I shook my head. “Dardil was never high on your list of priorities.”
“A mistake,” he said softly. “One we will be rectifying immediately, thanks to Lord Fanuel.” He smiled as the crew lowered the gangplank and offered his arm to me. “Are you ready, Mrs. Trentiano?”
Steeling myself, I took Salcombe’s arm and allowed him to steer me through the marina and to the street, where he immediately hired a hansom. We found lodgings at an inn near the city center—nothing luxurious, since we were Mr. and Mrs. again, rather than lord and lady, but still much nicer than anything I would have booked on my own. Part of me wanted nothing more than to flop down on the very comfortable-looking bed, but Salcombe insisted on breakfast so we could listen to the local gossip and read the papers. To my disgust, we were joined by Trolbos, while Hickam stayed behind to watch over our belongings. By some miracle, no one had noticed that I’d stolen back my weapons and gotten rid of the hair Salcombe had taken from me, but how long would that last? I needed to escape as soon as possible.
Salcombe ordered a large breakfast and asked the server to bring him all of the local papers for today. Over copious amounts of coffee—which I desperately needed—the two of us went through the papers together, while Trolbos alternated between scanning our surroundings for any threats and glaring at me. Normally, I would have been tempted to glare back, but I hardly noticed—the news was far more alarming than I’d anticipated.
“So Zallabar has officially declared war, eh?” Salcombe said, sitting back in his chair. Unlike me, he seemed relaxed, almost satisfied. “I must say I’m surprised, considering they’ve lost both Quoronis and Traggar as allies. They must be very confident in their military if they are willing to go it alone anyway.”
“You don’t seem very concerned that our fellow countrymen are about to be attacked,” I said, my voice an acid bite. I knew I shouldn’t react this way to Salcombe’s nonchalance, but I couldn’t help myself. “By the time we come home after scouring the world for the pieces of the dragon god’s heart, Elantia might very well be renamed New Zallabar.”
Salcombe scoffed. “I don’t intend for this hunt to take nearly as long as you think,” he said. “Once I have all the pieces and have resurrected the god, nothing will be able to stand in our way. Do you really think Zallabar’s military stands a chance against Zakyiar’s might? We will be able to conquer all our enemies, Zara.”
I swallowed at the fanatical gleam in Salcombe’s eyes. The zealot was back, eroding the common sense and cool logic that my mentor prized above all else. I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, to scream in his ear that the dragon god wouldn’t care about Salcombe’s wants, that once he was free he would do whatever he pleased and no one would be able to stop him. That a god who had been imprisoned for thousands of years wouldn’t consider Zallabar to be his enemy, but Elantia. He was dooming his own people to death for the sake of greed and power.
But I knew that my words wouldn’t reach Salcombe. Despite the rocky sea journey we’d just endured, he was flushed with the glow of health, strong and vibrant. He had to have taken more of the elixir. Judging by the frequency, it looked like he needed to replenish every two to three days. How would he get more, once he was out? If I could get free and track down Red Beard, could I cut Salcombe off from his supply? He would be forced to slow down quite a bit if he was weakened—before he’d started this mad journey of his, before I’d decided to go independent and open up the Treasure Trove, he’d been sending me out on hunts for him because he’d grown too sick to go himself.
No wonder the power of the dragon god is so appealing to him, I thought, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy. If I were confined to my house by illness, never again to be allowed to travel the world and hunt for treasure, I would lose my mind. To what lengths would I go to restore my own strength?
Not this, I told myself fiercely. Never this. Because unlike Salcombe, I didn’t think that my life was more important than anyone else’s. I could never risk the lives of thousands—no, millions—for the sake of my own happiness. And that had nothing to do with the dragon god’s influence, and everything to do with Salcombe’s cold, selfish nature.
I had to stop thinking of him as a victim.
“Aha,” Salcombe said, setting his paper down. He jabbed at an advertisement in the classified section. “This woman should help us on our search for Toppenfeld.”
