Dark Fae's Desires: A Whychoose

Fantasy Romance (Dark Fae Kingdom

Book 2) Eve Newton
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 Dark Fae’s Desires
Whychoose Fantasy Romance

Dark Fae Kingdom

Book 2

Eve Newton
 Contents

1. Savannah
2. Savannah
3. Savannah
4. Jerrick
5. Savannah
6. Savannah
7. Trey
8. Raize
9. Theo
10. Savannah
11. Savannah
12. Trey
13. Savannah
14. Jerrick
15. Savannah
16. Trey
17. Rook
18. Theo
19. Savannah
20. Rath’Na
21. Jerrick
22. Savannah
23. Savannah
24. Rath’Na
25. Savannah
26. Rook
27. Theo
28. Savannah
29. Savannah
30. Savannah
31. Jerrick
32. Trey
33. Savannah
34. Savannah
35. Rath’Na
36. Savannah
37. Blood Rose Chapter 1
Other Books by Eve Newton
 Dark Fae’s Desires
Dark Fae Kingdom, Book 2

Whychoose Fantasy Romance

Eve Newton

Copyright © Eve Newton, 2020

2nd Edition 2024

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any
means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
 Chapter 1

Savannah

idnight and I join Gramps at the gates to the palace. I gulp as I see the entire Dark Fae Army assembled and take in the
M enormity. I’ve been very sheltered since I came to live here and confined mostly to the palace, I know that, but I’m
staggered by the size of Gramps’s army. Soon to be mine. Thousands upon thousands about covers it.
Gramps gives me a grim look. “You sure about this?”
“Yes,” I reply, chin raised, hoping he can’t see, or sense the sheer terror that has suddenly kicked in. This has just gotten
real.
Really real.
Jerrick, Trey and Theo hover close by, and Rook flies overhead, making an absolute racket in his anger at being left out.
“Shush,” I murmur, and somehow, he must hear me, and he quietens down a fraction.
Gramps looks up at him with such a filthy glare, I shudder. He is not happy about this development in the slightest. We had
to come clean; we had no choice as the battle tactic was very clear. Raize needs to be within ten feet of me for me to use him to
amplify my own power into the swords. No way Gramps wouldn’t notice this and question it, even in the heat of battle.
Trey, Theo and Jerrick will be at the points of a triangle with me in the middle, also no more than ten feet away at all times.
If one of them falls, it’s up to the others to cover their area, and if only one is left, he is to flank me to my right, my weaker side
and if he goes, Raize has strict orders not to Shift to save me. I need him more as a raven than as a desperate male trying to
save his woman.
Not my words.
Jerrick’s.
He doesn’t mince them and while I usually appreciate straight talk, that made the tears seep down my cheeks and for me to
make slow love to each of them one by one so that I could give them all my full attention.
“This isn’t goodbye,” Jerrick had murmured to me last night.
But I couldn’t help thinking that maybe it was.
Just in case.
Gramps nods once and then turns on his War unicorn to address Jerrick. I sidle Midnight closer, wanting to hear what
Gramps has to say to him.
“Anders is fair game, but if you see Ambrosia anywhere, assign a man now to get her. I doubt she will show her face here,
but if she does…” He trails off, trying not to show how utterly distraught he is that his own daughter betrayed him and married
Anders to defy him.
I still can’t believe it either. It’s disgusting, but so totally her. I’m sure they are well-suited to each other, but I wish they’d
leave me out of it. Theo informed us all about what he’d overheard, and it made me sick to my stomach.
Jerrick gives him a quick bob of his head and turns to issue the orders to one of his men, and then we all turn as one to
troop off to the border of the two lands. Gramps is up front, leading the way, but I’m stuck in the middle of these throngs of
men. Some on foot, some also on War unicorns. All heavily armed and in good cheer to be heading off to kill some Light Fae,
no fear anywhere in sight, except the stench of my own.
It pisses me off. If they aren’t scared, then why am I?
The thunder rumbles overhead, and the rain starts to drizzle, dampening my hair almost instantly.
I delve into the pocket of my pants for my black leather fingerless gloves and slip them on, gripping Midnight tighter with
my thighs. He shakes out his mane and grunts, catching Theo’s attention. He gives him a brief, yet lingering look before he
averts his eyes up to mine.
He gives me a grin and a wink and then unleashes the Vampire.
He is probably desperate to head into the slaughter and slake his thirst for blood. I feel a small smidgen of guilt that I didn’t
let him feed from me last night. He must be starving, but if he is, it doesn’t seem to be impairing him in any way. He is strong,
confident and ready for battle.
Wiping the rain out of my eyes, I stop thinking.
Now is the time to act.
I have two goals.
Stay the fuck away from Anders, and don’t get captured.
Several minutes later, I take a deep breath as we come to a stop. I can’t see the front of the army now; I seem to have been
deftly shunted to the back while we walked forward, and my focus was split.
“Damn you,” I growl under my breath at my grandfather.
This has his handiwork written all over it.
The wind has picked up now, but it isn’t a natural one. It’s the magick that is being coiled from both sides.
Our mages have cast a spell to stop the Light from Puffporting as they have to us.
Shivering slightly as we are truly trapped and have to fight our way out now, I hear something that makes my blood boil.
Jerrick is talking to Theo, but I’m downwind, and I pick up every word.
“Once this starts, use your Vampire speed and strength to get her the fuck out of here.”
“Done,” Theo replies.
How the fuck dare they! They’ve been planning this behind my back, while all week they’ve trained me to tackle this head-
on.
Ass-fucking-clowns.
If I needed anything to shatter my fear and give me the balls to cross my arms over my head and grip the hilts of the two
swords behind me, that was it.
With a snarl of rage, I drag them out and raise them to the sky.
Raize sees me and shrieks, clearly also in on this deceitful plan as he alerts the others.
But it’s too late.
The battle has started.
With a frenzied roar, I use Raize to draw the lightning into the swords, and I surge forward, squeezing Midnight with my
thighs to keep my balance as I charge along with the rest of the army.
“Fuck! Savvie!” Jerrick thunders after me, but I’m not paying any attention to his, or any of the others, whereabouts.
I’m so fucking incensed that only one thought is in my head now.
Get to Anders and kill him.
Midnight gallops forward, slipping effortlessly through the army to the front lines where the Dark are colliding with the
Light in an epic battle of magick and clash of swords.
The instant I’m spotted, I’m surrounded by Light Fae. They will have their instructions to capture, not kill me, but I have no
such orders. I have never taken the life of another before, but I don’t think about it as I swing both swords down and out to the
sides to fight off two Light Fae that are trying to reach me.
Their screams as my magick, lightning-fueled swords rip through them is a muffled noise in my ears as my focus goes
completely on the next swing of the swords.
The next body to slice through.
Stopping the next asshole that wants to grab me.
I have a pile of bodies falling on top of each other as more and more come.
Ten, twenty, I don’t know how many.
My heart is pounding. My blood is racing. My hands are sweating in my gloves. The rain is pouring down now with the
gale-force wind that is whipping around me. My stomach is churning at the stench of blood and burnt flesh, but still, they keep
coming.
My arms are tiring, and my thighs are screaming at me to let go of the hold I have on Midnight, but if I let Midnight go and
fight on foot, I’ll be overpowered before I can blink. There are too many and they outsize and outweigh me.
I can hear Jerrick, Trey, and Theo all swearing and cursing as they fight to get to me.
But there are just too many.
I can’t hold them off much longer.
The muscles in my arms are burning. I drop the right sword, and it allows access to a Light Fae sword to slice through my
arm, nearly taking it clean off.
I scream as the pain ricochets through me, the sword dropping to the floor.
“Savvie!” I hear Jerrick roar and look up to see his terror as he cuts his way through throngs of men to reach me.
 “I’m okay,” I say weakly, even though he can’t hear me.
But I’m not okay.
I’m dragged off Midnight by several of Anders’s army even though Midnight is kicking out violently, trying to protect me.
“Fuck! Savvie!” Trey roars.
I catch his eye and shake my head. I can feel the surge go through him that has him seconds from Shifting to Dragon form. If
he does that, he is as good as dead here.
“No!” I cry out as my feet are kicked out from under me, and I drop like a rock onto my wounded arm with a shriek of pain
as I go lightheaded.
“Get up, bitch,” one of the King’s guards hisses.
He doesn’t wait for me to get to my feet, he hauls me up by my damaged arm as my other sword is ripped from my hand. I
have the satisfaction of hearing the Guard scream as he burns from the inside out, and it causes the rest of them to drop back far
enough for me to bend down and pick up the sword from the mud.
As I straighten up, Jerrick has reached my side, killing every single remaining guard that has surrounded me, and with a
vicious scowl on his face, bloodstained and blackened by the smoke of magick, he grips my arm.
“Get. Out. Of. Here,” he bites out.
“Nope,” I retort and heft the sword higher again to pivot and take out a Guard behind me before Jerrick can.
My arm is starting to heal. I don’t think about the Vampire in me that is fixing it so quickly. It makes me want to be sick, so I
push it aside and I push the straggly wisps of hair out of my face that have fallen down in the wet, sweat and activity of battle.
I tune out the cries of the men from both sides. I tune out Jerrick, Trey and Theo, who are all yelling at me to get out. I tune
out Raize’s cries up above and ignore Midnight’s attempt to shove me off the battlefield.
And why?
I have locked eyes with Anders, who is riding towards me on his pure white War unicorn, even with all of this mud kicking
up and flying about. His men are parting the way for him, and it is only then that I realize we have been completely cut off from
our own army.
We are cornered amidst the Light Fae army.
I’ve put us all in extreme danger by letting my exhaustion settle over me for a second.
“Shit,” I mutter and push Jerrick away desperately. “Go!”
“Fuck off,” he snarls back. “I will never abandon you!”
“Go!” I roar at Trey, who is still on the verge of a Dragon Shift, the stress of it only serving to help him fight off the Fae that
are closing in on us bit by bit. I don’t have the room to swing my sword. None of us do.
I shove it back in the holster and pull on the lightning to start firing off bolt after bolt, but it’s no use. We are outnumbered,
and Anders is seconds away from us.
“Stop!” he calls out, and I feel that cloak of coercion drop over me.
“No!” Trey roars and shoves me hard out of the way.
“You,” Anders snarls. “Traitors are dealt with severely.”
“Not a traitor,” Trey grits out. “I was never loyal to you.”
“Nonetheless, you will watch as I rape your woman before your eyes, and then I will cut them out and burn them before I
remove your head and hang it on the top of the palace gates.”
“Try it,” Trey roars, fighting to get to Anders, but he is too well protected.
Sadly, I am not.
“Come to me,” Anders says, holding his hand to me.
I plant my feet, but I have no choice but to obey.
“Savvie! No!” Theo snatches my hand, dragging me back.
He exchanges a look with Jerrick, who returns it with a grim look.
“Go,” he growls, and in a flash of Vampire speed, Theo has picked me up and is running off the battlefield with me; no Fae
is able to keep up with his speed.
“Jerrick!” I shriek, knowing he has just signed his death warrant, along with Trey’s. “Trey!” I weep as the world rushes by
so quickly, I feel sick. “Stop, Theo, take me back.”
“Not a chance,” he says, but then comes to a sudden and jolting halt as Anders appears in front of us, on foot and holding up
his hand.
“We have unfinished business, Princess,” he drawls.
“Fuck off,” I scream, struggling to get my sword back out and take his head off his shoulders.
“Feisty,” he comments. “Just like your mom.”
He takes out a blade and slices it across his palm.
I hear Theo take a deep breath and let out a low growl.
“So easily controlled,” Anders says to him. “Give her to me, and you can drink.”
 “No,” Theo croaks out.
“Wrong answer,” Anders says and fires out an orb of pure sunlight from his palm.
“No!” I shriek as I leap from Theo’s arms and push him out of the line of fire, knowing it will kill him instantly if he gets hit
with an orb from the Light Fae King.
I howl with agony as it hits him in the chest, zoning in on its target as Anders takes my arm and drags me back, spinning me
around to face him so that I can’t see if Theo is still alive or not.
“Ouch,” Anders comments, looking over my shoulder. “Looks like it hurt. Too bad it’s over now.”
“No,” I weep, trying to turn, but he is far too strong for me. I hear Raize up above, shrieking loudly, drawing my attention
back to trying to save myself. I focus, latching onto his essence.
“Savvie, use me. Use everything that I have to get away from him. Do it. Now.”
I gasp, surprised to have heard his thoughts in my head.
“Do it!” he roars.
With a whimper, I hook my hand into a claw and drag the lightning out of the sky, using every ounce of Raize’s strength and
my own to bring an orb of lighting to my palm, so big, I see the fear in Anders’s eyes.
I’m shaking in his grip, but he can’t take his hands off me to pull on his own magick. He is as trapped as I am because I can
do nothing with this orb unless he gives me a bit of leeway to fire, but his grip only gets tighter on my wrists.
“You little fucking bitch,” he hisses as he grapples with me, keeping his eyes on the orb.
“Use your mind to fire it, Princess. You can do it; I know you can.”
“I can’t,” I stammer, trying with every fiber of my being to shoot it from my hand into Anders’s face. “I can’t!”
“You can. I believe in you,” he replies weakly.
Then, I see him plummet from the sky and hit the ground with a sickening thump behind Anders, Shifting back into a Fae, his
body broken and bent.
My men have fallen.
Every single one of them.
There is no way that Trey and Jerrick made it out of the battle alive.
I sob openly, the hot tears stinging my eyes. I can’t give up. They didn’t do all of this so that I could give up and let Anders
have me.
But without Raize’s strength, I don’t have enough to fight off Anders anymore.
He knows it as well because his grip on my right arm loosens, leaving the orb hovering at my left palm. He takes the blade
that he sliced his own palm with and slashes it across my left forearm, making me hiss with pain, and the orb disappears
instantly.
“Better,” he says and then before I can stop it, he clamps his bleeding palm over the wound on my arm, mingling our blood
together, thus binding the blood oath in a swirl of magick that makes my stomach twist and turn over. I gasp and bend over to
throw up on the floor at Anders’s feet.
“Savvie! No!” I hear someone shout from a distance away, but I don’t know who it is. The blood is roaring in my ears as
Anders grips my hands tightly and drags me a short way, outside the no Puffporting zone, before he Puffports us away, landing
in a filthy dungeon with a gilded cage, which he shoves me into. I fall to my knees in the dirt, and he locks it tightly before I can
get to my feet.
“Welcome home,” he says with an evil smile before he disappears, leaving me in the cold, wet, muddy cage, alone,
terrified, humiliated by my absolute failure to protect myself and utterly devastated by the loss of my men.
“Don’t cry,” a familiar voice comes at me from out of the darkness.
“Ambrosia?” I call out.
She lights a fire torch and saunters over to my cage, giving me a pitying look.
“I can get you out of there. All you have to do is give me what I want.”
I grip the bars of the cage, ignoring the sizzle of my flesh as I ask, “What? What do you want?”
“Oh, I think you know, stupid girl,” she says. “Your freedom for my Kingdom.”
I grit my teeth.
I should’ve known.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, and then I’m plunged back into the darkness as she blows out the torch.
“Think about it,” she says, ignoring my curse. “And trust me when I say, you want to think about it quickly. Anders has
vicious, vile tastes, and he will be down here soon to take them out on you for a while.”
I know she’s left me alone again as I feel the darkness and isolation close in on me. But there’s also something else. My
blood is tingling. It wants me to make good on my oath, and I know things will only get worse for me if I don’t.
But I’m not giving up my Kingdom, nor am I giving up on my love for my men. Anders will never have me willingly. I will
fight this magick to the bitter end.
I just hope that my bitter ends comes soon.
 Chapter 2

