Squall's End

Claire swallowed against her dry, scratchy throat, pushing back her nerves. She stood in the command tent, with her friends around her. "Everything will be okay, Your Majesty," Selphie said, reaching forward to take her hands. "It is the will of the Tree."

"The will of the Tree," Miera repeated, nodding. They acted as if what she was about to do was already predestined. But the truth was, so much could still go wrong. Perhaps not with her, but with everything else.

"We'll see you again, once you return," Desaree added, throat bobbing. "Just...be careful. Promise you'll be careful."

"She'll be careful," Feowen said from behind her. He stood at her back with Jeanine. The rest of her queen's guard remained outside, assembled and waiting.

"I'll be careful, I promise," she whispered, hugging first Selphie, then Miera. Then she stepped up to Des and pulled her tight. "Keep everyone in line while I'm gone," she teased, knowing Desaree often took a mother-hen role, especially in her absence.

She moved to Jocelyn next, and then Saffra. "We'll be waiting to trade stories in a couple of days," Saffra said. "In the mean time, be safe." She nodded and pulled away.

Next were the Shields. She went to each, giving hugs, soaking up their words of encouragement and advice. Koldis lifted her off her feet, as he often did, until her legs were dangling. "Give 'em hell," he growled, setting her down and winking.

Jovari was a bit more devilish, offering her a charming smile. "They'll rue the day you were born, when they spot you," he said. She couldn't help her grin.

"Trust your instincts, Your Majesty," Verath advised, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in tight before kissing the top of her head. "I will," she croaked, her throat tightening with emotion.

Bedelth stepped forward, pulling her in, rocking her side to side for the span of a few breaths. "When you get back, we'll do some more sparring," he said. "I still haven't had a chance to see what you've learned since Esterpine."

"I look forward to impressing you," she taunted.

Reyr was last. "Are you still mad at me?" she asked, hesitantly eying him.

His jaw flexed but he gave a brief shake of his head. "Come here," he said, voice low. She fell into his arms, sighing with relief, earning the longest embrace of them all. They stayed like that, locked together, just breathing. She felt his apology in the way he held her, but it was more than that. It was acceptance too, for what she'd done; even though he might not agree with her actions, he was forgiving her for them. He inhaled against the top of her hair, as if trying to memorize her scent. "You'll do just fine," he mused, as if sensing her deepest worries. "You are a queen. You were always meant to be one. It's who you are inside. Never doubt yourself."

"Thank you," she whispered into his chest, throat thick with the tears that wanted to fall.

He pulled away, took her face in his hands, and planted a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes fell closed briefly.

Talon was last. She turned to face him. He pulled his gaze from hers and looked at the others. "Leave us—all of you."

There were no complaints as everyone scrambled to exit the tent.

He leaned against the table, sitting really, with his arms crossed, feet braced out in front of him. She waited for everyone to leave before stepping over, navigating his body to press in close. He didn't move, didn't uncross his arms, just eyed her, looking every bit the grump. "I keep wondering when this will get easier," he rumbled.

"Me being queen? Or me rushing into danger at every possible moment?"

"The latter, obviously."

She shrugged, lifting a hand, trailing her fingers down his face, along his scars. His eyes drooped, lids heavy. "I like to think it will get easier," she mused. For his sake, and hers.

His throat bobbed. "You are as wild as a raging river, Claire. But if there's one thing I can trust, it's that your waters will always flow to the sea."

She hesitated, them smiled. She felt instantly taller. "I like that."

He uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around her, until their bodies were pressed tight, his firm chest against hers. Everything always felt safer within his embrace. He rubbed his cheek against her forehead. "All of them were right, you know?"

"Right?"

"About you. That you'll do fine in the city, in Squall's End, protecting its people. I'll be keeping an eye out for you when we arrive. Keep your mind open to me, hmm?"

"I will. I promise."

"Then I won't need to worry."

"You never need to worry," she said, voice turning scolding.

"And yet, I always will. Perhaps it is a product of my scars. Not these—" he added, tapping the dominant one that crossed his face. "Those that are deeper, the ones you cannot see, borne from the life I have lived. I trust you, but I will always worry. Living alone for so long, and finally finding you...there will always be this fear deep within me. Fear of losing you, no matter how capable you are. And you are—capable of facing every battle." He hesitated, then frowned and said, "No, this thing—it is my own burden to carry, my own mountain to climb and conquer. And I hope to, in time."

Her body heated at his declaration. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, claiming him. He was her mate.

Hers.