I leaned in to read the advertisement. It was from an agency that, amongst other things, specialized in tracing people’s genealogies. “By appointment only,” I read aloud. “That should take some time, shouldn’t it?”
But Salcombe flashed a smile. “I find that with a sufficient amount of coin, one can usually move one’s name up any list quite quickly.”
Now that Salcombe had a lead, he ushered us through breakfast, then we set off for the agency. The address was not far from the inn, only a ten-minute walk to a small, brick building perched on a corner in what appeared to be the business district of the capital. The brass sign hanging from the awning proclaimed it to be the Kingsley Agency.
Salcombe knocked on the green door, and an elderly woman opened it, dressed in a high-waisted skirt and white blouse that was so heavily starched it was nearly as stiff as her posture. “May I help you?” she asked, peering through her spectacles.
“Mrs. Kingsley, I presume?” Salcombe gave her a charming smile. “My name is Pieri Trentiano, and this is my wife, Zara. The two of us are tracing back her lineage, as she has ancestors from Dardil, and we were hoping you could help. We are prepared to pay handsomely,” he added, his hand surreptitiously moving to the purse tied to his belt.
“Ancestors?” Mrs. Kingsley pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, scrutinizing me with keen gray eyes. “Yes, I believe you do have some Dardilian in you, particularly in the slant of your nose. Very well, you may come in.”
Salcombe and I exchanged surprised looks—he might have discovered the identity of my parents, but he clearly hadn’t traced my lineage far back enough to a foreign country. Perhaps there was a distant cousin or aunt in my family tree from Dardil, I thought as we followed her in. Resisting the urge to touch my nose—which was perfectly straight, and not at all unusual, or so I’d always assumed—I followed Mrs. Kingsley into her office, behind Salcombe. Trolbos was right on my heels, as usual, practically breathing down my neck. My fingers itched with the need to stab my dragon blade into the side of his neck, one of the only parts of his body that was unprotected thanks to his chain mail armor. But murdering him in a genteel woman’s house wasn’t going to earn me any points with the Dardilian authorities, so I refrained.
Mrs. Kingsley walked behind her desk and offered seats to Salcombe and me. She dismissed Trolbos as a manservant, and he took up a position near the door.
“Would you care for any coffee or tea?” she asked briskly.
“No, thank you,” Salcombe said before I could answer. “We are eager to get started.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Kingsley said. She turned that keen gaze back to me. “What information do you have about your ancestor?” she asked me. “And how many generations back does this relationship go?”
Briefly, I considered telling the truth: that I had no relations in Dardil at all, and that Salcombe was forcing me to help him track down this family so he could steal from them. But Trolbos’s glare was affixed to the back of my neck, and I had no desire to give him any excuse to lash out at me. This woman might come off as a bit snooty, but she didn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire, and I knew that if Trolbos and I got into a fight, it would be an epic showdown.
“I’m not sure of her given name,” I said, “but my great-great-great-grandmother was a Toppenfeld. I traced the name back, and it seems to come from Dardil.”
“Indeed, it does!” The old woman smiled, her reserved manner falling away. “The Toppenfelds are a very distinguished, though extinct, family. They lived in and around Lange for close to a thousand years before their last s
cion passed away.”
“Extinct?” I could practically taste Salcombe’s disappointment, which he didn’t even attempt to hide. “There are no relatives at all?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Kingsley said. She rose and selected an old leather tome from one of the shelves behind her and brought it back to the desk. “Helumar Toppenfeld was the last of his line, and he passed away nearly ten years ago,” she said, opening the book up to the Toppenfeld family tree. “Yes, I’m afraid he had no children.”
“What about marriages?” Salcombe asked.
“None on record,” she said. There was a glint in her eye as she looked at me. “The Toppenfelds were rumored to have magical talent, you know.”
“Really?” I widened my eyes, pretending surprise. “I didn’t know that. No one in my family has ever had magic.”
“That is not too surprising,” Mrs. Kingsley said. “Your link to the Toppenfelds is several generations old. Although I must say, I don’t recall any Warosian marriages on record.” She picked up a magnifying glass and bent closer to the family tree.
