Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice Book 2) (21 page)

“How…could you?” Queen Helena asked of her sister, voice still raw from lack of air, then turned a dark look upon Berinon. “And you? Lying all these years while my sisters lived in squalor? A willing supporter of the events that caused their exile? Being involved in a queen’s death?”

“She lies, Helena,” he said, sweeping an arm toward Giselle. “Surely you see that? Even now your sister lies where the truth fits better.”

He reached for Helena, but she leaned away, rising to her feet unassisted and then coming to stand alongside Zayne and the others. Berinon watched her go, hurt etched into his bearded face. Behind him, movement caught Addie’s eye. Giselle’s son, Zayne’s illegitimate half brother, slipped between two of Giselle’s warriors and disappeared from sight. But the act was lost on Berinon, who still stared at Helena, his green eyes taking on a glow as though he were consumed by a fire within.

“I warned you this night would come,” he growled. “That lies would be spoken and your trust tested. And yet you choose to believe your murderous, lying sister over me?”

He snapped his fingers and the modern world around them vanished. The endless sea of wildflowers was now a drab, sparsely furnished room barely large enough to hold their two groups. Behind Giselle’s warriors, a door shattered, offering them a view of the battle raging outside.

“Your traitorous heart leaves me but one choice.” Berinon’s demonic gaze shifted from Helena to Rosalind. “To ensure only one set of children remains.”

Both wizards vanished as the room took on a crackling greenish glow. Chaos ensued as Brom yelled for everyone to take cover. Zayne pulled Addie to the ground, and Quinn charged forward, diving toward Rosalind and Giselle. Their shouts and cries of panic were obliterated as the walls around them exploded.

R
osalind could hear
nothing for a long moment, not even her own screams. She found herself on the ground along with the others, tossed about like rag dolls as the explosion scattered them throughout the room. Splintered wood and stone fragments rained down, burying them all in a pile of rubble.

And yet, even in the midst of the hell that had descended upon them, Rosalind’s thoughts centered not upon her well-being or pains but on that of Quinn. Quinn, who had come all this way believing she needed rescue. Quinn, who had been her earliest childhood friend and then her first lover.

Quinn, who she knew now was indeed her one true mate.

From the moment Jaxon had slipped away at the urging of Giselle, whatever spell had been cast between him and Rosalind had broken. She’d watched him go as if waking from a dream, left to grapple with the reality that she had been tricked into giving herself freely to him in the river. Her stomach soured at the thought, at the violation.

What a fool she had been! Would Quinn be able to forgive her for her weakness? For falling prey to a master of trickery?

A strong, frosty gale arose, casting the debris free from their bodies. She sat up and met the gaze of a massive silver dragon, crouched a short distance off in what had formerly been the village square.

“Tristan,” she breathed, relief washing over her.

Rosalind stood, her hearing slowly beginning to return, and was surprised to see her brother’s gleaming talons clenched around the neck of another dragon. The captured beast was black as pitch, its stormy eyes ringed with silver shifted toward her.

“Father?”

He issued a weary snort in response, so unlike his usual authoritative self, and she found herself dumbstruck.

What had she done? The hatred for a half sister she knew not had ultimately put in danger the very people she loved most. Rosalind turned, her gaze scanning the scattered, groaning bodies around her, until it locked upon a familiar head of short dark hair nearby.

“Quinn!”

She scrambled to close the space between them, then froze upon reaching him. Quinn lay on his back, hands gripping a thick, jagged piece of splintered wood which had impaled him just below the rib cage. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and a growing pool of blood spilled beneath him onto the floor.

“NO!”

Rosalind dropped to her knees as a wail of remorse ripped from her lungs. All her fault. All this was her fault.

His eyelids parted, and a smile of recognition tugged at his pale lips. “My princess.”

“Oh, Quinn.”

She reached for him and stopped, hands fluttering above him, unsure of what to do. His eyes slid shut once again, and she knew his time was short. The unfairness of it all came crashing down on her in that moment. Rosalind arched back and shouted to the heavens, “Why? Oh God, why?”

A weak hand brushed against her leg, and she looked down, vision blurred with thick tears.

“You are safe now. Both of you. That…is all that matters.”

Both?
Rosalind shook her head. He was delusional with pain.

