Dragon's Fire

by Gwynn White

  He listened again. But there was nothing. Just the drip and then silence.

  “Listen beyond the silence. And the drip. Compare the thumping sound to other things. It’ll give perspective.” The thought infiltrated his mind like ice claiming a pond.

  Talon didn’t resist its invasion. What should he compare it to?

  “Something from home. Something from the forest.”

  No! he shouted to back, turning his mind into a battlefield. The forest no longer existed. Just like music. There could never be a comparison to something that didn’t exist.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “But how big is it? How far away is it?” His new thoughts clamored, refusing to be denied.

  Talon didn’t know.

  “Perhaps as far away as the bees were that last fishing day with Uncle Tao.”

  No! No! No! Talon covered his head with his hands. No bees. They don’t exist. Bees were free. He wasn’t. He would never be free again.

  He lashed his fist against the wall—and cried out with pain. A sticky trickle ran down his arm.

  Blood.

  He had shed so much blood trying to escape and had failed. Why were his thoughts betraying him now by insisting he think on things designed to crush his will to live?

  And why had the sound come? Didn’t it know there were no sounds other than his teeth chattering, the drip, and his coughing?

  And Lukan who spoke in his head.

  Or Morass, who slopped food through the slot.

  I’m alone. So alone.

  A voice shouted. “Is there no one else on this planet except me and Morass and Lukan? Dmitri! Dmitri! Dmitri!”

  It took him a moment to register that it was his voice. His shout. The first verbal sounds he had made since crushing Morass’s eye in his fist.

  Knees clasped, Talon rocked back and forth, keening.

  “All these months of torture, Nicholas. Was it worth it, my friend?”

  Another voice! Not his. But also not Lukan. This one was right here. Not in his head. It was next to his head.

  He opened his eyes—and cried out.

  It was too bright. Blinding. Brighter even than the light through the hole. Agony. He closed his eyes and held his head, rocking.

  Rocking helped with agony.

  And despair.

  But it wasn’t helping now. The brilliant light cut through the blessed darkness. Right through his eyelids.

  “Your eyes will adjust, Nicholas. Have patience. Wait. You now understand the meaning of the word ‘wait.’”

  Wait. That implied time. Time was meaningless. How long for the agony to stop? Rock head. Hold head.

  No. Stop.

  The light was softer.

  Pain? No pain.

  Talon cracked open his eyelids.

  Dmitri stood, watching him. He had kind eyes and a warm face. His skin shined. Talon shifted his focus away from the glow to the familiar pattern of stars on his robe.

  The seer sat on the floor next to him. “Was it worth it, Nicholas?”

  Speak. Make words. Answer.

  “Don’t know,” Talon croaked. It hurt his throat to speak.

  “So much could have been avoided if you had chosen not to ignore me.”

  “How. Many. Months?”

  “Eight months, Nicholas.”

  Eight months! Talon held his head and rocked. He heard someone sob.

  “Cry, my friend. It will do you good.”

  He was crying?

  No tears. No tears! Emotion was weak. Lukan would exploit weak.

  “I will never exploit your pain, Nicholas.”

  No emotion. Ever.

  “And I honor your choice to resist now. Even if I do not agree with it.”

  “Then . . . honor . . . my . . . choice . . . not . . . to . . . be . . . here. Let me go.”

  “That is indeed a hard request.”

  “Free me. I don’t choose this.”

  “But your father, Lukan, does. And I must honor his choices, too. It is not easy to grasp, my friend. I understand that. But if you endure this well, this time will turn out to be your greatest blessing.”

  Talon stumbled to his feet and yelled, “My greatest blessing! His right to choose! Go away. Leave me. Never come back.”

  The light gathered around Dmitri, and then he vanished.

  “Well done, Nicholas. Why should you listen to a man who won’t even help you flee? You did the right thing in sending him away.”

  For the first time ever, Talon agreed with Lukan.

  And what did the new sound matter anyway? Talon would never be free to discover what it was.

  It was as meaningless as his whole pointless existence.