Savannah

’m cold, alone and devastated.

I I shiver.
My men are all dead and I’m stuck in this cage, a prisoner of Anders.
Sniffling, I try to hold back my tears, to be strong so that I can think clearly. I have to get out of here. There is no other
option.
I’m not becoming a whore to the Light Fae King, and neither am I giving up my Kingdom for my freedom. That is the
coward’s way out and I will not be labeled a coward on top of being weak and pathetic. My men wouldn’t want that for me,
and I owe them the honor of being as capable as they made me. Before them, I was nothing. A silly little girl with a crush on
someone not worth my time. Now, now, I’m a warrior and I’ll fucking well act like it when it matters most. Gritting my teeth, I
brush the tears away with a grimace and take a deep breath before choking on the stench, coughing violently and waving my
hands about like I’m being attacked by wasps.
“You get used to it,” a voice hisses out of the darkness.
I freeze. I had no idea that someone else was down here with me. It’s pitch black. My eyes are getting used to the darkness
in the way that they do, but I can’t see. Certainly not as far as the voice.
After a beat, I lick my lips. “Who are you?”
Silence.
I bite the inside of my lip, wondering if I should pursue a conversation with him, definitely a him from his voice.
“Can’t remember,” he rasps, his voice hoarse from disuse, the cold or the smell. Probably all three.
“I’m Savannah. Savvie,” I say, trying to put him at ease.
More silence.
“Uhm, how long have you been here?” I ask and then wish that I could kick my own ass for the stupid question. He’s in a
fucking dungeon, not hanging out in the village inn waiting for his buddies to show up.
“Uhm,” he murmurs. “Don’t know.”
“Oh,” I mutter and fall into a small depressive state before I drag myself out of it. Wallowing in self-pity at my plight will
only serve to hinder my ability to get out of here.
“Since the first King,” he suddenly says. “The original one. Not this one.”
My eyes widen and then I gulp. The original Light Fae King was Aelfric. He died about twenty-five years ago. That means
he has been down here for at least a quarter of a century. Probably longer.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, unable to think of anything else to say.
He snorts. “You’re sorry? What did you do, child?”
“I just mean…”
“Save it,” he clips out. “I. Don’t. Need. Your pity.”
I blink at the cadence of his voice. Some words stilted, some rushed. It’s like he isn’t used to speaking.
The wave of sorrow that I feel coming from him makes me edge to the side of the cage, closer to where his voice is coming
from.
Gripping the iron bars, I hiss as the burn scorches my palms, but I grit my teeth against it. It keeps me focused.
“I plan on getting out of here. I’ll rescue you when I do.” I make this foolish promise to him, unable to help myself. His
desolation is making me feel dizzy and I stumble back. “You’re in so much pain,” I murmur, putting my hand to my head.
 There’s a rattle of chains and then a clang as if they’re being thrown against the bars of a cage. “Empath?” he hisses.
“Uhm… uhm… yes. I’m Dark Fae,” I stammer as I try to get my power under control.
“Your. Powers. Work,” he grits out. “How?”
“I’m not…”
“HOW?” he roars, the chains resounding against the bars again. At least it would be a roar if his voice worked properly.
“Uhm…” I falter. I have no idea. This cage has magick dampening power infused into it. I can’t Puffport out of here, and I
probably can’t draw fire power to me. I try to create an orb, but I fail. “No powers,” I state.
“Yes. You. Do, Empath.”
I shake my head.
“Girl!”
“What?” I cry. “I don’t have the power to get out of here!”
“Can you. Manipulate. Feelings?”
I shudder. His creepy tone is really starting to freak me out. Now, I wish that he would stop talking and regret engaging him
in conversation.
“No,” I state with a huff. “And even if I could, I would not.”
He laughs harshly. “Prissy, little child.”
There’s a clanking again and then I hear him shuffling along the dirt floor.
“So what if I could?” I shout into the darkness. “I am no match for Anders. Clearly, or I wouldn’t be in this shit hole to
begin with!”
Silence again.
Now, I feel bad.
Dammit.
Turning, I walk to the other side of the cage, as far as I can and sit down. I draw my knees up and rest my forehead on them,
trying desperately to stop the swimming in my head. His feelings are overwhelming me.

