Lucy groaned. “He should, but he won’t. He loses his head when I’m concerned, and Rasad knows it.” She covered her face with one hand, her voice barely audible. “I’m never going to get the chance to tell him.”
Matheus didn’t ask what she wished she could tell Eamon. But Lucy had a feeling her brother knew she didn’t mean warning Eamon about Rasad’s plans.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What have you done to Jocelyn?”
Rasad looked down at his captive in surprise. “Did you speak to me, Luciana? I thought you were preserving a dignified silence.”
Lucy just glared at him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reply. It was true that she had refused to respond to every attempt to draw her out on the first part of their journey. But after a long and brutal day of rapid travel—the worst part of which was definitely crossing the ravine, when Lucy had been unable to stop herself from picturing Cody’s fall—even she realized that her silence had become less dignified, and more of a sulk.
And now, as the morning sun of a second day beat down on her unprotected face, she decided that she was wasting potentially precious time to get more information from her captor. At the rate they were moving, they would reach Thirl by nightfall. So when Rasad’s horse drew alongside the cart, she seized her opportunity.
“I said,” she snapped, “what have you done to Jocelyn?”
Matheus shifted beside her, still dozing fitfully. Lucy had no idea how he’d managed to fall asleep at all, but she wished she could do the same. At least the hours would pass more quickly for him.
“I haven’t done anything to the princess,” said Rasad placidly. “As you know, I’ve been in the north for over a week.”
Lucy gritted her teeth. The sight of her captor sitting comfortably on his horse somehow seemed to increase the screaming protest of her own limbs. Every bit of her ached from being jostled around in the back of a cart, with bound hands and feet, for a day and a half. She had begun to wonder if she’d even be able to walk once they were eventually let off the wagon.
“You said you had plans for her. Plans that are already underway.”
“Well, something had to be done about her,” said Rasad, his tone matter-of-fact. “She is probably the biggest thorn in my side, if truth be told.”
“What did Joss ever do to you?” Lucy demanded.
“Oh, it’s not her fault,” said Rasad. “I blame your uncle for the whole fiasco.” He sighed. “Scanlon’s failure was maddening enough as it was—he was supposed to create enough conflict within Kyona to weaken the kingdom to the point where our army would be able to walk right in. And using the crown prince to do it was the perfect way to ensure the wounds went deep. But somehow he bungled the whole thing completely. He doesn’t even seem to have made good use of the incredible power both the prince and the princess carry inside them.” Rasad shook his head. “A fascinating phenomenon, and from what I can tell, Scanlon made no real attempt to study it.”
“I thought you didn’t know or care what Scanlon’s plans were,” said Lucy bitingly. It wasn’t a surprise to discover that Rasad had lied to her, of course. She spoke mainly to cover her alarm that Rasad knew about Eamon and Jocelyn’s magic.
Rasad just gave her an amused smile, clearly not perturbed at being called out. “Fortunately Prince Eamon’s presence here in Thorania has provided a perfectly acceptable alternative for how to weaken Kyona,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken.
He shook his head. “But Princess Jocelyn’s situation is more complicated. It is probably Scanlon’s greatest failure. Well,” he amended, “as far as my own plans are concerned. Your fool of an uncle would probably care more about his failure to eliminate your family and punish the kingdom. But he was as petty and short sighted as my own ancestors.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lucy stiffly, resenting the fact that Rasad had her hanging off his every word, as he clearly intended. “What does Jocelyn have to do with your plans?”
“Nothing at all, prior to the invitation she received to visit Valoria with a view to marrying their crown prince,” said Rasad fairly. He sighed. “Perhaps I should share some small part of the blame after all. When news reached me of that arrangement, I pushed Scanlon to act before he was fully ready. The last thing I wanted was an alliance between Kyona and Valoria.”
