The Color of Dragons

by R. A. Salvatore

  He laughed in a way that gave me gooseflesh.

  “She invited me to sit and get warm. Said she had been waiting for me to deliver a message.” He drank from his cup before continuing.

  “She said that I would one day form a fierce army, and with a single great deed would unite the kingdoms and grow to be their king. That I would build a great city within an impenetrable wall. The greatest city these lands had ever seen. But that one day the wall would come down, and I would lose my throne unless true magic stood by my side. For magic was coming, she said, and I was either friend or foe. My kingdom would not survive if magic was not with me.” His hooded gaze fell on Xavier. “I fell asleep beside her fire. When I woke up, the fire was out, and she was gone.” His gaze drifted to the corner of the room. “I thought it was a dream, only everything she said has come to pass.”

  “That’s why you brought Xavier here?” I asked Jori in a sharper tone than I should have, judging by his creased brow.

  The prince looked panic-stricken. “Your father has shown real magic, Maggie. You know this better than any of us,” he insisted.

  I didn’t know who the bigger fool was: Jori for believing Xavier could be anything more than an entertainer, or me for helping to put Xavier in this position. If I had known . . . We needed to leave this place.

  Tonight.

  “Are you saying Xavier is a fraud?” King Umbert asked me.

  “Of course not, but you’re putting too much pressure on him. His magic cannot flow under these conditions. He needs time to—to allow the stress to ease so that his powers are not restricted.”

  Umbert shook his fat head. “No. The deed is done. No one leaves this room until Xavier shows me something spectacular or lies dead at my feet. With you beside him.” He smiled then, and I saw his yellow cracked teeth for the first time.

  Even under the stern glare from his father, Jori took a step closer to me. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  Xavier slammed the staff down dramatically. “Very well, then you shall see something spectacular, sire. For I know in my heart that I am the one you have sought all these years.”

  “Wait.”

  King Umbert glared at me. He swatted the glass off the throne’s arm, spilling ale all over Xavier. “Wait? What for?”

  “Maggie!” Xavier barked. “Keep to yourself, child!”

  “No. If the king is to see your power, your real power, what do you get in return?” I clasped my trembling hands behind my back.

  “Real power?” King Umbert asked. “Are you saying that your father has been holding back?”

  I laughed. “Wouldn’t you? A garnet. A ruby. You get what you pay for.”

  The king sat down in his throne. His laughter started slowly, then rose, filling the room. “She’s good, Xavier. I can see why you haven’t sold her or married her off. My son could take a few lessons from her.”

  Jori laughed nervously.

  “What is it you want, Xavier?” the king asked.

  “Time and freedom.” I answered for him because that was what I needed. Time and space to move so I could figure out how to get Rendicryss free and us out of this place. “The constant threat of death, and the guards traipsing after, would be more than anyone could take if asked to do the impossible.” I turned to Xavier. “Isn’t that right, Father?”

  He stared at me, bemused, but then he seemed to understand. “Yes.”

  The king frowned, so I was surprised when he agreed. “Time and freedom. Done. Now, what miracle will I be witnessing?”

  Xavier licked his lips. “Better not to tell you but show you. If I could ask you, sire, to step away from the dais. I would like to use that space.”

  The king moved to the other side of the room. Bradyn inched out of the shadows, curiosity getting the better of him.

  Now came the hard part. Earlier, in that windowless room, my energy drained like a bladder with a slow leak. But if anything, since walking into the king’s chambers, I had only grown stronger. The moon was three-quarters full, and so close I could see visible peaks and valleys mixed in with the brightness.

  You can do this, I thought, taking long breaths. My heart pounded. Pulse raced. My nerves heartily disagreed.

  I stood behind Xavier. Confidence rising, I grasped the staff, sliding my hands until they bumped Xavier’s.

  Xavier chanted, lifting the staff and lowering it, over and over, his call to whatever god or goddess he prayed to growing louder and louder. . . . Maybe the words meant something. But within this small room, with only three in audience, the language sounded fake. Made up.

