by Imogen Sera
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Oh my god, Ingrid, this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Lily gushed, pulling John behind her, staring up at the dizzying turrets. There were three guards patrolling high above, and Lily gasped in delight again when she noticed them. Ingrid smiled at her friend’s excitement, trying to ignore the ever present hollow feeling inside of her.
Lily had written back immediately, and only a week passed before they arrived and Tarquin escorted them from the border. Ingrid had been pleased to have something to look forward to, and the week had dragged on endlessly. Morwich continued to push her harder, making her progress through the schools of magic so quickly that she could hardly grasp one concept before moving on to the next. Her shielding spell had improved slightly, but she still had a black eye from an errant book. Vivian had artfully covered it while clucking at her.
The next thing to block was dragonfire, he’d informed her, and she wasn’t sure if that had been a joke or not. She didn’t particularly feel like being roasted alive, but she was also beginning to trust the old man, and while he didn’t mind if she got hit in the face with a book occasionally, he probably wouldn’t allow her to burn to death. The thought silently thrilled her; reading runes and shielding against small objects was one thing, being strong enough to defend herself against something as deadly as dragonfire was entirely another.
Ingrid turned her attention back to Lily who was in awe over the small menagerie. Lily and John had married in the months since Dragongrove had burned, and Ingrid had exclaimed happily over their description of the wedding and the small house they shared. Ingrid thought of her tiny cottage then, and the attic she’d shared with Helias, with ceilings so sloped he could never stand up straight. She smiled at the memory, and then pushed it away as the near constant pain settled back into her chest.
Ingrid had taken to eating alone in her bedroom in the exhausting weeks since her lessons had begun, but she wanted her friends to see palace life. Ingrid ordered dinner to be in the breakfast room so that her friends could see the place she so adored, and Lily was delighted in the room, the meal, and the company. Ingrid quietly wished she could convince them to stay permanently, but knew that it was unlikely. Lily would have done well there; she loved meeting people and staying busy, but John preferred solitude, and Ingrid knew Lily loved him too much to force him into something he didn’t want. She thought of her letter to Mira which was unanswered, and hoped for her own sake, as well as a certain dragon’s, that the dark haired woman was at least entertaining the thought.
Mira came up in conversation after dinner, as they were sitting in her parlor with quite a crowd. Tarquin, Cassius, and Ingrid’s ladies had joined them. Elsie had picked up the harp, playing quietly, as Vivian challenged Lily to cards. It had been a long time since Ingrid had allowed anyone but her ladies in the parlor to socialize, and even that was a rare occurrence. She enjoyed the quiet hum of conversation, the carefree cry of Lily’s laugh, Elsie’s stumbling fingers. She had missed this. The only thing missing was the warm, secure presence of her mate. She bit her lip hard to keep her chin from quivering.
“Do you know when Mira will arrive?” asked Lily after she had been soundly defeated and Vivian had moved on to her next target.
Tarquin stiffened at the name, and as Ingrid glanced at him he positively glared back at her. “I wrote to her, I haven’t heard anything back,” Ingrid said hesitantly.
“We spoke with her before we left, she seemed like she was planning to come.”
Ingrid smiled at that.
Tarquin had carefully inserted himself into conversation with Cassius and the ladies. They sat near the fire, and as Ingrid watched Grace arranged herself next to Cassius, and then discreetly stroked his wrist twice. She’d noticed it once before. It was a strange gesture, Ingrid thought, for two people who seemed to hardly know each other. Then Cassius did it back. It wasn’t the caress of new lovers, looking for any excuse to touch. It was more intimate, more familiar. Ingrid knew there was something there.
She spent the rest of the evening watching them. They acted like friends, but they shared knowing glances frequently and their movements around each other were perfectly at ease. Perhaps they were secret lovers, she mused, or maybe more. But Grace had only been here a month, and their intimacy seemed far beyond that. She needed more information from her ladies, and resolved to get it one way or another.
After Cassius retired the rest of the group quickly dispersed, until it was just Ingrid, Lily and John. Lily threw her arms around Ingrid, the first informal touch she’d known since Helias had disappeared, and then Ingrid sobbed into her shoulder until she was utterly empty.
.....
Ingrid shivered against a breeze next to the lake, Morwich and Tarquin standing nearby, her heart beating out of her chest.
“I’d like to demonstrate,” said the old man to her. “Go stand over there,” he pointed toward a boulder off in the distance.
Ingrid ran off, eager to see the mage in action. He removed his cloak and dropped it to the ground as Tarquin undressed quickly and shifted. She knew the dragons were massive, but the mage looked positively minuscule next to him. She saw Morwich say something, but couldn’t hear what.
Then Tarquin breathed flame. It was a small amount, but enough for Ingrid to feel the heat from her great distance. Morwich easily blocked it and waved his arms in frustration.
“Hit me!” she heard him bellow, and she was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of his ire for once.
