“No.” Soft footsteps sounded behind him. “I felt it best to not say anything until I spoke with you.”
David snorted, his rankling gnarling his gut. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
David turned. “Because everything you do or say has to have some freaking mystery attached to it. Don’t tell anyone this. Don’t tell anyone that. It’s irritating and it pisses me off. Why can’t you just say what needs to be said and be done with it?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Yeah? What are they this time?”
Slavandria steepled her fingers to her lips. “First, let’s extinguish the attitude. Second, I needed to confirm your desires. You’re not the same person you were a few weeks ago.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I also wanted to ask if you would consider staying in Fallhollow, until the war is over. Einar is not dead. He will attack again. In order for us to defeat him, you and Eric need to remain a team. With Mirith at your side, the three of you are unbeatable. It would also give you time to bond with your parents in their own environment.”
David stared at her for a moment as if she’d lost her mind. And then laughed. Loud.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” More laughter. “Oh my God, no. Just no. I made a deal with you. I’ve done my part.”
“David, please. I beg—”
“No!”
“But the prophesy. Your parents.”
“I don’t give a damn about your stupid prophesy, and you promised me my parents! This is not my war.” He returned her glare with all the confidence of a penguin conversing with an orca before mealtime. And he was the penguin.
“It is your war,” Slavandria continued. “It’s always been your war. To deny your destiny is to deny who you are. I’m begging you to stay and see it through to the end. Eric, Mirith, Trog, your parents, all of this will perish if you do not.”
David pointed his finger at her. “Don’t. Don’t you dare put that guilt trip on me! I may have started this stupid war by accident, but that doesn’t mean I have to end it. I’m done. Finished. I want to go home.”
“And what of your parents? What if they do not want to return with you when you go?”
The comment sucker punched David in the gut. Not go? The thought never crossed his mind. He just assumed they’d all leave together. Live as a family while trying to figure out the dynamics. But he also never thought about what would happen to them if they went back. His brain whirred. There would no doubt be an investigation by the cops. Insurance companies. Financial institutions, the Air Force, not to mention the press. Good god, the paparazzi would be all over them. He could hear the questions now. Why did you fake your deaths? Where have you been? Hell, his parents might even be arrested. And Charlotte. They would be ruthless with her. They’d harass her because of her friendship with him, and he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without a camera in his face, reporters scooping up the dirty laundry so they could air it all over the nightly news. He’d rather be chased by a freaking dragon.
His head pounded. When his mouth decided to move, all that came out was, “I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“David, please. I rarely beg, but—”
“No.” He glared. Worked his jaw.
Slavandria stared back, her eyes searching, pleading. She then sighed. “Very well. However, I need to let you know I cannot guarantee your safety once you return to Havendale.”
“You can’t guarantee my safety here.”
“I have a much better chance here,” she said.
“Yeah. I’ll remember that the next time I’m stuck in a tree and a dragon is about to eat me.”
He opened the doors and stepped into a spacious dining hall, the nearby kitchen bustling with activity and low-pitched conversation. Copper pots shimmered in the morning sunlight flooding through the open windows. A plump cook wiped the sweat from her brow as she slid three loaves of dough into one of two open ovens in the stone walls. Servants plucked feathers from various fowl, and to his right, on the opposite side of the room, in the midst of tapestries and stained-glass windows, sat Charlotte at one of two trestle tables butted together, her elbows on the wood planks, her chin cupped in the heels of her palms. She smiled at him and his heart sank.
Slavandria said she couldn’t guarantee his safety in Havendale. That meant she couldn’t guarantee Charlotte’s either. If they stayed in Fallhollow, Slavandria could keep her tucked away, safe while he and Eric saved the world with his parents. Then they could go home. There would be no other reason to stay.
No! That’s exactly what Slavandria wanted. For him to remain a pawn in her game. He wasn’t falling for it. He was taking Charlotte home and putting her back with her ex-Black Ops dad. Yeah. He’d keep her safe. No doubt about it.
He swallowed hard and turned his attention on the three hulking men sitting at the table beside her, their log-sized arms folded before them as they conversed with Trog and the king and queen. He strained to listen to their conversation as Slavandria took her seat with them.
Two servants shuttled past him carrying platters of bread, bacon, and scrambled eggs. His stomach growled and begged him to follow, but a resonating voice inside his head cemented him to his spot.
I do wish you would hurry up and decide what to do. Your thoughts are holding mine hostage, and I do not care for being a victim of your emotional terrorism.
David spun around, so caught off guard from the verbal intrusion he forgot about the maelstrom swirling in his brain.
“Mirith!” The dragon, who towered no more than two feet above David, lowered his neck and purred.
David flung his arms around the beast’s neck, his face buried in the red and gold feathery mane.
“I thought you were dead,” David said, pushing off the dragon’s goat-like horns and looking into Mirith’s ruby eyes. “You stopped breathing. I felt you slip away. But then I saw you with Charlotte on the Field of Valnor. How? I don’t understand.”
I did, indeed, straddle the borders of the dead lands for a brief period of time—that is until your intended mate arrived.
