In the Shadow of the Dragon King (8 page)

“If it makes you feel easier, I’m not in the habit of telling my knights, even those closest to me, where I go while in my own home.” He smiled as Eric’s gaze met his. “Talk to me, son.”

Eric opened his mouth, and his frustration poured out of him as he explained Trog’s infuriating hold on him, the constant pressure for Eric to be perfect in everything he did; his need to prove his worth to a man who deemed him to have none.

Gildore nodded, and when Eric finished, he said, “How well I can relate to what you say. Try not to hold it against him. He only wants what is best for you.” The man stood, walked over to Eric, and sat next to him on the bed. “He also believes you might be in some trouble.” The king lifted an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“There are many things Sir Trogsdill believes, sire. That doesn’t make them true.”

Gildore smiled. “Agreed.”

“I’m trying to work something out on my own, that’s all,” Eric continued. “I’d like him to trust me enough to do so.”

Gildore gave Eric’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I shall try to set his mind at ease.”

“Thank you.” Eric bowed.

“Let’s get together when you return from Avaleen,” Gildore said. “We’ll swap stories from the past year.”

“I look forward to it, my lord.”

Gildore turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Eric undressed down to his under tunic and breeches and fell into bed. Thoughts of the upcoming trip to Avaleen left him more than anxious. Perhaps Sestian was right. Maybe there was more to this trip than Trog let on. After all, mages were trolling Hammershire. A paladin was due to arrive any day. In a few hours, he would leave for the mage city to engage in what could only be military strategic warfare training with a man whose mere presence shattered his nerves.

Eric closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts aside, forcing his mind to focus on the music and laughter floating up from the courtyard.

A brisk breeze tinged with a hint of rain wafted through the open doors of the balcony as an echoing storm rumbled to the east. Chilled, he pulled the brocade covers over his shoulders, growing drowsy as a resonating purr boiled up, distinct and separate, from the growl of thunder. His weary mind whispered of an unseen threat and cast an image of living darkness crawling along the shadowed edge of the Northern Forest, waiting. Eric squinted the vision away and buried his head under his pillow. Tomorrow, he would come face-to-face with a killer more dangerous than Trog. The last thing he needed was an overactive imagination.

David tossed the sketchpad to the foot of his bed. His head throbbed. His mind struggled to sort through the chaos flying around inside. For hours, he’d sat hunched over, his fingers tapping the keyboard, searching for the location of Fallhollow and possible meanings of the tattoo and ring. Only once did he venture downstairs to collect an armful of snacks and a six-pack of Coke. From the staircase, he spotted Lily in the library, an oversized, black, leather-bound book clutched to her chest. He’d never seen it before, and her protectiveness stirred more than curiosity. He made a mental note to go back and look for it.

It wasn’t until the sky burned with a brilliant sunset that David stood and swept the dark strands from his eyes. He texted Charlotte, desperate to get out of the house, but she babbled back she was in the middle of doing chores and couldn’t talk. Bored, he logged on to his favorite fantasy game, but the medieval world with its knights and dragons did little to calm his growing apprehension.

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

A gentle knock sent his nerves skittering.

“David, I’m going to grab a bite to eat. I’d like you to come with me.”

Lily sounded sincere. It might be productive. “Will you tell me what I want to know about my parents?”

There was a pause, not a long one, but enough to give David an answer before she did.

“I can’t, honey. Please, trust me.”

Right. Trust someone who lied to him and continued to keep the truth away.

“I’m sorry, Lily. I can’t.”

Silence.

“Okay,” she finally said. Disappointment flooded through the closed door.

David pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. If only she would talk to him. If only she would acknowledge the betrayal.

If only his parents had never left.

His car rumbled down the drive. He jogged downstairs, desperate to feel the cold air on his face. To feel his skin freeze. That pain would be far easier to deal with than the ripping apart of his heart and soul.

He pulled down on the front door’s handle.

The door didn’t budge.

He entered the code into the security panel, but the red light stared back at him in mocking indignation.

A frustrated growl ripped from his throat. “Really, Lily? You changed the frigging code?”

