Page 6 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
My gaze returns to the cavernous council chamber, to my three closest advisors beyond my fairy godmothers—these noble dragons who have stood by me even after the passing of my mother and father, even knowing what I am: a cursed prince.
They would leave me, though, if they knew the even darker truth I carry. The truth about my father’s death. But I can tell no one.
Only my aunties and Aurelia know the depth of my shame.
Lord Justice meets my gaze and frowns. “You are now thirty, Your Highness, and there are no Jewels left in the world. They were all eradicated during the second Jewel War when you were still a hatchling. Surely, the danger has long since passed.”
Lady Prudence—my spymaster—gently agrees, “It is time for you to become theTheryn Drakarayou were always meant to be.” She gestures toward the map carved from stone that lies between us, indicating my uncle’s stronghold in the far north. “We have received reports that Malice is now styling himself the Goblin King. His army grows stronger by the day.” Her tone sharpens when she reveals, “The border villages fear Malice’s army will soon strike.”
Lord Mercy—my secretary and master of ceremonies—asks, “Must we wait until his horde is at the gates of the Aerie itself before you finally take up your father’s crown and stop this madness, Your Highness?”
I cease stroking the ring crafted from Aurelia’s hair and rise to my feet.
“Naei.” That word rings from my lips with a conviction I don’t truly feel.
War is the last thing from my mind on today of all days. But my people don’t need a man in mourning for aTherya’kai—a Queen of Flame—who could have never been his. Nor a man haunted by his many failures.
They need their king.
The threads of Earth lending the stone map its shape shimmer in the air just above the sprawling landscape of Drakara—from the Door to the west to the Shadow Lands to the north where my uncle makes his home, to the Sea of Songs to the east, to my own fortress, the Aerie, in the south.
I unravel the threads above my uncle’s stronghold with a mere twitch of my fingers, turning the carefully carved depiction of Umbra Castle to motes of dust.
“Tonight,” I promise my councilors, “I will visit the Living Waters. I will seek the Great Weaver’s blessing. And if it is still His will that I become Drakara’s king, I will don the Corona Ignis.”
The words are like ash in my mouth. For twelve years, I have avoided returning to that holy place. But I can avoid it no longer.
But my councilors are right.
It is past time I claimed my throne.
Brisa whips about to face me. “What?” she gasps.
Within my thoughts, Velda asks on a thread of Mind meant for me alone,“Are you sure, Bene?”
Earth magic is the only one that comes naturally to me. I cannot wield Fire like my father, nor Air and Water like my mother. But with Earth, I can do many things.
I can shape. I can unmake. I can mend.
Only through years of hard work and careful study can I wield a bit of Mind, too.
“Vaei,”I weave back, though my eyes remain on Lord Justice, Lady Prudence, and Lord Mercy rather than the pixie hovering at my side.“It is time I returned.”
Lord Justice breathes out a sigh of palpable relief, saying nothing.
Lord Mercy, however, is already on his feet. He claps his hands together once. “At last! I will make arrangements for your coronation right away. We can simply make it a part of your birthday celebration tonight.”
My jaw tightens at the thought.
“Naei,” I snap with more force than is necessary.
Lord Mercy takes a single step backward, clearly offended.
I huff out a breath through my nose and temper my tone into something more measured. “There will be no coronation, my lord. I will be alone in the Vault of Kings when I take up the Corona Ignis, just in case the worst should happen.”
The worst in this case would be the Corona Ignis rejecting me, deeming me unfit because of the role I played in my father’s death. But my councilors don’t know that. No doubt, they think I am speaking of my curse.
For once, I’m not.
