The Cursed King by Abigail Owen

Chapter Twenty-Six

Angelika sat cross-legged on the floor, stuffing her face with a sandwich that one of their guards had put together for everyone for dinner. Which felt normal. Or at least normal adjacent.

So when Meira’s spine snapped steel-rod straight, her gaze going sort of hazy, it took Angelika a solid ten seconds to stop chewing before she could ask, “What’s wrong?”

But Meira didn’t speak. She just spun around, facing one of the hundreds of mirrors they’d placed all over the mountain—inside and outside. Immediately, the image changed, showing Samael in a small cavern, almost impossible to see in the dark, lips pressed together in a grim line and dark eyes glittering with flame. Behind him, Ladon and Brand stood back, equally grim.

“Meira,” Skylar snapped. “You weren’t supposed to—”

“I called her,” Samael cut her sister off. “It’s important.”

The mates stared at each other a long moment. Were they speaking in their minds? Angelika didn’t care. She was too busy searching the room for Airk.

But he wasn’t there.

Before she could ask where her mate was, Meira shoved her hand through the mirror and took something from Samael before pulling back out and shutting off her power. The transition back to their own reflections was so abrupt, Angelika let out a sharp breath.

“What did he give you?” she asked.

But Meira didn’t answer. She grabbed for the nearest device, a laptop, the only one she’d brought down here with her. Plugging whatever he’d given her into it, she started up what appeared to be a video, and they all gathered around her to watch what seemed to be some sort of surveillance feed, black and white, a tad grainy and from above and at an angle. But what was clear on the screen were four figures. Pytheios. Jakkobah. Tisiphone. And the witch, Rhiamon.

Tisiphone lay on a slab. As they watched, Rhiamon raised her hands, and some kind of material—dirt, maybe?—rose from a small cylindrical container at the foot of the slab.

“Is that an urn?” Kasia broke the silence hanging over them.

No one answered. On the screen, the particles floated in the air, coalescing over Tisiphone’s body in a thin layer, appearing to form to her shape, though it was difficult to tell from the angle and distance.

Angelika frowned, familiarity tickling her mind. “Is that…?”

“Oh my gods,” Kasia whispered. “Please, no.”

“Those are ashes,” Skylar said, her voice dropping low, almost a dragon’s growl of anger.

Horror wrapped around Angelika’s heart and squeezed so hard she couldn’t breathe. “He couldn’t. Could he?” Angelika choked out.

Again, no answer.

They were all probably too terrified to voice it. Because if they knew anything about Pytheios, it was that there was no line he would not cross. Meira didn’t speak, staring hard at the screen, but her hands were shaking, making the image bounce around. And no wonder. She’d been the one to discover their mother’s ashes had disappeared from the place where she’d died. That lonely, empty field behind their house in Kansas.

No one said it, but they were all thinking it.

If Pytheios had fucking made a phoenix…

The floating layer of ash—that had to be what they were looking at—suddenly started to glow, as though turning to embers. Brighter and brighter, they sank down over Tisiphone, absorbing into her skin and lighting her up.

The girl opened her mouth on a scream that they couldn’t hear as they watched, the feed having no sound. Her body bowed and contorted in visible excruciating pain, face crumpling and grimacing. Meira made a whimpering sound, hands shaking harder, and Angelika pulled the computer from her sister’s unresisting grip to hold it up for them all…

Suddenly, Tisiphone went dead still, collapsing on the slab like a rag doll shaken too hard by an overeager dog, head lolling, white-blond hair so like Angelika’s mussed and spilling over the sides of the stone she lay on. Angelika leaned closer, as though she could physically get a better look in the room, studying the girl.

Was her chest even moving? Had they killed her?

Tisiphone remained that way, but the witch’s arms were still raised, her mouth moving, hair raising and falling as though a breeze circled the indoor space. She was definitely still going…chanting something.