“Mrs. Kingsley,” Salcombe interrupted before she could chase down that line of inquiry. “What happened to the Toppenfeld family estate? My wife and I were looking forward to meeting her relatives, but if there are none left alive, perhaps it might be possible to at least retrieve a memento or heirloom of sorts so she can stay connected to that branch of the family.”
“Oh, the estate has long been sold off,” Mrs. Kingsley said with a wave of her hand. “But the new owners, the Lenarts, are nice people, and you might be able to convince them to give you a tour of the place if you explain the family connection. They may have kept some of the original furniture and art, and if you find something you like, they may be willing to part with it for a price.”
“Thank you.” Salcombe opened his purse and set a hefty amount of coin on the table. “Would you be willing to provide the address?”
“Most certainly.”
Finished, Salcombe and I left the agency before the woman could ask more questions and expose us for the frauds we were. “Just as Lord Fanuel told us,” Salcombe said as we walked back to the hotel. Mrs. Kingsley had given us an address that was outside the village of Triul, as well as a copy of the Toppenfeld family tree, dating back for the last four hundred years. “We are nearing the end of this leg of the hunt, Zara. I can feel it in my bones.”
I said nothing, knowing in my heart that he was right. Mrs. Kingsley had told us, to my dismay, that Toppenfeld hadn’t traveled much and did not own any other estates. If she was correct—and she seemed quite knowledgeable—then this was likely where the piece of heart was hidden. Of course, it was entirely possible that the Toppenfelds had a hidden estate, like Tavarian, and had chosen to sequester the artifact there. But then again, Tavarian had kept his at his primary residence, close to home, where he could keep an eye on it. The Toppenfelds likely would have done the same.
The moment we returned to the inn, Salcombe hired a carriage to take us to Triul. The hour-long carriage ride passed slowly, the tension-filled silence hanging thick in the air. My fingers itched to draw my blade, but I didn’t know if I could fight my way out of the carriage in such close quarters. I might be armed, but Trolbos bristled with weapons. I’d counted them on more than one occasion—he had hidden retractable blades tucked into his sleeves, the sword strapped to his waist, and a dozen knives strapped in various places on his body. Hickam had stayed behind to watch the belongings, so it was a two-on-one fight, something that the old me would have risked in a heartbeat.
But I didn’t have only my life to consider anymore. I had to think about Lessie, too.
“Here we are,” Salcombe said as we approached the estate. He tapped on the hood and ordered the driver to stop outside the walls, out of view of the front gates.
I frowned. “We’re not going to go inside?”
“There is no need,” Salcombe said. “You can sense the heart from here, can you not?”
The moment he said the words, my treasure sense activated instantly. My blood went cold as that distinctive gong reverberated in my skull, and I hastily turned the noise down before I gave in to the urge to clutch my head.
But Salcombe had seen the flash of pain on my face. “So, it is here,” he said smugly. He looked at Trolbos. “Our hard work and patience are finally paying off.”
“Yes, they are.” Trolbos grinned at me, as if he could sense my despair.
“I don’t know that it’s the heart,” I said, grasping at straws. “It could be something else.”
Salcombe smiled. “Then we’d best find out for certain, shouldn’t we?” He tapped the roof again and ordered the carriage to head back to Lange. “We will go back to the inn to rest and prepare. Tonight, we will come back and search the estate thoroughly.”
My stomach churned as the carriage rumbled back down the road. How was I going to get out of this? Maybe I could sneak back to the estate on my own, try to dig up the heart, and run away with it before Salcombe could come back. Now that I’d recovered the hair Salcombe had stolen from me, he wouldn’t be able to track me again. Or maybe I could send a warning to the family that had bought the Toppenfeld estate…but they had no idea they were sitting on a valuable magical artifact that had the potential to destroy the world. They would likely think me crazy and ignore any of my attempts to reach out.
We walked back into the inn, my mind racing. Was Lessie near? I reached through the bond, trying to gauge the distance. She was closer now, but not close enough for a retrieval.
