Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice Book 2) (10 page)

“Took you long enough.”

Zayne spun to find a man dressed all in black standing but a few paces away, eyes glowing bright silver from beneath his hooded robe. Behind him stood a row of warriors with swords at the ready.

“What is the meaning of this?” Zayne looked back to the hooded man, fire welling within his chest.

“Ah, ah, ah,” said the hooded man. “Mustn’t lose our temper.”

A blast of air colder than any he’d experienced hit Zayne in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He stumbled back, the beast within him furious. Zayne summoned the winds for his transformation, but the whirlwind wouldn’t come. A second blast of frigid air struck him, knocking him to his knees. His vision blurred.

“Stop fighting the cold, dragon, lest I be forced to strike higher and risk marring your pretty face. My sister would be less than pleased.”

“Addie,” he whispered, working to regain his breath.

“Did you think I referred to Rosalind? Though, as your family has likely stolen her, she might take great pleasure in your disfigurement.”

Zayne struggled to remain upright, a roar building in his chest. “My family did no such—”

A third blast struck him above the heart, and in that moment, everything went black.

Q
ueen Helena paused
from her work with a struggling rose bush and dabbed a kerchief across her forehead. The day was warm, unusually so, and doing her no favors today. Even with the heat, she preferred her sunny courtyard gardens to Edana castle’s dark interior—especially with an increasingly bitter King Robert watching her like a hawk.

He had awakened from his three-day slumber irritable and suspicious. And though she assured him the “illness” had confined her to bed for some time as well, his distrust in her had not diminished. Rather, with each passing day, though she remained steadfast in her tale of innocence, his distrust grew. But to reveal her secret—no matter that she had acted to protect their son, nor that it had ended in a vastly improved relationship with King Jarin—would result in an accusation of treason by her hotheaded husband, and quite possibly lead to her own demise.

It was an unjust fate Helena refused to succumb to. Besides, this was but one secret of many.

“Put your cloth away and finish already, woman. I’m dying a slow death in this heat.”

And Robert would remain an arrogant, loudmouthed ass regardless.

She tipped her head in his direction and tucked her kerchief away. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Blasted shrubbery. Full of thorns, they are. You’ve likely bloodied your hands by now and will be of no use to me this night.”

Helena turned from him to hide the smirk tugging at her lips. To be of no use in his bed was a prize, not a punishment.

Avoidance was not what had driven her to the gardens this day, however, but the scroll she’d received in secret from her son yesterday. Zayne sought information concerning her sisters and their clan’s intentions in regard to Forath. As far as Helena knew, Giselle’s clan had resigned themselves to the fact that they were no longer welcome on Forathian lands. As Edana had offered them refuge in the region where they now resided, she knew of no desire for retribution, no plans for attack.

But there was an unspoken urgency in Zayne’s letter. That he had even broached the subject at all spurred her into action, and she quickly penned a scroll of her own, not to Giselle, their queen, but to her younger sister, Ella. If ever there was a lass who knew every morsel of gossip in a village, it was her—not because she had a nosy way about her, but because she could hear things that others could not. It was her craft, her gift.

One that came in quite handy from time to time.

The scroll had been sent with instructions of discretion in its response, and delivery of such amid the gardens where only Helena would think to look. She’d allowed the sun to set and rise again before venturing out of doors, hopeful she had given her spritely sister a chance to gather answers and pen a reply. Thus far today, though, there had been no signs that anyone but the castle’s downy chicks had made their way through this patch of Helena’s beloved paradise. She feared her journey to the gardens might have been too soon, the chance to relay information from Weston missed.

But as she bent to remove a blackened branch from a shrub set closer to the garden’s far wall, the edge of a scroll caught her eye. Indeed, buried as it was in the deadened bramble, whoever placed the parchment here had done so knowing she would be the only one to find it. Helena’s pulse quickened as she shifted her body so that the skirt of her gown would provide a sufficient screen from the king’s watchful eyes. Careful not to cut herself, she withdrew the scroll from amid the thorns, then slid a finger beneath its layers to break the seal and peeled the parchment back.

