Dragonsbane (Book 3) (46 page)

“Naturally,” Kyleigh said with a grin. “It wouldn’t be a proper mourning ceremony without at least one mention of bosoms.”

Kael groaned and shook his head, but his smile never faded. He eased her onto the ground — which was rather alarming, given the fact she hadn’t realized he’d been holding her up. “You ought to rest.”

That was the last thing she wanted. “I’ve been lying around for days. Why don’t …” She cleared her throat, pushing the dragon’s wisdom aside long enough to force out a few reckless words: “I don’t suppose you’d stay with me for a while, would you?”

He glanced at the door. “I don’t know … I might get my head cracked open.”

The lights in his eyes flared brightly — a playful smirk. He was teasing her again. Blazes, she hated when he did that. It made her want to grab him by the curls and draw his smile out, to bend his lips with hers.

But she couldn’t. And she found that to be rather … frustrating. “Let me worry about Nadine.” She slapped a hand against the floor beside her. “Sit, whisperer.”

He did. They talked for a few moments, their conversation trailing as lightly as the smoke. But it wasn’t long before their words grew solemn.

Kyleigh clenched her fists tightly in her lap when Kael told her of what he’d found inside the scouts’ cottage a few miles from their camp. He spoke of how he’d been wounded, how he’d stumbled down the mountain, and her fists clenched tighter.

“If it hadn’t been for that blasted slip, I could’ve kept going. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds — honestly,” he added when he saw her glare.

She knew it’d been far worse than it sounded. Whisperers crumbled so easily under the mindrot poison. Had his body not been so strong, Kael might’ve been unable to move. The winter might’ve frozen him to the rocks.

Her heart pounded weakly as his story went on. When the hounds barreled towards them, his eyes grew dull. The light faded back and she could sense how the tale would end. Her heart dropped when he told her of what had become of Morris.

“Did you … know?” Kael whispered, his eyes on the coals.

She’d known some of the story, but hadn’t known all of it. For some reason, her memories had stopped the moment she attacked Crevan. She’d heard bits of what had happened to the whisperers and the nobles over the years. The fractured edges of what she’d known and what she’d heard made the truth seem muddled.

But there was one thing she knew for certain:

“Morris always regretted his role in the whisperers’ trap. He was a good man. I wouldn’t have brought you to him if I didn’t trust him. But he’d lived with his regret for years. In a lot of ways, I think his teaching you gave him a chance to … make amends.”

“I hope so.” Kael gripped the top of his legs tightly as he added: “I would speak for him.”

“I know you would. And you’d be right to.”

Kael nodded slowly, his gaze still distant. His hand went inside his pocket and returned with a small, black jewel — the two-headed crystal Kyleigh had found among the ruins of Baron Sahar’s castle. “It was in your armor pocket. I kept it with me while you slept. And as you’re always nicking things from me, I didn’t figure you’d mind,” he added as he handed it back. “Is it special?”

“It’s called starlight onyx,” she said quietly. There were a few stars peeking through the hole in the roof. Kyleigh held the jewel up to them and its blackened flesh began sparkling with their light. “I thought it was a clever thing.”

“It is,” he agreed. His mouth parted slightly and as he leaned to look through the jewel, his shoulder brushed against hers. “Setheran wrote me a letter.”

It was such a sudden thing, and she’d been so focused on
not
edging closer to him that it took her a moment to grasp what he’d said. “Well … what did he write about?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it.” Kael pulled a small, folded letter from his other pocket. She smelled the heavy musk of its age and saw how the color had faded from its seal. “He’d hidden it inside the
Atlas
.”

Kael held the letter strangely. It sat in the middle of his palm instead of between his fingers. “You don’t mean to read it.”

His mouth fell in a stern line. “No.”

“Why not?” When a moment passed and he’d done nothing but glare at the letter, Kyleigh touched his arm. “Whatever you might think of him, he was still your father.”

Kael shook his head. “Setheran might’ve carried me up the mountains, but then he left. That isn’t what a father is. A father is someone who stays, who spends years teaching you everything he knows. And by that reckoning, I didn’t grow up without a father: I had two fathers. Their names are Amos and Roland — and more than anything, I want to see them again.

“I’m grateful for what Setheran did for me. I’m grateful he gave me a chance, and he’ll always be my favorite hero. But I can’t read this.” His hand closed tightly around the letter. “He’s been there at every fork in the road, urging me along. I’m not sure if I’ve even taken a step on my own —”

“You know that isn’t true, Kael,” she said fiercely. “He might’ve helped you a bit, but you chose your own paths.”

