THE DELIVERER'S DESTINY

Prologue

Desmond, 10401 P.C.

Chaos. Screams. Blazing fires scorched the earth, eating away at what had once been a joyous celebration. Party streamers fluttered in the ash and smoke like fingers clawing for the sky, desperate to escape the white-hot flames licking with teasing tongues. The fires reached and shuddered, clawing at decorative table cloths and brightly wrapped gift packages. The decorations went up in spurts of smoke, spurts that became billows, rising to the sky and turning the late afternoon sun a blood-red as it spread over the land.

The city beyond the ruins of the High Princess's first birthday party was being consumed with fire. All the destruction made Aniea'athrii smile. She walked among the flames, bare feet treading the ashes, gleaming sword in her hand dripping with blood. It speckled her face, matching her crimson lips and staining her ice blue dress a dark maroon. The crackling fires seemed to revere her, parting to let her pass. She stepped over the corpse of a soldier — how unfortunate he had been to receive her thrown dagger. She retrieved the bloody weapon, tucking it into the folds of her skirt as she continued.

The people had long since fled, their screams still echoing off in the distance. The sounds of terror and death sent shivers of pleasure through her.

A roar from above lifted her head, and she watched as the beast flew through the air, huge wings pounding the thick smoke as he dove, delivering another blast of draconic fire at the defenceless city. Pride swelled in her chest as she continued on. She had taught him well.

Together, they would conquer.

The palace was silent, tall and solemn as if expecting her visit. Stepping inside, she heard the scampering, the hushed whispers, the heavy breathing. She felt the fear. Thick, oozing, terrible fear. She breathed it in. It smelled of smoke and cinder. It tasted like ash and blood. She smiled devilishly once more before advancing into the recesses of the building.

She entered the throne room. It was beautiful, with a high roof and many stained-glass windows above the throne. A red carpet snaked between eight thick stone pillars, four on either side, leading right up to the king's chair. Stairs on either side of the entrance led up to balconies encompassing the upper half of the room.

Nearing the pillars, she saw the symbols carved by a god who was much too clever at covering things up. She trailed her fingers over the first pillar's symbol, the sounds of death and war muted by stone walls. Deep within her, a fiery hatred ignited. She withdrew her dagger and pressed it to the stone above the symbol. Pulling on the icy Athrii within her, she slashed the symbol down the middle, ripping into the stone like a knife through paper. With a yell, she turned on the other pillars, the other symbols, slashing them all. Then she stood in silence, the glow from her weapon fading as she drew in a deep breath.

Something moved behind her. "I sensed you, child," Aniea'athrii said, breathing in the stench of the fear her victims emitted. "There will be no escape." She turned around, and sure enough, she saw the shadow of a small child, ducked behind the king's chair. How futile to hide behind the throne and expect its holder to save them. "Come on out," she commanded. "Face your fate."

The girl obeyed. She stepped out from behind the embellished chair, standing tall on the stage despite her small stature. Aniea'athrii studied the Human with begrudged respect. She was only a teenager, and yet she faced death with the same resoluteness the men who had fallen outside had possessed. It was stupidity, yet admirable in any case. Few had such nerve.

"Thank you." Aniea'athrii kept her weapons hidden in the folds of her full skirt as she started forward. "Now, dear servant girl, tell me. I have an audience with the Prince and Princess, but I just cannot seem to find them anywhere." She smiled crookedly at her own words as she revealed her sword, stopping just yards from the girl. "Where are they?"