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Blood Lines
Topic Started: Feb 21 2009, 11:13 PM (115 Views)
Rinny Feb 21 2009, 11:13 PM Post #1
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Lost in the dark scary part of my mind

 A dusky sunset fell over the city of Faline, bloody wisps of clouds stretching out in desperation, trying to escape the inevitable darkness. All over the sprawling city, lamps and mage lights flickered into existence, warding off the deep shadows that nightfall brought. Night was a dangerous place in this human city; thieves and murderers lurked around every turn, emotionless eyes assessing each passerby with a cold ruthlessness. Of course, Faline had guards that patrolled the streets, but a good half of them were dirty and received percentages for the loot taken. Kahil had witnessed this himself. Muggers had attacked a portly merchant, dragging him into an alley. The man had cried for help, fighting for his life. And Faline’s guards had taken their time getting there, conveniently arriving after the man was dead and the muggers long gone.
The humans here were petty and ignorant. They squabbled over money with fists and words, treated women with utter disdain, and drank until they stumbled from taverns to empty they stomachs on the cobbled road.
In other words, it was the perfect place for a princess to hide.
No one would think to look for a palace raised princess here; not here in the very depths of Aris. But Kahil knew better. Twilight was stronger of will than any he had ever met. Things like this would not bother her. He hoped fervently that he was right; that she was here.
Four years. Four years he had been searching for the woman he loved, princess and heir to both the Draconian and Emerald thrones. Five years ago she had left to hide with the nomad dragons. Five years since the assassination of Queen Ninfa of the Dragons, and Twilight’s mother. But, barely a year after she’d left, reports came that the nomads had been attacked by lycanthropes from the Montaigne De Skótos. There had been no sign of Twilight among the survivors. Both King Keinan and Kahil’s sister, Cynaara, had long ago given her up for dead. But Kahil couldn’t accept that. He could feel that she was alive, deep in his chest. And he wouldn’t stop until he found her.
Ignoring the pleas for money and the shifty glances that came his way, Kahil moved purposely to the lower edges of the city, moving from tavern to tavern, eyes and ears tuned from any mention or glimpse of Twilight. But as dawn approached and the taverns shut down, tossing their regulars onto the streets to wander bleary eyed until a relative or the guard collected them, Kahil had still found no sign.
Weary and worn, Kahil moved to return to his room in the better part of town, black eyebrows furrowed with frustration. He had been so sure. But this was his third night of searching, and there was still nothing. He could feel that frustration building within him, burning into a fine rage. So when the mugger attacked him, Kahil welcomed it, snarling at the man with a dragon’s force. The young man, slim and wiry from the streets, blinked vivid green eyes in surprise and took a step back, uncertainty blooming across his face. Kahil didn’t even give him the chance to run off, grabbing the man’s throat and shoving him into the stone wall of a buter shop so that the man’s feet hung in empty air, scrambling violently for purchase. His green eyes were wide with terror and his slender hands clawed at Kahil weakly, trying to get free.
The man’s eyes stabbed at Kahil, taking his breath from him in one shot, and he dropped the man, stumbling away. They were too similar, too alike Twilight’s. His vision clouded with her image, huge green eyes swimming with unshed tears as she clutched her mother’s cooling body. By the time his sight cleared, the man was gone.
Taking a deep breath to quell the misery that rose within him, Kahil spun on his heel and returned to the inn, taking the stairs two at a time to reach his room and collapse on his bed, trembling as if he had stood on the brink of Hell itself.

Cynaara squinted against the white glare of the sun on pale sand, trying to decide where she would go. She was half a day from Dorchadas Castle, out on another one of her trips. With both Twilight and her brother gone, Cynaara felt out of place among the cold stone walls that had housed her for the past sixteen years. No one questioned her absences, what with her brother gone and her parents long dead. Truthfully, she doubted that anyone even remembered she existed. She was the ghost of the castle, whisking in and out with barely a ripple. That didn’t bother her; she’d always been a solitary creature, except where Twilight and Kahil had been concerned. She’d only been a child when Twilight left, but Cynaara had always adored the princess. Her death had been a blow to all, but Cynaara and Kahil had taken it harder than most. Twilight had been their world. When Kahil left as well, it had broken Cynaara’s heart. She knew the her brother loved Twilight more than her, but the blatant confirmation had wounded her deeply.
Maybe that was the reason she walked the desert. She was so alone, knowing that her brother may never return and Twilight was gone for good. So she explored the desert and took dangerous chances that no sane person would. Part of her sought death. The other part craved a real life, beyond the frivolities that came with a woman of station. They warred within her constantly, and sometimes Cynaara felt that they would rip her apart in their struggle for dominance. But each morning she awoke to the blazing sun and a bed of soft warm sand, and she continued on.
A flock of brightly colored birds took flight a few feet from her, and Cynaara stopped to watch them, full red lips curving slowly into a delighted smile. Every color imaginable filled the sky, followed by the musical call of their voices and the sharp swoosh of wings pushing against heated air.
There were enough to block the sun from sight for a few brief moments and Cynaara watched until they became a dark spot on the horizon and finally disappeared into the haze of heat.
Sighing, Cynaara turned away, choosing to sprint in the general direction of the mountains. The Montaigne De Skótos were days away, but it was one of the few places she hadn’t explored in the past four years of traveling the vast desert. Her legs tired after an hour or so of running through the fine sand and she slowed to a walk, breath barely coming harder than usual.
She stretched languidly as she walked, finely tuned muscles rippling across sun bronzed skin. Dark green eyes blinked slowly as she gave a cursory sweep of the desert to try and ascertain where she was. There were no landmarks to go by and she shrugged, coming to halt and dropping gracefully into a sitting position. A puff of sand marked her descent and she coughed as she inhaled, eyes watering. She finally cleared her lungs of sand and shook her head, grinning ruefully into the distance. She never could manage to be graceful in all that she did. Something always went wrong.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Cynaara yawned. She’d left before dawn, and it was stretching into late afternoon now. A little nap couldn’t hurt. Though she was entirely too vulnerable in her human form. The desert was full of deadly creatures, ranging from the daggertongue, a small, tan serpent whose venom was powerful to kill within minutes, to the monstrous hellcat, a feline the size of a horse with fangs that dropped out of its mouth to hang below its jaw. Those fangs housed a venom even more terrifying that that of the daggertongue. The hellcat prefers warm meat, and its fangs worked in concert with that. Its venom only paralyzed the body, leaving a hellcat with the perfect meal.
Even dragons weren’t immune to the dangers of the desert, and so, with a light shudder, Cynaara stripped to her skin, folding her clothes neatly. Then she changed.
The change itself was unlike anything that could truly be described. It was as if scales flowed like water from her spine and outward in a cascade of pale gold, enveloping her changing body. It all happened in the blink of an eye, too fast to make sense of what had taken place. One moment a slight girl of sixteen sat bare in the sand with fiery red hair falling in a sheet down her back, and the next moment a large platinum dragon took her place, armored scales shimmering in the red sun and obsidian talons curling into the white sand. Hooded green eyes blinked, seeing the world in sharper, more brilliant colors. An invisible membrane slid down over those sensitive eyes to protect from the sun and Cynaara sighed, curling into a ball like a cat with her long tail perched on her nose, blocking the sunlight that shone through closed eyelids. A contented rumbled echoed through her and she slipped seamlessly into sleep, basking in the fading sun’s glow.