T
he days
of peace are numbered, as Jarin’s own house conspires against him. What has begun cannot be stopped, so say the prophecies. Beware hidden agendas, dear sister, and remain with your family behind castle walls. Edana may yet be spared.

H
elena drew in a sharp breath
. Prophecies? Whatever did her sister mean?

Plagued with worry, she retrieved her kerchief once more, dabbed at her forehead, then concealed Ella’s scroll within the fabric and returned both to the folds of her skirt. Appearances had to be kept for the king’s suspicions not to rise. But as her hands resumed their slow and steady pace with her pruning, the queen’s mind raced.

Though confusing, Helena doubted not her sister’s words. Ella had a kind heart and pure soul—never would she lead her sisters astray. Which meant a battle was coming, one of great import. Helena needed to get Zayne home, now, before it was too late.

T
ry
as she might not to sit around fretting about Zayne’s safety, Addie still did. After an hour or so, she wandered back downstairs, eager for a distraction. As it was another sunny day, she found herself drifting toward the door and then toward the stable. If she couldn’t be with Zayne, at least she could be with his horse. Maybe, if she was lucky, she’d even stumble across Brom. Because if anyone could get her laughing, it was her fiancé’s most trusted—and curmudgeonly—friend.

The stars must have been aligned for at least thirty seconds that day, as she soon found him leaning against a wall outside the castle’s training yard, watching a dozen or so warriors engaged in swordplay. Shouts and clanking metal filled the hot summer air, as did the smell of the men responsible. Brom stood with arms crossed tight over his bear-sized chest and a deep scowl etched into his jowls.

In other words, he looked like he always did.

“Trying to pick up some new moves, are we?”

Brom snorted. “No more skilled than children, this lot. ’Tis no wonder King Jarin sought a peace treaty.”

“Oh, come on now.” Addie rested her arms upon the rustic fence that sectioned off the training area from the rest of the courtyard and scanned the group. Her gaze was soon drawn to a loud exchange of grunts and shouts in the far corner. “Those guys look like they’re pretty good. And their swords are bigger than the ones you all use.”

“’Tis skill, not size which matters, Princess.” Brom stepped forward to lean on the fence as well. He tipped his chin toward the pair and lowered his voice. “The man on the left grips his hilt too high and loses power in his swing. His opponent stands heavy on his feet and makes for an easy target.”

Brom pointed out other pairs and their flaws. Bad form. Too fast, too slow. Too distracted. Too bloated. Addie nodded at his commentary, not understanding much of it but happy for the distraction.

“You’re going to teach me all that, right? How to pack the most punch and still be light on my feet?”

“No.”

“But Zayne said—”

“His Highness asked that I train ye in ways of defense, and indeed I gave my word.” He glanced in her direction, resignation on his face. “But no’ with swords.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’m cool with that. So…something else then. Archery, maybe?”
Please say yes, please say yes.

“No.”

“No? What else is there?”

“Ye shall see.” Brom turned from the warriors and began walking away. “Come, lass. If ye want to learn defense, I shall take ye to the place where the best warriors’ training begins, before a single weapon is touched.”

Addie hurried after him, excitement brewing. “Oh? Where’s that?”

“The stables. A queen must learn to ride, my lady.”

“To…ride?”

Addie skidded to a stop. Riding dragons she could do, mainly because she trusted Zayne implicitly to get her safe to wherever they were going. But on horseback?

A shiver shook her from head to toe. Did queens really need to learn to ride? Zayne’s mother had looked regal upon her chestnut mare when she’d come to help rescue Addie from Rosalind and Quinn a few weeks back…

“Come on, then.” Brom took her by the elbow with a rare smirk. “All ye need to do is learn to mount. Will shall do the rest. Even our four-legged beasts understand that often the best form of defense is retreat.”