“My beloved Quinn.” She shifted and drew his head into her lap. Sobs rattled her chest as she stroked his hair. “Do not leave me.”

“But leave you I must.” He coughed, blood bubbling from his lips.

Panic flashed within Rosalind anew. She looked to the crowd, squinting through her tears as she searched for the wizards, for Giselle, for Ella. Surely someone here possessed the power to heal. “Please! Someone, help him!”

The witch queen stepped forward, her battle-dirtied countenance weary. “Come, child. There is nothing that can be done for your friend.”

Quinn mumbled something unintelligible, tearing Rosalind’s heart further in two.

“Please,” she begged the witch. “You must help him. I cannot go on if he dies.”

Giselle studied her for a moment, then knelt beside Quinn, made a sign of the cross above his chest, and began a low, melodic chant.

His last rites.

Rosalind bowed from the pain of a breaking heart, her tears dampening Quinn’s ashen cheeks and smearing the blood and soot that coated his face. She stroked his hair with the gentlest of touches, hoping, praying for a miracle. He had to live—she would be lost without him.

Lost.

His eyes opened once more, and he stared up at her, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “I always knew there lay within you a gentler side.”

A fresh sob shook Rosalind. “Oh, my dearest Quinn Blackstone. What have I done?”

Giselle’s chanting ceased. She looked to Rosalind, her eyes wide. “What name did you speak just now?”

“’Tis Quinn Blackstone, my oldest and dearest friend.”

“No.” Giselle’s hands flew to her mouth. “It cannot be.”

Quinn’s unfocused gaze shifted toward the witch queen. “It is I, Mother.”

“No…no, my son is dead. His father sent me a scroll stating my Quinn had died of the fever not long after we were exiled.”

“Father was a cold, cruel man. He fooled me into believing you had died as well.”

Giselle stared at him, recognition slowly dawning upon her face. “But…why, Quinn? Why did you wait until now to seek me?”

“An elder servant of Forath…knew of the rumors…came forward when they heard of our planned invasion. They too had family in exile they wished to protect.”

Rosalind drew her hands back as Giselle leaned in to cup her dying son’s cheeks. “My boy. My beautiful boy.” She brushed her fingers light as a feather across his brow, down his cheekbones. “’Tis truly you.”

“Aye. My life is complete, as I lived to see your face again—”

Quinn coughed up more blood, a gurgle drowning out the remainder of his thoughts. Giselle’s face crumpled at the sight. She leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead, then drew back and stood, a look of determination replacing her grief.

“Your life is not yet complete, my son.”

The air around them began to whip and swirl as though a pack of dragons was preparing to transform. She cried out to the heavens with outstretched arms, uttering musical phrases and eerie halftones. Lightning flashed and crackled across the sky where the ceiling had once been, then snaked down to connect with Giselle’s fingertips.

The witch took on an eerie glow, her eyes white orbs of light as they turned toward her dying son. She knelt beside him and placed one hand upon his heart, the other upon his forehead. Quinn’s body arched and twisted beneath her, the glow spreading to consume him as well. Rosalind cried out and drew back, afraid for him and the pain he must be feeling, afraid of the witch and her magic.

But in the next instant, the thick, jagged splinter of wood in his chest dissolved away to nothing. The queen’s chanting continued, and soon the gaping hole in his chest began to seal. As it did, the twitching of his body lessened and the glow enveloping him and the queen dimmed. When at last his body stilled, the glow vanished.

Giselle slumped to the ground.

Quinn blinked. Lifted himself onto his elbows and turned to look at Rosalind. His look of shock gave way to a smile, which quickly faded as his gaze shifted to his mother lying beside him on the ground.

“No.” He rolled to one side and scrambled toward Giselle. In a blink, he had lifted her into his lap, cradling her to him. “Please, do not go, Mother. I have missed you so all these years.”

“My sweet, sweet boy,” she said, her voice weak. “I died a thousand deaths when we were separated the day of exile. Died a thousand more when your father sent the scroll of your passing.”

She lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. “I spent years mourning your death, plotting my revenge, when what I should have done was continue searching for you.”

A cough rattled her weakened frame, and Quinn caught her hand as it slipped from his face.