Reining in his white charger, Galahad surveyed the elfin city Selene with rich brown eyes and a slight frown marring his strong features.
Minutes passed and neither man nor horse moved, silhouetted in the rising sun’s light. The only sign that they were even real was the frown lines that slowly deepened on the man’s face.
Finally, Galahad’s expression smoothed out and he set his charger to a trot with a gentle tightening of his knees. They entered Selene just as the sun broke free from the horizon, and the sound of the charger’s hooves striking stone pierced the silence of the city as the pair moved purposefully through the streets, heading deeper and deeper in until they hit the slums of Selene.
The elvin inhabitants were already up and working by the time he reached the poor part of town, and iridescent eyes turned upward to watch the passing of a Paladin. They were a rare sight in the elvish city, especially in this section. The Paladins were a band of all races that were touched by the Gods. They carried out the Gods’ will, and were granted entrance to any building in all of Crìnoa.
Galahad slowed as they entered this part of town, eyes searching for the face that came to him in his dreams. The young woman, barely more than a girl, who had lost so much. He zeroed in on a lithe beggar’s form, delicate hands raised upward imploringly. Eyes that he knew were a clear silver were trained on the ground in her begging, and the stiff set of her shoulders showed how much it pained her to do such a thing.
Pulling his charger gently to a stop, Galahad slid from his horse, chain mail chiming softly as it shifted beneath his white shirt. Kneeling before her, he lowered her hands to her lap and raised her chin so that she met his eyes.
Pure rage colored those shining eyes, showing nothing of the supplication that the rest of her body did. Those eyes burned straight into him, but Galahad did not look away; he had nothing to hide from her. It was she who finally glanced away, staring past him to his horse as she spoke through clenched teeth.
“What would you have of me, milord?” She spoke in the lilting tones of a noblewoman, her speech clashing with the ragged and dirty clothes.
“Do you think I come to harm you?” Galahad responded in the same tongue, voice soft and soothing. She glanced back at him quickly, eyes showing her surprise before falling flat once more.
“All I wish is a bit of money for my supper, milord,” she muttered, pulling free of his hand and keeping her gaze on the ground.
Mælia, Goddess of Wisdom, whispered through Galahad’s veins as he gave his reply.
“No, it isn’t.” His voice was both male and female; light and filled with a gentle chiding as well as firm with a murmur of steel drifting through the words. It was both musical and gravelly; gentle and commanding. That voice brought silence to the entire street and had the young woman looking up at Galahad with wonder written on her exotic face.
“You were once a noblewoman of great stature and faith,” Galahad continued in that same voice. “You visited my temple daily and helped with the children. But now, with your family and fortune lost, you turn to begging. Why did you not turn to me, Acirema?” Tear spilled down Acirema’s face as she whispered, voice cracking with sorrow,
“I thought I would be turned away, Lady. What use am I to you now?” Galahad’s gaze softened and he brushed her tears away with his thumb, smiling down upon her.
“Dear child, I would never turn from someone such as you. You are truly a gift, and I would be a fool to reject that gift because of mortal status. You are welcome in my temple Acirema. Your faith and strength lead many to wisdom and happiness, and that is all that matters. I love you, as I love all. Go. Go to my temple. You will be welcome with open arms, just as you always have been. Never think that I would turn from you.”
Tears still falling freely down her face, Acirema scrambled to her feet, lift her skirts so that she could run towards Mælia’s temple. Soon, she was gone from sight.
Galahad felt a small burst of loving amusement come from his patron Goddess before she faded from his mind, leaving him kneeling in the street.
Standing, the Paladin brushed dust from his breeches and spared a bright smile for the people of the street before his charger turned and took off down little used side roads to reach the gates to the city and slip out with a brief nod to the sentries. His work here was done; the Goddess’s will had been carried out.
As he rode from the city and into the surrounding wetlands, Mælia’s voice swept through his senses, filling his vision with the image of a young woman with wavy black hair and startling green eyes. One word whispered to him as the vision faded, leaving him to stare once more at the lush green land before him: Twilight.
He nudged his horse into a gallop, heading for the mountain pass. And beyond that, Aris.

The dark prince stared into the crimson fire, watching as gold flames licked through the center. Every once in a while there was a spark that burned blue as it caught in the air and died, but it was a rarity. He stood there with his back to the room, sipping from his brandy glass as he listened to his mother’s words.
She spoke to a messenger; the third this night. Her efforts to find precious Twilight had been in vain as of yet, and she was growing desperate to find the only heir she found suitable. Meanwhile, she all but ignored her son, the perfect candidate for the throne. But no mater his pedigree; no matter that he’d been trained in diplomacy from birth; he could not assume the throne. His gender forbid it.
He snarled silently at the fire, gold eyes teeming with hatred. His whiney brat of a cousin held the perfect life wherever she went; princess and heir in two countries, spoiled daughter of a loving mother. While he had to all but castrate himself to stay in his mother’s good graces. It seemed to him that the queen cared nothing for her only son.
But his lot in life would be changing shortly. The wheels had already been set in motion. Soon all possible female heirs to the throne would be dead and he would assume the role of the first King of the Fey. Soon he would take what should have been his from birth. Twilight’s mother had been an easy target; she’d been the first to fall. Not by his hand of course. That would complicate things. But he’d given the order, and it had played out beautifully.
Except that Twilight escaped. The stupid brat had slipped into hiding the very next day, before he could order the next assault. Five years he’d been searching for her. Five years she’d eluded him. But he knew what to do to draw her from hiding. The goody two-shoes couldn’t resist this particular trap.
The messenger murmured his farewell and slipped from the room, leaving only the queen and her son. He heard her lift her own brandy glass and smiled, eyes taking on the colors of the fire in his excitement.
Barely a minute passed before there was a loud thump of something heavy hitting the thick cream carpet and the dark prince glanced back at his mother’s motionless form, still smiling. Her pale slender arms were splayed as if she had tried to catch herself and her silver dress was crumpled around her. The queen’s chest moved up and down faintly as she struggled to draw breath and the dark prince nodded in satisfaction. He didn’t want her dead; not yet. She would be the last to die, and that death would come by his own hands. He wanted to see her face as the light faded from her eyes. As she realized that the son she had ignored finally had his revenge.
Chuckling at the thought, Griffon drained his glass and tossed it into the fire, leaving his mother immobile on the floor. As he left the richly furbished quarters, there was the sound of cracking glass. The brandy tumbler shattered in a spray of flying glass, and those shards carried fire through the room.
Black smoke was just beginning to drift from the room by the time Griffon reached the end of the hallway and disappeared. The servants who rushed to save their queen never saw his departure.

Chapter 1

Twilight glanced back as she sprinted across the cobbled street, royal blue skirt raised just past her ankles for freedom of movement. Cat green eyes studied the crowds as she moved, assessing threats in a brief moment before turning her back on them and opening the heavy door to the Dancing Sidhe. Slipping inside, she hung her light cloak on a hook and shook her long hair free, running long slim fingers through it absently as she surveyed the common room of the tavern.
The Dancing Sidhe was a fairly respectable place, suited mainly for guards and the occasional traveling merchant. It was nothing fancy, but the floors were made of good clean wood, and the service was quick. And the singing….
Twilight’s rosebud mouth quirked into a smile as her thoughts traveled to her job. She served drinks like any of the other girls, but when called upon, Twilight joined the minstrel to sing. The pay was good enough to keep her, and the men didn’t get too rowdy. And if they did, Rawlic was there to break it up.
Sparing a brief smile for the burly man, Twilight made her way behind the counter to slip on her apron. The other girls sent her brief glances filled with shock at her dress, but Twilight ignored them, moving to her first table to serve the two guards sitting there.
“Hi Thompson,” she said, soft alto carrying over the music being played on the opposite side of the room. “Beris,” she nodded to them both, headed shifting to the side a little as she waited on them.
“Hey Shaiya,” Thompson returned, grinning toothily. “Pitcher of your good ale and two bowls of stew with bread.” She returned the grin, adding in a flirtatious wink as she turned away and said,
“Coming right up.” She moved to tell the cook about the stew and filled a itcher of ale while she waited on the food.
She’d just set everything on a tray when she felt her boss behind her. She turned to glance at the owner of the tavern, a slim, hawk faced man who went by the name of Jerlin, and gave him innocent eyes.
“Yes Jervin?” she said, voice soft and curious. He scowled.
“We don’t run a whorehouse here Shaiya,” he snapped. “Why d you insist on wearing clothes like that?” She glanced down and her dress with a small smile dancing on her lips. It was a deep blue, complementing her pale skin nicely, with a snug bodice and deep v-cut. The material was soft and the narrow skirts clung to her legs as she moved. One side of the skirt was slit for horse riding, and when she walked, people caught brief glimpses of firm pale flesh.
Twilight had thought the dress beautiful, and had immediately snatched it up when she saw it at a gypsy stall. That her employer wouldn’t like it hadn’t even occurred to her, but then again, it never did. It seemed that she found something to wear at least once a week that insulted him.
“Sorry Jervin,” she murmured, eyes downcast in an attempt at meekness. The tavern owner snorted.
“No you’re not. If you were sorry you’d stop wearing things like that. One of these days Rawlic isn’t going to be able to protect you.” She grinned, patting his cheek with sisterly affection.
“Jervin, you’ve known be for over three years. When have I ever needed anyone’s protection?” He didn’t return the smile, staring at her with serious blue eyes.
“Someday you’ll come up against something even you can’t handle Shaiya.” A chill of foreboding swept down her spine with that sentence and she turned her face to stare at the pitcher of ale.
“I can handle anything that comes my way Jervin,” she muttered, voice gone hoarse. He only shook his head sadly and walked back to his office, leaving Twilight to her thoughts and her work.

