by Meg Cowley
A grin split his face, and he strode forward with a new spring in his step. It was lucky indeed that he had a swift way to travel, for there would be much ground to cover in order to accomplish everything he had hoped. Time was of the essence.
When he entered his own quarters, the upended vase of roses on the floor reminded him of his other duty. With a sigh and a wave of his hand, he made them, along with the mess on his fine rug, vanish. His first duty would be to the court. Of course, he would have to ensure his eyes and ears watched there, too. But there was one place they could not aid him.
“I SEE YOU CALLED UPON me, my princess.” Dimitri bowed low to Rosella, who reclined before her fire, her body covered in a thin, silken nightgown. Her quarters were far more warm and welcoming than the king’s. Every touch of comfort had been added. In truth, he despised the ghastly plumpness of all the cushions, the cloying softness of her furnishings. When Rosella flicked her hand, the servants vanished in silence, setting down their trays of choice canapes and drinks on the way out.
Rosella lifted her chin imperiously. “You have been absent.” Her beauty paled when she was petty and angry, but he pretended not to notice.
Dimitri strode forward to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled away, so he stepped back to a respectful distance. It was not an unfamiliar game. Rosella liked to do the abandoning, not the other way around.
“I can only apologise, my princess. Your father sent me away on urgent business. Would that I could have seen you instead.” Her pout subsided just a little. He shifted his weight, so her gaze angled toward a suggestive part of his body, and grinned wickedly. “Did you miss me?” he purred.
Her pout disappeared, opening into a mischievous smile, and she tilted her body toward him, letting her gown slip from a shoulder. “Show me you’re sorry, Dimitrius.”
His body ached with tiredness, but the thrill of the conquest gave him new energy. He had to admit, even if it was Rosella, it was a nice reward to return to.
THE NEXT MORNING, WITH the tension in his body released after his dalliance, Dimitri returned, even more tired, to the king’s task. He longed to seek Saradon using the relic from Karietta’s tomb, but it would have to wait. He glanced toward the item’s hiding place, tempted to recover it.
Not yet. Soon, he promised himself.
It would be the easiest of his tasks, now he had the relic. Like called to like. The relic would guide him to Saradon’s remains, wherever they were. If only he had even a part of the Dragonheart to do the same. Something more than the teasing tendril of memory of its power coursing through him.
The dead could wait. The living could not.
Dimitri did not delay. He slipped through the shadows to the valley where he had left them. The woods were empty, save for the steady pitter-patter of rain falling on the canopy above him. Mist and low clouds clung to the valley, and with mild irritation, Dimitri spelled himself against the cold and the wet. There would be no saving his fine boots from the mud.
A Dragonheart is worth muddy boots, he reminded himself.
He moved like water through the air, cutting from one place to another as he followed the scent, the feel of the Dragonheart’s unique power, deeper and deeper into the woods. Stronger it grew as he covered a day’s worth of travel in seconds, finally finding them.
Dimitri remained in the shadows, ever watchful and careful, lest he be detected. He did not need to let Aedon and his companions know he watched them. First, he wanted to see them relaxed. Off guard. Magic thrummed next to him, an invisible net that threatened to wreak havoc should he cross those lines. Dimitri leaned close to the wards Aedon had set, then carefully stepped back with a curl of his lip.
Rudimentary. Aedon ought to have done better. Careless. They practically invite me to take it.
Dimitri could have broken through the wards with a single thought, but that would have served no purpose. Not yet. It would give him the greatest pleasure when he could tear through them like a spider’s web.
Instead, Dimitri cast extra wards, ones Aedon would not detect, sinking them into the earth, the trees, the very air outside the paltry camp where Aedon and his companions toiled. It would not do for someone else to take advantage of the shoddy protections.
He could not care less for Aedon or his companions, not even the mysterious young woman, but Dimitri was determined to protect the stone. Now, no one outside the vicinity would be able to follow that telltale scent of magic...should they know what it was. Toroth may not have been the worst thing seeking magic like that.