My intended what? David followed Mirith’s gaze until his sights landed on Charlotte. He snapped back around. Oh, no. No. She’s not my—no, it’s not like that. At all.
Mirth snorted. You can say the sky is beneath you. It does not make it so.
David pressed his lips together and stared at the floor. How dare Mirith invade his thoughts, analyze his feelings. Who was he to assume? To judge? So, what if he wanted to torture himself for all eternity. Whose business was it but his own? He locked eyes with the beast.
That’s enough. I want you out of my head. Go on. Get out. Please.
Mirith swished his armored tail over the stone floor, the sound screeching up David’s spine. As you wish. Your constant indecision is wearing me thin anyway. The dragon nuzzled David’s cheek, a declaration of a truce. You should eat. Your belly is rumbling almost as loud as mine.
The dining hall door opened with a slight creak as Eric stepped inside.
Mirith grumbled. Ah, the brooding one.
David chuckled. Yeah, he is kind of a lot to take in at once. Still, he’s a bad ass with a sword. Maybe I just need to give him time to grow on me.
Fungi takes time to grow on you. That does not make its presence desirable.
David cocked an eyebrow at Mirith. Wow. That’s harsh.
He’s temperamental, impulsive, and has an eye for rare items of beauty. He glanced at the table where Charlotte and the others sat. Be careful what you discard.
What the hell does that mean?
Mirith walked away and plopped in a pool of sunshine on the floor. He curled his six-foot tail around his body, his scales glistening in every shade of autumn. Figure it out, he said, and the mental connection faded.
David waved off the dragon. Fine. Be that way. He sat beside Charlotte at the table.
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“You know, that beast refused to leave your side while you were ill,” Eric said, sliding onto the bench across from Charlotte and David. He plucked a chunk of bread from a basket on the table and tore at it while he spoke. “Slavandria had to confine him to the pit because he zapped anyone who tried to get near you.”
“The pit?” David heaped two spoonfuls of eggs on his plate.
Eric nodded. “It’s an old arena just north of here. The former king of Braemar used to torture people there who rebelled against his autocracy.”
“That’s barbaric,” Charlotte said. “Please tell me it isn’t used for that anymore.”
Eric shook his head. “No. It was abandoned at the end of the Great War.”
It is not abandoned, Mirith mumbled, intruding in David’s head again. The souls of the tortured dead live there.
Tingles crept up David’s spine and rushed out of him in a shiver. He dumped a fistful of bacon on his plate. “Wasn’t there anywhere else she could have put him? I mean, it sounds so morbid.”
Eric tipped a pitcher and poured apple cider into his goblet. “If that was her first resort, I might agree,” he said, gulping his drink, “but he blasted out of his suite, destroyed the antechamber in Slavandria’s quarters, and froze everything in the dungeon so he could be near you. Where else was she going to put him? Besides, he was only there for two days before Slavandria confined him here.”
“Here? To the dining room?”
“Why not? There’s food. Warmth.” Eric wiped his left hand on a cloth napkin and offered it to Charlotte. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we have been properly introduced. I’m Eric Hamden, Trog’s squire.”
“I know,” Charlotte said, ignoring the gesture. “We’ve spoken before, remember?”
Eric withdrew his hand. “Yes, but please forgive me if I found your words a bit dejecting.”
“How so?” Charlotte asked. “We hardly spoke.”
“And there lies the reasoning for my dismay. You rejected every effort I made to take the edge from your unhappiness. I was only trying to offer you solace in your time of need, and you all but called me a cad. Why,” he jabbed his fist into his chest, as if thrusting a dagger into his heart, “that wounded me to my core.”
David rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Charlotte laughed. Her cheeks pinked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
Eric took a bite of eggs. “I mean, I can’t say I blame you for being so short, considering the circumstances. It must have been frightening to you, experiencing the death of your friend, not once, not twice, but three times.” He dropped his fork on his plate.
David’s heart plummeted to the floor. “What? What do you mean death?”
“Still,” Eric continued, ignoring him, “I couldn’t help but wonder who you were, are, so please, I must have a name. I can’t keep calling you the-girl-who-never-left-his-side.” He looked at David and winked.
All sorts of fury bubbled beneath David’s skin. Who did this jerk think he was, goading him like that in front of Charlotte?
He has an eye for rare items of beauty. Be careful what you discard.
David focused on his breathing—in through his nose, out through his mouth. Over and over. So that’s what Mirith meant. He clenched his jaw, not trusting himself to speak.
Charlotte pressed her foot against David’s as if reassuring him, and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Stine.” This time she stretched her hand out to Eric.
He rose to the invitation, and kissed the back of it. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.” Eric lowered his butt to the bench and grinned at David, his green eyes vibrant. Mischievous.
David curled his fingers into fists.
“Likewise.” Charlotte discretely wiped the kiss on David’s leg.
David crunched a slice of bacon between his teeth. Good. She’s not impressed.
“So, what brings you to Fallhollow, Lady Charlotte?” Eric asked. “Adventure? The breath-taking scenery? Love?”
Charlotte laughed. “No. Nothing like that. More like a series of unfortunate events.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“It’s a real humdinger, let me tell ya,” David said, “and someday you might hear all about it, but can we get back to my dying for a minute?”
