CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“It is trust, rather than courage, that is the opposite of fear.”
~ Calder Tryvash, Seventh Age
“Keriya, get up!”
A voice in Keriya’s ear startled her awake. It was dark, her hair hung loose around her, and she was wearing nothing more than a nightshift. She was in her palace bedchamber and, though she was sure she’d locked her door after returning from the ball last night, Max was standing over her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I spoke to the king,” Max whispered. “The conversation didn’t go as planned. We need to leave now to avoid the Imperials. Where’s Thorion?” he added, scanning the empty room.
“No!” Keriya leapt from the bed, forgetting her state of undress. “I mean—you get Fletcher and Roxanne and tell them we’re leaving. I’ll handle Thorion.”
Things must have gone worse with Wavewalker than Max had let on, because he didn’t argue. He nodded tersely and left.
“What am I going to do?” she moaned, ripping off the nightshift and changing into her old Aerian clothes. She wanted to tell Max the truth, but she feared his reaction. Maybe he’d never speak to her again. Maybe he’d hand her over to the Council of Nine for her treason.
He wouldn’t do that. He kissed me, she reminded herself, as she grabbed her crumpled ribbons and tied her hair into her customary ponytails. That must mean something.
But she didn’t know that for sure. A kiss had been something intimate in Aeria. It was shared only between a husband and wife and was an unacceptable display of affection in public. In Allentria, it might mean anything. It might mean nothing.
Dashing to the sitting room, she grabbed the royal blue cloak the servants had given her. She ran the fabric between her fingertips, wondering whether she should take it. She swung it around her shoulders and embraced its feel. It did seem like a useful thing to have.
It was dark when she slipped into the hall. The guards who were usually stationed outside Keriya’s door were nowhere to be seen, and she wondered what Max had done to get rid of them. Roxanne was already there, waiting with the prince.
“Where’s Thorion?” Max asked again.
“Where’s Fletcher?” Keriya countered.
“He said he wasn’t coming,” murmured Roxanne.
Keriya snorted dismissively. She strode across the hall and, without stopping to consider the consequences, banged on Fletcher’s door.
Max grabbed her arm. “You’ll be heard!”
She wrenched herself from his grip and hit the door again. On her second knock, it swung inward.
Fletcher stood there, his face set in an uncharacteristically cold expression.
“We’re leaving,” she said.
“You’re leaving,” he corrected her. “I’m going to stay a few more days and get some provisions. Then I’m going back to Senteir.”
Keriya heard the words, but couldn’t process them. “You can’t be serious.”
“You don’t need me on this quest—you made that plain. I have no reason to stay.”
She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. Was this what it came to? Had years of friendship been erased in the heat of one angry moment? She refused to accept that.
“What will you do in Senteir?” It was the only thing she could think to say. This was too sudden, too overwhelming, too painful.
“I still have the letter Empress Aldelphia gave me, which should be enough to prove I’m a legal citizen. I figured I’d go to Master Treeskon and ask to earn my living with him until I find a place of my own.”
He had this all planned out. How long had he been thinking of leaving?
“You can’t,” she whispered.
“Why? You think I won’t be any use to him, either?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she gasped, appalled. She wanted to yell at him, tell him he was abandoning her, betraying her—but she couldn’t, because she knew this was her fault. She ought to beg him to stay, but the words were lodged in the back of her throat, trapped behind tears she would never allow herself to shed.
“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Roxanne told Fletcher. “You have no survival training and no Allentrian currency. How are you going to get to Senteir?”
“I’ll take the Imperial Highway, like everyone else. I’d like to think I’m capable of walking on a road,” he retorted with a scowl.
“A well-guarded road,” Max added impatiently, not being helpful at all. “Keriya, we need to leave before it’s too late. Where is Thorion?”
“He’s already gone,” she said in a hollow voice, staring at Fletcher. She was no longer worried about how furious Max would be, nor about what would happen if King Wavewalker caught her trying to escape.
“Good—that was good thinking. Now let’s go.”
Still Keriya made no move to leave. For as long as she could remember, it had been her and Fletcher against the world. They’d helped each other when the rest of Aeria had scorned them. They’d been a team. He was the closest thing to family she’d ever had.
She had assumed they would always be together . . . but perhaps that had been naïve.
Max tugged on Keriya’s arm again. This time she allowed herself to be drawn away. She wanted to explain to Fletcher why he should come with her, but her throat was closing and her lower lip was trembling, so speaking was no longer an option.
It was clear Fletcher was expecting her to say something more, but it was too late to fix the mess she’d made. Max pulled her around a corner, and just like that, Fletcher Earengale was gone from her life.
Time distorted for Keriya, who felt as though she were sinking in a sluggish river of mud. She barely registered where Max was taking her until they reached the ice shuttle. He laid a hand on it and the entrance irised open.
“Have room for one more?”
Max sucked a sharp breath between his teeth and closed his eyes. “Nameless, what are you doing here? How did you find us?”
