Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3)

by Jaye McKenna

  Vayne suggested.

  His cousin. That was an odd thought, and would take some getting used to. He wondered who Tristin’s mother had been. Vakha and his wife, the lady Saphron, hadn’t ever had children, and the lack had made Saphron a bitter, aloof aunt rather than a kind, affectionate one.

  When Jaire reached Tristin’s window, the dive-and-tumble maneuver required to gain entry felt just as natural as the landing had. When he got to his feet, Ambris and Kian were standing in the main room in human form, already deep in consultation with Vayne, apparently oblivious to the fact that neither of them wore a stitch of clothing.

  Sitting at the table with his hands clasped in his lap was a man who looked so much like Garrik, there was no question in Jaire’s mind that he was a relative. He was far more slender than Garrik, but he had the same height, and similar features. In fact, he looked much more like Garrik than Jaire did.

  Jaire approached his cousin, cheeks flushing at his nudity. “Good afternoon,” he said. “You must be Tristin. I’m Jaire. Vayne says we’re cousins.”

  Tristin pointed to a pile of neatly folded blankets on the table. “You look a bit uncomfortable, Cousin. Have a blanket.”

  “Thank you. This shifting business is going to take a bit of getting used to.” Jaire draped a blanket over himself. “How long have you been stuck in this place?”

  “Do you know, I’m not even certain,” Tristin said with a sad smile.

  “Well, the way the Wytch Council reckons time, it’s the year two hundred and eighty-two after Council Establishment.”

  The color in Tristin’s cheeks faded. “That makes me thirty-two,” he said faintly. “I’ve been here for fifteen years? It doesn’t feel that long, and yet…”

  “They’ve kept you locked up for fifteen years?” Outrage and sympathy nearly choked Jaire. “Why?”

  Tristin spread his hands helplessly. “My Wytch power… when it came upon me, I could touch nothing without being swept away by visions of those who had touched the thing before me. Things that have mostly been handled by one person are the worst. And weapons…” He paused, closing his eyes briefly. “I cannot touch a weapon that’s seen violence without nightmare visions invading my mind.”

  “But… why wouldn’t they have sent you to Master Ilya? He worked at Rakken Academy up until about seven years ago. And he still teaches, only now he’s at his own school, Dragonwatch, in Altan.”

  “I suppose Mordax and Uncle Altivair didn’t want anyone to know I existed,” Tristin said.

  “No one did know,” Jaire said. “Or… if they did, they never spoke of you. Vakha lived at the castle all my life, and he never breathed a word of you. Can I… may I ask who your mother was?”

  “Emira of Ysdrach,” Tristin said. “She was sister to Wytch King Altivair.”

  Jaire frowned, searching his memory, but he didn’t recall the name.

  “It’s unlikely you’d remember her,” Tristin said gently. “My parents were never married. They applied to the Council, but were refused. That didn’t stop them from… well. She became pregnant. My grandfather was furious that she would dare to embroil the line of Ysdrach in scandal. He hid her away at Falkrag. That’s where I grew up, until my Wytch power came upon me and made just walking across the floor unbearable. By that time, Altivair had become the Wytch King of Ysdrach. He’s the one who sent me here.”

  “And you’ve been locked up all this time.” Outrage burned through Jaire at the injustice of it. “And we never even knew you existed.”

  “No,” Tristin said sadly. “Well, to be honest, most of the time, I didn’t really know I existed, either. Mordax kept me drugged much of the time. The drug stopped me from feeling so much at Falkrag… and then… when they brought me here, I suppose it was easier for them to deal with me if I was in a stupor most of the time.”

  “And the remnants of the drug are what’s stopping you from shifting now,” Vayne said as he and Ambris approached the table. “Ambris thinks it’s a variation on anzaria, which stops a Wytch from touching the mythe and accessing his power. While it doesn’t stop anyone else from sensing your mythe-shadow, it does make it impossible for you to do anything.”

