by Jasmine Walt
“What does it say?” Dareena asked.
“It’s an assassination spell,” Lucyan said. “Meant to make the person look like they fell prey to a mysterious illness.”
Alistair stared. “That sounds a lot like…”
“The way Mother died.” Drystan gripped the arms of his chair so hard Dareena feared he might break them.
“This doesn’t make sense.” Lucyan scrubbed a hand over his tired face. “How in the world did a warlock manage to get into the Keep to cast this spell on Mother? And why did he leave this scroll behind, in the archives of all places?”
“You do realize that this points to the warlocks, right?” Alistair said. “Elves wouldn’t have done this.”
“The elves could have hired a warlock,” Drystan pointed out. He shoved up from his chair and began pacing. “We have to tell Father about this.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Lucyan said. “Especially given his propensity for war right now.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” Drystan demanded. “Sweep this under the rug and pretend it didn’t happen? Someone killed our mother, Lucyan. That someone has to pay.”
“Why not call a full council meeting?” Alistair suggested. Everyone turned to look at him—Alistair wasn’t usually the idea man. “Drystan is right, we can’t just turn the other way. But there’s no need to leave this decision solely in Father’s hands.”
“That may be the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Lucyan said thoughtfully. “Very well—I’ll arrange for it first thing in the morning. Lord Renflaw will be more than happy to grant the request in light of what’s happened with the spymaster. But be prepared,” he warned. “If Father and the council cannot agree on how to proceed, things could get very ugly.”
27
“This is absolutely absurd!”
A ripple of unease went through the council as the king bellowed in Drystan’s face. Drystan held his ground, but he couldn’t blame the council for being nervous—after all, at the last meeting, one of them had been thrown into the dungeons. Renflaw alone knew the truth about what had happened to Shadley that night; telling him was the only way Lucyan had been able to convince him that they were on his side rather than their father’s. Tariana would be returning sometime today, and they would be able to confirm if Shadley had made it to safety.
Even so, a good half of the council seats were empty. Many had begged off or made excuses when Lord Renflaw had sent out the summons. Drystan had hoped that after today’s meeting, his father would begin to see sense, but judging by his reaction, that was not likely to happen.
“I can assure you, this scroll is legitimate,” Lucyan said. “I visited Shadowhaven once, long before the war started, and visited a spellmaker’s shop.”
The king scoffed. “Just like you to dabble in black magic,” he said, looking down at the scroll in his hand with disgust. “How did the three of you find this, anyway?”
“It was Dareena who found it, actually,” Drystan said. “She was looking in the library for something to read and it fell from one of the shelves.”
“Of course,” the king said, rolling his eyes. “I should have known better than to think my sons would find anything this valuable. A woman had to find it instead.”
Drystan ground his teeth together to keep himself from unleashing a scathing retort. “Not just any woman,” he said. “She is the Dragon’s Gift. I saw what happened when she found it—the scroll fell from one of the top shelves even though nobody had done anything to disturb it. It was almost as if the dragon god himself sent a sign.”
“So, you are an augur now, are you?” the king sneered. “Reading signs? Perhaps I should have you shipped off to Targon Temple to train as a priest. Might be the most useful thing I’ve ever done.”
“I am only telling you what I saw,” Drystan said stiffly. Targon Temple was located a few miles north of Dragon’s Keep on a high mountaintop and was the home of the dragon oracle and his attendants. Priests came to the temple to learn how to serve the dragon god before going back to serve the temples in their own hometowns. Drystan had no intention of trading his formal tunics in for robes or shaving off his crown of hair. He was meant to serve the dragon god as the king, not a priest.
“Regardless of how it happened,” Lord Renflaw cut in before the king could taunt him some more, “no one can deny that the scroll exists, and if Lucyan’s translation is correct, this may very well have been the weapon used to strike down your mate, my king. If we can get another warlock to corroborate this translation—”
“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped. “Doing so would only tip off the warlocks that we are onto them. If they are the enemy, they must not know that we have found out the truth!”
“So you believe me then, Father?” Lucyan asked, sounding a little surprised.
“I know all about your little trip to Shadowhaven,” the king said irritably. “You told me you were going on a hunting trip, but I had you followed. Since you didn’t do or say anything stupid, I let it slide. It is a good idea for a future king to familiarize himself with the neighboring kingdoms.”
Drystan felt a flash of jealousy as he exchanged glances with his brothers. They were all thinking the same thing—had the king made up his mind? Was he going to name Lucyan his successor? He’d said that Dareena would be the one to choose, but everyone knew how capricious their father was. He could change that at any time.
A murmur rippled through the rest of the councilmen. “Does this mean that we’ll be going to war against Shadowhaven instead?” one of them said. “And that we can withdraw our troops from elven territory?”
This inspired a rash of other questions, and soon everyone was lobbying strategies and opinions across the table. Some wanted to stop the war entirely, others wanted to turn their forces against the warlocks. Drystan and his brothers said nothing, carefully watching their father for his reaction.
Finally, the king slammed his fist on the table. “Enough!” he roared, silencing everyone else. “Have the rest of you gone mad?”
