That was all the man said before he showed her around the room. She had a private sink and toilet, but no bath. Ember knew Shad would figure out a way for her to bathe, but she was still a little worried. She was caked with ash, and the smell emanating from her was very much akin to that of a wet dog.
Before leaving, the man showed her the small, square panel just outside her door, made of the same material as her clear stone.
“Place your hand here, please.” Ember did as she was told, her fingers spread across the width of the cool stone. It warmed slightly and shone a pale yellow before it faded back to its transparent state.
“You and I are now the only ones able to enter this room. If you wish any others to have access, please see me for imprinting.” Siedow left, and Ember reentered the luxurious suite that had everything she could ever dream of having in a room.
Everything except a bath.
She sighed wearily, pulled off her muddy boots and travel cloak, and lay down on the bed to rest.
She was asleep before she had time to regret her decision to become a half-man in a world of men. She had entered her dreams, and there it didn’t matter.
CHAPTER TWENTY
C’Tan ground her teeth in frustration and instructed her winged mount to circle Dragonmeer. The dragon’s wings snapped and popped in the wind as he glided through the low clouds that hid the castle from her sight. So close, so very close, and the flute had disappeared. Well, she wasn’t going to let a thing like that set her back. She knew where it had been last; she’d just start there and track it, though there would likely be few standing when she was through. She’d take her frustration out on the very stones of the ancient keep if she had to. That flute was hers. Hers! And no mere shielding would keep it from her again.
Dragonmeer. She could feel it near now. There! A break appeared, and C’Tan guided the great black beast into a steep dive through the mist above the granite castle. She circled it slowly to get her bearings and to determine the greatest entrance effect. She could come in flaming, but that would accomplish nothing except to ease her frustration and send people screaming into the safety of the walls.
No. She needed something more subtle—something that would get the best results with the least effort. She was inspired at the sight of carriages winding their way from the keep. She guided her mount away from the fluttering piñons, over the gated drawbridge, and onto the winding road. The drake landed with huge beats of his wings and settled her softly in the midst of the darkened road. Three more dragons landed behind her and discarded their passengers. Kardon, as usual, approached the instant he dismounted.
“Mistress. There are three sub-humans heading into the woods. Should we delay them?” he asked in his ageless rasp.
C’Tan glanced to the line of trees and saw a lone figure plunging into its depths, most likely a traveler who had run in fear of her and the huge dragons. She snorted in contempt of her old master.
“No, Kardon.”
“But mistress, they may have the flute,” he continued. She turned the full force of her chilling gaze on him.
“But? Did I just hear you say ‘but’ to me?” Kardon’s eyes never left her face, nor did he show any fear, though wisely he did not answer. She crooked her finger to draw him near. He stepped slowly forward until he was within arms’ length. C’Tan reached her perfectly manicured fingers with their blood red nails out to tip his chin. “Never say ‘but’ to me. My word is law, is that clear?” she hissed as her face pressed close to his. A spark of anger flashed in his eyes, but was suppressed as quickly as it arose.
“Yes, mistress,” he snarled, never moving.
“Good.” She flicked her fingernail along his chin, drawing a small bead of blood which he quickly wiped away. “Forget the subhumans. We’re looking for a flute.”
“Yes, C’Tan,” he said. He bowed himself back to his own drake, where he took comfort in the scaly head of the beast. C’Tan scratched under the chin of her mount. She looked at the dragon thoughtfully. More than a mount, she realized, chuckling, as she whispered into the dragon’s ear hole.
Drake nodded his great head once in agreement and began to shift. He shrank in size—his wings pulled into his shoulders and disappeared. Crooked legs and claws straightened and fused while his long tail pulled into his hindquarters and sprouted thick hair. His head squared and teeth flattened. Where seconds before a massive black dragon had squatted, now stood a midnight stallion pawing at the ground.
C’Tan heard startled exclamations from around her, and the other dragons shifted themselves to match her mount. She sauntered to her changed friend. She patted him on the shoulder, then ran her hands down his well-formed legs.
