Might of the Dragon

by Jessica Drake

  I blinked—Salcombe rarely brought up my childhood memories. “I still do think they’re fascinating,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “Did you know that they can regenerate if you cut off their limbs? It takes up to a year, but that’s still pretty impressive. I can’t even regrow my pinky toe.”

  Trolbos glowered, thoroughly unimpressed. He hated these little bonding moments Salcombe and I shared, and rightfully so. The more Salcombe saw me as his foster child, the more he let his guard down. I was more than happy to play right into that hand, with the hopes that I’d either be able to eventually get through to him or find a way to slip the noose before he could tighten it.

  I need to figure out a way to get my weapons back, I thought. They were somewhere in the luggage—I could feel them calling to me through my treasure sense, the absence of them nearly as keen as Lessie’s. Trolbos would be a lot less intimidating if I had my dragon blade in hand again. Maybe I could rummage through the luggage when we stopped for the night, under the pretense of looking for my nightgown or something.

  But when we did stop for the night at a cozy rural inn, there was no opportunity. Salcombe’s thugs slept in an adjoining room with the luggage, and since they handed over the single bag that held my basic belongings, I had no excuse to go through the rest of our things. Annoyed, I was forced to retire to the room Salcombe and I shared as husband and wife, tossing and turning on the couch while he snored away on the bed. Now that we were away from court, Salcombe’s sense of chivalry was gone—after all, he was an old man, far past his couch sleeping days, and there was no way in hell we were sharing the bed.

  We continued on our journey the next day, with Salcombe well rested. He seemed a bit haggard over the last few days, but there was a flush in his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes that suggested he’d snuck a bit more of that dragon god elixir. Reaching out with my treasure sense—the elixir was very valuable, easily detected—I noticed that he had far less than when he’d first kidnapped me from Tavarian’s hidden valley estate. Perhaps he was forced to ration it. How long did a dosage last?

  It was close to noon before we finally arrived at our destination. “Look,” Salcombe said, pointing out the window. Tall cliffs loomed over a charming village from one side, and the sparkling sea lapped its shore from the other. “Lord Fanuel’s estate is at the top.”

  I looked closer at the cliffs, and indeed, there was an estate perched at the edge, overlooking the channel. I wondered if I would be able to see Elantia’s shores from up there, and a wave of homesickness almost overwhelmed me. Reaching through the bond, I tried to contact Lessie. Frustration simmered in my blood as I called her name again and again, to no avail. The strong sense of discontent was still prevalent in the bond, but there was no answer. Was she still too far away or merely asleep?

  Circumventing the town, the carriage took the winding road up to the top of the cliffs. In no time at all, we pulled up to the gates of Lord Fanuel’s estate. We were stopped by the guards, but the driver presented the letter of introduction from Fanuel’s cousin, and they let us through.

  “Wow,” I murmured as the carriage rumbled up the paved road. The estate was at least ten acres of green fields and orchards, with a large mansion built on the far end, close enough to the cliff edge to provide spectacular views while far enough that the property wouldn’t tumble into the ocean in the event of a landslide. The mansion was all white stone and terracotta roof tile, its wide arches and expansive windows lending an air of welcome. My treasure sense came to life as we stopped in front of the main entrance, and my blood thrummed to life as all sorts of valuables called to me.

  Salcombe immediately noticed my excitement. “Do you sense the heart?” he demanded.

  I shook my head. “No. But Lord Fanuel has quite a collection of magical artifacts. You should ask to see them.”

  To my surprise, Salcombe shook his head. “I do not wish to waste time,” he said. “We are here for one purpose. Do not allow yourself to become distracted, Zara.”

  The henchman sitting next to me opened the carriage door, then helped me down. As I waited for Trolbos and Salcombe to follow, I soaked in the atmosphere. The faint sound of the waves crashing below blended seamlessly with the sound of gulls cawing, and the gentle breeze teased my skin, bringing the scent of the ocean with it. I had a sudden urge to rush around to the other side of the mansion so I could go to the edge of the cliff and look out at the view.