Time passes, who knows how long. Long enough for me to know that I’m doomed without a way to get myself out of here. My
blood is tingling, needing to make good on the blood oath that Anders made me swear. But I would rather die than have that
happen.
Sighing, I try to focus my thoughts by pressing the back of my hand against the bars. I hiss and it centers me briefly.
“Not the King. The girl.”
“What?” I ask, frowning into the darkness at the voice.
“She offered you a way out. Why not take it?”
My anger flares up as I stand abruptly. “I will not give my Kingdom to that silly diva-hoe! I will find another way.”
“Your Kingdom?”
“Mine!” I spit out. “One day. Soon.”
“Pah,” he chortles.
I don’t say anything else. Surely, Gramps is trying to get me out of here.
“Gramps?”
“Huh?”
“Who is Gramps?”
I blink in the darkness. I must’ve muttered that out loud. “Drake. The Dark Fae King.”
“He can’t get you out of here.”
I glare into the dark.
“It’s not King against King in this fight. It’s mage against mage. Dark Fae mages are no better than Light Fae ones, and vice
versa. The Light won’t let the Dark onto their land.”
“How do you know?” I ask, ignoring the fact that this is the longest sentence he has spoken.
“You are making me remember things, child,” he says, his tone full of malice. “I don’t wish to.”
If what he says is true, that Gramps can’t storm the palace to rescue me, I simply cannot leave my fate in the hands of a
bunch of mages. We could be here for years, if they are evenly matched. With a grim face, I sit again.
Suddenly, the grief of losing my men, of being torn from my family, hits me and I choke back a sob, but then openly weep,
not really caring how weak it makes me look.
“Useyourpowers,” he snarls and then goes quiet again as a bright white light appears outside my cage.
My eyes go fuzzy with the sudden light, and I blink.
“Savannah,” Anders drawls, pulling back the bolt of magick he’d used to blind me. “Come to your senses yet?”
 “Never!”
He tuts. “By now, your blood will be calling for me. You feel it, don’t you, Savannah?”
I refuse to answer that.
He chuckles. “As much as I would enjoy fucking you right now, I think I’m going to wait. The longer the blood oath remains
unfulfilled, the worse it will be for you. You will crave me, need me to take your next breath. You will go mad without me by
your side. You will do whatever it takes to be with me. Then, I will spread your legs and fuck you until my cum fills your hole
and then I will disappear again, leaving you down here, begging for me to take you again.”
“Is that how your fantasies go?” I snarl, clenching my fists tight so that I don’t reach out for him. My blood wants me to. It’s
taking everything that I have not to put my hand out for him to take. I’m shaking with the effort.
Laughter resounds around the dungeon, causing Anders’s face to constrict with anger.
“Shut your mouth, filth,” he barks out, looking to his left. Then he looks back at me. “I will be back for you in a little while.
The more you see me, the more you will want to be with me and the more I will deny you.” He chuckles. “Yes, this is perfect
torture. See you soon, little bitch.” He waves his fingers and then vanishes from sight in a puff of smoke.
Tears well in my eyes, which I blink back quickly.
He isn’t wrong with any of what he said. I can already feel the loss of him.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, and then inhale, closing my eyes to focus again. “Are you ass backwards trying to tell me to
manipulate Ambrosia into letting me go?” I ask into the blackness.
“Ass backwards?” he repeats in a puzzled tone. “The pretty peacock,” he rambles on. “Pretty, pretty peacock. So colorful.”
Great. Seems his lucid period has vanished.
I stand up and start to formulate a plan. If my empathic powers work, and they do–I can feel the horror and desperation
tearing through me from my dungeon-mate–will the deeper power work? I’ve never used it. I have never wanted to, but if there
is a slight chance I can actually do this, then I have to try.
 Chapter 3

Savannah

rowing tired of waiting for Ambrosia to show up again, I have no doubt that she will. She wants the throne too badly to
G stay away for long. I will have one chance at this. If I screw it up, I will never get close enough to her to try it again. I
think I have to be touching her; I can’t see how else I can do it. I have formulated a plan that will force her to reach for
me.
And then I just have to do it.
Failure is not an option.
Scrunched up in my corner of the cage, my eyes go heavy, and I fall into a slumber, worn out from the battle, the fear of my
predicament and the feelings from my dungeon-mate.
Dreaming strange dreams about people I don’t know such as a beautiful black-haired woman with glowing green eyes and a
handsome man with the same eyes and short, black hair. He towers over her, smiling at her side. They toast, and as their
goblets clang together, I wake up with a start.
Rapidly blinking my eyes to adjust them to the darkness, I scramble over to the other side of the cage.
“You!” I call out. “You were just in my dreams.”
Silence.
“I know it was you! How did you do that?”
Nothing.
“Answer me, dammit!”
Still nothing, so in frustration, I slam my hands onto the iron bars, the burn making me grunt with pain.
Inhaling deeply, I mutter a word that pops into my head. “Rath’Na.”
A whimper comes back at me through the blackness.
“Rath’Na,” I say louder. “Where have I heard that word before?” I frown fiercely as I try to remember. “Rath’Na.
Rath’Na.” It’s eluding me, but I know that I’ve seen it written down somewhere before.
“My name,” he croaks out, startling me out of my thoughts. “How do you know my name?”
“Your name?” I repeat. “Rath’Na.”
“Stop. Saying. It,” he snarls, clattering against the bars of his own cage. “Stop it.”
Licking my lips, I remember.
Delinda’s books.
I used to read them when she was off doing whatever it was she used to do when she was at home. Weirdly, I wanted to
know all about Dragons and their magick. The Fae used to live in harmony with them eons ago. I was curious when I was
younger, mostly to see if I had any Dragon in me.
“Rath’Na. Father to the original Dragon Empress’s sons. The Dragon Princes. That’s you,” I whisper through the bars of my
cage.
“STOP!”
Falling back onto my ass from the sheer power of the agony that hits me, it makes it hard to breathe. I gasp, putting my hand
to my chest as my heart pounds.
“Stop. Making. Me. Remember,” he hisses.
My head starts to throb, and I groan. His feelings are turning into memories that I can see playing through my head.
Finding out about his wife’s affair with my grandfather.
 Searching for Drake to kill him.
Falling into the hands of the Light Fae King with a promise to get him to Drake.
Imprisoned.
Being compelled into a stasis.
Over nine hundred years ago.
The only thing I don’t know is why, or when, he was brought out of the coma-like state he was in for so long.
“I’m sorry,” I moan, pushing down on my eyes to try to stop the ache.
“Not. Your. Fault,” he grits out.
“I’ll save you; I swear it. When I get out of here, you are coming with me,” My vehemence is my only weapon right now.
“No,” he says sadly. “Save yourself. I will slow you down, and you have more to live for.”
“So do you! I will get you back to your life.”
“I have no life! Don’t you see?”
Brushing the tears from my eyes in the silence that follows, I hear a scrape of a door.
“Ambrosia,” I whisper, knowing it has to be her. Anders would Puffport in. She is Dark Fae. Whatever magick is down
here, must be dampening hers as well to a degree.
“Do it, child,” Rath’Na mutters.
I bite my lip and wait until I see Ambrosia by the light of the fire torch she is carrying. Her look of disgust pisses me off
and focuses my attention back to the matter at hand. Get the hell out of here and back to my family. I need their support while I
grieve for my men. The sadness threatens to wash over me, but I have to shove it back right now. When I am back at home, I
can allow myself to think about them.
“Savannah,” Ambrosia drawls, looking at her fingernails and not me. “Come to a decision yet?”
My mouth is bone dry. But this is it. Plan A. If this fails, then I have no plan B. I’m banking everything on my next words
and Rath’Na’s strange faith in me.
“Yes,” I say, my voice strong and determined.
Her eyes shoot to mine in surprise. “Oh?” she asks before she checks herself and gives me a shrewd look. She searches my
face to see if she can see the deception, but I keep it as blank as I can by pushing my fingertip to an iron bar and concentrating
on that instead of my ruse.
“You agree to give me the Dark Fae Kingdom in exchange for your freedom?” she asks, coming as close as she dares. The
skirt of her voluminous green dress brushes up against the bars of my cage.
“Let me out of here, and I’ll leave. You never have to see me again,” I say carefully, word for word of the two sentences I
practiced in my head when I came up with this cockamamie idea.
She narrows her eyes.
My breath is non-existent.
She is a fool, no doubt, but I need her to be a really big one to buy what I’m selling right now.
“You’ll leave?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes.” Please don’t say ‘back to Earth’ and make me lie.
As it stands, all I’ve told her is that I’ll leave, and she never has to see me again. I’ll leave here, and she can stay and not
see me. It’s simple but can so easily be undone if she’s a hustler who pretends to be stupider than she is.
“How do I know you’ll abide?”
“We’ll shake on it,” I say steadily, even though my blood is roaring in my ears as the moment approaches. I have to do this.
To try this manipulating thing, I have to touch her, and I need to sway her mind to just open the cage. That way, I’m free and
clear to fuck off and never set foot on these lands again. Fooling her into believing I’m giving her the Kingdom is too risky for
it to remain in place. I just need it to get her hand in mine, and as a last resort, if I fail at the manipulation, if she still lets me
go, I can deal with the consequences of my deception when I’m back home.
Luckily for me, the carrot is too big for this silly donkey and with a smile of triumph, she delicately holds her hand out,
forcing me to put my arm through the bars to shake it.
Gripping her cold hand tightly, I ignore the pain of the iron as it touches my skin.
“We are in agreement, then,” she says and is about to pull her hand back.
I have to act now.
Drawing on every speck of magick I can find within myself in this dampened cage, every ounce of pain and sorrow that I
felt from Rath’Na through my empathic ability rushes to the surface as I open the gate I had put them behind and let it flood me.
I grimace and channel that into one thought that I try to ‘beam’ into Ambrosia’s head. I have no fucking clue how this works, or
how to do it.
Let me go. As your niece, as your blood, let me out of this cage.
She tries to pull her hand back with a grimace, but I cling to her. I don’t know if it’s working, but I need it to. I’m relying on
this to escape and get back home to my Kingdom.
Her face relaxes, and she smiles. I let her go. I have no choice now.
I hold my breath as she looks at me.
Did it work?
Did it?
 Chapter 4