There was no doubt in Dimitri’s mind that it was there, with them. The trail ended here. He shivered as the wind picked up and the fog descended farther, turning the already murky day into premature dark. He slid back into the shelter of the tree, looking at them slightly enviously as they all shuffled closer to the fire.
Through the wards, he could not hear what was said, but he watched, eagle-eyed, to discern the relationships between them. The nomad woman, terse and a lone spirit. The dwarf, warm. The Aerian, a protector of all. Dimitri did not want to think about the elf. Cocky. Arrogant. Conceited. His mind filled in the blanks as he watched Aedon lean toward Harper in an entirely overly familiar way. And Harper...
The group was open, friendly, chatting and laughing amongst each other with easy camaraderie that Dimitri knew was born from years of companionship. Only the nomad looked at Harper with obvious wariness. Dimitri could see that it was just her nature, yet his gaze lingered on her.
What is the reason for such distrust?
Harper chuckled, then sent some quip back at Aedon that had the elf and dwarf howling with laughter. Even the big Aerian grinned. Yet she is somewhat hesitant, as if she has not been with them for very long. That would fit with what he knew of Aedon’s companions.
She spoke the Common Tongue with a strange twang. One he did not recognise. Yet she was of clear Pelenori, perhaps even Aurarian, descent, with elven blood coursing through her veins.
Their talk turned more serious. He longed to sneak through Aedon’s wards to hear the outlaws’ words, but he did not have the time to unpick them. Dimitri shifted from one foot to the other, pulling his black cloak tighter about him as he strengthened his protective magics against the worst of the elements. True darkness was falling, and the chill seeped into his bones. A blast of warmth banished it back to the forest.
Then the girl, Harper, pulled something from inside her cloak. It sparkled in the shattered firelight.
Dimitri stilled. His heart stuttered for a moment before thundering into life once more. There it was, plain as day. The Dragonheart. The girl handled it with care, but without the reverence and respect it deserved, as if she had no idea of the power she held in her bony hands.
It was, without question, the Dragonheart he had attempted to take. And it went to her? Dimitri flexed a hand involuntarily, as if he could reach out and grasp it.
Not yet, he told himself, but immediately questioned why.
Why wait? Why not crush them all and take it? His hand sparked with magic, then subsided.
He did not know why he withdrew into the shadows when the magic called to him. It was like a physical tug, almost sending him tripping over his own feet. It took all his will to turn away from it.
You don’t yet know what you’re dealing with, he rationalised to himself. The nomad, the Aerian, the dwarf, the elf... They were probably predictable. But who was the young woman, Harper, who travelled with them? She was an enigma, one he knew he wanted to solve.
Why did the Dragonheart go to her?
I can afford to wait a day, Dimitri decided, against his better judgment, watching how the girl’s grey eyes filled with warmth and laughter at one of Aedon’s jokes. The obvious attraction in her body language towards him. His mood soured as he looked at how easily, naturally, Aedon managed it.
He can still command silly girls, even as a criminal? It was outrageously frustrating.
Unable to watch him anymore, Dimitri sli
pped away, back to the city.
The last thing upon his gaze before he faded into the shadows was the girl and the stone, illuminated in the firelight. The heart sparkled iridescent in her laughing, grey eyes.
Twenty-Four
That night, Harper found herself restless, twisting and turning under the folds of her cloak until she was tangled within it, unable to get comfortable or to put her mind at ease. Aedon's words had unsettled her, though she still refused to believe it would be as difficult as he suggested to approach the king for a way home.
The next morning, she rose early, with the dawn mists around the dell, and went to bathe in the stream. The water was freezing, despite the time of year, but it was just the rough awakening she needed. As she hurriedly dried herself and scrambled to dress, the reeds stirred behind her. She spun around, and a frisson raced across her skin as she found herself face to face with a shirtless Aedon.
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes flicking to his muscled and tanned chest before wrenching back to his gaze. His lazy smile widened.
