Most days, Herne had duties and could not be at the apartment during the day. While Dax enjoyed being at the apartment, when Herne was gone, he was restless. He should be doing . . . well, that was the problem. He did not know what he should be doing.
Moryn was unfailingly cheerful and pleasant as she tried to keep him distracted with innumerable small chores. She had a distinctive, infectiously merry laugh, and since she was a happy woman, she laughed a lot. Dax had never peeled and sliced turnips before, and this afternoon he was doing it for their supper. He had a good idea of the steps in food preparation from the time he had spent in Ma Cookie’s kitchen, but he had only watched her work. While Ma Cookie’s deft strokes with a knife had made a task like preparing turnips look easy, in reality the job took skill.
As he peeled and sliced the vegetables beside Moryn, Dax finally asked her about something he had been wondering. “Why don’t you treat me like, ah, like . . .”
“Like my king and sovereign lord?” she laughed.
Dax flushed a little. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, let’s see,” she chuckled. “The first time we met, you looked like a hungry waif from the streets.” She paused before continuing more seriously, “The other part of it is I feel I’ve known you all your life. Orin talks of you constantly. When you were born, he was so happy for your father and mother. By that time Orin and I had begun to suspect we would never have children of our own, and Orin felt a—connection—with you through your father.”
“But he has never seemed very . . .” Dax paused unsure how to put into words how daunting Herne had always appeared to him.
“No, he would not be one for sweeping you up to his shoulder like a doting uncle, now would he?” She giggled, then grew serious again. “When he lost his arm—that would have been shortly after your mother died—he sort of drew into himself. Leaving the guard hurt him as well.”
She finished her turnip, put the slices in a pot, and picked up another while Dax continued to labor over his. Before she started afresh on the vegetable, she gazed out the small window for a time. “I’m so thankful your father asked him to train you. It gave him something to do. A purpose to live for.” She looked affectionately at Dax, “Yes, he would tell me about your sessions. Did you know he almost always had you training with the best people he could find? That Trimble boy is my cousin’s son. Orin probably never said anything to you, but Lukas won a fencing tournament in Bington before he joined the guard. Already he is one of the top three guardsmen with a blade.”
Dax gave an inward snort. No wonder Herne’s training had been a constant struggle. Still, it pleased him to know he had been trained against high-caliber opponents. Perhaps there was hope for him.
Moryn frowned slightly at the turnip she was working on. It was the first time Dax had seen anything but a smile on her face. “He worried constantly about your father and Mathilde—even from the start.” For a time she looked out the window again. “But,” she sighed, “the king was infatuated with her, so Orin tried to accept it as well.” She looked at him. “Your news the other night of Mathilde’s treachery was a heavy blow. We talked a long while after you went to sleep. I pity those folk and their games of power in the castle. The Old Bear is awake, and he will find a way to make things right.”
Dax was touched by her faith in the man, but he could offer nothing in return. He was too afraid of the power already wielded by Mathilde and the other plotters.
#
Herne did not return until quite late in the afternoon that day. He always dressed in plain clothes, leaving his uniform at the guard barracks. Lest the intrigues in the castle pursue him home to the apartment and Moryn, he took care that he was not followed.
This day Herne looked like a thundercloud when he came through the door. He threw his cloak onto a hook and slumped into his favorite chair. Staring at the door as if daring it to open, Herne drummed his fingers on the arm without saying a word. Dax decided whatever had happened that day was not good news.
Moryn seemed to take his mood in stride and cheerfully bantered, patted, and chided him until he finally swept her into an embrace. “By the Goddess, woman. Can’t you just let me bad-tempered for once?”
She smiled broadly. “If you tell me instead of brooding about it, it will help you solve your problem.”
“Eh” was his only reply. After a moment he looked up at her smile, sighed, and asked, “So, what’s for supper? Later we’ll all have a talk.”