Jerrick

lenching my fists, I try to reign in my raging temper. Beating the Head mage into the ground won’t get us anywhere. In
C fact, it will likely hinder us. He is the strongest Dark Fae mage, and without him, the other mages won’t stand a chance
against the Light Fae.
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. I look at Trey, whose face is pale and grim. “She’ll be okay,” he croaks.
“No, she won’t,” I snap. “He took her. We let him take her.”
He sighs. He knows I’m right. She should never have been out here in the first place, but then her reckless actions put her
right in Anders’s path. By now, he will have completed the blood magick ritual, and then… who knows.
I choke back the sob. If he’s hurt her, touched her in any way, I will kill him myself.
“The worst part about this is that she is in there…” He points to the Light Fae Palace looming on the horizon behind a
shimmer of pure magick, “…thinking that at least two of us are dead. How must she be feeling?”
It’s like an arrow through my heart. I feel even worse if that’s possible. “How is Rook doing?” I murmur.
Trey shrugs. “Not good. He gave her everything. He died, but somehow he’s come back from death to hover at its door
instead.”
I nod grimly. It’s been twelve hours since Anders took her. Time is running out.
The war ended shortly after Anders disappeared with Savannah. The Light Fae fell back behind their mages like the fucking
cowardly scum they are, and we have been in a standoff since.
Drake looks over at me with a fierce scowl as I growl in frustration.
He knows.
He has to know by now that I'm in love with his granddaughter. I know that I’ve been an asshole to the mages, yelling at
them to try harder, threatening bodily harm and worse. I’ve gone way past just professional concern for my Princess.
I have to wonder if he knows about the other men as well.
Casting my glance over at Theo, he looks fine, apart from a massive hole burned through his shirt. Luckily for him, Light
Fae sun spells don’t affect him. Or perhaps his much-loathed ring saved him. Whatever the case, he is alive and well. I hope
that Savvie knows that we are okay and trying to get to her.
Theo grimaces but comes no closer. He knows that being too close to Drake will only make things worse.
He is already looking wretched, and Princess Aeval’s constant haranguing isn’t helping matters. Not that I can blame her.
Her daughter has been kidnapped, and we are sitting here like fucking idiots, blocked from reaching her because our mages are
no better than theirs. That’s the trouble when fighting with magick. If this was a fight with brawn, we’d have Savvie back by
now.
And that’s why Anders called his men back. He knows he can’t hold us off otherwise.
I look up as Savvie’s mother sidles over, looking very suspicious.
“Trey,” she whispers. “Come with me.”
Trey looks at her in surprise, but then shrugs and starts to follow her.
“Wait!” I call out. I have figured out her plan in under two seconds and it is B-A-D. Striding forward to grab her by the
arm, I spin her around. She challenges me with her green-eyed icy glare, but I have to talk her out of this. “You cannot Shift to
your Dragon form. Not here.”
“It’s the only way to get her back, by the looks of it. Dragon force, especially two of us, will get through the Light Fae
mage’s magick easily.”
 “Firstly, you don’t know that. That’s arrogance talking. Secondly, you Shift here, and you will not only alienate Trey, but
your daughter will suffer and come under scrutiny that she has so far avoided.”
“I cannot just sit here and let her suffer at the hands of that little prick,” she hisses.
“Do you think that I want to? Do you think I enjoy standing here helpless, while the woman that I love is being held
captive?”
“Then let us do this,” she says quietly.
I hesitate. The thunder claps overhead, and then the rain starts to fall. A slow drizzle that you can barely see but soaks you
to the bone. It’s a foreboding sign. Rain here isn’t uncommon, but it is usually a lashing down storm. This is an anomaly, and it
chills me as much as the rain.
“What’s your plan?” I ask eventually.
 Chapter 5