The determined edge in his eyes only sharpened. “What if it’s whispercraft? What if he tells me to turn my back on everything and march down? I don’t trust him. If he was willing to die for me, he’d be willing to do anything — maybe even sacrifice the mountains. Morris told me the truth,” he said when she froze beside him.

He glared into the flames, fixing them with all the harsh light trapped behind his eyes. And Kyleigh realized that perhaps she should’ve been more insistent. Perhaps it hadn’t been a decent thing, letting him avoid his questions for so long.

“I would’ve told you,” she whispered, touching his arm. “I
wanted
to tell you. After I showed you Amelia, I expected you to ask why she hadn’t … why you never …”

“Knew her?” Kael sighed heavily. His brows tightened at their ends, creasing miserably above his nose. “I wish I hadn’t looked.”

“Kael …”

“I mean it — I wish I’d never seen her. My gut kept telling me that no good would come of it, and I should’ve listened. Now there’s all this … no, it doesn’t matter.” Kael sat straighter; he dragged a hand through his curls and his eyes flickered with thought. “All that matters now is that I finish what I started. No matter what he’s done for me, I can’t risk falling to another one of Setheran’s tricks. I can’t read this letter.”

His hand opened and for a moment, Kael held the letter as if he meant to read it. The rough edge of his thumb dragged across the faded words on its front. Then he leaned forward and tossed it among the coals.

Flames spouted from its skin. They curled and blackened its edges. Bubbles writhed inside the wax, popping with muffled shrieks. A few moments later, and Setheran’s words had turned to ash.

Kyleigh leaned back against the wall. So many things twisted inside her head … she wanted very much to sort them out, but the weariness in her bones made it difficult.

The touch of Kael’s shoulder kept her anchored in wakefulness. He was stuck beside her, pressed in as tightly as he would fit. His neck arched away from the wall. His gaze was focused. Lights danced in the dark of his eyes, whipping beneath gales of thought.

Kyleigh couldn’t help but smile. “I feel sorry for Titus.”

“You should,” Kael growled. “I have a plan.”

She wove an arm through his and held on tightly. She was determined to stay awake just a moment longer. “I hope you’ll have a happy birthday, Kael,” she whispered.

His hand closed over hers: warm, but not stifling — not demanding, but firm. He held her, and he let her be. His touch hadn’t changed because he’d had to save her. He felt no debt between them. They were tied together, as they’d always been.

And in that moment, Kyleigh realized that she’d worried over nothing.

Chapter 43

The Braided Tree

At the northeastern reaches of the Grandforest, the land began to change. The great trees languished into drooping weeds and the ground became a treacherous bog.

Water pooled between the narrow stretches of grass. Deep pits of mud waited hungrily on all sides — their tops covered so thickly in moss that they might easily be mistaken for solid ground. One of Crevan’s scouts discovered this quickly when he took a wrong step and was dragged into the bowels of the earth.

At least his screams warned the rest of the caravan away.

Black ponds festered in the gaps between trees. The water was still, reflecting the sickly landscape like a mirror. Occasionally, the reflections would break into ripples as the scaly beasts that lurked within them ducked from the noise of the King’s march.

Crevan hated the swamps. It was a useless plot of land that seemed to exist only to breed insects — great, bloodsucking pests that drove him mad with their needles. They left itching welts down Crevan’s neck and across his back, sipping during the day and swarming to feast at night.

To make matters worse, the whole air stank like a dead man’s breath. The odor hung so thickly that Crevan began to think there
wasn’t
any air. Perhaps their lungs simply filled with the stench of rotting travelers.

No road crossed through the swamps. The land was in a constant state of decay: its skin rotted and festered with such vigor that any paths they might’ve built would’ve been swallowed up immediately. Instead, Crevan’s men were forced to travel along a few narrow pathways of solid earth.

Muck and slime oozed from the stringy grass at their every step. The mire grasped wetly at their boots, sank its jaws across the carts’ wheels — always trying to drag them to a slow and murky death. It was with no small relief that Crevan and his soldiers finally made it to the mouth of the northern seas.

The great river that cut through the Kingdom split at the seas’ mouth, forming two smaller currents. They flowed on either side of an island caught between them and disappeared into the icy blue beyond.

Countess D’Mere waited for him at a camp along the northern riverbank. She wore a deep green tunic and tight-fitting black breeches. Her boots came up to her knees. Crevan was alarmed to see that they were covered in mud.

“You should’ve brought a horse, Countess,” he said as he dismounted. He patted the creature’s warm, muscled neck and smiled. “If the swamp muck begins to drag you down, their sacrifice will give you a moment to escape.”

