Dragon Freedom: The Stone Crown Series, #3

By Ava Richardson

She sacrificed her freedom to save the kingdom from a tyrannical ruler—and may have doomed them all.

No sooner has Narissea successfully recovered the Stone Crown and used its power to fend off Inyene, the evil Metal Queen, she discovers the crown can't be removed. And it's consuming her mind with its poisonous whispers. Irrational commands and uncharacteristic rage burst forth before she considers their impact. Unwittingly dragons across the land are enslaved by forced obedience to her every word. Not even her own dragon, Ymmen, is spared from the Crown's powers.

But it's the voices that drive Narissea toward madness. Voices of the world's dragons that never cease thundering through her skull—until one breaks through the rest: urging her to take up the throne as High Queen and destroy.

In desperation, Narissea seeks Torvald's scholar king to help unravel the mysteries of the crown's creation and crush its growing control over her. With her dragon, Ymmen, and her friends, Abioye and Montfre by her side, she can resist…for now. But the Stone Crown has a will of its own—and it will use whatever means necessary to accomplish its evil goal.

Now Narissea must find a way to destroy the crown.

Before it destroys her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relay Publishing
• Release date: Apr 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223941538

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

DARK SKIES

"N ari? Nari!" I awoke with the screech and scream of dragon voices in my head, and the voice of my god-Uncle Tamin loud in my ears.

Huh? It took a few long moments of tired blinking to remember just where I was, and why. I was lying on the haphazard blanket-bed that I had collapsed into at some point yesterday evening, under the fluttering and cracking canvas walls of a Souda tent. I could hear the rising winds of the Soussa winds outside over the Plains, and they sounded like the whispering whistles, clicks, and burrs of dragon-tongue.

At last! Do you have any idea how long I have been trying to wake you? The man whom I called Uncle – although he was really no blood relation of mine – looked down at me with eyes that were heavy with concern. Tamin had deep wrinkles about his eyes, a testament to both his years under the scouring winds of the Plains and his recent incarceration as a miner under ‘Queen’ Inyene D’Lia.

Just as I had been for almost a quarter of my life, the thought struck me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I was so tired and felt as if I had been trudging up and down the subterranean Main Concourse of Inyene’s Mines of Masaka all night, loaded down with her ever-precious iron ore.

I was just tired, I yawned, stretching shoulders and arms that felt fizzy with weakness. Was I getting ill? Had I drunk bad water? No, it must be the battle, I considered as I curled my knees up underneath me, pushing myself into a crouch to feel a wave of dizziness and nausea wash upwards through me.

Ugh.

This wasn’t just exhaustion from the battle, was it? I thought.

The previous day’s battle had been fierce, terrifying, but thankfully short-lived. It was when we had defeated Inyene’s party of mechanical dragons, and released Older Brother – one of the first of dragons from his sandy catacomb.

And it was also where I had won this. My hand reached up to the cool solid rock of the Stone Crown, still encircling my head, as every grease and oil that Tamin had applied or muttered enchantment that Montfre the young mage had attempted to use had failed to remove it. It’s not just stuck, is it? I thought. I was coming to the creepy awareness that it was somehow sealed, magically, to my brow.

But, at least I had the object that the self-styled ‘Queen’ had been so desperate for. It was rumored to be able to call on all dragon-kind, having been fashioned for the first High Queen of the distant Three Kingdoms, High Queen Delia. I had yet to fathom its powers – only that as soon as my hands had touched it in Older Brother’s cavern, I had felt that storm of dragon-song and reptilian voices; an expansion of the bond that I shared with Ymmen, my dragon-friend.

I think I’m getting ill, I murmured, as the shape of my god-Uncle moved around the small tent, bundling possessions together before the sound of water being poured.

Here. Tamin returned to my side, to crouch with a wooden cup of water that smelled sweet and sharp, like the rare lemons that would sometimes get traded up through the Plains. Sun-grass and Rock-heather. It’ll help you focus.

Focus? I thought, as I accepted the cup and took a deep draught. It did taste good, I had to admit – enlivening and fresh – but why does Tamin think I need to focus?

Nari. Tamin answered my silent question. He was a wise man, who had been friends with my mother, the Imanu of our Souda tribe of the Daza peoples, for a long time. So wise, in fact, that he had left to go to the Middle Kingdom of Torvald to study as a clerk and justice, in order to better defend the Daza peoples of the Plains against Inyene’s domination.

