KGWrites

Iona

Aethril Palace, Fallham, Barony of Fallham

“Do you think Alyx took it too hard?” Iona asked as she ran a brush through her hair. She tried not to sigh at the pleasant sensation, at how much she’d missed it.

“I don’t think she’s overly happy.” Meghan confirmed from behind her. “Zaygor played off her desire to protect you very well. But she’s a tough girl, she’ll get through it.”

Iona hummed, a dull ache forming in her chest. She’d hated dismissing Alyx like a servant, she’d hated the way Zaygor had spoken to her. And she’d be lying if she didn’t say that her heart jumped for joy when Alyx had stepped up to protect her.

Meghan sighed suddenly from behind her and Iona turned to face her.

And froze in her tracks.

Meghan had, like Iona herself, been provided clothing by the Baron’s servants for their stay in the palace. But where Iona’s had been a variant on her usual dresses from the court of Aldiron, enhanced in places by ceremonial armouring, Meghan’s was exceptionally different to the tight sleeves and long dark dresses she wore.

It was her usual violet colours, but it left far more skin exposed than her normal looks. The dress was sleeveless, with only a light, almost transparent fabric that hung loose from the shoulders and fell alongside Meghan’s arms. It fastened around her neck beneath her hair but was backless until just above her waist. It followed the figure of her legs tightly and rose up her midriff to a plunging neckline that revealed a not insignificant portion of Meghan’s cleavage.

In Aldiron, it was a dress that could have been considered scandalous. In Fallham, given the way Zaygor dressed his servants, it was practically prudish.

It didn’t escape Iona’s notice that the areas of skin it showed on Meghan were the places in which her mage’s tattoos were most prominent. The white tree branches twisted and turned in a maze across Meghan’s exposed skin, a pattern that Iona lost herself in trying to follow.

Still though, there was no denying how stunning the dress made Meghan look. Iona was almost envious of her. Almost.

“Bastard.” Meghan muttered as she turned to examine herself in the mirror, her hands running uncomfortably over the exposed tattoos and her lip curling in distaste.

“If James were here, I doubt he’d think of it as being so bad.” Iona joked, trying to reassure her friend. Of course, if James were here, there would be every chance you’d be back out of it again quite quickly.

“If James were here. If he saw any of this? We wouldn’t be needing to parade around like cattle at market.” Meghan replied curtly, though her hand clenched around the dress’ fabric and her head turned towards the window. A look of longing crossed her face briefly and Iona wondered if she would even allow James to leave her sight ever again once she got out of here.

“I can still call for them both. We can approach this another way.” Iona suggested. Meghan laughed bitterly and placed her hand on Iona’s shoulder.

“Try to keep to wars with one kingdom at a time please Princess.” She retorted and Iona smiled, gently moving her head to rest it atop Meghan’s hand.

“It could be fun though.” She whined before nodding. “You’re right, of course. I just…” Want them here.

“It could.” Meghan agreed, giving Iona’s shoulder a squeeze. A silent agreement to her unspoken statement accompanied by a resolute support. They may not have the Cobalts with them right now, but they did have each other at least.

And in a den of rats like Zaygor’s palace, that mattered a lot.

Iona stood, taking Meghan’s arm in hers. “Come on, if nothing else, I’m starving.”

They travelled back through the palace, eventually reaching the throne room once more and being met by two of the barely clothed servants. The servants said nothing as they led Iona and Meghan through the throne room to the dining room set into the side.

The scent of warm, fresh food hit Iona and Meghan instantly as they stepped through the doors, finding a table set awaiting them. Zaygor sat at the far end of the table, though he rose politely when they entered.

“Ladies of Aldiron, it is good to see you have made yourselves at home in my palace.” He greeted them warmly as the servants led them to their seats. Iona returned the greeting with a polite nod while Meghan remained staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging that Zaygor had spoken.

“Your hospitality is more than generous Baron.” Iona replied calmly, swallowing her distaste of the man as he grinned at them both wolfishly.

“It really is the least I can do to provide some comforts after your time on the road.” Zaygor said dismissively. Around them, servants emerged with steaming bowls of thick curry and rice, complete with large chunks of lamb and chicken. The heady aroma of spices rose to meet Iona’s nose and her stomach rumbled.

It was painful to wait until the meal was served before being able to dig into the food before her, but thankfully the servants were efficient and Zaygor didn’t hold to any sort of ceremony, immediately helping himself to his food. Iona gladly followed suit.