Then Tisiphone jackknifed to sitting on a visible gasp for air, mouth wide open and eyes wild. But after that initial violent reawakening, she settled, sitting quietly. She held her arms out in front of her, seeming to study her own skin. After a second, faint lines started to become visible on the grainy feed. Swirling, fine lines that glowed like the hottest ember, forming the pattern of delicate feathers.

“Oh my gods,” Kasia said again, this time with a distinct waver in her voice.

“Fuck,” Skylar spat. “That rat bastard just—”

Meira’s head dropped forward, as though she couldn’t handle the weight of the truth, and Angelika set the device on the floor to wrap an arm around her.

“He used our mother’s ashes to make Tisiphone a phoenix.” Angelika said what no one else would.

She didn’t need to be touching Meira to sense the flinch, visible, like a tic. Her sister took a deep breath, then another, then raised her head, expression rock hard. “I need to get to the communication room.”

“No.” Skylar jerked to her feet. “Separating is a bad idea.”

Meira’s chin jutted out, determination written all over her. “All dragon shifters need to see this. I can try to do that, but only from my setup in my rooms at Ararat. It could make a difference.”

“Not given where most of them are right now,” Angelika pointed out. “After. We can’t risk it.”

“No. Now.” Meira remained adamant, chin jutting out. “They’ll find a way to show them. Or I will. But if it changes the minds of some who are still on the fence, it’s worth it before the fight.”

“The risk—”

“Then you all come with me.”

Angelika tilted her head, meeting Skylar’s gaze over Meira’s shoulder. After a second, Skylar gave a jerking nod.

Together, they stood. “Follow us,” Angelika ordered the dragons on guard duty.

Without hesitation, they marched after her and her sisters. Because Meira was right. This could make a huge difference to every dragon who believed Pytheios was supposed to be High King because of his supposed phoenix.

…

Airk’s first stop after Jakkobah had been the kings. After scrounging up a computer, they’d watched what was on the metal item the Stoat had provided, their silence turning heavier by the second.

“Fuck me,” Brand had muttered when it was over.

“I don’t think I can show that to Meira,” Samael had said. “In her condition, she shouldn’t get that upset.”

Ladon had stood in stoic silence, jaw clenched, staring at the image paused on the screen.

“We have to find a way to show this to everyone,” Airk had insisted. “They have to know.”

That’s when Ladon had clapped a hand on Samael’s shoulder. “Meira’s our best method to get this message out. Not just to the people here—to shifters everywhere. We don’t have a witch, but Meira has the best chance.”

Samael had shaken his head, then shaken it again, clearly not thrilled with the way of things. “In that case, I’ll take Meira to Ararat myself. Her setup there is the best way to get it out.”

Brand had given a sharp shake of his head. “We need you here—”

He’d stopped as Samael’s eyes flared with black flame, and the gold king snapped his mouth shut. Airk hadn’t blamed him. With Meira pregnant, the black dragon king’s protective instincts had to be screaming at him.

But in the end, they’d convinced Samael to give Meira the video but remain here in Alaska.

At the same time, they’d hurried to set up for what they hoped she could do next, and she’d come through.

She’d set that video up to broadcast in every way possible to dragons across the world. To the war rooms and communication rooms in the mountains, bypassing network security to hit TVs in the mountains, too using the humans’ emergency broadcast spectrum limited only to dragon shifters’ personal devices—who knew where she got those lists—to push the video to them individually. And probably many other ways he could hardly fathom after so long in his dungeon.

But where he and his allies were in Alaska, they didn’t have TVs or war rooms, and their personal devices didn’t work. So they’d loaded the original file onto a bunch of laptops.

Now Airk stood on an outcropping of rock, showing his own people the proof. White dragon shifters, all in their human forms, spread out through the trees of the forest below him. He held up a borrowed computer, playing the video for them at the same time that Meira was broadcasting it all those ways.

He wasn’t the only one showing this. Brand, Ladon, Samael, but also Jordy and Tovar; Finn Conleth, who was the lead Enforcer of his team; Ladon’s men Asher and Reid; and several others had gone to show this to their people simultaneously.

