Page 139 of Wrath of the Dragons
Calithea closes one claw around Fallon and Aveline, and another around my father’s wife, giving me one last look before taking to the skies to carry them back to our camp. They scream and beg for mercy they won’t find from me. I need Thirwen’s soldiers to see their king and queen have been captured, and for Imirath to see my father’s wife. It’ll get into their minds and fester, and no matter the state of the battle, they’ll have nothing to fight for because they’ll know they’ve lost. Swords will grow heavier, swings less precise, and eventually their blades will slip from their fingers as they begin the journey to the underworld.
Garrick lifts a brow, the first change in his stoney expression since I’ve seen him. “You sent a dragon away.”
I unsheathe the blade at my waist. “I’ve never needed flames to kill you.” He remains still and stone-faced, not moving to grasp the blade strapped across his back. His pristine armor makes me laugh. “That’s a lovely costume but I think you’re a bit old to be playing knight. Draw your sword.”
His nostrils flare, but he obeys. The hilt of the golden blade is encrusted with purple amethysts, and I wonder if he’s ever used it. “What I did, I did for the good of Imirath.”
“And how’s that decision working out for you?”
“The prophecy has come to pass,” he hisses. “You have destroyed the seat of our house and sullied yourself with a bastard.”
“Your house,” I amend while twirling my blade. “My name is Elowen Veles, and I’d rather be the queen of a bastard than daughter to a king who couldn’t hold a throne that was handed to him. Even now Cayden is on the battlefield while you try to scurry away like vermin.”
“But youwill alwaysbe my daughter.” I grit my teeth. “You will always be an Atarah, no matter your name. Your heirs will be Atarahs. You will never escape the blood that runs through your veins.”
“Perhaps not.” I tighten my grip on the hilt. “But you shouldn’t be so concerned with my blood when yours will soon coat my blade.”
I don’t wait for him to advance and swing my sword. He juts his forward and the steel vibrates, sending small shockwaves up my arms. I’d love to draw out his death, make it last for days, keep him in a cell and make him beg, but his death will end the war. He’s not worth losing sleep or peace for. He’s just a pathetic little man with poor footwork. It’s clear he’s never truly faced a skilled swordsman. He moves as if fending off an instructor, not fighting for survival.
Sorin growls as we circle each other, no doubt hating having Garrick this close to me. Sorin has always had a protective streak woven into his soul, even before he bit off Garrick’s pinkie; it would show whenever my father was nearby. As a hatchling, he would perch on my shoulder and scream his head off whenever Garrick was present. I still have the scars on my shoulders from his tiny talons sinking into my flesh without him realizing.
I move again before Garrick can react, utilizing the full capacity of my skills and cutting him across the thigh. He cries out through clenched teeth but manages to stay upright as he juts his sword at me.I spin away with ease and click my tongue while slicing just above his chest plate.
“If you’re going to be a warmongering cunt, at least have the decency to practice your swordsmanship.”
He swipes for me again, summoning some force within him, but he’s still no match for me. “You hate me so much, and yet we are so similar.”
I raise my brows. “I’m much prettier.”
“I heard you killed Ailliard,” he pants. “I would’ve done the same thing. If someone tried to take my crown from me, I would’ve brought war to them.”
“And yet only one of us knows how to win a war.” I shove him back with our locked blades, and swing again, severing his bone. His four-fingered hand thumps on the ground as his screams thunder throughout the forest, mingling with my laughter spilling through clenched teeth.Thisis the man who chained me.Thisis the man who ordered my torture. “Where’s your boldness? Does it disappear when I’m out of shackles? There is no one for you to cower behind, Garrick. There is no one to save you from me.”
I slice his other hand clean off and jam the hilt of my blade between his shoulders, sending him tumbling into the snow. “You’re pathetic.”
I command Sorin to wrap his claw around Garrick and hoist him into the air, squeezing and squeezing until he’s choking and sputtering, begging for release. Drool dribbles down his chin as his eyes bulge out of his head. Sorin releases him a fraction, just enough for him to find reprieve, and tightens his claw again.
As he’s extended in the air, I slice through his boots, adding his feet to the appendages littering the ground. “Just in case you had hope of escaping.”
Sorin lowers Garrick so he’s at eye level with me. “Throw him down.”
Garrick’s arm snaps from the force of the impact, made worse by landing on what might’ve belonged to a wall of the castle. He screams, and I watch as tears run down his cheeks. Just as I did with Robick, Icommit this image to my memory. This is the man who should have loved me, and instead spent years of my life torturing and hunting me. He sent men into my cell to break me and only stepped in when they wished to rape me because he wanted to sell me off to the highest bidder on the marriage market.
“I want you to know something before you die,” I say. Sorin’s head stretches above mine as he spreads his wings on either side of me. “If you had been different, I never would’ve fought against my kingdom, but the prophecy was true.” His eyes find mine, gaze flickering between me and my dragon, flooded with fear. “I am the ruination of the old Imirath, your Imirath, the Atarah’s Imirath, and I will bring its salvation through my reign. I would have lived in peace, but you started a war between us, and now it’s time to end it.”
“Elowen—”
“Do not speak my name.”
He gurgles on his blood, but it’s not enough. I need to hurt him more.
I drop my blade and call upon the fire that lives within Sorin, summoning it through his scales. A web of green flames stretches between us and weaves around my fingers. I press the fingers of my free hand into the hollows of Garrick’s cheeks and force his mouth open as he sobs, keeping the green flames burning in my other hand well within his sight.
“I hope making an enemy of me was worth it, father.” I tighten my grip when he squirms. “You’ve lost. Imirath is mine, and it belongs to House Veles. I’m loath to teach you an invaluable lesson mere moments before you die, but if you’re going to order an execution, be the one to swing the sword. If not, you risk failure, and nothing festers hatred quite like time.”
“The prophecy—”
“Do you know what happens to a rat when it’s burned, father?” I chuckle, cutting him off. “The same as it does to everything else.”
