Her eyes flashed. “What am I, your pack mule? Just open a gate.”
“But the borders are closed.”
“To everyone except those with Fire in their veins.” She glared at me, and my heart sank. This was going to be tricky, since I didn’t come from Fire.
I needed another excuse, but it was hard to come up with something with her glaring at me like that.
“Azir told me that you walked in, but I didn’t believe him. But you did, didn’t you?”
I nodded, my mind scrambling for a story. She was already looking at me as if I were an imbecile, so it was no use saying I hadn’t known I could open a gate. Clearly, she thought that I should have known—which left the question: why had the Dragon not realised that the borders were only closed to those not born of Fire? It made me wonder if he had known and had chosen to pretend for reasons of his own that the only way in was through Winter. But why would he have done that? Especially considering it led to his own death. It didn’t make any sense.
Not that it mattered now. The Dragon was dead, and I was the one stuck here with the very annoyed female dragon glaring at me. I fell back on something similar to what the Dragon had told me. “I didn’t want to suddenly appear, for fear of upsetting Orobos. I figured it was less threatening to walk in. It would give the lookouts time to notify him of my impending arrival.”
She grunted, unappeased. I still needed her help. Since I wasn’t of Fire, I wouldn’t be able to open a gate, and then the game would be up.
“Verrekesh … my magic is near exhausted from the journey. I’m afraid if I opened a gate now, I might end up at the bottom of Ocean, or on the far side of the Realms from where I need to go. Please, would you …?”
She made a noise of frustration and flung one arm out in an impatient gesture at the open door of the room. Mist moved in the doorway, wispy and insubstantial, obscuring the view of the next room. “Go, then, you annoying man, and good riddance to you.”
I looked back as I stepped over the threshold and into the Wilds, my last sight her frowning face. She could tell something fishy was going on, sure that I was tricking her somehow, but not knowing how. I didn’t want to be around if she ever figured it out.
But then, something seemed fishy from my perspective, too. I couldn’t believe that the Dragon hadn’t known he could have gated into Fire—but I couldn’t understand why he would have lied about it either. Nor was I ever likely to find out now that he was dead.
Relief washed over me as the familiar wooded path of the Greenway stretched out before me—and relief was one emotion I’d never expected to feel about the Wilds. But I’d braved the dragons’ den and not only lived to tell the tale, but escaped with the means to cure Squeak as well.
I checked that the precious pot of ointment was still in my pocket, then hurried along the path towards my own personal miracle.
21
In the end, we smeared the cream all over Squeak’s whole wing, just to be sure, and it truly was like a miracle. Before our very eyes, the edges of the holes quivered and crawled towards each other, new membrane appearing from nowhere.
I watched through eyes filled with tears of joy as those terrible gaping holes disappeared as if they had never been. Morwenna and I looked at each other, and for once, there was no animosity between us, only shared amazement and rejoicing.
“We’ll want to keep him quiet for a few days, to make sure it’s strong enough to take his weight,” Morwenna said.
But I was having none of that. Squeak had his miracle, but he hadn’t realised it yet. He still lay motionless, glassy eyed and miserable. I picked him up and carried him outside into the morning sun. “It’s okay, buddy. You can do this—your wings are as good as new.”
I had absolute faith in the magic of the dragons, and even more faith in their pride. No self-respecting dragon was going to take it easy and limit himself to the ground for days or even weeks, just to make sure his wing really was okay. The magic would be instant and reliable.
I held Squeak up to the sun, trying to urge him skyward, sending a blast of love and reassurance down our link. I could barely feel him at the end of it anymore, but some of my excitement must have gotten through, for he stirred, then climbed from my arms onto my shoulder and tentatively spread his wings.
“That’s it! You can do it!” I held a picture of him in my mind as he’d been the first time I’d seen him, one bright green spark of light among many, soaring gracefully through the skies around the castle. “You’re healed. You can do it.” A flock of drakes swooped overhead, chittering to each other. “Go join them.”