Dawn was just gracing the horizon when Twilight finally removed her apron. The tavern had been empty for an hour or so, but the mess left behind had to be cleared before any of the girls could leave. Of course, once Jervin had retired to his room upstairs, some girls slipped off, leaving the dirty work for the rest.
Waving to Lischelle, one of the girls, Twilight slipped her cloak over her shoulders and began the half mile walk to her apartment.
The crown city Aithne was just waking for the day and the air was filled with the sound of people chattering and the smell of baking bread from Baker’s Row. Twilight inhaled that scent as she walked, closing her eyes for a brief moment to savor it.
She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped until she felt a light tug on her skirt and turned to see a boy of maybe twelve looking up at her with soulful brown eyes.
“Miss, do you have a penny to spare?” She glanced past him to see three or four other children, watching her raptly, and knew the trap they were setting. The boy would discover the location of her purse strings and then they’d lift it as she walked. Smiling, she tilted her head to the side.
“I’m not a mark for you to mess with boy,” she said lightly. She watched his eyes as she said it, and the brief spark of surprise before he smothered it was answer enough. Still smiling, she produced a silver coin seemingly out of thin air and tossed it at him.
“Go get some food,” she suggested. “I promise I won’t say anything about your little band.” The boy caught the coin eagerly, clenching it in one fist.
“Thanks lady,” he said before scrambling back to his friends. Twilight shook her head and continued home, thoughts turned inward.
It had been five years since her mother’s assassination, and Twilight desperate flight to safety. Four years since the lycanthrope attack on the nomad tribe. That had been a close call. Twilight had almost lost her life that night. Only luck and a fast acting friend had kept her from the old embrace of death.
She still shuddered to think of that night. The screams of the dragon half-breeds still haunted her dreams. Like her, none of the nomads had been a full blooded dragon. And, like her, none of them had the ability to shift. They’d been cattle for the slaughter at the hands of the lycanthropes. Even their magic had failed them in the end.
Twilight had never known whether any of them had lived, but the sights of that night suggested that they hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to run, but her duty to stay alive came before her duty to her friends. Even though she had hated herself for it, she’d fled.
Climbing the outside stairs to her apartment above a seamstress’s shop, she opened her thin door and latched it securely behind her, leaning down to remove her heeled leather boots. She could hear the activity starting up below her and sighed, tossing her cloak on a worn wooden chair and shuffling to her small bedroom on sore feet. The customers had asked for dancing last night, and she’d have been a fool to decline. So she’d danced and sang half the night, all the while laughing inside. The Dancing Sidhe. While she wasn’t full blooded sidhe, it showed through in her appearance clear as day. The luminescent green of her eyes and the shine of her pale skin couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than sidhe. She had a hunch that that was the reason she’d been hired three and a half years ago. She looked the part of a sidhe, and Jervin couldn’t pass that up.
Laughing tiredly, Twilight shed her clothes and crawled into her cold bed, shivering as the icy sheets touched her skin. But it warmed quickly, and Twilight fell into sleep, exhaustion overcoming her.

It was late afternoon when Twilight awoke to a pounding on her door. Startled, she sat straight up in bed, blinking rapidly to clear the last of sleep from her eyes. Grabbing her burgundy cotton robe from the small stand next to her bed, Twilight stood and wrapped it around her, securing it tightly in place before leaving her room and traveling down the hall to the door. The pounding continued and by the time Twilight unlocked the door and pulled it open, she wore a frown of vexation, green eyes smoldering as the last remnants of sleep fled her.
The owner of the seamstress shop, Rene Hahn, dashed into the room without invitation, hazel eyes wide with a mix of fear and astonishment. Rene pulled the door from Twilight’s hands and closed it, leaning up against it as if to stop any from entering. Twilight opened her mouth to ask what the matter was, but the seamstress cut her off.
“Oh Princess, it’s horrible!” Rene cried, calling her by her title rather than the name Shaiya, which Twilight had assumed in this place. Twilight’s frown deepened. Rene was one of her mother’s former eyes and ears in Aithne. Twilight’s mother, Ninfa, had trusted the excitable woman explicitly, and so Twilight had done the same, going straight to her after the attack on the nomad tribe. Rene had sheltered her these past three and a half years, but Twilight knew that when the seamstress said ‘horrible’ it could very well mean the disappointment of a ruined bolt of cloth.
“What’s horrible?” Twilight asked, leading the fidgeting woman to a chair and moving to the tiny kitchen to set water boiling for tea. Rene sat in the sagging armchair with her back straight, hands twisting in her lap. She refused to look at Twilight.
“Oh Lady,” she whispered. “Queen Dysis of the Fey has been poisoned. She has fallen into a sleep none can wake her from and they say that her skin grows colder with death every passing day.” Twilight froze, staring at the older woman. Her aunt, poisoned?
“Who would dare such a thing?” Twilight wondered, half to herself. The teapot let out a shrill whistle to announce that it was done and Twilight cut the flame, pouring the steaming water into cups that she’d already doctored with tea leaves. Lifting both cups, she walked to Rene, handing the woman a cup and sitting in the wooden chair where her cloak had been tossed that morning.
“Princess Twilight,” Rene said miserably, staring into her tea cup without drinking. “Prince Griffon is accusing you.”
Twilight’s cup fell from numb fingers and hot tea sprayed across the floor, burning her bare feet. The china shattered, but Twilight didn’t even notice, eyes glazing over in her shock. Her cousin was accusing her of trying to kill the queen?
Her chest felt tight and when she tried to take a breath, it came gasping, burning her throat as she inhaled. She could feel her body trembling, could feel the bile rising in her throat as she tried to decipher this news. Griffon had to know that she wouldn’t kill Dysis.
She almost missed Rene’s next words, they were so soft. But heard them she did, and they cut her to the bone.
“Worse, my lady, Prince Griffon charges you with the death of Queen Ninfa.” Pure rage sparked in Twilight’s chest and she stood so swiftly that Rene was left blinking, trying to make sense of the motion. Twilight’s face had turned dark with fury and her lips were pressed so tightly together that they all but disappeared.
“He wouldn’t dare,” she spat, the news of her aunt fading to the background. “Griffon knows I would never harm my mother. He knows that!” Violent energy crackled around her as she stalked the length of the room, barely registering the china cutting into her feet as she moved.
“Princess—" Twilight shook her head, waving a hand to cut Rene off.
“Thank you Rene. You may leave.” Rene stood at once, bowing as she left the apartment. When her footsteps could no longer be heard on the rickety stairs, Twilight collapsed into the armchair, raising a shaking hand to brush back to tangled hair.
Griffon’s accusation could very well lead to war between the fey country Tyr and Siria, country of the dragons. Accusing the dragon’s heir of the murder of her own mother and the attempted assassination of a queen….
Twilight took a deep breath to steady her nerves and stood once more. She had to return home and ask her father’s advice. They would deal with this new development together. She felt that it would be worse for both countries if she stayed in hiding. The last war between the two countries had been devastating, though Twilight didn’t remember it. The War of the Immortals had happened decades before her birth.
Standing on shaky legs, she felt a stab of pain go through both her legs and stared at her bloody feet in consternation. She could feel the china grinding deeper into the soft flesh of her feet with each moment she remained on her feet, and sighing, Twilight limped to the kitchen to remove the shards and wash the blood from the stinging feet. They would heal quickly enough on their own.
After that was done, Twilight strode into her bedroom, pulling on long disused breeches and a soft beige shirt. She winced as she pulled on her boots, but managed to ignore the pain for the most part as she bustled around her room gathering all of her belongings together on her bed so she could decide what was essential and what stayed behind.
Critical eyes assessed the objects and quick fingers plucked things from the pile to go neatly into her pack. Her blue dress went in, along with some dresses Rene had made for her, and the money she’d stored away over the years went into three fat purses, two of which were tucked safely into her pack. The third was tied to her waist. Numerous daggers appeared all throughout the room and were either placed in the pack, or hidden on her body. Her scimitar, long hidden in the miniscule closet, was strapped to her right hip, and a curved knife that could have passed for a short sword was fastened to her left thigh.
Glancing around at all the treasures she was leaving behind, Twilight left the room with a small sigh and moved into the kitchen, placing inside her pack bread and hard cheese. She’d pick up dried meat before she left.
The small apartment, which had been her home for over three years, seemed cold and distant now. There was a sadness embedded in the walls that said they knew she was leaving, and in that instant, it stopped being her home. Biting her lip to hold back foolish tears, Twilight fastened on her cloak and pulled her pack onto her shoulders, leaving the apartment for the last time with regret and sorrow chasing her out the door.
She made her way quickly to the Dancing Sidhe, banging on the thick back door until an irritated Jerlin pulled it open, staring t her with confusion.
“Shaiya?” he asked, brow furrowing. “You don’t start work for another two hours. What are you doing here?” Twilight shook her head.
“I’m sorry Jerlin. I’m leaving. Now. I wish I wasn’t, but I need to return home with all haste. Things…have taken a turn for the worse.” The tavern master’s eyes widened as he tried to decipher her words.
“You can’t mean Tyr…?” he asked slowly, trying to glean something form her expression. She groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.
“I’m sorry Jerlin. I really can’t say anything more. Not without endangering you all. Goddess knows what would happen if he were to find menow, with this hanging over my head.” She was speaking mostly to herself, and was startled when Jerlin spoke.
“You’re her, aren’t you? The lost princess. The one who’s been accused of murder.” She stared at him, mouth open to speak, but no words slipped past her lips. After a long minute of silence she managed,
“You can’t say anything Jerlin. If ever you were my friend, you’ll say nothing to anyone. My life could very well depend on it.” The man nodded solemnly, and she surprised them both by stepping forward and hugging him tightly. He returned the embrace and kissed her forehead affectionately, murmuring,
“Be safe, princess.” This time her tears got past her guard and she stepped away, turning to disappear into the shadows before he could see the hot, salty liquid that stained her cheeks.