Savannah

ith deliberate movements, Ambrosia puts her arm behind her back and then produces a large key. I glance briefly at it
W before she inserts it into the lock and turns it.
The cage opens and she steps back, pulling the key out as she does.
Kicking it gently to open it further, I step through, not trusting my own power. How was this so easy? Surely, surely, this is
a trap.
“Him too,” I say, indicating the cage near mine with my chin.
She frowns and shakes her head. “Not blood. Not my niece,” she says.
My eyes widen. Fuck, this actually worked.
Trouble is, all I’ve done is get her to let me out of the cage. I’m still in the dungeon of the Light Fae Palace and have many
figurative miles to go until I’m home free. This is only the beginning.
Grabbing her elbow, I concentrate again. “You want to let him out,” I say, deliberately slowly. “Isn’t that right?”
Her frown increases. “Yes,” she says. “That’s right.”
Fuck me.
I watch as she unlocks the cage for Rath’Na to step out.
He doesn’t.
“Let’s go!” I hiss.
“Girl. Go,” he replies, shaking his head.
“COME!” I roar and grab him by his blasted iron chains to haul him out of the cage.
Drawn into the light from Ambrosia’s torch, I’m appalled at the sight of him. So tall and proud and handsome in my vision,
now he is positively skeletal and stooped.
Storming past Ambrosia, the flesh of my palm smoking from the iron, I don’t care, and I don’t let go. I drag him behind me,
conscious of how this looks, but if he won’t come by himself, then I have no choice. No way am I leaving him here. We head in
the direction that I saw Ambrosia approach from, wondering what will greet me on the other side of the door, when out of the
corner of my eye, I see a small entrance to a tunnel that is just about big enough for us to walk through.
Steering us towards it, I look back over my shoulder to see Ambrosia walking mindlessly towards the steps that lead out of
here. We are not even on her radar now, so I have to move. Quickly. It’s not easy with Rath’Na trailing behind me like a lost
puppy.
“Please,” I beg. “We need to go quickly.”
He doesn’t answer, and I don’t press it.
We have entered the tunnel and my feet splash in shallow water. Luckily, I still have my boots on because I grimace as the
smell hits me. No wonder it stank in the dungeon with this sewer tunnel running right next to it.
The darkness of the dungeon was pleasant compared to the sheer blackness that has enveloped us. I can’t see a thing in front
of my face. All I have is the smell and the sound of our feet splashing through the gods only know what. I swallow as I realize
that Rath’Na probably doesn’t have shoes on. I didn’t stop to check. He isn’t complaining though. He isn’t saying anything.
Even with him slowing me down, I rush along as fast as I can. I have no idea where the end of this tunnel is, but it has to be
outside the palace. Logically, it just has to be.
Suddenly, I’m pulled up short by a searing pain in my veins. My blood is heating up, boiling forcing me to grunt and stoop,
doubling over as I try to catch my breath with lungs that feel like they are filled with lead.
 The blood oath is protesting.
It doesn’t want me going any further away from Anders. But I have to. Knowing that the pain is caused by my lengthening
the distance between us, allows me to take a deep breath through my mouth and stand up straight.
“Child? Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” I grit out and start walking again.
“I’m slowing you down,” Rath’Na says.
“No, you are not.”
“Leave me. Make your way back to your home without me.”
“Not. A. Chance,” I say, spinning and pointing my finger where I think his face is for emphasis. “Now walk!”
Turning around again, I get two paces before I’m yanked back by the chains.
“Let go,” he says, his voice as strong as I’ve heard it. It startles me so much, that I drop the chain.
It clunks to the ground, splashing in the water.
“You need your hands free to use those fancy swords,” he adds.
I look back over my shoulder, having completely forgotten about them. Even with the magick dampener in the cage, no one
dared take them off me. They are still in the holsters, so lightweight that I didn’t even notice they were still there. He must’ve
seen them in the light from the fire torch.
“You’ll follow me?” I bark, crossing my hands over my head and grabbing the hilts. I draw them out and he takes a step
back. They glint noticeably with magick in the oppressive obscurity of the tunnel.
“Lead on, Princess,” he says, in a mocking tone that I grimace at, but figure if he is all with the attitude, then he has to be all
right.
“If I turn back around and you aren’t there, I will find you and drag you out on your ass. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” he drawls and indicates with his chin for me to get a move on.
Giving him a fierce look, that he can definitely see in the magickal gleam of the swords, I turn to head further into the
tunnel, ignoring the worsening pain with each step I take.
However, we don’t get far.
After several moments, I have to stop. My head is spinning, it feels like I’m walking on white-hot coals while being stung
by a thousand wasps.
“The blood oath?” Rath’Na asks.
“Yes,” I croak. “I’m okay.”
“The further away you go, the worse you will feel.”
“I’m aware, thanks for the obvious report on my condition.”
“Now-now,” he tuts. “No need to be sassy.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling bad for my bite back. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going. There has to be an end to this tunnel soon.”
There isn’t.
There is, however, a fork that I curse at in several different languages, brandishing my swords at it as if that’s going to
make the tunnel decide to give up being a fork and turn into a knife.
It doesn’t.
“Fuck you, stupid tunnel,” I mutter. “Which way?”
Silence.
I spin around so quickly, my head nearly flies off my body.
“I’m still here. Calm yourself,” Rath’Na says. “I just have no answer for you so why waste my breath?”
“Left, or right? Left, or right?” I have to decide quickly. Surely by now someone has found Ambrosia a bit addled and
worked out that she’s let us go. Anders is probably going to murder her, but that’s a thought for another day. Right now, I have
not only myself to worry about, but an ancient Dragon that has been held captive for hundreds of years that I’ve decided to take
under my, ahem, wing.
“Fuck’s sake, Savvie. Right, decide.”
I just stare at the two tunnels.
“Go on then,” Rath’Na says.
“Which one?” I ask in annoyance.
“You said right,” he replies, puzzled.
I frown. Did I? “Oh! No, I meant… you know what, forget it. I think we need to go left.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I think right is going to lead the wrong way,” I mutter and start moving towards the left one. If I’m wrong, the
gods help us.
After an indeterminate amount of time, where I’m sure I kept hearing noises behind us, I discover that the inky blackness is
lighting up to a murky gloom.
“Hurry,” I whisper, even though I’m making more than enough noise sloshing through the water in my heavy boots. It’s now
up to my shins, which I find disconcerting. I don’t want to think that I’ve led us the wrong way.
We speed up as much as we can under the circumstances and soon, we are wading through water high enough to lap at my
ass.
“Fuck,” I grit out.
“We can’t turn back,” Rath’Na points out, as I stop and curse with frustration.
“I know,” I say, putting my hand to my head. It feels like it’s in a vice that someone is tightening at regular intervals. I’m
doing my best to ignore the fire in my veins and the feeling that I can’t take a proper breath, but it’s taking its toll on me. “Any
chance you can Shift?” I joke weakly.
He snorts. “Do you think I would be trailing along behind you if I could?”
“Okay, no need to be salty!” I sniff, mostly in an effort not to cry.
“Keep going,” he mutters. “They’re coming.”
“If they know we are here, then they’ll have someone waiting for us on the outside,” I point out.
“So you’d rather stay in this stinky tunnel, with sewer water up to your rear?”
“Obviously not, but what is the point if we keep going, just to get captured again?” I’m losing all confidence in my plan.
Maybe we should have gone up the steps with Ambrosia. Maybe we should have gone right at the fork? Maybe…
“A word of advice, dearie, if you plan to rule a Kingdom one day, you need to be quicker on your feet than this.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl, humiliated because I know he’s right. I’m useless. I won’t be a mediocre Queen, let alone a great one,
if I can’t even say ‘fuck it’ and keep heading forwards even if it leads us into a swarm of Light Fae.
With renewed determination, I start wading again.
“There you go,” I hear Rath’Na say behind me with a smile in his voice.
“You played me,” I pant, my strength waning rapidly now that the blood oath is vehemently protesting the distance between
me and Anders, along with the current of the water which has picked up remarkably in the last few seconds. “When I get us out
of here and you are well, I’m going to kick your ass back to the Dragon Realms, so help me, you’ll wonder why you ever
doubted me!”
He chuckles. “Nothing wrong with a bit of encouragement, girl.”
I bite my tongue. His method worked and that’s all that matters. I’m back on a mission now. I grip my swords tighter in front
of me, lifting my elbows up a bit higher so that they aren’t dragging in the water that is now inching further and further up. I
almost recoil from the stench of BO that is currently exuding from my armpits. If I can smell it over the rank disgustingness of
this loosely called water, then I must stink so bad that even the Fae Kingdom version of skunks will run away from me.
We slosh around a bend and I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I grin over my shoulder at Rath’Na, and then all hell
breaks loose.
 Chapter 6

