Dragonsbane (Book 3) (32 page)

Aerilyn tilted her chin. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Countess. We still have the vote.”

D’Mere had to fight hard not to smile. She looked so much like Garron when she was angry. “No, my dear — there’ll be no vote for you tonight. My guard will see to that.”

Left appeared out of the shadows and placed a hand on Thelred’s shoulder.

“He’ll be standing at the docks all night, so don’t even think about turning around.” She grabbed Aerilyn by the arm — not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to prove that she
could
bruise her if she wanted to. “You’re a sweet girl, Aerilyn … and I know you’ll do what’s best for your men.”

Her chin trembled as it slid down. “Yes, Countess,” she said through her teeth.

Slowly, Thelred turned and limped towards the passageway — Left following close behind. Aerilyn tried to spin away, but D’Mere held onto her arm.

“Please, Countess. I —”

“Are you happy?”

Her bright blue eyes widened at the question. “Of course I’m happy, Countess. I still miss Papa. But everything else is —”

“Good.” D’Mere pressed the sleeve of her dress against Aerilyn’s lips, wiping the red away. “What have I told you about face paint, girl?”

“
It’s a mask for lesser women
,” she said sullenly.

“Precisely. And don’t forget it.” When she was done, D’Mere waved her away. “Now go. Leave before I change my mind.”

Aerilyn curtsied slightly, one hand placed on the lump beneath her dress. Then she swept down the hall.

D’Mere watched long after she’d gone, staring at the shadows cast against the torch-lined walls. Somehow, they seemed darker than they had before. It was only when Chaucer gave the order to seal the ballroom and begin the session that D’Mere returned to her table.

She stared at the amber liquid in her goblet while the councilmen raised theirs in a toast. They agreed the liquor was very fine, indeed. Several of them took second and third gulps. D’Mere nodded absently at their applause, forcing herself to smile.

Dinner began, and soon the noise in the ballroom faded. There was the occasional
thump
as a councilman’s head struck the table, the occasional clattering of knives upon the floor. When all was finally silent, D’Mere looked up.

The problem with the men of the seas was that they relied far too heavily on their politics. They were so afraid of having their fingers nicked that they’d grown reluctant to fight. They preferred to argue rather than use their swords. But D’Mere had always done things a little … differently.

She stood slowly and turned, gazing around the hall. The council laid lifelessly all around her: hanging against their tables, sprawled upon the floor, or slumped in their chairs. Oh, they weren’t dead — she’d seen no reason to kill them, not when their fear of Crevan would make the council such willing allies.

No, they were merely paralyzed.

It was one of the first poisons she’d ever learned: a simple compound of numbing herbs made more potent by the headiness of spirits. The council was alive and awake. Many of them followed her with their eyes as she stepped out from behind the table. They could see her, they could hear her … but they could do nothing to stop her.

D’Mere turned at the march of footsteps and saw Right walking down the stairs. He’d hidden in the second level before the start of the meeting. Chaucer should’ve never held a secret council in such an open room. That was his second mistake — his first had been in trusting D’Mere.

“Bag the heads,” she murmured as she strode down the line of tables.

Right drew his sword and advanced on the envoy from Midlan. The soldiers’ eyes rolled in panic when his blade bit their necks. Their mouths hung slack, filling the petrified air with silent screams.

D’Mere watched for a moment as Right lifted the captain by his matted beard and stuffed him into the sack. She’d given him exactly what she’d promised: a night he would never forget.

Tears streamed unchecked down many of the councilmen’s faces. She could practically hear them begging through their eyes as she swept towards the head table.

“I’m not going to harm you, councilmen,” she assured them. “The King meant to lead your armies into a trap, to buy a victory against Titus with the blood of our people. Yes, councilmen —
our
people. I’ve not forgotten the loyalty I owe the region of my birth. So I came here tonight to prevent this council from making a very serious mistake.” She smiled at them. “But politics work far too slowly … I hope you won’t mind it if I speed things along.”

When she reached the head table, she drew a leaf of parchment from the folds of her skirt. “Why would you kneel to a madman would you could easily stand on your own? The Grandforest will not to bow to Crevan’s commands.”

D’Mere took one of the candles from the table and tilted it, dribbling a good amount of wax in the corner of the parchment. Then she slipped the chancellor’s crested ring off Chaucer’s finger and pressed it firmly into the wax, forming a seal.