Tarquin reared back again and sent a massive jet of fire at the old man. Ingrid couldn’t see the mage at all, he was completely obscured by flames. She held her breath for a second, but then there he was, completely unruffled.
“Hit me!” she heard him roar again. “Strike me!”
Ingrid’s hand covered her mouth as she watched Tarquin attack, not just with flame but claws and teeth and tail. He moved faster than she could see, but Morwich moved even faster. He blocked and deflected with his spells, disappearing and reappearing feet away. He was dizzying to watch, moving more fluidly than she’d ever seen, power radiating off of his small form. They battled for several minutes before Morwich gathered a huge, dense shield around himself, and launched it at Tarquin. The black dragon was knocked backwards, and as Tarquin shifted back Ingrid was already running to Morwich.
“That’s what I want you to do, Ingrid. You can be a queen when you can do that.”
She laughed without realizing it, and he scowled at her. “You’re amazing,” she said. As she watched him, completely relaxed and not a single beard hair out of place, his face changed slightly. She studied him. His features were the same, but she could almost see underneath his face. It was ancient. Her eyes widened, and when he glanced at her his face returned to it’s normal old man visage. He stared at her, unblinking, until she looked away.
Tarquin approached then. “Ready?” he asked Ingrid.
She nodded hesitantly. “Please don’t kill me!”
He smiled wryly before shifting again into dragon form. Morwich stepped a few feet away from her, and she faced down the dragon. She put her arms in front of her, picturing a physical barrier, building it in her mind. A moment later a tiny stream of flames shot straight at her and stopped just between her arms. She laughed in delight, turning to face Morwich, and the small action caused her shield to drop and the flames to brush across her face. Tarquin stopped immediately, watching her carefully.
She touched her cheek. It was warm to the touch and pained her, but she could tell it wasn’t serious. “I’m fine,” she shouted, exhilarated. “Again?”
They practiced for hours, and by the time Morwich insisted they return to the palace, Ingrid could completely block small amounts of dragonfire.
“So as long as you’re only approached from the front, and the dragon gives you warning and waits for you to be ready, and they only breathe a quarter of their capacity, you’ll be safe,” Morwich said, eyeing her critically.
She ignored him as they walked back to the palace, grinning all the way. He could be as grumbly as he wanted, but she had blocked dragonfire. She could finally see a future that didn’t involve being confined to a castle for the rest of her life, and it excited her more than she could have imagined.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ingrid awoke ready to question her ladies, starting with Elsie. So many things about them weren’t adding up, and Ingrid was done waiting around for her mate to return. It seemed that he would need a damsel to rescue him. To do that she needed to figure out where on earth he’d gone.
When her ladies came to her, she sent all but Elsie off to Lily’s room, under the guise that she was unfamiliar with what was in fashion as far as clothing and hairstyles, and the three ladies went happily, excited to bestow their knowledge on a more willing recipient than their queen.
Elsie was quiet as she brushed through Ingrid’s hair, deciding out loud that she would plait it as she often did to her own. For the first time Ingrid smiled and agreed to that suggestion; normally she didn’t have the patience to sit through the elaborate braids. Today, though, she wanted Elsie alone with her as long as possible. As Ingrid mused over how to begin, Elsie talked quietly about all of the guests coming to stay.
“Was Dragongrove your home?” she asked suddenly. “I heard it mentioned last night.”
“It was.” Ingrid smiled fondly. She found herself describing the dense woods surrounding the manor, the crumbling archways, the secret passageways and ancient secrets.
“It sounds lovely,” Elsie said, pinning a section of Ingrid’s hair against her head. “I’m sorry they burned it.”
Ingrid agreed.
“I was watching you last night,” Elsie admitted, seeming reluctant. “I can see how you’re struggling. You must feel very alone here.”
Ingrid found her chin quivering and made no attempt to hide it. “I miss him.”
Elsie put a cautious hand on Ingrid’s shoulder and leaned closer to her. “You love him, then?” she asked. “He’s… kind to you?”
Ingrid’s brow furrowed. This was a similar line of questioning that she’d endured from Annie, back before her home had burned. She ignored the suspicion creeping up her spine. “Very kind,” she said quietly, watching Elsie in the mirror. “Why do you ask?” she asked carefully.
Elsie shook her head and shrugged. “Just curious, I suppose. He’s quite intimidating.”
“Is he?” Ingrid found herself asking out loud. He had never intimidated her.
“Formidable, I guess. And you know, you hear things,” she said, lowering her voice.
“What have you heard?” Ingrid asked, her heart quickening. She had wanted to get to the bottom of the misinformation spread, and it seemed that Elsie knew something.
The blonde woman glanced down at Ingrid’s hair, ignoring her gaze in the mirror.
“Please, Elsie,” she said, her voice low. “Please tell me what you’ve heard.”
