The dragon shifted, sliding his body under her, gripping her arm and rolling a little so that she ended up lying on top of him, just forward of where the spines began, her face pressed against his muscled neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tightened her knees around his body. It was like hugging a wood-burning stove, only more intimate, somehow.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “That’s much warmer. It really—”
Now fly.
Claws rattled against stone as Flamecaster charged forward and launched from the tower with Jenna clinging to his back.
Jenna screamed, and kept on screaming, her voice mingling with that of the dragon. At first it was all terror, but soon became a cry of ferocious joy. They soared out over the castle close. The city beneath them was as small as a child’s toy village left out in the rain, with poufs of smoke from many chimneys.
Squinting her eyes against the rain, she looked back at the ruined tower, which resembled a charred and broken tooth. Take that, you gutter-swiving, murderous, black-hearted devil. She tightened her knees against the dragon’s sides and whooped.
So this is what heaven is like, she thought. Who knew?
They were over the harbor now. Below, she saw a ship with broken masts and a hole in the side. It looked tiny from so high above. Could that be the emissary’s ship? Though badly damaged, it was still afloat.
Chains and stinging collars. Dark, stinking hole. Enemies.
“Yes,” Jenna whispered, pressing her cheek against Flamecaster’s neck. “Enemies.”
They were some distance east of the river when they were buffeted by a shock wave and an earsplitting series of booms that sent Flamecaster spinning sideways, flapping madly until he could regain his balance. Jenna looked back toward the city and saw that the ship had exploded, leaving chunks of burning debris floating in the water and little else.
Adam Wolf had come through. If the emissary and all his friends hadn’t burned to death, she hoped that they had returned to their ship in time to blow up with it.
Jenna thrust her face into the rain and wind and screamed with a savagery she’d never tapped before. That was when she realized that they were losing altitude, despite the dragon’s efforts to keep them aloft. Jenna wasn’t heavy, but she was likely too much weight for a young dragon to carry. Especially one that was injured.
She leaned down to where she thought his ear might be, and said, “Flamecaster. Find a place to land. I don’t want us to fall.” He beat his wings, achieving a shallow glide. Flying east.
She fell asleep, and dreamed of Adam Wolf. Stay safe.
She didn’t know how much later it was when they landed. She jolted awake as they bounced, then bounced again, and came to a sliding stop.
They were on a beach. The rain had stopped, but the sand was still pockmarked from the recent storm. A few stars had shaken off the clouds and glimmered overhead. To the west, the moon was rising, gilding a path on the breast of the ocean.
Jenna had never seen the sea. She blinked, scraping her wet and bloody hair out of her eyes, and drank it in, her heart full to bursting. When she finally looked down at herself, the scales had disappeared. She hurt all over, especially her head. She was hungry and ferociously tired, but she was alive.
Flamecaster was obviously exhausted, too. He lay, head on his forelegs, already sound asleep. Jenna crawled into the warm shelter of the dragon’s body and closed her eyes again.
42
BACK AT THE CASTLE
Ash knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince Lila to stay behind while he returned to the castle to look for Strangward. He sidestepped the issue by avoiding the conversation altogether. He used the rope ladder at the bow end of the ship to descend to the wharf. He spoke briefly with Marc, telling him that he’d found no survivors on board, and reminded him to keep people away from the ship until the fires burned out.
The storm was still raging with a ferocity Ash hadn’t seen since he came south. Even with his blackbird cloak, he was soaked through before he’d gone a block. He was halfway up Citadel Hill when he heard it—a thunderous boom behind him. He swung around in time to see the second explosion, and the third. A fireball rose from wharfside, raining burning debris over the warehouses and taverns near the docks. Ash was glad it was raining, making it less likely that the buildings would catch. By the time the last of the charges went off, the ship was engulfed in flames.
“Sail that, Strangward,” Ash whispered. And then, “Thank you, Jenna.” He couldn’t wait to see her face.
