favian came to visit her—which she knew he would—she would kill him.

She didn’t know how she’d do it, she didn’t know with what weapon. But she would. There was no doubt in her mind. Not a single shred of hesitancy. She would watch the life leave his eyes with relish.

The dungeons were a scary place. Althalos felt as if he was constantly afraid. A noise here, a set of feet scurrying there. He had never been in a place that was so dark, so unwelcoming, so unnerving. So alone.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been down there when he heard the man’s voice. It startled him but immediately feelings of hope returned to him and he jumped to his feet, wrapping his small fingers around the cell door. “Hello?” He shouted into the void of darkness. “Hello, I am here! Prince Althalos! Please, help me!”

“Prince?” came a man’s reply, echoing off the damp stone walls.

Althalos was practically jumping for joy. “Yes, yes, it’s me! I’m down here! Let me out.”

“I’m down here too,” answered the voice with eerie softness.

Althalos’ smile slowly faded and he backed away from the door. The voice sounded like a ghost. A very, very scary ghost. The voice was breathy and rough. Like there was almost no voice left.

Althalos would never be found down here. The ghost would kill him before anyone ever thought to look in the dungeon.

“Don’t be scared,” said the voice. “I’m just like you, young prince.”

Althalos knew not to converse with a ghost. But there was no one else to talk to. It was almost exactly the same as his life above. After all, it was the reason he’d befriended Sybbyl. Perhaps he could talk to the ghost. Perhaps the ghost was friendly too. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice only trembling slightly.

“I am a prisoner. Have been a prisoner since I can remember.”

“Are you…are you a ghost?”

The voice laughed, a soft, rumbling laugh. “No, young prince. The king put me in here.”

Althalos immediately perked up, staring hard into the darkness of the dungeon for any sign of life. “Really? Then why can’t I see you?”

“Well, young prince, if I were to guess, I would wager it’s because it’s dark.”

The prince’s lips tipped up. Of course. He was just being silly. “Forgive me, sir,” the prince said. “I have just been so scared.” Then his brows furrowed as a thought occurred to him. “Why have you just spoken to me now?”

There was no response from the voice.

That eeriness returned to Althalos and he backed further away into his cell. His voice was very small when he asked, “Why are you in here?”

“I told you, young prince, I’m like you,” the voice replied. “I tried to kill the king.”

Althalos wanted to hate him for such a horrible crime. He felt the stirrings of his judgement, but he quickly squelched them. He had done the same thing. Though he argued the circumstances must have been different. He asked, “Why?”

The voice sighed in reverie and the man said, “Do you see that, young prince? Watch how they play. Watch how they frolic through the fields.”

Chills fell down Althalos’ spine. “Sir,” he said, “how long have you been down here?”

This time when the voice laughed, it sounded hysterical. Mad. “Long enough to forget what fields look like. Lots of grass, I’d imagine. That’s what it looks like now, anyway.”

The man was speaking nonsense.

Althalos felt more afraid now that he knew someone else was down there than he’d ever felt when he was alone.

Suddenly, he heard a heavy door open and close. It was the same door his father had dragged him through. Someone was coming.

“Here comes the calvary,” sang the voice.

Althalos didn’t even bother shushing him. He watched the light of a torch get closer and closer as the person descended the steps. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Althalos could see it was a man. He held a tray in his hands as he approached.

The man stopped just outside Althalos’ cell. The little boy recognized him. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the man who told me about the secret room.”

The man smiled. “Rowan, Young Highness. I’ve brought you food.”

“Mr. Rowan,” Althalos said, rushing to the cell door and pressing his face to it, “please get me out of here. It’s scary and dark, and I don’t like it.” Tears rushed to his eyes.

Rowan watched him with sad, sympathetic eyes. “I am sorry, Young Highness, but I cannot. In just a few hours, the entire kingdom will think you’re dead.”

His eyes widened. “What?!”

“Not to worry, young prince. I’m going to keep you alive. At least until this whole mess gets sorted.” He picked up a plate from the tray and offered it to the prince.