With dragon shifters’ heightened senses of both sight and hearing, they could all take it in perfectly fine regardless of how far back they stood from him. The silence that hung over every person gathered throughout the mountainside was the same as had hung over the kings when they’d played this earlier.

“I recognize her,” someone said in the crowd. “She grew up in the Unnamed Mountain.”

Airk stiffened at that. The same mountain where he’d pulled that unclaimed dragon mate from their dungeon? Where they’d attacked before he’d opened his mouth?

“You don’t recognize her,” another voice shouted the denial. “This is a fake. Anyone could have made this video.”

A grumble—half in agreement, half unswayed—spread through the crowd like slow-moving thunder coming from a distance.

Belyy, at his side, stepped forward, and silence fell over them again. “I knew her personally. She is no phoenix.” He grimaced. “Or she wasn’t, until…” He waved a hand at the screen.

The man couldn’t even bring himself to say what that witch had done to her.

Then Mös, also standing with him, turned his head, studying Airk. The speculative gleam in his eyes had Airk frowning, the sensation of something coming at him that he didn’t want crawling over his skin.

The ex-Beta turned back to face their clan. “There is only one dragon we can trust. If those in leadership weren’t in on it, they were oblivious to it, which is almost worse. Myself included. But this man—”

He clapped a hand on Airk’s shoulder. Only through sheer will did Airk not growl at the touch, his dragon curling inside him like a striking snake.

Unaware or undeterred, Mös continued. “I believe that the gods saved this man so that he could step up to rule when the time was right. He endured what he did—all that he did—to come out pure on the other side. Untainted. Worthy.”

A murmuring passed through the crowd. Not anger but…agreement.

Fuck.

Angelika should be here for this. He was the last man anyone should be promoting to rule. Airk started shaking his head.

“Not only that, but Airk Azdajah is mated to a true phoenix, the daughter of our previous king. He is the son of Zilant’s beta, already in line for the throne.”

“No,” Airk stated. Unequivocally.

Mös’s neck cracked he snapped his head around so hard, a scowl descending. “What do you mean, no?”

Airk was tempted to stare the man down. The word no held the same definition in all languages. But he could practically hear Angelika’s voice in his head telling him to work with Mös, try to make him understand. These were their people.

Fuck again.

He faced the gathered crowd rather than Mös. “In captivity, I had to contain my dragon. That side of me is feral. Cannot be released. I would not be right as your king if I cannot lead you in the skies.”

“You took down that gold dragon!” someone shouted from the back.

“Like a true king,” Mös stated, nodding. “He killed Brock Hagan, protecting you, his people, from the man Pytheios wanted to put on our throne.”

All supportive words. Building faith in Airk. Even so, there was still something in the way he was acting that set Airk’s teeth on edge. Something…wrong.

“King Airk Azdajah,” a new voice cried out.

“King Airk,” other voices took up the call.

Fisting his hands at his sides, he pushed against the instinct to shut down. An instinct driven by years of having to hold everything inside himself, never giving Pytheios the satisfaction of a reaction of any kind. But that kind of reaction now wouldn’t fix this or stop this. This was getting out of hand. What the hells was he supposed to do? What could he possibly say to turn this rising tide?

He was not their king and never could be.

Airk held up a hand, and silence settled over those who had once been his people. “After what you have been through, you deserve a king who is whole, at one with his dragon side. I am not that man.”

“You owe us this,” Mös snapped.

“I owe you?” Airk’s growl was a low rumble of sound that stilled the other man.

Even a predator knew when the larger threat had decided to focus on them. The Beta blinked rapidly. “You are mated to the phoenix who has pledged herself to this clan. You are next in line for the throne by blood right. You have even more against Pytheios than we do. This is your war, son. Fight it or get the hells out.”

The dragon way. If you weren’t useful, you were cut loose. “I am not your son,” Airk snarled. “And Angelika does not need a king to lead this clan. She can do it herself.”

A flash of emotion brightened Mös’s eyes, like a sun flare. Also an emotion that Airk recognized—pure triumph.

“We will only ever follow a dragon shifter as our ruler,” Mös stated, utterly controlled.