Rain was just beginning the patter softly over the rooftops as Twilight left the city, causing her to pull the cowl of her cloak over her head as shelter. She was heading for a ring of stones so old none knew their name. There, she would create a Gate to take her home.
The stones towered high above her head as she approached them, and a sense of dizziness swept over her as she stared up at them with open admiration, forgetting her troubles for a moment in the presence of their stark beauty.
Blinking, she moved to the center of this perfect ring and set her mind to the complex gestures she would need to open the Gate.
She felt her magic spin out from her hands in delicate tendrils. The magic itself seemed cautious, unsure how to react after being ignored for almost four years, but it still flowed out from her, weaving itself into the pattern needed for a Gate.
Rain hit the threads as if they were solid and the droplets were absorbed, strengthening Twilight with the raw energy that filled the water. The Gate was just beginning to form when she felt a surge of magic that disrupted her own and she turned wide eyes behind her, watching as she half-formed Gate blinked out of existence and another formed at her back.
Griffon stepped from this Gate, smiling triumphantly. He carried a long-sword in his hand.
“I was starting to think my trap had failed, Twilight,” he said, amusement rich in his melodious voice. He was truly beautiful, standing there surrounded by his magic, pale gold hair almost floating with the force of his magic. Eyes a few shades darker than his hair danced with pleasure as the Gate cut out, leaving them standing in the dark, rain fall heavily around them. “A month it has been since Dysis fell ill, and still no touch of your magic in the Weave. I’ve been attuned to the Great Weave ever since that day, waiting for you to make your move. And it seems I did not wait in vain, though it took longer than I expected. Of course,” he glanced around, taking in Aithne in the distance.
“The news had quite a ways to travel to reach you, didn’t it?” His smile widened as his eyes returned to hers.
“But now we’re here, and you can finally die.”
Twilight took a step back, hand going to her scimitar. “Why are you doing this Griffon? Why accuse me of killing my mother and poisoning Dysis?” He laughed, and it was so beautiful it hurt.
“To lure you out of hiding, of course. How can I take the Emerald throne if you live?” Her face registered shock as it fell into place and she drew her blade, eyes going cold with determination.
“You killed my mother, didn’t you?” He laughed again.
“Not myself, but I did give the order. You should have died as well, but you managed to slip away. You’ve been quite the nuisance these past years, Twi.” She grimaced as her nickname came from his mouth and brandished her weapon.
“I’m not an easy mark Griffon.” His smile turned into something dark and his eyes took on a maniacal gleam.
“I never said you were,” he said, so softly she barely caught it. Then he was darting forward, almost too quickly for her to see, his sword whistling down towards her head. She managed to get she scimitar up to block, but the force of the blow knocked her back a step and she stumbled as her arm went numb. She kept her scimitar, barely, and danced away as Griffon swept forward again.
She was on the defensive, backing away and trying to keep his sharp blade from her skin. So focused was she on defending from the blade, she didn’t even notice until the last second the fire he shot at her.
She rolled out of the way, crying out as the flame singed her arm and pain shot through her body. Regaining her feet, she rushed him, slipping under his guard to stab at his chest. He blocked it with a dagger, brushing her blade away as if it were an annoying fly and landed a kick to her midsection, knocking her on her back. She struggled to both breathe and scramble out of the way, but her body refused to cooperate and Griffon’s blade was already swinging forward as she tried to roll.
Blinding pain seared her side and she screamed, feeling warm blood moisten her shirt, plastering it to her body. Unable to see through the red haze of pain, she lashed out with both weapon and magic, trying desperately to get away. She heard his cry of astonishment as a bolt of blue lightning slipped from her fingertips and she quickly signaled a Gate, working as fast as she could. She knew she didn’t have any time to spare, and didn’t think of her destination, just frantically pulled the magic into existence. She tumbled through the Gate, letting in collapse behind her as she hit a dirt road.
She screamed again as her side split open even further, and her senses failed her, dropping her into unconsciousness. But not before she heard the familiar voice, thick with astonishment,
“Twi?”

“Twi?”
Kahil leaped from his gelding, rushing over to kneel beside Twilight. Her eyes were closed and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Blood was already pooling around her, a crimson puddle that chilled him to the bone.
“Oh Goddess,” he whispered. “Don’t let her die. I’ve just found her again.” Quickly, he pulled off the ragged remains of her shirt, using in to staunch to blood. The wound on her side was deep and jagged. It was an ugly red, and it burned to the touch. Trying to keep a level head, Kahil grabbed his pack from the gelding and emptied it on the road, trying frantically to find a salve for the tear. Anything to stop the blood flow. He finally found what he sought and smeared it over her side, pulling off his own shirt to serve as the bandage. Hers was saturated with blood.
He felt tears of desperation race down his cheeks to drip onto her pale body as her breathing became shallower and her heartbeat fluttered uncertainly against his palm. He sent another plea to the Gods and called on his limited knowledge of healing, trying to lend her his energy to help her heal. To his relief, her breathing came a little easier and the edges of the gaping wound began to repair itself. He poured more of his energy into her, and watched flesh knit together. The wound was still serious, but by the time he fell back, exhausted, he felt fairly certain she would live.
Wiping at the last of his drying tears, he redressed the wound with yet another shirt, this one from his pack. Then he laid the thick cloak over her to keep her warm and set about preparing a fire.
His muscles trembled with fatigue as he gathered firewood, and he dumped it into a pile, putting a hand on his horse for balance. He’d given too much to her. He was too tired, too drained. He felt his eyes droop and his legs give out from under him. Sliding to the ground, his last thought before he passed out was, Goddess, don’t let her die.

