Flight of the Dragon

by Jessica Drake

  “Stop! This is a mistake!” I shrieked as they dragged me to a prison wagon waiting nearby. I kicked and struggled, but I was no match for these men, and my weapons were too far away for me to reach. Stopping by the wagon, one of them wrenched my hands behind my back, and the other one patted me down, removing my weapons and gear.

  “Pig,” I hissed as he squeezed my ass.

  He slapped my face so hard, my lower lip split open. “Shut up, whore,” he spat as blood gushed down my chin. “You have no rights here.” The second guard ripped my pack from my back, then tied my hands and threw me in the back of the wagon. “Enjoy the ride,” he called in a mocking voice.

  The wagon had no seats in the back, and smelled strongly of piss and shit. Eyes watering from the smell, I struggled to get myself upright, but the wagon lurched forward, slamming my head into the wall.

  “Shit,” I swore as stars swam before my eyes. I tried to get a hold of myself, but my head was spinning, my skull throbbing. Instinctively, I shut my eyes against the pain, and was immediately dragged down into unconsciousness, away from reality.

  I just hoped that when I woke up, I wouldn’t find a noose wrapped around my neck.

  20

  I woke up the next morning lying on a stone bench in a jail cell. For a long moment, I didn’t move a muscle—my head and face were throbbing, every single fiber in my body strung tight as I listened to my surroundings. Off in the distance, a steady drip, drip spoke of a leak, fellow prisoners grunted and grumbled, and I even caught the faintest hint of laughter.

  Carefully, I sat up to try to get a better look, and nearly fell off my chair at the sight of a man staring at me as he leaned against the opposite wall. He was huge, at least seven feet tall, dressed in a guard's uniform with a giant key ring attached to his belt. I guessed he must be the prison warden.

  “Well, well,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Looks like she’s awake.”

  I lunged for the bars. “Please,” I said in Traggaran, hoping I could appeal to him by speaking his native language. “This is all a big mistake. I’m not a spy, I’m a friend of—”

  “Shut up.” He moved toward me, and I shut my mouth instantly. Was I light-fingered enough to steal the keys from his belt? Did I dare? “I don’t care who you are, what you’ve done, or why you’re here. My job is to make sure you stay put until the king says otherwise. We clear?”

  I swallowed hard. “Crystal.”

  He stalked away, and I slumped back onto the bench, defeated. What should I do next? I could tell the warden didn’t care what I said; he’d keep me down here until he was ordered otherwise. If someone with higher authority came to speak to me, I could invoke Tavarian’s name and see if that would be enough to release me. But would that jeopardize his mission? Dammit, I didn’t want to get him into trouble if there was a chance he could convince the Traggarans to stand down. But if they decided to kill me, I didn’t see how I had any choice.

  The warden came back a bit later with a tray of gruel, and I wolfed it down hungrily, ignoring the awful taste. For the next two days and nights I lived this way, scarfing down terrible food, relieving myself in the stinking chamber pot, and driving myself out of my mind with worry. I was too far away to communicate with Lessie now, but I could feel her concern for me in the bond. I did my best to push my thoughts toward her: that I was fine for now, and to please stay put. The last thing I needed was for her to charge in here and rescue me. All it would take was a well-placed shot with a cannon, and we would both die before I ever saw the light of day again.

  On the third day, I was just starting to give up hope when the warden came up to my cell door. The sound of keys jangling got my attention, and I jumped to my feet as he opened the cell door. Two guards waited in the corridor, and though I was relieved to see neither of them was the man who groped and slapped me, I was still nervous.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked as they motioned me to step outside of the cell. I expected them to tie my wrists again, but they didn’t.

  “This way, my lady,” one of the guards said, and I blinked. My lady? Confused, I followed them out of the dungeon and up a set of stairs. We entered a long hallway with a red carpet running down the length, embroidered with the Traggaran crest—a horned sea monster on a backdrop of waves. As we continued down a series of corridors, I squinted against the light streaming in through the windows.