Effrax sidled into the room, shouldering a longbow and quiver. “You really need to stop chit-chatting about your top-secret plans in public,” he drawled, giving Max a pointed look. “Besides, I struck a bargain with these lovely ladies and they’ve yet to fulfill their end of it.”
Max scrubbed his hands over his face. “We don’t have time to argue. Get in, and Naero help you if you slow us down or get us caught.”
“Wouldn’t dream of causing trouble, Your Grace.”
A slim, rosy band was brightening the eastern sky by the time they arrived in the Galantrian Village, muted by the plumes of mist billowing from the falls. Thankfully the streets were still empty, filled only with fingers of rising fog.
The four of them jogged west, away from the desolation of the darksalm, away from the palace, away from the rising sun. Even in her stupor, Keriya reflected again that Max’s discussion with Wavewalker must have gone very poorly.
The world grew bright as they reached the lakeside path and left the city proper. Houses turned to rambling farms, and farms turned to rice paddies whose owners toiled in watery fields.
Though the countryside was quiet and deserted, Keriya couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following them. She kept glancing over her shoulder, partly fearing she’d see the king’s soldiers, partly hoping she’d see Fletcher running after them.
No matter how many times she looked back, the smooth stone road remained empty.
“Where’s Thorion?” Max asked, breaking the silence.
“I told you. He’s gone.”
Max stopped. He took Keriya by the arm and spun her to face him. She was suddenly and forcibly reminded that he was a powerful political figure—and a potentially dangerous enemy.
“What do you mean?” His voice was deadly soft.
“I was afraid for Thorion’s safety. I was afraid he’d g
et pulled into a war he didn’t belong in. So I told him to run.” Keriya looked into Max’s eyes, searching for some shred of understanding or forgiveness.
“Summon him,” he said. “Call him back here.”
“You need to calm down,” said Roxanne.
Max ignored her. “Right now, Keriya.”
“Thorion could be on the other side of Allentria,” she protested, knowing how poor an excuse it was. “He won’t hear me.”
“It’s not a matter of hearing,” he said. “There’s wielding involved.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Max took her hand, cupping it in both of his. “Yes, you can. You have the power. You’ve done it before.”
The problem wasn’t that she didn’t think she could summon Thorion—it was the opposite. She feared she would reach the drackling and that he would return at her behest.
“In fact,” Max continued, “it should be easier this time, because you’ve bonded. The magicthreads of your soul are entangled with his. You should each be able to sense where the other is, no matter the distance between you.”
“Come on, Dragoneyes,” said Effrax. “A lot of people are counting on you. We wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would we?”
She shot him a glare. She hadn’t forgotten their bargain. How could she?
“Focus your intent and open your mind, and the magic will come to you,” said Max.
The subtle hint of anger in his voice was not lost on Keriya. Her stomach tied itself in a knot and her resolve slipped. Shame burned her throat. Was she going to call Thorion into danger because Max wanted her to? Was she that weak, so easily swayed by a perfect smile and beautiful eyes?
“Shivnath wanted me to kill Necrovar,” she said, returning to her age-old argument. It was the only defense she had, the one truth that gave her strength.
“Oh, Keriya.” He shook his head as if disappointed by her obtuseness. “That isn’t true because it isn’t possible. You misunderstood Shivnath.”
And finally, Keriya believed. She hadn’t listened to Aldelphia or Wavewalker when they’d dismissed her claims, because they didn’t understand. She’d been able to ignore Roxanne, who had said such hurtful things out of anger. But Max was calm. He was clever. He had devoted his life to studying the rheenarae and the dragons. There was no way he could be mistaken about something like this.
“Please,” he said. “Do it for me.”
She sagged beneath the weight of the crushing realization that she had been wrong. Then she closed her eyes and spoke in the draconic tongue.
“Come to me, Thorion.” The words lingered in the air before fading into the unknown. Without a dragon to speak to, the language felt alien. She could sense power in her words, but she didn’t feel the stirring in her soul that had been there in the fen when she had first summoned him.
The group waited for a long time.
“Well?” said Effrax.
“No response. I’ll try telepathically,” she added, glancing at Max.
“Any luck?” said Max.
“I . . . I can’t sense him.”
“Try harder.”
“I’m trying as hard as I can,” she snapped. She and Thorion were bonded. Surely she should be able to feel something?
The total lack of his presence was unnerving. Keriya covered her mouth with shaking hands that were slick with cold sweat. What if something had happened to Thorion? What if the shadowbeasts had found him?
“What was I thinking?” she whispered. “What have I done?”
“Nothing we can’t fix,” Max assured her. “You’re inexperienced, so it may be hard for you to sense him over longer distances. We’ll keep moving, and you’ll keep trying. Did the two of you discuss where he was going?”
“I—I don’t . . . I said maybe he should go west, and he said something about a rainforest.”
“That’s where we’ll start,” said Effrax, rolling his broad shoulders. “I guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“If you are not afraid, then you cannot be brave.”