  Instead, I took Salcombe’s arm, and we walked up the stairs and to the front entrance.

  A butler opened the door before we could knock. “Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Trentiano,” he said. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you.” Salcombe sounded pleased as we stepped into the foyer. A large bowl of fresh flowers dominated the table in the center of the room, and sunlight shimmered in through the skylight set in the arched ceiling overhead, opening up the space and lending a freshness to the cream-colored walls and smooth birch floorboards. “Lord Fanuel is aware of our arrival?”

  “Indeed, and he invites you to luncheon with him on the terrace.”

  The butler led us through the home, which was simultaneously grand and welcoming, very much like the foyer. The same cream-colored walls, high ceilings, and birch floors followed us, but there were more masculine touches in the mahogany furniture and dark wood beams set into the ceilings. Each room we passed boasted wide windows offering amazing views of the ocean, framed by white or pale blue curtains. More than once, I was tempted to go through one of the open doors and explore, but since we hadn’t been invited to do so, I forced myself to follow Salcombe and the butler.

  As we stepped through the double doors and onto the terrace, my mood lifted considerably. The space was absolutely beautiful, shaded by a rose-covered trellis, and offered an expansive view of the ocean. The sky was remarkably clear, offering an unobstructed view of the Elantian coast. A pang of envy and sadness hit me, and I wished Lessie were here. I tried to reach out to her again, but still received no answer.

  “My lord,” the butler said as a man rose from a table that had already been set for three. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and wore a set of pale blue robes—unusual dress for Traggaran nobles, who favored breeches and doublets. “Lord and Lady Trentiano are here.”

  “So they are.” Lord Fanuel smiled politely as he extended a hand to Salcombe. His eyes were pale, somewhere between blue and gray, yet sharp as a blade as he studied us. “My cousin Elliot tells me that you are a magical scholar of sorts.”

  “A historian,” Salcombe corrected smoothly, shaking the man’s hand. “Ancient history and magical history often overlap, as I’m sure you already know. My wife, Zara,” he added.

  “Charmed.” Fanuel took my hand, briefly pressing his lips against my skin, and from the way his eyes warmed, I could tell he meant it. “Please, sit and eat while you tell me what it is you’re seeking. I can’t promise that I will be helpful, but if it is magical history you are looking into, I am the most qualified expert in the country.”

  We sat down at the table and tucked into the simple but excellently cooked seafood meal, paired with glasses of sparkling wine. Again, I was struck by the sheer loveliness of the atmosphere. The high cliffs would make it a perfect home for Lessie and me, and I wondered if a similar property could be purchased in Elantia. But would I ever be able to afford it? Even if the home was much smaller, the land would be priced at a premium. And though I was a member of House Tavarian, and my shop was doing a brisk business, I did not have the purse that a lord of Fanuel’s means did.

  “So what period of history are you researching?” Fanuel said once we’d taken the edge off our hunger. “You said you were from Warosia. Is it the witch wars? That was a fascinating, if bloody, time period for your country.”

  “Actually, I am studying Elantian history,” Salcombe said. “Specifically, the Dragon War. I am writing a treatise on the history of the mages who subdued the dragon god, and was hoping you might
help me fill in some salient details.”

  Salcombe proceeded to cite several of the mage families involved, which impressed Fanuel, as this was information that only mages would know. My heart sank as he gave fairly specific details—it seemed that Salcombe had gotten quite far, tracing back three families. He’d obviously gotten to the source of at least one, since he had a piece of heart, and far enough with Tavarian’s own mage ancestry that he’d correctly guessed the second location. The third family, theTimmermans, were the ones mentioned in the diary Salcombe and I had found, and from the way Fanuel’s eyes flickered in recognition when the name was brought up, I knew Salcombe was right on the money about his involvement.

  And yet, there was no hint of a dragon heart relic around. Which meant it was either very well shielded, or Fanuel didn’t have it.