“Gone mad?” Lord Renflaw sputtered, and Drystan knew he was barely keeping himself from spouting off about the irony of the king calling him mad. “Why would you say such a thing, my king?”
“It is clear,” the king said in a voice like ice, “that you have all forgotten your history. Yes, Shadowhaven may have been responsible for my mate’s death. But who were they allied with in the last war?”
“Elvenhame,” one of the councilmen said after a protracted silence.
“Exactly,” the king spat. “Those filthy elves are no less our enemy now than they have always been. We will not be withdrawing our troops from Elvenhame’s borders, not until we’ve conquered them. Then, and only then, will we march on Shadowhaven.”
He stormed from the room, leaving the councilmen to stare after him, speechless. Drystan and his brothers exchanged helpless glances—this was worse than they could have imagined. They’d hoped to stop the bloodshed—instead, they’d given the king a reason to go after two kingdoms, not just one.
“Your father,” Renflaw said faintly, once the king was out of earshot, “is insane.”
“You don’t have to tell us that,” Alistair muttered.
They stayed with the council for a while longer, trying to come up with a way to get the king to listen. But several hours of back and forth had produced nothing—the councilmen were too afraid for their lives to directly oppose the king, and Drystan and his brothers could not see a way to penetrate their father’s madness long enough for him to see reason. They left the room together, utterly defeated, and were halfway down the hall when someone came running up behind them.
“Tariana!” Drystan exclaimed as his sister grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to a stop. “Did you just arrive?”
“Back in time to miss the council meeting, I see,” Lucyan said dryly. “Although perhaps it’s best you did, considering how it went.”
“What’s wrong?” Alistai
r asked, noting, as Drystan did, the grim set of Tariana’s features. “Did something go awry after you left?” Tension filled the air, and Drystan’s stomach tightened with nerves. Had Shadley been killed, or worse, captured?
“Everything went according to plan,” Tariana said in a voice that suggested otherwise. “But we really need to talk.”
28
While the brothers were shut up in the council meeting, Dareena decided to pay a visit to Targon Temple. Donning her best dress, she set off in a carriage with a guard, clutching the small piece of paper she’d written the prophecy on. The carriage bumped and jostled around the dirt road that wound up the mountainside, and she stared out at the passing trees and wildlife, her chest wound tight with nerves.
She’d wanted to discuss it with the brothers before they went to the council meeting, but she hadn’t wanted to burden their minds with yet another puzzle. Nor did she want them to get their hopes up in case her suspicions were wrong. No, it was better to go to the temple first to pray to the dragon god for guidance. With any luck, her status as the Dragon’s Gift would allow her to speak with the oracle, and he would give her the guidance she needed to move forward.
“We’re here, my lady,” the guard said as the carriage rolled to a stop.
Dareena nodded. She surreptitiously tucked the note into her skirt pocket, then allowed the guard to help her out of the carriage. Smoothing her skirts, she took a deep breath as she looked around.
Targon Temple was the most sacred place in all of Dragonfell, and Dareena could feel it even standing outside. Usually forests were alive with sound, but in this small clearing, there was a hushed reverence, the only sounds the snapping of twigs beneath their shoes and the gentle trickle of a stone fountain carved in the shape of a dragon. A few parishioners were standing around it, washing their hands and mouths before entering the temple, as was customary.
Wrapping her shawl tighter around her, Dareena turned toward the temple. It was a massive structure, two stories tall and constructed of wooden beams painted a brilliant vermillion—the color of dragon’s fire—with golden runes shimmering along some of them. The building material seemed an odd choice, since wood was so flammable, but then again, they were in the middle of a forest. Marble or granite would have been very difficult to bring up the mountainside.
“My lady?” the guard asked. “Are you ready to go inside?”
Dareena nodded. She approached the fountain with the guard and used one of the wooden ladles to scoop up the water. She sucked in a breath as the chilly water splashed over her hands. This high up the mountain, the temperature was far colder. Hurriedly, she cleaned her hands, then swished the water in her mouth and spit it into the gutter that ran along the bottom edge of the fountain. The guard handed her a fresh handkerchief when she was finished, and she used it to dry her hands, then stuck them beneath her armpits to warm them.
Finished, she climbed the steps to the temple, then toed off her shoes and handed them to a waiting attendant. Barefoot, she stepped onto one of the woven rugs that covered the entire wooden floor, thankful for the bit of insulation. Each rug was embroidered with a border of dragons, and Dareena was careful to always step in the middle of the rug lest she offend the god.
On the other side of the main temple floor was a shrine with a statue of the dragon god and various offerings gathered around him. Dareena took the bottle of fire wine she’d brought from the guard and handed it to another attendant before kneeling in front of the dragon’s effigy.
Closing her eyes, she clasped her hands together and prayed for guidance. In the silence of her mind, she told the dragon god all about Drystan, Lucyan, and Alistair, the three men that the king had mandated her to choose between as her husband, and the one to continue the dragon line. She talked about each of their personalities—how Drystan was stern, but tender, and spent more sleepless nights worrying about the fate of the kingdom than anyone else knew. How Lucyan, beneath all his smirks and games, secretly had a heart of gold, and sincerely hoped no one would ever find out. And how Alistair never abandoned his principles or pretended to be anything other than what he was.