  “If you take no more of the drug, I should think enough of it will wear off that you’ll be able to shift by morning,” Ambris added. “I am concerned about how you’ll react to not having enough of the drug in your system, though. Anzaria isn’t something we ever like to use for very long, and if they’ve been feeding it to you for as long as you say, you’re addicted to it. There’s no way around that.”

  “Yes,” Tristin said softly. “I am most definitely addicted. I’ve tried to stop taking it several times. It’s… unpleasant, to say the least.”

  All three of the healers looked grave, and finally Vayne said, “I want Jaire on his way to safety as soon as possible. Ambris, you know the way back. You, Kian, and Jaire must set off for Altan immediately. I’ll wait here with Tristin, and we’ll set out in the morning, if he’s up to it. We may need to take it slowly if I’m to support him through withdrawal during the flight, so don’t panic if you don’t see us when you expect to.”

  Ambris nodded. “I shall return to assist you as soon as we’ve seen Prince Jaire safely home.”

  “We both will,” Kian said to Vayne. “If the journey proves too difficult for Tristin, you and he can take shelter and await our return. I will wear Garrik’s saddle; I can carry Tristin easily.”

  “And if he is unconscious,” Ambris added, “we can secure him to the saddle for the flight.”

  “An excellent plan.” Vayne followed the two of them into the bedroom, giving Ambris a list of things to bring back upon his return.

  “Don’t worry, Tristin,” Jaire said as he rose from his seat to follow them into the other room. “We’ll get you sorted out. Master Ilya’s very good at helping people who are having trouble controlling their Wytch powers. My brother’s ability to shift was forcibly awakened, and he had no idea what to do. The Wytch Council would have had him killed if he hadn’t been able to control himself, but Master Ilya came and taught him. He’ll be able to help you, too. I’m certain of it.”

  Tristin started to smile, but then his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened and fixed on the wall behind Jaire. Turning slowly, Jaire saw four Drachan soldiers standing in the open mythe-gate, all of them staring at him. For one moment, he froze in fear, then instinct took over, and he shifted.

  He hadn’t tried to breathe fire before, and wasn’t even certain that was what his kind of dragon did. That didn’t stop him from trying, though, and his body seemed to know exactly what it was doing.

  Jaire drew in a breath, visualized the first breathing-nasty-things-upon-one’s-enemy pattern that floated in his mind’s eye, and closed his eyes.

  There was a derisive bark of laughter from across the room, and he opened his eyes to see a little puff of sparkly smoke hanging in the air before him. Jaire stared at it in horror. Where was the fire and the fury? What was the point of having a dragon form if he couldn’t use it to defend himself?

  Beyond the smoke, Tristin stood, frozen, facing two Drachan with drawn swords. The other two had withdrawn and were watching from the other side of the mythe-gate.

  A moment later, a man in black robes stepped through. A Wytch Master. Not Faah — this man was somewhat younger than Faah, with long, golden hair and sharp features.

  Mordax?

  The Wytch Master waved his hand, and something in the mythe twisted and caught Jaire’s mind up in a dark snare. He felt himself shifting, falling, drowning, and then there was nothing.

  Chapter Ten

  “You left him there?” The Wytch King’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at the three dragon shifters standing before the huge, polished desk in his study.

  Vayne was so tired, his hands shook as he drew his borrowed cloak closer about his shoulders. They’d arrived in the middle of the nigh
t, but the guardsmen had instructions to rouse the Wytch King if any of the shifters should return. They’d been met with water and cloaks, and hustled to the king’s study.

  Now, the Royal Wytch Master placed a restraining hand on the king’s shoulder. “Gently, Garrik,” he murmured. “They are as concerned as you, and have done their best. They exhausted themselves to get here, and haven’t even taken time to dress properly before reporting to you.”

  “It was my decision to leave him,” Vayne said stiffly. “I take full responsibility. With both prison levels breached, there was no reason to expect Jaire and Tristin would be returned to Shadowspire. I followed their mythe-shadows. They were taken to the base of the tower and then disappeared from my senses. I can only assume they went through the mythe-gate to Falkrag. As none of us is keyed to the gate, there was nothing more we could have done.”