“It happened three times in one night,” Charlotte said. “The first was after the battle ended and we brought you back here. You were in bed resting. Slavandria and I had just finished a lesson on how to heal bones when you started convulsing. Your heart stopped, and you turned this awful chalky blue.
“Slavandria brought you back, calmed Mirith down and put him in her room, but a few hours later, you stopped breathing again. Mirith freaked out. Slavandria knocked him out with some sort of spell and had him taken to the dungeons, but that still didn’t stop him from blasting his way into your room when you, you know, died again. He started doing that scorpion thing with his tail and zapping everyone including Slavandria and me. That’s when she made him disappear.” Her voice quieted. “I didn’t know she sent him to the pit.” She glanced over her shoulder at Mirith. “He must have been so scared.” Her gaze skipped to David. “I know I was.”
Her fingers tightened around his and for a moment David was paralyzed, his soul drowning in two dark pools of Caribbean-blue water. To think he had come so close to never seeing those eyes again. To never hearing her voice or basking in her smile. His heart squeezed to the point of pain, the thought almost unbearable.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I would never do anything to—”
A knock sounded at the door followed by the entrance of a royal guard. He strode with urgency to the king and queen and spoke to them in a low tone.
“What do you think is going on?” Charlotte whispered.
Eric wiped his mouth and heaped his napkin in a bunch on the table. His brow pinched. “Whatever it is, it isn’t good.”
Gildore nodded, said something to the guard who bowed and retreated in haste. The king stood.
“An unexpected guest has arrived. Eric, you and your friends will join us in the briefing room. Bring the dragon with you.”
Chairs scraped across the floor as everyone filed from the room.
David grumbled to Charlotte as they followed. “I guess that means I’m not meeting my parents any time soon.” Any idea what’s going on? he asked Mirith as they turned a corner and headed past the grand staircase.
Servants and courtiers bowed, curtsied, and stared in stunned disbelief as they passed.
I do not, Mirith said.
Okaay, David said, patting the dragon’s side. Thanks for that plethora of information there, buddy.
They turned left into a wide room, the walls swathed in panels of earthen-toned leather. Colossal oiled paintings hung above two fireplaces. Grandiose maps, swords, and shields adorned the other walls, and with a gentle flourish of Slavandria’s wrist, table and floor lamps sprang to light. Gildore closed the door and gestured for everyone to have a seat around an impressive oval table. David pulled out a plush wingback chair and froze, his gaze transfixed on the carving in the center of the table: a bull raised on its hind legs, an eagle poised on its head, wings displayed, all surrounded by a Celtic braid. He touched his fingertips to the identical tattoo on his chest, and glanced at the silver ring on his finger. The one from his father. The one with the same symbol engraved in the lapis stone. What did it all mean? How did he fit into the puzzle? He had to find out. If only anyone would talk.
Charlotte tugged on his sleeve and he sat down. She caressed his arm, her touch like a summer breeze rippling over a river of warm butterscotch. He squeezed her hand, thankful for her presence.
“Bring him in,” Gildore said to the guard at the door.
A middle-aged man with mangled, reddish-gray hair and a face in terrible need of a shave entered the room. He wore weathered black trousers tucked int
o leather boots, a moth-eaten purple shirt, and a black and purple brocade jacket with faded brass buttons and frayed gold braids with tassels at the shoulders. Despite the odd appearance, there was no mistaking those brown, laughing wereman eyes.
Groote!
David breathed in one quick, sharp breath, his lips parted in disbelief.
“Dragon’s breath!” Trog rounded the end of the table and embraced the man in a hearty hug. “Stephen Kavenaugh! Look at you, back to normal again. When did this happen?”
“A week ago, maybe two. I don’t rightly remember. One minute I was gnawing flesh off a bone, the next I woke on the floor curled up like a baby and naked as a plucked chicken. Thankfully, I had these two around to take care of me.” He beckoned toward the door and two creatures stepped inside, their human faces stoic, their dragon wings pressed back.
Charlotte gasped. “It’s them! Agimesh and Tacarr! They’re all right!”
“You know these creatures?” Eric asked. “How? And who is Stephen Kavenaugh?”
“The captain of the Fauscherian army,” David said. “We met him on our way here, but he looked a lot different, trust me.”
Groote looked past Trog’s shoulder at Slavandria. “Your Grace, I am returning these two shime to your service.”
“Thank you for their safe return,” Slavandria said, “and you can thank David here for your freedom. He is the one who put an arrow through Avida’s heart, thus breaking her spell on you.”
David gulped as all eyes turned on him. Yeah, that’s right. Everyone look at the murderer.
Murderer. That’s what he was. It didn’t matter why he did it. Killing was killing. Maybe Trog could rationalize it, justify it, but there would never be a base strong enough to neutralize the acid of guilt that ate at his conscience.
Never.
The man formerly known as Groote nodded in David’s direction. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, young man. What you did not only saved me but an entire realm. Your courage is most appreciated.”
David stared the man in the eye. “I killed someone. It doesn’t matter the reason. It’s still murder either way you look at it. I don’t find anything courageous about that.”
Rage of the Dragon King Page 3