“Sorry to disturb you. Morning." Aedon covered a yawn with his hand.
"Morning, Aedon. I was just finishing up. Stream's all yours." Her voice was carefully even, and her gaze locked on his face, refusing to be drawn to his muscled torso again.
"Actually, I came for some quiet time, to contemplate. Would you care to join me?"
Harper's eyebrow rose. He did not seem the thoughtful type. "Sure." It would be a while before anyone else arose or Ragnar needed her help with breakfast.
Aedon grinned, though his eyes were still clouded with sleep, and jerked a thumb over a shoulder. "I think this spot would work best." He slipped on his shirt...to her dismay.
She followed him through the mist to a grassy hillock, carefully arranged her cloak on the dew-laden grass, and sat opposite him. She didn't fancy having a wet behind for the rest of the day.
Aedon took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, the air whooshing from his chest as he gazed around with a sereneness Harper had not seen of him at any other time.
He's normally so full of energy. Where does this inner peace come from?
"What?" he asked, noticing her looking at him strangely.
"Nothing. I... You didn't strike me as the type to sit and think." She blushed immediately, wondering if she would cause offense.
He chuckled. "I'm not, but I do occasionally enjoy sitting and watching the world go by. Though the fog isn't so great for that." The mist had closed around them. They could barely see each other, let alone anything else.
Harper stifled a grin.
"I hope I didn't scare you with the tale last night, Harper. Or what was said afterward."
"You didn't scare me," she said softly. "But I do worry that I don't know what my place is here...or when I get back home.”
Aedon sighed, his smile full of sympathy. "Don't dwell on it for now. Enjoy the present.” He shuffled closer until both sat cross-legged, their knees bumping, and reached out, palms held toward her hands. “May I?”
She slipped hers into his, looking at him with questions upon her tongue. As their skin connected, her hands tingled – part attraction and part something quite unfamiliar – and she fought back another blush.
"You felt that, yes?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He laced his fingers with hers.
"That's magic. Right there. I said you would be able to feel it. Mine is strong. I've lived here all my life and am a pureblood elf. My blood is charged with it. Yours will take a little while to return, to accumulate within you once more, but soon, you'll feel it humming inside you. It'll be like a stream of water filling up a vessel. Close your eyes. Try to imagine it, feel it."
She did as he asked. Her breathing evened out. She looked inside herself for the source of her energy. Deep inside her it sat, lurking somewhere in her belly, but she didn't know if that was what magic felt like, or whether it was the buzz of attraction at their physical contact.
The cold of the air began to chill her. Her bare hands stiffened, even in Aedon's warm hold, and the frigid damp seeped through her cloak. This is ridiculous. A part of her still didn't believe him.
They sat there, motionless, until Aedon squeezed her hands. She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her with an open warmth. "I know. It seems silly at first."
She winced. Can he read minds?
"You'll eventually understand what I speak of. Come. I'll wager the others will be rousing soon, and I'm starving. I want to wake Ragnar so he'll make me breakfast."
She laughed. "You can make it yourself, you know."
He grinned, shaking his head. "Why should I when I have the best cook this side of Keldheim tending my fire?"
Aedon helped her to her feet, then slipped his fingers from hers. Harper slowly pulled back her hands, acutely conscious of the sudden rush of cold the absence of his warm skin created. She was glad when he turned his attention away from her and strolled into the mists, back to camp.
Pull yourself together, you ass, she chided herself, pressing her cold fingers against her warm cheeks. There was no denying it. She had a crush. On an elf. That was ridiculous enough, but he was also a criminal. Her mind taunted her with the stupidity of it all.
"He doesn't feel bad," she mumbled to herself. Would she know for sure if he was? Perhaps she was insanely naïve to think that impressions could not be deceiving. Either way, she had started to develop feelings for the enigmatic thief. Where did that leave her morals?
"Harper?"
As if on cue, he called for her through the mists.