When she was finished, she held the parchment up. “I carry with me a declaration of war — a declaration signed by your chancellor. You will repay my kindness by joining in our fight, when the time comes.
I assure you Crevan will be much less willing to treat with you once his envoy is delivered back to Midlan.” She placed the ring onto the table and cast a smile around the room. “I’ll leave you to your council, ladies and gentlemen. You have much to discuss.”

Footsteps on the balcony told her that Left had returned.

“Have they gone?”

He nodded.

“Good.” Her gaze returned to Chaucer. “Bring the chancellor along. There’s one last thing I’d like to do.”

They left the council frozen upon their seats and climbed two stories to the ramparts — Left with the limp form of Chaucer slung over his shoulders, and Right with his bag of heads. All of the guards were gone from this section of the wall … her twins had made certain they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Left bound the chancellor’s hands together. He grabbed one of the wall’s teeth and pulled, ripping it free of the mortar. D’Mere watched as he tied the stone to Chaucer’s feet. He hefted his limp body to the edge of the wall and held it out over the crashing waves —

“Wait.”

Left set him down and stepped away quickly.

D’Mere wound her fingers through Chaucer’s hair. She lifted his head from where it slumped against his chest and knelt so that their eyes were even.

They were desperate with panic. His eyes were the eyes of a man who would’ve offered her anything. She could have any portion of his wealth, every inch of his castle. She could’ve chopped off any part of his body — just so long as she let him live.

But D’Mere hadn’t come to the seas to bargain.

His eyes widened and his lips peeled back in a silent scream as he felt the bite of her dagger. She twisted it, scraping the blade against his ribs. Then she pulled it out … slowly. “I never planned to kill you. In fact, you could’ve been rather useful. But I’m afraid you made one too many mistakes.”

The dagger bit his flesh again. She watched the veins bulge out along Chaucer’s neck as he fought the pain. She pulled the dagger free and balanced the blade against the ridges of his throat, feeling for the perfect angle. She wanted him to be alive when he struck the waves.

She wanted him to suffer.

“You didn’t
have
to die tonight, Chaucer.” She brought her lips to his ear and whispered: “But you also didn’t have to call my daughter a whore.”

Chapter 29

Strategy

Kael wasn’t sure how it’d happened. One moment he’d been wandering through the Kingdom, quite certain that some things were impossible — and the next, nothing seemed to be.

Knocking over trees and killing bears with rocks no longer seemed strange. Things that used to be necessary — like wearing a coat or a tunic — suddenly just got in the way. He’d hardly blinked the last time he saw a child carrying a boulder down the road. Having to fight his way through dinner had become so much a part of his routine that he felt uncomfortable when he
wasn’t
attacked.

And had he stopped running through the wilds long enough to look, he probably would’ve been shocked by his reflection.

He was certain the mountains hadn’t changed. The deer were just as swift, the slopes as unforgiving. The rocks weren’t any softer. The nights certainly weren’t any warmer. And yet, here he was — bounding across the most perilous corner of the Kingdom as if he had every right to it.

Perhaps the mountains hadn’t changed …

But Kael had.

What would Amos say if he could see him now? Would he smile when he saw the hospital had been rebuilt? If he could show Roland how well he hunted, it would erase his disappointment forever. His mouth would never sag, and his shoulders would never slump again.

Now that Kyleigh and the craftsmen had finished their work, that dream was finally, at long last, within his grasp. The wildmen had everything they needed to face Titus and win. There was just one final obstacle in his way, one impenetrable wall of flaming red stubbornness:

Gwen.

“I’ve already told you, mutt — when the time comes, we’ll stomp him.”

“And when will that be, exactly?” Kael said through his teeth.

He’d been trying to get her to rally the wildmen for weeks, now. He’d done everything she’d asked of him: the warriors had furs to keep in the warmth, oilskins to keep out the damp, and enough dried provisions to survive the wastes at the mountain’s top. But no matter what he did, it never seemed to be enough.

Every time he’d asked her when she planned to march on the summit, she would say something about stomping the
Man of Wolves
. She’d get the wildmen so stirred to roaring that anything Kael tried to say was completely drowned out.

So today, he’d followed her into the woods.

It hadn’t been difficult to find her. Gwen’s heavy, clomping steps made the tracking easy, and she couldn’t outrun him. Now that he finally had her cornered, he was determined to get an answer.