Griffon snarled, stalking the stone circle as he searched for her in the Weave. The Weave was a net of magic set down by the Goddess at the beginning of time, linking all magic users in one subconscious. If you knew how to tap into it, the Weave could give you a wealth of information about a magic wielder, down to the signature each person’s magic left behind.
The connection, however, had been too brief. He had no idea how she’d spun a Gate spell so quickly; especially in her condition. It had span perhaps ten seconds, and then she was gone.
Cursing, he slammed his fist against one of the stones, reveling in the stinging pain that accompanied the action. It cleared his head; let him think of his next move.
Smiling, Griffon pushed soaking hair from his eyes and weaved a Gate spell, stepping through into the Emerald Palace. He knew just how to rid himself of his problem.

Twilight was floating in a haze of black and red. There was no direction; no ground or sky, left or right. She lay suspended in nothingness. No, that wasn’t right either. She was part of the nothingness. She held no form, no emotion. No pain. Everything was quiet and still. Vaguely, she heard what sounded like Kahil’s voice, but that was impossible. How could he be here, in the black? How could he speak when there were no words?
She knew, somewhere deep inside, that she was home. No, not in Siria. Her true home. The home of all souls. Some called it Heaven, others Summerland. It was all the same. She had no fear here. All was warm and comforting. She was safe.
And then there was pain. Everywhere and nowhere, scorching through her as if she’d swallowed the sun. She tried to scream, but she had no voice. It seemed to last an eternity. An eternity of pain.
Hell, then. She was damned for some unknown reason. Damned to suffer till the end of days.
Green erupted through the darkness, and with it came a soothing cold. It brushed the pain away with gentle sweeps, curling around her in a soft embrace. She could feel tears trekking down her face, though she still had no form. But she could feel the tears; taste the salt as they touched her lips.
Twilight’s eyes opened and she stared around, taking in the clear night sky and the weeping willow that sheltered her. A heavy cloak was tucked around her, and she was sweating, her hair sticking to the nape of her neck.
She tried to sit up and was met with a stabbing pain that caused her to moan as her breath was stolen. Immediately there was a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down.
“Be still Twilight. You have a healing hole in your side.” It was Kahil’s voice, and Twilight tilting her head back to see his worried eyes and the soft frown of his mouth. Her gentle Kahil.
“How?” she scraped out, her voice raw and sore.
“I’m not sure. You Gated, landing right at my feet. I didn’t know you could Gate to specific person.” She cleared her throat and whispered,
“You can’t.” He shrugged, moving out of sight and returning with a damp cloth. He brushed that blessedly cool cloth across her forehead and said softly,
“You were almost dead Twi. I’ve been feeding you energy for the past three days, but it was still a close call.” Twilight gasped, eyes widening in alarm.
“Three days?” Kahil nodded.
“But…Griffon. He didn’t follow me?” He frowned, stilling his hand.
“Your cousin? He did this to you?” She nodded faintly, eyes falling closed again. She was so tired.
“Rest Twi,” Kahil whispered. “When you wake next, we’ll be home.” Comforted by that, though it didn’t make much sense, Twilight fell back into welcome oblivion, thoughts scattering once more.
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Rinny Feb 21 2009, 11:13 PM Post #2
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Lost in the dark scary part of my mind

 Chapter 2

Galahad cursed, a rarity for him. He could feel Mælia’s laughter echo through him as he pulled his weary charger to a halt. This woman, Twilight, had changed directions again. His internal compass, which led him to those he was meant to help, had wildly changed directions four days ago. Now, it had changed again. This time, the invisible line led into the Sirian Desert.
Why don’t you just head her off? asked the jovial voice of the Goddess. If he didn’t know better, he would name Her Goddess of mischief, not wisdom.
“And how do you expect me to do that?” he growled, scrubbing a hand of his dirt stained face. He’d felt the desperation that had hit her four days prior, and had been riding nonstop since then. His horse, Seeker, was exhausted, and Galahad wasn’t far behind. “I have no idea where she’s going.”
But I do, the voice murmured. Galahad almost groaned.
“Why didn’t you tell me? It would have saved a lot of trouble.” He could almost feel the Goddess shrug.
If I’d told you from the start, you would have arrived too early. You would have been no help to her. You need to form a bond with this young woman. She is essential to us all.
“As in, the Gods?” he queried, arching sandy eyebrows. The Goddess agreed mutely and Galahad sighed.
“I’m going to be stuck in whatever’s going to happen, aren’t I?”
Isn’t that the way it should be? She asked, curiosity tingeing her mind-voice. A Paladin at the front lines? It has been this way for centuries. It was deemed that you were best suited for this mission. You…will be of great importance. Fate has seen it.
“Oh She has, huh?” he muttered, climbing from his horse and beginning to collect firewood. He would rest here for a few hours before going of to wherever the Goddess sent him. That was the way it had been since he was twelve, though he’d only thought himself crazy them. Before the Paladin came to his small farm and changed his life forever.
Have you visited them recently? He shook his head, arranging dried wood into a neat teepee and pulling out steel and flint to spark fire on the small pile of tinder nestled at the center.
“There hasn’t been time, my Lady. You’ve had me chasing people all over Crìnoa. I’ve barely had the time to keep myself fed.” Concern flooded through him and he laughed tiredly.
“Barely, Mælia. I’m fine.” The Goddess eased back and Galahad sat on his heels as the tinder sparked, setting the dried grass and twigs alight. Slowly, the fire crept up until it blazed and popped merrily in the cooling air.
Glancing up at the sky, which was fading into a deep violet with the oncoming night, Galahad stretched, pulling off his armor to lay in a neat pile next to his charger. Seeker had already curled up and was fast asleep, the horse’s barrel chest falling and rising in a hypnotic pattern.
Spreading out his bedroll, Galahad stretched out below the appearing stars, watching them as the crackling fire warmed his body.
Goodnight dearest, the Goddess murmured, slipping off to do whatever divine beings did. But Galahad did not sleep. He just stared up at the twinkling balls of light decorating the sky and dreamed.