  Meaningless.

  In the past, I’d thought it was charming, how he put this whole show together, but standing here, with our lives on the line, it made me angry.

  I thought to get this over with quickly. A rabbit or a cheetah, the sense memories of their soft and stiff fur coming to mind easily. Shielded by Xavier from the prince’s and king’s prying eyes, I opened my palm, feeling the intensity of the light through the window. So close, but so far too. Silently summoning, I was ignored.

  I tried drawing the animals with fingers, but the room remained empty of moonlight. Closing my eyes did nothing either.

  Those other times I had touched the animals immediately prior. That was what was missing. If I could get to the greyhounds, it could work, but that was impossible. The magic needed to happen now.

  I growled, frustrated, garnering the king’s attention.

  “What?” Xavier mouthed, then sang an ominous tune, raising the staff, aiming the sapphire at the moon.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I lifted the staff higher, and slammed it down on the dais.

  Bright light shot down from the moon, striking the glass window, burning a perfectly round hole. A high-pitched shriek came with it, whining until it found my hand. The energy thrummed. The humming radiated. My teeth rattled. I clamped down hard and turned my palm up. Like striking a mirror, the light changed direction, traveling up the staff, hitting my target. The sapphire. The moonbeam struck a facet with so much intensity, it shot as if it was an arrow taking flight from a released bowstring.

  Bradyn screamed.

  King Umbert squealed with delight.

  Panicked, I closed my fist and my eyes, willing the moon to let go of me. The humming ceased. My hand cooled. I did my best to hide my excitement.

  But when I opened my eyes, Xavier’s jaw dropped. His expression turned cold. He had seen. He knew it was me.

  “You did it!” I hugged him, making a show for the king.

  Bradyn slumped on the ground.

  “Bradyn?” I gasped. Oh, no. What have I done?

  I ran to him and picked up his head, feeling warm wetness. Blood. Sick over what I had done, bile rose in the back of my throat, making my mouth taste like vomit. “He’s bleeding.” I swallowed repeatedly. I needed to heal him, but I couldn’t do it here. Not with them watching.

  King Umbert had the nerve to clap, and then he laughed. “You are the magic, Xavier. You are the Ambrosius! You have your time and freedom. I want more of this! Much more.” I could hear the lust in his voice. More of this?

  “Bradyn needs help! We need to get him out of here!” I called to Jori.

  Bradyn was more than half my weight, and I struggled to pick him up. Jori helped at first.

  “Where are you going?” King Umbert snapped.

  “The boy’s badly hurt, sire. I’m taking him to the physician.”

  “What? No. Leave him there.” King Umbert fingered the sapphire in Xavier’s staff. “We have important things to discuss, Jori.”

  Jori’s hands fell away. He didn’t have the courage to disobey. “He’ll be all right.”

  “No. He won’t!”

  The door opened. A big servant carrying a tray of ale pitchers took one look at me struggling with Bradyn and went to set the tray down. He nodded in the king’s direction and let out a fright-filled whimper as he lifted an unconscious Bradyn into his arms. He left in a hu
rry.

  “Maggie, get back here!” Xavier called.

  But I was already gone.

  “Time and freedom!” I called. And they began tonight.

  Twelve

  Griffin

  Cold wind swept the bridge between the castle and the king’s tower as Griffin paced. He shouldn’t be here, but he found it impossible to stay away. Dinner in the Great Hall had been an abysmal affair. Silas’s death weighed heavy, smothering conversation and appetite. Ragnas’s table was empty for said reasons. The same likely happened last year as competition died in the arena, only if it did, Griffin had been too thrilled by his advancement to notice.

  He hardly knew the competitors then. They were all from families in the Top, where people could afford to spend hours on a practice green. If it hadn’t been for Thoma’s father, Wolfbern, giving him lodging in exchange for work, and Hugo giving him paid hours off at the smithy to spend with Raleigh, Griffin could never have afforded training. But after living a year in the palace, Griffin knew them all. After what Silas had done to help the boy hit by Griffin’s axe, he couldn’t sit there, listening to Jori regale them with the story of Rendicryss’s capture, which he’d told many times before.