“You are considering escape,” Salcombe said in a low voice as we walked through the lobby, “so you will stay in Trolbos’s room for the remainder of the day, rather than mine. If you so much as look toward the doors or windows, I will have him snap your neck.”
White-hot rage whipped through me, and I reached into my skirt pocket for my dragon blade. If Salcombe was going to cut off all my options and make it impossible for Lessie to rescue me, what difference did it make anymore? I might as well eliminate him.
But before I could, someone stepped in front of us.
“Zara!” Jallis beamed, and I nearly toppled over in shock. He was wearing civilian clothes—crisp white shirt, tan trousers, and a pair of brown leather boots paired with a matching coat. “It’s so wonderful to see you again!”
He threw his arms around me in a hug, and I returned the embrace. His alpine air and woodsmoke smell wrapped around me, and I had to fight against the instinct to bury my face in his familiar warmth. “What are you doing here?” I asked, fear and elation racing through me. Was Jallis here as friend or foe?
“Yes, what are you doing here?” Salcombe asked from next to me. I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was furious—his glacial tone spoke volumes.
“I’m afraid I’ve business to discuss with Zara,” Jallis said as he withdrew from me. His tone was apologetic, but there was no mistaking the hard glint in his eyes. “Would you mind giving us a moment to speak in private, Mr. Trentiano?”
Salcombe’s eyes flashed. So Jallis had tracked us here and had been around long enough to get the name of our alias. I saw Trolbos move in, prepared to strike with one of his hidden blades, but Salcombe jerked his head to the left in the tiniest of motions. There were far too many witnesses here for either of them to afford to make a scene.
“Certainly,” Salcombe said, hiding his fury behind a pleasant smile. “Take all the time you need.”
Jallis offered me his arm, leading me to a grouping of couches near the entrance. Salcombe retreated to the other side of the lobby, but Trolbos took up a spot next to the door, blocking our exit. Even so, he was only one man, hulking and dangerous as he might be. Jallis and I couldn’t kill him, but we might be able to overpower him and escape before Salcombe could call for his other guard.
We sat down, and I immediately ordered coffee from a server who came by to help us. “What are you doing here?” I asked again, keeping my voice low. “Ho
w did you find me?”
“What do you think, Zara? That we wouldn’t be tracking your every move?” Frustration brimmed in Jallis’s eyes as he leaned in. “An informant told us that you were coming here to Dardil, so I followed you here. If Dardil wasn’t neutral territory, Colonel Roche would have sent a team to bring you back. She’s already called for you to be court-martialed.”
“For what, exactly?” I hissed. I dug my nails into my thighs to keep from grabbing Jallis by the front of his shirt. I’d known there was a rift between us, but was he really as stupid as everyone else? “You know I’m not a deserter. Lessie told you and Kadryn what happened!”
Jallis sighed heavily. “And I believe her. But Roche and the others are certain that you’ve deserted, leaving your dragon behind to consort with the enemy. The fact that you’ve been traveling with a strange man and came to Dardil instead of going back to Elantia isn’t helping, either.”
I curled my lip. “That man is Salcombe, in disguise, and I didn’t have any choice.”
“Salcombe?” Jallis swiveled his head around to look at Salcombe, then back at me. “What do you mean, you didn’t have a choice? How did you even end up with him?”
“It’s a long story.” But I sighed at the look on Jallis’s face and told him everything—that I’d gone to the capital to seek out Tavarian, and had been rescued from the gallows by Salcombe. The anger on Jallis’s face softened into sympathy, then amazement, as I gave him the basic details of my time at court, and how I’d managed to avert the Traggar-Zallabar alliance.
“The only reason I’m still with Salcombe is because he offered a safe way for me to escape Traggar, and because he’s held both my and Lessie’s lives in his hands,” I whispered fiercely. “He and his henchmen drink an elixir distilled from the power of the dragon heart piece he has that makes them incredibly strong, almost invulnerable. I haven’t found a way to break free of them yet that doesn’t put Lessie’s life at risk.”
Might of the Dragon Page 9