A Queen Crowned in Flames

Chapter One

The cloying taste of blood painted the roof of Aemyra’s mouth, and she could no longer tell who it belonged to.

Dented armor dug into her hip, making the bone grind, while the acrid stench of dragon fire clawed its way up her nostrils, tainting each breath.

“If you die, Adarian, Orlagh will never forgive me,” Aemyra hissed, her fingers cramping as she tied the tourniquet tighter.

Her twin brother was unconscious, and the wooden slats of the wagon floor were slick with the blood pouring from the deep gash in his thigh. Her knees were wet with it.

Aemyra refused to look back at the caisteal where she had been held prisoner, at the cobalt dragon she knew would be circling the highest turret.

This was all her fault for trusting Fiorean.

No matter how much her husband’s betrayal hurt, Aemyra could not give up.

Her army had been forced to flee the capital city of Àird Lasair, and those who had made it out were dragging themselves south with only what they could wear or carry.

Those who hadn’t been able to escape the Covenanter militia were dead.

The red spires of Caisteal Lasair lurked over distant treetops, watching Aemyra’s people succumb to festering wounds less than a day’s ride from the city.

“He looks pale,” Brodie called to her over the noise of the clanking wagon.

Adarian’s best friend had been swept out with the retreating army, his father Colm electing to remain behind with a dozen other brave souls who called the lower town home.

“He was born pale,” Aemyra retorted, pressing her hands more intently over the wound.

The rejection agent the Chosen priests had used during the battle was wearing off. She would be able to heal with her magic again soon.

Her brother couldn’t even manage a response, and Aemyra cursed as the wagon jolted.

Temper spiking, she thumped on the side. “Drive straight!”

“I’m trying,” Laoise called back.

When the fire guard looked over her shoulder, she gave the reins a sharp snap.

Brodie followed Laoise’s line of sight, his mouth set in a grim line, and Aemyra felt her stomach drop.

“Flee!” came the shout from the body of the army. “Flee to the trees!”

Not again.

While Àird Lasair was guarded by Fiorean’s dragon, a small contingent of the army of the True Religion gave chase.

These were not farm boys and stable hands recruited as fodder for the Savior’s cause on the back of false promises, nor were they the sloppy and self-indulgent city guard of Àird Lasair. These were hardened soldiers trained in the Sunrise Tower by the Chosen to spill the blood of Dùileach and rid their stain from Erisocia for good—Covenanters. Men who wore the iron pendant and believed their crusade was righteous. They could not be reasoned with.

“Do not leave this wagon, and keep putting pressure on the wound,” Aemyra ordered Brodie before hopping off the back, stumbling a little on impact.

Her army redoubled their speed at the sight of the Covenanters. Soldiers and refugees sprinting with what little energy they had left. Barely a fraction of Aemyra’s forces remained, and they had only made it to the borders of Clan Daercathian lands by the grace of whichever Goddess was still watching over them.

“Make for the forest!” Aemyra cried to the streams of people running past her. “Do not look back!”

Even the few Dùileach who had not been affected by the chemical agents of the Chosen were drained, with barely enough energy to lift a sword, never mind wield their elements.

So they ran instead, once again trusting their queen to keep them safe.

Aemyra planted her feet.

Despite the residual echo of pain from the rejection agent, she was far more powerful than any other Dùileach in Tìr Teine.

Save for the one who currently sat the throne: her husband.

The death promise burned at the thought of Fiorean beside Athair Alfred. The slice on her palm had already turned from fresh wound into a brand the shape of Brigid’s cross, drawing her toward Fiorean until she had dealt him a mortal blow in offering to the Goddess.

A furious roar sounded from above as Terrea felt the pain of her Dùileach through their Bond.

Aemyra’s fire stuttered and she flexed her fingers, trying to push the memory of the way Fiorean had manipulated her from her mind. His betrayal hurt far worse than her battered and bruised body.

At least his dragon, Aervor, had bent to the dominance of the she-dragon and helped them escape before Fiorean had recalled him to the city.

“My queen, you must go,” her air guard Clea said desperately, eyeing the advancing Covenanters at the edge of the clearing.