Squeak trilled something to his friends, and a burst of emotion rushed down our link: hope, excitement, and a healthy dose of fear. Again, I urged him onward, sending memories down our link of all the times I’d seen him flying, along with love and encouragement. He stood a little straighter, thrusting out his glittering chest and spreading his wings. He bashed me in the side of the head with one of them, but I didn’t care.
“Yes, Squeak. You can do it.”
And then he was gone, leaping skyward with a shriek of excitement. The flock of drakes swarmed him, and he disappeared into their glittering heart. I watched him swoop and soar, my own heart full nearly to bursting.
Morwenna came to stand beside me, shading her eyes against the glare of the morning sun. “Looks as good as new,” she conceded gruffly. “The Dragon didn’t come back with you?”
“No.” I left it at that. I felt that the king should be the first to hear of his knight’s death, and yet it seemed I couldn’t be spared for a visit to Whitehaven. It wasn’t the kind of thing that should be sent in a message. That would be like breaking up with someone via text, only much worse. Some things just required the personal touch.
But now that Squeak was out of danger, Morwenna and the council found a million things for me to do, and the days rushed by in a whirl of meetings and preparations. A lot of them were to do with security, and how we would best protect Arlo and the Illusionists when we were once more vulnerable on the ground. Yriell was very useful in these meetings, as she had a wealth of experience to draw on.
Often, I wondered whether I was even needed, as she and Morwenna seemed to have everything well in hand, but every time I suggested leaving them for an hour or two to visit Whitehaven, one or other of them would find something else that only I could do and I was stuck again. It seemed that Kyrrim wasn’t the only one trying to keep me out of Summer’s reach.
Before I knew it, the day of Arlo’s return had arrived. Arlo was due to make its grand entrance after sunset during the so-called memorial service. Yriell stayed on the island with the Illusionists, but the king had sent a message via Raven requesting that my friends and I join him at Lord Eldric’s hall well before the start of the official ceremonies.
Since Arlo was lurking among the mists out over the ocean until the big reveal, one of the Air mages flew us in on a tiny island no bigger than Kyrrim’s home of Oldriss and delivered us safely to the Hall of Giseult in mid-afternoon. The king had already arrived the night before and was currently resting in preparation for the evening’s events.
Eldric greeted us in the tree-lined hall with its silken banners of red and gold fluttering overhead. He even went so far as to kiss my cheek. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” Autumn did still feel like home to me.
Clearly, the king hadn’t taken Eldric fully into his confidence as to what was about to happen at his “memorial service”. I figured he’d take it in his stride, though. In fact, he’d probably be pleased to have Illusion back. The two Realms had once been quite close.
Eldric called over a page and sent him to tell the king of our arrival. “He insisted on being woken when you got here,” the Lord said. “He seemed very concerned that you not miss the ceremony.”
I smiled and shrugged, guilt gnawing at me. The king would probably be far less pleased to see me when I told him my news.
But it wasn’t the ki
ng who appeared from one of the upstairs doorways. Kyrrim smiled down at me from the balcony, his face lighting up as his golden eyes found mine across the crowded Hall. I smiled back, feeling the familiar shock of wonder. Every time I saw him, it seemed that I had forgotten just how handsome he was. Every time, it caught me by surprise all over again, and my heart swelled to know that this amazing man had eyes only for me.
He descended the spiral stairs in quick strides and took me in his arms for an all too brief moment. “It’s good to see you,” he murmured into my hair, crushing me against him. Then he stepped back and said, more formally, “The king requests that you all join him.”
Eldric led the way up the stairs while Kyrrim fell back, taking my hand in his.
“How’s Squeak?”
At least I had one piece of good news. “Completely cured.”
“Thank the Lady.”
A servant admitted us to a sunny sitting room, with a green view of the canopy from its large windows. The king emerged from another door, still straightening his jacket. He looked tired, but a warm smile of welcome spread across his face at the sight of us.