Realization struck too late, like a gong rung after dessert had already been served. That was what this was about. Discrediting both Airk and Angelika as the true leaders for the white clan. Clever fucking bastard.

Airk folded his arms, staring the older man down. “That thinking is what landed you with Pytheios in the first place.”

“You’re right.”

Airk frowned. Where was this going?

Mös’s tipped lips sent tension spiraling through his bones. The man was too smug, and Airk wasn’t practiced in the art of perception and politics. “But we were…I was…guilty only of ignorance. Perhaps the White Clan is better served remaining apart, out from under any High King at all.”

Airk’s brows snapped down. “The hells you say.”

Mös shrugged. “The ins and outs of what brought us all to this point are so convoluted, it isn’t worth looking for blame or retribution. I have to think about what is best for my people. Something you clearly aren’t prepared to sacrifice to do.”

Mypeople, not our. Because Airk was and always would be the outsider, from the day Pytheios had shoved him in that cell in Everest.

“And what is best for our people?”

“Staying out of it.” Without further ado, Mös turned to face the gathered clan. “If you agree with me, come with me now.”

About half of the people turned to follow. The others shifted uncomfortably on their feet, restless and unsure, a low murmur of discussion growing louder and louder.

“Coward.” Airk spat the word at the Beta’s back.

Mös quietened, though he didn’t look over his shoulder. “You don’t know what I’ve done for this clan,” he said, still without moving.

“If it involved walking away, turning your back, ignoring the signs, or looking the other way, then this moment, right now—this is your chance to redeem yourself. Be a true leader and stay.”

Mös whipped around, the wrath on his face turning into a snarl of ugliness. “A true leader, as you say, is one who makes the hard decisions.”

“This is one of those decisions.”

“A true leader protects his people. First, last, and always.”

“If you think leaving now means Pytheios will not come for you, you are sorely mistaken. And if your plan is to wait and see who wins, then come crawling back, like the snake I suspect you are… If it is us, we will not take you. If it is Pytheios…” Airk’s lips curled at the name. “Then you deserve what you get.”

“Do you hear him?” Mös boomed out. “He’s aligned himself with the other clans and not with his own people. Not truly. How can we trust him?”

Another round of grumbling rose from the people.

Airk wasn’t about to debate semantics. He didn’t have time for this shit. Either they stayed and believed, or they didn’t. “Make your own choices. I have a rotting king to defeat.”

…

Angelika settled back in the cavern in Kamen after her sister’s stunt with the video. Gods, it sucked not being with the clans to see how that was taken. Had it made a difference? It had to have, right?

“It made a difference,” Kasia was the one to murmur.

Skylar glanced away. Meira offered a small smile. Angelika could only sit there and hope.

“Making the same mistake twice isn’t something I do,” a smooth, beautiful voice poured from the darkness of the cavern beyond.

Angelika froze, staring at Meira. She wasn’t even sure what she did next, moving on instinct. All she knew as that all four of them were on their feet in a heartbeat, facing the direction Pytheios’s voice had come from, though they couldn’t see him yet.

“I tracked your signal here.” That voice slid and curled around them like a snake. “Quite a move, sharing that video. Jakkobah’s gift to you, I assume? I wonder how he got it past me?”

None of them answered.

“No matter. Truth is harder to prove than you would think, and I can still feel so many of my people loyal to me. So I came for you. But this time, unlike Ben Nevis, Rhiamon has learned how to get past the wards. My people have been sent directly to the heart of this mountain, rather than above it.”

The white dragons with them shifted, forming a line between them and Pytheios, though Angelika still couldn’t see where he was.

At the move, a chuckle bounced off the rock walls and crawled down her spine. “I’ll tell you the same thing I did last time,” he said. “Bow to me now, or die.”

The darkness stirred, and out of the shadows emerged a human figure—Pytheios himself. Alone.

“What was that no-mistakes thing again?” Skylar jeered.

Then glanced at Meira, but their sister shook her head.

