We stopped as the sound of booted feet thumped toward us. The main road leading to the palace was cut off by a legion of dwarven guards, heavily armored with weapons at the ready.
“Who goes there?” said a booming voice. “How did you get into the city?”
Penelope stepped forward. “We need to see the king.”
“The king sees no one without an appointment,” said one dwarven guard, his spear held firmly in his hand. He was of average height, about five feet tall. I quickly glanced around at the others whose beards were trimmed and short, framing stout faces with weathered skin. Tough-looking, the dwarven guards stoically stood their ground. “You can petition for an audience with the king tomorrow.”
My eyes narrowed. I didn’t want to waste any more time. I pushed my shoulders back and stepped forward. “My name is Aurora Firedrake, and I have to see the king.”
My name had the desired effect. The guards darted hasty, alarmed looks at their leader, whose eyes widened in recognition. His gaze moved from Rafe and Penelope to Tristan and Ashara standing behind me. He bowed once, then thumped his spear and one booted foot as he turned. “Follow me,” he said and led us through the main street to the palace.
“Where is everyone?” Penelope asked the guard as we passed the marketplace, which was empty except for unused stalls and dilapidated stacks of crates. We’d passed numerous little shops all over the city, but they were all shut down.
“Curfew,” the dwarven guard answered, not looking back.
King Ranthor’s palace rose up above us, a huge stone fortress carved out of the very rock of the cavern. Enormous iron gates opened to let us in as we followed the guards. They led us through vast halls with massive pillars and curved arches that held up the domed ceilings. Intricate silverwork was embossed into the stone, and precious gems, the likes of which I had never seen before, decorated the arches above. The same eerie glow lit up the halls—hovering globes that gave off a faint light. It wasn’t like the warm glow of the fae magic that lit the halls of the Crystal Castle in Elfi, but a darker, more sinister magic.
Four guards had to pry open the big stone doors that led to the throne room. Entering a cavernous vault with carved stone pillars and walls smooth and polished, we walked down a long crimson carpet to where the king sat.
As we neared the throne—a monstrous seat of iron—Penelope stopped, her hand on my arm. “That’s not Ranthor.”
The dwarf on the throne got up. “No, it’s not.” I recognized him from the scrying table. He was the same one who had met with Joreth. It was Drimli, the traitor.
Rafe and I drew our swords. Tristan and Ashara moved to flank us.
“Where is Ranthor?” Rafe demanded.
“Dead,” spat Drimli. “My useless cousin didn’t deserve this throne. I do.”
Penelope gasped as a shadow stepped through the doorway beyond the throne and removed his hood.
Joreth! He was already in the fortress.
Joreth clapped his hands together, a big smile on his face. “Ah! Dawnstar. I knew you would come, but I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” He walked forward. Two young girls followed out of the shadows: Andromeda’s daughter Skye, who also happened to be my fae cousin, and my best friend Vivienne.
“Viv!” I took a step forward but stopped, remembering she wasn’t herself—the Dark Queen resided within her. Lilith sneered at me from behind thick lashes, her stark black eyes sinister in the eerie light. I looked over at Skye. Her blue eyes were crystal clear, but she served the Dark Lord all the same.
They stopped a few feet away.
“Oh! Your friend is long gone,” Joreth said, stroking Vivienne’s hair as she stood docilely beside him. “I think I like this new body of yours, Lilith. Maybe we should keep it.”
Vivienne smiled, but I only saw the Dark Queen swirling behind her eyes, a predator. She smoothed her hands over her new body. “Yes, I think so,” she purred. “Much better than Calisto’s body. She required too much upkeep.”
An image of the beautiful Calisto lying dead and mangled in the palace after Lilith left her body flashed before my eyes. I shook my head to dispel the images.
It didn’t work.
Joreth’s eyes were now completely black; no iris and no white could be seen anymore. Dragath had taken over his mind and body completely. He drew the Dagger of Dragath from his robe, the ruby on its hilt flashing as if in warning. “We have what we came for.”
Vivienne opened her hand. The last key to the Book of Abraxas rested within it. He wasn’t lying—they already had everything they needed. Well, almost everything.
From behind the pillars and the shadowy arches, more shapes emerged. They surrounded us, and I recognized who they were instantly: dark fae, over a dozen of them. We were completely outnumbered.
I straightened my shoulders. I needed answers. “Where is my father?” I demanded. “What have you done with him?”
Joreth raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I realized you had been poking around in the past. It’s a wonder that foolish druid Victor managed to get the tapestry to work in the first place.” Joreth traced the Dagger in the air beside him, and a portal started to open. “It doesn’t matter where your father is. He won’t be alive for long.” He paused and looked at me. “Soon my true form will be restored, and my demon army will join me. I don’t need you anymore.” He glanced at the dark fae. “Kill her. Kill them all.”
Tristan stood in front of me, his swords flashing with silver fire. Ashara was on my other side, her staff steady in her hands, the jewels on top glowing, ready for battle.
Rafe drew his