The heat of spices exploded across her mouth as she took the first bite and she felt herself turn red with the unexpected heat. But it wasn’t overwhelmingly hot. In fact, it was well cooked and strong with sweet flavours. It was certainly the best thing Iona had eaten in months. A quick glance at Meghan told Iona that her friend felt similar about the food.

After a moment of silence as they simply appreciated the food given to them, the Baron spoke up again.

“It seems a bathe has done you the world of good. You both look ravishing this evening.” He said with a low chuckle.

The curry in Iona’s mouth turned somewhat bitter as she forced a smile to her lips and laughed politely.

“Thank you, Baron. It certainly feels a lot better afterwards.”

“And you Lady Whiteoak.” Zaygor turned his head to Meghan, whose jaw clenched as he did so. “Sure it must feel better to not be hidden away as you have been, to be somewhere that lets you show off who you are.”

Meghan’s hand tightened around her spoon and her eye twitched. “This person you seem to see Baron, is not who I am.” She growled, the corner of her mouth curling.

Zaygor tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as he traced them slowly up and down Meghan. “No, perhaps not.” He admitted quietly. “Not anymore at least.”

Meghan raised her head at his words, tension flowing into every muscle of her body. She watched him warily, like a hare tracking Zephyr in the sky to avoid the falcon’s talons.

“Perhaps you have been suppressed for far too long to remember.” Zaygor went on. “But I recall a young woman, barely even a teenager, with ambition.”

Iona turned her head to look at Meghan in surprise. She hadn’t realised that Meghan had any notable past ties to Zaygor. She’d always assumed her knowledge of the Baron came from diplomatic meetings between Aldiron and Fallham. Meghan turned her eyes to her slowly, uncertainty and shame clear in her expression.

“A young woman that went out into the Bloodfields near Shetani with mercenary parties.” Zaygor continued, either not noticing Meghan’s discomfort, or more likely not caring. “A bloodthirsty warrior that hunted any demons that roamed the fields, that fought and killed them no matter the cost and that dragged their lifeless bodies back to towns. Taking them to embalmers and priests of The Gravekeeper to have their blood drained from their veins before it went cold. And then mixing that blood into the very tattoos you work so hard to hide now. Rasing your own power beyond the scope of any mortal mage that had come before you.”

Meghan placed her spoon down at the side of her plate, her eyes somewhat glazed by the memories that Zaygor was dredging up. Absently, her left hand began scratching her right arm, as if she could scratch off the tattoos, rid herself of that past.

“I respected your dedication to your ambitions. I’d even go so far as to say I admired you for it. No-one else dared to challenge demons as you did, no-one dared to increase their own power to those levels, damn what everyone thought.” Zaygor’s head turned to face Iona with a sneer of contempt.

“And now you serve a broken kingdom that would have you tied to a stake and burned if given the chance to see you as you really are. You could have had the world eating from the palm of your hand, instead you shackle yourself to fools.” He chuckled, a low sound of menace and hatred, Meghan bit her lip, shame at this newly uncovered past still clear on her face. Iona couldn’t picture the woman Zaygor had described as the same woman sitting at the table with her, and she’d wrestle with that later. Right now, her friend needed her.

“Baron!” She snapped, her tone an angry growl. “Leave her be. You’re dealing with me, not Meghan.”

Zaygor sighed and leaned back, staking a large chunk of lamb onto the end of his fork and chewing it loudly in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “No Princess. It’s you who is dealing with me, not the other way around. I hold the item you so desperately seek remember. And you have no kingdom left, nor much of anything to negotiate with. Without my help, you are little more than Draconeus’ prize.”

Iona narrowed her eyes in confusion. Prize? What does he mean by that?

Zaygor clearly noticed the hesitation in her and his eyes widened. He looked from Iona to Meghan and back, an amused and disbelieving smile.

“You don’t know? You mean to tell me that Lady Whiteoak has not told you?” He asked with a half laugh. Iona looked to Meghan. Her eyes were wide, and her lips half parted as she glared at Zaygor, her hands tightened into fists.

“Told me what?” Iona asked, not taking her eyes off Meghan. Zaygor laughed wickedly.

“Stop this Zaygor!” Meghan growled at him, her hands trembling and her head shaking slightly. He only laughed more.