Her tongue brushed along his. He groaned and tightened against her, his arms moving, fingers twisting into her chignon at the base of her neck. She felt every rigid layer of muscle against her, felt them bulge and flex with each tiny movement. Their kiss was hungry and desperate, a goodbye, a promise for the next time they came together again, a messy exchange of everything they felt for each other.

Her chest heaved. She stepped away, trying to catch her breath. She had to stop herself from fanning her face. Instead, she looked at him, traced every curve and line of his features. There was no part of him that wasn't beautiful. "Come, my king, walk with me to the paddock." She held out her hand for him.

"I had planned to," he said, lifting his eyebrows at her use of his title. He took her hand, wrapping it around his elbow and leading her from the tent. They walked in silence, her queen's guard forming up behind her, followed by Talon's Shields, their friends. It turned into a procession as many in the camp came to watch her pass, or see her off.

When they reached the unicorns, she gave each of her friends and companions a quick look, a final parting exchange, eyes darting between them. Then she turned to Talon and kissed his lips, full on, in front of everyone. She heard several teasing snickers but didn't care. It was good for their subjects to see the affection they had for each other—healthy. Then, going on her tiptoes to reach his ear, she whispered, "I love you with my whole heart, my king, my friend, my mate, my everything." He huffed a pleased breath, then pulled back and eyed her. "And I love you, queen of my heart." He took her hand, kissing her palm, keeping his heated silver eyes on hers. The world around them disappeared briefly. So much passed in that quick exchange. Then she stepped away and went to where the unicorns had assembled.

While Selphie and Miera would remain behind, the rest of her queen's guard would accompany her. She would rely on her magic paired with theirs. And while Jeanine didn't have any, she'd keep beside her to act as a a bodyguard during the battle, not that she'd see any action on the ground.

She climbed on Tourmaline's back. Today, she'd been dressed in a new gown, one her Spriten handmaidens had constructed with Desaree's input. They'd taken a royal blue gown, and added silver gauzy skirts to it. The shoulders were plated with layers of starlight silver armor that looked like Spriten leaves, and came up to form a collar about her neck. The arms were made of a light starlight silver chainmail, paired with the beautiful bracers she'd been gifted. More plates of armor accented each side of her flowing skirt, forming about her hips.

She felt like a warrior. No, she was a warrior. And soon, she would prove it.

Feowen stepped forward, handing over Pelwyn's bow and arrows. She secured it in place. Then he handed her Isabella's staff—her staff. The moment her fingers touched the wood, she felt the world humming through her fingertips. A shiver raced down her back. She braced it across Tourmaline's back, then looked up. Around her, the rest of her guard climbed atop their respective unicorns.

She pulled her hood low over her face. They would wear the same cloaks they'd initially traveled with. Taylynn had done such a magnificent job of imbuing them with her magic, allowing the wearer to blend with the world, that it was silly not to use them. The unicorns had their own magic, keeping eyes from sticking to them. And they'd move fast enough that most things in the world wouldn't even notice them. But she wanted to be certain. After all, they would arrive slightly before the negative effects of the poison set in.

It was a combination of two brews: klixite and dragon's bane. Klixite would give the dragons a burst of energy and delay the effects of the dragon's bane. This way, the dragons wouldn't notice they were being poisoned as they drank and drank and drank from the lake. Several days would pass, and they'd feel better than ever. Then, the poison would take a turn and they'd grow lethargic, unable to move or respond. Completely helpless.

What an awful way to die, she mused.

Straightening her shoulders, she gave Talon a final look, a final nod, then shouted, "Barihoni Vamiaah! Verah riocah!" Queen's Guard! We ride!

Tourmaline shot forward like a dart. An instant later, the world around her blurred. She heard the pounding of his hooves, beating out a rhythm that matched her heart's. Behind her, the same sound echoed with the accompanying unicorns carrying her guard.

"I am only a thought away," she said, sending the words to Talon and all of his Shields.

Their various forms of acknowledgement cascaded through her mind, but Talon's, "Go with my heart," stood out the strongest.

~

The sun was sinking towards the horizon when the city of Squall's End loomed before her. The blur of her surroundings slowed. Behind the city, water sparkled. Stormy Bay stretched outward as far as the eye could see.

She'd always wanted to see Squall's End with her own two eyes. It was one of Dragonwall's largest cities, but not just that, it was a place with a rich history. Reyr had grown up here, his parents serving as fort leaders, and their parents, and their parents' parents.. A whole line stretching back into history.

Goosebumps pricked her arms. The city was old. Something about old things always gave her chills. Perhaps it was the enormity of it—time. To know a thing had existed in the world for so very long.

Where shall I take you? Tourmaline asked.

