Dragoon (War of the Princes Book 2)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  We had taken shelter in a conference room adjoining the Silver Palace. Rune ignited the leafy chandelier above and gave us some light. The room was stuffy and clogged with the dust and dirt of disuse. The tables and chairs within were covered with white sheets.

  I crashed backwards, slamming against the thick wallpaper, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

  Dylan had something to say, as usual. “An exercise regimen might do you some good.”

  “Shut... up,” I wheezed, buckling over my knees in a very unladylike manner. Regaining just enough of my breath to speak, I turned to Rune. “I used to hide like that from people when I was five, and it never worked. Why couldn't he see us when we closed our eyes?”

  “I don't know exactly,” Rune said, ever alert. He checked the way we'd come to see if we'd been followed, and clicked the door behind us. “It was a rumor I hoped was true. They say the Voice is nearly blind and deaf. I've heard it described that he sees only monotone blotches and blurs, and he can't differentiate sounds easily. One thing I know for certain is that if you make eye contact with the Voice, he can see and hear you very clearly. If you look into his eyes, you'll look through him and see Prince Raserion.”

  “That's crazy,” I laughed. No one else did. “How do you know that?”

  “I've looked,” Rune said somberly.

  “You've seen the Prince?” I asked, blinking.

  Rune nodded. “I have.” He said it like there was more. No elaboration followed.

  “Splendid,” Dylan said sarcastically. “Thank you, by the way, for that pleasant adventure, I was hoping I'd nearly die today. Oh, and you're welcome for getting us out of there. Now that we're past the pleasantries, what was that thing with the vats of dead bodies and glowing liquid?”

  “The way all those tubes were hooked up, it looked like a compression system,” Rune said.

  I was going to be sick.

  “Definitely,” Dylan agreed. “The bodies and the Lurcher were being wholly drained, inside and out. It was like they were melting. That glowing stuff must have been the result. I've never seen a machine like it.”

  Rune's face was pinched with thought. “You said you knew what it was.”

  I was deflated, poisoned with disgust. “I don't know about the machine. The blue stuff seems a lot like water until you touch it. It's freezing cold and I know this sounds crazy, but it's completely dry.”

  “Is it a new way to drain people? Does the Prince drink it? Absorb it?” Dylan asked with apparent horror.

  “No,” I said quickly, feeling filthy. I'd submerged myself in the stuff three times. “I mean, I don't know what he does with it, but I don't think it can be consumed. If you climb into it, you drift like you're in regular water, all of your pain goes away, and you don't even have to breathe.”

  “You sound like you know a lot about it,” Dylan said, not bothering to hide his suspicion. He was fidgeting more than normal and radiating nervous energy. “Would you mind explaining that?”

  “The dry water, it's like a shortcut, a direct tunnel between two far away places,” I told them. “You can travel miles and miles within seconds. It doesn't sound possible, but it is.”

  “Is this something you have in Haven?” Rune asked.

  “Only secretly. It's how I found you.” I shuddered convulsively. “There was a sealed mausoleum above the one I used. There were faces carved of all of the people who'd died there.”

  “A monument to those killed to make such a passage,” Dylan said thoughtfully.

  I held a hand over my mouth. “There were children.”

  “Don't think about that,” Rune cut in.

  “The writing over the pool said not to let you in,” I said, looking at them and feeling like a shadow of myself.

  Rune surprised me by smiling faintly. “You haven't.”

  “So,” Dylan said, stalking up and down the room in short circles. “We've had the capacity to drain the power from human beings for centuries. That hasn't changed. No one has ever seen this machine, but if you've found the liquid it produces, it means this technology is centuries old as well. The Prince must be guarding it. Explains the Voice lurking in the shadows when everyone else is investigating the explosions.”

  “There may only be one such machine,” Rune offered.

  “Or he simply doesn't want to risk anyone else stealing the technology,” Dylan said, tapping a finger against his chin. His restlessness was making me uncomfortable. It was like watching a stick of dynamite and wondering how long or short the fuse was. “Regardless, he may have other such ports to travel between. Explains how he's been noted to vanish from cities without warning.”