Do you know how long you have been asleep? my uncle asked me.

Of course I did. One night. We fought the battle yesterday⁠—

But Tamin’s face was grave as he shook his head slowly. That was two days ago, Narissea. You’ve been asleep for two days and nights.

What!? I forced myself to my feet, before another wave of dizzy nausea swept through me, almost making me tumble back to the sanded floor before Tamin caught my elbow to steady me.

"Nari – I don’t like this. It’s not…natural," I heard him say as my vision doubled and trebled. He was right of course – it wasn’t natural, but that still didn’t stop me from feeling a little frustrated at Tamin’s pampering.

I’m fine! I said. It’s just a passing sickness – I was down in the dark for four years, you know! I said, holding one hand to my temples. My fingers pressed up against the cool solidity of the Stone Crown, and I could feel its slightly pocked and pitted surface, where the marks of some ancient stonemason might have worked tirelessly to sand and grind and smooth, again and again⁠—

Nari, I— Tamin started to say, but whatever apology or reprimand I half-expected him to give was rudely interrupted, as the flaps to the tent were pulled back.

Narissea! You’re finally awake! said the tall young man standing there. It was Abioye D’Lia, my friend and the brother of ‘Queen’ Inyene.

Abioye had changed in the little while that I had come to know him. Was it really less than a year? I thought. As I stood looking at his lean, broad-shouldered form with his ragged, choppy dark hair and eyes that were sharp and piercing – it was hard to not think that I had known him for years, not just a few seasons. But we two had been through a lot together, that much was for sure. Abioye had been there when Inyene’s slavemaster, the cruel and vindictive Dagan Mar, had tried to drag me away. And Abioye had fought to save my life from the equally as aggressive, but less vicious Nol Baggar, Captain of the Red Hound mercenaries sent after the Stone Crown by some mysterious Torvald noble.

Inyene’s younger and saner little brother had lost his apparent flamboyances and frivolities such as ironed shirts with weird ruffle-things at the cuffs. I could see the way that the winds of the Souda had scoured and weathered even him, as we Daza knew it did – bringing with it wisdom and insight.

Right now, however, Inyene’s younger brother was just looking at me from under the fierce, beetled brows of a frown.

Don’t tell me you’re about to have a go at me for sleeping too now, are you? I preempted him.

What? Abioye blinked. No – of course not. I came here because there’s something that you really should see— He stepped backward from the tent, with one of his slender and long-fingered hands (which would once have been constantly hidden behind finely-tooled soft-hide gloves but were now cracked and dusted with dirt) pulling back the tent flap wide to show me the outside world.

Ach. It was bright, making my eyes wince as I saw the bright hammered-gold of the sands below us, and the rich, opulent blues of the skies above. Ok, maybe I had been asleep for two days, I conceded as the image of the easternmost part of the Plains resolved from the sunny glare. Out here, the savannahs, river-meadows, and wide-open spaces became arid until they met the region that we were traversing now, called the Shifting Sands. The land all around us was a sea of gold and yellow dunes, humped and falling as if the whole place were a frozen (yet warm!) sea.

And the deep blues of the skies were marred by a rising column of black air.

Smoke, I thought at first. But the column of smoke was far away, and to be able to see it from this distance, and measure roughly how high it had drifted, it told me that the fire that had caused it must be great indeed.

Big enough for an entire copse to be burning. I thought of the spindle-stands of trees over the Savannahs. Not an entirely unusual occurrence for a brush fire in the Plains of course – but one fire so concentrated and on its own, without any drifts of the lighter, gray smoldering clouds?

Or, that column of smoke was large enough to be a small Daza village burning…

The smoke was set up just a little while ago— said the stern-faced Tiana, one of the Daza who had come with us from Inyene’s mines, out of servitude, as we crossed the Plains. She was one of the best scouts I had known from my village, and now it seemed that her year of imprisonment down the Mines of Masaka had fallen from her shoulders like last night’s blanket.