When Twilight awoke for the second time, she was in a soft bed with a crimson downy comforter covering her. She was staring up at a ceiling of pale blue, and she could hear soft snores coming from somewhere in the room.
She started to shift and realized that there was no pain. Pulling her hand beneath the blanket, she felt at her side, discovering only smooth skin. Sitting up, she glanced around to see Kahil slumped in a cushy armchair, eyes closed. He was the source of the snores.
Throwing back the comforter, her laid bare feet on the richly carpeted floor. This was her room. At Dorchadas Castle. She was home.
She stood, and had to lutch at her bedpost as a wave of dizziness blackened her vision. Her eyesight slowly returned in the form of dots, and she slowly returned to a sitting position, breathing heavily.
By the time her vision cleared, Kahil was awake and watching her with cautious eyes.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Twilight,” he said, standing. “You’ve only recently been healed, and your strength is just now returning.” She smiled crookedly.
“Since when have I ever listened to a healer, Kahil?” she asked. Her voice was dry, and it cracked as she spoke, surprising her. Just how long had she been unconscious?
She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Kahil answered her.
“Almost two weeks, Twilight. I thought you’d never wake up. The healer said that Griffon damaged some of your organs. My healing didn’t repair them, and the wounds were beginning to fester by the time I got you here. I saved your life, but then you almost died of infection,” he added, almost bitterly. His violet eyes were dull and guarded. They were not the eyes of the Kahil she’d left behind five years ago. His black hair had grown in length, falling almost to his shoulders, and his face was pale an pinched, like he hadn’t been getting proper nutrition.
“You’ve changed,” Kahil said softly, echoing Twilight’s thoughts. She blinked.
“Have I?” she wondered, #@!*ing her head. He nodded.
“You’re eyes are far more serious than they used to be. Like you’ve seen things no one should ever have to see. You’ve grown up Twilight.” She glanced from him, turned to stare at her hands, which lay limp in her lap.
“I have,” she half-whispered. “If I could go back and change some of the things that have happened, I would. But I can’t, and I’ve had to live with that reality for five years.”
“I know.” Her shoulders sagged at the raw compassion in his voice, and she let him gather her into a hug, brushing tangled hair away from a now tear stained face. They just held each other for a few moments, his hands gently brushing her hair. Finally, her ears slowed, then stopped, and she pulled away, taking a deep breath.
“I need to see my father. The news….” Kahil nodded solemnly, helping her to her feet and allowing her to lean on his shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
They walked through the halls at a snail’s pace, frustrating Twilight to no end. She wanted to see her father, but her body held her back, protesting as she forced herself to take another step. By the time they reached the King’s private chambers, Twilight was drenched with sweat and panting, putting almost all her weight on Kahil. The older dragon carried that weight easily, supporting her as he knocked on the gilded door and waited as a servant opened it. The young man took one look at the fatigued princess and immediately ushered them in, pulling a seat up for Twilight. She sank into it gratefully as the servant went to fetch her father.
Kahil stayed standing, positioning himself behind Twilight’s chair on the right side. When King Raylin entered, he raised gold eyebrows at the subtle placement, but otherwise ignored it, reaching down to hug his daughter warmly.
“Twilight,” he murmured into her hair. “I feared you dead.” She returned the hug tightly, clinging to him as though she were still a small child.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t send word.” He pulled away gently, taking a seat a few feet away.
“I know, dearest. But after the attack on the nomads….” He trailed off and Twilight nodded sadly.
“They were butchered Papa. I couldn’t save them.” She felt tear threatening to well up again, but pushed them down forcefully. She was acting like a child. Raylin sighed.
“There was nothing you could do. They knew the dangers, camping so close to the mountains. I’m only glad you are safe.”
“Papa, the rumors. Griffon accuses me of regicide.” Her father nodded, closing his eyes.
“I know. We’ve received word from the Emerald Palace. If we do not surrender you within the month, it’s war.” She gasped, sitting forward and clutching the arms of the chair.
“They jest,” she exclaimed, throat tightening. He shook his head.
“My spies report that they are already massing an army. Numbers reach higher than the last war.” Fear seized her with icy hands, and she shuddered, falling back into her seat. Kahil’s hand came down to rest gently on her shoulder.
“This is Griffon’s doing,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. “He tried to kill me. He also admitted to plotting Mother’s assassination. Griffon wishes the Emerald throne for himself.”
Kahil’s hand tightened on her shoulder and she patted it gently, trying to think.
“I leave in two days Papa,” she said finally, looking up at him. “I can’t leave my mother’s people in Griffon’s hands, but neither can I defeat him. I shall go in search of my mother’s sister, Astraea. I’ve heard rumor that she dwells in the Forgotten Forest.” Concern colored Raylin’s face and he leaned forward.
“Daughter, you are not well enough to travel. You must wait.” Twilight shook her head fiercely.
“I cannot. We don’t have the time for me to rest. I must put an end to this, before war falls on Crìnoa once more.” Her father nodded reluctantly, slumping back into his chair. Squeezing Kahil’s hand, Twilight said,
“I would take Kahil with me Papa. He is a strong warrior, and will be of great help. I’m more mage than fighter. Much to your disappointment,” she added with a smile as Raylin grimaced. “Griffon almost killed me with a sword. I won’t give him that chance again.” That last was said with such heat that Raylin’s eyes, the same color as his daughter’s, widened with surprise.
“You have gained much strength in the past years Twi,” he said softly. “Pray that you don’t become too hard.” She nodded, smiling once more.
“I have Kahil to keep me gentle.” The King nodded.
“Good. I expect you to at least rest for the rest of the day Twilight. You’ll need all the strength you can get. The quickest way to the Forgotten Forest is through the Montaigne De Skótos and past the Lake of Song. It’s a long, dangerous journey.”
“I’ll be fine Papa,” she assured him, rising unsteadily. She walked the few steps to kiss his cheek before she turned away. “I shall see you again before I depart?”
“Count on it,” he father said with a smile. Encouraged, Twilight left the room on Kahil’s arm, already planning their journey.
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Rinny Apr 30 2009, 11:06 PM Post #3
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Lost in the dark scary part of my mind

 “She is still young,” Lillith said from the shadows, watching the young princess depart. Raylin nodded, covering his eyes with one hand.
“Yes. One can only hope she isn’t too young though. I have no wish to lose her twice.” The King’s sister moved into the light, white eyebrows arched.
“Or too jaded. You have had the dreams, brother. You know what she must do.” Raylin sighed, standing and moving to pause before the cold fireplace.
“I do. I wish to Lady Bright that it was not true, though it is important to all. I want my daughter to live a long, happy life. Not one of so much pain and suffering.” Lillith shrugged.
“That is the way things are. Our mother wished over and over that I would turn out other than I did. Birthing a Blood dragon must have been painful to the vain pea#@!*.” Her mouth was twisted in distaste, coal black eyes glittering. Raylin’s sister was the only Blood dragon currently in existence. Blood dragons were extremely volatile, and profoundly dangerous. They fed off of blood, as their name implied, and through that they could gain memories from their victims. Blood dragons had an innate talent for magic as well, usually in all elements. And their eyes….
In all the history of Bloods, the eyes were the one thing that remained the same. No matter their breeding, Bloods had distinct black eyes. Those eyes could weave a Mesmer on those who stared into them, making their prey that much easier to catch. Blood dragons could be nothing but dangerous, and Raylin was secretly gla that Lillith was the only one, though he knew his sister was lonely. Dragons of all breeds were reluctant to associate with her, even at a young age. As such, Lillith had grown into a bitter and dry woman, caring only for her brother and niece. The only exception had been Ninfa, Raylin’s wife. The two women had formed an intimate bond over the years, becoming sisters in more than marriage. Raylin had been glad for that. His sister was not a bad person; she was only separated by a detail that she could not change. He hesitated to call it a birth defect, but they had their uses, as did all dragons. But for her, it was almost a curse.
“I would accompany her,” Lillith said, breaking her brother’s reverie. “She’ll need someone strong enough to do what needs to be done. The boy is strong of hand and will, but even he may fail in the end. This journey shall not be a pretty one.”
The king nodded, turning green eyes on her. “Protect her to the best of your abilities Lillith.” She didn’t even deem that with a response, casting him a haughty glance before melding back into the shadows.
“Take care, little brother,” she whispered before slipping out an unseen door. Raylin smiled sadly, turning weary eyes on the empty room.
“Goodbye Lillith,” he muttered before taking his leave. They would not be fated to meet again.