  The guards led me into a large room. It was well-appointed, but somewhat sparse compared to how Elantians decorated, with very little art on the walls, and shaggy furs rather than rugs covering the stone floors. Several older men in uniform stood near the giant hearth, arguing in Traggaran, and I noticed a few civilians among them too. My jaw nearly hit the floor when one of them, an older man dressed in elegant Zallabarian robes, turned to meet my gaze.

  Salcombe?

  “Oh, thank gods!” Salcombe cried in perfect Traggaran. “You’ve found her!”

  “So, this is your wife, then?” one of the officers asked as Salcombe strode toward me, his face the picture of joy and relief. He was still using the fan to make himself appear as an attractive man in his forties, but I’d know him anywhere. How the hell did he end up here?

  “Yes, this is my dear Zara.” Salcombe drew me into his arms, and I stiffened. He immediately launched into a spate of Zallabarian, thanking providence for saving me from that awful shipwreck that had separated us. “Play along,” he muttered under his breath.

  Burying a wave of disgust, I forced myself to return his embrace, sobbing in relief. “I was so frightened!” I wailed dramatically, clinging to his robes. Now it was his turn to stop himself from pulling away—Salcombe loathed few things more than a hysterical woman, and he knew I was playing it up to get back at him.

  “There, there,” he crooned, patting my back while trying to hide his obvious discomfort. Somehow, he managed to disentangle himself from me without looking like he was trying to get away from me and turned back to the officers. “Yes, she is definitely the one,” he confirmed to the others, switching back to Traggaran again.

  The officers laughed at the knowing tone in his voice. “I am glad we were able to help reunite you with your wife, Lord Trentiano," one of them said. "When you gave us her description, I had the warden fetch her immediately. I am very sorry for the mix-up, Lady Trentiano.”

  I held the officer’s gaze for a long moment, making both him and Salcombe sweat a bit. I could refute Salcombe’s story right here and now, exposing him as an Elantian. But where would that get me, except thrown back into my cell?

  “You are forgiven,” I finally said, giving him a sweet smile. “Although I very much would like to take a bath right now.”

  “We’ll take care of that as soon as we get you home,” Salcombe said smoothly, linking his arm with mine. “Please give the king my regards,” he said to the officer over his shoulders. “We are looking forward to meeting him.”

  Questions clamored in my mind for attention, but I held my tongue as Salcombe steered me out of the palace and into a waiting carriage. His two bodyguards, Trolbos among them, filed in with us, and tension filled the cramped space as the carriage lurched forward, rumbling toward the gates.

  I held my breath until we cleared them.

  “Well?” Salcombe asked, arching his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to thank me for rescuing you?”

  I scowled. “If you were anyone else, I would be grateful,” I said. “But I doubt you did this out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want?” Did he know about my run-in with his followers? A chill went through me. I wasn’t entirely certain I hadn’t killed the one man I’d sliced in the neck. What if he found out?

  I expected Salcombe to snap at me, but to my surprise, he laughed. “Cynical as ever. I’ve taught you well. It is a good thing I still had the location spell, or you might be swinging from the gallows right now instead of standing here with me. The king is very paranoid just now, and foreigners are being snatched off the streets left, right, and
center. I might have ended up in that prison too, if not for my Zallabarian papers.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you would walk out of Zallabar with citizenship papers.” But another thought hit me, and goosebumps raced across my flesh. If the king was throwing foreigners into prison, then what did he do with Lord Tavarian? Had he been down in that dungeon with me the entire time?

  “Something wrong?” Salcombe arched a brow.

  I clenched my jaw, shoving the thought away. I wouldn’t believe it until I had proof. “Just the fact that I’m sitting here with you,” I said coolly. “Now are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “Searching for relics, of course,” Salcombe said with a grin. “It is fortuitous that my hunch proved right, and you were here, for I could use your skills. I have a lead on a relic not far from here that might very well be a piece of the dragon god’s heart.”

  “And what makes you think I’ll help you find it?”