He banged his fist on the door and sprinted upstairs. Back and forth he paced, clenching and unclenching his fist. It was bad enough she’d lied to him, but to keep him a prisoner in his own home?

He paused beside two black-and-white photographs on the wall, each paired with its newspaper article. The first: his father dressed in flight gear with a lopsided grin on his face, standing beside an F-18. The headline: ‘Decorated Air Force Pilot, Edward Heiland, Lost in Tragic Accident’. David knew the article by heart: a training mission in the Gulf of Mexico. Two planes collided. His father’s body never recovered.

His gaze flitted to the second frame, a photo of his mom in a floral dress, a contagious smile accentuating her sparkling eyes. The headline: ‘Havendale Mourns the Loss of Widowed Philanthropist, Jillian Ashley Day Heiland—Infant Son to Inherit Millions’. According to the article, she’d died within hours of his birth.

But it was a lie. All of it. David swallowed the raw emotion choking his throat. He fought against the anguish, desperately wanting not to feel the torment. They’d left him, abandoned him, never wishing to be found. He clutched the bedpost.

Heartache pushed its way up, twisting and turning his insides. His bottom lip trembled. Why? Why had they left him? What could have been so bad they couldn’t take him with them?

He took a breath and tried to rationalize, considering the puzzle piece by piece. Lily said they’d loved him. He knew Lily was afraid, afraid of him dying if he went where they were. If that was true, perhaps they were protecting him, but from what? He sat on the bed, the drawing of the dragon and his parents staring back at him. Enormous waves of energy and feelings crashed over him, suffocating him. Drowning him.

Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony filtered through the pool of emotions. His stomach fluttered. He closed his eyes, swam to the surface and answered his phone.

“Hey, Char.” He wiped a stray tear from his cheek.

“David! David! Oh my gosh!”

His heart leaped, almost stopped. “Charlotte, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

She sucked in a deep breath. “David.”

Her sobs sucked years from his life. His nerves shattered. “Char, calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.”

Her voice lowered to a whisper, her words broken. “Mr. Loudermilk—Mrs. Fenton. They—they want to— ”

“They want to what, Char? Slow down.”

Charlotte inhaled, her breath so deep David thought for sure she’d inhale him through the phone. She paused for a moment. “Okay, okay.” She exhaled. “I was outside about to roll the garbage cans to the curb when I heard Mr. Loudermilk and Mrs. Fenton talking in her backyard. Mrs. Fenton was arguing with him, telling him she didn’t care if some guy named Bainesworth owed Mr. Loudermilk favors. She was tired and wanted to go home. Then she got all pissy. She threatened him. She told him if he betrayed her, she’d cut him from navel to nose. Then she wanted to know when they’d find out if you were the one, and how long would they have to wait to get rid of you. Mr. Loudermilk got all snarky and told her to shut up, and there would be hell to pay if she messed everything up. He said they’d know soon enough about you, at which time he would inform somebody called His Greatness, and they would go from there.”

“His Greatness.” David rubbed his forehead. “Who the heck is His Greatness?”

“Really, David? Is that all you got out of that?” Charlotte blew her nose in his ear. “Don’t you understand? They want to get rid of you.”

David stared at the floor and swallowed, hard. “Yeah. Right. That.”

“D-do you think we should call the cops?”

“And tell them what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the truth?”

“And it would be their word against yours.”

“So, we’re going to do nothing?”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Char.” He washed his palm over his face.

“We’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“No!” Visions of dark shadows assaulting her swarmed in his mind. “Stay where you are. Lily changed the security codes. The house is on lockdown.”

A sigh of relief reached his ears. “Oh, good.”

“Good for who? I’m a prisoner in my home.”

“Maybe, but if you can’t get out, they can’t get in.”

She had a point. He didn’t like it, but she had a point. “Whatever,” David said. “I’m gonna go. Keep your doors locked, too. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay. Make sure you tell Lily about our neighbors. Maybe she can find out what’s going on.”

Yeah, like the Grand Betrayer would do anything to help him figure out the insanity brewing around him.