  Leaving Jaire to his fate was one of the hardest things Vayne had ever done. His heart felt as if it had been torn to shreds, and if he’d thought it would do any good, he’d have turned around and flown back to Shadowspire the moment he’d seen Ambris and Kian to safety.

  “Did you leave anything behind that might lead them here?” Ilya asked.

  “No,” Vayne said. “As soon as Ambris realized what was happening, he went back into the upper level and gathered our supplies. I went back into Tristin’s prison and collected my inks before the Drachan were sent back to conduct a search.”

  “Excellent,” Ilya said with a nod. “That was quick thinking, Ambris.”

  “I did not like the thought of my jewel falling into Faah’s hands,” Ambris said. “Or the thought of the Council using my power against you.”

  There was a long silence, and finally, Garrik stirred and said, “Our only choice appears to be to wait for Faah to make a move. Given what we’ve seen of Faah’s reliance on mythe-gates, we cannot assume we will find them in Ysdrach. In fact, if I were Faah, Ysdrach is the last place I would hide them.”

  “Faah will have to assume that Kian has escaped and will try to warn you,” Ilya said. “So he may also assume he has some time in which to do so, provided he is not aware of Kian’s true nature.”

  “Faah also has no idea he will be dealing with five dragon shifters,” Garrik said, eyes glittering with malice. “When he dictates terms, he will be thinking about protecting himself and his men from me and Ilya. He does not even know the three of you exist. We must be ready when his messenger arrives.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Vayne said grimly, glancing at Kian and Ambris, who both nodded their agreement. “What can we do to help you prepare?”

  “Rest yourselves,” Garrik said. “I will see that you are given a good meal before you settle. Ilya, I need you to check the Ysdrach border for any sign of troop movement. If Faah intends for Ysdrach to invade, he will waste no time in moving his troops to the border. There are only three places where he can move large numbers of men across the river quickly.” Garrik moved to one of the maps hanging on his study wall, and pointed out three spots along the Blue River. “The bridge along the South Trade Road is the most obvious choice, but there is also a ferry here, and this time of year, it’s shallow enough to ford here.”

  Ilya nodded briefly. “I shall leave immediately, but I’ll not be surprised if there is nothing to find. If Faah is able to build mythe-gates, he might well be planning to gate troops in directly from wherever they’re stationed.”

  Garrik frowned. “Is he that strong?”

  “I would not have thought so, but Mordax could be, and given what Vayne overheard about Faah working with Master Taretha, it’s very possible he has access to something like Ambris’s jewel. If he has enough power stored away, he could indeed gate troops directly into Altan.”

  “That will make planning more difficult,” Garrik said. “I shall need to consult my captains. Ambris, Kian, you can take your usual guest suite. Prince Vayne, the suite you used the other day is still ready. I’ll have some suitable clothing found for you.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Vayne said, bowing his head.

  “You can thank me by getting my brother back in one piece,” Garrik said with a grim smile.

  * * *

  “Vayne?” A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

  “Jaire?” Vayne opened his eyes to see Ambris standing at his bedside. “What’s happened?”

  “Garrik has summoned us to meet with him and Wytch King Ord. He sends his apologies, and he has asked me to help you.”

  “Help me…?”

  Ambris pulled the blue jewel from his pocket. “I can restore your energy, as I did after we worked on Jaire and Kian.”

  Vayne stretched. His mind felt foggy, and his body ached. “If you can do that, I would be most grateful. I fear I’m not at my best at the moment. And if Faah makes his move today, I may need to be.”

  “Lie back and relax, then, and close your eyes. This won’t take long.”

  Vayne did as he was told, and soon felt the infusion of energy tingling through his limbs. His mind cleared, and all the aches and pains of overused muscles faded away until only a pleasant, lingering warmth remained.

  “There,” Ambris said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Good as new.”

  “Thank you.” Vayne sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

  Ambris pointed to a pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. “I’ve brought you some things… we’re close to the same size, so they ought to be a reasonable fit. When you’re ready, report to Garrik’s study immediately. He’s having breakfast served there. I expect we’ll be asked to repeat all we said last night for Ord’s benefit.”