Savannah

flash of light makes me recoil and stumble back, scrabbling in the water to keep my footing. I crash into Rath’Na, who
A grabs me to stop me from going under. My eyes, so used to the dark, are scrunched shut against the blinding light of
magick being thrown around. I have spots floating around my vision, but I have to open them. I can’t be blind in this dire
situation.
“Move,” I say to Rath’Na. “But stay behind me.”
“I appreciate your chivalry,” he murmurs but does as I say in spite of his sarcasm. Starved and browbeaten as he is, he
can’t fight. I know it. He knows it.
Surging forward, swords ready to cleave the head off the next creature I see, I hear a loud boom coming down the tunnel.
“Savannah?”
I squint into the flashes of light. “Jerrick?”
“Savvie!” he shouts, and I hear sloshing as he makes his way to me.
Then I see him.
I choke back the sobs of joy that he is alive and is here to help me.
Stashing my swords quickly, he whisks me up into his arms, giving me a bone-crushing hug that I return fiercely.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re okay?”
“Yes,” I say, shoving back the tears that are so close to spilling out. “I’m fine. I stink, but otherwise fine.”
“She’s not fine. The blood oath is killing her the further away she gets from that little asshole,” Rath’Na pipes up.
Jerrick clearly hasn’t even seen the old Dragon behind me as he squeezes me tighter and then shoves me behind him to
protect me as he goes on the offensive.
“It’s okay!” I cry, grabbing his arm. “He’s with me.”
Jerrick growls loudly. “You trust him?”
“Yes. Can we get out of this tunnel; they aren’t far behind us.”
To confirm this, we hear cries coming down the tunnel, and Jerrick turns back to me, grabbing my elbow and moving us
forward at a rapid rate, practically dragging me through the water.
“Stay behind me,” Jerrick says.
“That’s what she said,” Rath’Na comments.
I give him a furious look. How can he be so droll at a time like this?
“What?” he says, as Jerrick clenches his fist in his face. “She did.”
“Let’s go!” I urge as I can see the light from the torches behind us. “What’s in front of us?”
Jerrick gives me a tight smirk. “Two Dragons, a Vampire, an army of Dark Fae, and several Light Fae that are probably
dead by now.”
Relief floods me as I grin at him, my heart soaring. “Theo is okay? Trey too?”
“Yes,” he says with a smile and nod, bringing me forward to kiss my gross, sweaty forehead.
“And Rook?” I ask, relaxing.
Silence.
Shaking my head, I pull back with dread. “No. Please?”
“He’s alive,” Jerrick says quickly. “But he’s in a bad way. He died, came back from the dead and was in a coma for a
while, but then suddenly, he shot up and said he’d felt you use your magick, and he could trace you even behind the mage's
magick. We were on our way to you up this tunnel, but here you are, fighting your way out.” His proud tone makes me smile.
“How? Did you defeat the Light Fae mages?” I ask in puzzlement.
“Your mother and Trey did. They Shifted to Dragon form and, well, kicked ass, is really the only way to put it.”
“Really?” I ask with a laugh, but his somber face, sobers me quickly. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, but I know he’s lying. He is worried about something.
I brush it aside because my men are alive, I’m seconds from getting out of this dump, I’ve rescued a prisoner, and soon, I’ll
be in a nice hot shower. Yes, I feel like throwing up from the blood oath, but no way am I telling my men how badly it’s
affecting me.
Too bad Jerrick knows me better than most.
“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly, leading me through the water.
“Fine,” I chirp and then, we are outside, and I’m gazing upon the magnificent sight of Trey Shifting back from his Dragon
form amidst the slain Light Fae.
Theo races up to me and takes me in his arms gently as Jerrick hands Trey some clothes from his backpack. Luckily, my
mother decides that discretion is the better part of valor and flaps off to Shift further away.
Wading out of the small reservoir that we seem to have exited into, I look back for Rath’Na. He is cowering in the light,
shading his eyes from the glare. I hate that he still has the chains on and go to him.
“Hey,” I say and hold my hand out.
He squints at it but doesn’t take it.
“Ax,” I demand Jerrick, who produces one from somewhere and hands it to me. I wave it at Rath’Na and then gesture to the
side of the reservoir where there is a low wall to contain the water.
He hesitantly sits heavily and places his arms on the wall. I raise the ax and smash it through the chain holding the manacles
around his wrists.
He flinches visibly, but as soon as his arms are no longer tethered to each other, he stretches them up above his head and
out to the sides.
“Thank you,” he croaks.
“Just don’t go and kill my grandfather,” I say, only half joking. It belatedly occurs to me that was his mission before he got
captured all those centuries ago.
He snorts. “Water under the bridge, girl.”
Smiling, I hold my hand out for him again. This time, he takes it, and I help him up.
I turn to see my men glaring at this exchange with varying degrees of suspicion, but I shake my head at them. “Meet
Rath’Na,” I say as my mother comes sprinting over to us with her Vampire speed and throws her arms around me.
“Let’s get you home,” she says, taking me firmly and turning me towards the forest. “You can fill us in when we get there.”
She gives Rath’Na the evil eye, which he recoils from.
I nod, and suddenly, all the fight goes out of me. My knees buckle, and now that I’m no longer running on adrenaline, the
blood oath kicks me in the guts and then sweeps my ankles out from under me to kick me while I’m down.
“Fuck,” I groan and start to cough up blood.
I hear my mother’s cries and my men’s worries, but I allow myself to sink under the blanket of oblivion.
Just for a little bit.
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to await the dawn to fly home, for owls fly in the early twilight, and
hawks come later, and I wished to have a safe path through the air.
Now I am at home—I am hungry and thirsty."
The first thing I did with my new pigeons was to give them food and
fresh water. I never let them drink the water they bathed in. Since
Gay-Neck's wing smelled of fish, I gave him separate quarters from
the other pigeons. It took three days longer and three good baths
before Gay-Neck was fit for decent society. In passing, let me remark
that my father made me return the money to the man who had
bought Gay-Neck with such deplorable results. To tell you the truth, I
did not wish to then. But now I feel I did right in obeying my parent.
After a fortnight and before unbinding the wings of my newly
acquired pigeons, I bribed them to love me. Every morning I would
put some millet seed and peanuts in ghee (clarified butter). After
they had been soaked in butter all day, I gave a dozen each to every
one of my pets. They were so fond of those delicacies that in two
days' time they had formed the habit of coming to me before five in
the afternoon, begging for buttered seeds. In three more days I freed
their wings, in a subtle way, undoing them about fifteen minutes
before five. They all flew off the moment they felt their liberty. But lo,
after the first exhilaration of finding their freedom had passed, they
flew down to the roof again for their meal of buttered peanuts and
millet seeds! It is a pity that we have to win our pigeons' confidence
by feeding their stomachs, but alas! I have noticed that there are
many men and women who resemble pigeons in this respect!
CHAPTER II
 WAR TRAINING (Continued)
he new pigeons gradually learnt to fly further and
further away from the house as day followed day.
At the end of a month they were taken a distance
of fifty miles and more and uncaged, and with the
exception of two who apparently fled home to their
previous owner, all returned to me under Gay-
Neck's leadership.
The question of an undisputed leadership was not an easy one to
settle. In fact a serious battle had to be fought out between Gay-
Neck and two new males, Hira and Jahore. The last named was a
pure black tumbler. His feathers shone like panther's fur. He was
gentle and not fierce, yet he refused to submit to Gay-Neck's
leadership of the entire flock. You know how quarrelsome and full of
display carriers generally are. On my roof all the carrier males used
to strut, coo and talk as if each one of them was the monarch of all
he surveyed. If Gay-Neck thought himself Napoleon, Hira (Diamond),
the white carrier,—(as white "as the core of sunlight," to express it
poetically)—considered himself Alexander the Great, while Jahore
(Black Diamond), though not a carrier, let it be known that he was
Julius Cæsar and Marshal Foch rolled in one. Besides those three,
there were other conceited males, but they had already been beaten
in battle by one or the other of the above three. Now it was
necessary to fight out the question of absolute leadership of the
entire flock.
One day Hira was seen preening his wings and talking nonsense in
the presence of Mrs. Jahore, a beautiful jet black creature with eyes
red as bloodstone. Matters had hardly gone any distance when from
nowhere came Jahore and fell up on Hira. The latter was so
infuriated that he fought like a fiend. Beak against beak, feet against
feet, and wings pitted against wings. All the other pigeons fled from
the ring where the two males were engaged in trouncing each other.
Gay-Neck stood over them, calm as an umpire over a tennis match.
At last, after half a dozen set-tos, Hira won. Puffing himself to the
uttermost limits of his conceit, he went over to Mrs. Jahore as much
as to say: "Madame, your husband is a coward. Behold what a fine
fellow I am, Buk, bukoom, kumkum." She gave him one crushing
look of contempt, and flapping her wings withdrew to her husband in
their home. Hira looked crestfallen and sulky in turn, then in a
sudden paroxysm of anger he fell upon Gay-Neck tooth and nail.
The latter, taken unaware, was very nearly knocked out at the first
fury of the attack. Hira pecked and slapped him till he felt too dizzy to
stand up, so Gay-Neck ran away pursued by the mad fellow. They
ran in a circle, spinning like two tops, I could hardly see which was
pursuer, and which pursued. They went at such high speed that I
could not see when they stopped and started to peck and slap each
other. The explosive sound of wing hitting wing filled the air with an
ominous clamour. Now feathers began to fly in every direction.
Suddenly, beak to beak and claw in claw they wrestled and spun on
the floor—two birds become one single incarnation of fury. Seeing
that they could not reach any decision that way, Gay-Neck extricated
himself from his rival's grip and flew up in the air. Hira followed
flapping his wings tremendously fast. About three feet above the
ground Gay-Neck put his claws like talons around Hira's windpipe,
and set to squeezing it more and more tightly, and at the same time
kept up a terrific cannonade of wing-beats, that like flails of steel
threshed out a shower of snowy feathers from his opponent's body.
Now, hid in that falling blizzard of feathers, the two rolled on the
ground, pecking one another with the virulence of two maddened
serpents. At last Hira let go and wilted like a torn white flower on the
floor. One of his legs had been dislocated. As for Gay-Neck his
throat and neck had hardly any feathers left. But he was glad that the
struggle had been settled one way or another. And he knew full well
that had Hira not first expended half his strength fighting Jahore he,
Gay-Neck, might not have won the battle. However, all is well that
ends well. I bandaged and did all that was necessary to Hira's leg. In
another thirty minutes all the pigeons were eating their last meal of
the day utterly oblivious of what had happened so recently. No
sulking and bearing of grudges in their blood—no doubt they all
came from a fine set of ancestors! Good breeding prevailed even
amongst the smallest of them, and needless to add Hira took his
defeat like a gentleman.
By now January had come, with cool weather and clear skies and
the competition for pigeon prizes began. Each man's flock was
tested on three points: namely, team-work, long distance flight, and
flight under danger. We won the first prize on the first point, but I am
sorry to say that owing to a sad mishap which you shall learn of in its