When he caught his first glimpse of the keep, he nearly stumbled. The tallest of the towers—the one that housed Jenna’s new quarters—was broken, a large bite having been taken out of the very top. How would that have happened in the short time he’d been away?
He hurried on. Though it was the small hours of the morning, the streets grew more and more crowded as he approached the close. He began seeing chunks of stonework and masonry lying about, bits of the demolished tower. One woman was sweeping grit and stone from her stoop in the rain, her face set and angry.
“What’s going on?” he asked her.
“A demon smashed into the tower and knocked it half down,” she said. “I was asleep, mind you, so I didn’t see it. People said it lit up the whole sky, it burned so bright.”
“A demon?” Ash stared at her. “Did they say what it looked like?”
“It had wings and a long tail. It looked like a flying snake. Or a dragon.”
“A dragon,” Ash repeated numbly.
“Aye,” the woman said with the sort of grim satisfaction some people have when they’ve been proven right. “It must’ve been sent down here by the witch in the north, to punish us.” She made the sign of Malthus and continued sweeping.
“Was anybody hurt?” he asked, his heart sinking.
“You’ll have to ask them that know more,” she said, nodding toward the keep.
The dragon he’d freed had flown straight to the castle. Was that the purpose of the emissary’s visit—to carry out an attack on Arden from the inside?
And Ash had helped make it happen. He’d launched a new kind of arrow into the sky without knowing where it would land.
Within the close, blackbirds milled about, their hands on their swords as if they anticipated another attack at any moment. Some of the officers seemed to be questioning witnesses. Ash approached one of them. “What’s going on?” he said.
“There was an attack on the castle. Maybe a bomb thrown from a catapult, we don’t know.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“I dunno for sure. I been outside the whole time. Somebody said they found a couple bodies up near the top, where the break is.”
“Who was it?” Ash said hoarsely. “The bodies, I mean?”
The blackbird shrugged. “I guess they couldn’t tell, they was burned so bad.”
“Thank you,” Ash said. Fear and despair welled up in him like vomit. “I’ll go look for myself.”
A few of the nobility with quarters in the castle close had gathered in the Great Hall, which likely seemed safer than anywhere out on the grounds. In one corner, Father Fosnaught was holding a prayer service for a rapt audience, most on their knees on the stone floor.
Ash spotted Botetort, standing with a small group of retainers, issuing orders. He drifted close enough to hear.
“Beauchamp. Take five men to Brightstone Keep and stay there. Warn the steward to keep the children inside and the livestock in the riverside pastures so they can keep an eye on them. We’ve sent messages to Middlesea and Baston Bay to put them on alert, but the last thing we need is stories about dragons and witches spreading through the countryside. Granger and Larue have escorted the prince and princess to safety in the countryside until we see what’s what.”
“Lord Botetort,” Ash said, joining the group. “What’s happened? Is anyone in need of a healer?”
Botetort gripped his elbow, hard, and pulled him aside. “We are not entirely sure,” he said, spe
aking low and fast. “It seems that the dragon escaped from the emissary’s ship and attacked the keep. We don’t know whether it was an accident or part of a plan, and if it is a plan, who is behind it.”
“Where is the emissary?” Ash asked.
“Nobody knows. He seems to have disappeared. The bodies of two of his guards were found in the tower, in the”—he lowered his voice—“in the cell where the magemarked girl was being kept. Where they had no business being.”
Why were they in the tower at the time of the dragon attack? Had they called it there somehow?
“And the girl? What about her?”
“We haven’t found her. Her body could be up there somewhere, buried in rubble. Or she might be lying anywhere within a mile of the keep. The beast hit right at the level of her room.”
Had the empress meant to murder Jenna all along? Or had Strangward been ordered to kill her if they hadn’t come to terms?