“I failed you once, but never again. Lead my people, keep them safe. And hate not your half brother—his devotion has kept me alive all these years.” Her gaze shifted to Rosalind. “Bind with the princess, take her as your queen. She is your one true mate. I felt it as my energy interwove with yours. Jaxon had tricked her upon my instruction. For you.” Her eyelids slid shut. “Always did I act to avenge losing you.”

The queen’s body stilled.

Quinn’s broad shoulders slumped as he succumbed to his grief. Rosalind shuffled to his side and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, quaking with sobs for his mother lost. For she too knew what it was like to lose a mother, and vowed to do all she could to ease his pain. Always, from this day forward.

Z
ayne followed
his mother out from what remained of Giselle’s manor home and into the village square, with Addie tucked protectively into his side. They all desired an escape from the sorrowful scene and a bit of fresh air. Though the cool night air did help to clear his mind, there remained one thought he could not escape:

He had a half brother.

An illegitimate one, conceived under the veil of disguise and witchcraft, but a brother nonetheless. Zayne looked toward his mother, who drifted away from him and Adelaide now. Judging by the look of consternation upon her face, it appeared she was struggling to come to terms with the realization too.

“He snuck off, you know. Before the walls came down.”

Zayne met Addie’s gaze. He didn’t bother asking to whom she referred—he knew from the look in her eyes she was thinking of the same man as he. “Aye, I observed as much.”

Addie started to speak, then stopped. Shook her head and looked out into the dark of night.

“What plagues you, my lady?”

“Nothing. I just… I’m just not sure if he made it back or not.”

“Made it back?” Zayne led her away from the others, then drew her close and spoke so that only she could hear. “Addie, what was the object Giselle held up? The one you seemed so shocked to see?”

“It was a candy bar wrapper. Packaging that goes around food from
my
time.”

“You mean…?”

“Yeah. We were there. We
all
were.” She sighed. “And now we’re back here.”

Zayne tipped her face toward his and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “Do not be sad, my love. For our wedding day fast approaches, and I pledge to do all I can to fill your remaining days with nothing but joy and happiness.”

“I’m trying not to be. It’s just…hard sometimes.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her face into his chest. “And thank you.”

The winds of transformation whipped through the square as silver and black beasts became Prince Tristan and his father once again, the younger Bennett still clutching his elder by the neck. Addie looked away, muttering something about the view hurting her eyes.

“My son?” said King Jarin.

“Fight me no more, Father,” replied a weary Tristan. “I do not wish to harm you.”

His father’s brows furrowed. “Whatever do you mean? Release me this instant.”

Tristan did as ordered but remained alert, prepared to restrain his father again should he attempt another attack. His father scanned the scene around them, rubbing his forehead. “Where are we?”

“You do not remember?”

“I do not. Now someone hand me a damned robe.”

A laugh bubbled from Addie, the musical sound drawing a grin to Zayne’s lips. In but a moment, robes were produced from the lurking crowd and quickly draped upon both King Jarin and his son. Zayne whispered to his betrothed that it was safe to look upon them once more.

“Do you truly not remember where we are or why?” Tristan asked.

“No.”

A shuffling of footsteps sounded behind Zayne, and all faces turned toward the sound. Quinn now stood where the manor home’s front door had once been, his face bathed in soot and blood, Giselle limp in his arms. To his right stood Rosalind, her equally filthy face yet damp with tears.

“Rosalind,” called King Jarin, relief in his voice.

She scanned the crowd for him, then hurried forward into his waiting embrace. “Oh, Father. Forgive me for leaving you. For my years of bitterness, for my wrongdoings.” She looked to his face as he stroked her cheek, her hair. “Anger had consumed me. Swallowed me into the darkest of places within my mind. But these people, they helped free me from its prison.”

“They have, have they?” His wary gaze flashed to the group of people standing with Quinn at their helm. “And who are they, then?”

“Why, the witches, Father,” she said.

“The…witches?”

Rosalind looked from her father to Tristan, confusion clear in her eyes. A voice arose from the crowd, and Zayne watched as his mother’s younger sister, Ella, stepped forward.

“The curse, at last it has been broken.”

“Curse?” said Jarin, his brows furrowed. “What curse?”