Cynaara walked through the gates leading to the town that surrounded Dorchadas castle, legs an mind weary from her trip to the mountains. They had been filled with danger, from what she thought might be the cousin of the hellcat, to the stray lycanthrope. The first she’d killed. The second she’d fled. She had no desire to meddle with fey magic, especially not that kind. Lycanthropes were unstable and animalistic, their minds torn from their split forms. It made sure that they could never quite be man or beast. And that isolation sent most of them into madness.
Shuddering, she walked through the city, smiling at people as she past. The whole place was buzzing with excitement and fear, though Cynaara had no clue why. The townsfolk were always going on about something though, so Cynaara let it slip from her mind, focusing on the path home and a nice hot bath.
It wasn’t until she reached the castle that she realized something was up. The guards had been doubled, and, to her shock, she was stopped at the drawbridge by a young guard with wide innocent eyes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but no one is allowed within the castle without permission. We’ve got to be watchful now, what with Princess Twilight bein’ back an’ all.” Cynaara gasped.
“Twilight?” she asked breathlessly, eyes wide with disbelief. “You jest! She-she’s dead! I….” She felt her vision narrow to a single point of light and stumbled as a loud roaring consumed her hearing. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.
She felt someone catch her elbow, steadying her, and blinked up at General Malor as her sight slowly returned to her.
“Fool. This is Lady Cynaara Everlind,” Malor snapped. “She lives here at the castle. Not to mention she is the childhood friend of Princess Twilight.” The guard paled visibly, stuttering over an apology as he moved from her path.
“Sorry Cynaara,” Malor said, leading her through the large double doors of the castle. “These men are green. With Twi’s return, I’ve had to call on more men than usual. Her safety is of the utmost importance. Especially with the charges Prince Griffon has placed on her.”
“Griffon?” Cynaara asked, confusion bubbling to the surface. What did Twilight’s cousin have to do with anything? Malor sent her a surprised glance, silver eyes shining.
“He’s accused the princess of Queen Ninfa’s death and Queen Dysis’s attempted assassination.” Cynaara reeled, freezing to stare at her old instructor.
“Someone tried to kill Dysis?”
“Where have you been the past two weeks?” Malor asked with shock, turning to stare at her.
“In the desert. I…traveled to the Montaigne De Skótos.” Malor shook his head with a heavy sigh.
“Perhaps I’d better let your brother explain everything,” he suggested. Cynaara nodded and they moved through the castle, finally coming to a halt before Twilight’s old room. Or rather, her room. The princess had returned; it was hers again.
Malor knocked on the door, opening it at Kahil’s muffled response. The general motioned Cynaara in, closing the door behind her without entering himself. Which left her staring at Twilight’s pale face with wide eyed wonder.
Green eyes a few shades lighter than Cynaara’s own watched the younger dragon with a soft expression, and a smile fluttered across her lips, giving the drawn face some color and life.
“Cynaara,” Twilight said, motioning her into the room. Cynaara glanced around to see her brother sitting in a chair to one corner, watching Twilight with worried eyes. Walking to the edge on the bed, Cynaara studied her princess with eyes that missed nothing before she finally let a smile grace her own face.
“I thought you were dead.” Twilight laughed, but it turned into a grimace and she gingerly touched her side.
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” she admitted. “At the moment, I feel it. My side is healed, but it still twinges. It’s quite the sensation.”
“What happened?” Cynaara asked.
“Griffon attacked me just outside of Aithne. I barely managed to escape with my life. As it was, I still almost died. Once from the wound in my side and twice from the infection the wound caused. I’ve had a hard two weeks.” Cynaara winced in sympathy, taking the other woman’s hand.
“I’m still not sure I understand. Griffon accused you of regicide? And then he tried to kill you?” Kahil stood, taking the few steps across the room to rest a hand on his sister’s shoulder.
“Let her rest, Cy. I’ll explain everything later. Twilight and I leave tomorrow, so I’ll try to get you up to speed before we do.” She jerked away from her brother, glaring at him.
“Don’t treat me as a child Kahil. I’m a grown woman now.” She looked back at Twilight, anger diminishing. “You’re leaving again? Why?”
“I have to stop Griffon. He’s trying to take over the Emerald throne.” Understanding lit the younger dragon’s face and Cynaara nodded.
“I see. Where do you go?”
“To the Forgotten Forest in search of my aunt Astraea. I pray that she can help defeat him.”
“I want to go with you,” Cynaara said, squeezing Twilight’s hand.
“No,” Kahil said swiftly, and a little too loudly. Cynaara sent another glare his way.
“It’s not your choice to make. I have knowledge of the desert that may be of help in your travels. And I’ve recently been to the mountains. I found a disused trail that I think leads straight though. It would cut days from your journey.”
Twilight stared at her for a long time, eyes dark with consideration. Cynaara knew the princess still thought of her as a child, but she was determined to change that. Now that she had them both back, she wasn’t going to lose them again. Speaking swiftly, she nailed in the deciding factor.
“I’m a healer, Twilight. Every group needs a healer, and you won’t find one better than me in all Dorchadas. At least, not one who is capable of journeying.” Kahil let out a hiss of frustration as Twilight smiled and gave a barely discernable nod.
“You are welcome to travel with us, little sister. But we won’t slow our pace to accommodate you. You must hold your own.” Cynaara’s eyes glittered in the dark as she replied,
“Have no fear of that, my Lady.”