“Beautiful,” she murmured in his ear. He threw his head and snorted, making it clear he was unhappy with the change. “It’s just until we reach the city. You’re perfect, my love.” She stepped into the stirrup he had provided and sat astride his massive shoulders. He fit her exactly. All the years of riding together in one form or another, and he knew how to fit her body like skin on a drum. It was exhilarating.
What power she held, that even her mount would change himself to suit her needs.
C’Tan did not need to turn in the saddle to know that Kardon and her soldiers were ready. The stillness as they waited told her all she needed to know. The dragonmount moved forward at a trot, then ran down the path leading to Dragonmeer and the Sapphire Flute. She’d wring the truth from the duke’s people with fire if she had to. The flute would be hers if she had to take every life in Dragonmeer to find it. C’Tan’s lips twisted in grim expectation as hooves echoed across Dragonmeer’s bridge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kayla reached the edge of the wood, and panting, turned in time to see a wing of dragons glide to a landing in the field. She held her breath, aware of the relatively short distance between the beasts and herself, terrifed that at any moment they would turn and see her. Crouched in the thick brush, she watched the dragons and their masters as they gathered together to talk.
Kayla watched as an old man slid from dragonback and approached a beautiful blonde woman. He spoke to her, pointing toward where Kayla and her companions had just pressed into the forest.
Whatever he said angered her. The woman gestured for the man to come closer, and despite her small size, her fury dominated the man. Kayla held her breath as she watched the exchange. She was immovable in her position, too terrified to move. Had they seen her run into the woods?
Kayla strained to hear anything the group might be saying. She turned her head and stilled herself even further, wishing her heart would stop pounding so she could hear better. She was so focused on the woman with the dragons, she barely noticed when her ears began to ring and spots swam before her eyes.
She focused even harder when she saw the blonde woman’s dragon begin to shrink. Kayla’s body demanded attention when her chest began to burn with an urgent need.
T’Kato hit her back hard. Kayla gasped and only then realized she’d been holding her breath, almost in a trance. The ringing and spots stopped immediately, but her back stung with the sharp slap the man had landed.
Kayla glared. “Don’t do that.” Granted, he had kept her conscious, but there had to be a better way to do it than by hitting her.
“Would you rather I let you pass out?” he asked, calm and rational. Kayla was beginning to hate that about him.
She decided not to answer and turned to watch the dragons, gasping when she saw they were gone. In the short minute she had faced T’Kato, the black dragons had disappeared and been replaced by an equal number of midnight horses. The leader pulled herself astride her mount. T’Kato gasped and shoved Kayla down to the ground.
“What—” she started, unable to finish with T’Kato’s hand over her mouth.
“Don’t talk. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe if you can help it.”
Kayla’s heart hammered in her chest. First he hit her to make her breathe, and now he was telling
her not to? She felt T’Kato gesture with his chin toward the group as they entered the gates of Dragonmeer astride great stallions.
“If you value your life and the safety of that flute of yours, you must do exactly as I say.” T’Kato kept his hand over her mouth until she nodded, then slowly pulled it away. Kayla tried to breathe shallowly, repulsed by the salty taste of his sweat on her lips. She licked them anyway, grimacing. “Who was that?”
T’Kato didn’t answer for a long time, and Kayla thought he had not heard her. She was about to repeat herself when he answered. “C’Tan.” His voice was expressionless.
The name sent chills down her spine.
Kayla immediately jumped to her feet, running faster than she ever remembered, pressing as deeply into the thick woods as she could. She had no idea where she was going, and it didn’t matter, so long as it took her as far from the dragonriders as possible. Fear became a tangible thing inside her, a voice screaming in the hollows of her soul. She knew only to run, beyond thought, beyond reason. She had to get as far from C’Tan as her feet would allow.
Sarali caught up with her as they entered an almost circular clearing. The maid took hold of her arm, pulling her to a stop.