“That he’s a murderer,” she spat out suddenly, loudly. “And that he kidnapped you in order to force you to have his children.”
Ingrid was taken aback by the woman’s sudden vehemence, and was beginning to piece things together. There was a misinformation campaign at work, so pervasive that even Annie had been subjected to it. Ingrid wasn’t sure of the purpose, aside from trying to make Helias look like a similar ruler to his father, but she knew that someone was spreading these tales on purpose. And whoever was responsible, she was sure, was directly or indirectly responsible for his kidnapping. Maybe she couldn’t Find him, but she could get information in her own palace. She would get it by any means necessary.
“Those things aren’t true,” Ingrid said, turning to face Elsie. “Who did you hear this from?”
Elsie reddened. “You know,” she said, avoiding Ingrid’s gaze, “people talk.”
“What people?”
Elsie’s eyes were wide as she stared at the wall.
“Elsie,” Ingrid said quietly, “what people?”
.....
An hour later Cassius was deposited safely in the dungeons while Tarquin silently watched Grace. No one apart from Tarquin and Elsie knew what Ingrid had discovered, and Elsie had been threatened within an inch of her life to keep her silence.
Ingrid didn’t know what to do. How much did Cassius know? He was totally unwilling to talk, and they had no leverage over him. She was sure that the guards knew techniques that could make him talk, but the thought of torture made her queasy, and besides, she still couldn’t be sure of any loyalty from her guards.
She knocked on the door at the top of the tower, and her chin trembled as Morwich opened it.
“Help me,” she begged, “help me know what to do.”
He nodded and followed her wordlessly.
.....
As Ingrid pushed the tip of her knife harder into Grace’s cheek, she felt like she was high above herself, floating. She recognized her actions as monstrous, but she didn’t recognize them as hers. Later, when recalling the moment, she would always insist that she hadn’t been nearly as brutal as she had, but she would know that that was a lie.
Morwich had pointed her in the right direction to take, as he always did, pointing but not directing.
Grace whimpered in her grip, and she pushed the knife harder, not taking her eyes from Cassius’s pleading ones. Blood pooled under Grace’s chin and dripped onto Ingrid’s arm, and the heat from it infuriated her further. Cassius’s mate was warm and alive, right here; Ingrid’s mate was gone.
“Tell me,” she breathed, her eyes wild with fury, her hands sticky with blood. “Tell me, or I’ll slice her fucking face off.”
She stared at him, at the set of his jaw, the steely glint in his eyes. She inhaled in a great breath, feeling Grace’s slim collarbone under her hard grip and the jewels from the hilt of her dagger pressing into her other hand.
“Ingrid,” she heard from far away, “Ingrid, listen.”
She shuddered. “Tell me now,” she said again.
“Cassius, please,” she heard Grace whisper, but whether she wanted rescue or resolve from him Ingrid didn’t know.
His attention turned to Grace. She reached her fingers to the bars as he did, and for a moment their hands were locked together. Ingrid pulled her back with a sharp pain in her chest. Ingrid saw an apology on Cassius’s face and she knew it was over.
“You’ll learn nothing from me, vile bitch,” he spat.
The hope that she’d had fled from her, leaving nothing but a cavity in her chest and a deep ache of sorrow in her bones. She released Grace all at once, and the pitiful woman collapsed to her knees and sobbed.
“Put her in with him,” she instructed Tarquin, her voice shaking. She turned her attention to a bewildered Cassius. “I gave you your mate. You took mine from me. Remember that.”
She swept up the stairs, through the palace and into her rooms, where she sat on her bed, stared at Helias’s pillow and hated herself for her weakness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Would you have stopped me from killing her?” Ingrid asked, watching Tarquin as they ate in her sitting room. “I really wanted to.”
He shook his head. “I was hoping you would.”
She nodded thoughtfully and turned her attention to Morwich. “Would you have let me?”
He stared at her for a moment. “I Knew you wouldn’t.”
“But would you have?” she pressed.
“It doesn’t matter. I already knew.”
Ingrid suppressed a sigh at his typical answer.
The small party was eating breakfast together in Ingrid’s parlor prior to Cassius’s sentencing. Ingrid found herself surprised at her bright mood. Despair had fallen over her the night before, dark and smothering, and her night had been long, waking up as she always did reaching for Helias’s side, forgetting he was gone. This morning, though, the sun was shining and they had a lead, however useless he was. They were starting to get somewhere
after over a month of helpless inaction, and she was grateful for any feeling of progress.
She watched Tarquin as he ate. Mira had arrived four nights before during a storm, her wet black hair plastered against her chin and a frightened grin on her face. Tarquin had scolded her heavily over not sending word and arriving without an escort, and she had laughed in response. Ingrid wasn’t sure if she was imagining him being more laid back and less cranky since then. Since that night, though, they acted as though they didn’t know each other at all; she pushed the thought from her mind.
“Have you decided on his sentence?” asked Morwich.