Twilight woke the next morning alone, sunlight filtering in past flimsy maroon curtains. Blinking, she cast a sleepy look around her empty chamber, taking in the neatly folded clothes that lay piled on one chair, and the stack of her weapons that graced another.
Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head, wincing as her back popped, sending miniscule jolts down her spine. The healer had given her a draught the night before, and now her side barely bothered her at all, much to her relief. It would be a long and dangerous journey if she was weakened.
Twilight flipped the covers from her body, taking care to stand slowly. She had no wish to repeat her previous attempt. Especially since there was no one here to catch her if she fell.
After the brief wave of dizziness passed, Twilight set about pulling on clothes and weapons, leaving the traveling cloak on the chair for the moment. It would be warm in the desert; she doubted she’d have need of it before they reached the mountains.
A quick inspection of the room failed to reveal her packs, so she snagged her cloak and left, closing the door firmly behind her and heading down to the kitchens for a hasty breakfast. There was still no sign of Kahil or Cynaara, but Twilight wasn’t particularly worried. They’d show up when they were ready.
The enormous kitchen was bustling with activity, and as soon as the head chef, Mindy, saw Twilight, the activity intensified, the larger woman barking orders until everyone cowered and scurried about their work as quickly as possible, trying to avoid the commanding dragon’s stare.
Mindy turned to her princess with a large smile spreading across her plump face. “My lady,” the cook said graciously, inviting Twilight to take a stool set by a floury counter.
“I’ll have a bowl of my berries and cream brought for you with some sweet rolls. Would you care for some coffee? Beans all the way from Varena Bay in Aris arrived yesterday.” Twilight smiled, accepting the seat and placing her elbows on the counter as she watched Mindy move around with a sense of purpose.
“That would be nice. And some of your wonderful pineapple juice would be welcome as well.” The cook nodded her approval, snapping out the order to a young maid who squeaked when she was addressed, dropping the pan of baked grapes that she’d been holding. Twilight chuckled as the girl ran off, darting around the people crowding the noisy kitchen.
“Haven’t lost your knack for scaring the little ones, I see,” she commented with a shake of her head and a rueful grin. Mindy snorted.
“It kept you in your place mighty well, my lady. There was no horse playing in my kitchen.” Twilight laughed again.
“And yet, despite all the scolding, the next week you had a litter of puppies for us to chase through the kitchen. Kahil and I ruined an entire week’s worth of stew that day. Both us and the four puppies were drenched in it.” Mindy smiled.
“It was worth the extra work. The two of you were always getting into some mischief. You reminded me of my little ones. They’d always be scaling walls and banging pans. They were a handful. Good young dragons though. When the War of the Immortals began, they signed up to defend us immediately.” She turned away, making a pretense at stirring her pot until her tears were gone.
“I wanted the two of you to be happy and safe. I could keep an eye on you in here. This is my domain.” Twilight smiled sadly. Mindy’s children had both died in the war, long before Twilight was born. As soon as she and Kahil had wandered into the kitchen when they were children, the older dragon had taken them under her wing. To Mindy, Twilight had never been a princess; she was just a child, to be scolded and played with as any other.
Her breakfast arrived and conversation stopped as Twilight all but inhaled her food. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been, but from the first taste of the cool, sweet meal, she found she was starving. It had been a long time since she’d had breakfast of this caliber. It was delicious. The juice was a true delicacy. Pineapples couldn’t be found anywhere other than the greenhouses Mindy kept at the castle. Apparently, they were native in a place across the Arymith Ocean, but no one except Mindy seemed to know of the place. And Mindy wouldn’t tell.
After her food was gone, Twilight gave the elderly dragon a hug and kiss on the cheek before she left, traveling to the stone courtyard where combat practice took place.
Malor was there, silver hair glistening in the sun as he shouted commands to his men. They did as ordered immediately, with no pause in their action. Twilight hung back a little, smiling even as she felt sadness slide through her. This place was filled with hundreds of good memories, but one terrible one.
An image of her mother, an arrow quivering in her chest and blood blooming in a horrific flower over her shirt, flashed into Twilight’s mind, and she pushed it away, bile pressing at her throat. That was not a memory that should taint this place. Not when some of her best memories with her mother were here.
Malor spotted her and smiled, letting one of his men take over the exercise as he walked over to her.
“Twi,” he said warmly, embracing her without hesitation. Twilight returned the hug gratefully, eyes squeezing shut. He’d been one of her best friends when she was younger. Malor was only about ninety years older than her, which technically put them in the same age group. As such, they’d been paired together often, him as her instructor. He’d always been playful, and was open about his love for men, and the two had gotten along great. Kahil, on the other hand, was a bit uncomfortable around the cheerful dragon. It had irritated Twilight to no end, but Malor had merely brushed it off, unconcerned about one noble’s attitude. Now five years after her disappearance, Twilight took in Malor’s uniform with suitably impressed eyes.
“Malor. You’ve become a general?” He nodded, grinning. His eyes, the same shade as his hair, glinted with pride.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d be on top some day?” She laughed.
“And didn’t I tell you I wasn’t your type?” It had been a running joke between them ever since she’d hit puberty. At one point, she’d had a crush on him, despite knowing his sexual preferences. After she’d gotten over it, they’d continued on with their flirting game, confident that neither thought it would ever be more. Both knew that they would never be anything but friends, but it was still fun to play.
Malor shook his head, shaking with silent laughter.
“It’s good to have you back. I’ve been going nuts. No one here can even make me work up a sweat.” Twilight grimaced, rubbing her side absently.
“I doubt I could either Malor,” she admitted. “I fear I’ve fallen dreadfully out of practice. Griffon beat my blows aside as if they were dealt by a fly.” A challenging smile flickered onto Malor’s face.
“Well, let’s see,” he suggested. She rolled her eyes.
“I’ve never beaten you before Malor. The one time I got close, I messed up because of a silly distraction. What makes you think I’ll defeat you now?” He chortled.
“Nothing. I just want to see how bad you’ve gotten. Even at your worst, you’ve got to be better than any of these fledglings.” Sighing, she acquiesced, knowing she was going to regret it.
Malor had one of his students run off to get Twilight’s old practice scimitar, and he stripped to his shirtsleeves, rolling bronzed shoulders to ease them. The student returned and passed Twilight the weapon. It felt alien in her hand. Once, the curved, padded metal had been an extension of herself, as easy to manipulate as her own body. But now….Now she was out of shape, having not touched a weapon in close to four years. Seeing Malor’s fluid grace as he twirled his slender sword, Twilight knew she was in trouble.
They both fell into a fighting stance, circling each other in the bright sunlight. It felt reminiscent of the fight with Griffon, and Twilight froze as stark fear seized her throat, choking her. But the moment passed quickly as she saw Malor’s friendly smile and the curious students that surrounded them. This wasn’t real; she wasn’t in any danger. It was Malor, for Gods’ sake.
Malor rushed her, forcing her thoughts to scatter as she raised her scimitar in defense. At the last moment, his grip shifted, and the dull point of his practice sword came to rest at her abdomen.
“You’re dead,” he said softly, eyes filled with amazement. She’d never been such an easy mark. Not even when she’d first begun. Twilight stepped back from him as murmurs of disappointment ran through the burgeoning crowd.
“Again,” she said, voice tight and hoarse. She caught sight of Kahil and Cynaara in the crowd, both watching her with concern. Her jaw clenched and she adjusted her grip on the weapon, determination lighting her eyes. She would do better.
They reset their stances, and it was like the years fell away from Twilight in that moment. Her muscles were spry and ready, all but quivering with anticipation. Her vision narrowed until all she saw was Malor, each tiny shift in body weight, every flicker of his eyes. This wasn’t what she’d had before she left; this was better. She felt, deep within her chest, that she might actually win.
Malor darted in with a feint, and Twilight slapped it aside with the flat of her blade, moving in concert with him as he twisted into an overhead chop. Ducking swiftly out of the way, she stabbed forward, still crouching, so that the practice weapon whistled toward his thigh. He dodged it, barely, and low cries of surprise echoed through the masses as Malor lost his balance and continued his dance backward. Twilight didn’t give him the change to regain his balance, pressing her advantage with a flurry of slices and jabs that narrowly avoided making contact.
She could see everything; every stone in the courtyard, every shift in Malor’s balance. It was like she knew exactly where to hit, how hard, and just when. Doubt fluttered through the back of her mind, wondering where this knowledge came from, but the thought dissipated quickly, leaving only certainty. She could win.
Malor blocked another one of her attacks and Twilight fell down on one foot, her free leg sweeping out in an arc. He managed t get one leg out of the way, but the other tangled with hers and he fell onto his back. He tried to roll away and regain his feet, but Twilight’s weapon was waiting for him, barely scraping the tender skin of his neck.
“You’re dead Malor,” she stated, just as softly as he had before. A fine mist of sweat beaded on his forehead and his breath came in heavy pants. Startled by this, Twilight pulled away, dropping the scimitar. She wasn’t fatigued at all. In fact, she was filled with an energy that crackled and hummed within her, aching to be used. It finally hit her what had just happened and her eyes widened.
“I beat you.”
The words were so full of shock and astonishment that Malor cracked a smile. It was somewhat tinged with bitterness, though she tried not to notice his singed pride; he’d prefer it that way.
“And here you said you were out of practice.” He held out his hand and Twilight pulled him to his feet, fetching his weapon from where it had fallen. The pair glanced around at the silent crowd. Bewilderment colored most of their faces as they stared from their general to the princess. None of them had ever seen fighting like that; and they’d certainly never seen Malor defeated so easily. The whole fight had spanned perhaps five minutes; that was all. Half of them were still trying to comprehend what they’d seen.
“This,” Malor said, gesturing to Twilight, “is what a real warrior looks like. Mark well the woman who has defeated me in combat, and be thankful she isn’t your instructor.” A smattering of laughter spread throughout the crowd, and the tension eased a little. Twilight relaxed, passing her weapon to a younger dragon. The young man took the weapon reverently, eyes the size of saucers. It was an uncomfortable thing to see directed at her.
“Thank you for the spar Malor. I was in desperate need of it.” He grinned crookedly.
“Not from my perspective,” he said dryly, shocking a laugh from her. They embraced briefly before he returned to his troops and she to her friends, and they went their separate ways.

The siblings were quiet as they walked through the stone halls of the castle. Twilight could feel an itch settling between her shoulder blades as the silence grew deeper and finally she snapped,
“What?” Both of them jumped, looking at her almost guiltily.
“How’d you do that?” Cynaara said, voice barely above a whisper.
“It was surreal,” Kahil added, almost as softly. Twilight sighed, shoulders sagging.
“I’ve no idea,” she said truthfully. “I was angry. Angry that I was being so useless against Griffon, and then Malor. Then, it was like my concentration flew into overdrive, and I knew everything that was going to happen moments before it did.” Cynaara shivered, rubbing her hands over her arms. Twilight knew how she felt. It was scary for her as well.
Silence descended once more on the trio, and wasn’t broken again until they reached the Great Hall.
The Great Hall, also referred to as the Entrance Hall, was massive. When it had first been built, it had been with the intention of giving dragons in their natural form a place to wait the king. A smaller door had been built off in a side room, giving an entrance for human sized supplicants. However, as the desert grew more and more harsh and food became scarce, the dragons gradually made the shift to human form, coming to live in the city surrounding the monarch’s castle. By the time of Twilight’s birth, a dragon’s natural form was a rarity to see. In fact, she’d only seen a true dragon twice in her life. The fist had been her father when she was a young child of maybe four, and the second had been the day of her mother’s death. A guard, so enraged by the murder of his beloved queen, had shifted and hunted down the assailant, killing him on the spot.
Now, the hall was mostly unused except for general traffic in and out of the castle. Grand tapestries were scattered artfully on the cold stone walls, but other than that, it was left bare. Even the floor was stone, bereft of the polished wood or thick carpet that graced much of the castle.
“Everything is prepared, Twilight,” Kahil said as they halted in the Hall. “Our horses are saddled and ready. I took the liberty of saddling Firemane for you.” Twilight felt a jolt jump through her chest at the horse’s name. Firemane had been her mother’s mare. The name was well suited, for Firemane had a quick temper, and short patience. No one but an expert rider would do for her, and men were out of the question. The mare was a delicate thing; she would have been considered a lady’s mare if not for her great speed and willingness to fight. No one could ever say that the roan mare was skittish. She welcomed fights with a surprising alacrity and could hold her own despite her small size.
Twilight had only ridden her once; when she was just hitting her teens. The mare had been reluctant to follow her directions at first, but they quickly became friends in spite of Twilight’s young age. After that, the princess had been down at least once a week to talk and brush the mare, filling in when her mother was busy.
“Thank you,” Twilight choked around a tight throat. Kahil nodded.
“We’re ready when you are.” Cynaara smiled reassuringly, and Twilight sighed, hugging them both. They were her best friends, and she was so grateful to have them.
“Then let’s go,” she said, taking both of them by the arm. Together, the trio walked out to begin their journey.
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