He frowned. “But not only did Kyona remain as strong as it was before—which isn’t saying much—Princess Jocelyn ended up making a marriage of alliance after all.” Rasad tilted his head to the side, his expression confused. “Even if she wasn’t considered worthy of the heir. I did hope at first that passing her off to the younger prince might indicate that Valoria’s interest in an alliance was only half hearted. But,” he sighed again, “from what I can find out, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
“Of course it’s not the case,” said Lucy, offended on behalf of both her friend and her kingdom. “Jocelyn is more than worthy of Valoria’s crown prince. But she didn’t want him. She married Kincaid instead because they fell in love.” She narrowed her eyes. “Something I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I don’t understand it,” Rasad admitted readily. “I see nothing logical or admirable in letting emotion interfere with one’s best interests. But it’s no concern of mine, after all. In fact, I should be grateful. If Princess Jocelyn had married the heir, she and her husband would likely have been too important to be sent on this trip.”
His lip curled slightly. Lucy suspected that his overdeveloped pride in his kingdom had made him resent that Valoria had sent its younger prince rather than its heir. A moment later, Rasad met Lucy’s eyes, his expression smoothing out again.
“So here I am, through no fault of my own, needing to find a way not only to remove Princess Jocelyn to destroy Kyona’s succession, but to do it in a way that breaks the unfortunate alliance that her marriage represents.” He smiled. “For a lesser man, that might have proven difficult.”
“If you think you can come between Jocelyn and Kincaid, you’re mad,” said Lucy automatically. “It will never work.”
“Won’t it?” Rasad smiled infuriatingly.
“No, it won’t,” said Lucy firmly. “And the alliance is secure.”
“Oh, Luciana.” Rasad’s chuckle made Lucy long to have her blade in her hand. “Your innocence is so refreshing. You clearly haven’t spent enough time in court if you think anything is secure. A humiliating betrayal on the part of the Valorian prince’s new bride should be enough to make Valoria think twice about whether it’s really obligated to risk its own borders to race to Kyona’s assistance.”
“Jocelyn would never betray Kincaid,” said Lucy. “No matter what magic you threw at her.”
“Ah, but wouldn’t you have said the same about your own dear prince before Scanlon got to him?”
Lucy opened her mouth furiously, but no words came to her. She felt a cold rush pass over her in spite of the noonday sun. Once again Rasad was right, and once again the despicable man knew it. And, to make Lucy feel even more wretched, once again he was forcing her to admit to herself that she had always known that Eamon’s actions weren’t entirely his own. He would never have turned on the freedmen without magical interference.
“Eamon didn’t betray me personally,” she said quietly. “At least, he didn’t mean to. Scanlon’s…unnatural influence may have confused him about what was really best, but it’s not the same. There’s no magic that can make Jocelyn forget she’s in love with Kincaid and think she’s in love with someone else.”
“Isn’t there?” Rasad pressed, smoothing one hand along the satchel he had kept on his person since they left the Bastion. She knew the fake letter was in there, and she had looked in vain for an opportunity to get her hands on it ever since they started their journey.
Lucy tried to hide her alarm, but all she could see was the dancing light of the crystals in Rasad’s study, and the curious powders next to the bowl of dragon scales. Who knew what power
Rasad had harnessed in his experiments?
“Even if you could manipulate her emotions,” she said evenly, “she won’t act on them. You underestimate her.”
“I very much hope you’re wrong, my dear,” said Rasad. “I think you underestimate the power of dragon magic. With the right technique, my artifacts can do astonishing things.” That light of excitement came into his eyes as he continued. “Powdered dragon scales, when combined with the venom of a particular type of toad from our western jungles can make the weak minded extremely susceptible to suggestion. Scales from the jaw of a dragon, when mixed with certain minerals from our own Jeweled Peaks, can create dragon fire, would you believe! Incredibly destructive.”
“Wait,” said Lucy slowly, something flickering in her memory. “Dragon fire?”
But Rasad was no longer paying attention to his listener. “Slow acting potions, with no antidote. There are many, less complicated means of creating poisons, of course, but this one is completely undetectable.”
Lucy’s eyes grew wide. “King Rupert’s illness,” she whispered. “The dowager queen said it was sudden. You didn’t just take the opportunity to attack King Giles at his coronation. You created the opportunity by assassinating the previous king.”