proper place, my pigeons could not compete for the other two.
This is the nature of the team-work competition. The various flocks of
pigeons fly away up from their respective homes. Once they are
beyond the reach of whistling and other sounds that indicate their
master's voice, the diverse flocks coalesce. Then spontaneously
they agree to fly under the leadership of a pigeon whom they
consider fit. All that happens up in the air where pigeon-wit and
pigeon instinct prevail, and the bird who flies forward and is allowed
to lead, does so without ever realizing the nature and the reason of
the honour that has been bestowed on him.
The temperature dropped to forty-five. It was a fine cold morning for
our part of India, in fact the coldest day of the year. The sky above,
as usual in the winter, was cloudless and remote, a sapphire
intangibility. The city houses—rose, blue, white, and yellow—looked
like an army of giants rising from the many-coloured abyss of dawn.
Far off the horizons burnt in a haze of dun and purple. Men and
women in robes of amber and amethyst, after having said their
morning prayers to God, were raising their arms from the house-tops
in gestures of benediction to the rising sun. City noises and odours
were unleashed from their kennels of the night. Kites and crows
were filling the air with their cries. Over the din and clamour one
could yet hear the song of the flute players. At that moment the
signal whistle blew that the contest had begun, and each pigeon
fancier waved from his roof a white flag. Instantly from nowhere
innumerable flocks of pigeons rose into the sky. Flock upon flock,
colour upon colour, their fluttering wings bore them above the city.
Crows and kites—the latter of two species, red and brown—fled from
the sky before the thundering onrush of tens of thousands of carriers
and tumblers. Soon all the flocks—each flying in the shape of a fan
—circled in the sky like so many clouds caught in large whirlpools of
air. Though each moment they ascended higher, for a long time each
owner of a flock knew his own from the others, and even when at
last the separate flocks merged into one single unit and flew like a
solid wall of wings, I could pick out by the way they flew, Gay-Neck,
Hira, Jahore and half a dozen others. Each bird had personal
characteristics that marked him as he flew. When any owner wished
to call the attention of any one of his pigeons, he blew a shrill whistle
with certain stops as a signal. That attracted the bird's attention
provided he was within reach of the sound.
At last the whole flock reached such a height that not even the blast
of a trumpet from any pigeon fancier could reach it. Now they
stopped circling in the air and began to move horizontally. The
competition for leadership had begun. As they manoeuvred from one
direction of the heavens to another we, the owners below, had to
look up intently in order to make sure of the characteristics of the
one whom the pigeons had trusted to lead their flight. For a moment
it looked as if my Jahore would lead. But hardly had he gone to the
head of the flock when they all turned to the right. That brought
about a confusion in the ranks, and, like horses on a race course, all
kinds of unknown pigeons pushed forward. But in time each one of
them was pushed back by the rest of the flock. This happened so
often that we began to lose interest in the contest. It looked as
though some nondescript pigeon would win the coveted leadership
prize.
Now suddenly rose the cry from many house-tops: "Gay-Neck, Gay-
Neck, Gay-Neck!" Yes, many of the pigeon fanciers were shouting
that name. Now I could see—without the slightest shadow of error—
my own bird at the head of that vast flock—a leader amongst leaders
—directing their manoeuvres. Oh! what a glorious moment. He led
them from horizon to horizon, each time rising a few feet higher till by
eight in the morning not a pigeon could be seen in any corner of the
sky. Now we furled our flags and went downstairs to study our
lessons. At midday, when again we went above, each man could see
the entire wall of pigeons descending. Lo! Gay-Neck was still
leading. Again rose the shout "Gay-Neck, Gay-Neck!" Yes, he had
won the palm, for he had remained in leadership for more than four
hours, and was coming down as he had gone up—a master!
Now came the most dangerous part of the flight. The Commander of
the vast concourse gave the order to disband, and flock after flock
split from the main body, each separate flock flying away to its home.
But not too quickly. Some must guard the sky above them while the
others flew homeward. Gay-Neck held my little flock in a kind of
umbrella formation to protect the rear of the receding pigeons
belonging to other contestants. Such is the price of leadership—the
other name of self-sacrifice.
But now began a horrible climax. In India during the winter the
buzzards called Baz, come south. They do not eat carrion; like the
eagle and the hawk the Baz generally eats what he kills with his own
talons. They are mean and cunning—I think they are a class of low-
born eagles—but they resemble kites, although their wings are not
frayed at the ends. They fly in pairs slightly above a flock of kites and
are hidden by them from their prey, which however they can see in
this way without ever being seen themselves.
On that particular day just when Gay-Neck had won the leader's
laurels, I perceived a pair of Baz flying with a flock of kites. Instantly I
put my fingers in my mouth and blew a shrill whistle. Gay-Neck
understood my signal. He redistributed his followers, he himself
leading the centre, while Jahore and Hira he ordered to cover the
two ends of the crescent, in which shape the flock was flying. The
entire group held together as though it were one vast bird. They then
began to dip down faster and faster. By now the task for which they
tarried in the heavens was done. All the other flocks that they had
played with in the morning had gone home.
Seeing them dip down so fast, a Baz fell in front of them like a stone
dropping from a Himalayan cliff. Just when he had descended to the
level of my birds, he opened his wings and faced them. This was no
new tactic, for it has been used in the past by every Baz in order to
strike terror into a flock of pigeons. That it succeeds in ten cases out
of eleven is undeniable for when it happens the terror-struck pigeons
lose their sense of solidarity and fly pell mell in every direction. No
doubt that was what the Baz hoped for now, but our wily Gay-Neck
beating his wings flew without a tremor under the enemy about five
feet, drawing the whole flock after him. He did it, knowing that the
enemy never pounces upon a solidly unified group. But hardly had
he gone a hundred yards forward when the second, probably Mrs.
Baz, fell in front of the pigeons and opened her wings as her
husband had done. But Gay-Neck paid no attention. He led the
whole flock straight toward her. It was inconceivable. No pigeon had
dared do that before, and she fled from their attack. Hardly had her
back been turned when Gay-Neck and the rest of the pigeons dipped
and swooped as fast as they could go. By now they were hardly six
hundred feet from our roof, and then as fate would have it, Mr. Baz,
like a shell full of high explosives, fell again, this time right in the
middle of the crescent and opened his wings and beak like forks of
fire, crying and shrieking with fury. That produced its effect. Instead
of one solid wall of pigeons, the flock was cut in two, of which one
half followed Gay-Neck, while the other, smitten with abject fear, flew
none knew whither. Gay-Neck did what a true leader does in great
crises. He followed that panic-stricken flock until his section overtook
it, and in no time, lo, they had merged into a single group once more.
Hardly had that taken place when Mrs. Baz in her turn descended
like a thunderbolt between him and the other pigeons. She almost
fell on his tail, and cut him off from the rest, who now, deprived of
their mentor, sought safety in flight, paying no heed to anything. That
isolated Gay-Neck completely, and exposed him to attacks from
every side. Still undaunted he tried to fly down to his retreating
followers. Ere he had descended a dozen feet, down before him
swooped Mr. Baz. Now that Gay-Neck saw the enemy so near, he
grew more audacious and tumbled. It was a fortunate action. Had he
not done so, Mrs. Baz, who had shot out her talons from behind,
would have captured him then and there.
In the meantime the rest of my pigeons were beating on and had
almost reached home. They were falling on the roof as ripe fruits fall
from a tree. But one among them was not a coward. On the contrary
he was of the very essence of bravery. It was Jahore, the black
diamond. As the whole crowd settled down on our roof, he tumbled
and flew higher. There was no mistake about his intentions. He was
going to stand by Gay-Neck. Seeing him tumble again, Mr. Baz
changed his mind. He gave up pursuing Gay-Neck and swooped
down after Jahore. Well, you know Gay-Neck—he dipped to the
rescue of Jahore—circling and curving swiftly as a coil of lightning,
leading Mrs. Baz panting after him. She could not make as many
curves as Gay-Neck, no, not nearly so many. But Mr. Baz, who was
a veteran, had flown up and up to take aim; this put Jahore in
danger. One more wrong turn and Mr. Baz would have him. Alas!
poor bird; he did the thing he should not have done. He flew in a
straight line below Mr. Baz who at once shut his wings and fell like a
thunderclap of Silence. No noise could be heard, not even "the
shadow of a sound." Down, down, down, he fell, the very image of
death. Then the most terrible thing happened. Between him and
Jahore slipped, none knew how, Gay-Neck, in order to save the
latter and frustrate the enemy. Alas! instead of giving up the attack,
the Baz shot out his talons, catching a somewhat insecure hold of
the intruder. A shower of feathers covered the air. One could almost
see Gay-Neck's body writhing in the enemy's grip. As if a hot iron
had gone through me I shrieked with pain for my bird! But nothing
availed. Round and round, higher and higher that Baz carried him
trying to get a more secure hold with his talons. I must admit
something most humiliating here. I had been so intent on saving
Gay-Neck that I did not notice when Mrs. Baz fell and captured
Jahore. It must have happened very swiftly right after Gay-Neck was
caught. Now the air was filled with Jahore's feathers. The enemy
held him fast in her talons, and he made no movement to free
himself. But not so Gay-Neck; he was still writhing in the grip of Mr.
Baz. As if to help her husband to grasp his prey more securely, Mrs.
Baz flew very close to her lord. Just then Jahore struggled to get
free. That swung her so near that her wing collided with her
husband's. The fellow lost his balance. As he was almost over-
turned in the air with another shower of feathers Gay-Neck wrenched
himself free from his grip. Now he dropped down, down, down.... In
another thirty seconds a panting, bleeding bird lay on our roof. I lifted
him up in order to examine his wound. His two sides were torn, but
not grievously. At once I took him to the pigeon doctor who dressed
his wounds. It took about half an hour, and when I returned home
and put Gay-Neck in his nest, I could not find Jahore anywhere. His
nest, alas, was empty. And when I went up to the roof there I found
Jahore's wife sitting on the parapet scanning every direction of the
sky for a sign of her husband. Not only did she spend that day, but
two or three more in the same manner. I wonder if she found any
consolation in the fact that her husband sacrificed himself for the
sake of a brave comrade.
CHAPTER III
 MATING OF GAY-NECK
ay-Neck's wounds healed very slowly. Until
about the middle of February he could not be made
to fly more than ten yards above the roof. The
duration of his flight too was very short. No matter
how frequently I chased him off the roof, I could not
keep him in the air more than a quarter of an hour.
At first I thought that it was his lungs that were out
of order. When, after investigation, they proved sound, I ascribed his
disinclination to fly to his heart that might have been injured by his
latest mishap. That assumption also proved erroneous after a
second investigation.
So, utterly exasperated by Gay-Neck's behaviour, I wrote a long
letter to Ghond describing everything that had happened. It turned
