Might of the Dragon

by Jessica Drake

  He smiled, just a little. “I find that a bit of levity helps in situations like this. I have been through worse, Zara. I am far more concerned about you. If push comes to shove, and I am forced to leave, I will try my best to take you with me. But as much as it pains me to say it, under the current circumstances you may actually be safer with Salcombe. Several innocent countrymen suspected of being Elantian spies have already been hanged, including a bookshop owner who was an old friend of mine.” His eyes deepened with sorrow. “He emigrated from Elantia nearly twenty years ago to marry a Traggaran woman he’d fallen in love with, and left a large family behind. If someone like him, with deep roots in the community, can be executed, then I could easily be next.”

  My stomach plummeted as an image of Tavarian dangling from the gallows, his face bloated and bluish-purple in death, burst into my mind. But before I could say anything, he rose. “We have tarried too long,” he murmured, and my chest tightened as I noticed Salcombe now staring in our direction. “Stay safe, Zara.”

  And with that, he disappeared, leaving me with the solitude I’d desperately craved, yet no longer wanted.

  2

  Painfully aware that Salcombe was watching me, I forced myself to get up from the bench and mingle with the crowd, careful not to go anywhere near Lord Tavarian. Had Salcombe recognized him? It was dark out, and we were far away, partially hidden by the hedges. It was entirely possible Salcombe hadn’t seen him at all.

  As the minutes passed, and it became apparent that Salcombe was not going to seek me out to pester me about my encounter, I relaxed. Clearly, he was not concerned. Perhaps he thought I was merely chatting up another nobleman in the hopes of ferreting out Lord Fanuel’s location, like the good little soldier I’d been for so many years.

  Maybe I should socialize, I thought as I picked at a small plate of fruit and cheese. Just because I didn’t want to help Salcombe with his agenda didn’t mean there wasn’t valuable information to be gained here. I might be able to learn something that would help Tavarian with his mission. After all, if he could convince the Traggarans to back down before Salcombe whisked me out of the capital, there was a chance I could go back to Elantia with him.

  The thought of getting away from Salcombe and reuniting with Lessie lit a fire under me, and for the next hour, I wholeheartedly threw myself into the party. Most of the attendees were Traggaran nobles, not particularly known for their hospitality to outsiders, especially ones who did not speak their language well. But I could be charming when I wanted. I focused most of my attention on the men, who I knew would have a hard time resisting the smiles and attentions of a young, pretty woman. It worked well enough—though the women didn’t much appreciate it—but I didn’t find out anything useful, mages or otherwise. Every time I brought up the subject of magic, the Traggarans recoiled with distaste. Their general attitude was that mages were dangerous, best to be avoided. No one I spoke to had heard of Lord Fanuel, which made me think they practiced what they preached even amongst their own circle.

  Well that’s something, I told myself. If the Traggaran nobles refused to associate with Fanuel, that would make him that much harder for Salcombe to find.

  As I made my rounds through the various clusters of guests, I noticed one man who spoke with a heavy Zallabarian accent. “Excuse me, sir,” I said in perfect Zallabarian, recognizing the crest embroidered onto his very expensive-looking tunic. “Are you the Zallabarian ambassador?”

  He turned to me, a look of surprised delight on his face. “I am. General Trattner, at your service. And who might you be?”

  “Lady Zara Trentiano,” I said with a smile. “My husband and I are from Warosia, but my mother-in-law is Zallabarian, and we travel there quite often.” In fact, that was how Salcombe had managed to get his false Zallabarian citizenship papers—by faking a relative. “It is a pleasure to meet someone else from my mother-in-law’s home country.”

  “And it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, inclining his head. “Your Zallabarian is impeccable. If not for your surname, I would never have guessed you were not a native.”

  The two of us exchanged a few words of polite conversation, and though the ambassador did not seem like the type to normally indulge pretty young girls in conversation—he was, as Tavarian had warned, a bit on the stuffy side—I managed to reel him in by talking to him about Zallabarian history. I’d been to Zallabar several times on treasure hunts, and that, combined with my recent study of the nation in preparation for the war, made me quite well-versed in their history and culture. In no time at all, we were walking around the garden, arm in arm, discussing the pre-dragon war exploits of past Zallabarian kings.