  “I wonder how Garrik’s planning to explain my presence,” Vayne mused.

  “If I know Garrik, it will be announced bluntly and without fanfare,” Ambris said drily. “He’s not one for wasting time dancing about an issue, especially when he has more pressing concerns.”

  Ambris, it turned out, knew his king very well.

  “Ah, Vayne, good morning,” Garrik said as Vayne was admitted to the study by the two guardsmen flanking the door.

  Around the large work table sat Kian and Ambris, Wytch Master Ilya, Wytch King Ord, and several of Garrik’s advisors, all of whom were enjoying a selection of breakfast pastries while they pored over the maps spread across the table.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” Vayne said. In the more formal clothing Ambris had loaned him, he felt much more comfortable than he had last night, wearing nothing but a cloak.

  “Have a seat,” Garrik said, “and help yourself to breakfast. Wytch King Ord, may I present to you one of your long lost relatives, Prince Vayne. He is the youngest son of Wytch King Urich, who was put to death by the Council during the Irilan Rebellion.”

  Ord shot Garrik an irritated scowl. “You’ll have to do a bit more explaining than that, Garrik.”

  Vayne executed a deep bow. “Greetings, Your Majesty. Difficult as it may be to believe, I am indeed Wytch King Urich’s son.” He remained on his feet as he related his tale to Ord. The Wytch King of Irilan’s expression grew more and more incredulous as Vayne told his story.

  When he got to the part about Prince Jaire’s kidnapping and Faah’s plot to put Tristin on Altan’s throne, Ord interrupted him. “This is all very well,” he said, giving Garrik a baleful glare, “but as far as I can see, you haven’t a scrap of proof that this young man is who he says he is. Given his coloring, he could be a bastard out of any of the northern kingdoms.”

  “I have verified the truth of Vayne’s story,” Ilya said quietly. “He submitted willingly to the examination. I imagine he would be willing to do so again, if you wish Wytch Master Ythlin to verify his story for herself.”

  Wytch King Ord glanced at his Wytch Master.

  “If Ilya has spoken for him, I am content,” Ythlin said. “But if Your Majesty asks it, I shall perform my own examination.”

  Ord hesitated, but before he could speak, Vayne said, “You do not need to fear my intentions
, Your Majesty.” He circled the table to kneel beside Ord’s chair. “I, Vayne of Irilan, hereby renounce any claim to the throne of Irilan and swear to uphold your claim and that of your sons above all others. I ask only that you allow me to serve my kingdom in whatever capacity you feel appropriate.”

  “I accept your allegiance, Vayne.” Ord held out a hand, and Vayne kissed his ring.

  “You will not regret this,” Vayne said softly as he rose. “I can help your cause.”

  “How?” Ord demanded.

  “By continuing my father’s work in the service of the Northern Alliance you and Wytch King Garrik intend to build.”

  Ord met his gaze and held it for a long time. Finally, the Wytch King nodded once and said, “We will speak of this in detail later.” To Garrik, he said, “I have been waiting for the Council to overstep itself in this way. Ythlin warned me something like this would be coming when Nerith’s health finally forced him to step down. That is why I’ve been eager to bind the northern kingdoms together. I had hoped we would have more time, but it appears we must act quickly. Have you sent messengers to Miraen and Rhiva?”

  “Not yet,” Garrik said. “I had thought to send Ilya once I was certain of your support.”

  “Altan has my support,” Ord said flatly. “As it always has. I will inform the captain of my escort that his men are to work with yours should defense of the castle become necessary.”

  “Thank you.” Garrik didn’t attempt to hide the relief in his voice. “I am not expecting an invasion. Ilya patrolled the border last night and noted nothing suspicious in the way of troop movement.”

  “As I cautioned you, Your Majesty,” Ilya said, “that is assuming they are not masking the presence of their troops by some means I cannot detect, or planning to use a gate. We already know Faah has been making use of mythe-gates to move to and from Altan, and from Falkrag to Shadowspire. It would not surprise me if he plans to use them to move troops, as well. And we can only guess at what other resources Cenyth and the Council might have made available to him.”