by Meg Cowley
Saradon’s crackling magic still lurked, as if he were too angry to let it go.
“Those confounded savages,” he cursed to Dimitri. “Would that it be soon I have no need for them.”
“Indeed, Lord Ravakian,” Dimitri replied smoothly. He refused to meet Harper’s gaze as she turned to him, infuriated that he would agree with anything Saradon said.
“I will see to it that there is no chance they touch a hair on your head,” Saradon said to Harper, his dark attention falling to her. “For now, until I have no further need of them, your companions are mine. You are a curious lot, and I will know you all more intimately before I am done with you.”
She did not like how he smiled with dark glee at that.
With a wave of his hand, all fell to darkness, and she knew no more.
WHEN HARPER NEXT AWOKE, the world did not exist. There was no air, nothing but darkness. Disorientated, she blinked furiously, but the darkness did not abate. Rising panic engulfed her and she clutched at it, forcing it down. She moved her hand.
Ground. There is ground beneath me.
Her palms skimmed it. Hard. Rocky. Sooner than she had expected, the stone rose. She followed it up, until it was out of reach of where she sat.
A ragged sob broke from her when she realised she was entirely entombed within hand-hewn rock, judging from the angles that scarred the surface. The space was only just large enough for her to stand. No light permeated it. Only a small, hairline crack signalled a possible door, also made of stone, that did not yield when she threw the weight of her body or magic at it.
No air moved in the space, but the cold somehow found a way in. It seeped through the very stone, freezing her where she stood. Thank goodness I still have my cloak and boots, she thought. Even so, her stiff limbs broke into shivers, for she remained sodden from the battle.
She pressed her hands against the door once more and heaved with all her might, to no avail. At least whilst I am in here, worse things are out there – and forever may they stay there, she thought, then considered her limited air supply. Will I be able to breathe? Harper forced down that thought before panic could engulf her once more.
Time was endless and beyond measure in the tomb of stone, only marked by when she was too tired to stand and reluctantly huddled on the floor once more, leaning against the rough surface of the rock that dug into her back. She had already determined there was not even enough room to lay down. Any sleep she had – if any came at all, for nerves still charged through her and she did not feel like she could afford to close her eyes and rest – would be taken uncomfortably hunched up against the stone.
As she sat, her senses open, she heard quiet sounds. Their direction was impossible to discern, but it sounded like...shouting? Her companions? It seemed they were alive for now, for Saradon had no use for any of them quite yet.
She sucked in a lungful of stale air and bellowed at the top of her lungs until her throat hurt. After a moment, others answered, albeit muffled. A feeling of relief blossomed within her.
Knowing they were alive gave her courage in the darkness as she sat alone. A light against the ever-present embers of terror stirring and writhing in the pit of her belly. What was to become of them all?
Forty-Four
Light!
“I told you not to come. Why did you not listen?”
Dimitrius’s voice was quiet, with an edge of desperation.
Harper scrambled to the door of her stone prison, the burning light of a torch in a sconce on the wall outside flooding in. She pressed her hands and face to the slim crack, trying to force herself through the gap, but Dimitrius only opened it a fraction more.
“I cannot let you out. Not yet. I haven’t figured out how.”
“Where’s everyone else?” she asked quickly. “Are they safe? Are they well?”
“Yes. They’re here.”
A sigh of relief gushed from her lips and she subsided in her movements.
“You should have fled. For goodness sake, you should have fled.” His tone held a bite of frustration, but she could not tell to whom it was directed. Her or himself.
“I make my own choices. I don’t have to listen to you.”
To her surprise, he chuckled, though he shook his head. She could not see his face, so deep were the shadows in the darkened hall. “I don’t know whether to admire you or shake you. You ought to be trembling with fear, yet you still have defiance burning within you. Are you brave or foolish, I wonder?”
“You’re calling me foolish?” Harper’s eyebrows rose. “This, coming from the stupid idiot who decided it would be a great idea to resurrect a dead, evil elf?”
“He wasn’t dead, and I didn’t know he was evil,” protested Dimitrius. “Not then. I–”
“Oh, I’m not going through this again. You’re a bloody fool for doing it, but we are where we are. I don’t much care, as long as we get out. Where is this place?” Harper tried to inch open the door, but Dimitrius, or his magic, held it firm.
“You’re in the mines. These are some of the old stores for the blasting powder they used to expand the cave systems. Don’t worry, though. Saradon has kept this area free from goblins. They won’t come here.”
At his words, Harper shuddered. “Good.” The darkness was made worse by thoughts of goblins creeping toward her. Goblins with their pointed teeth, sharp claws, and cruel intentions. “What’s going to happen to us?”
DESPITE HER STUBBORN defiance, he heard the edge of fear in her voice. It elicited an unfamiliar sympathy within him, but he had soon grown to recognise that his attachment to her ran annoyingly deep. Enough to wish he had never met her, never been encumbered with her welfare, for now he felt bound to see her to safety...again. Would that I had not ever seen her after Tournai. After all, that had been the plan.
When he could not answer her, she grew increasingly angry. He could hear the bite of fury in her voice.