“Wait,” Sarali whispered, holding up an open hand as she apparently listened intently for signs of pursuit. Kayla leaned over to better hear, her heart hammering in her chest. Sarali really was tiny, Kayla realized in that moment. Small and lithe—like a cat.“T’Kato wants us to rest here while he scouts about. "Relax, lass, the mage won’t find us here anytime soon.“ She sank to the ground, her back propped against a tree for support.
Kayla followed her example, though not nearly as gracefully. It felt more like she thumped and creaked in her weary bones. It had been too long a day—two days, even—and she felt every bit of the strain. She leaned back and closed her eyes, taking a small amount of pleasure in the whispering of the wind through the quaking leaves. The trees spoke to her in ways she could never understand—they spoke in feelings, not thoughts, part of the evahn heritage she’d never had a chance to explore, though perhaps she would still have that opportunity. T’Kato said he knew her father—maybe she’d get to meet him at last. She only hoped Darthmoor would be safe while she was away. Her family was there.
C’Tan was there.
Kayla tried to calm her heart and rest, but her stomach was sick. There was only one thing that could have brought C’Tan to Dragonmeer—she’d traced the flute. Dragonmeer was in danger, and it was all Kayla’s fault. She felt like a coward. If only she had listened to King Rojan. If only she’d had more thought in her head when she picked up the flute. She’d been so beguiled by the flute’s beauty and the yearning to play, she had given no thought to the consequences. The people of Dragonmeer would pay for her mistake, not Kayla, and it wasn’t right. She should be with them, standing with the flute in defense of Brant’s home. If anything happened to any of them, she would never forgive herself.
The guilt and panic continued to build, then burst when screams sounded through the forest.
“No! No, miss, I don’t know nothin’. Put me down! No!” an adolescent male voice cracked and yelled. It was a voice she knew.
“Joyson!”
Her heart was full of dread. What would they want with the boy? He’d done nothing wrong and was too young to know anything. Unless . . .
“He was with me. Oh no, Joyson. What have I done?” she whispered. She was up and running for the line of trees before she even realized it, startled shouts coming from behind her. She crashed through the underbrush, muttered curses coming from T’Kato and Sarali as they tried to catch up, but she felt as if her feet had wings. She had to know if it was the boy.
Her mind raced, though no definite thought formed there. It was too overwhelmed with a mishmash of emotion that swarmed over her like ants, devouring all thought and will. She could do nothing but run.
Somewhere in the dash back toward the dragons, Kayla pulled the Sapphire Flute from her bag, and it miraculously appeared in her hands, minus the case. She didn’t remember doing it, just found it there, glowing a deep midnight blue, almost black—maybe even an angry blue, if there was such a color. It buzzed and hummed and throbbed in her hands like a living thing, as if it breathed in her anger and need and pushed it out before her like a shield.
Kayla skidded to a stop when she reached the bushes that marked the boundary of Dragonmeer. The sun was just rising from behind the eastern mountains, the fog and clouds strangely absent, and she was able to see the horror of the situation before her.
Dragons surrounded the city.
A single dragon hovered about thirty feet off the ground in the direct center of the field, the blonde woman on his back, her face hard and cold—beautiful like marble, but immovable as granite. The dragon’s body was snakelike, with thick shoulders and leathery wings that sprouted from his shoulders and snapped as piñons in the wind.
That was what she had heard while crossing the field. The realization of how close they had come to finding her was terrifying. If she had waited any longer this morning, it would have been too late. They would have been captured . . . just as Joyson was.
Kayla’s eyes widened with horror when she realized that the twisting thing hanging beneath the dragon was actually the boy, clutched within its claws. He scrabbled at the dragon, looking for a handhold of any kind, but just as he would find purchase, the great midnight beast would scrape his hands away with a talon. The boy whimpered and sobbed in terror.