#
After supper, Herne sat and stared at the fire for several minutes before he said anything. He finally looked up at Dax with a steely glint in his eyes. “I was with Keir at the council meeting today. Mathilde was there and made a little speech. She said, ‘The boy king has disappeared. We have searched the kingdom of West Landly for months. There are no signs of evil doing, but we suspect the kingdom of East Landly was involved in this plot to weaken our realm. But with no proof, there is nothing we can do except continue the search and hope for good news.’”
“East Landly?” Dax exclaimed.
Herne looked at him. “Sleight of hand for the slight of mind,” he sighed. “She gets the nobles on the ruling council looking east when the problem is under their noses.” Dax started to ask another question, but Herne just held up his hand and continued. “Once everyone had a chance to vent their suspicions about East Landly, she made her big announcement. She said, ‘Since the king is no longer with us, my role as regent must be put in abeyance. Over the next few weeks, I suggest the council take up the question of who will rule the kingdom in preparation to make a recommendation to the whole of the Assembly of Nobles.’ Then she told them to remove her name from consideration. Since she was not from West Landly, she knew the people would never accept her.”
Herne stopped and wiped the beads of sweat that had appeared at his brow. “As if she hadn’t already heard the talk about it!” He muttered something under his breath and stared at the fire. “She was all pious and magnanimous, but it was meant to make her look good for the council.” Herne smiled a phony smile and fluttered his eyelashes like a flirtatious woman.
“Better let someone who knows how do that,” interrupted Moryn.
They all laughed, but Herne frowned again. “That’s when she got down to the real business. She asked them to appoint Castellan Keir as regent and leader of the council. She offered to stay on as an advisor since she was familiar with ‘current concerns.’” Herne’s jaw muscles flexed in anger. “And of course, they did just that.” He scowled again. “Lap dogs. Every one of them! So now her man is in control of the council while she pulls his strings.”
Knitting quietly by the fire, Moryn looked up. “It is a well-known fact that if a woman wants a man to do as she wishes, his short leg is the best string to pull.”
Dax blinked when he realized what Moryn had just said. Herne sat there a moment looking nonplussed. Finally Herne smiled. “Right as usual, my dear. Since we don’t have that leg to stand on”—his smile turned a little grim—“the question is, what can we do about it?”
Herne sighed and looked at Dax. “Now that Mathilde has made it official, the games really begin. Tomorrow the ruling council will officially announce that our king here”—he nodded at Dax—“has ‘disappeared.’ Once the turmoil in the city dies down, you can bet Mathilde will have the council voting to call the Assembly of Nobles together to make Keir king.”
After a moment of thinking, Dax said, “The wealthiest, most powerful nobles are already on the council.” Dax looked at Herne, and even though he knew the answer, he asked, “And the council will back Keir?” Herne nodded, and Dax stated the obvious. “Then the recommendation of the council will be a boulder rolling downhill into the assembly.”
Herne scratched the short stubble on his head. “I’ve nosed around a bit and don’t see any strong factions in the city who would oppose Keir.”
“The Vaughns and the Weylyns?” Moryn asked.
“From what I’ve heard, the
y both support Mathilde and will do her bidding.”
“What if I were to suddenly appear and reclaim the throne?” Dax asked.
Herne snorted. “You’d be dead within the week. Let’s face it, Mathilde and the nobles she has gathered effectively control Tazzelton, and that’s enough to control the rest of the kingdom.” Dax started to protest, but Herne held up a hand and went on. “Yes, there are several of the lesser houses who supported your father and would be more than happy to support you as well.”
“Duke Torbury of Bington?” Dax asked.
Herne rubbed his chin. “Now there’s a thought. Conal once mentioned he’s related to your family, but I can’t tell you how. His house is a match for the others, but his estates are way to the north, and his family has little influence in Tazzelton itself.”
“What about the Duke of Newham?” Dax fumbled to remember the man’s name.
“Lendren,” Herne supplied. “He’s a good man, but his area has mainly mining and timber interests. There’s no strong political base in the northeast, and it’s almost as far as Bington. Even if you could get the support of the entire north, that would leave you facing the power and wealth of the south and west.”