“If you’ll just tell me what you have planned, I might be able to help.”

“We plan to crush him,” she said with a shrug. “And after I’m finished, there’ll be little for you to help with.”

He leapt into her path. “All right, but
how
are you going to crush him?”

“With my fist.”

The blow she slung into his chest likely would’ve shattered an average man’s ribcage. But Kael had gotten so used to her punches that he hardly flinched. Instead, he grabbed her arm and twisted. “You know what I mean, Gwen. How are you going to fight him? What strategy will you use?”

Red blossomed behind her paint as she fought his grip. Her strength swelled against him, gaining her an inch. “Strategy?”

“Yes. Strategy is how you move an army.” His muscles were shaking. He lost a little more ground as he thought of how to explain it. “Fighting a war is like battling with two enormous beasts: you’ve got to tell your beast where to go, tell it where to bite — ouch!”

She’d slowly taken over while he’d been talking. Now
he
was the one with his arm twisted back. “I’ll tell my army when to crush him — and that’ll be the end of it.”

“If he beat you once, he can do it again.”

“My army is better equipped, this time. I’ll bring the Man of Wolves to his knees,” she growled — forcing Kael to his.

“Then why don’t you get on with it? What are you waiting for?” he grunted.

“I’ve already told you — the time hasn’t come.”

Kael relaxed. He slumped against her hold and for half a breath, let her think she’d won. Then he pulled himself free with a burst of strength.

He slammed the heel of his hand into her middle. She swung for his head and stumbled forward when he ducked. He took the opportunity to rip her over his shoulder. There was a
thud
as her back struck the ground. He sprang up and tried to put some distance between them — but somehow, she’d already gotten to her feet.

She tackled him from behind. Her hand wound in his curls and ripped back, forcing his eyes to the trees. He knew he couldn’t wrench his way out of her grasp from that angle. So he tipped backwards and let his body fall to the ground.

Her gasp was strangled at his ear. He knew he’d knocked the wind out of her. By the time he flipped over, her boots were under his chest. She would’ve launched him clear across the woods, had he not thought to turn his skin to stone.

Sweat trickled down the furious lines of her paint. Her breathing was sharp as she struggled to hold him up. Kael knew he’d won — but he wasn’t finished with her, yet.

“Tell me how Titus beat you.”

She managed to raise him a hair’s breadth before he concentrated on making the stone denser, even thicker. Her legs shook as he sagged towards her.

“If you tell me how he beat you the first time, I can make certain it won’t happen again. Just tell me what you know.”

“I can’t!”

“Quit being difficult. Tell me how Titus beat you, or I swear I’ll crush —”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how he beat us!”

Kael’s surprise lifted him an inch. “What do you mean?”

Her face burned scarlet. Sweat rolled down her neck in molten lines as she roared: “I … don’t …
know
!”

His ears rang with her cry, but it wasn’t the words that shook him: it was her eyes. The angry red veins bled pink into the white. A dangerous film covered them — one that was every bit as clear and fragile as glass. He could sense what was about to happen, but he was no less surprised when it finally came.

He watched in horror as a tear slipped from the edge of her eye.

Gwen clamped down upon it furiously, turning her head away. But the damage had already been done. That single tear coursed down her cheek and onto her jaw, where she wiped it away. “Get off me.”

Kael rolled aside. “I’m sorry … I didn’t kn —”

“Well, now you do. Now you know that I’m a failure
and
an idiot.”

“You’re not —”

“I’m the only Thane in our history to lose the mountain’s top,” she snapped over him. “And I’ve got no idea how it was even taken from me. All I know is that I’d rather be a blot on my fathers’ throne than risk destroying my people. I hope one day our children’s children will laugh about what a shame I was,” she added with a hard look. “Because at least that’ll mean we lived.”

Kael watched as she clomped away, his chest heavy with her words. He wished he could’ve been there when Titus attacked — he wished he could’ve seen what the wildmen saw. He was certain that if he’d only known how they’d been beaten, he could unravel Titus’s plan …

Wait a moment — perhaps there
was
a way he could see it. Perhaps there was a way he could watch the battle through their eyes. It was a mad idea, and he would need help.

So he went in search of Griffith.

*******

“You want us to do
what
?”