“Oh, this is too perfect!” Zaygor spoke after a moment, throwing his head back in ecstasy. Then his gaze turned back to Iona. “You mean that you’ve never wondered why Draconeus hasn’t immediately sent forces of assassins to kill you? Why he didn’t have his traitors execute you when they took the palace?”

Iona’s blood froze in her veins, goosebumps rose across her arms. She remembered her battle with Martyn Hills in the throne room of Aldiron during the siege. She’d always recalled the fight with pride at defeating him, it was only now that she remembered his words before their blades crossed.

Kill you? No. Deliver you? Absolutely. Lord Draconeus was very particular about that. You’ve got a date with destiny with all that royal blood in your veins girl.

“Draconeus doesn’t want you dead.” Zaygor leaned forwards now, looming over the table towards Iona. A serpent’s smile split his face. “He needs you alive. You have magic remember. And like all the rest of us, that means your magic comes from demons interbreeding with their human subjects. Lady Whiteoak and I are descended from line of demons of lower castes, but you? Your bloodline is special, Princess, and not for some gilded crown of feathers on your brow. No. Because your line is the last mortal line descended directly from the Blood Demons themselves.”

Iona couldn’t breathe, her heart hammered in her chest and the edges of her vision clouded with darkness. And yet, her mind was clearer and sharper than ever.

She recalled every lesson of magic with Meghan, every conversation about how much power was in her veins. Enough to resist even the most powerful mages Meghan had said. She’d told her how Iona’s family were capable of magic that could extend even as far as her own power, should they need it. Iona remembered how the enemy soldiers had fought to kill those around her, but only to subdue her, during the battle. How Hills had taunted her before their fight. How Trident had said something similar to Alyx when he’d held her hostage.

The Last Blood Demon. That’s what they call Draconeus. The only one to survive the ancient wars with the elves. But if the bloodline survived, if it’s in me.

“He needs me to rebuild his species.” Iona said softly, bile filling her throat. “To restore them to life.”

“Draconeus was never a warlord or great mage amongst the Blood Demons.” Zaygor explained, making no effort to hide the sick glee in his voice. “He is an alchemist, an expert in potions and poisons and the ways that demon blood and magic are intertwined. If he has access to your blood, then rebuilding his people should be a simple matter.”

Iona shook her head in disbelief. “But he has my father. He killed him in Aldiron. The same blood I have was in his veins too. The same power.”

“And I suspect King Samuel’s body has not rested peacefully in Aldiron’s dungeons.” Zaygor conceded. “But if Zaygor needed the blood of a male of his species, then he had that. What he doesn’t have, is a female.”

Iona felt sick.

That’s why he sent The Other Face. It could lure me away easier, it could capture me and take me to him while wearing the smile of a friend. She turned her head slowly to Meghan, betrayal aching in her heart.

“You knew this? And you kept it from me?” She asked, a tremble rising in her voice that she was not expecting. Meghan looked at her with wide, frightened eyes. Eyes that shone with unshed tears.

“I…” She choked out. But whatever else was in her throat stuck there and she couldn’t say anything else.

“Of course she did.” Zaygor spoke softly, almost reassuringly now. “She knew, your father knew. So many knew. But not you. They hid it from you. Because you needed to be kept away from him.”

Meghan didn’t lift her eyes from Iona’s, tears now silently dropping down her face across her cheeks. Sorrow was clear in her face, regret and pain in every ounce of her.

Iona couldn’t let them in. Her chest roiled with anger and hurt. They’d hidden the truth from her. They’d told her she was the only one they trusted to find the Brightblade, to bring it and Aldiron together and to end Draconeus. And she’d believed them.

But now she saw the truth. She was a pawn, in Draconeus’ games and theirs. She needed to be kept out of Aldiron, kept away from him and his powers. They kept her safe from him because even the blood in her veins was so dangerous that the world would end should he get access to her.

She wasn’t meant to save Aldiron. She wasn’t meant to wield the Brightblade, or wear the crown. She was nothing, to any of them, just a burden that threatened the entire world.

“I wanted to…” Meghan finally spoke, her voice cracking as she reached out to take Iona’s hand.

Iona pulled away from her. She stared at Meghan, her eyes wide and her jaw clenched. She could feel tears building in her eyes, but she wouldn’t give Zaygor the satisfaction of crying at his table.

Meghan’s eyes turned downwards and her chin shook as she held back tears. She remained unmoving for a moment, before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying herself.

Then, without another word, she stood from the table and walked away.

Iona didn’t watch her go. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to know whether she’d chase her, or feel glad she was gone.