  Chapter 38

  Lost in calculations how quickly a canister of gas could consume Oldfort, Lukan headed for his office. He had not yet shared his plan for Oldfort with anyone, preferring to do the research himself.

  A generation of weather records revealed that the winds in the Lapisians’ mountains calmed just before the spring solstice. That was imperative if he was to pinpoint just the town with the gas. The last thing he wanted was spillover to alert the world to his weapon.

  The whole idea of targeting Oldfort on the solstice filled Lukan with pleasure. Worshipers of the stars, Lapisians considered the spring solstice an important date in their calendar. Before the invasion, they had dressed up in crazy costumes, supposedly depicting the blessings they sought for the new year. On behalf of all their countrymen, those who could afford it brought bags of gold coins, representing the celestial bodies, to throw down into starlit town squares as offerings to their gods.

  The wealthier the person, the more he was expected to sacrifice. In the early morning sunlight, the squares had glittered with coins, making walking treacherous. That didn’t stop the poor from gleaning as much gold as they could carry in a pocket and both hands. It had been the way the Lapisians shared their wealth. Lukan had banned it everywhere in an attempt to crush the Lapisian resistance and to enforce worship of the Dragon. Now, the only place the festival was still honored was in Oldfort. To Lukan, that was a personal affront.

  Come nightfall on this solstice, in defiance of everything Lukan tried to impose, the Lapisians in Oldfort would be out in force to petition the heavens for blessings. Not that their celestial gods would answer.

  Lukan’s never had. He grunted. Religion had never interested him beyond a tool to control the low-born. Even so, it would be nice to think that someone was on his side.

  Axel always attended the festival. In the past, Stefan had sent guardsmen to capture the traitor. Thanks to the cover of the swirling crowds, Axel had always managed to evade capture by slipping down a bolt hole into the mountains.

  This time, I won’t fail.

  But as he thought that, Lukan sighed. Even with the most meticulous planning, nothing in his life had ever gone smoothly. All he could do was hope this Burning would be the exception.

  The guardsmen standing sentry outside his office bowed and then swung open the door for him.

  “Lord Taras is on his way.” Lukan had a weekly briefing with his Lord of the Treasury. These meetings had been a standard feature in his calendar since discovering Axel had stolen from him all those years ago. Not even plans to wipe out Axel and a few thousand other people in Oldfort were permitted to get in the way of them.

  Someone in the office cleared his throat.

  Lukan looked up in surprise. “Felix. What are you doing here? You know I’m meeting with Taras.”

  Felix pulled his hands away from the fire roaring in the hearth. The first snows had fallen last night, and the fire was welcome. Felix eased off the sofa and bobbed a bow. “I am aware of your schedule, sire, but something has come up that needs your urgent attention.”

  “Nothing is more important than ensuring no one steals from us.”

  Felix pursed his lips disapprovingly; his uncle thought Lukan went to unnecessary lengths to keep tabs on the finances. It was an old ar
gument, one they had tossed around for years. Lukan always won because he was emperor.

  “Did you attend breakfast in the great hall, sire?”

  “Of course not. I never do. You know that.”

  “Then you have not heard the gossip raging through the halls this morning about the princes.”

  “Gossip! Really Felix, I’m beginning to worry about you. Words like ‘dotage’ and ‘retirement’ are springing just a little too readily to mind.”

  Felix fixed Lukan with a cold eye. “Perhaps, sire, if you spent as much time worrying about your heirs as you do the mycek, then this would not have happened.”

  Felix flicked his thumb against his informa and pulled up an image of the dining room where his heirs’ introductory dinner had been held.

  Threat in every step, the two princes stalked toward Raklus’s grandson.

  Lukan had watched enough fist fights between Grigor and Meka to know exactly what it meant—disaster, if he was to convince the Sixteen he had viable heirs.

  He flopped down on the sofa. “You have my attention. Five minutes of it.”

  “Good.” But Felix popped his informa back into his pocket. “First, we need to discuss Nicholas.”