“A clever ploy, Your Majesty. I hadn’t thought of that.”

The Countess kept her smile sharp. Her lips could charm like a serpent’s eyes — Crevan had seen it done. And he’d promised that if she ever tried her tricks on him, he’d lop off her head. “Where’s the shaman?”

“Here, Your Majesty,” Blackbeak crowed. There were gashes on the side of his warped face and a number of his feathers were missing. “Unfortunate! I had an unfortunate accident, Your Majesty,” he explained.

Crevan was certain that he’d had gotten whatever he deserved. He might’ve looked like a monster, but the crow shaman was clever: there was little his beady eyes didn’t see. It would’ve been dangerous to let him wander around the fortress of Midlan. So Crevan had left him in the charge of Countess D’Mere.

Blackbeak approached from the river, hemmed on either side by young men dressed like the Countess. Both of the guards carried swords at their hips and had the golden, twisting oak of the Grandforest stamped upon their chests. Crevan glanced at their faces — and then he had to glance again.

From their dark eyes to their frowning lips, the boys were identical. Both had their hair cut close to their scalps. They even had the same knot on their nose, as if both had been broken and healed at the same crooked angle.

“I hope you’re well, Your Majesty,” D’Mere said, her eyes searching.

Crevan shook his head. “I’m more concerned for
you
, Countess. I should’ve realized that Titus would use a treaty with the chancellor to lure you in — he knew I would send you to the seas on my behalf. I don’t know what I would’ve done, had you shared the same fate as my envoy.”

She returned his smile with a hardened one of her own. “I was pleased to serve, Your Majesty — and I look forward to paying Titus back.”

“As do I, Countess.” Crevan smirked again as he signaled behind him. “Bring the boy, Ulric.”

So many of the mages were unwilling to use their magic for anything other than simple tasks — and the few who had gifts for battle were often cowards. But Ulric had seized the opportunity for greatness.

No sooner had the crown been settled upon Crevan’s head than he’d offered Midlan a mighty gift of allegiance: a spell that would bind any creature with magic in its blood to Crevan’s will. Ulric had bound himself in homage, and all he’d asked for in return was to serve Midlan in the ancient ways — as the mages had served the Kings of old.

So Crevan had gladly granted him the title of archmage.

“Good to see you again, Countess,” Ulric called as he strode forward. The archmage was a desert man. His head was completely bald and he wore gold robes with the dragon of Midlan embroidered across his chest. His voice was charming.

But his face was not.

Ulric’s eyes sunk deep inside his head — dark, and glittering. He always smiled with an open mouth, letting the sharp edges of his teeth crop out from over his lips. His ears were twice the normal size: the skin was stretched to near transparence. Little blue veins webbed out from their middles, snaking all along the dips and rivets.

Crevan supposed his ears had grown from the strain of listening to the many voices of his mages and
beasts.

For years on end, Ulric had done little more than sit cross-legged inside his chambers, sifting through the wails of the Kingdom’s slaves. He could hear their every gasp and plea, each desperate thought that bounced inside their heads. He plucked all the useful bits away and handed them over to Crevan. More than once, Ulric’s ears had saved his throne.

But though his magic was among the most powerful Crevan had ever seen, his archmage had one weakness that kept him tethered to the crown: a love for cruelty.

He was always trying to create new ways for his victims to suffer, always weaving a more painful, devastating spell. Being able to hear their thoughts gave Ulric a clear window into the fears of the beasts … and so Crevan had given him the authority to break each one.

D’Mere stiffened under Ulric’s gaze. “Archmage,” she said with a nod. “Shall we begin? I don’t want to keep His Majesty waiting.”

Ulric turned and stretched an arm out behind him. It was adorned with a silver impetus: a chain that wrapped around his wrist several times and was made up of dozens of tiny links — each one tied to a particular mage or beast. The impetus glowed as Ulric beckoned with a finger, and the strange-looking forest boy stumbled out of the cart.

His name was Devin — a fact he’d reminded them of every time the soldiers had called him
whelp
or
maggot
, or anything that wasn’t his name. He’d squawked about it until Ulric finally sealed his mouth shut.

With a wave of his hand, Ulric released him. The bonds fell from Devin’s wrists and he stumbled forward as he regained use of his legs. He massaged the muscles of his jaw, wrapping them all up in his stark blue gaze.

“He’s too stupid to run,” Ulric said in answer to the question on D’Mere’s face.

Her icy gaze swept over him. “What …
is
he?”