  “It’s the least you can do after I rescued you from prison,” Salcombe said. “If you’re not interested, I can just use this”—he pulled the fan from his robes and dangled it in the air—“to change your face, then send you back and tell the guards you were a mage disguising yourself as my wife to try to steal my money. If there is one thing the Traggarans hate more than dragons, it’s mages.”

  “You bastard,” I hissed.

  The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a townhouse, cutting off our conversation. A footman opened the door, and as he helped me down, I scanned the busy street, wondering if I should try to make a break for it.

  “I took the liberty of retrieving your weapons and gear,” Salcombe said silkily. He placed a hand at the small of my back and steered me toward the house, reminding me who was in charge. “I am more than happy to return them to you once we strike a proper agreement.”

  Dammit. It was one thing to leave my knives behind, but I couldn’t abandon my lock picks or my dragon blade. I was going to have to stay until I could figure out how to get them back. If I could also steal back the hair Salcombe had taken from me, all the better.

  “You sure seem to have everything figured out,” I said as we stepped into a black-and-white tiled foyer.

  A servant bustled over to take Salcombe’s coat. “Welcome back, my lord,” he said in accented Zallabarian. His blue eyes flicked over my disheveled form. “Is this your lovely wife?”

  “Yes, indeed. Zara, this is Willsworth, our butler.” Salcombe nudged me toward him. “Please show her to her rooms, and have a bath drawn for her. She’s been through quite an ordeal, and needs her rest.”

  “Of course.” Willsworth bowed. “Please follow me, my lady.”

  I thought about resisting, but the truth was I did need a bath, and I also needed time and space from Salcombe. I followed after Willsworth, who led me up a curving staircase and into a suite that would have been quite grand if not for the two goons waiting inside. Everything was done in shades of pink and white, and I was struck by the vicious urge to flop down on the settee and smear the dirt from my boots all over it. Sure, it wasn’t Salcombe’s furniture, but he’d still have to pay for the damage. And right now I wanted to damage him as much as I could.

  Before I could act on the childish urge, several more servants bustled in, carrying buckets of water. “Oh, my lady!” a maid exclaimed, taking me by the arm. From the shock on her round, pleasant face, I could tell that I looked even worse than I smelled. “I’m so sorry for the terrible ordeal you’ve been through. Let’s get you out of these clothes and into that bath.”

  I followed the maid into the bathroom, then stripped off my clothes while the servants filled the tub. Two of them offered to help me bathe, but I shooed them away as I slipped into the fragrant water. Despite my anger, despite my separation from Lessie and my forced reunion with Salcombe, I groaned with bliss as my body sank into the bath—the heat seeping into my muscles felt unbelievably good.

  Tipping my head back to rest against the lip of the tub, I stared at the ceiling and contemplated my options. The irony that I was stuck with Salcombe yet again chaffed, considering I’d come here looking for help to beat him. The last thing I wanted to do was help him recover yet another piece of heart.

  And yet, I had no other option but to stay, at least for now. Sticking close to him would buy me some time, give me an opportunity to figure out how to sabotage him, steal my stuff back, and find Lord Tavarian. Was Tavarian even in the palace? And if so, did he know Salcombe had been there as well? For all I knew Tavarian had concluded his business and left already.

  You’ll figure this out, Zara. I had to. Lessie was out there, waiting for me, and I had to get back to her soon before she came looking for me. If the locals saw a dragon flying over the capital, they would take it as an act of war. Tavarian’s mission would be compromised, and thousands of lives would be lost.

  As long as there is life, there is hope, I told myself.

  Now, I only had to believe it.

  To be continued…

  Zara and Lessie’s adventures will continue in Book 3 of the Dragon Riders of Elantia series, title to be announced! Click HERE to be notified when it’s released!

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  About the Author

  JESSICA DRAKE is obsessed with books, chocolate, and traveling. When she’s not binge-watching Lord of the Rings or jet-setting around the world, she can be found chained to her computer, feverishly working on her next project. She loves to hear from her readers, so feel free to drop her a line at jessica@authorjessicadrake.com.