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The cobbler and blacksmith scrambled to their feet, looking out the windows and arguing whether they should go outside. The argument lasted several minutes, making it clear neither fellow wished to leave the comfort of the tavern. The child barmaid ran to the door when it flew open, and a half dozen dwarves fell inside, tumbling over one another like a fallen stack of dishes.
The blacksmith, a tall dark-skinned man with shoulders so broad he could’ve been a bear shifter, grabbed the hilt of his sword, nudging one of the dwarves in the ribs. “What is happening?”
One of the dwarves stood, brushing grime off his trousers, his ruddy cheeks as red as his bulbous nose. “Two dragons have landed outside the city.”
“So?” The cobbler chuckled, rubbing his shorn brown beard. “There are dragons all down this coast.”
It was true. After Peloponese collapsed, the dragon army had scattered along the western coastline, bringing with them their appetites as well as their rowdy riders. The town had been on edge ever since.
Another dwarf stood, cracking his neck. He had one bright blue eye and one cavity of puckered skin where the other eye used to be. “They’ve come with about three dozen wyverns.”
Thorin’s heart came to a slow stop. Only white witches could control wyverns. Was his Anya here? What would she do if she saw him? Would she run again, or worse, would she try to kill him?
“Wyverns?” The blacksmith tossed back his head and laughed. “You lie.”
“I don’t.” The dwarf adamantly shook his head. “They also have Prince Celsus and other Fae with them, including fire mages and white witches.”
Damn. So the rumors were true. His Anya had flown off with her sister and a group of mages after the confrontation between Fachnan’s, Viggo’s, and Malvolia’s armies. Thorin wondered if Anya’s sister had helped her regain her memories. If so, he would need to flee before they found him. He wouldn’t wish to go up against two white witches.
“And they all ride together?” the cobbler asked, his voice laced with awe.
The one-eyed dwarf nodded. “They request room and shelter for the night and assurances that the wyverns won’t be hurt.”
Thorin had heard enough. He knew the town wouldn’t refuse the request of two white witches. He rushed up the stairs and quickly packed his things, mourning the cool ale he’d barely touched. He slipped out the back door, his pack draped behind him, and hurried through alleyways, plugging his nose against the stench, until he reached the end of the seaside town.
He was about to slip through broken slats in the fence when he cast one last longing gaze at the town behind him, the dark buildings bathed in lamplight. Wyverns bathed in moonlight loudly squawked while erratically circling above, reminding him of a kicked hornet’s nest. He wondered if Anya was riding one of them. He swallowed back his fear, realizing he could lose his head with one snap of their powerful jowls.
A dragon roared, shooting a stream of fire into the air, and that’s when he saw her—his Anya, riding the back of this golden beast, her twin holding on in front of her. The masking spell had been removed, and Anya and her sister looked every bit as beautiful as he’d first remembered, their long dark braids whipping behind them. His heart sighed then shattered at the sight. His Anya was Tarianya again, and she probably had no more use for him.
He finally slipped through the slats with no idea where to travel to next, for the entire country was at war, or at least they soon would be. He feared his mistress would find him soon enough, putting him in the heart of it, or worse, killing him and taking his magic for herself.
Tari
AFTER TRAVELING DOWN the Fallax Islands for three days, I should’ve been relieved to have finally made it to the Caldarian shore, but my nerves were on edge when we landed on the outskirts of Cyrene. The last time we were at this seaside town, Helian had been killed by fire mages, and I had brought him back to life using Inretius flowers. Though I still had some of the flowers in my satchel, I didn’t want to go through that again.
Ash helped me dismount from Isa, and I stared out at the expanse of blackened sea bathed in moonlight while the wind whipped hair strands that had fallen out of my braid in my face. The wyverns flew in circles above us, squawking their excitement while diving for fish. The demon Nox flew with them. Isa had reported Enso had gone silent since Nox took his body. I tried not to get sickened by the thought. She had reassured me the other wyverns were keeping a close eye on him, which was good. I had already come to the realization that I would do whatever it took to give Enso his body back and banish Nox to hell. I hadn’t sworn a blood oath, and I wouldn’t rest until I discovered his true name.
Radnor had gotten into the habit of dropping off Helian and then flying somewhere to sulk by himself. He and Isa hadn’t spoken, or even acknowledged each other, the rest of the flight down the island chain. Their silence made me more uncomfortable than their fighting. I knew they still had feelings for each other. I could feel the longing pulsing off their scales, yet they were each so stubborn that they refused to make up. Infuriating drakes.
I turned toward the town with its sandy boardwalk, rows of warped, clapboard buildings lit with numerous lanterns, and the expansive dock with ships of all sizes, some with masts as tall as Isa when she extended her long neck. There were several tents surrounding the town as well as many bedraggled Sidhe Fae and humans. Had they been displaced by the war?
The pungent odor of gutted fish and the smell of unwashed bodies assailed my senses. I clutched my roiling gut, fighting the urge to vomit. I wasn’t surprised when villagers fluttered around like headless dragons, hollering and pointing in our direction. Two bells rang in the distance, and the villagers became even more agitated, like they were hornets escaping a rattled hive.
I pressed against Shiri as our mates formed a protective barrier in front of us. Isa stood behind us, draping her long neck over our heads, snarling at the hodgepodge group of strange Fae that walked toward us. Some had hooves, others had legs as wide as tree trunks, and many had fur. Many wielded swords, torches, and pitchforks while they looked ready to slit our throats. Cautiously advancing toward us, their gazes darted from Isa to our guards. They completely stopped when Drae and Blaze sent arcs of fire over their heads.
I recognized the leader of the mob, the tall creature with one large eye in the center of his face and an axe protruding from his skull. If memory served me right, he was a rare breed of Fae called cyclops. Just like last time I’d seen him, my fingers tingled with the desire to heal his wound, though this tingling moved slower through my fingers, no doubt an effect of the tea.
Helian placed his hands on Drae and Blaze’s shoulders, and they stepped aside. Then Helian held out his hands in a defensive gesture. “We come in peace,” he said. “It is I, Prince Helian.” He nodded toward us. “This is my family.”
My heart warmed when he easily referred to us as his family, at how quickly he had accepted Shiri and her mates, showing no ill will toward them after the tension between them when he’d been demon possessed.
The cyclops grunted, clutching tightly to a very large hammer while staring eye daggers into Helian.
Helian was not to be deterred. He stepped forward, holding out a hand. “And you are?”
The cyclops frowned at Helian’s hand, refusing to shake. “They call me Torund.” He turned up his chin. “I’m the chief councilman.”
Helian dropped his hand while plastering on a smile. “We only need some food and a place to sleep for the night. Then we will be on our way.”