* * *

D
arkness
. Utter darkness.

Zayne pushed against it, unsure if he were yet alive or already cast into the pits of hell. For hell was anywhere his sweet Adelaide was not, and he was quite certain she wasn’t here. He tried to see past the darkness, to escape this everlasting night, but nothing he did seemed to free him from the pain that rendered him paralyzed. Muffled voices floated amid the night he could not shake.

“Careful, men. Harm him further, and we shall answer to more than the king.”

“Aye. Princess Rosalind will surely like to take a crack at him.”

“Princess Rosalind? Bah, I worry more about the wrath of Princess Adelaide. She has a mighty temper, that one.”

“Keep talking around our prisoner and I shall see that both princesses unleash their wrath on you, you ungrateful hounds.”

“Yes, sire.”

Ah, he would live to see another day, or so it sounded. At that, Zayne ceased his struggles against the darkness. It swallowed him whole yet again, though in his heart was a light neither the pain nor darkness could extinguish.

A light named Adelaide.

T
hough the queen
had seemed wary and then almost fearful of her the prior day, once the initial shock of Rosalind’s arrival wore off Giselle had become quite amicable toward her. Dinner last evening had been a veritable feast, with the village’s elders all in attendance. And rather than sequester their visitor to one end of the table, Giselle made certain to introduce Rosalind to each and every one of them.

To all, that is, except her son.

Rosalind had stepped but one foot into the dining hall before Jaxon appeared at her side, his scowl gone and features returned to the relaxed confidence he possessed in the forest the day before and his cottage that morning. And at her side he remained throughout their meal. Ella had correctly predicted how he would react to seeing Rosalind in the scarlet gown, and the smile she wore escorting Rosalind to the stream to bathe under cover of darkness afterward confirmed it.

But why? The question had plagued Rosalind long into the night, robbing her of sleep and distracting her from the true reason she remained among the witches: to rid the realm of one Adelaide Bennett.

Upon request of the queen after this morn’s breakfast, Rosalind now sat beside her sketching the innards of Forath Castle upon a large parchment. Across from her sat Jaxon, studying the diagram and looking handsome as ever in his open-necked tunic and soft leather trousers. But rather than dote on her as he had at dinner the night before, today a tension brewed silently between them just as it had when she mentioned her prior betrothal the day before.

A tension the queen seemed not to notice, but which nagged once again at Rosalind’s conscience.

And how could it not, when she was unable to push the man from her mind? It should be Quinn she envisioned, Quinn she longed for. Yet every time Jaxon drew near, her lover vanished like a specter from her thoughts, almost as though he had never been there.

Was it a spell, then? Or had the tales she heard as a child of the powers of one’s true mate been truth?

“So you believe if my men strike here that we might catch the royal guard by surprise?”

Jaxon looked up at the sound of his mother’s voice and caught Rosalind staring. A smirk tugged at one corner of his lips, damn him. She looked to the queen, feigning indifference.

“Aye. They guard these areas here. And this clearing in the forest. But if your dragons land here and approach the castle’s eastern side, you will encounter fewer guards.”

“Agreed,” said Jaxon. “Silas and I observed as much last night.”

Rosalind looked at him in surprise. “You flew to Forath last night?”

Jaxon ignored her question. Instead, he took the quill from her hand, his fingers brushing briefly against hers, and set about adding markings of his own to the crude map. As he did so, she drew her hand back and tried to rub away the fire that remained from where their skin had touched, irritated by yet another effect he seemed to have on her.

“From here, we could see both this set of guards and another over here,” he said.

“But you failed to see the third, which set up post here.” Rosalind leaned in and stabbed at the far corner of the castle with a finger. “If you had taken me with you, I could have shown you as much.”

Jaxon leaned closer as well. “We saw no such guards in that vicinity. And if we had taken ye along, we would never have gotten as close to the castle as we did without being detected.”

“You think me incapable of stealth?”

