“Glenndon?” Valeria shifted her gaze from her toes to her brother’s face and back again. He caught the glisten of tears at the corners of her eyes. “Why do you have to leave?”
I wish I knew for sure. He had trouble meeting her gaze as well.
“Is this because you can’t talk?” She looked tired today. But she was always tired.
He shrugged. Where is Lillian? You two are never apart.
“She . . . she is combing Mama’s hair.”
He lifted an eyebrow in question. This must be important to you.
“It is. I need to know why you have to leave us. What will I do without you? You are the only one able to force Lillian to keep our secret.”
He knew that when she fought her body for energy she found it easier to speak than to project telepathically. Glenndon was the opposite.
What have you and Lillian been doing that has worn you down so much you can barely stand?
“Don’t change the subject, Glenndon.” She plunked her bottom onto the rock beside his favorite bathing pool while he skipped stones across the quiet water.
One, two, three jumps. He used only his muscle strength and skill. If he pushed the flat stone with magic, it would skip a dozen or more times.
Answer my question. What have you done to tire yourself so much? He was the only one who ever tried to figure out what ailed his sister. She’d be sixteen this summer and only recently showed signs of maturing. Lillian had passed into womanhood two years ago.
“Not much,” Valeria replied.
He glared at her, pulling the information from her faster than she could block his penetration of her mind. He saw their usual lessons in magic, reading, writing, more magic to read beneath the printed words and to write in such a way that ordinary words took on different meanings when viewed by magic. Valeria had also scried for contact with Queen Rossemikka. But the queen had either been absent from her suite, or occupied by a visitor who must never know she possessed magic.
Glenndon lingered on that memory. She made the effort to yank it back behind a mental wall of privacy.
“You fear that someone will betray the queen,” she said flatly. “But surely there is someone else who can protect her. Maigret perhaps? Didn’t she used to spy for Da as a lady-in-waiting?”
Long ago. She’s too old and settled at the University now. She and Master Robb have two children.
“Why does it have to be you?” she wailed.
Because the king and queen asked for me, not Maigret, or Da, or anyone else. Me. Just me.
“There’s more you aren’t telling me.”
His silence told her more than his thoughts ever would.
Mama is ready for us. Glenndon dropped his latest stone and marched back through the forest toward the clearing, ripping fuzzycurls off the tops of the saber ferns as he passed.
Valeria followed after him. He let her drink in some of his energy to refuel all that she had spent that day. Too much. She’d done too much without help. She’d be ill tonight and all day tomorrow if she didn’t take what he offered to keep her on her feet.
And he wouldn’t be with her to help her through the night when she was so tired she forgot to breathe.
How would she survive without those little bursts of strength and grounding to the Kardia beneath her feet?
I have found my weapon. I found it in the most unlikely of places, Market Isle. Who knew the vendors had such extensive and illegal contacts with their counterparts across the sea. Princess Rosselinda led me right to the man who can bring in an unlimited supply of weapons, consorts. “The more fathers, the bigger and stronger the clutch.” That’s what my lovely tells me.
It is the opposite for humans. The more mothers, the bigger and stronger my army. If I promise each soldier three wives, they will produce three times the children who will follow me without question.
What an interesting concept. I shall have the princess as my primary consort, but two others . . . Father’s latest light of love is a good start on my own clutch of children.
In the meantime my princess has shown me the path to destroying her father. He is the last advocate for keeping magic and magicians in Coronnan. I shall give this egg to my father, allow the hatchling to enthrall him so that he obeys my lovely and raises the army we need to follow through with the king’s demise.
With him gone, the dragons will lose their reason for staying in Coronnan. They will scatter, become easy targets to the hunters within my army when separated. Each dragon will feed a village for a winter. If I give them food in the coming drought they will love me and never reject me.
I knew my patience would be rewarded. And now I have my weapon. A little more planning, a little more recruitment, and then I shall pull together all of the little pieces of my plan.
CHAPTER 11
“WE ONLY HAVE TO GO over that rise, best to let the steeds walk a bit, cool down before we rest them.” P’pa’s quiet words broke Linda out of her depressing circle of thoughts.
Assassination. P’pa had forced her to think about the danger that faced all monarchs, no matter how beloved of the people. There was always someone eager to take power for power’s sake without weighing the responsibilities and need for compromise.
“What happens when we get over the rise?” She had to change the subject before she started crying at the whole idea that someone she knew, anyone, wanted to murder her father.
“Patience, Linda. Patience. We have to tether our mounts and walk a bit.”
They found some sturdy saplings near a stream to tie the steeds on a long rein, giving them a chance to crop a good circle of grass while they waited. If they needed, the beasts could also reach the stream for a drink.
As they neared the next rise on foot, P’pa took Linda’s hand. A big smile creased his face. He looked younger and happier than she’d seen him in a long time. All thoughts of assassins, marriage treaties, and bastard sons seemed banished for the moment.