Our group was a large one, I found myself reflecting as I tried to listen carefully to what Tiana was trying to tell me. I felt a little distracted, a little feverish. Maybe I really was coming down with something⁠—

But our numbers had swelled from the slaves and disgruntled workers of Inyene’s expedition across the open plains, and now included a contingent of the Red Hound mercenaries who would rather have joined us than be eaten by Inyene’s mechanical dragons during the battle. We also had a good number of the old expedition guards and soldiers – those who had survived the various trials and hazards of crossing the Plains.

And finally, there were my fellow Daza tribesmen and women, under the new Imanu of my village – Naroba – who was even now limping as hurriedly as she could across the sands, with one arm using my mother’s old wood staff as a sort of crutch. Even though injured from the battle, the slightly older woman still managed to look determined and authoritative as she stalked, giving me a tight nod of recognition.

I used to resent you, I found my scattered thoughts thinking as the nominal head of our entire troupe continued. Naroba had never liked the fact that it was my mother, Yanna, who was the Imanu – or spiritual healer and spokesperson for the Souda tribe. And then, after my kidnapping and incarceration down the Mines of Masaka – and my mother’s apparent increasing instability (My fault! My fault! It was hard to stop thinking) – it was to Naroba that the task of leading our tribe fell, in both ways of war and peace.

But even with this apparent reversal of our roles – the battle and our bonding through it, and all of the calamities that we had been through had forged something between us. A sisterhood.

I’m glad to see you on your feet, Nari, Naroba said, her tone as tight as her mouth was, but still edged with something like respect. This was perhaps the most affection that you could get out of the strong-willed young woman, and it was hard not to cherish it. I’ve just been chatting to the other scouts. We haven’t got any horses, but they think that they can move on ahead of us and check out that fire a day or two ahead of when we get there… She nodded.

No need. I turned back to look at the thick, black and greasy-looking smoke. It reminded me of Inyene’s Mines, and of her mechanical dragons. Dangerous, ugly, machine-things that spared no joy or thought for beauty. I can fly there on Ymmen— And as soon as I had said the words, there was a booming shriek a little like birdcall across the sky, as the gigantic black dragon flashed out of the sun, growing ever larger in moments and flaring his wings to greet me.

Ymmen, my friend! My heart spoke quicker than I could voice it.

Little Sister! I heard his words in my heart and in my mind as clearly as if he were a human, standing here beside me with Naroba. Only a dragon doesn’t really sound like any human or speak with any human sort of language. Dragon-tongue might sound like chittering whistles, clacks, and hooting calls, but in reality, once you had become a heart-friend to one, you realized that it was really like a stream of ideas, images, and feelings. A dragon holds their past and their memories and all of their senses all in the same place, I was coming to realize, and although dizzying to understand at first – somehow our bond had developed so that my mind could understand and translate his speech into something as close to my own mother tongue.

Although Ymmen ‘said’ Little Sister, what I felt was warmth and pride, respect and belonging. I felt immediately safer in a way that no other friend had been able to give me.

Ymmen was large, even for a dragon I now could see – as the other wild dragons that had come to our aid in the battle had, for the most part, been a fraction of his size. As his great paws landed on the soft sands, sending up sprays of gold, I watched with my heart in my throat as I always did. He had scales that were glossy and dark, and flashed an iridescent indigo, green, and blue in the right light. His eyes were giant lakes of the deepest, richest golden red, which almost seemed to glow, they were so bright.

"You slept long," Ymmen’s coal-smoke voice breathed through my mind as he met me, lowering his snout so that I could reach up with my hands to stretch them as wide as I possibly could – and still unable to hold the width of his head. As soon as my hands made contact with his cool scales, I felt a wave of peace roll through me. My nausea and dizziness subsided, and the buzzing headache which sat behind the Stone Crown on my brow faded to the lowest murmur.

This isn’t right, Ymmen said.

I know, I whispered, but I had to wear the Crown, didn’t I? I didn’t have a choice to take it off at the moment!

The smoke… I heard Naroba behind me saying, and I opened my eyes to look around to see that the young Imanu was once again squinting at the ominous cloud on the horizon.

Fire. Fear. Battle and death, Ymmen growled in my mind as he shared his own delicate awareness of the distant plume.

Death!? the shock I felt rippled through me. We have to see what we can do— I asked, lifting my hands up in the gesture that me and the dragon had found, allowing him to seize me in his great claws when we flew.

