Excerpt
Wrath of the Dragons
Chapter OneCaydenThe night is nearly surrendering to dawn by the time I make it back to the castle and dismount from my horse. The cold cloaking the cobblestones seeps through the soles of my boots, and the wind nips at the cracked, split skin on my knuckles. I fist Koa’s reins in one hand and bring the other to my mouth to pull a splinter out with my teeth.
Two stable hands begin rushing toward me, but I wave them off. Their quick dismissal of the man they were assisting seems to vex him further if the stiffening of his shoulders is anything to go by. It’s best that I have more tasks to complete; if I sit idly by, I know I’ll end up where I’m not supposed to be.
I unlatch the door and lead Koa into his stall that smells of fresh hay before unhooking his saddle and grabbing a brush to glide down his shiny coat. He huffs impatiently while stomping his front hooves.
“You’re no better than a spoiled child,” I say while stepping out of the stall to haul a barrel of fresh oats inside. He nudges my shoulder with his muzzle before diving into his early breakfast. I continue brushing him while half-listening to the aggravated orders echoing outside. The man is most likely a lord that was loyal to Eagor, but he’s certainly a prick. They began vacating the castle the night I overthrew Eagor, but another wave followed after Elowen rode her dragons. House Dasterian ruled over Vareveth for centuries, but Eagor never sired an heir to challenge my claim.
Once Koa is taken care of, I leave him to rest, nodding to the guards at the mouth of the stables. I manage to keep the sneer off my face while bypassing a large, gaudy carriage surrounded by several trunks. There is so much gold embellishment on it that if I were still living on the streets, it would serve as a beacon to my thieving hands.
His voice continues booming off the stone walls that surround the square, all hugged by frost-tipped vines. Banners bearing the House Veles sigil hang on either side of the entrance, matching the one embellishing the gate, and all that Elowen has done in such a small amount of time makes her appear like an eager bride. Bitterness surges within me knowing that she keeps to her tasks for the sake of maintaining our appearances.
The one thing Elowen asked of me after I carried her out of that banquet hall was space, and I couldn’t stay in our gods-damned chambers knowing she was farther away from me than she had ever been when I was searching for her. Silence cloaked the room like a plague, and yet that’s exactly where my instincts urge me to go, no matter how painful it is to watch her withdraw.
My jaw clenches when I glance up at the tallest tower that Venatrix and Sorin loop around, fading moonlight painting their scales.
“Murderer!” the man shouts at my back, and it seems as if every guard holds their breath while they wait for my reaction.
I slowly glance over my shoulder, taking in the short, portly man in an embroidered coat more obnoxious than his mode of transportation. “If you wish to discuss one of my kills, specify which. Corpses get added to my list by the day.” When these men speak, I often wonder if they think themselves intelligent for stating common knowledge loudly, or brave for insulting me in public. One must step into the darkness eventually, and what awaits them is entirely determined by their actions and what I have to gain.
Two guards step forward, but I hold up a hand to halt their approach. A lord that can hold his wine better than he can hold a sword is no threat to me, and he’s more useful to me alive . . . for now.
“Eagor Dasterian was the rightful king of Vareveth. You’re nothing but a usurper.”
“You’re welcome to challenge me.”
“You never should have challenged him!” he seethes, his cheeks reddening. “A bitch sired by our enemy spread her legs for you and you—”
His swallows his vitriol, eyes widening when I spin on my heels as the world fades away, and I zone in on my target. I wrap my fingers around the clammy flesh of his throat and slam his back into the carriage hard enough to gag him and jostle the monstrosity. A woman screams within but doesn’t come out to investigate. The vein in his forehead protrudes as I tighten my grip, and I cock my head like a predator, inhaling his fear.
“I am one of the eight lords of Vareveth!” he chokes out, clawing at my hand. “You cannot kill me!”
“Don’t overestimate your worth. There was one king and that didn’t stop me.” I lean down to emphasize our vast height difference. “Insult my woman again and I’ll rip out your tongue. I won’t kill you right away because I can’t torture a corpse, but I will make you beg for death before I bestow the mercy upon you.”
“You are playing a dangerous game, Your Highness.”
The honorific is wasted on me.
“I’m not playing your game. You’re playing mine.”
I release my grip and slide my hand into my pocket as he hunches over, gulping in air as if he’s run for miles. “Scurry back to your estate. If you’re still organizing your trunks come midday, my patience will be gone, and how will you pass along my warning to the other lords?”
His polished boots slip on the step as he scrambles into the carriage while still gulping in air, and I turn away as he slams the door behind him. I get his name from one of the guards at the entrance before stepping through.
Lord Xantheus of House Baelyn.
The support of the nobility is important to the prosperity of the kingdom, considering their lands supply most of our food and create jobs for the people, but they will not forget to fear me as they never feared Eagor. The previous king of Vareveth let the nobles sink their claws into him and guide him wherever they wanted. They didn’t support him out of loyalty, but for the same reason I did—he was malleable. They were all perched on his shoulders, whispering into his ears, and they hate me because I was above them all, controlling puppet strings they didn’t know were attached.
The castle is bathed in shades of twilight rather than the emerald green and gold of House Dasterian with their sprawling oak tree sigil. High, vaulted ceilings have been painted to resemble the night sky, and dragons are carved into the stone archways lining the halls. Dark blue and gold drapery adorn windows and alcoves, sitting rooms have been reupholstered, and even the smallest details cater to our reign. Despite the early hour, glaziers climb ladders to create stained-glass mosaics reflecting the Veles colors of dark blue, gold, and black.
The Dasterians were a long line of warrior kings, some of whom wielded earth magic, thus earning their sigil. Eagor was the first to outlaw magic in these lands that were once rampant with earth-wielders and accepting of mages that delved into soul magic and dark magic. Now earth mages seek refuge within the earth cult that travels through godly land, or in Urasos, though most of the population despises them. The longer the gods slumber, the more volatile people become, and the more crimes they commit against mages.
I round the corner and slow my steps while passing the entrance to the throne room. On either side of the door stands a massive statue of a dragon with a wing flared out and a sword clutched in its talons that cross above the walkway. I stride forward and pinch the velvety midnight-blue fabric that ripples beside the dragons, and pride swells within my chest. Five black dragons, all facing the same direction with one wing tipped up, are stitched into a circle, almost like a wheel, set behind a pair of crossed golden swords. The colors of the dragons’ eyes are an homage to Elowen’s dragons: red, blue, green, silver, and lavender. No matter who comes after us, they will know the founders of House Veles. The queen who brought dragons back into the world, and the king who conquered a kingdom to have her.
I continue my path up several flights of curved stairs and tug the hood of my cloak down as I tap my knuckles against Ryder’s door before shoving it open since I can hear him and Saskia arguing through the wood. Sure enough, Saskia is ready for the day, as she always is when dawn comes, and helping Ryder redress the wound on his stomach he obtained while helping me overthrow the crown. He groans a curse into his mug as Saskia tightens the wrappings, only opening his half-shut eyes when he notes my presence.
“I take it you weren’t warming the betrothal bed last night,” he says, glancing over my muddy boots, weapons, and black leather chest guard over my matching tunic.
“I take it you’ll never be warming a betrothal bed.”
He mutters something unintelligible into his cup again before Saskia’s healing abilities cause him to flinch. “I’m assuming you rode to the border to check on the security of the kingdom. Any issues?”