~ Darius Alderwood, Sixth Age
All in all, it was lucky Keriya had committed high treason. Everyone was so busy looking for her and demanding warrants for her arrest that no one paid Fletcher any mind as he went about his business.
He spent the day gathering provisions. He begged food from the cooks, borrowed a coat that he had no intention of returning, and snagged a map from a helpful servant. After a decent night’s sleep, he packed his things and headed to the ice shuttle. No use delaying his departure when Wavewalker’s soldiers might decide to arrest him for being an accomplice to a traitor.
No one bothered him as he waited in line for the shuttle. People hardly looked at him as they passed—like Keriya, they had no use for him.
Don’t think about her, he told himself. But of course, thinking about not thinking about her defeated the purpose.
When he arrived in the Village, he consulted his map. While the runes were Allentrian, it was drawn to scale. If he kept to the Imperial Highway, he should have no trouble finding his way to Noryk, and from there to Senteir.
The highway was well-guarded, as Max had promised, but it was guarded by the empire. That meant the watch houses stationed every other league were occupied by Imperials. Traveling nobles were welcome to spend their nights in the houses, but Fletcher didn’t think he would be accommodated in the same fashion. Even if the guards offered him lodgings, he wasn’t sure he would accept. What if one of them was in cahoots with Tanthflame? What if all of them were?
Fletcher grew paranoid and took to hiding in the roadside reeds whenever he heard an approaching patrol. This worked the first few times, but in the late afternoon a squad of three horsemen slowed to a walk abreast of where he’d hidden.
“You’re telling me you didn’t see someone on the road?” said a young man, scanning the fenlands. Fletcher sank lower in the brush. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but it would look bad if they found him lurking.
“What does it matter?” grumped a dark-skinned fellow.
“We can’t have anyone overhearing our assignment—”
“The only reason someone would overhear us is because you trogs insist on talking about it,” snapped the third man, who was pale and tall and had a neatly trimmed beard. “Move out. Commander-General Tanthflame wants us at the crossroads by moonrise.”
The captain heeled his black stallion and took off. His subordinates followed. Fletcher had seen the crossroads on his map—he’d hoped to stop at the small town located there, but if Tanthflame’s cronies were spending the night, he wanted nothing to do with it.
Since darkness was creeping up on him, he stayed where he was. He ate some of his provisions and pulled the coat around himself to sleep.
He awoke the next morning, sore, damp, and cold. A clammy fog rolled in as he plodded south. He scarfed down the last of his food, but it did nothing to lessen his hunger.
Night had fallen by the time the crossroads swam into view through the mist. What Fletcher had thought to be a town turned out to be little more than a cluster of guard buildings.
“Figures,” he grumbled. He almost veered off the highway until he caught sight of three horses tethered to a post beside the house furthest from the path.
The sensible part of him wanted to go into the fen and hide, but something in his gut urged him to find out what the guards and Tanthflame were plotting. Ignoring his better instincts, he approached. An amber glow bled through the edges of the front door. Fletcher crept over and put his ear against it.
“. . . brought you the bloody thing, didn’t I? You gotta hold up yo
ur end of the bargain!”
That voice—that was Cezon Skyriver! Fletcher looked around and saw a patch of light on the far side of the building filtering from a small window. He gathered his courage and peeked through the corner of the glass.
Sure enough, there was Cezon. He was arguing with the three Imperials Fletcher had seen on the road. At his feet, on a piece of tattered fabric strung between two sticks, lay Thorion.
Fletcher’s heart stuttered and he choked on nothing at all.
“I thought the agreement was that you would kill the
dragon,” said the captain.
“Oh no,” Fletcher moaned. What had Cezon gotten himself into?
“No, dolt, that’s why I dragged it halfway across the Galantasa to you. Now gimme my blood and we can all leave happy.”
Fletcher itched with frenzied nerves. He had to save Thorion, but his magicsource was too small to be of any use. He wouldn’t survive a fight against elite soldiers.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked the dark-skinned man, nudging Thorion with the tip of his boot.
“Who cares?” Cezon blustered.
“Silence,” the captain barked. “We will accept it as-is.”
“You won’t accept nothin’ until I have my tronkin’ blood!”
“Very well. Lieutenant Dustrock?”
Dustrock, the guard who’d been so keen to search for Fletcher, produced a vial from within his robes. He handed this to Cezon, who uncorked it and sniffed at its dark contents. Seeming satisfied, he tipped his head back and tossed the liquid into his mouth.
“Euch!” Dustrock pulled a disgusted face, watching as Cezon swiped a finger around the inside of the vial. “What is wrong with you?”
“Best way I know how to keep my blood safe from you rotters,” Cezon explained, licking his finger clean. “Can’t throw it away, cause you might still be able to get at it. Now we’re square.”
Cezon strode toward the door and reached for the handle. His hand stopped short of the knob. He stood there for a second, fingers scrabbling in midair.
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