Instead, she felt nothing. A cold, cavernous emptiness that filled her chest.

As the heavy door closed behind Meghan with an echoing thump, Zaygor cleared his throat and took a swig of his wine.

“A shame. She was mighty once. Now she’s fallen to a pawn of others’ schemes.”

Iona didn’t answer straight away, remaining staring at her reflection in the surface of the deep burgundy wine in her goblet. The colour of blood, the only part of me that matters. Perhaps it was better to see herself in no other colour.

Eventually though, she turned her head up to the Baron again.

“I need that sword Zaygor.” She said simply. “I need a way to stop him, when he comes for me.”

“Calm yourself Princess. You are quite safe here. Draconeus armies have never defeated mine. He has never taken Fallham.” He said, his voice cocky and sure.

“He’d never taken Aldiron before either.” Iona responded. She could feel an exhausted rumble to her voice, which she couldn’t bring herself to hide. Zaygor seemed to shrug out a slight agreement.

“Even if he does come to face my armies, which I doubt, rest assured that retrieving that piece of the blade is still nearly impossible without my own permission. Magical barriers protect it.”

Iona tilted her head. Magical barriers that were constantly active like that would require a lot of energy to maintain, they would drain the mage casting them almost entirely. Yet Zaygor seemed unaffected.

“Dwarven treasures are wondrous things. They invented mechanisms that held a spell in constant action once cast, maintained through the same gems used for tattoos and enchantments. They invented a lot of things designed for the wars against the demons. Thanks to Birn Tharum, my treasury of such things is vast.” Zaygor boasted, not missing an opportunity to stroke his ego.

And giving Iona an opportunity of her own.

Swallowing the hurt and confusion at Meghan and the others, Iona smiled sweetly at Zaygor. “That sounds like a treasury of things that could be very useful to me Baron. Perhaps you might be willing to see your way to letting me view them?”

“Accept my proposal Iona, and you can do more than view them.” Zaygor responded coolly. “We can start with the mechanisms that I keep close from right here. Right now, if you so wished.”

And there it was. The conformation Iona needed. The mechanism he spoke about, the one that controlled the barriers. The one that needed Zaygor’s direct control to lower. It was here somewhere, in the throne room of his palace.

“An intriguing offer.” Iona replied, faking a yawn that quickly turned real. “But now that I’m fed and cleaned so well, I find the stresses of the last few months, and the enlightenments of the past while are catching up with me.”

She politely pushed her finished bowl of food away from herself and stood, bowing her head to Zaygor. He rose too, meeting her bow with a polite nod.

“Of course, I can only imagine the weight upon your shoulders. Until tomorrow then.” He said with an easy smile.

Iona nodded her assent, and thanks to him. Then she turned and walked from the dining chamber.

The moment her back was to him, her polite smile faded into a clenched jaw as she ground her teeth. She should be proud of herself, for finding out about Zaygor’s defences around the Brightblade, for keeping him thinking she was nothing but a lost spoiled Princess.

But the growling twist of betrayal still gripped her heart in cold fingers of ice. The revelations of the past minutes swirled in her head. They had lied to her, Meghan and her father, manipulated her into leaving and into believing she could be a hero to save Aldiron.

But she couldn’t. She was a risk, a burden. Something that Draconeus would hunt to the ends of the world. And if she ever thought she was anything more than that, then she was an idiot.

Fuck them!

It brought Iona to a full stop in the empty corridors of Zaygor’s palace. Because the thought had not been in her voice.

It had been Alyx Cobalt’s.

You didn’t even fucking hesitate. You ran in like a damned hero from a storybook.

The memory was clear as day. The charge into the square of the burning village. The villagers taking up arms to defend themselves as she called out to them. They’d followed her then. And that had not been any burden of keeping her from being kidnapped, they’d fought beside her because she’d led them to do it. And that sure as hell wasn’t because of some demon blood in her veins.

Whether they’d meant it or not, her father and Meghan had told her she was the leader the kingdom needed. The one they trusted to find the Brightblade, to strike down the demon, to save the kingdom. And she’d believed them.

It may not have been what they truly intended, but it was what she believed. And that wasn’t about to change.

She was still Iona Ravellan, Princess of Aldiron. She was still the person that would cut Draconeus’ head from his shoulders.

It was what her people needed her to be. Not a sacrifice or a pawn in a game. Their saviour, their hero, their protector.

And that was what she would be.