“Allegra, my dear.” He came forward and took my hands, kissing me on both cheeks. “And Lady Willow. Sage. Rowan.” He nodded to all of them as they made their obeisance. “Lord Eldric, could I trouble you to relax your wards for the Hawk? He still has several errands to run for me, and it would be far more convenient if he could gate directly in and out of the Hall.”
Lord Eldric bowed his head. “Of course, sire. I shall go and see to it at once.” He bowed again and left the room.
The king gestured at the comfortable-looking lounges arrayed in front of the windows. “Sit down, sit down. I have something I need to discuss with you. Lady Willow, I wonder if I could impose on you to accept a houseguest?”
Willow blinked in surprise. “In my sith, sire? I mean, of course, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent.”
I perched uncomfortably on the edge of my seat. “Your Majesty, if I may interrupt for a moment, I’m afraid I have some bad news.” I couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to know, before he got too far in his planning.
Instantly, the king’s face sobered. “Bad news? I hope your bondmate isn’t …?”
“No, sire. Squeak is fine.” I didn’t know how to say it. This would be a massive blow to him. “It’s the Dragon, sire. I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”
There was a terrible pause, while the king stared at me, his face grim. “Sir Ebos is dead?”
I nodded helplessly, and the king rose abruptly and moved to stare out the window, his back to the room.
“How did he die?”
I gave him a brief summary of the fight with the trolls and how I had seen body parts in the trolls’ cauldron afterwards.
“This makes no sense,” Kyrrim said. “Sir Ebos was a dragon. Their strength leaves that of a normal fae for dead. Dragons are nearly impossible to kill, even in their human form. A blow to the head should barely have inconvenienced him.”
“They skewered him right through,” I objected.
“Even so …”
“Do you think I’m making this up?”
“No, of course not. It’s just perplexing. Did you note the placement of the sword? Perhaps it went through his heart?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t say.”
At last the king turned. “And how did you enlist Fire’s aid, if the Dragon was dead?”
“I took the Dragon’s form, sire. I’m sorrier than I can say that I had to deceive them, but I saw it as Squeak’s only chance. They wouldn’t have listened to me if I’d gone to them in my own form.”
“You think well on your feet.”
I bowed my head. “Thank you, sire.”
A knock on the door interrupted us.
“Enter,” the king called, an impatient note in his voice.
It was the same page again. He bowed to the king. “Your Majesty, Queen Ceinwen has arrived with Her Highness, Princess Lily, and the Lord and Lady of Summer and their son.”
“Excellent.”
Rothbold regarded us all as the page bowed and withdrew. “I must go and greet my family. Wait here.” He strode from the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Kyrrim moved to the doorway, as if he would have liked to have gone with the king, but he wouldn’t disobey a direct order. I got up and went to join him. From here, we had a good view of the vast, leafy Hall. The new arrivals had taken seats at the long table on the raised dais at the far end of the Hall, where servants were offering them refreshments. Lord Kellith and his son, Merritt, rose as the king descended the stairs and offered rather perfunctory bows, while Lady Brona curtseyed.
“Kellith, Merritt, welcome.” He even managed to sound sincere. Rothbold was a far better diplomat than I would ever be. He kissed Lady Brona’s cheek, then the queen’s and his daughter’s. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”
“It was swift,” Kellith said, “and made all the more tolerable by the knowledge that such a happy occasion awaited us at the end of it.”
“You think a memorial for a shattered Realm is a happy occasion?”
“I refer, of course, to the announcement of the engagement between your daughter and my son. I’m glad you changed your mind, brother. The children love each other very much.”
“Do they, indeed?”
The king didn’t look convinced, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. Merritt wasn’t even looking at Lily, seemingly more interested in the contents of his wine glass. I saw no special concern for her in his eyes. It was a stark contrast to the way Kyrrim’s face had lit up when he saw me, which was my yardstick for a man in love. Merritt’s behaviour reminded me more of Adam’s, my ex-boyfriend, who had never loved me as much as he loved himself. If Merritt had any interest in the princess at all, it was because of the status that their relationship would bring him.