Ash felt the pain of remorse like a knife in his gut. If she’s dead, then it’s my fault, he thought. It didn’t matter that King Gerard, Strangward, and the empress had all played a role—that did not diminish his own guilt. It was his father’s death all over again.
Only this time, the king of Arden was within reach. Maybe.
“The king and the queen? Are they safe?” Ash struggled to keep the menace out of his voice.
Fortunately, Botetort didn’t notice. “Neither were hurt in the attack. King Gerard seems badly shaken, which I suppose is understandable.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ash said. “Perhaps I can give him something that will settle his nerves.” In a permanent sort of way. “Do you know where he is?”
Botetort shook his head. “I don’t know. If you do find him, I hope you can help him.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s not been himself lately. We need strong leadership at a time like this.”
“I understand, my lord,” Ash said, turning away.
Ash climbed the steps into the tower, two at a time. It had been nearly empty while Jenna was in residence there, and now it appeared to be completely deserted. There were few signs of damage until he reached the floor below Jenna’s rooms. Here it looked like there had been one of the earthshakes he’d heard were common along the southern coast. Walls were cracked, and some seemed near collapse. As he climbed the next flight of steps, he could hear the wind whistling through up above.
When he emerged from the stairwell, he found nothing but ruins. The tower walls were gone on three sides, and everything above Jenna’s floor was missing. Some of the furniture was still there, although it was charred and burned. It resembled a child’s dollhouse, where the sides have been peeled away so you can look into the rooms.
“Jenna!” he shouted, the wind whipping the word away as soon as he released it. “Jenna, it’s Adam.” If there was a response, he didn’t hear it.
The rain had churned ashes and cinders into a black soup. As Ash crossed the floor, glass crunched under his feet. He found two bodies against the remaining wall, burned nearly beyond recognition. When he looked closer, bits of braid and jewelry told him that they were the emissary’s guard.
Ash walked the room in a miasma of grief and rage, forcing himself to search methodically. He found charred scraps of fabric in purple silk—the dress Jenna had worn to the meeting with the emissary. He tucked the fragments of silk inside his shirt for safekeeping.
The iron bed frame remained, though the bedclothes were a soggy, blackened mess. And on the table next to the bed, a lump of charred leather and water-soaked paper. Her book.
I wonder if she finished it? He blotted tears from his eyes, recalling what she’d said on their last night together.
I want to live. I want to hear the bells in the temple church in Delphi, ringing out the victory. I want to hike into the Spirit Mountains and speak to witches and faeries. I want to sail over the ocean, all the way to the horizon and beyond. I want to go all those places I’ve never seen, except in books. I want to fly—
He slipped his hand inside his coat, fingering the battered gold pendant she’d given him. It looked like a piece of a mariner’s compass. He remembered what she’d said.
You can give it back to me when I see you again.
When you love someone, that catches the attention of the gods, who punish you.
He walked to the edge and looked out over the city. Where would Jenna’s body have landed, if she’d been thrown from the building by a dragon?
It made no sense that a dragon would kill her. He’d always heard that dragons loved beautiful things.
I should have killed it when I had the chance, but Jenna wanted it freed.
Ash heard a slight sound behind him, like a boot crunching into glass. He began to turn, reaching for his amulet. But it was too late. A hard push between his shoulder blades, and he was falling, over the edge and into space. Desperately, he grabbed at the air, and his hands fastened on a pair of gargoyles—drain spouts on either side of a window. He dangled from the spouts until his toes found a bit of a ledge to dig into.
The wind was howling, and the stone was slippery from the rain. Ash was afraid to move for fear of losing his hold and falling the rest of the way.
He looked up, blinking away rain, to see Gerard Montaigne standing over him. He resembled some avenging spirit in a cautionary tale, silhouetted against the roiling clouds, with his cloak whipping in the wind.
The king knelt, reached down, and yanked Ash’s amulet over his head; the serpent amulet his father had given him. Ash was helpless to stop him.
Montaigne tossed the amulet over his shoulder. Ash heard the clank as it hit the stone floor.