“Imagine the blow to Balenol,” said Rasad enthusiastically. “Losing two strong kings in a row to illness and accident, leaving only a child to lead.”
“But King Giles’s death wouldn’t have looked like an accident,” Lucy started, then broke off as the pieces came together. “Dragon fire,” she breathed. “The flame I saw—the impossible flame that somehow made stone crumble. The balcony collapse was you as well.”
“For what it’s worth,” said Rasad conversationally, “I didn’t bear you any ill will for ruining that plan, even though it cost me valuable resources. I was frustrated at first, I’ll admit. But I had come prepared for contingencies, and I quickly realized that it would suit my plans even better to have the visiting Kyonans be behind King Giles’s death.”
“You’re a monster,” whispered Lucy.
Rasad looked her over coldly. “The insult of an inferior mind, unable to accept that it has been bested. I’m disappointed, Luciana. I really thought you were capable of sharing my vision.”
Lucy turned her face away, unmoved by the insult. “You were wrong.”
“Evidently,” said Rasad disapprovingly, spurring his horse forward.
Lucy closed her eyes, longing desperately for the oblivion of sleep. But there was no relief, either from the beating sun, or the constant images flashing through her mind—Cody falling endlessly, Eamon tricked and surrounded, Jocelyn bewitched into betraying Kincaid, Matheus discarded as soon as he was no longer useful to Rasad, King Giles murdered in his sleep, or while he ate, or as he walked in the castle gardens…
She drew a shuddering breath. She had been plagued by dreams both bitter and sweet for months now, but this was much worse than any of them. There was no escape from this nightmare.
Matheus stirred, and Lucy forced her roiling emotions down. It was easier to be strong for her brother than for herself. As the hours dragged on, Rasad entered her line of sight only occasionally. But even so, she could see the change in his demeanor as they drew closer to Thirl. His casual cheerfulness had enraged her before, but the serious focus now descending on him was more alarming.
Rasad might have claimed to be no soldier, but he was undoubtedly preparing for war.
The sun had long set by the time they reached the outskirts of Thirl. The Jeweled Peaks lay dark and solid behind them, no longer taunting Lucy with their beauty as they had all afternoon.
The group came to a stop before they were in hailing distance of the military encampment. Under cover of the darkness, Lucy and Matheus were pulled unceremoniously from the back of the cart and dumped into a small tent.
“We’ll have to part ways here, at least for a short while,” said Rasad pleasantly, joining them in the tent. His eyes lingered on their bindings. “If I took you into the palace with me, your presence would raise all kinds of inconvenient questions. I’m sure you understand.”
He nodded to one of his henchmen, who began tying gags around the captives’ mouths. “I would leave you in the encampment, but I wouldn’t want to disrupt the soldiers. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for them, and they need their rest.” His gaze rested on Lucy. “As do you, actually. You have a dawn meeting out toward the peaks, after all. I suggest you get some beauty sleep—you wouldn’t want to look haggard for your prince, when he’s going to such effort to meet you. Do give him my regards. And I’ll check on the princess for you, shall I?”
Lucy glared at the advisor as she struggled furiously against her bonds. They were as unyielding as ever.
Rasad ignored her efforts, turning to the guards who had stationed themselves at the tent’s only entrance.
“Our herald has gone on ahead to Nohl, and I anticipate that King Abner will give the order for the army to march by noon. Take these two to the meeting point. Keep them out of sight, but somewhere they can witness your work.” He glanced carelessly back at the siblings. “I think it will do them both good to see that I mean what I say. But once you’ve disposed of the prince, follow me to Nohl, and bring them with you. I anticipate a number of possible uses for them there.”
The guards gave curt nods, and without a backward glance, Rasad exited the tent.
It had been hours since the prisoners had been fed, and Lucy’s stomach gave an audible rumble. One of the guards glanced back at her, smirking. She returned his look with a glare, trying to conceal the tremors running over her. It was terrifying to see how far advanced Rasad’s plans were. They were on the edge of disaster, moments from plunging off the cliff, and she still had no way of saving Eamon or warning King Giles. Let alone helping to extricate Jocelyn from whatever mess she was embroiled in.