“Can’t get those reflections to work for you again?” Pytheios’s voice was a satisfied purr.

“Plan B,” Kasia whispered.

Which basically meant getting out of here…or pretending to.

The white dragons before them, already prepared for what that phrase meant, shifted back to human and hurried to them. Together, Kasia and Skylar were meant to use their powers to teleport them all elsewhere, though not to where the others waited. Not yet.

Except Skylar shoved and Kasia touched…then nothing happened. They were still in Kamen.

“Oh dear,” the red king taunted. “Can’t use those powers, either?”

That’s when panic started to creep in, heat crawling up her nerves, flooding her logic. They’d determined that the witch was turning off Meira’s powers somehow, but now she’d gotten to Kasia and Skylar, too? How?

Gods, the second part of this plan better work, or they’d have no way out of here.

“My king, no one is here.”

Angelika blinked at the voice in her head.

Pytheios’s reaction, however, was…nothing. Not even a twitch. Her sisters didn’t react, either. Had they heard that, too? Or was she the only one?

Angelika tried to take in her sisters’ faces surreptitiously, but they were all focused on the king and only him.

“Keep him talking,”a new voice sounded in her mind.

A feminine voice, and Angelika almost gasped at the sound, barely managing to swallow it down in a rush of relief.

Delilah was here. The second part of this plan was going to work.

Hopefully. Unless Rhiamon shut the witch—or whatever Delilah was—and her warlock husband, Alasdair, down, too. But they didn’t know she was coming, so there was a chance.

“What’s the plan here?” Angelika asked Pytheios, projecting as much bravado as she could. “Kill us in front of witnesses?”

He sneered, then held out a hand. Out of the dark, the figure of a woman, not much younger than they, appeared, sidling up to her king.

Beautiful and willowy, she reminded Angelika of Meira’s stature, with Kasia’s direct gaze and Skylar’s stubbornly tilted chin, all with Angelika’s coloring.

Tisiphone.

My mother’s ashes are inside her. They are the reason she’s a phoenix.Even in death, Pytheios couldn’t leave their poor mother in peace.

But was that this girl’s fault? What if she was as much of a victim as anyone else here?

Skylar, Kasia, and Angelika all looked to Meira, who was focused now on the false phoenix, studying her, reaching out with her empathic ability, unless Rhiamon shut that down, too. After a second, she closed her eyes, chin dropping to her chest. “She wants to be here. Wants us dead. Wants to be queen,” she whispered. “I’m sure of it.”

Angelika hadn’t needed the words. Meira’s disappointment was palpable. They’d all hoped to save Tisiphone from this monster, but apparently she was right where she wanted to be.

Which made her just as much of a monster.

Tisiphone opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a woman appeared beside Angelika. Delilah, with her raven hair perfectly coifed and in a suit and heels no less. Beside her was her mate, Alasdair.

“Quickly,” Delilah said. “That witch’s powers are already trying to find me.”

Without hesitation, they all joined hands.

“No—” Pytheios’s shout was cut off mid-word as, in the next moment all of them—including their guards—disappeared from Kamen and arrived in the chamber in the Alaskan mountain where their mates waited.

But there was no time for a reunion.

Meira spun toward the mirror while Angelika searched the room for her mate. Where was Airk?

With a flicker of Meira’s flames, the mirror before them changed, showing Pytheios inside the mountain, though now with Rhiamon and Tisiphone both. But they weren’t only looking for him. The image changed rapidly, moving from mirror to mirror within the White Clan’s mountain, exactly as they’d set them up, searching in rapid succession.

Showing them precisely what forces Pytheios had brought with him.

“Holy hells,” Ladon muttered. “Even after that video, he’s still got the entire Red and Green Clans mobilized against us.”

The numbers didn’t lie. How could Pytheios have such a strong pull? How could people not see the truth—that this man was a liar and a charlatan, out for power alone, and didn’t care who he took down as he grabbed for more and more?

“It won’t take his witch long to track the trail I left for her,” Delilah, still with them, warned. “We have five minutes, tops.”