  “I must admit I did not expect to enjoy your company quite so much,” Trattner said as we stopped by one of the refreshment tables to grab a bite of food. “Most of the men here have little interest in discussing learned subjects such as history, never mind the history of my own country. They much prefer to talk of gossip, or hunting, or whatever frivolous pursuits have currently struck their fancy.”

  The hint of distaste in his voice told me that the Zallabarian ambassador liked the Traggarans about as much as King Zoltar liked him. “The Traggarans do take a bit of effort to warm up to,” I said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the forearm. “But I am sure that they will become much friendlier once you have finalized the alliance. After all, they have been wanting to go after Elantia for decades, have they not?”

  “Indeed, but it seems that Traggarans take things at a slower pace than we Zallabarians do. Adjusting to this…leisurely attitude of war has been a challenge, to say the least,” Trattner said, his tone crackling with frustration. I held my breath, hoping he would say more, but he blinked, seeming to realize what he had said. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to sour the mood with such talk.”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” I said soothingly, moving in a bit closer. “I am always willing to lend an ear to a friend.”

  He smiled. “You remind me of my wife,” he said. His eyes, a clear gray, softened with wistfulness. “I wish I could have brought her with me. She is a devoted historian, and our four children are also quite passionate about learning. I believe she would have greatly enjoyed conversing with you.”

  “I am sure I would have as well,” I said, surreptitiously leaning away from him. The hint was clear—he was a family man, devoted to his wife, and I definitely had no desire to overstep any boundaries. “Speaking of spouses, I really should be getting back to my husband. He will be wondering where I have gotten off to.”

  “Of course.” Gently, he extricated his arm from mine and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Zara. If we should find ourselves at the same event and you are in need of good conversation, please feel free to seek me out.”

  I slipped away and rejoined Salcombe, who stood near a fountain talking to a matron who seemed far more interested in flirting than she was in answering Salcombe’s questions. The relief on Salcombe’s face when he saw me approaching was almost palpable, and for a split second I thought about veering off in another direction, if only to make him sweat a little.

  But I didn’t want to provoke Salcombe, so I returned to his side like the dutiful wife I was pretending to be.

  “Darling,” I cooed, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I find I am afflicted with a terrible headache. Can we retire for the evening?”

  “How terrible,” Salcombe said, putting his arm around me. He gave a perfunctory smile to the woman, who was eyeing me with annoyance. “Excuse me, my lady, but my wife is feeling under the weather. I must escort her home now.”

  As we walked toward the gate, I spotted Lord Tavarian off to the side, talking with an older man in military uniform. I did my best not to look directly at him, but from the way Salcombe’s grip tightened on my arm, I knew he’d spotted him.

  “It seems you have been quite busy tonight,” he murmured in my ear. “Did Lord Tavarian have anything of interest to say when you cozi
ed up to him on the bench?”

  Dammit. He had seen. “The conversation was disappointing,” I said in a clipped voice. “He told me that I would be safer staying with you and to keep out of his way.” There. That wasn’t even a lie.

  Salcombe smirked. “He’s not wrong,” he said as we passed through the gates, stopping at the curb to wait for our carriage. “Lord Tavarian could be murdered or thrown out of the country any day now. He couldn’t even save that friend of his from hanging, and if he loses his diplomatic status he may very well suffer the same fate. He is certainly in no position to help you.”

  I glowered at Salcombe, forgetting that I had resolved not to provoke him. “You sound like you want him to be disgraced.”

  “And why wouldn’t I?” Salcombe asked. “If not for him, I wouldn’t have to threaten you to keep you by my side. Tavarian is an obstacle, especially since he is protecting a piece of the dragon god’s heart, and under different circumstances I might try to eliminate him myself. But there is no need to put myself at risk when the Traggarans are doing such a good job at keeping him at bay.”

  I pressed my lips together, deciding not to mention that if Salcombe hadn’t sent me to Tavarian’s estate to steal the piece of heart, I never would have met him. The carriage pulled up, and Trolbos exited and held the door.