Kael thought he would go mad if he had to say it again. “I need you to stand in a circle and —”

“I’m not doing it. We’re
warriors
, not fairies,” one of the wildmen said, rapping his knuckles on the shining top of his breastplate.

Most of the warriors were gathered outside the forge. They’d just been fitted in their new armor and had fresh edges ground into the steel swords at their belts. There was probably no worse time to ask them to link hands — but then again, there would probably never be a better one.

“All I need is two moments.”

Another wildman snorted loudly. “When was the last time you saw a bunch of warriors standing around holding hands?”

“I only want to help you.”

“You’d do well to listen to him,” Kyleigh said as she strode from the forge. “I can always tell when he’s got something exciting planned.”

She smiled at him from over her shoulder — and Kael had to wonder if she could also tell when his heart was about to burst from his skin. He hoped she couldn’t.

“Do you really have something planned?” Griffith said.

He didn’t. Not yet. But if he could get the warriors to work with him, he was certain he would have one before evening. “I just … need your help,” he said evasively.

A determined red sprang up behind Griffith’s freckles as he held out his hand. “And the rest of you will do it, too — or I’ll tell Gwen about the animals,” he added with a glare.

Now that the village had been rebuilt and all the weapons and armor had been made, the wildmen had run out of things to do — which meant they often got into mischief. A few nights ago, some of the warriors had snuck into the Hall and, with the craftsmen’s help, had wreaked havoc on the many stuffed animals that adorned the back wall.

Gwen had marched into dinner that evening to find that her prized creatures had all been rearranged: the boars had foxtails hanging off their chins, the wolves wore antlers, and most of the deer had sharp, pointed teeth. A few badgers had even been settled into some rather compromising positions.

When Gwen saw her favorite bear shooting her a rude gesture from where it sprawled in her throne, she’d lost her temper — and the wildmen had all fled the Hall rather than risk getting a pair of antlers shoved anywhere they couldn’t reach.

Though the craftsmen had returned the animals to their places, Gwen was still completely livid about it. So
the warriors joined hands rather than risk having Griffith out them.

Kael hadn’t circled with the warriors before. He’d hoped the fact that they didn’t question every little thing might make it a bit easier. But he was wrong.

The warriors’ excitement bubbled up when Kael showed them how his thoughts came alive in the circle. He showed them a memory of one of his caddocs and then stepped back, asking to see
their
memories of battle.

Things quickly got out of hand.

“Stop it,” Kael growled, breaking the circle. “I don’t care about who’s survived the highest fall, or which of you killed the biggest bear —”

“Especially when mine was clearly biggest,” Griffith said.

One of the warriors snorted. “Oh yeah? Why don’t I show you the wynn I stomped while you were still in nappies —”

“No!” The word burst from Kael’s lungs so loudly that the warriors actually flinched. “We’re not going to waste time bickering back and forth. I need you to focus. Show me what you remember of your battle with Titus.”

The warriors fell silent immediately. They scratched at the tops of their heads, dragged their fingers down the lines of their paint. Not a one of them reached to clasp hands. All wore the same dangerous scowl.

“We were beaten,” one of them finally said. “It’s done. There’s no point in living through it again.”

The others murmured in agreement. They’d turned to leave when Griffith spoke up: “I’ll go first.”

He held out his hands, waiting — and one by one, the warriors crept back in. Griffith’s hand shook furiously as Kael grasped it. But when the circle closed, he kept his word.

Screams raked across their ears. They heard the shriek of splitting wood and saw the Earl’s men burst through the shattered gates. Through Griffith’s eyes, the army was a stone monster: a beast with an impenetrable shell and hundreds of shining, pointed teeth. His gasps filled their lungs as he tried to keep up with the other warriors. He was nearly there when something knocked him off his feet.

They heard the
thud
as his back struck the wall; saw the great, red shadow that loomed before him — a devil with an iron head and hollow pits for eyes, a beast twisted by Griffith’s nightmares. The world spun as the monster slung him about. They heard him cry, heard the crunching of his bone.

A howl, a sharp
thwap
, and the monster fell aside. Gwen was there — the tail of an arrow hung from her chest and her tunic was drenched in blood. Even so, she scooped Griffith onto her shoulder.

“Hold tight, Griff! We’re going to make it out. We’re going to make it …”

Her voice trailed away and the middle of the circle went dark. Griffith’s hand trembled so violently now that Kael could feel it through his trance. He was about to break their connection when another image rose in the middle.