She fretted the hours away, unable to sleep, even once Matheus fell into an uneasy doze beside her. Every now and then, the fear would overwhelm her, and tears would fill her eyes. But she refused to let them fall—this was no time to indulge in grief. She knew she should be forming some kind of plan, but she had no ideas, and all she could think of was Eamon. Had he received her false note yet? Had he left for the meeting point? He would have to give the rest of the group the slip in order to obey her supposed request, because Lord Rodanthe would never let him leave unaccompanied. That was probably why Rasad had chosen such an early hour, to improve Eamon’s chances of slipping away in the darkness.
And what must Eamon be thinking of such a request? If only he was as petty as she had been—if only he would ignore her invitation, just to punish her for how cold she had been toward him.
But she knew he was incapable of such vindictiveness. As far as he was aware, she was asking for his help, and his chivalry as much as his heart would drive him to come to her aid.
It was still a few hours before dawn when the guards entered the tent and hauled their prisoners to their feet. They couldn’t walk with their legs still bound, and had to be carried back to the cart. Lucy rotated her wrists as much as she could, ignoring the way the ropes chafed on her raw skin, trying to wriggle her fingers to retain some feeling. Her whole hands had started to feel alarmingly numb.
She had hoped someone from the military encampment might see their plight and come to investigate, but the cart gave the tent city a wide berth as it trundled back toward the east, in the direction of the Jeweled Peaks. Two mounted guards led the procession, guiding their horses at a walk so as to allow the rest of the party to keep up. With a sinking heart, Lucy counted another ten guards, armed and alert, walking behind the cart. Eamon had no hope against such a number, not alone. The journey felt endless, but Lucy wished it would last forever rather than bring them to the destination Rasad had planned for them.
The first hints of dawn had begun to lighten the eastern sky when the cart started to climb up a slope, and Lucy realized that they were in the foothills of the colorful m
ountain range. It was still too dim to make out the mesmerizing colors in the sand, but she had no heart for beauty anyway.
The two were pulled from the cart and dragged the rest of the way up a short incline. A thickset guard tied them to a large boulder, close enough to the edge of the hill to see a broad plateau below them.
“Pay attention now,” he said quietly, twisted humor in his voice.
Lucy ignored him. She had no indignation to spare on this pawn. She knew who her real enemy was, and she felt a surge of vicious satisfaction that Rasad had ordered for her to rejoin him. She would make him pay, whatever it took.
A moment later all thought of Rasad fled as a lone figure rode into view from the direction of the capital. Lucy’s horror at the sight of Eamon, alone and vulnerable, quickly eclipsed the illogical rush of joy she had felt at the appearance of his familiar form. She and Matheus both struggled, trying to shout a warning through their gags, but all it earned them was a sharp blow to the head from the guards on either side of them. The rider didn’t even glance up. He was looking carefully around the area, clearly expecting Lucy to appear.
Lucy’s head spun, both from the blow and from the nightmare of it all. A guard stayed on each side of the captives, but the rest melted away into the sandy hills, drawing their weapons silently as they went. Lucy’s fear and anger became a silent scream inside her head, but she was powerless to stop the trap from being laid.
“Lucy?”
Eamon’s clear voice made her strain forward even harder, the familiar sound quiet, but nevertheless carrying across the still dawn. The prince hesitated, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as the silence stretched out. Lucy was glad to see he was on his guard, but she knew it would make little difference.
She watched in horror as the two mounted guards suddenly burst from behind a mound of sand, rushing on the prince. Eamon’s sword was in his hand before she could blink, his steel meeting the weapon of the first attacker in a practiced parry. For a moment she thought he would hold them off, but the horse of the second guard suddenly reared. Eamon’s horse screamed in alarm, rearing as well as it tried to avoid the flailing hooves. Eamon held on skillfully, but in his distraction, he missed the menacing figures creeping toward him on foot. A moment later, two of the guards had seized his legs and hauled him from the saddle.
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