  Maggie wasn’t there. She was smart enough to nap through it, Griffin suspected.

  As he rose to leave dinner, intending to go to Ragnas’s house to pay his respects, Jori had stopped him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I thought to pay a visit to Laird Ragnas and Lady Aofrea.”

  “I shall go with you,” Malcolm said, rising. “Cornwall, you should as well. Brother?”

  Cornwall had then stood, but Jori was having none of it.

  “No. Silas’s death is his own fault. His match was over before it started. A true embarrassment. His father and mother couldn’t even show their faces here. I doubt we’ll ever see them again within these walls.”

  Griffin was shocked at the prince’s venom. Cold. Callous. He sounded very much like his father when he spoke to Jori.

  The prince’s gaze shifted to his father then. “Sit down. All of you.”

  Malcolm threw his napkin on the table and walked out. Cornwall’s eyes shifted from Jori to Malcolm, then he pushed his chair back and went after his brother.

  “Malcolm! Cornwall?” Esmera stamped her foot.

  Sybil drained her ale and jogged after her brothers.

  “Sybil, get back here!” Esmera called, but Sybil walked out the door without looking back.

  Jori clung to Griffin’s wrist. “After your performance today, Griffin, you need every possible second with my father.”

  King Umbert heard Jori, stopping his fork from reaching his mouth. He looked in their direction, a curious brow arching. His face flushed. His anger was palpable from ten feet away. He had barely spoken.

  “He’s in a frightful mood,” Jori added.

  Griffin had had no choice but to sit back down.

  “Don’t look so put out. This will all be over soon enough. Xavier has a performance in the king’s chambers tonight. If you feel a sense of purpose in visiting Ragnas, go then. No one will miss you.”

  But he hadn’t gone to see Ragnas, as he told the prince. He had gone to Maggie’s room, finding it empty. And he knew Xavier had taken her with him. The king’s mood sour, if Xavier failed to perform, if Maggie failed, Griffin foresaw a grim end with Xavier in the arena fed to a draignoch, and Maggie’s tongue publicly lopped off for lying to the king.

  Raleigh stormed out of the tower. His back to Griffin, he punched the metal door closed.

  “It has been that kind of a day, has it not?” Griffin said.

  “You backstabbing fool!” Raleigh grabbed Griffin, throwing him up against the metal door so hard he bounced off, sharp cobblestones digging into his back.

  Griffin groaned, the air racing from his lungs. “Have you gone mad?”

  Raleigh snared Griffin’s shirt, tugging him up, then punched him in the stomach. Griffin took it in stride, responding with a right cross that sent Raleigh careening into the railing.

  Moldark and a soldier Griffin didn’t recognize came across the bridge.

  They tackled Griffin, wrenching his arms behind his back. “What’s the matter with all of you?”

  Raleigh’s lip split and bleeding, he spat at Griffin’s feet. “I’d tell them to break your arm, but what would be the point? The lass upstairs would only mend it, as she did your hand.”

  Griffin couldn’t hide his shock.

  “That’s right. I know. I also know the two of you went to see the draignoch—or should I say dragon . . .”

  “What’s a dragon?” Griffin asked, trying to hide his shock, and failing miserably judging by Raleigh’s dark laughter.

  “I suppose you haven’t seen all of it. You will soon enough.” He wiped the blood off his lip with his thumb, then patted Griffin’s cheek with the same hand. “You would be wise to heed a last piece of advice from me, whelp. Focus on the tournament. Play the part you’ve been lotted. Stay away from the girl.” He glared over Griffin’s shoulder at Moldark. “Men ready?”

  “Yes. What do you want us to do with him?”

  “Let him go, of course. The people need their champion.”

  Indecision hung over him like a dagger on an unraveling string. If Raleigh knew what Maggie was capable of, who else did? The king? The prince?