She smiled too, happy to see him enjoying himself away from the worries and pressure of court; happy to have him all to herself. No lords demanding his ear, no Fred hovering constantly at his shoulder on the lookout for danger, no servants fussing over his appearance, no missives to write, and neither of her sisters, Manda and Josie, pestering him for attention. A bubble of pride spread through her. Today was special. She was special to share this secret with P’pa.
A strange sound startled her, like ten thousand birds descending in a flock, and the cackle of ten thousand flusterhens screeching in protest at having their eggs stolen. Or . . .
And then she saw movement without substance. A hint of color here and there. More than the flash of sunlight on crystal she’d seen moments before.
And a pressure in the back of her mind.
She stopped short, tugging on her father’s hand. Fear rooted her in place. At the same time her feet itched to turn and run. Run back to the fleet steeds that would carry her home to the city and safety.
P’pa firmed his grip on her hand. “What happened to your insatiable curiosity?” he asked on a chuckle.
Linda gulped. Well, she did want to know what could make such a terrible racket. Even if it did scare her.
“Look closer, Little Lindy.”
A name she thought she’d outgrown. But at the moment the familiarity, and the affection behind it, reassured her.
Sidling behind, she peeked around him into the sheltered vale, a wide bowl surrounded by rolling hills covered in lush meadow grasses and small shrubs.
There at the center sat the biggest animal she’d ever seen, ever dreamed about. Taller than two sledge steeds and broader than two more, it swung its massive head around to face her. Light danced along a single horn growing from a broad forehead. Spines marched down its back, diminishing in size and sharpness. Iridesc
ent wings and body drew her eye. All colors swirled together, but no single definable color. And yet the bright noon sunlight reflected and pushed her to look elsewhere.
The pressure in her mind increased. Not really painful, just a bit of urgency. She pressed her fingertips to her temples.
“Is . . . is that a dragon?” she whispered, afraid the animal would see her.
(Welcome, Rosselinda, daughter to our King Darville and Queen Rossemikka. Shayla here.)
The words popped into her mind. Real and yet not. The pressure eased a bit.
“Greet her, and call her by name.” P’pa drew her out from behind him. “She won’t hurt you. I don’t think she can hurt one of royal blood.”
“But . . .”
“Go ahead.”
“What is her name, P’pa?” The dragon’s greeting slipped from her memory, crowded out by amazement, confusion, fear, and . . . curiosity.
P’pa laughed long and loud. “Have you forgotten the dragon lore you read and reread to tatters until I had to have the book copied, the very tales we told you to put you to sleep in the nursery?”
“This can’t be . . .”
“Yes, it is. And she will be with you forever, protect and guide you, as long as you listen.”
Rosselinda gulped and somehow found a tiny bit of courage buried deep within.
“Greetings, Shayla, matriarch of the nimbus. Greetings and . . . and welcome. I think.”
Shayla reared up on her hind legs, flapping her wings. She bugled an ear-splitting screech.
Linda slapped her hands over her ears.
Then she saw the source of the dragon’s distress. A line of lords and soldiers ranked along the hilltop. The soldiers had all nocked their crossbows and aimed at the dragon’s heart.
Linda ran to stand between the magnificent beast and the army. She stood tall and proud, as much a target as Shayla. “This is my dragon, you may not hurt her,” she yelled. “I forbid it!”
Not a single bowman shifted his aim.
“I know I told you never to use this spell, Glenndon,” Da, no, not his Da, Jaylor said. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to banish the headache of fatigue.
Glenndon had to stop thinking of this man as his father. But how could he? Jaylor had made the first witchball for him, a concoction of twigs and moss and magic that fell apart when it hit anything hard. Jaylor had showed him the magic in a spring flower first coming into bloom as well as how to gather dragon magic, or pull magical energy from a ley line deep within the Kardia. Jaylor would always be his Da, even if King Darville was his father.
“There is a sense of urgency in Mikka’s letter,” Mama added. “There isn’t time for you and Fred to walk to Coronnan City, or even ride fleet steeds.” Shadows darkened her deep blue eyes even though she held herself straight and strong and ready to battle dragons or rogue magicians, anyone who might threaten her family.
One by one, the family gathered in a circle around Glenndon and Fred, the awed, but not cowed, king’s bodyguard. One by one, they hugged Glenndon tightly, then joined hands to enclose them with magic and with love.
“You know how to transport both yourself and Fred safely. This is a dangerous spell; it will drain you of energy. Never try to do it without preparation and a full stomach. Never try it without a firm destination and true sense of time. Take an image from Fred’s mind. He will direct you to the best place and time to appear without alarming any mundane,” Jaylor instructed.
“Use your magic cautiously and sparingly,” his brother Lukan added. “I don’t want to have to come and save your ass.”
“Learn to speak. Please,” Valeria added. She looked healthier than she had a few hours ago by the pool, her red-gold hair brighter.