“When will you announce their betrothal?” Queen Ceinwen asked.
“After the ceremony for Illusion,” Rothbold replied shortly.
“Really, it seems in rather doubtful taste to tie this joyful news to such a sad occasion,” Kellith said.
I rolled my eyes and glanced at Kyrrim, whose expression was stony. Sad occasion, my arse. The hide of that man. He had single-handedly all but wiped out an entire Realm, yet he felt no guilt for it. He spoke as if he was a mere observer of Illusion’s demise and not its actual architect.
“He is a stain on the face of the Realms,” Kyrrim muttered in a savage undertone.
“He’s dog shit on the shoe of life,” I agreed.
Kyrrim gave me a fierce grin. “It’s time somebody scraped him off, then.”
If only we could, but his position made him virtually invulnerable. Bad enough that he was the Lord of one of the greatest Realms of all, but he was also the queen’s brother, and apparently soon to be even more closely tied to the royal family. I couldn’t understand why the king had changed his mind about that betrothal when he’d seemed so vehemently against it before. No doubt some political game was being played, but I didn’t have the experience to figure it out.
“If you would rather we delayed the announcement, your wishes can, of course, be accommodated,” the king said smoothly.
Kellith was beginning to demur when Eldric appeared.
“Welcome to Autumn,” he said. “Rooms have been prepared for each of you if you would care to rest or bathe before the evening commences.”
“Thank you, Eldric,” the queen said. She rose from her seat. “We should begin making ready, Lily.”
Obediently, the princess rose to accompany her mother from the Hall, but as they left the room, the king called his daughter back.
“A word with you first, Lily.”
The queen paused, one eyebrow raised as she looked back at him.
The king made a shooing motion at her with his hands. “Go on, Ceinwen. I’ll only keep her a minute, but I know how long it takes you to get ready. Go a
nd change.”
The queen gave him a hard stare, but she left the room anyway, accompanied by her brother.
“Come upstairs with me, child,” the king said, and we withdrew from the doorway as he led Lily towards our room.
I lifted an eyebrow enquiringly at Kyrrim as we moved back to the couches. “Any idea what this is about?”
“Hush.”
He looked toward the door, then rose and bowed politely as the king and the princess entered. Sage and I rose, too, though I eyed Kyrrim sideways as I made my curtsey. I had the feeling he knew what the king was up to but wasn’t prepared to tell me.
The king shut the door behind them and waved his daughter to a seat. She made no acknowledgement of our bows or even our presence, but sat straight in her chair, hands folded in her lap, waiting demurely to discover her father’s wishes.
“What did you want to see me about, Father?”
He took a wing-backed armchair opposite her and crossed one leg over the other in a relaxed pose. “We need to discuss this engagement.”
“Yes?” Her tone was cautious.
“I will not allow it,” the king said pleasantly, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.
She sat back in shock. “Will not …? But you are announcing it this evening. We wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
The king’s foot swung idly. “I’m well aware of that, child, but, in fact, I am doing no such thing. I’m sorry for the lie, but it was the only way to lure your mother and her repulsive brother out of Summer. You’re far too young to be getting engaged to anyone, and Merritt of Summer would be the very last person I would choose for you even if you weren’t. You must see how impossible this is.”
“How is it impossible?” she burst out. “Merritt is the perfect man for me.”
He frowned at her. “I am one hundred per cent certain that his father was responsible for abducting me and keeping me prisoner for twenty years. He deprived you of a father and me of your entire childhood.”
“He didn’t! That was Dansen Arbre.”
“He laid waste to Illusion,” the king continued implacably, “all in service of his own greed and ambition. He wants the throne for himself.”
Changeling Illusion (Thirteen Realms Book 3) Page 19