How am I supposed to choose? she asked the dragon god. How can I decide to love one more than the others?
Because she did love them all. Fiercely. And she couldn’t stand to break any of their hearts by rejecting one in favor of the other.
Dareena had hoped that because of her status as the Dragon’s Gift, the dragon god might speak to her. But though she briefly felt a presence brush against the edges of her mind, she heard no divine voice. There would be no easy answers, then. She would have to tread this path alone.
Sighing, she opened her eyes. As the guard helped her to her feet, she felt a familiar tingle, the one she always felt when someone was watching her. Turning, she saw the oracle standing to the side. He looked exactly the same as he had last time, his hands tucked into his voluminous vermillion and white robes, his face the picture of serenity.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said in a hushed voice as she approached. “You wanted to visit with me?”
“I did,” Dareena said with a smile. She wondered if he’d divined their meeting, or if he’d simply made an educated guess. It was likely the latter, but still, there was an air of mystery about the oracle that could not be denied. “I am in need of guidance. I was hoping we might talk in private?”
The oracle nodded, then led her to a private garden in the back. They sat on a stone bench in front of a small pond surrounded by fragrant perennials. A butterfly fluttered past, and Dareena reached out. It perched on her finger for a moment, allowing her to admire its shimmering wings, then floated off to sip from the garden’s bountiful nectar. Her guard stood at a discreet distance near a group of tall liatris, close enough to spring into action should anything happen but far enough to be out of earshot.
“Well, we are alone now,” the oracle said. “What is it you wish to speak to me about?”
Dareena hesitated, her fingers wrapping around the scrap of paper in her pocket. “I am not certain if you heard of the king’s decree regarding which of his sons is to be my husband?”
“I have.” The oracle nodded. “He wishes you to choose for yourself. An odd decision, and yet I believe that is the dragon god’s will. Divinity runs within your veins, or you would not have become the Dragon’s Gift, Dareena Sellis. Our god will guide you when the time comes to make a decision.”
“But that’s just it,” Dareena said helplessly. “I can’t make a decision. I care for all three brothers equally. And…and I think that maybe I’m not meant to.”
“Not meant to?” For the first time, the oracle’s serene expression vanished. His brow furrowed as he stared at Dareena. “Of course you are meant to choose. You are the Dragon’s Gift. You cannot reject them all.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” Frustrated, Dareena finally pulled the paper from her skirt pocket. “I found this when I was reading through a book of prophecies about the dragon kings. I think it’s about me and the princes.”
Frowning, the oracle took the paper from Dareena. His eyes widened as he scanned the words, and all the color drained from his face.
“Oracle?” Dareena asked hesitantly, unsure how to interpret his reaction. “Is everything all right?”
“This…this is heresy!” he hissed, color rushing back into his face and turning it bright red. “This should never have been published!”
“What are you doing!” Dareena cried as he tore the paper in two. She tried to snatch it back from him, but he twisted away and ripped it up into pieces. Her guard rushed forward at the sound of her distress, but she held up a hand to ward him off as the tiny pieces of parchment floated away on the wind. A lump swelled in her throat, but she held back the tears as the oracle panted, both of them fighting for composure.
“Why,” she finally said when she trusted her voice enough to speak again, “did you do that?”
“What you just read was nonsense.” The orac
le had resumed his serene expression, his voice steady as the surface of a frozen lake. “The soothsayer who wrote that prophecy was known for her spells of madness. All of her prophecies were supposed to have been stricken from that book. It seems that we missed one of them.”
Dareena stared. “Are you certain?” she asked. “That prophecy is so specific—she seems to be talking directly about us—”
“You dare question me?” Anger flashed in the oracle’s eyes again, and for a split second, Dareena feared he might actually strike her. Surely he wouldn’t, with her guard so close by? But her hand drifted toward her knife again as a tremor of unease filled her. There was something not quite right about this man—something that lurked beneath his aura of serenity.
But the anger in the oracle’s eyes faded away, and he gently patted her shoulder. “I forgive you for your impertinence, my lady,” he said in a soft voice. “We often speak out of turn in times of turmoil, and you have experienced your fair share recently. But you must forget about this nonsense. It is imperative that you pick your mate, and soon. The dragon line must continue.”
Dareena nodded, slowly rising from the stone bench. “Thank you for your guidance,” she said, bowing her head. “I appreciate you taking the time to visit with me.”
“Any time,” the oracle said, getting to his feet as well. “It is always a pleasure to serve the Dragon’s Gift.”
Dareena curtsied, then allowed her guard to escort her back to her waiting carriage. Questions whirled in her mind as the carriage began its journey down the mountainside again, more questions than she could ever hope to answer. But one thing was absolutely certain in her mind.
The oracle was lying.
29
“All right,” Lucyan said as he shut the door to his suite. “Enough of the suspense. Tell us what happened, Tariana.”
He turned to where his sister sat, her boots crossed at the ankles, her arms folded across her chest. She looked exhausted, shadows thick beneath her amber eyes, and even though she was not Lucyan’s favorite person, he felt a moment’s pity for her.