  “More importantly,” Rune said gravely. “He's making another passage.”

  “I have a feeling he'll need a lot more than that,” I said, remembering the size of my aquamarine pool.

  Dylan grimaced. “That's a lot of bodies. I wonder if they were alive when...”

  “Axton,” Rune warned.

  “Well, the Lurchers couldn't have been, at any rate,” Dylan said, plowing ahead. “No one has ever taken one alive. Now I understand why the Margraves were so keen on us preserving the bodies of the ones we've killed. They must have some essential elements needed to make the stuff.”

  “There weren't any Lurcher carvings in the mausoleum,” I said. The eel-headed, hound-bodied creatures that guarded the outer mountains surrounding Haven were biomechanical, part flesh and part machine. Perhaps there was something in them that sped along the process of making aquamarine water.

  Dylan looked at me with sharpness in his hazel eyes. “Your pool was probably made with Lodestones, like you. Lodestones possess more energy than the rest of us. It'd probably require fewer lives.”

  “Gross,” I said, folding my arms. “Another reason he's after us.”

  “It's why he's making it now,” Rune stated with enough clarity to convince me he was right. “He's caught some of your people. He may know the way to Haven. If he does, he'll want an easy way to get in and out. He's preparing.”

  “And he's repairing the Monarch,” Dylan said, pacing again. I wished he'd stop. “Testing it out with Lodestone blood, like the poor fool you found.”

  “What will the Monarch do?” I asked, wondering if I should plug my ears and run away as fast as I could.

  “It's a machine like any other. Runs off steam and coal,” Rune explained, shifting his weight and frowning deeply. “But it has another purpose. The Monarch can kill every person with any variety of Ability within a mile radius. Lodestones are strapped in to the upper deck and slowly drained. I imagine the blast is aimed outward, so as not to destroy the Lodestones. The energy they provide allows the weapon to function.”

  I was rattled. “H-how can it only target the people with Abilities?”

  Rune sighed, glancing at the ground before moving his blue eyes to mine. “It copies the energy they contain, multiplying it within them. The result is an overabundance, an overflow.”

  “Just tell her,” Dylan said, glaring at Rune.

  Rune looked away. “They explode.”

  Dylan mimed the word, “Pop!”

  “Everyone explodes?”

  “Everyone with the tiniest amount of Ability,” Dylan said, leaning against the wall opposite me. “Now you know why it's called a war machine.”

  Rune looked uncomfortable. “It can destroy an entire army. Cripple a whole city. In the Northern Kingdom, they think it's just a legend. It's been over six hundred years since anyone there has seen the Monarch. Here, in the West, we know better.”

  “Our Prince loves his history lessons,” Dylan added, unhitching from the wall. He couldn't seem to hold still.

  “Then why is it none of you knew that the Lodestones were people?” I asked.

  “Only battles are thoroughly recorded. We've been at war for,” Rune was at a loss. “We don't even really know how long. Sometimes buildings are damaged. Sometimes texts are lost. This one story survived. With the kind
of damage the Monarch could inflict, it lived on in infamy. Someone simply forgot to mention that the Lodestone fuel would be human.”

  “Lucky me,” I said, feeling abysmal. Nothing in the world could have consoled me in that moment. Not crawling into my bed at home, not a hug from my dad, not a steaming mug of cocoa, not even Rune, standing a couple paces away from me. I was sure I'd just seen with my own eyes, evidence of why my people banded together and sealed themselves away into Haven's impenetrable mountain range. It was a killing machine called the Monarch.

  “We were lucky. Lucky we didn't get tossed into one of those vats! What were you thinking, puppet?” Dylan said, rounding on Rune. “Why bring us there? Were you trying to have us killed?”

  Rune looked just as surprised as I was. “It was worth investigating.”

  “For an expendable like you, perhaps it was. I, for one, would like not to die for mere curiosity's sake,” Dylan said, gesturing wildly. “You've risked us all, frightened Katelyn to no end, and we're not an inch closer to finding her mother. What good did this do any of us?”