  Nicholas? The word shot like an electric current through Lukan. “Why? Has he escaped? Died?”

  “Relax, sire. Neither, but—”

  “Then why are we talking about him?” Lukan had no other interest in his son, and Felix knew that.

  “We need to plan for his future.”

  Lukan looked at his watch; unless Felix shifted this conversation into gear, Count Taras would be kept waiting a lot longer than five minutes. That would give the man the impression that Lukan didn’t care about the treasury. If Taras was anything like Axel—and every other high-born in this palace—he would use that opportunity to steal from Lukan.

  Felix might be indifferent, but Lukan wasn’t.

  He was surrounded by thieves: a son who wanted his throne; high-born who grasped at every turn; the Sixteen—Fifteen, because Morass didn’t count—who connived to grab power from each other and from him; and his heirs, who dreamed of the day they’d snatched his throne away.

  And then there was Axel—

  Anger bubbling, Lukan snapped, “You have ten minutes.”

  “In a few months, it will be Nicholas’s birthday. You always visit him, so I take it you intend to bestow that honor on him this year, too.”

  It hadn’t crossed Lukan’s mind to visit Nicholas now that Lynx and Tao weren’t at the cottage.

  “A visit would be good, sire. It will impress upon our young rebel that a whole year has passed. I should imagine that even the Light-Bearer will find that demoralizing.”

  Lukan rubbed his eye sockets. “Has he spoken yet?”

  Felix shook his head, looking decidedly peeved. “He hadn’t, despite my best efforts at goading him.” His expression cleared. “Up until last night, that is.”

  Lukan canted his head, intrigued despite himself. “What was so special about last night?”

  “I tried a little experiment. After the dinner last evening, I had Morass slam a door on a building half a mile away from the Light-Bearer’s cell. Seems the boy heard it.”

  “Half a mile away. Impressive. But then his ears have always been good.”

  “Not that good. Remember, he’s locked in a stone room in the very center of that old slaughterhouse. Also, it snowed last night. He should not have heard a thing.”

  “So you are saying our cosmic wonder boy is gaining superpowers.”

  Felix scoffed. “Oh, I would hardly go so far as to call them superpowers, but I do think we can exploit the situation.”

  Lukan was all for exploiting anything that kept him in power. He looked at Felix expectantly.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Lukan glanced at his watch. Taras. His skin prickled with longing to call the man in. He fought it.

  Leaving his cane propped up against the sofa, Felix rose and shuffled to the door. He opened it a crack. “Taras, the emperor will ring for you when he is ready.”

  Felix closed the door with more satisfaction than Lukan appreciated.

  “You were telling me how we can exploit the traitor’s hearing.”

  With agonizing slowness, Felix hobbled back to the sofa. It was only once he sat that he continued. “As you know, sire, the Light-Bearer has proved strangely resistant to the voice we are beaming into his head.” A pained expression settled on Felix at that affront. It cleared. “Well, last evening, that changed. I used his past memories and programmed a voice so seamless, he was unaware that my suggestions were not his own thoughts. I gave him a command, told him to compare the sounds with others from his past. He obeyed.”

  Lukan stroked his scar, rapidly becoming impatient. If Felix wanted to use Nicholas as a lab rat, that was his business. “Get to the point.”

  “The point is, the experience was so difficult for our young Light-Bearer that he spoke for the first time. Called for Dmitri—”

  Lukan shot forward in his seat. “And? Did he come?”

  “Indeed. And the Light-Bearer sent him packing. Told him never to come back.”

  Relief flooded through Lukan. He smiled. “That is indeed good news.”

  “So, I was thinking your son should have a reward for his birthday.”

  Lukan hardly heard Felix. His glee morphed into confusion. He, more than anyone, understood the need to be alone, but even he required some human contact to stop from going insane. That’s why he kept a string of mistresses at his command. Why had Nicholas rejected another human voice? Was his son already teetering at the edge of the cliff?

  “What does the Final Word say? Is he going crazy?”