  “All the same,” Salcombe said when we were settled inside, “I forbid you from meeting with Lord Tavarian again, should we run into him at future gatherings. If I were to find out that you are conspiring with him against me, it would take very little effort to whisper into the right ear and have him thrown into the very dungeons I rescued you from.”

  My blood turned to ice. “Don’t worry,” I said stiffly. “I have no use for him, since he can’t help me anyway.”

  Salcombe chuckled. “Good. You are learning.”

  Trolbos settled back into the carriage again, this time next to Salcombe. I held in a sigh as he fixed me with a glare, and looked out the window, trying to ignore him. The party had given me a brief respite from the hulking giant, but now that I was back in his vicinity, his animosity was greater than ever. He clearly didn’t like being forced to wait outside, away from his employer, unable to keep an eye on me while I was getting up to who knew what. I was relieved when the carriage finally rolled to a stop outside our rented townhouse and I was able to put some distance between us.

  Back inside the townhouse, Salcombe and I adjourned to the sitting room, where a servant had set out tea and biscuits. The last thing I wanted was to spend more time with Salcombe, but I forced myself to join him on the sofa, stirring a cube of sugar and some cream into my cup. I wanted him to let his guard down, to start seeing me as a partner rather than a prisoner, and in order to do that I had to at least appear cooperative.

  “Did those scholars you were talking to give you any useful information?” I asked.

  “No,” Salcombe admitted, “but one of them did introduce me to the king’s high chancellor, who has promised to present us at court next week.”

  “Court?” My mind froze as I struggled to process what to many was considered a great honor. “Don’t I need to have a fancy dress or something?”

  “You do,” Salcombe said dryly. “The fanciest dress you are likely to ever wear in your lifetime, even to your own wedding, should you ever marry. You will go to the modiste first thing tomorrow to be fitted.”

  “I doubt she’ll be able to have something ready for me on such short notice,” I protested. “And a week isn’t nearly long enough to prepare. What if we accidentally blow our cover? If they find out that we’re not actually Warosian nobles, they’ll have us hanged as spies.”

  “I will let the modiste be the judge of whether or not a week is long enough to make such a dress,” Salcombe said. “As far as blowing our cover, that is not a concern. I have been preparing for this meeting much longer than you have. So long as you look pretty and keep your mouth shut, there is no reason anything should go wrong.”

  I swallowed a nasty retort—Salcombe hadn’t raised me to be pretty and docile, but intelligent and effective. The fact that he now expected me to pretend to be a china doll chafed, but I’d already objected too much, so I kept my thoughts to myself. Maybe I could find a way to turn our court visit to my advantage.

  Salcombe seemed to misinterpret the look on my face as anxiety, as his expression softened. “I have not prepared you for this kind of thing,” he said, “so I have arranged for Lady Astilla Denham to assist you over the next few days. She is an upstanding member of Traggaran high society, dull enough that she won’t ask the wrong questions, but with the right connections to make sure you get everything you need.”

  “I see.” I pasted a grateful smile on my face. “Is there anything I can do to help you in the meantime?”

  Salcombe shook his head. “I will spend the next few days in a private library one of the scholars I spoke to offered me access to, while you get ready for court. Hopefully, I will be able to unearth a few more clues about the remaining heart pieces.”

  “All right.” I set my tea cup down and rose. “Since I’ll likely have to make an early start of it tomorrow, I’ll be going to bed now.”

  “Zara.” Salcombe’s voice stopped me before I managed to make it more than two steps. I turned back to see him staring at me, his brow furrowed. “I saw you flirting with General Trattner, the Zallabarian ambassador.”

  “What of it?” My stomach tensed. Was there something about the ambassador I didn’t know? Was he an enemy of Salcombe’s? If so, maybe I could exploit it.

  But Salcombe merely looked annoyed, not agitated. “I know I told you to go amuse yourself, but do not waste your time talking to foreigners. They are of no use to us on our current quest.”

  “Actually, it turns out that the ambassador has an interest in history and antiquities,” I said. “It’s quite possible he might prove to be a useful connection in the future.”