The front gate is fine, she said in answer. Our cloaks will keep us disguised.

There were dragons patrolling the skies, circling overhead. Even from the ground, she could tell that their flight patterns were erratic. She'd been warned about the initial effects of the poison. Based on the way Verath had acted, the dragons would feel invincible for a few days. From their descriptions, it sounded like they'd act like they were on drugs.

If their calculations were correct, the negative effects of the poison would set in over the next twelve to twenty-four hours. She wanted to be safely settled within the city before that happened.

Behind her, the other unicorns slowed too. The portcullis that served as the main entry into the city loomed before them. Her head fell back, looking up to the top of its walls. They stood nearly fifty feet. With the setting sun, everything on the ground around them was cast into shadow. Despite that, she could see there were city guards on the wall.

She lowered her hood, making herself more visible. Before any fuss was made, she gripped her staff tightly and looked upon the portcullis, sending her Spriten magic to open it. She also used her abilities with air to dampen sound, ensuring no noise would carry up to the sky and alert the dragons.

"Ho! Who goes there?!" A loud voice called. She winced, even though she knew they were protected. She ignored the call, had no desire to have a shouting match with the guards watching.

Feowen's unicorn trotted up beside her. "Well done with the magic, Your Majesty." He kept his voice low.

"We can take no risks," she said.

He nodded.

When the gate was lifted high enough for them to pass, she proceeded. Beyond, the sound of scrambling feet met her ears. As she passed beneath the massive gate and through the thick walls, darkness briefly swallowed her up. Only the glow of torches guided her. She could have used magic to light the way, but chose not to.

Almost as quickly, they were through the wall and filing into a courtyard. The sound of stomping feet was explained almost instantly. Guards assembled, spears in hand, armor in place, swords belted at their waists. These would be the city watch. Every city had one, separate from the kingdom's armies.

Sensing that the last of her queen's guard was safely through, she released the magic on the portcullis and allowed it to fall closed with a clatter. She kept her other magic in place, ensuring the buffer for sound kept their presence hidden.

Overhead, the dragons on patrol continued to circle, none the wiser.

Her guards filled in around her and lowered their hoods, to the accompanying sounds of gasps. All around them, city guards stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed. She reckoned not a single one had ever laid eyes on a Sprite, let alone a unicorn. An urge to grin came over her; she pushed it back. Instead, she pulled her shoulders tight and lifted her chin.

"Who is the lord of this city?" Feowen called, lifting his voice. He sounded every inch the prince. "Take us to them."

She was content to let him play negotiator, for now. In the meantime, she used this moment to observe. She would act when the time was right.

Beyond the courtyard, houses rose up, multi-level structures with white walls and wooden beams. It looked like something out of the Middle Ages. She'd become more used to the sight of quaint settlements. Like all the others, Squall's End looked like a long lost relic from the days of Arthur and Camelot, like something from all the books she'd read.

She found herself blinking—blinking and staring, taking it in. The stench was immediately noticeable. A mix of rancid, unwashed bodies, spoiled food, and shit. Like most cities, the poorer districts were closest to the outer walls. But not just that, she realized. Near the fringes of the courtyard and in the smaller streets leading away from it, tent structures had been erected.

For all the refugees, she realized. With the dragons burning and pillaging the northern settlements, people had flocked here. They'd filled Squall's End to bursting right before it was taken over by Kane's dragons.

A new fear crawled up her spine. Did they have enough food to feed all the added mouths? Would they be forced to starve within its walls, until liberated? Were they already starving?

Thank the gods the people would not have to wait much longer.

"What is this madness?" a voice barked, a soldier, who pushed his way through the gathered crowd of guards and onlookers. Those who weren't wearing armor had dirtied faces—tired faces. Hungry faces.

Her eyes shifted to the newcomer. The markings on his armor depicted his rank. "Who are you?" he barked, coming to a stop before her, though he addressed Feowen. To his credit, he didn't balk at them the way everyone else did.

"You are in the presence of Her Majesty, the Queen," Feowen announced. "You will speak with respect. All hail the Spriten Queen," he added, lifting his voice.

Silence descended around them. The crowd glanced about, as if they weren't sure what to do. Muttering broke the silence, and it grew.

"If you are feeling particularly respectful," Feowen drawled, lifting his voice well above the others, "now would be the time to bow."

She refrained from rolling her eyes at him.

Even more muttering started up. Several uncertain soldiers dropped to one knee, only to be nudged, before quickly standing again. The commoners who stood about only gawked. No one here was obligated to bow, after all. Only the forest answered to the Sprites.