“We would never be in this predicament but for you,” she growled at him. “You and your grand schemes. Our safety rests in your hands, and I don’t know whether to cry or scream at that!”
“I told you to leave! I made it expressly clear that you ought to. Do not blame me for your own folly in coming here, Harper.”
Her eyes glinted when he said her name, and her scowl deepened. “But for you, none of this would be happening.”
“As you have made quite clear,” he snapped. “I cannot change it now, which I have made quite clear. In any case, there is no time to dally. He has summoned you.”
He regretted being so blunt as the anger drained from her face, replaced with trepidation. He opened the door of her prison farther, his own expression mirroring her worry. When she noticed that, she fell further into concern. He smoothed his face into blankness, but he knew she had already seen the weakness in him.
“We must go. I am bound to serve him, but I will not harm you.” He dropped his gaze at the thought, uncomfortable. It will not come to that.
“Do not be scared,” he added into her mind.
“I’m not scared,” she lied immediately, her natural retort, but he could hear it in her voice, see it in her body.
“I know you are, but it’s okay. You don’t have to put that wall up for me. Not here. I will do my best to keep you safe.”
HARPER NOTICED HE DID not promise it. She had learned by now that most things he said or did were deliberate. He cannot guarantee me, or any of us, safety. That did not give her much hope. What does that mean for Saradon’s intentions? They could not be good if even Dimitrius worried that he could not keep her safe. In her solitude, she had slowly come to the conclusion that to survive, at least for now, they would all have to make themselves useful...somehow.
He must have seen how she faltered, for he reached a hand toward her to help her out through the narrow gap. His hand was warm and reassuringly strong, yet slightly clammy, as if he, too, was nervous for what was to come. As soon as she emerged, he dropped her hand, clenching and unclenc
hing his fist, as if to rid himself of her touch.
He suddenly spoke into her mind. “I can help a little, if you wish. He must believe that we do not know each other, let alone as well as we do. It is something and nothing, but any connection can weaken us. May I protect those memories we share?”
“I don’t understand.”
“It just means he will not be able to see that which is hidden.” He sent a flood of mental images her way...of their time together in Tournai and before.
“You think it will help?”
“At the very least, it will not damn us.”
“All right.”
Dimitrius stepped into her mind. It was different than Saradon, who ventured there without her permission, but even so, it was unpleasant. Somehow, she knew where he looked inside her. However, she could also see how careful he was to mind his own business, to only seek memories of himself.
Thank goodness there is nothing indecent there, she thought with a sudden blush to her cheeks.
“I didn’t realise you disliked me so much,” he murmured as he withdrew.
She cringed, looking away.
“I suppose I did not give you any reason to endear me.” He leaned close, so his breath tickled her ear. “But I am glad you think I’m the most handsome male you ever did see.” She heard the smile in his voice.
She gasped. “Oh, shut up! That’s none of your business.” As she flushed anew, he laughed.
“Come. We’ve tarried too long. He does not like to be kept waiting.”
“Wait. Just one thing.” She halted. He turned, silhouetted by the torch behind him. “You said you sent the Dragonheart to me by accident. How did you raise Saradon without one?”
The prophecy had mentioned that a Dragonheart would raise him, then cast him down. As far as she knew, the only other Dragonhearts in existence had been burned in their escape from Pelenor or hidden by the king.
Dimitrius chewed his lip, as if wondering how much to tell her. “You were not the only ones in the vaults that night.”
“You were there? I didn’t see you...”
“Not all those who wander are seen, Harper. But I saw everything that transpired, from the portcullis lowering, to your fall, to the elf and his dragon magic.”
She stilled. No. He had to have been there. It was impossible that he would know such details of that night had he not. “What were you doing there?” she whispered, though she had a feeling she already knew. I need to hear him say it.
Forty-Five
“I took my own Dragonheart that night.”
“And you let us escape...”
“With you gone, far from Tournai...” Dimitri chuckled dryly, “I presumed I would never run into you again. I did not care that you had a Dragonheart, or that you had destroyed the rest. It was greater cover for me. You would be blamed for all their thefts, and I would escape with my prize. We were never supposed to meet again.” His eyes met hers, his gaze serious and steady.
She opened her mouth, but no words came.
“I’m not as ruthless as you think, Harper. Come.” His tone hardened, brooking no argument, and he stalked away down the dark halls, taking the torch and the only source of light with him. With the threat of shadows nipping at her heels, she chased after him.
HARPER STEELED HERSELF as they returned to the cursed jarlshalle where no jarl sat. Saradon greeted them, sending the pascha and his scourge of goblins scurrying away. To her surprise, he stood with his arms wide at her entrance, a beaming smile upon his face. As open and friendly as his dark visage could manage.
A tingle of suspicion curled through Harper.
“Daughter of my blood, welcome.”
Even as he spoke, beckoning her – Dimitrius helped her along with a subtle nudge in the small of her back to propel her forward – she felt the subtle fingers of Saradon’s mind invading her own. She stiffened, but kept walking, Dimitrius’s hand not leaving her back. Saradon gave no sign or hint that he invaded her, clasping his hands together as his lips closed over gleaming white teeth, though his grin remained wide.