But this time, Ymmen cocked his head slightly and his forked tongue slipped between the daggers of his teeth. No. It has been a long time since I had a rider. A proper rider, he confided in me, and he leaned down on his right leg, lowering his shoulder and forming a scaly ladder up from paw to elbow to his neck.

You once had a Dragon Rider? I blinked, not sure how I felt. Ymmen had a long life, that much I could sense through our bond – decades of flying across lands that were familiar and strange to me. But he had never mentioned the fact that he once had another human rider. I wondered why, and Ymmen, as he always could, picked up on my thoughts with ease.

I did. A woman, Ymmen said gravely. Her name was Keela, and we flew together for the span of her years, until her time came for her body to go on the final journey that I could not follow. The dragon spoke these things to me without rancor or sadness or upset. Dragons feel things differently from us humans. Or maybe a better way of putting it was this: dragons feel more than us humans. I could sense the landscape of my dragons’ heart as so vast as to be able to encompass all of the sadness of that previous bond, but also the pride and the contentment that he now felt.

I nodded, reaching for the dragon’s shoulder as I climbed, calling over to where Naroba and Tiana were standing behind me. Ymmen tells me that was no natural fire. We should prepare the warriors and keep alert! I heard Naroba’s sound of agreement, as I found that there was a natural hollow of scales between the dragon’s neck and the bone spines of his back. It was surprisingly comfortable, and the rise of the spines at my back and the dragon’s wide shoulders just behind me to my right and left made me feel secure. Didn’t the Riders from Torvald use saddles, harnesses, and reins? I thought for a moment – before knowing that I wouldn’t need them. We Daza rode the little, wild scrubland ponies without saddles, and it felt natural to lean slightly forward to place my hands on the scales of his neck.

Hold on, Little Sister – we fly! Ymmen whisper-hissed into my mind, as I felt his powerful muscles bunch and spring⁠—

And suddenly, we were leaping into the air and the wind was in my face. I could see the Shifting Sands around me like a golden blanket, and I set my eyes on the distant dark skies.

CHAPTER 2

A QUEEN’S WRATH

W hat can you see? I asked the dragon underneath me. Ymmen’s senses were far sharper than any human’s, and certainly far stronger than my own. The plume of black smoke was wide and high – before it started to fray and scatter as it met the high currents of air through which we flew. From this height I could see that the smoke was to the south of us and was at the edge of where the scrubland Plains started turning into the golden dunes of the Shifting Sands. I could see the small, dark shapes of trees and boulders like children’s toys far ahead of us.

Huts. It was a village, Ymmen confirmed for me, as he flared his nostrils and allowed his tongue to lick at the wind.

A Daza village, I knew, trying to remember the names of the townships and the tribes that lived this far East. There were no other people out here apart from us. Without even having to say anything, Ymmen surged forward on powerful wing beats, flinging us towards the desolation with urgency.

The land shot up towards us as Ymmen flew, now starting to circle what was clearly the remains of a tribal village. It had been set out in the traditional Daza way – a scattered ring of huts around a much larger, communal hut where these people would have gathered to eat and to mend and to tell stories through the evening.

Now, however – the central hut which was always the anchor to any Daza community was completely broken open and smoldering. I could see the blackened spars and struts clearly through the open hole of the collapsed roof, and even as I watched there was a crash and a plume of sparks as more of the structure fell in on itself.

Most of the huts all around were similarly broken and flaming, but – between the rising smoke I saw movement.

There! I called out in relief to see living people, although I knew that Ymmen had probably seen them long before I did. There was more movement, as I saw Daza tribespeople scattering between the huts, some carrying bags and satchels, or precious belongings seized from the hungry flames.

Pheet! Pheet-pheet! Small, angry and dark shapes shot up towards us from the distant, unburning stands of trees and grassed hills outside the settlement. They were arrows. My people were shooting at us!

They must think we’re going to attack them! I realized as I hunkered close to Ymmen’s neck. And if that was true—then I realized with dread what must have happened. These villagers had been attacked by dragons – and I bet I knew which sort of dragon, as well.