But she had to hand it to Feowen, he was one for trying.

"Verah callo eah jaanasha aya," she said to the gathered crowd, lifting her voice, listening to the way it carried, the way it echoed off the buildings.

"We come to liberate you," Feowen translated, throwing her a quick glance, immediately catching on. The twinkling in his eyes said he knew what she was doing. The awe factor. The history books would record this—immortalizing this moment. The Sprites had left their forest to fight for Dragonwall. That was important to her—important for their world.

Muttering erupted again.

"Nemaloh mik eah ayas droah!" she commanded.

"Our queen wishes to speak with the lord of this city." Feowen said, not exactly translating. Still, it got the point across.

The guard who stood before them frowned. His throat bobbed. He looked between them, then glanced at the sky, clearly nervous. Far above, the glittering scales of dragons did not alter course. Those of the city understood well enough. As long as they followed the rules, no one within the walls would come to harm.

"Mih franah beinih freja ayas sahale," she explained.

"Her Majesty wishes you to know that she is using magic to keep the dragons from sensing our presence."

Again, not quite what she'd said. She glanced at Feowen and saw the corners of his lips twitch. She refrained from snorting. Good enough, for now.

"Very well," the guard in charge said, hesitating. "This way."

He turned on his heel and the onlookers parted around him. They followed him from the courtyard, into the city. Around them, the houses towered, stacked several stories high. She caught faces peering out, eyes wide with shock when they settled on her before drifting to the horns proudly displayed by their unicorns.

Tourmaline snorted, as if also noticing. His head lifted a little higher, mane fluttering in a nonexistent breeze, using his own magic to draw attention to himself. And if she wasn't mistaken, there was a bit more prance to his step.

Showing off, now, are we? she teased.

It is not every day, Queen, that we are regarded with the respect we are due.

She snickered at his response, but otherwise kept silent. It was easy, considering the state of the city. Everywhere she looked, she found evidence of hardship: in the deep lines on the faces that stared, in the hard set to their eyes, the press of their lips. This place had seen a great deal of difficulty over the past several months, especially in the winter months.

What did they burn to keep warm? she wondered. How did they go out to collect firewood? How did they get the supplies they needed, being held hostage like this?

Yes, it was good she had come.

Feowen kept pace beside her. "Utah sasit en alscha lerah notasth ana Ednuar?" Is there a reason for using the Spriten language?

"Ninneem," she returned, giving him a knowing look, an arch of her eyebrow. Of course.

He seemed to read her thoughts because he said, "Ain, cilhar, Alas Drollaya." Very wise, Your Majesty.

They fell quiet.

The streets were narrow in some places and wider in others. The buildings towered over her and got more lavish the further along they went, with white-washed walls and large windows. There were fewer refugees the further they went. The oppressive stench let up as well, transforming into something just as eye-watering.

She knew it before she saw it. Still, her stomach dropped straight to her boots. They were led along a detour, passing around a large, blackened section of Squall's End. An expanse of emptied space, void of all life. The heavy silence spoke of death, but it was the evidence of dragon fire, of the brutality of it, that froze the breath in her chest, turning it to shards of ice.

Nothing. There was nothing left. Just charred rubble—heaps of it.

"Luth cardah mik challa," she gasped, not bothering to look at Feowen as she spoke. It makes me sick. She couldn't tear her gaze away. "Mayr faldu fradin edah fraste. Stahka, gendiah." So much damage and destruction. All of it, needless.

He hummed his agreement.

"Ah, yes, horrifying, is it not?" the guard said, glancing back and noticing her expression. His voice was solemn. She didn't answer him, maintaining her ruse. But her blink was enough to confirm her shock.

Her stomach squirmed at the sight—at the thought of people burning alive. How many had lost their homes? Their lives? There was no coming back from this sort of devastation, even for those lucky enough to survive.

The dragons would pay for this. Seeing their destruction with her eyes left her reeling. She felt far less guilty about the way they planned to destroy them. It didn't change her mind about the pregnant mothers, though.

Soon, the fire-touched portions of the city faded away. They came upon a wide, cobbled lane, dotted with elegant townhouses. These were the richest of all. This was where their lord lived—the jewel of the city.

"We have arrived in Squall's End," she said, sending the thought to Talon and his Shields. "All appears as expected. The city is heavily damaged in places where it succumbed to dragon fire." She included projections with her thoughts, despite knowing it would upset Reyr to see this. "I have yet to assess the extent of the damage. The city is overrun. They will need a great deal of assistance when this is all over. I will report back with what I find."

Talon's answering thoughts followed her.