Kayla raised the flute to her lips, inhaled, and held it as she felt the prick of a knife at her throat, held in place by a tattooed hand. Her eyes widened in desperate fear. She didn’t move, frozen in terror as she watched the dragon play with Joyson. She couldn’t let him die—but with a blade at her throat, what could she do? Frustrated, conflicted, she did nothing.
“Don’t do it, girl,” T’Kato growled.
Kayla hesitated a long moment. Joyson had to be saved, but she had no trouble believing the tattooed man would slit her throat if it kept the flute safe. What choice did she have? She released her breath slowly, careful not to make any noise on the glowing instrument.
Kayla’s resolve hardened, knife or not. “I can’t let her hurt him.”
“Yes, you can,” T’Kato answered with surprising tenderness.
“No!” she cried.
“Kayla, you must. Sometimes we have to sacrifice one in order to save many. C’Tan must not hold that flute!” he hissed in her ear. “It is your duty to guard it, Kayla Kalandra, and right now you are on the edge of handing it to C’Tan in a golden bowl. You might as well walk out there and say, ‘Here you go, C’Tan, I’ve decided I don’t care if you destroy the world, you take the flute.’ Do you care about Rasann, or not?”
Kayla was angrily silent.
“Well?” he asked again.
“I care,” she snarled.
“Then put that thing away and come into the woods.”
Kayla hesitated a moment longer, then lowered the flute, but she did not move. She had to watch. “Kayla!” Sarali snapped. “Come, girl, we must go if ye wish to survive the day.”
Kayla still did not move. She watched as C’Tan’s great dragon suddenly beat his leathery wings and pulled himself higher, clawing into the sky until he was but a speck above her. Suddenly one speck became two, one hovering high overhead while the other plummeted toward the earth, screaming and thrashing about in terror. Kayla choked down a cry as she watched Joyson appear to grow larger and larger. She closed her eyes when he was about twenty feet above the ground, unable to watch the horror of his body slamming into the meadow floor. She waited for the thud she knew would come . . .
But it never did.
She opened one eye and saw the dragon hovering about fifteen feet above ground, holding the terrified boy in a claw once more. They were close enough that she could hear C’Tan’s voice this time. “Where is she, boy? Where’s the one they call Kayla?” she asked in the sweetest to
nes, so out of place with the position in which she held him.
“I don’t know!” he sobbed. “I really don’t, miss. Please let me go.”
The great claw opened, and Joyson started to fall. He screamed, and the dragon’s back claw reached out and plucked him out of the air again.
“Are you sure you want me to do that?” C’Tan asked. Joyson shook his head emphatically, still sobbing. “Oh, quit your blubbering, boy. Just tell me where the girl is, and I’ll let you go. Simple as that.” C’Tan leaned over the side of her dragon and snapped her fingers.
“Please, miss. I don’t know where she went. I carried her bag to the chef ’s quarters just like Master Brant asked—”
“Brant!” She stopped him. “Duke Domanta’s Brant?”
Joyson bobbed his head so hard, Kayla was afraid it was going to pop off his shoulders. “Yes, miss. Brant. He and Miss Kayla were great friends. Maybe he knows where she wennnnnaaaaaahhhhh!” Joyson screamed as C’Tan’s dragon released the boy to fall the last twenty feet to the ground.
This time there was a thump and a groan, but Kayla dared not go to the boy. He might have broken his leg or ribs, but he should survive a drop like that. The ground was still soft from the morning dew.
Her fear now was for Brant.
“Kayla!” T’Kato took her shoulder and pulled. “We have to leave!”
“No!” She shook him off. “I can’t go until I know Brant and my family are safe!”
T’Kato balled his fists, then moved away to converse with his wife. They murmured back and forth for a long time, Sarali shaking her head with her arms folded.
Kayla ignored them, her heart in her throat with fear for Brant. If the woman would torture a serving boy like Joyson, what would she do to the duke’s son—to Kayla’s husband-to-be? She’d never felt so helpless. It made her feel much differently about those who spoke so often of depending on a higher power. There was nothing for her to do but watch and offer up a sincere prayer to the Guardians.
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