“Would Duke Torbury have a claim on the throne?” Moryn inquired. “That might affect his willingness to help our young sovereign here.”
“I don’t think he’s from a close line,” Herne answered, “but I don’t keep a close watch on royal pedigrees.” He looked at Dax and arched an eyebrow.
Evnissyen’s lessons had included dynastic information, but Dax had never enjoyed learning about his extended family. This answer, however, he knew. “He is father’s second cousin. His family is not in the direct line of succession.”
Herne looked at Dax, and his eyes softened. “Speaking of succession, I still haven’t been able to find out anything about your aunt or her family, so we don’t know whether questions about succession are even relevant.”
The mention of succession to the throne finally triggered a question Dax had thought of earlier. “Is Keir from the Ambergriff line? Can he even claim the throne?”
Herne sighed. “Keir is from up north around Wellock. They might be able to magic him up a connection to the Ambergriffs of yore, but I bet Mathilde will play to Keir’s ego and tell him he can found his own royal line.”
Dax sat stunned. The end of the Ambergriff line? Mathilde was going to put an end to the proud line of kings and queens who had ruled Landly in whole or in parts ever since the founding of the kingdom. His rage started to boil inside, but he forced it down. The outrage of the idea justified his ire, but Herne and Moryn were not the problem. He had to think, and he could not think when he was angry. He needed comfort. He excused himself. In the closet he found his pack and took out the dragon’s egg. As soon as he touched it, he felt its warm reassurance. The tight knot in his stomach relaxed. After a deep breath, he took the egg back to his chair and sat down with it clutched snuggly to his belly. Better. He sat quietly trying to calm himself.
Herne looked at him and raised his eyebrows. However, he said nothing. Eventually Herne got up to poke the fire. When he sat down again, he gestured toward the egg. “That’s a dragon’s egg. Now I see another piece of the puzzle.” Dax looked at him, unsure what the man meant. Herne nodded at the egg. “Your father’s?”
Dax nodded.
“When he showed it to you, was it as cold as ice?”
“What does that have to do with it?” Dax asked defensively.
Herne leaned forward. “I need an answer.” His eyes burned with intensity.
Startled by the force of Herne’s demand, Dax flushed. “No, sir,” he said softly.
“Warm as a maiden’s heart on a spring day?”
Dax was not sure he wanted to answer, but Herne continued to glare at him intensely. Finally he just said, “Yes, sir.”
“You never said anything to anyone?”
The corner of Dax’s mouth twitched up halfway toward a smile. “No one ever asked.”
“Could you have told anything but the truth if they had?”
For a moment Dax felt as if he had been cornered into admitting something shameful, but Moryn looked up from her knitting. “Oh, Orin, give the boy a rest. He’s obviously dragon-bound.” She looked at Dax. “I’m happy for you, dear. Orin and I have met many of the dragon-bound, and they are wonderful people.” She smiled. “I’ll bet you’ve had a hard time staying out of trouble if you couldn’t tell a lie.”
Moryn’s understanding brought tears to his eyes, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. Herne leaned over and patted his shoulder. “I agree with Moryn that this is good news, and I’m sorry I was gruff just now. Sometimes when I get new information, I get snappy.”
“The Old Bear,” Moryn stated.
Herne laughed. “It’s the first good news I’ve heard today.” Herne was still smiling when he looked at Dax. “Now that I know you are dragon-bound, I want to hear more about the man who tried to bother you at the bootblacks.”
“Weasel?”
Herne nodded. “There was more to that story you didn’t tell. Am I right?”
Dax shrugged. “Some.” He paused. “I guess.”
“You didn’t just ‘manage to get away,’ did you? Since you are dragon-bound, I’ll bet it got really nasty. I would wager you frightened yourself by what you did to the man that night.”