The guard came to a halt before the city's keep. More guards stood at the ready. Their escort spoke to them in a hushed voice, and then they were being motioned through.

She caught sight of servants rushing ahead—a result of quickly muttered words from the guards on duty. She glanced at Feowen, whose eyes darted about, always assessing, ensuring there were no threats.

He took his role with the utmost seriousness.

They passed through the keep's gate and came to a stop in the large courtyard beyond. She rubbed Tourmaline's neck, her way of thanking him for bearing her safely. Then she dismounted, keeping a tight hold of her staff.

I will see that you are tended to, she told him. But it could take time. We must meet with the lord of this keep first, and determine what is to be done.

I will wait, Queen.

With her feet on the ground, she inhaled deeply. Her nose felt stained, like she couldn't get the scent of char from her nostrils. Her eyes darted around the courtyard, lingering on the shadows beyond arches, before catching on the fountain in the center. A ship was deftly carved out of rock, sprouting water from various windows cut from its hull. The sounds of trickling broke the silence.

All activity had ceased. She felt the press of multiple sets of eyes. Weights on her body.

A man rushed forward, elegantly dressed, with an air of authority. "Forgive me, Your...Your Majesty?" he said with uncertainty, eyes wide as they swept over her. "We were not expecting you."

She blinked at him.

Feowen was already beside her, with her queen's guard fanned out behind them. "Are you the lord of this city?" Feowen asked.

"Me? Oh." His brows drew in confusion. "I...I daresay... no, sir. I am its...its steward. But if you will follow me, I will take you to...to Lord Rhal. If...if that is favorable?" The steward's eyes darted between her and Feowen, as if trying to figure them out. He'd never seen a Sprite before, nor a unicorn. She was surprised he managed to speak at all, given the clear show of shock.

"Aik bunoh gethlah aik mek lagyu," Feowen said. He looks like he might faint. He seemed to find this amusing. Of course he did. He probably liked all the attention. After a day or two in camp, it had warn off. Now, he was getting the satisfaction of surprise all over again.

She withheld her snort. Instead, she nodded in agreement. Feowen turned back to the steward, as if he'd just translated the man's words to his queen. "Yes, that would be favorable. Thank you."

"Right. Very good, then. Very good. This way." He motioned them forward.

Feowen's eyes lifted, rising up to the tops of the castle. A frown pulled at his lips. "Haan luine sahla yaat ynn kehv modah gethluth?" Do people really live in stone buildings like this?

The rest of her guard smartly held their tongues, though she could feel their curiosity, and even excitement, radiating from them. This was the first time they'd entered any kind of structure that wasn't made from things in their forest. The camp had only tents.

She stifled a snicker. Keeping up with the ruse, she said in Ednuar, "They do. I once thought them quite romantic. Magical, even. Someone once told me they were oppressive, and now I'd have to agree."

She fondly recalled Cyrus's response when she'd asked if he lived in a castle. There'd been so much excitement around the idea. But after having lived in the keep a prolonged period of time, the excitement had worn off.

"I think I'd go mad," Feowen also said in Ednuar.

"And what did you plan to do when we reach the capital?" she asked, lifting a brow.

He frowned. "I suppose I hoped it wouldn't be this...oppressive."

She snorted. This time, she didn't hold back. The steward glanced over his shoulder as they made their way down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, then down another. She wondered what he thought of her language, if he found it peculiar.

"Perhaps the king will allow you to sleep up on the top of his tower, in the queen's garden," she teased. "Out under the stars."

"If you care for me, dear cousin, you will convince him to agree."

She grinned. She'd only been joking, but clearly he liked the idea. All too soon, there was no more time to joke. They'd come to a large, wooden door.

The steward knocked, then entered. She heard his voice as he said, "Forgive me, my lord, but the queen of the Sprites has come, and she requests an audience."

With a final mischievous glance at Feowen, she stepped through the doorway without any further invitation. 

⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐

Happy Friday, Bookdragons!

I had so much fun crafting this chapter, and those that followed. My dictionary for the Sprite language, Edunar, practically doubled. It was fun studying other languages, making up my own words, and stringing them together. But, it was also time consuming. It definitely slows down the writing process. It's worth it though. It gives in an additional sense of authenticity. 

Next week's chapter is also from Claire's POV and yes, we will get more sprite language!

I forgot to post a dragon artwork last week from Grace. This week I'm showing off her artwork for Jovari. I love the detail on the tail, and how it differs from some of the other tails. If you're a Dragonwall buff, then you probably recall that the horns and tails differ based on the clans that the dragons descended from. 

Anyway, I hope you are having a great week. See you next time!

-Mel