Take care of yourself, little one. You know how to conserve your strength. Don’t let Lillian bully you into overextending yourself, or your magic, he sent back to her. Find your own aura. It is distinct from hers.
She frowned a little as she took the hand of her heartier twin. So alike in face and form, yet so different within. He could see her flowing violet color of life energy reach out to join the tighter swirls of Lillian’s plain blue aura—too pale to ever be called magician blue. The two auras twisted and twined about each other into a complex braid. The pale, almost colorless blue dominated and overshadowed the violet.
“Take care of yourself, Glenndon.” Mama ran her fingertips along his cheek, memorizing the angle of his bones, the curve of his smile. He could barely see the color of her eyes for the tears that loomed there.
“Be careful, boy.” Jaylor slapped his back and looked away, disguising his own moist eyes.
Lukan thought something rude. But then at sixteen, his body was growing faster than his mind, or his self-control.
Glenndon twisted the image and shot it back to his brother upside down. The boy laughed out loud.
One by one his family sent him a hearty message of encouragement and sadness.
Outside the protection of the clearing, he sensed the entire staff and student body of the University gathering to add their own farewells.
I shall send messages often. Whenever I safely can. He raised a hand in farewell.
Before he lost his courage and bolted from the family circle, he grabbed from Fred’s mind an image of a grassy plain with rolling, windswept hills, dotted with small copses, and the city just out of sight.
The world dissolved into a jolt of sparkling light, threads and streams of various life colors folded away from him.
He brought them down between two trees in the midst of . . .
“Stand down!” Darville yelled, pulling volume out of his gut. The words bounced around the vale and lost themselves in the copses, the grasslands, the chuckling creek, and the dirt.
Not a single arrow shifted position, up down, or sideways. They all remained firmly aimed at the dragon’s heart.
Magic sparkled in the air. He felt as if he had to wade through thick sludge to breathe while bright-colored dust danced around the edges of his vision.
Then suddenly his perspective tilted slightly to the left, every blade of grass and feathered helm took on sharper edges, cleaner lines. The skin of soldiers and lords alike turned opaque, almost translucent. He saw veins and arteries pumping beneath the surface covering; he watched hearts beat and lungs swell.
Dragon magic was like that.
(Protect your ears,) Shayla said calmly. Bemusement sent her thoughts chiming in a delicate tune through Darville’s head.
He looked quickly at his daughter, making sure she heard the communication. Linda, eyes wide in wonder, nodded. Then she threw the hem of her cloak over the top of her hair and ducked down into a tight crouch, head between her knees. At the same time she waddled to the side.
Darville mimicked her action, pulling her back, behind the dragon as he did so.
Shayla reared up, wings spread to shield her king and his daughter. Then she loosed a mighty roar that threatened to down trees and sweep twigs and dry leaves all the way back to the city. Steeds reared, unable to remain grounded. Men bent double, fighting to keep their feet beneath them. One and all, they dropped their bows, swords, or pikes to cover their ears with their hands.
Two heartbeats later, the magnificent all color/no color dragon matriarch swept her wings downward once, took two running steps and launched into flapping, ungainly flight away from danger.
Two enterprising soldiers recovered enough to grab their crossbows and take aim at her unprotected belly.
“No!” Darville shouted. His command was lost in the ear-ringing aftermath of a dragon call.
The arrows flew straight.
Shayla rose higher.
High enough?
The aromatic scent of dragon magic doubled.
A blinding flash erupted
from the copse behind the soldiers. The arrows turned to ash.
A backwash of magic knocked flat everyone still standing.
Above them, free of danger, Shayla loosed another screech, a deafening laugh of derision.
Who did that?! Who destroyed my plan? I needed to kill the matriarch of the dragons in order to remove magic and magicians from Coronnan once and for all. King Darville and his pets played right into my hands. All was in place. I could have manipulated his death, the end of the dragons, the end of magic. Even the Princess Royale was in position to die.
But I did not want her to die. She is to be my consort when I am king.
But someone saved the dragon and the king with a blast of magic. Who? Who dares to rob me of my rights, again, with magic?
Who has that much magic in their hands when all the magicians have been banished from court, from Coronnan City, from respectable society?
I will have their head before this day is out.
And then I will be king. Only as king can I rid this land of the defilement of magic.
CHAPTER 12
GLENNDON STAGGERED as the fireball left his hand. Conjuring and throwing it had used up every last bit of energy he had after the enormous effort of transporting himself and Fred to an unknown location.
S’murghit, it all would have been easier with a staff to ground and guide his magic.
Frantically he searched the Kardia for a hint of a silvery-blue ley line. He wasn’t supposed to tap rogue magic energy, but this was an emergency. Ah, he found a little one shooting straight and true beneath the copse of trees. A shift of his feet and the spindly tendril granted him a bit of reprieve. Not enough.
Fred caught him just before his knees collapsed. “Don’t you think you overdid it a bit?” the bodyguard asked.
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