Dax nodded, but he avoided Herne’s eyes. “I was scared of him, but I got really angry . . .” He thought how to explain it. “Suddenly I wasn’t afraid of anything.” Dax shrugged. “After that, I don’t really remember exactly what happened.” Now he did look at Herne. “I’m not sure what I did, but I must have used anything and everything you taught me.” He paused, feeling an echoing flush from the fury he had experienced that night.
“Don’t stop now.” Moryn looked up from her knitting again. “This is starting to get interesting.”
The fire had died back to a red glow. To give himself a little more time to think, Dax retrieved a couple of pieces of wood and rekindled the embers. He started hesitantly, but he related what details he remembered of the bloody story to the adults.
When Dax finished, Herne leaned back in his chair and nodded with satisfaction. “It was the dragon anger you felt that night. Even before it hatches out, the dragon’s mind and your mind are bound together. You can’t tell a lie because dragons can never lie. You fight as ferociously and as fearlessly as a dragon because that is how dragons fight. It works the other way too. When your dragon hatches out, it will be just as smart as you are.”
“When will that be?”
“What?”
“When will it hatch?”
Herne smiled. “I know little enough of dragons and most of that is secondhand. The eggs, or the dragons inside, rather, are fussy. They don’t bond with just anybody. Has to be the right person.” With the fire rekindled, there was enough light to see Herne shrug. “What makes a person right for a dragon? I have no idea, and from what I can tell, the dragon-bound don’t really know either. They just pass the eggs around to see if anybody can bond with them.”
Confused, Dax asked, “They?”
“The dragon-bound. Every now and then they take some eggs out for a shifting, they call it. They let people handle them, and . . .” He shrugged again.
“So how did my father get a dragon’s egg?”
“He said he got it as a gift from . . .” Herne’s eyes widened in realization. “He got it from the Vaughns just about the time he took up with Mathilde.” He sighed. “Another piece of the puzzle?”
“You don’t think it was a coincidence.”
Herne frowned. “Most likely, no. Dragon eggs are important, and Mathilde is important. I’ve heard the dragon-bound lose track of an egg now and then, but for those two events to come so close in time . . .” Herne’s voice trailed off. “I’m not certain, but these days I’m suspicious of everything.”
Dax thought about what little he knew abou
t dragons, but one question was much more important than the others. “So when will my egg hatch?”
Herne gestured helplessly with his hands. “I have no idea. They can go for years without hatching, but once they are bound . . .”
“Has your egg changed lately?” Moryn asked. “It sounds as if your bond is strong.”
Dax looked at the egg in his lap by the light of the fire. It was just as warm and welcoming as ever, and it appeared much as it had before. Or was it a little lighter in color? Maybe it was a little bigger? “I don’t know. It might have changed a bit.”
“Hmm,” Herne grunted. “Playing nursemaid to a dragon”—he looked around—“in this apartment . . .” He let the thought trail off.
Dax started to imagine the problem Herne envisioned, but before he could say anything, he had to yawn. With that, Moryn declared the evening’s meeting at an end.
“We need to talk more about strategy,” Herne declared as they stood up. “Now that Mathilde has started to play her pieces, we must plan.”
Dax agreed, but his eyes were heavy. Moryn was right. It was time to go to bed. The next morning Dax had promised to be back at work with the bootblacks.
#
Two days later, he went back to the apartment to have dinner with Herne and Moryn. Although he had intended to stay the night, Herne had been at a briefing that day, where they had announced that Duke Maklyn would arrive in Tazzelton in two weeks. After they had eaten the meal Moryn had prepared, Dax decided to go back and deliver the information.
#
Tepp, the man who had replaced Weasel, was Dax’s contact with Holder’s organization. He had a room at a boarding house not too far from the bootblacks’ bunkie. Tepp was young, fit, and well-groomed in sharp contrast to Weasel’s slovenly ways. Tepp had on a simple but neatly kept tunic when he answered the door. “Well, our little friend from the castle,” he greeted Dax.
King's Exile: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound: Book 1 Page 13