The Collected Tales

The Longest Night

High above the lands he called his own, Raelarion fixed his golden, raptor's gaze on the invading army, his crimson wings cutting through the icy wind. A blood-red flame blossomed like a furnace from within his chest as he swooped down, and from his gaping maw a terrible swath of red fire poured over the Drakion forces. But the Drakion outnumbered his own by the tens of thousands, and, striking in the dead of winter, he knew it was only a matter of time before Mythera's forces were decimated.

Mythera's strength lies in the might of her fire dragons and mages, virtually indestructible save for one weakness—that time of winter when the dragons retired for hibernation deep in the Ember Ranges. The mages were apt to the task, awakening the dragons from their slumber. But their hearts were not in the battle, their crimson fire barely meeting the ice drakes' frigid breath. Raelarion felt his control over the fire dragons slipping.

Encased in an endless winter by the ice dragons dwelling in their northern territories, the Drakion had long coveted Mythera's fertile lands. Raelarion vowed he would never allow them to breach their borders—even if it meant unleashing Hellfire.

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"My lady!" Celene burst into my room, eyes wide on a face white as parchment. Her slight form shook like a leaf as the light from the bronze sconces flickered and the shadows danced around us.

Unable to utter a word, she slowly lifted a trembling hand toward the dark hallway behind her.

A soft, shuddering breath escaped my lips. I stared at my maid and confidante, and as our eyes met across the room I knew—and dared to hope.

I had been pacing the breadth of my bedchamber, unable to sleep as was my wont every night of the winter solstice, these seven years past, only to retire at dawn with a deep harrowing emptiness.

Please, let it be this night!

I sped past Celene and through the open door, down the sparsely lit hallway, my white nightdress flowing behind me and around my thighs, oblivious of the cold stone floor under my bare feet.

My heart pounded as I reached the entrance hall. The great, oak doors were wide open, creaking on their hinges as a strong, icy wind blew in. Motes of ice and snow swirled gently around a tall shadow framed against the moonlit night.

"Aiden!" My gasp turned into a sob as my eyes, almost disbelieving, gazed at him, looking just like that day we parted years ago—hair a fiery-red that matched his cloak, sun-bronzed skin and eyes like molten gold. He wore the black, full-body armor and chain mail of that time.

His sculpted face mirrored my disbelief. "Viriana?" he whispered, as if afraid that I would vanish before his eyes if he spoke my name.

He's here! He's truly here—

I rushed toward him, tears streaming down my cheeks as I held him in my arms.

He stiffened at first, not quite believing I was really there. But then, with an anguished sound, he pulled me in close, his strong arms encircling me tightly. I could feel his breath against my hair, a mix of relief and longing.

Aiden finally released me but quickly relented. Holding me at arms length, his bewildered, golden eyes searched my face.

"How"--his voice caught–"how am I here? The war—"

I raised a finger to his lips as I looked around the hall. There was no one in sight. The few servants that remained for the manor's upkeep had retired for the night. The rest of the staff had been dismissed the day before the winter solstice. Only Celene, my faithful maid, had seen Aiden, and she would never tell a soul.