  Likely both.

  It all made sense to him now why Jori was heaping riches at her. They wouldn’t kill her tonight. They wouldn’t kill her ever, would they? She was too valuable to them.

  So why was Griffin still here?

  Griffin had never believed in magic before—but there was no refuting its existence now. He held up his hand, tracing the healed bones. Unknowns frightened Griffin. The draignochs were mysterious, coming out of nowhere in the middle of the night, taking everything from him. Without that great unknown, his life would’ve been set.

  Working in the fields with his father, food every night on the table from his mother, a river nearby to bathe in. A fire beside his bed to keep him warm, rather than freezing to death in the tavern’s basement. A step up from sleeping on the frozen streets the first year he arrived in the Walled City.

  But they had come.

  And all he’d worked for these past years could so easily be taken away. There was a mysterious dragon in the Oughtnoch, an unknown to be unleashed on him in the ring, and then there was Maggie.

  What was a dragon? What was Maggie? Worst of all, why did he care so much about her?

  The door flew open. A servant, the same who’d brought the ale in moments ago, stormed out of the tower with an unconscious Bradyn in his arms.

  “Bradyn? Is he all right?”

  “Obviously not!”

  As the servant slowed, Maggie flew out the door, her orange dress streaked red. She grabbed Bradyn’s limp wrist. “Put him down! I can help him!”

  “Get off.” He tore Bradyn from her, hefting him higher, and then started walking at a brisk pace. “Sir Griffin, I’m taking him to his father!”

  “I don’t understand. Was this the king’s doing?”

  He didn’t respond to Griffin’s questions or Maggie’s pleas for him to stop. She wanted to heal him, but if she did that in front of the servant, it would expose her magic and Griffin’s awareness of it.

  “Stop! Please!” Maggie yelled. But he kept going.

  “What happened to him, Maggie?”

  Tears brimming, she shook her head, then hurried after the servant. Griffin kept pace, his chest tightening with each passing second.

  “Is he badly injured? Maggie. Maggie!”

  She either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him.

  The servant’s heavy footsteps bounced off the walls as they descended the stairs that ended in the hot kitchens.

  The place buzzed with help cleaning up from the banquet. Dishwashing, mopping, wiping; there were staff everywhere, but Buffont wasn’t among them.

  “Buffont!”
the servant called, spinning in circles. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

  A frail man in a greasy gray smock frowned with worry when he saw Bradyn. His hands beckoned for them to follow. He led them around the ovens, which were forever spinning meats, and then through the butchery, which had yet to be cleaned.

  Plucked feathers stirred from the piles on the tables, sticking to Bradyn’s blood on Maggie’s hands. She wiped it off on the dress.

  Two steps down, into a brimming pantry. In his year of living in the palace, Griffin had never been in here. No windows to keep it cool, the room was stocked with enough sacks of flour to feed the Bottom for years. Buffont was there, his bald head sweaty, his apron covered in flour, holding a stick to the bags, counting.

  “Bradyn?” Buffont dropped the stick at the same time his wife, Molly, hurried to them from a room beyond. Perhaps another pantry. Her chestnut hair braided down her back, she rushed in, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Bradyn?” She grabbed his hand and pulled, taking them back through the kitchen to a small cove with a cot that was occupied by another boy. Bent over, the boy’s cheeks black from soot, a bucket between his knees—he was recovering from turning the spit. When he saw Bradyn, he got up to make room for him.

  Molly touched the back of his head and screamed. She held her palm up for all to see it was covered in blood. “Sander!” Molly shrieked. “The physician! He’s upstairs. In the hall.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Buffont asked.

  “Stay with him!” Molly called as she left.

  The servant laid him down. “I heard a loud crash in the king’s chambers. When I got in with the ale, I found him like this on the floor with her trying to pick him up.”

  “Griffin, help me. Get them out of here,” Maggie whispered to him.

  “I’m not sure it matters anymore,” Griffin said.