“So, Adam Freeman,” the king said as if he no longer believed in the name. “I see that you are uncollared once more. How could that have happened?”
Ash couldn’t think of any answer that would be helpful, so he said nothing at all.
“I am wondering why it is that, ever since you arrived in Ardenscourt, I’ve had one piece of bad luck after another.”
Ash judged the distance between them. He shifted his feet, seeking more secure footing. With a better base, he might be able to push up and grab the king’s ankles. He’d fall, but he’d take the king with him, and just now that seemed like a worthwhile trade. Especially with Jenna gone.
But if he missed, or lost his grip . . .
When Ash said nothing, the king continued on. “Fires in the kitchen, snakes in my bed, poison in the wassail, and now dragons on the tower. Truly, I am beginning to feel like a target.”
Keep him talking, buy some time to think. “Maybe it’s time to make your peace with the Maker,” Ash said. “To take a close look at your life so far, and—”
“Do not dare to defile the Maker’s name!” Gerard thundered. “You are not worthy!”
. . . but don’t rile him up enough so he ends it now.
Ash hung there silently, as if chastened.
“I was forced to dispose of my beloved Estelle,” Montaigne said, back to icy calm. “I loved her, but once I realized that she had been corrupted, she had to be sacrificed.” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.
Ash had left most of his arsenal of poisons with the discarded collar. But not everything. Keeping a tight hold on the gargoyle with one hand, he slid the other into the pocket of his cloak, groping until he found what he was looking for—the sting in its leather sheath. Using his teeth, he pulled the sheath away.
“But that is nothing, nothing next to these recent calamities. The thanes were already mutinous, always whining about paying for this holy war against northern witchery. Then Delphi falls to a mob of coal miners, ships explode in the harbor, and a dragon attacks the castle itself. That’s when I knew.”
“That’s when you knew what?” Ash said.
“That’s when I knew that you were responsible.”
“Well,” Ash said, “much as I’d like to take credit for all of that, I can’t see how you think I’m to blame.” Well, maybe
for those last two things, but he wasn’t going to bring that up.
“Your name is not Adam Freeman,” Montaigne said, triumphantly, “is it?”
Ash looked up at him. Suddenly, he was eager to face the king of Arden in no other skin than his own. “No,” he said, “it’s not.”
“How long did you think you could fool me?”
“Long enough to kill you, I hoped.”
“It should have been obvious.” Montaigne shook his head. “I can only think that the Breaker clouded my eyes. That first night, when you came walking out of the flames and raised the baker from the dead, I should have known. That was unnatural. Then you insinuated yourself into the healing service so that you could get to the girl with the magemark.”
“You were the one who asked me to treat her,” Ash said.
“I was blinded by sorcery. Otherwise, I would have known. But tonight, I will do what I should have done in the first place.” He paused, as if to build suspense. “I will kill you.”
Fragmented thoughts swirled through Ash’s mind. This doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he try to keep me alive and hold me hostage? Or break my mother’s heart by torturing me to death?
Maybe he’ll send the pieces home in a box, the way he did with Hana.
“You are going to lose,” Ash said. “I don’t care how many of us you kill, we will never surrender. You will pay for murdering my father, and my sister, and you will pay for Jenna. You never should have picked a fight with the Gray Wolf queens.”
But the king didn’t seem to hear him. “Behold your redemption, demon!” The king thrust a stoneware jar into Ash’s face.
That was the opening he needed. Ash jabbed the sting into the king’s forearm. Gerard didn’t even notice.
Ash withdrew the needle and let it fall. He released a long, shuddering sigh. There. It was done. Finally.
“Behold your redemption, demon!” the king repeated, apparently miffed at the lack of response.
“What’s that?” Ash asked.
The king rocked the jar. It sloshed. “This is oil.” He smiled. “The only way to kill a demon is by burning.”
Flamecaster Page 36