In all my life, I’d never had this sort of protection. Least of all in my own home in Morodon. That was what struck me the hardest as a whooshing sound from above, high in the gray clouds, drew my gaze to the skies as well.
The snow swirled in great loops as a behemoth of a beast, a black-scaled dragon, descended out of the clouds. I gasped, backing away on instinct, my shoulders nudging Wolf’s chest. The dragon landed on the white-covered meadow in front of us, shaking the ground. That was when I saw there was a rider upon its back.
Redvyr relaxed, standing straight and tall. The others resheathed their swords, obviously deeming this dragon rider no threat. He was a wraith fae, his deep gray skin, four smooth horns and black armor familiar to me because some wraith fae warriors in similar garb had traveled and stopped in Haldek’s tavern on occasion.
This wasn’t simply a warrior, though. I knew who this was. I’d never seen him, but everyone in all the kingdoms knew there was only one dragon rider in the realms. King Gollaya Verbane. His dragon lowered until its belly hit the ground.
As the wraith fae dismounted and strode toward us with purpose, I shrank further into Wolf, wishing I could disappear. The dragon’s silvery blue eyes mirrored its owner’s, both of them assessing our party with keen scrutiny. The wraith fae stopped several feet away from Redvyr, his long, silky black hair blowing in the wind.
I was surprised to see that the gods had blessed him with a regal, handsome face. He wasn’t as tall or as broad as Redvyr. I hadn’t met anyone who was. But magick—intense power—radiated from him. It was known that he was a zephilim—a formidable fire-wielder. He didn’t need to be the biggest or strongest among other warriors. With a single word, his gods-given magick could decimate us all.
And yet, Redvyr seemed somehow relaxed in his presence, though I noticed that he had moved to stand directly in front of me, blocking me from the approaching wraith king.
A tinkling laugh and fluttering of wings drew my attention over my shoulder to Tessa, where Hallizel flew in circles around Saralyn’s head. The babe giggled, her playmate having returned from her errand.
“Redvyr,” said King Goll, his deep voice a rasp on the wind. “I received your message.”
“Goll.” Redvyr nodded in greeting, his tail still lashing slowly. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
I couldn’t see him with Redvyr blocking my view, so I shifted to the side to peer over his shoulder.
“Your sprite said, ‘Lord Gael has started a rebellion and is burning witches.’ That was all. Of course I came.”
“How did you find us?” asked Redvyr.
“Drak scented you on our way to Ghasta Vale.”
The dragon snorted and turned his head toward the wraith king. His brow furrowed, his gaze flicking beyond Redvyr to me and his eyes widening in surprise.
“Well, well,” he crooned more softly. “This is not a beast fae from your clan. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Redvyr stepped slightly to the side, and I eased forward. “Goll, this is Jessamine. She is under our protection.”
The wraith king reached out a clawed hand, a rather civil gesture from the man I was told was a murderous, debauchedking who abducted Princess Una of Issos, now Queen of Northgall. I reached out my hand and shook his. His gaze flicked down.
“You are a skald fae. So far from home?”
“Yes, my lord,” I answered courteously with a curtsy and bow of the head, as I was taught to greet all nobility. Especially royalty.
When I straightened, it was to find King Goll smiling and Redvyr scowling.
“You can let go of her hand now,” muttered Redvyr.
King Goll dropped my hand and crossed his arms, seemingly amused as his gaze flicked from me to Redvyr and then back again.
“And who are you protecting this pretty skald fae from?” the king asked.
Redvyr glared at him for a moment before answering. “The same man who has started this rebellion in Mevia, which apparently has now spread to Hellamir.”
King Goll sobered. “Gael?”
“Yes,” Redvyr snarled.
A slight pressure on my booted ankle drew my attention downward. Redvyr had wrapped his tail around it.
“Why is that, Jessamine?” King Goll asked me, his watchful gaze missing nothing, in particular Redvyr’s possessive grip on my ankle.
“My father betrothed me to him,” I said, my voice shaking. “Upon meeting Lord Gael when he came to court in Morodon, he told me what would be required of me in a marriage with him.” I dropped my gaze to the snowy ground at our feet, unable to look him in the eye when I confessed, “To kill the King of Northgall. You, my lord.”