Even the way he says my name, with that slight twang...
Harper clenched her fists until her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palm. "Stop behaving like a girl with a crush," she snapped at herself. "Coming," she called and bustled back to camp, wrapping her cloak around her as if she could banish such treacherous thoughts along with the cold.
"RAGNAR SAYS IT'S MY turn to make the fire today," Aedon said, scrunching up his face and glaring in the direction of Ragnar's still resting lump close by, sticking out his tongue. "But it gives me an opportunity to show you how to use magic to make fire. Want to learn?"
"Yes!" Harper suddenly didn't feel cold anymore, flush with excitement at the prospect.
Aedon smiled and directed her to build the fire as they always would. "There's really no shortcut for that,” he mused. Once she was done, he nodded. "Okay. Now’s the fun part. Hold your hands over the wood, like this." He demonstrated, grasping her hands and holding them above the fire, as if she were warming her palms on invisible flames.
As she did, he shifted, moving behind her and fitting his body flush to hers. She tensed, suppressing an inhalation of surprise and trying to banish the tingles that spread down her arms as his palms covered her hands.
"I'm going to share my magic with you. Don't be alarmed."
She shivered as his breath brushed the nape of her neck, but she could not hold in the gasp at what happened next.
It was a feeling she would not later be able to describe. An energy rushed through her, cold and hot, tingling and smooth, sending every nerve ending into overdrive.
"That's magic, as it ought to feel." She heard the smile in his voice. "Brun," he crooned. The energy rushed through her, sparking from her fingertips and arcing toward the fire.
It was both there and not there, an ethereal light that disappeared when she tried to focus on it. An instant later, the fire sprang to life before her. She scrambled back, pushing into Aedon's chest at the surprise of its intensity and the sudden onslaught of heat.
He caught them both from falling and laughed, steadying her. "How was that?"
"Magical," she breathed out. "So... So you just say some words?"
He cocked his head. "Not quite so simple. You have to summon the magic, too, but when you know how, that's instinctive. I can teach you. You'll accumulate magic like a spring accumulates water. Eventually, it'll be happily bubbling away for you to dr
aw on whenever you please. Elves never need to use words to shape magic reall—"
“He’s showing off,” Brand quipped.
Aedon grinned. “Well, it’s true. We’re born of magic, and magic is born of us. And you. But perhaps you might need to learn it the hard way.”
"Sounds strange."
"I suppose so, if you're not used to it." He flashed her a grin. "Soon, it'll be as natural as breathing to you, Harper.”
He clapped his hands. “Right. Ragnar, how about breakfast now?" He grabbed a stick and poked the dwarf, who sprang from his bedding like Aedon had poked a sleeping bear. Loud, displeased, and grizzly.
Ragnar chased the elf around camp, shouting obscenities in a language she did not understand. Harper cackled as she ducked out of their way.
"Bloody elf!" Ragnar grumbled. "I was having a lovely dream. Warm hearth, proper bed..." He sighed.
"You can dream about it again tonight, Ragnar," Harper said, grinning. "But for now, breakfast. I spotted some berries. Want me to fetch them?"
Ragnar's face brightened at that. "Thanks, Miss Harper. You're a good help. Brew a tea when you return. I'll prepare the food."
Harper dashed off to collect the crimson berries and set to making a tea, whilst Erika and Brand rose, completed their morning training, and patrolled the area as the mists burned away to reveal a rolling, grassy plain before them.
Aedon was nowhere to be seen, but he soon returned with some larger fruits. He tossed them toward Ragnar, who caught them with surprisingly sharp reflexes, though his fingers struggled to close around the furry, bumpy surfaces.
"By way of apology for waking you up, dear sir." Aedon bowed theatrically.
Ragnar grunted in reply and sent a stinging glare Aedon’s way, still looking unimpressed.
"Your first lesson of the day," Aedon whispered to Harper as he passed. "Never wake a sleeping dwarf, for they shall resent you ‘til the end of time."