“Give me your cloak. It will make her easier to carry.”
Dianthe removed the red hood and began unfastening the buttons. Aborella had never seen a fairy like her. Her skin was the color of roasted cinnamon and shone like silk in the moonlight. Most fairies were born the color of flower petals—the darker the color, the more powerful the fairy. Dianthe’s deeply pigmented skin was highly unusual, and when she glanced in Aborella’s direction, another difference revealed itself. Most fairies had green eyes. Dianthe’s were the color of warm honey. She was beautiful but markedly strange, different from any fairy Aborella remembered from home.
The lights went out as Sylas tossed the cloak over Aborella’s body and face, wrapped her up, and scooped her into his arms. Nothing more was said. Aborella had neither strength nor voice to change her fate. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to it.
Chapter One
A world away from Paragon, in a place between places, Xavier, son of Eleanor and heir to the kingdom of Paragon, also woke to perpetual darkness. The scent of stale air, moldy stone, and the metallic tang of new blood assaulted his senses. Moans of pain echoed against unyielding stone walls. Someone was being tortured. Someone was always being tortured here.
His chest grew heavy with despair as the understanding of his predicament invaded his consciousness again. To be sure, there was nothing new about his reality. Rather, Xavier’s renewed anguish was caused by the intense and realistic dream he’d had moments before. He’d been flying in the sun, the sweet smell of a tribiscal vineyard filling his lungs, his wings carrying him on a soft, warm breeze. He’d dreamed of freedom, of Paragon, of flying. He’d dreamed of the mountain.
It felt like an eternity since he’d spread his wings. He almost wished he hadn’t experienced the dream. The ultimate despair of his predicament only cut deeper in comparison.
Another scream reached his ears from somewhere deep inside the dungeon, and Xavier came fully into his reality. The wail of agony echoed against the stone and then pinched off as if whatever wretched soul had uttered it had run out of breath. He stretched a talon to the stone and etched a line next to the others. Hundreds of others. If he’d calculated correctly, he’d been trapped in this cage for nearly two years.
Footsteps approached—a guard with his nightly meal. The sandy-haired young man was dressed in clan colors but was oddly a stranger.
“Ye must be new,” Xavier said. “I donna recognize yer face.”
Without speaking or making eye contact, the guard slid the tray he was carrying along the stone floor, through the slot in the door, and into the cage. Venison, bread, greens, and water. It was a decent enough meal, although Xavier would kill for a whisky.
“Ye might be new, but it seems ye ken the rules well enough. Why does that arse ye slave after bother feeding me if he plans to leave me to rot in this hole?”
The guard didn’t answer him, but then he was already halfway down the hall before Xavier asked the question. None of them ever lingered. Feed the dragon and then leave quickly, Lachlan must have told them. Wouldn’t want to risk Xavier breaking the mind control Lachlan kept them all under and perhaps convincing one of them to let him go.
Anyway, Xavier knew exactly why Lachlan continued to feed him. He had to. The very existence of the builgean depended on Xavier’s magic. If he died, their world would collapse. If he became weak, the crops might wilt and the animals would stop producing young. His magic was keeping the clan alive. His clan.
Without the builgean and his clan, there’d be only one place for Lachlan to go, and the evil fairy would do anything to keep from returning to his kind.
Xavier closed his eyes against the rage that burned in his blood and turned his vision red. He must get free, must save his people from the scourge that even now sat on his throne and ruled his clan.
He stared at the food. His stomach rumbled with hunger but somehow still managed to roil at the thought of his predicament. He was helpless here. Trapped. There was no way out. He’d exhausted every option. Unless one of those guards had a change of heart or his oread, Glenna, found a way to break the spell containing him. He wouldn’t be holding his breath for either. In two years of trying, they’d never managed to budge the gate.
All the while he contemplated his fate, his mind kept taking him back to his dream. The sun. The mountain. The beauty of Paragon. Why was his head going back there now? It had been a long time since he’d thought of the place as home. Happy memories of his childhood were few and far between after almost three centuries. Still, he was a child of the Mountain, he supposed. You could take a dragon out of Paragon, but you’d never get Paragon out of the dragon.
A child of the Mountain. His mind flashed through images of his youth, the myths and legends of his people. Xavier had never been a religious dragon, but every citizen of Paragon understood that the mountain was the physical manifestation of the goddess. The scribes who had taught him in school always said the goddess of the mountain was his creator and his protector. Funny, in all the days he’d spent in this cell, he’d never once thought to ask her for help.
There was a first time for everything. He fell to his knees and bowed his head, his arms spreading, palms upturned, and eyes closed in the way of his people. When he spoke, he did so in his first language, one he hadn’t used in hundreds of years. The words, his solemn plea for help, came to him in a rush.
Goddess, I am unworthy of your compassion, but your creation needs your help. Please, I beseech you, send a warrior to free me from this fate or else one to deliver death upon me, for in freedom I can free those you have entrusted to my protection or in death I can force my captor to do the same. I ask this by my birthright as the Treasure of Paragon. By the Mountain, let it be.
He opened his eyes to the same dark world, the same stink and despair. Nothing had changed. Still, somewhere deep inside his heart was a flicker of hope. He reached out and pulled the food toward him and began to eat. There still was no whisky, but thanks to the prayer, he had faith.
Chapter Two
September 15, 2018
London, England
Avery Tanglewood sorted the magazines in the witchcraft section of Relics and Runes, separating those based on Wicca from those on Druidism and Asatru. Even though she’d lived a considerable portion of her life in New Orleans, a city known for its connection with magic and the supernatural, she’d never realized there were so many forms practiced by ordinary humans. Many ordinary people she’d met in this store applied witchcraft with varying degrees of success and talent.
Still, none compared to her sister Raven, who could absorb any spell from the page and execute it perfectly the first time or Clarissa, who could make things happen simply by singing. Even a modicum of magic was impressive to Avery, who had none herself despite being mystically tied to them both.
A long and bizarre sequence of events had brought her here. Raven had married Gabriel in June. Soon after, Avery had learned that Gabriel was actually the exiled heir to the kingdom of Paragon, a realm of a world that existed in a parallel dimension to Earth. Gabriel and Raven had managed to keep his origins secret until an evil fairy sorceress named Aborella had tried to use Avery to get to Raven and the truth could no longer be denied.