  Salcombe thought it over. “I suppose you have a point,” he finally said. “Very well, you may continue to foster the relationship. Good night.”

  I went off to my room, chewing over everything I’d learned tonight. That last exchange with Salcombe proved he was thinking long-term and didn’t have plans to kill me anytime soon, despite his threats. Indeed, even though he was still focused on getting the pieces of the dragon god’s heart, he didn’t seem quite as obsessive as he had the first time he’d kidnapped me. Could it be that the dragon god’s influence on him was lessening, due to decreased proximity to the heart?

  Careful, Zara, I warned myself as the maid helped me out of my clothes and into a nightgown. It would do no good for me to fall into the trap of thinking Salcombe could be redeemed. He was my adversary, regardless of our history, and he needed to be stopped.

  Depression settled heavily on my chest as I slid into bed. I was in enemy territory, at Salcombe’s mercy, without a single friend to turn to for help. Even Tavarian was of no help to me—until he got his audience with the Traggaran king, he couldn’t make a single move without risking his own neck. I was on my own.

  Desperate for comfort, I reached through the bond for Lessie, wanting reassurance that she was still alive. The moment I did, I felt a surge of anger so strong it stole my breath. Heart pounding, I shot upright in bed, straining to reach her across the bond. What was happening?

  “Lessie? Are you there? What’s wrong?”

  But Lessie didn’t answer. All I could feel was her anger, mixed with a healthy dose of frustration. Something had really pissed her off. I clenched my fists, growing angry as well. I’d sent Lessie back to camp because I’d thought the military would protect her. If anything happened while she was in their custody…

  Calm down, I ordered before I worked myself into a frenzy. Lessie might be angry, but she

  wasn’t afraid, or sad, or anxious. Whatever was going on wasn’t life-threatening. She might not even be at camp at all. Biting my lip, I wondered how things were going on the other side of the
channel. The soldiers were all aware that I was AWOL by now…were they worried for me, or had they branded me as a deserter? I was almost certain that Colonel Roche, who’d hated me from the start, assumed the worst about my absence. But perhaps Lessie had returned and explained to the other dragons what had happened. Kadryn would definitely pass that information on to Jallis, but would he do anything with it? He seemed so reluctant to stick up for me lately that I honestly had no idea what he’d do.

  Helpless, I tried to push as much affection as I could through the bond, trying to let Lessie know I was thinking about her and that I’d get back to her as soon as I could. The best I could hope for was that she received the message, and that it would calm her.

  Shut it off, Zara, I ordered myself. But Lessie was as much a part of me as my beating heart. And now that I’d felt her pain, I could no more shut it off than I could stop breathing.

  3

  I’d hoped that Lessie’s anger would abate the next morning, but when I awoke after only three hours of sleep, I could still feel her volatile emotions. Her frustration stirred my own, and I actually threw a pillow at the maid who was trying to drag me out of bed.

  “Go away,” I grumbled. “I’m still sleeping!”

  “It’s nearly eleven in the morning,” the maid said. She tugged at the coverlet, and it came off in one motion. Groaning, I curled myself into a ball and did my best to ignore the draft tickling my legs. “Your appointment with the modiste is in two hours. Lord Trentiano has ordered me to make sure you are ready, so you must get up!”

  Crap. I’d already forgotten about that. If Salcombe found out I’d missed my appointment with the dressmaker with only a week to go until we were to be presented at court, he’d skin me alive. Maybe literally. Wide awake, I jumped out of bed and ripped my nightshift over my head.

  “Dress me,” I said to the now wide-eyed maid.

  The maid did so, sticking me in a gown of robin’s egg blue and piling my curls into a half-up, half-down look that was somehow elegant and messy all at once. Tiny blue gems were fastened at my ears, but the rest of me was unadorned aside from the faux wedding band Salcombe forced me to wear at all times. Even though I hated being dragged out of bed before I was ready, I had to admit that I never would have been able to make myself presentable without the maid’s help. She, along with the rest of the household staff, belonged to the noble who owned the house. From what I understood, he was renting it out because he’d been banished from court. Apparently the man had inadvertently insulted the king’s sense of style, and had been forced to flee the capital before the king jailed him.