“Will Kalen be okay?” I asked Victor as he opened the door to leave.
The old druid nodded. “Yes, I believe he will be. You got here just in time.”
The next morning, I opened the thick curtains to gaze out at a land of trees and mist. Beautiful on a grand, sweeping scale, the magnificent landscape stretched out before me as far as the eye could see. Penelope was already dressed in her own clothes, which had been washed and dried, and waited while I hurried to put on my own.
We walked quickly along the long stone corridor and down the staircase. I hadn’t noticed the beautiful banister last night when we came in, shaken as I had been with the appearance of the Drakwraith and worry for Kalen. I ran my hand along the intricate carvings of ancient creatures, fae, and, surprisingly, demons as well.
Victor was waiting for us by a set of big doors that led out from the main foyer.
“How is Kalen?”
The old druid clasped his hands in front of him. “He will live, but he is not awake yet. The shard was deep inside his veins, and it took a great amount of power for Brother Sebastian to stop it from moving closer to the heart. We just caught it in time—another day and he would be dead.”
Penelope’s shoulders sagged in relief. “When can we see him?” Her tone was weary.
“Soon,” said Victor. “Brother Sebastian still has to remove all traces of the shard from his blood. It is hard and tedious work, but no one is a better healer.”
I nodded, relief apparent on my face as I smiled at Penelope and turned to the large doors. I could hear the murmur of voices and the clink of plates and cutlery. We followed Victor into a vast hall with tall wood-framed windows and rectangular tables. I hadn’t realized how many monks lived in this monastery—there must have been over a hundred. I was glad to see the druid monks were not extinct as everybody thought they were.
We sat down for breakfast next to Rafe, who was already finishing up. Tristan came to join us. He had stayed with Kalen the whole night, and now Ashara was standing guard. The food was simpler than palace fare, but it was a lot better than what I had eaten at taverns.
Sliced loaves of freshly baked bread lined the tables in baskets, and around them were little clay pots filled with creamy white butter, a tart berry jam, and thick dollops of cream, which of course I couldn’t resist. Slices of cured meats and boiled eggs were set up across all the tables, and I noticed some of the monks were eating an oatmeal porridge that they topped with dried fruits, nuts, and fresh honey. I sipped on my cup of hot milk brewed with cinnamon and wondered how to approach the druids to help me with the information I needed.
After breakfast was over and the other monks filtered out, Penelope got straight to the point. “Victor—” she lowered her voice, “—you know why we are here?”
Victor nodded slowly but let Penelope continue.
“It is imperative we find the Dark Dagger before Morgana or the general use it to wake Dragath.”
The old druid looked at Penelope, his features solemn. “Child,” he said to the three-hundred-year-old High Fae, shaking his head. “As the fae queen’s sister, you should have been able to read the signs in the stars.”
Penelope’s blue eyes turned steely as she arched an elegant eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
The old monk sighed as if he had come to the end of the road. “The general cannot wake Dragath—” he glanced sidelong at me, “—because Dragath is already awake.”
An eerie silence fell over the group as everyone tried to process what the old druid had just revealed.
“How?” Penelope asked while the others came to terms with this news.
The druid looked around at our worried faces. “He is not yet fully awake. He has found a way to move his consciousness into another’s body, and so his powers are still limited. That is why he needs to complete the ritual—to release his body and all of his powers.”
Penelope clasped her hands together, and her eyes shone with understanding. “The general is Dragath.”
“Precisely.”
Penelope’s face tightened. “Then all the more reason to make sure he doesn’t get the Dagger.”
Victor nodded. “Yes, but the Dagger is not all he needs to raise his true form and powers. There is still one thing that has eluded him.”
Penelope leaned forward and whispered, “Once they have the Book of Abraxas and the keys to open it, they will have everything they need. We must stop them.”
The old druid shook his head, and a shadow crossed his aged face. “When Auraken Firedrake and Illaria Lightbringer sealed Dragath in his prison in Mount Khatral, they used blood magic to do it. Opening the Book of Abraxas and wielding the Dagger is only part of what the general will need to raise Dragath.”
Dread inched down my spine; I knew instinctively I wasn’t going to like the answer, but I asked anyway. “What more could he need?”
“The blood of his jailers,” said Victor slowly, turning his fathomless brown eyes on me. “The blood of the Firedrake line.”
My face paled. “My blood.”
Victor nodded. “Indeed.”
Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “And you know who the general really is?”
I held my breath.
“Come.” Victor got up slowly from the bench. “It is better that you see for yourself.”
The old druid led us into what was unmistakably the library. Shelves upon shelves of old scrolls and ancient tomes no one outside this monastery had seen in centuries lined the walls. Wooden ladders on wheels were attached to every wall, and a number of monks were hanging precariously on them, trying to find elusive titles.
Victor opened a small door at the end of the library and we all stepped inside. All the room contained was a