Althalos didn’t even look at it. “Just let me out and we can tell everyone there was a misunderstanding. I’m alive and well, and—“

“Even if I wanted to,” Rowan interrupted, “which I do, the king confiscated all keys. He is the only one who can let you out.” Rowan held the plate out more insistently to Althalos.

The prince took it with blank eyes. He hadn’t had much time to think about anything that had come before the dungeon. Not about his mother or Ulric or anything. But days of contemplation stretched out in front of him, and the idea of spending so much time with his own thoughts terrified him.

Rowan sighed and crouched down so he could be at eye level with him. “I promise to visit you every day,” he said. “You will not be forgotten.”

Althalos’ gaze drifted from the man’s eyes to the second plate on his tray. He knew about the other prisoner. “Sir,” Althalos said, “might you leave the torch? It’s so much worse in the dark.”

Rowan smiled. “Of course.” He rose and dropped the torch into a metal sconce on the wall.

Then Althalos watched as Rowan walked down the aisle to another cell on the other wall. The prince couldn’t make out a face or a body; all he saw was an arm that extended through the bars to grab the plate Rowan offered.

As Rowan came back to Althalos’ cell, the little boy whispered, “Who is that man?”

“No one knows his name.” He glanced back where the sound of clinking chains could be heard. “He’s been here so long, I doubt he even knows it anymore.”

Althalos shuddered. That sounded horrifying. Was that what was going to happen to him? Would he eventually forget his own name? If he had no name, what did that make him? Who would he be? What would he be?

His eyes locked on that cell. What was he?

Rowan gave one last sad smile. “Be well, young prince,” he said, “I shall return with your next meal.”

“Wait—“ But it was too late. Rowan was already heading up the steps.

With the torch lighting the way, Althalos stared at the cell where the hand had come from. It was too far away to see if the hand had been old or young, dirty or clean. The man at the end of the dungeon was a mystery.

And it appeared Althalos had some time to kill.

Aestus landed hard in the palace courtyard. Fendrel clung to the scales behind Thea as he jostled with the impact. His eyes burned from the harsh wind and his muscles pulsed with exhaustion. They’d gone from intensive, perilous climbing to intensive, perilous flying with hardly a moment of rest. Fendrel was sure when he went to sleep tonight, his body would actually melt into the mattress.

Thea slid off first and Fendrel followed closely behind.

He had never experienced such a conflicting feeling in his entire life: he was both clearheaded and absolutely baffled. He’d held resentment toward Favian, but he’d assumed that was to be expected as the brother to the king. Having admitted to himself that not only did he not support his brother’s reign but he wanted the throne seemed to have given him a clear goal to achieve. He knew exactly why he was here and was intent on getting that for which he’d traveled so far.

Yet at the same time, his mind was a jumble of guilt and anger. Guilty for hating his brother enough to depose him and angry at Thea for making him admit such a thing. Come to think of it, he was so incredibly angry with Thea. She was the reason they’d taken this journey to begin with. She was the reason he’d realized such a horrible, selfish desire of his. And then, with the arrival of Aestus, with the realization that she could understand dragon, she’d suddenly seemed to take a backseat, allowing Fendrel to speak for her.

Never mind the trauma of witnessing her dead father plummet to the earth.

Brom came up beside Fendrel and the two men exchanged a look. Fendrel had become very good at reading Brom’s expressions, and he knew that this one meant they ought to be on guard. No one had ever showed up to the king’s palace with a dragon before. It was bound to be a tense situation.

Already Guards lined the walls of the courtyard, swords and arrows drawn. They were prepared for anything.

Another trumpet blared, signaling their arrival.

Fendrel looked to Thea for some sort of sign as to next steps. Should they enter the palace? Should they simply wait for the king to find them? But unsurprisingly, Thea’s eyes appeared blank. She stared obliviously into the space in front of her. It was as if she wasn’t even there.

Right. It was up to the prince, then. He straightened his shoulders and turned to the dragon. “The trumpet has alerted Favian to our presence,” he said. “I doubt you would fit inside the palace. I’m sure my brother is already on his way—“

I will wait here. Aestus’ eyes were trained squarely on the palace door.