Through her mind he stalked, rifling through memories, from her time in Pelenor with Aedon and his companions, to her incarceration in Tournai at Toroth’s hands, to her time in Caledan with Betta and the years before...which she spoke of to no one. She bared her teeth at him in a feral scowl as he touched those memories, but as much as she gathered her magic to push him away, she could not budge him from his possession of her most secret memories.
Finally, he rifled through the most recent memories, until he saw the burned land and the pale figure of Erendriel. She felt a flicker of fear, but she was not sure whether it was her own or his.
Harper halted before Saradon, Dimitrius close beside her. His presence lent her comfort and strength, a familiar anchor in the dark hall. She dared not wonder if he knew what Saradon did at that moment. She dared not think of Dimitrius at all.
They waited. It felt like a lifetime, but Harper knew it was only a moment. Saradon’s hard gaze bored into her as he picked apart her memory of Erendrial’s vision – and prophecy.
“Well met, daughter of my blood,” he said more softly, as though he sized her up anew. “It would seem we have many things to discuss...and your whole life to catch up on. We will spend much time together henceforth, I think.”
That filled her with horror and trepidation. It was obvious she would be no challenge for him to overpower at any opportunity. She knew that no matter what Saradon said, she would never trust him. Yet something within her remained desperate, defiant.
“I’d rather not,” she said, scowling as much as she dared.
Saradon laughed, delighted at her defiance, but his eyes remained predatory, dark. “Whyever not, daughter? You are of my blood, and I yours. The last of our line, the end of our House. Whyever ought we not be close? You shall inherit my legacy.”
Saradon paced slowly around her. Harper shifted, never taking her gaze from him, but Dimitrius remained still. Perhaps he was used to it, but she did not dare take her attention from Saradon for fear of what he might do. It felt uncomfortably like she was a rabbit in the sole attention of a wolf about to pounce.
“Is this how you treat your family?” She looked down at herself for the first time, and her own lips curled in disgust. She was filthy. Not just with dirt, but with blood and gore. She was already immune to the smell of it, for which she was grateful, for the stench of the battlefield had been enough to make her want to vomit.
Saradon paused before her, raising his eyebrow and cocking his head. “What do you mean, daughter?”
“You keep your family in filth and squalor? I have been locked in a windowless, airless tomb for an unknown amount of time. You would treat me so, yet desire my respect, my loyalty, my familial love?” She scoffed at the ridiculousness of the idea.
Saradon drew himself up, and Harper felt the crackle of his anger in the very air. “You will not disrespect me again thusly, daughter. Yet I will be merciful. I will show you the kindness which you so clearly do not expect to see. You will be moved to better quarters at once, as befits my heir.” He nodded at Dimitrius to make it so.
Harper narrowed her eyes. “Will you do the same for my friends?”
Saradon laughed. “No.”
“I demand it!” she said, puffing out her chest with far more bravado than she felt.
His brooding anger cracked like a whip around them, as though lightning rove the air. “Do not presume your status grants you to act with such impunity.”
Her own anger rallied against his, but his was the weight of the mountain, quashing hers.
“Why care you, daughter? They are no one. Forget them. You are where you belong at last. With your kin.”
“I’d rather be anywhere else.” She turned to leave, but he froze her where she stood. She screamed in frustration. “Let me go!”
“Not until you learn respect for your elders and your betters, daughter,” he hissed. “I own you and your loyalty.
I shall have it, whether you will it or not.” His bared teeth mirrored hers as he drew closer, bending until they were level, their eyes locked.
Panic clutched her chest at his words. His power clamped down upon her until she could not so much as blink of her own volition, and even her chest ceased rising and falling. Dizziness swooped over her as he held on, like a wolf to her throat, slowly starving her body of air.
All at once, his control vanished. She crumpled to the floor, smashing against the stone. She lay upon it, gasping, as her vision cleared and her body jabbed her with pain.
“Rise.” His command was laced with magic. Her protesting body slowly forced itself to kneel, then stand. Dimitrius still stood immobile beside her.
Why will he not help me? Say something? But she knew the answer. He does not dare.
“Will you give yourself to me, daughter? Or must I show you the error of your ways and the righteous path?” Saradon’s tone was hard, brittle. When he drew himself up, she realised just how tall and imposing he was.
I am a fool, but I will not yield, she thought. She said nothing, forcing herself to stand properly – straighten her shoulders, hold her head high, and stiffen her limbs.
“Answer me,” Saradon growled. Darkness seemed to cling to him.
What sorcerous magic is this? she wondered, but she walled away the fear, which sapped at the last of her depleted energy.
“I will not serve you,” she answered through gritted teeth.
Forty-Six
Fury flashed across Saradon’s face, which was swiftly veiled. He stepped forward and struck Harper across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor once more. Her ears rang from the strength of his impact, and her jaw blinded her with pulsing pain. She heard his voice as if from a distance.
“You will serve me, daughter, whether you will it or not.”