out that he had gone on a hunting trip with some Englishmen.
Receiving no help from that quarter, I decided to examine my pigeon
most closely. Day after day I put him on our house-top and watched,
but no clue was vouchsafed me as to the nature of his trouble. So I
gave up all hope of seeing Gay-Neck fly again.
About the end of February I received a cryptic note from Ghond from
the deeps of the jungle. It read: "Your pigeon is frightened. Cure him
of his fear. Make him fly." But he did not say how. Nor could I devise
anything that would make Gay-Neck wing his way into the higher
spaces. It was no use chasing him off the roof, for if I chased him off
one corner, he flew across to another and perched there. And what
was most disconcerting was that if the shadow of a cloud or a flock
of birds flying in the sky fell on him on our roof, he would tremble
with terror. Doubtless every shadow that fell filled his mind with the
feeling that it was a Baz or a falcon swooping down on him. That
gave me an idea of how badly shaken Gay-Neck was. How to cure
him of his disease of fear proved most baffling. Had we been in the
Himalayas I would have taken him to the holy man who once healed
him of a similar ailment, but here in the city there was no Lama. I
was forced to wait.
March had ushered in Spring and Gay-Neck, who had gone through
an unusual moulting, looked like the very heart of a deep and large
aquamarine. He was beautiful beyond description. One day, I know
not how, I found him talking to Jahore's widow. She looked very
bright with the advent of Spring. In the sunlight her black opal
complexion glowed like a tropical night shot with stars. Of course I
knew that marriage between her and Gay-Neck, though not the best
thing for their offspring, might win him from his fear and her from the
morose temper which had grown upon her ever since Jahore died.
In order to encourage their friendship, I took the two together in a
cage to my friend Radja who lived on the edge of the jungle about
two hundred miles away. The name of his village was Ghatsila. It
stood on the bank of a river across which lay high hills densely
forested and full of all kinds of animals. Radja, being the priest of the
village, which office his ancestors had held for ten centuries, and his
parents, were housed in a large building of concrete. The village
temple, also of concrete, was adjacent to the house. In the courtyard
of the temple surrounded by high walls Radja every night performed
the duty of reading the Scriptures and explaining them to the
peasantry that assembled there. While he would read aloud inside,
outside would come from far off the yell of a tiger or the trumpeting of
wild elephants across the narrow river. It was a beautiful and sinister
place. Nothing dangerous happened in the village of Ghatsila, but
you did not have to go very far to encounter any beast of prey that
you cared to seek.
The train that brought me there reached Ghatsila at night. Radja and
two servants of his house greeted me at the station. One of the
servants took my bundle on his shoulder and the other carried the
cage with the two pigeons. Each of us had to carry a hurricane-proof
lantern, an extra one having been brought for me. In single file, one
servant leading and another in the rear, we walked for an hour. My
suspicions were aroused and I asked, "Why do we go round-about?"
Radja said: "In the spring wild animals pass through here going
north. We can't take short cuts through the woods."
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I have done it many times before. When
do we reach home?"
"In half an hour——"
Then, as if the very ground had opened at our feet and belched out a
volcano with a terrific noise, arose the cry "Hoa—ho—ho—ho—hoa!"
The pigeons fluttered their wings in panic in their cage. I gripped
Radja's shoulder with my disengaged hand, but instead of sharing
my feelings he laughed out loud. And like master like servant—the
two servants laughed too.
After their mirth had subsided Radja explained: "You have done this
many times, have you? Then why did the cry of monkeys frightened
by lanterns scare you?"
"Monkeys?" I questioned.
"Yes, lots of them," my friend reminded me, "go north this time of the
year. We frightened a whole flock in the trees overhead. That's all. In
the future don't take every monkey yell for the roar of a tiger."
Fortunately we reached home shortly without any other incident to
upset my complacency.
The next morning Radja went to his duties at his ancestral temple
while I sought the roof and uncaged my birds. At first they were
bewildered, but seeing me near them with my hands full of buttered
seeds, they settled down to breakfast without any ado. Pretty nearly
all of that day we spent on the roof. I dared not leave them by
themselves very long lest the strangeness of their surroundings
upset them.
In the course of the week that followed the two birds made
themselves at home in Ghatsila, and moreover became extremely
intimate with each other. There was no doubt now that I had acted
wisely in isolating them from the rest of the flock. About the eighth
day of our stay, Radja and I were surprised to see Gay-Neck fly in
pursuit of his mate. She flew on, but at a low altitude. He followed.
Seeing him catch up to her, she rose and turned back. He too did the
same and followed after. Again she rose. But this time he balked and
began to circle the air beneath her. However, I felt that he was
regaining his confidence. At last Gay-Neck, the paragon of pigeons,
was healing himself of his fear and of his horror of the heavens; he
was once more at home in the sky.
The next morning the birds flew higher and played with each other.
Gay-Neck again refused to go all the way and he began to come
down hastily instead of circling in the air below her. That puzzled me,
but Radja, who was a keen person, explained. "A cloud, large as a
fan, has come over the sun. Its shadow fell so suddenly that Gay-
Neck thought it was his enemy. Wait until the cloud passes and then
——"
Radja was right. In a few more seconds the sun came out and its
light dripped from Gay-Neck's wings once more. At once he stopped
coming downwards and began to make circles in the air. His mate
too, who had been coming down to keep him company, waited for
him a hundred feet or so above. Now Gay-Neck rose, beating his
wings like an eagle freed from his cage. The sunlight made pools of
colour about him as he swerved and swung up and up. Soon instead
of following, he led his mate. Thus they ascended the sky—he
healed of fear completely, and she ravished by his agility and power.
The next morning both of them made an early start. They flew far
and very long. For a while they were lost beyond the mountains as if
they slid over their peaks and down the other side. They were gone
at least an hour.
At last they returned about eleven o'clock bearing each in his beak a
large straw. They were going to build a nest for the laying of eggs. I
thought I would take them home, but Radja insisted that we should
stay at least a week longer.
During that week every day we spent some hours in the more
dangerous jungle across the river, taking the two pigeons with us in
order to release them in the dense forest hardly five miles from
Radja's house. Gay-Neck forgot everything save testing his sense of
direction and making higher flights. In other words, love for his mate
and the change of place and climate healed him of fear, that most fell
disease.
Here let it be inscribed in no equivocal language that almost all our
troubles come from fear, worry, and hate. If any man catches one of
the three, the other two are added unto it. No beast of prey can kill
his victim without frightening him first. In fact no animal perishes until
its destroyer strikes terror into its heart. To put it succinctly, an
animal's fear kills it before its enemy gives it the final blow.
CHAPTER IV
 WAR CALLS GAY-NECK
y the first week of August, just after the children
were born, Hira and Gay-Neck had gone from
Calcutta to Bombay, setting sail with Ghond to
serve in the world-war. I sent that bachelor bird Hira
with Gay-Neck because the army had need of both.
I was very glad that Gay-Neck had some knowledge
of his little ones before he sailed for the battle-field
of Flanders and France. The chief reason of this happiness was
because I knew that a pigeon whose wife and new-born children are
waiting at home rarely fails to return. That bond of love between Gay-
Neck and his family assured me that he would do his work of carrying
messages very well. No sound of gun-fire, nor bullets, as long as he
lived, could keep him from returning home at the end.
But here one may raise the question that home was in Calcutta and
the war was thousands of miles away. That is true. But all the same,
because he had left his wife and children at home, he would do his
utmost to fly back to his temporary nest with Ghond.
It is said that Gay-Neck carried several important messages between
the front and general headquarters where the Commander-in-chief
and Ghond waited for him. Of course Gay-Neck was attached to
Ghond first. But in the course of the following months he became very
fond of the Chief.
Ghond and not I went to the front with the two pigeons for I was under
age and ineligible for any kind of service, so the old fellow had to take
them. During the voyage out from India to Marseilles, Hira and Gay-
Neck and the old hunter became fast friends. I have yet to see any
strange animal resist Ghond's friendship long, and since my pigeons
had known him before, it was easy for them to respond to him.
During the stay of the Indian Army in Flanders from September 1914
till the following spring, Ghond remained near General Headquarters
with his cage, while Hira or Gay-Neck was taken by different units to
the front. There from time to time messages were written on thin
paper weighing no more than an ounce and were tied to his feet; then
he was released. He, Gay-Neck, invariably flew to Ghond at the
general headquarters of the Army. There the message was
deciphered and answered by the Commander-in-Chief himself. It is
rumoured that the latter personage loved Gay-Neck and valued his
services highly.
But it is better to listen to Gay-Neck's own story. As the experiences
of a dream cannot be told except by the dreamer, so some of the
adventures of Gay-Neck he should recount in person.
"After we crossed the black water—the Indian ocean and the
Mediterranean—we travelled by rail through a very strange country.
Though it was September, yet that country—France—was cold as
Southern India in the winter. I expected to see snow-capped
mountains and giant trees, for I thought I was nearing the Himalayas.
But no hills higher than our tallest bamboo trees could I perceive on
the horizon. I do not see why a land has to be cold when it is not high.
"At last we reached the battle front. It turned out to be the rear end of
it, but even there you could hear the boom, boom, boom of the fire-
spitters. And, as a normal pigeon, I hate all fire-spitters no matter of
what size and shape. Those metal dogs barking and belching out
death were not to my liking. After I had been there a couple of days
our trial flight began. There were only four pigeons of our own city
besides Hira and myself. You know how rash Hira could be. No
sooner had we flown up above the houses of a large village than Hira
flew towards the direction of the boom, boom, boom. He wanted to
investigate. Well, in an hour's time we were there. Oh, what a noise!
Big balls of fire, spat out like thunderbolts by the metal dogs hidden
under trees, hissed and exploded below us. I was frightened, so I
rose higher and higher. But no peace there in the highest heavens
could I find. From nowhere came vast eagles roaring and growling
like trumpeting elephants. At such a terrific sight, we flew towards
where Ghond was waiting for us. But the eagles, two of them
followed! We went faster and faster. Fortunately they could not
overtake us. Just as we had expected, those eagles came down
where we lived. I felt death was at hand. Those eagles were going to
devour us in our cages like weasels. But no! They stopped trumpeting
soon and lay down on the field—dead. Two men each jumped out of
the stomachs of those two birds and walked away. I wondered how
eagles could devour human beings. And how could the fellows come
out alive?

No beast of prey can kill his victim without frightening him first.