  “Dylan,” I warned.

  Rune was ready to respond. “It's best to know your-”

  “Enemy? Or master? Which were you going to say? For all we know, you were trying to have us caught.”

  “If I wanted you caught, I'd catch you,” Rune said, irritation seeping into his words.

  “Hear that?” Dylan said, pointing at Rune. “Sounded threatening to me.”

  “Dylan, stop,” I said.

  “Stop what? Telling the truth? Being right? Which should I stop? He's still a Dragoon in the Prince's army. I don't know how I let you talk me into this. We're finished here, puppet, go report for duty.”

  “I do not take orders from you,” Rune answered in a dangerous tone.

  “But you do still take orders, don't you? Do your orders include killing enemies of Prince Raserion?” Dylan snapped.

  Rune straightened his back, frowning. Of course they did.

  “And if we were brought before our Prince, do you think he'd find us guilty?” Dylan went on.

  “I'm fine, Dylan, we all are. Nothing happened. We're okay. I needed to see those things back there. Most of this stuff is ancient history where I'm from. We're in danger, immediate danger. No one knows that something is headed for us, or what that means. Anything I learn might help to save us. I needed to know how serious this is.”

  “If you don't know that everything is serious by now, you're dumb as a puddle,” Dylan said, glaring at me. “If he wanted to help us, he should have risked his own damned neck and left us out of it! Did any of what we saw change what we have to do? No. Did it help us find your mother so we can get out of here? No. Did it put us at unnecessary risk and waste a perfectly good chance to rescue your mother? Yes.”

  “I don't see it that way,” I said, hoping that by staying calm, I'd affect him. “We just need to try again.”

  “You're dismissed, Dragoon,” Dylan said haughtily. “Go on. We're finished with you.”

  “No,” I said, feeling rage creeping up in my stomach. The evening had been difficult enough without Dylan making it worse. “We're not.”

  Dylan was furious with me, I could tell. The way he looked at me, waiting for me to join his side, almost made me feel sorry for him. I wouldn't. He was afraid, rattled to the core. I would not give in to panic the way he was. I refused.

  “I'm not leaving until I must,” Rune said simply.

  “Very well,” Dylan said, an unsettling smile drifting to his lips. “Cut your throat.”

  Rune unsheathed the knife on his belt. It was the same blade he'd used the night before. Steadily, he raised it to his throat, pressing against his brown skin. He was the picture of calm, steadily breathing in and out of his nose.

  “No!” I shouted. It was a picture out of a book of insanity. Why would Rune listen to him?

  The Command.

  I reached for my side, remembering too late that my satchel was left in our rooms. “Dylan, stop!” My arms burst into a hot display of electricity, and the once elegant old room shined in my light, reflecting its former beauty. Round mirrors encircled by ornate silver frames hung between faded photographic portraits of young ladies and distinguished gentlemen. The wallpaper glistened with vertical stripes of delicate silver floral vines. Rich mahogany wood, smooth and polished, shone out from beneath the bottoms of the sheets, and marble sculptures of dancing lovers posed as though they might twirl to life. Unique though it was, I didn’t care about the old chamber. My eyes were on Rune.

  Dylan was infuriatingly smug. “As you wish,” he said, his long hair covering one eye as he tilted his head.

  Rune lowered the knife, returning it to its sheath. He stared unblinkingly at Dylan. His jaw flexed. I waited to see his rage, but it wasn't there. Just a steely serenity that frightened me more than any display of anger could. It wasn't the measured calm before an explosion. It was acceptance.

  “You must leave now,” Dylan told Rune, reveling in his own power. “Off with you, puppet.”

  Just like that, Rune turned from the room and left us.

  C hapter 30: All the Comforts of Home

  “What is wrong with you?” I wanted to hit him. No, that wasn't right. I needed to hit him.

  Dylan was actually chuckling with the palm of one hand over his eyes, like he'd seen something embarrassing and hilarious. His laugh trailed off and he shook his head. After all we'd just seen, any humor, cruel or otherwise, had no staying power. “Relax, I wouldn’t have really done it.”