Almost of their own accord, Fendrel’s gaze strayed toward Thea again. She’d heard those words. Somehow, someone other than a Lance could communicate with a dragon.

Unless she is a Lance, a voice whispered in the back of Fendrel’s head. Normally, he would have dismissed such musings as lunacy, but what other reason could there be? Unless there was some other random bloodline that could understand a dragon, though that was preposterous.

Behind Fendrel, he heard Carac whisper to Merek, “Remember the last time we were here?”

“Ah, yes,” Merek answered breezily, like he was recalling a fond memory. “About to be beheaded for treason. Good times.”

“Does it look the same?” Carac wondered.

Merek took in their surroundings. Understandably, a crowd of nobles had formed around them, drawn in by the sight of a dragon. It looked almost exactly like the crowd that had assembled for their execution, though there was much more unease in this crowd. “Yup,” Merek replied. “Exactly the same.”

The doors opened and Fendrel straightened. It wasn’t that he was nervous to see his brother, but he was curious what sort of reaction he would have.

Favian rushed out, fixing his crown atop his head. He smiled widely and fell into a deep bow in front of Aestus. “Oh, Holy Aestus,” he gushed, “words cannot convey my delightful surprise to find you in my home. Welcome!”

Fendrel blinked. Something was very different about Favian. He wasn’t sure if it was the disheveled red hair or the odd shine in Favian’s eyes, but there was something that just seemed wrong.

Aestus did not respond, staring down at Favian over his large snout.

Favian laughed nervously. “Um, it would be my deepest honor, Holy Aestus, to invite you to feast with me tonight. I hope our humble meal will—“

No.

The king nearly stumbled at the sound of the dragon’s deep, rumbling voice in his head. No one ever thought they’d hear the voice of Aestus. It was truly a startling sound.

It has recently been brought to my attention that you are an incompetent leader of my people.

Favian’s jaw dropped, his gaze shifting to Fendrel’s for just a split second. Fendrel stared straight back, unblinking. He wondered if Favian felt betrayed. Or perhaps he was simply confused. Favian licked his lips. “Me? Holy Aestus, I assure you, I have done my very best to live up to—“

You have been sacrificing people of Creasan to the ogres.

The king’s gaze darted to the crowd. He was no doubt counting his blessings that not a single one of them could understand the dragon. He shook his head vehemently. “I was working in the best interest—“

Your one and only function as King of Creasan is to ensure the safety of its people. My people. And you have failed to do so. Therefore, you no longer have my support.

Favian’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut and twitched his head. Fendrel recognized the signs of an upcoming episode. “Aestus,” he stammered, “if I might—“

As you no longer have my support, you are no longer king.

“No!” Favian burst. “You cannot do that. Surely, I deserve a trial or something before you force me into abdication.”

The crowd erupted in murmurs at that.

Favian swallowed hard as his gaze darted to them. Then his lips turned up in a devious grin. He lowered his voice so the crowd could not hear. “They cannot understand you, Aestus. And any translator you appoint,” he said, looking at Fendrel, “I can easily discredit. It is their word against mine. And as the king, my word reigns supreme.”

You misunderstand me. I am not asking you to abdicate.

Favian frowned. “Then what are you asking?”

The words had hardly left the king’s mouth before Aestus had drawn a deep breath and shot it back out in a deluge of fire. The flames shot to the ground like an arrow, consuming Favian in an instant.

The crowd shrieked and covered their mouths in horror.

Favian’s agonized screams could be heard over the roar of the fire, echoing hauntingly around the courtyard.

But Aestus did not stop his assault of fire. Fendrel watched without breathing or blinking as his brother’s royal robes disintegrated. Fendrel’s brother collapsed to the ground with one last scream of utter torment.

Then all sound stopped.

Aestus closed his mouth, steam leaking out of his nostrils.

Fendrel and the group stood with their jaws on the ground and their eyes wide. Even Thea was shaken out of her numb stupor to stare in shock at the attack.

And Favian Lance, King of Creasan, laid on the ground, burned to a crisp.