Utterly exhausted, Aemyra instead took a step toward the line of black-armored soldiers.

“Your Majesty, perhaps you should—”

Aemyra silenced her earth guard, Nell, with a hand. She wouldn’t turn tail and save herself now. Too many had already died within the walls of Àird Lasair.

But at the thought of the Athair who commanded these soldiers, the priest who had ripped her family apart and ordered unspeakable things done to her body, Aemyra felt her rage give way to something far worse.

Fear.

Her guard valiantly summoned their elements, protecting an undeserving queen.

Aemyra clawed at her breastplate. She wanted nothing more than to remove her armor and scratch at the blood, sweat, and grime caking her skin underneath.

“We should have hidden instead of making a break for it,” Nell said, eyeing the trees.

The unsettling cawing of crows echoed ominously from high above, and Aemyra knew hiding wouldn’t have saved them. They had been leaving a trail of bodies and abandoned carts for miles. Not to mention the two dragons flying overhead.

“Will they pursue us to the very gates of Balnain?” Iona asked, spitting on the ground in distaste.

The water guard was exhausted, her ice blond hair dark with grime, but she summoned two icicles to her palms.

“Their Savior commands their crusade for power and dominion over Dùileach lives. They will not stop until everyone is subservient to them,” Aemyra said, the words hollow.

After nearly being mutilated on Athair Alfred’s orders, then witnessing Fiorean betray her by siding with the very same man, Aemyra had no more room in her heart for mercy.

“They cannot pursue us for much longer if they wish to keep the city under their control,” Clea said, desperation tinging her words.

Panicked screams and pained shouts rent the air as the first round of arrows were loosed and Aemyra palmed her sword, Fearsolais.

Clea threw up a hard wall of air and the arrowheads made a dull thudding noise as they struck the magical shield. The petite air Dùileach’s knees buckled, her power reserves almost depleted.

Clea’s cheeks drained of color, her freckles almost translucent, as a shadow darkened the pewter clouds.

Aemyra’s breath burned in her lungs as Gealach—her father’s dragon—soared overhead, streaks of congealed blood painting the green scales of his neck. Badly injured by Kolreath, Aemyra wasn’t sure how he was still flying.

Frightened whinnies of horses joined the human screams as the wagon carrying the wounded jerked to a halt, trapped in a clump of heather.

“Someone help Laoise and Brodie!” Aemyra shouted over the chaos as more arrows rained down.

Laoise’s gold-tipped braids glinted in the sunlight as the fire guard threw her shoulder against the wheel, Brodie waving down other soldiers to help.

Aemyra would fight Hela herself before she abandoned Adarian, but the army streamed around their queen, Dùileach refugees and soldiers alike.

A flash of auburn hair caught Aemyra’s eye and she found her father.

Where Draevan’s legendary sword Dorchadas swung, Covenanters fell.

Her father had lied to her and disobeyed her orders, but as long as he helped them hold the advantage, she would restrain her temper.

Nell’s wiry arms shook with the strain of conjuring, and the edge of the forest creaked, branches reaching down to prevent the Covenanters from retreating.

“Aemyra!”

Even Draevan turned at the sound of Laoise’s shout, as she abandoned the broken wheel and Brodie pulled Adarian bodily from the wagon.

“Hold the line,” Aemyra ground out as she sprinted to her twin.

Since declaring herself queen she had acted selfishly, putting her own desires above the needs of her people, even her own family. Her foolishness had caused the deaths of their adoptive parents, Orlagh and Pàdraig, as well as their little brother, Lachlann.

She would not lose her twin too.

“Help me get him up, he’s deadweight,” Brodie said, arms straining around Adarian’s broad back.

Ignoring the thundering of hooves as the Covenanters advanced, Aemyra grabbed her twin’s legs. His breeches were damp with blood, but as her father and the queen’s guard held the Covenanters at bay with stuttering magic and sharp steel, Aemyra helped Brodie shove Adarian over the back of Laoise’s horse.

Brodie’s face paled. “The wound isn’t clotting.”