  Felix spoke with relish. “I think a few nudges are all it will take, sire. He is already climbing the wall—both figuratively and literally.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “There is an asylum about ten miles out of Cian. My cameras tell me it is a very noisy place. I suggest we transfer him there for his birthday. I think with enough screaming inmates, he may be tempted to self-harm. As far as I am aware, there is no prohibition in the curse on suicide.”

  “No. I don’t think there is. But we would have to provide the weapon. Wouldn’t that make us complicit?”

  “Honestly, sire, what do you take me for? Do you really think I would be so crass as to suggest something overt? I have something far subtler in mind.”

  Lukan raised an eyebrow.

  “Didn’t Lynx ask you to bring a fiddle for his last birthday?”

  Lukan stiffened. He hated thinking about that terrible night. He should have taken Lynx with him when he’d left with Nicholas. She would still be part of his life, and none of these problems would have existed.

  “I hardly think my son will be idiot enough to play it if it hurts his ears.”

  “Ah, but that may be where you are mistaken, sire. After months of watching our wonder boy, I have learned a few tricks. It seems he likes a challenge. That’s why he climbs the walls.”

  That his potentially traitorous son enjoyed a challenge did nothing to calm Lukan’s pulse.

  “I propose an extension to that asylum, sire, which is why I am bringing it up now, so there is time to construct it.” Felix waved his hands in the air. “A thirty-foot domed roof. When we introduce the boy there, he will find a fiddle hanging from the highest point. If he falls and dies trying to retrieve it, he will only have himself to blame.”

  Lukan snorted a laugh. “Is this what you lie in bed at night dreaming about, Felix?”

  Felix pulled his olive-green cloak tighter around his shoulders. “As Lord of the Household, it is my job to protect the household. I will do whatever it takes to keep it safe from all subversives.”

  Lukan didn’t doubt that. Axel was the worst subversive, and Felix had cast him off without a further thought.

  “Fine. Build your extension. Make sure it’s rigged with a working gas canister.
Then give me the trigger.”

  Face bland, Felix nodded. “Of course, sire. That is easily done.”

  “One other thing. I want him transferred by the spring solstice.” He like the idea of offering Nicholas a fiddle, only to gas him before he could climb up to retrieve it. Because that was exactly what would happen once Lukan had confirmation of Axel’s death.

  Suspicion flickered across Felix’s face before he could shutter it. “But his birthday is in summer, sire.”

  “I am well aware of that, but what difference will it make? The boy has been locked in a dark room for months, I can scarcely imagine he knows what day it is, let alone when his birthday is.”

  “You have a plan perhaps, sire, that I could help with?”

  Lukan studied Felix, wondering if he should share details of his attack, but his uncle gave nothing away. Despite his lack of reaction, Felix would have to know about the gassing of Oldfort; his help would be needed in the preparations. For one, Axel’s early warning system covered Oldfort. If Lukan was to successfully send in a dirigible, he would need a craft that could evade detection. This hadn’t been a problem in his original Burning because no one else in the world used advanced technology to protect the skies. Lukan would need Felix and Vasily’s help to design and build a suitable craft.

  “We will release a gas canister over Oldfort on the spring solstice when the Lapisians and their traitorous allies are out on the streets. It’s an ideal time to crush the alliance.” Lukan watched Felix carefully as his uncle decoded the word allies.

  Felix’s eyebrows bobbed—he had figured out that Lukan meant Axel, Chad, and Jerawin. With no other show of emotion, Felix asked, “And if Lynx is in the streets with Axel?”

  “Axel knows we always target the solstice. He would never let her out of the mountain to attend an event like that. No man would. Not with a woman as precious as Lynx.”

  Of that Lukan was convinced. Axel might not be wise enough to lock Lynx in a cage in his bedchamber to keep her safe as Lukan planned to do when he recaptured her, but after seventeen long years of separation from Lynx, not even his cousin would be rash enough to risk parading her around in public. The fact that Lynx hadn’t been seen for months bore testament to that.