“Bye, Charlotte. Love you.” The words tumbled out without thinking, but it didn’t matter. She’d already hung up.

David tossed the phone on his bed and stared at the floor, his hands clasped behind his neck. The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. The wind moaned, and the tree branches clawed at the sides of the house. Downstairs, the grandfather clock in the parlor struck seven. David shut his eyes to the four walls of his prison and collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

Eric woke to the sound of heated voices.

He stole across the room and pressed his ear to the door connecting to Trog’s room.

“Why? Why don’t you tell him the truth?” the queen said. “He is a bright boy. He deserves to know.”

“We have been over this a hundred times, my queen,” Trog said. “He must remain protected.”

“For how long?” Mysterie said. Her voice carried an edge like a well-sharpened blade, sharp and to the point. “You expect him to be a man, risk his life, fight in battle if need be, and yet you continue to treat him like a child. Where is your honor, Trog? When did you trade truth for lies?”

“Terie,” the king said, “you’re being unfair. You know the dangers if Eric learns the truth.”

Eric’s stomach pinched.
What truth?
He wiped the sweat from his palms and bit back the urge to barge into the room.

“Yes, I do,” the queen said, “but I also know how that boy will react when he discovers the truth. He must hear it from Trog. We all know how secrets have an ugly way of divulging themselves at the most inopportune time. Goodnight.”

Footsteps moved across the room, followed by the click of the door closing.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Gildore said. “You know how altruistic she can be.”

“She’s correct, though. If Eric finds out from anyone but me, he will never forgive me, no matter the reason.”

Eric’s shoulders stiffened.
I don’t believe this! How dare he lecture me on the importance of honesty when he lies with such ease?
Eric swallowed hard, his heart thudding in his chest like a caged wild beast, and moved away from the door.

What secret are they keeping?

A hurricane of scenarios swirled in his mind until his brain ached and he could think no more. He had to get out of there, out of his room, away from the walls brimming with lies and deceit.

There was only one place he could go, only one person he could talk to who wouldn’t lie to him.

Sestian.

David woke and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the clock. Two a.m. As if a slave to his growling stomach, he made his way to the dark kitchen and gulped two glasses of orange juice and inhaled a donut. Heading back to his room, he passed the library and remembered the thick book with the black leather cover. After verifying he was alone, he slipped inside and closed the door. He withdrew a flashlight from the bottom desk drawer and shone it on the shelves. Finding nothing on the first floor, he crept up the winding staircase to the second. His fingers brushed the colorful bindings as he passed by them—Dahl, Dante, Defoe, Dickens —he’d read them all. If only he could find the one that mattered.

Overhead, footsteps moved across the floor. His heart skipped a beat.

Lily!

He shut off the light and listened. The front door opened. A male voice resonated in the darkness. “Hello, Lysbeth.”

David’s heart snapped into this throat.

“Thank you for coming, Mangus,” Lily said, her voice low. “Please. This way.”

David’s heart plummeted.
Mangus? Who the hell is Mangus?

The library doors opened. David pressed flat to the hardwood floor.

Lily stood in the middle of the room in a floor-length nightgown, a tall, clean-shaven man with plaited black hair beside her.

“I apologize for arriving so late,” he said, stripping off his gloves. “I was detained.”

David peered through the iron railing.

The man removed a full-length, black coat. His blood-red shirt shifted across his broad shoulders, accentuating a sheathed sword strapped to his hip.

David wrinkled his nose.
What the hell? Who is the Renaissance Faire reject?

“I assumed as much,” Lily replied, fingering the lapis pendant around her neck. “I had hoped you wanted to see me because you had good news, but I can see by the look in your eyes that is not the case.”

He gestured toward an overstuffed chair. “Perhaps you wish to sit down?”

She shook her head.

Mangus perched on the edge of the desk. His leather boots squeaked as his ankles crossed. “I won’t waste your time. The situation is grim. Murders and ill deeds are on the rise. The latest victims are from Falcon’s Hollow and Brindle Greens. Seven little ones abducted in one night alone.”