Page 29 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

The sound of Abarrane’s blade sliding out of its scabbard fills the air, timed perfectly with the dragon’s deep, low growl.

My jaw clenches as I take in the tall, dark-haired male—a stranger—who dons my royal suit and my golden crown. But it’s the woman wearing the queen’s crown beside him that raises my hackles. A female with copper-red hair, who looks eerily similar to a pencil sketch Romeria once drew, of the key caster Sofie.

“Fates.” It’s too late.

Malachi is here.

Movement in the shadows behind him draws my attention briefly to Wendeline—or a shell of who she once was. She’s still alive, at least. Romeria will be happy to learn that.

“Exiled King Zander. My dearest son.” Malachi smiles smugly. “I am pleased you are attending me with due haste. In honor of your arrival, a gift for you.”

I was so preoccupied by shock, I hadn’t noticed the grip of black hair within his fist and the head dangling from it. Malachi tosses it toward my feet. It lands with a sickening thud.

Lord Adley’s dead eyes stare up at me.

“How kind of you,” I manage, deadpan.

“After all the grief that one caused this realm, ridding us of him is the least I could do. It is a shame you did not bring the little mortal thief with you.”

“I assume you mean Queen Romeria?”

“If that’s what she’s calling herself.” He grins. “I would have preferred to accept fealty from both of you at the same time, but I suppose accepting it from one of you now will suffice.”

Abarrane grunts. “Never.”

He swings his attention toward my commander, who feigns bravery even as her fingers tap rhythmically against her pommel—a tell for her anxiety. “Never?” A wicked, dark glimmer flickers in his eyes. “That is a bold claim for such defenseless creatures. What … you believe you have a formidable protector in Valk?” He regards the dragon behind us with unnerving ease. “I thought surely he would have lost that wing during our last encounter.”

I struggle not to wince as the dragon—Valk, it seems is its name—emits a roar that pains my eardrum and sends everyone in the vicinity stumbling back. Clearly, they not only know each other but have battled.

The amusement slips from Malachi’s borrowed face, leaving stone-cold resolve. “So foolish of any who think they lay claim to this throne, for it has been mine since the day Ailill first summoned me. I understand it will be difficult for you to accept this, so I present you with a choice. You may kneel before me now and I will make your death swift. Resist, and your suffering will last an eternity.” He folds his hands in front of him and waits patiently for my response.

This is how it shall be—I am to battle the Fate of Fire himself if I have any hope of reclaiming my throne. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected less. It was all too easy otherwise.

Romeria was right. Coming to Cirilea was dangerous. Now, it might prove deadly if we can’t get out of here swiftly.

Before we do, though, I need one answer. I shift my focus to Sofie. “Tell me, key caster, how does it feel to know that you played pawn for centuries in hopes of reuniting with your husband, only to discover that you will likely never see him again?”

Raw pain flashes across Sofie’s face before it morphs with unfiltered rage, and her emerald eyes turn silver, much like Romeria’s do when she is about to unleash.

I’ve certainly said the wrong—or right—thing, and I’m about to pay for it. “Valk.” His name is barely a growl under my breath.

The dragon sweeps a claw out to collect us, his wing closing around just as bolts of fire unleash from Sofie’s slight form. He launches us into the sky with a screech.

And I hold my breath that we will escape her wrath.

We’ve cleared the borders of Cirilea’s outer wall when Abarrane snarls, “You intentionally provoked a key caster. Are you mad?”

“Maybe. But I needed to test the waters.” The stench of burned flesh curls my nostrils, but I cannot get a proper glimpse of where Sofie struck Valk. It doesn’t seem to have hindered his ability to fly, at least.

“And what did you find lurking beneath? Something that will kill us or simply maim?” she mutters, unimpressed.

“Another victim of Malachi who might be swayed.” There was no mistaking the anguish before her fury took over. But it is too soon to say if she will abandon her loyalty to him because of it, and Malachi with a key caster at his side is far from ideal.

To Valk, I order, “Let us get our injured passenger to the healers at the rift, so we may return to Ulysede tonight.”

11

Sofie

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