Devin’s eyes widened when he saw her, but he didn’t speak. He craned his neck over her shoulder to stare at her guards. His stark eyes traveled between them, and his face fell. “You’re brothers, aren’t you?”

They didn’t answer. In fact, they didn’t even blink.

“You look too alike not to be brothers,” Devin went on, speaking as if the twins were the only people in the swamps. “I wish I’d gotten a chance to know my brothers. I would’ve liked to know them, I think.” His eyes widened at Blackbeak. But instead of stepping back, he stepped forward. “Are you a man or a bird?”

“Yes,” he crowed. Then his neck bobbed to Ulric. “Surprising! I’m surprised he still has his tongue.”

“His Majesty wished him to arrive … unspoiled,” Ulric muttered.

D’Mere’s brows arched high. She craned her neck over his shoulder to look at the cart. “You’ve only brought one, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I searched for others … but there was only
one
left. Enough chattering,” Crevan growled before she could ask another question. “Get to work, shaman.”

The collar around his feathery neck glowed red with the command, and Blackbeak hopped to obey.

Two shriveled hands curled at the tops of the shaman’s wings. Devin stiffened when one of them latched onto his wrist. There was a small flint dagger clutched in the other. His stark eyes followed dagger’s path unblinkingly as Blackbeak passed it over his hand. Strange muffled words rolled off the shaman’s gray tongue and out his beak. The wooden talisman that hung against his chest glowed faintly as he spoke.

Devin yelped when Blackbeak swiped the blade across his palm.

“Why are you hurting me?” he gasped. “What did I …?”

Slowly, the blue of his gaze lost its sharpness. He stared at Blackbeak’s talisman for a moment, watching as the light flickered and finally went out. Devin’s mouth parted and his eyes went to the island in the distance — as if he searched for something.

“Get out of his way,” Crevan hissed.

Blackbeak leapt to the side.

Without any words or so much as a glance behind him, Devin began to walk. He reached with his wounded hand as he made his way slowly towards the island between rivers.

And Crevan held his breath.

*******

It was a voice that drew him to the river. A woman’s voice — strong and deep … and kind. The words she whispered reminded Devin of his mother.

She hummed the same songs his mother used to sing, speaking with the river’s roar and along the whistle of the wind. The earth trembled when she spoke, as if he was standing upon the chords of her throat.

Closer, child. You must come closer
.

Her voice lured him to the rocky bank. Swift waters lapped the shores, but he was certain the woman wouldn’t lead him to harm. The waters must not have been as angry as they looked. With a deep breath, he dipped his foot among the rapids.

The whole river seemed to be made from the same foam that covered its top: there was no strength behind the flow. It didn’t try to pull him under. The water whipped harmlessly around him as Devin waded further out.

It was at the river’s middle that he began to be afraid. The foamy swells came up to his neck, now. If it went much deeper, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Look up, child. My light will guide you.

Devin’s eyes left the swirling waters and locked onto the woman standing upon the opposite bank. She waited for him. He couldn’t see her face, but her hand was outstretched. He wanted desperately to reach her.

With a deep breath, he forced his way across the river and pulled himself up the rocky slope of the bank. He didn’t realized how the journey had weakened him until he collapsed on hand and knee.

Closer, child. Closer
.

He was nearly there — her hand was almost within his reach. The fresh cut on his palm stung as he dragged himself across the pebbly shore. His skin burned against the many little rocks that ground into his flesh. With his last ounce of strength, he stretched out and grasped for her hand.

When he looked up, he realized it wasn’t a woman that’d been calling to him: it was a tree. Its trunk was made of two smaller trees, twisted tightly around each other and spiraling towards the sky. They mingled at their branches — forming one great canopy of leaves.

Fear twisted inside Devin’s throat. It shoved until it burst from his mouth in a panicked cry. The Braided Tree! His mother had sung of this place before. She’d shown him the picture carved into his father’s talisman.

No. No, he couldn’t be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here — the draega weren’t allowed! He tried to pull himself from the Tree, but his hand wouldn’t budge. It was as if his fingers had melted into the roots.

Peace, child
.
Peace
.

A great light began to pulse from within the Braided Tree. It went from blinding to dim in slow, steady breaths. Devin filled his lungs along with its rhythm and felt something like cool rain wash over his head. But his peace didn’t last for long.

His arm went numb and his hand burned as the Tree sucked a great amount of blood out through his cut. The light in the center grew brighter — so bright that Devin had to shut his eyes.

“Let me go!” he cried.

The woman’s voice was gone. A new sound came from the Tree — a sound like the thud of footsteps across a wooden bridge. It grew faster and louder as Devin tried to pull away.