  “Of course, the dragon heart story is merely a legend,” Salcombe was saying, “but it is a fascinating one, and the families I have unearthed thus far seem to be real. It may be that there is some relic the five of them destroyed or hid together, though of course I am not in the relic-hunting business. My interest is merely academic.”

  “Merely a legend?” Lord Fanuel laughed. “On the contrary, the dragon god heart is quite real. One of my own forebears, who was descended from the Timmermans, was charged with guarding one of the pieces.”

  “Really?” Salcombe leaned in, his eyes bright with interest. As he did, his hand flicked over Lord Fanuel’s bowl of lobster bisque, the movement so fast I wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t been watching. “How do you know the piece is real? Have you seen it yourself?”

  “No,” Fanuel admitted. He ate another spoonful of bisque before continuing. “I do not know where my ancestors hid it. It was over two thousand years ago, after all. Besides, some things are best left forgotten, and a piece of the god who nearly destroyed our world is certainly one of them.”

  “Agreed,” Salcombe said, but the zeal in his eyes said otherwise. “Even so, it seems quite shocking that your family would have lost such an important relic. How are you to know that someone hasn’t gotten their hands on it, if it does indeed exist?”

  “I didn’t say it was lost,” Fanuel said, his voice coloring with insult. The drug Salcombe had put into his stew was taking effect, loosening his emotions and his tongue. “Merely that I do not know where it is hidden. I am not in contact with the branch of my family that is involved, as they live in Dardil.”

  “Where do they live, exactly?”

  Using the help of the truth serum, Salcombe deftly extracted the information from Fanuel. As it turned out, the last member of this particular branch of Fanuel’s family that he’d seen was his cousin Helumar Toppenfeld, who had died over ten years ago. He’d lived in Triul, a village some four miles south of Lange, Dardil’s capital.

  “Did your cousin die of natural causes?” Salcombe asked.

  “As far as I know, yes,” Fanuel said. “He was very old, over three hundred years. It was his time to go.”

  “How old are you?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I’d heard that mages lived extraordinarily long lives, longer than even dragon riders, but I had no idea some of them could live for centuries!

  “A little over one hundred years old,” Fanuel said. His gaze sharpened on me with interest, the tiny drop of serum Salcombe had given him already beginning to wear off. “What do you think about all this talk of dragons and mages, Lady Zara? Do you share the same interests as your husband?”

  “My wife is very good to indulge my passions and curiosities,” Salcombe cut in before I could answer. “To make it up to her, I make sure we attend the finest parties wherever we are traveling, and allow her to buy most anything she wants.” He patted my hand fondly, ever the doting husband, and I buried my scowl.

  “Is that right?” Fanuel asked. “You must have spent time in King Zoltar’s court. What did you think?”

  “It was…different,” I said. “The king seems to be very open with his affections, and the people are more interested in gossip than state affairs.” I described my presentation at court, and the garden party afterward. “I must admit that the altercation between the Zallabarian ambassador and the king was quite thrilling, though also terrifying. I don’t understand why the king banished my husband and me. I feel as though I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Fanuel shook his head, both sympathetic and disgusted. “You remind me of why I never go to court,” he said. “Those social circles have always been a waste of time for me—my countrymen are so irrational about magic, even the king. If the war with Elantia is off, so much the better. We should concentrate on our navy and let the continental powers fight among themselves instead of sending our own young men off to die.”

  “A surprisingly sensible attitude,” Salcombe said, and I privately agreed. So sensible, in fact, that I wondered if I should try to pull Fanuel aside privately and ask him for help. I could tell him that I was a hostage and warn him what Salcombe was really up to—after all, Fanuel would have never divulged so much information to him without the truth serum.

  But as Salcombe steered the conversation back to history, I realized the risk was too great. He and Fanuel seemed to be hitting it off so well, would the old mage even believe me? If I told the truth, I might find myself treated as an Elantian spy yet again, and I had no desire to risk the gallows. No, it was better to rely on myself. Dardil was a neutral country, a much safer place to make a break for it than here. I would accompany Salcombe, and once we were out of enemy territory, I would figure out how to free myself from him once and for all.