Abominations! Ymmen growled at the merest thought of Inyene’s mechanical dragons. He detested the creations, and I could only share his distaste. Although they might appear to have the same form as a living, fire-breathing dragon – that was where the similarity ended. Inyene’s monstrosities were built out of brass cogs and steel spars, atop which were nailed the many collected dragon scales that I and her other Daza slaves would be forced to collect. Just thinking about her fleet of creations made me sick. They didn’t have the smooth, interlocking and flowing scales or lines of a natural dragon – but all the scales would be of a different size and color, making them look like a mockery of what a real dragon was.

Pheet! Another arrow shot past Ymmen’s snout, and the dragon snapped his wings with a great, thunderous clash, and the resulting gale of air threw the Daza arrows far and wide. Not that I think the arrows would have been able to hurt him, all the same.

"Hoi!" I shouted down to our crouching and terrified attackers. I waved my hand as I did so, leaning forward to let them see my hair, my skin – to let them know that I was Daza, not a Three Kingdomer.

Our attackers were clearly perplexed, lowering their bows as Ymmen swept around the burning village in slower and lower circles.

"Souda!" I shouted, waving my hand to them, telling then the name of my tribe. I am Narissea, daughter of Imanu Yanna, of the Souda! I watched as the archers conferred hurriedly, before one of them raised a hesitant, nervous hand in greeting. That was all it needed for me to feel confident that they would greet us, as Ymmen descended to the ground, beating his wings faster to slow us down, before he landed with a gentle thud on the dirt, a little way from both attackers and ruined village.

Sun greet you, said the Daza tribeswoman who had raised her hand. She was on older woman than me, in her third ten-year, perhaps – and had dark hair woven into a fat braid.

Wind lift you. I returned the traditional response, earning a steady nod from the woman, even at the same time as she was looking at the Stone Crown on my head.

I am Opula, Imanu of the Ingwar people. You were in the battle to the East? the Imanu said gravely, still a little cautious – which was only natural around a real, living fire-breathing dragon, I suppose.

I was, I nodded. You heard of it?

Opula of the Ingwar gave another nod. Word is spreading across the Plains, of some large battle involving Westerners and dragons and the Souda. She looked at the Crown once again, beetling her brows as she tried to fathom what strange new thing I was bringing to her ruined village.

And then the metal dragons came, she continued, her tone growing a little sterner. Opula reminded me a little of Naroba in that sense – concentrated, dedicated, and not willing to back an inch. Even though she could see I wasn’t an enemy, I could tell that this tribeswoman didn’t think that made me her friend yet, either.

Inyene, I whispered, feeling the anger rise in my heart just at the mere suggestion of the tyrant’s name. I was a slave in her mines. I broke free, I explained, earning another, tight nod from the woman below me.

We’d heard that the Souda were fighting with her, Opula said, before her mouth quirked downward. Maybe that is why this Inyene is attacking our villages.

Villages, I thought in horror. There have been other attacks? I asked quickly, turning to look back at the smoking village. It was now almost completely destroyed. It would be months before the people managed to rebuild something as beautiful again.

Many tribes are being attacked, she continued. All in the last two days, and all by the metal dragons. The Akeet tribe, the Ma’sar, the Bndoui – all the tribes west of the Shifting Sands – even if we’ve never had any dealings with the metal queen!

Metal Queen, I thought, the name sounding ugly and thick in my mind – and oddly apt, as well.

I have people, I said quickly, seeing how this woman was struggling with the injustice of it. An army, almost. They are following on behind, and we can offer aid, healing— I thought of the young mage, Montfre, and his ability to heal people with just magic words and gestures.

Don’t bother, the Imanu of the Ingwar tribe said tightly. We Ingwar have never wanted anything to do with the Three Kingdoms. And I won’t let who is left of us be dragged into some Souda vendetta!

I opened and closed my mouth, feeling as though I had just been slapped. I guess I had, I had to concede. I am sorry. I bowed my head in shame. It was only natural for this Imanu to feel this way about me – an interloper into her territory, and flying on the wings of tragedy and battle.

It is not your fault, I heard Ymmen hiss in my mind, as his fattened tail thumped behind him on the sand, like an agitated cat.

It’s okay, my brother, I whispered to the dragon, patting his scales gently, before turning to look back at Opula of the Ingwar people. I am sorry for your losses, I said in a louder, firmer voice. And I will do what I can to bring vengeance to the woman who did this to you.

The Imanu inclined her head in agreement, but without any thanks.

Come, my heart. I settled myself again into the natural seat on