Ella moved to stand before the king, her cheeks damp and eyes ringed red from crying, and dropped into a sweeping bow. “My sister, Giselle, leader of the witch clan, believed you to have been under a curse these twenty-some years—one bestowed upon you by your own high wizard, to strike fear into your heart at the thought of our peoples, whom you cast from your lands. When Princess Rosalind came to stay among us, the curse caused your fears to rise to a fevered pitch.” Her gaze shifted to Tristan. “Causing you to attack your own flesh and blood.”

The king drew in a sharp breath and looked between Tristan and Rosalind with wide eyes. “Forgive me, my children. I knew not what I was doing.”

“Doesn’t take back what he did to you,” Addie said softly, raising a hand to Zayne’s healed chest.

“No, it does not. Though I shall feel safer in your father’s presence the next time I visit knowing what I know now.”

Her arms tightened around him once more. “You and me, both, buddy.”

“Does this mean the war between our peoples has ended?” called Quinn.

The group turned their attention to him, who stood yet with his deceased mother in his arms.

“Our peoples?” said Jarin.

“Yes, Father,” Rosalind said. “Their leader is no more. She saved Quinn from his battle wounds, sacrificing her own energy to restore him upon discovering he was her long-lost son, thought to be dead and thus the cause of her intended revenge.”

Jarin’s gaze narrowed as he looked from his daughter to her lover. “You wish to assume your mother’s place as leader of the witch clan, Quinn Blackstone?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. ’Twas my mother’s dying request. As it was that I take Princess Rosalind as my destined mate. If, of course, you would allow it.”

A tense moment of silence ensued, and Zayne began to wonder if the curse had truly been the cause of Jarin’s previous paranoia or not. The king cleared his throat and lifted his chin.

“A pity, Blackstone, as it shall be difficult to find a replacement as worthy of my trust as you.”

A joyous shriek pealed from Rosalind’s lips as she wrapped her father in a tighter embrace. He looked from Blackstone, who gave the king a regal nod, to his younger daughter.

“And you, Rosalind? Shall you cease your scheming, mischievous ways and commit to be this man’s proper wife?”

“Aye, Father.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then released her to return to Quinn’s side. “It seems the castle will soon hold but us two lonely bachelors, my son.”

Tristan offered his father a smile, but Zayne noticed the prince’s gaze was yet directed toward Ella. As she passed by him, weaving her way through the rubble toward her deceased sister, Tristan’s cheeks took on a pink hue. Perhaps now that Jarin’s curse had been broken, even Adelaide’s twin would soon learn to relax.

A mate might do the man a world of good.

Addie stepped away from Zayne but took his hand in hers as she made her way toward the rest of her family.

“But what about the wizards?” she asked.

Tristan’s gaze shifted to his twin. “What of them?”

“They have gone.” Zayne’s mother crossed the square and drew near Jarin. “Before they could be held accountable for their years of deceit, recently discovered. No longer can they be trusted.”

“Berinon and Haelan, both?” said the king.

“Aye.”

Jarin remained quiet for a long moment, frowning as he processed the news. He stepped forward and offered the queen his hand, which she took without hesitation and came to stand at his side. “It appears that alliances are changing, as are the priorities of each. If the wizards have joined to conspire against us, then it is of great import that the kingdoms and clans which before fought against one another now seek peace and alliances so that we may protect one and all.”

Murmuring sounded as Quinn handed his mother to her warriors. He exchanged a quick nod with Ella, then stepped forward with determination etched upon his brow. “We shall stand with you, King Jarin of Forath.”

“And I shall return this night to speak to my husband, Your Majesty,” said Zayne’s mother. “Given his current state of mind, I cannot help but believe he will stand with you against the wizards.”

Zayne sensed unease in his mother’s vow, and silently pledged to return with her if only for a short while. He would not allow his father to punish her for her involvement tonight, not when it was the wizards who for years had tricked them all.

The king’s gaze shifted to Tristan. “And you, heir to my throne? Will you stand firm in our cause, to protect our peoples from whatever wrath may be unleashed by the wizards who have conspired against us?”

“Until my dying day, Father.”

“Very well.” King Jarin’s gaze shifted to the starlit sky. “May our allegiances indeed be enough to save us all.”