“We found ye in the forest easy enough.”

“Children.” The queen sat taller and cast them both a silencing look. “If we are to defeat Forath, we must work together. Share strategies, spy on the castle, do whatever you must so that we may develop a foolproof plan. But neither of you must be captured or all is lost.”

She leaned back from the table and rubbed her temples. “We shall meet again tomorrow. Jaxon, the elders require your assistance in the stables. Rosalind, stay.”

Jaxon rose and bowed to his mother, then cast a dark look at Rosalind as he strode away. Hot and cold, their acquaintance seemed to be. Those dark looks served as sufficient reminders that she should focus on her plans to reclaim Edana’s throne and ultimately bring Quinn alongside her. Quinn, whose devotion and intentions wavered not.

The queen cleared her throat.

“I have searched all records in our village for the spell you seek which allows passage between our world and the other, but alas, I have come up empty.” She raised a hand to silence Rosalind before she had a chance to reply. “It is my belief that such a spell does exist, but has been kept hidden by the highest wizards for centuries, to keep the spell from being used. To move between worlds could lead to the destruction of us all. ’Tis why our realms were closed off from the outer world in the first place.”

“Closed off?”

“Aye. Our reality was not always limited to two kingdoms. But the greed of one ruler led to the near extinction of our dragons. The clans’ highest wizards agreed that something must be done to preserve the race, and so they summoned the darkest of magic to seal off our world from the rest.” She leaned closer, a devious grin on her face. “Of course, this knowledge has been kept secret for thousands of years, and I shall have to wipe your memory clean of it once our journey is done.”

Rosalind frowned. “I shall tell no one.”

“While I believe you, child, your memories can not be kept safe from the spells of others. Regardless, that is the history. The portal you seek was a safeguard in the event that this world failed our dragon race as well, and was never to be used for lesser reasons.”

“So the high wizards, they have abused this sacred spell?”

“Not wizards, wizard. Berinon. Haelan possesses neither the spell nor the ability to conjure it. He is an inferior wizard to Edana’s, focused on greed and the accumulation of wealth rather than power.”

“If only Berinon knows this spell,” said Rosalind, “then is all hope lost?”

“On the contrary, it is but one simple visit away.”

The queen rose from her seat and moved to stand before the chamber’s large stone fireplace. Or at least the fireplace that existed in this space today, in whatever spell of enchantment she had cast.

“I shall leave at twilight to seek the spell from Berinon. Jaxon must not know I am leaving, or he will insist upon accompanying me. And for this task, I must go alone.” She turned to Rosalind. “I ask that you go to my son prior to my departure and keep him distracted, as you have done so well since your appearance here.”

Heat rose to Rosalind’s cheeks. “I—”

“Do not waste your breath to deny what is obvious even to our blind elders.” Giselle smiled. “I rather enjoy watching my son be rattled by a woman. Especially if she is to be his future mate.”

Future mate? Panic speared Rosalind’s heart. Quinn—her future mate was to be Quinn. But to argue with the queen might very well break the woman’s trust, a trust that was needed to send Adelaide away. Only then could Rosalind offer Quinn all that she had once promised him. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “And what is it you wish me to do to distract him, Your Majesty?”

“We women have our charms, do we not? I doubt I need to school a beauty like yourself on how best to use them to your advantage.”

Rosalind swallowed hard, the calm leaving her body once more. She had worked feverishly to ignore the kernel of desire planted within her the first time she laid eyes upon Jaxon. Now his mother stood before her, suggesting she give in to her desires, sacrifice herself if only for one night, to ensure she ultimately won the hand of her beloved Quinn? Had the world been turned upon its head?

“No, Your Majesty,” she said. “I need no schooling.”

“Excellent. You shall spare me the details, of course, just be sure that he is not left alone to wander. Or wonder.”

“And how shall you convince Berinon to share the secrets of this spell?”

An evil smile lit Giselle’s features. “I too have my ways.”