  I wasn’t sure I was convinced of that. My arms still blazing, I took a step toward him.

  He halted me by holding up a single finger. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” he clucked with his tongue. “We'll have none of that. You know I can stop you, and I know that you hate it when I do, so let's avoid the conflict, shall we?”

  “You can't do that to him! He was helping us!” I shouted, pushed too far to my limits to lower my voice.

  “First of all, yes I can. What's he going to do? Tell on me? I'm a Lord of Breakwater, my word is better than his. It wouldn't take much to send him to the block,” he said, pulling the ends of his cobalt coat down to smooth out the wrinkles. “Oh, yes, and secondly, dragging us into a corpse-ridden workshop to go meet the greatest mechanical executioner the world has ever seen does not constitute as help. If you don't start making better decisions, Miss Kestrel, I'll start making them for you.”

  “Dylan, I swear, I'll-”

  “What? Shoot me again?” The question was biting, his malice only tempered with a thin smile. “No, I'm afraid not. You'll find that pretty pistol of yours has gone missing. You have the Pull. You can go and get it, but it’ll cost valuable time. Don't look so angry, I'm not so vengeful that I'd shoot you. Really, you should be thanking me. 'My, Dylan, what a stalwart friend you've been, looking out for my best interests in spite of myself.'”

  He took my pistol? Gravity! I leave it out of my sight once, and he gets to it?

  “You are not my friend,” I said through clenched teeth. My fury snapped within me like the lashing branches of lightning that coursed over my arms. Looking down at my hands, I remembered what I'd done to Calvin, back home. Guilt overtook me, and I dismissed the Spark.

  Shadows devoured the old palace room once again, returning the paintings, furniture legs, and life-like sculptures to obscurity. The chandelier candles flickered, and the dim yellow light wrestled with the prevailing darkness.

  Dylan's arrogance abandoned him. His shoulders drooped, but he straightened them. He blinked his hazel eyes once and lifted his chin to me. There was no humor, no cocky swagger.

  My words had stung. I could hardly believe it.

  Really? You thought we were friends?

  “And Rune Thayer is no friend to anyone. He is a Dragoon, an extension of Prince Raserion. Don't forget that,” he warned me, not for the first time.

  * * *

  It was evening, and Cape Hill was alive. Its bones and fles
h were stone and wood and clay. Its skin was tile and slate and cobble. Its blood was machine and horse and human. The copper barrel train charged through the crowded street, wheels screaming on the rails, black smoke billowing heavily behind it like a never-ending flag. It was fat with passengers. They hung from the windows, clung to the outer doors, and chased behind it, for all the good it did them. The behemoth locomotive groaned, its engine coming free of the tracks and skidding in a shower of sparks to a stop. Four people were nearly crushed.

  Automobiles and carriages plowed down the street without regard for the tide of pedestrians that they sliced through. It was everyone for themselves. Somewhere, at the top of one tower or another, a siren was wailing. Maybe it was a horn. I couldn't tell.

  Ladies tripped over their skirts and men tripped over the ladies, each one frantically scrambling for safety. A surge of black bled into the streets, like a great inkwell had been spilled. It was the Dragoons atop their warhorses. They were sweeping over the road in an impenetrable line, forcing the crowd toward the installment. Their swords, spears and rifles were drawn at the civilians. One rider was dragging a woman by the hair.

  “The channel is open. That pathetic trinket of a boat could be here by now,” Dylan said, gripping the railing of the second-story balcony where we stood. “It could be sitting right out there on the harbor, and we can't leave the bloody Gold Palace.”

  My attention was fixed on the scene below. “What are they doing?” I was still angry with him, but we were stuck together, whether I liked it or not.

  “Suspicious persons,” Dylan said. “The warrant, a writ with the Prince's own seal, went out to every door in the lower city this morning. A few privileged doors too. A group of northern infiltrators have gotten into the city. They've been sabotaging the installment. I'm willing to pay a wager that our lovely pilot, Carmine, is one of them.”

  “You don't know that,” I said. So that's where the explosions were coming from.

  “You don't know that I don't know that.”