  7

  Salcombe and I stayed a little while longer at Fanuel’s estate, taking a tour of his private library and continuing to talk about history and magic. I strongly suspected the only reason we stayed as long as we did was to avert any lingering suspicion Fanuel might have, for the moment Fanuel announced that he had business to attend to, Salcombe was more than happy to take his leave.

  “That visit was well worth these weeks of putting up with the Traggaran nobility,” Salcombe said effusively as the carriage took us back down the cliff. “If the piece of heart is in Dardil, that will make our task easier, as we won’t need to constantly look over our shoulders. Though we will continue to use the Trentiano alias.”

  “When are we leaving for Dardil?” I asked, my mind whirling. Would there be time to sneak a letter to Tavarian via the inn’s outgoing post, informing him of my next destination? We hadn’t been gone long, and there was a good chance I could get a message to him before he concluded his business with the king.

  “Tonight, if possible,” Salcombe said. “Trolbos and I will go to the docks immediately to procure passage. It should only take us two days and nights, provided that the winds are in our favor.”

  Damn. That would give me no time at all.

  We took refuge at an inn close to the harbor, and Salcombe booked two rooms for us. The moment we were settled, Salcombe and Trolbos took off for the docks, leaving me with Hickam. As before, the luggage was stowed in the second guard’s room, but it didn’t take long before I heard him leave, likely heading down to the common room for food and drink. My efforts at being helpful and submissive were paying off—the guard wasn’t nearly as vigilant as Trolbos would have been.

  This is it, Zara. Your chance to take back what’s yours.

  Heart pounding, I approached the adjoining door between our rooms, and used one of my hairpins to jiggle the lock. The mechanism slid free, and I carefully opened the door, scanning the room for any sign of the guard just in case I’d been mistaken. The moment I was sure the room was empty, I hurried inside, shutting the door behind me.

  It took no time at all for me to find the bag where my belongings were stowed—my treasure sense led me straight to them. I nearly crowed with jubilation as my hand closed around the hilt of the dragon blade, and if it hadn’t been a deadly sharp weapon, I would have cuddled it to my chest like a teddy bear. I took an indulgent m
oment to spin the weapon in my hand, the blades shooting out to their full length with a single thought, then retracting. I made them as short as they could get, then wrapped the weapon in a silk scarf and tucked it into one of my skirt pockets. My goggles and lockpicks went into the other pocket, and my knives went into my spelled boots, which I’d slipped gratefully onto my feet, all too happy to ditch the useless silk slippers I’d been forced to wear.

  I zipped up the bag and started to stand up, ready to get out of there before the guard returned. But my treasure sense itched, reminding me of the elixir that was squirreled away in one of these bags. I rummaged through the luggage, unearthing a leather satchel with a lock on it. I used my lockpick to open it, then pulled out a glass vial of silvery liquid—the same liquid I’d seen Salcombe’s acolytes drinking in the catacombs. It was definitely the dragon god elixir!

  Briefly, I entertained the idea of getting rid of it, but I knew that Salcombe would notice its absence immediately, and I would be the prime suspect. Reluctantly, I put the vial back. My fingers brushed against a small leather pouch as I did so, and my treasure sense pinged urgently.

  I opened the pouch to find several locks of red hair.

  “Ha!” I punched the air with one hand even as I used my other to stuff the hair down my bodice. This was even better than the weapons! Without my hair, Salcombe wouldn’t be able to track me. Should I make a run for it now, while he and Trolbos were still out?

  Stowing the luggage, I rushed back to my room and locked the door, then stole out into the hall. Conversation and laughter drifted up the stairs, but I didn’t dare go out that way—Salcombe’s guard would see me. Instead, I went the other direction, up a second set of stairs and into the attic. It was a bit of a struggle to get onto the roof with my skirts hampering me, but I managed to squeeze out of the window to survey the city from above.