Authors: Joanne Bertin

The Last Dragonlord (14 page)

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord

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“Bless you, Maylin,” Maurynna said as she swung into the saddle. She was weary, far beyond what her aching body could account for. “You’ve no idea. How is Otter?”

“He told us about the storm you went through. He looked so exhausted that Mother sent him straight to bed—and he was so tired he went.”

“With no argument? Otter? Gods, that storm must have taken more out of him than I’d thought. I’m glad he’s resting.” Maurynna rolled her neck trying to ease her shoulder muscles.

She listened with only half her mind as Maylin told her about how pleased the family was that she’d made port safely and the cold supper she’d find waiting for her. Instead she wondered how many docks in Casna she’d have to search before she found her Yerrin again.

Sixteen

“Linden? Linden?”

Linden looked up. “What? I’m sorry; I didn’t hear what you said.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Kief said dryly, “all evening. You’ve been miles away tonight.” He sat back to allow the servant to clear the plates from the table before him.

“Daydreaming about Sherrine?” Tarlna said. Her grin was pure wickedness.

Linden shook his head, smiling. “No; I met someone today.” He felt a bit disloyal saying that, but if his surmise was correct …

“Oh, my,” she mocked. “Sherrine has a rival? I don’t believe it.”

Linden pushed away from the table. “Shall we have our wine in the gazebo? It’s a beautiful night.”

He continued in their minds,
And away from the servants. There’s something I need to talk about with both of you.
He let a brief touch of his elation flow through the contact.

The others exchanged brief glances. Kief said, “Of course we could.”

Tarlna rose from her chair, goblet in hand. “A lovely idea, Linden.” She took the hand that Kief offered her.

They didn’t speak as they passed through the halls of the riverside estate given over to Kief and Tarlna’s use. As they approached the many-paned doors leading to the gardens, Linden shook his head.

He said, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. When I was with Bram and Rani, glass was rare. Now people have pane after pane of it set in doors or windows from floor to ceiling.”

“I know what you mean,” Kief said. “I didn’t see glass—other than some small beads—until well after I’d Changed.”

They passed through the doors to the warm darkness outside. One of the servants followed, carrying a flask of wine.

“No need, Harn; we’ll serve ourselves. Just give me the wine,” Kief said.

The man stood on the threshold, clutching the flask. A smile crossed his square, blocky countenance. “Your indulgence, Dragonlords; it would be my—”

Linden took the wine from him. “We don’t wish to interfere with your regular duties, Harn. Don’t worry about us.” To himself he thought,
Lazy wretch. I daresay serving wine in the garden is indeed easier than what he usually does.

Harn licked his lips. “But—”

“No,” Kief said. His voice was gentle but brooked no argument.

Harn retreated.

They started down the brick path to the gazebo. Linden stooped and snapped off a branch from the lavender hedges bordering the walk. He sniffed the grey-green leaves, wishing for the scents of salt, tar, and sweat.

Kief chuckled, shaking his head. “While I admire dedication in a servant, there are times …”

“Dedication, my ass. He didn’t want to polish silver or whatever he’s supposed to do,” Linden retorted, laughing.

“No,” Tarlna said. “You’re both wrong. Did either of you see the look on his face when he went inside?”

“No,” Kief said.

“Nor I. What was it?” Linden asked.

“Frustration. Frustration and—,” Tarlna paused. She continued in a thoughtful voice, “Hate.”

Kief whistled. “I wish I had seen that. Do you think he’s one of those who would have Dragonlords stay out of truehuman affairs?”

Tarlna considered. “Perhaps.”

Linden raised an eyebrow. “I wonder if there are many of that ilk in Cassori?”

“I wouldn’t worry, Linden. That sort are a nuisance, but
have hardly been a serious threat for centuries,” Kief said. “Not since Ankarlyn’s death and the destruction of the Fraternity of Blood.” He snorted. “
Our
blood, that is. But aside from a few ineffective, half-mad misfits calling themselves by that name now and again, no one has ever resurrected it.”

“They’d need another mage the equal of Ankarlyn to make it work,” Tarlna observed. “And I’ve not heard of any such.”

“Nor have I,” said Kief. “Besides, if there was some plot against us here in Cassori, surely something would have happened. We’ve been here for so long, with all of us going out and about so much, from this revel to that dinner and everywhere in between, that if someone were going to strike at us, they would have done it by now.”

“True. I think this wrangle is nothing more than it seems,” said Tarlna.

They passed through an archway covered with honeysuckle. Ahead was the gazebo; beyond it flowed the river. Moonlight made a path across the water.

Linden’s gaze followed it to the docks. He thought he recognized the
Sea Mist.
His heart jumped. Silly, that; the dockhands would have all gone home by now. He hoped she wasn’t too angry at the way he’d left without a word. He hadn’t wanted to get caught in a tangle of half-truths. Still, the sight of the cog brought back the feel of his lady’s shoulder touching his as they worked.

His lady. He savored the memory of holding her.

Tarlna’s crisp voice cut through the night. “Linden—you’re the one who wanted to come here. So why are you standing staring across the river? There’s nothing there. And that’s a remarkably silly smile, I’ll have you know.”

Linden jumped and felt his face grow hot. He mumbled, “Sorry,” as he climbed the steps. A tiny ball of scarlet coldfire lit the interior. “Ah—more wine, anyone?”

The others held out their goblets. Linden poured wine for them, then for himself. They sat down.

He wondered how to begin. He hadn’t felt this unsure in
centuries, like a stripling boy in love for the first time. He also felt very foolish.

“Out with it, Linden. What’s so important that we had to come out here? Why not use mindspeech if you didn’t want any servants overhearing?” Kief said.

“I … ah, I—”

Blast it all; the others were going to think him an ass. Why hadn’t he used mindspeech?

For no other reason than he didn’t want to share these feelings. And share them he would, with mindspeech, whether he wanted to or not. They were too strong to keep back.

Tarlna leaned forward, her eyes intent, studying him for many heartbeats. When she spoke, her voice was the gentlest he’d ever heard it.

“It’s something very important, isn’t it, Linden? Something not for sharing with everybody. I felt your excitement earlier. Tell us when you’re ready.”

He nodded. Looking out at the river again, he said, “What did it feel like when you two met?”

“Ahh,” Kief said. There was a wealth of happiness in that exhalation.

Linden turned back to see Kief and Tarlna smiling at each other, lost in the past. He felt the all-too-familiar pang of jealousy and sadness at being with a soultwinned couple.

Kief said, “We …
fitted
together somehow. I can’t explain it any better than that. Just that it was right, our being together.”

Linden forgot his pain. His voice tight with excitement, he said, “I think I met my soultwin today.”

There; he’d finally said it, admitted it even to himself. His heart jumped again. His soultwin; to never be alone anymore—gods, it was hard to believe.

He continued, “I’m certain of it. It felt like that: right, somehow. The sense of fitting together.” He closed his eyes, shaking. An aching hunger filled him.

A hand gripped his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Kief kneeling on one knee before him; the older Dragonlord’s face was full of concern.

“Linden—listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but whoever she is, she can’t be. The truedragons have said nothing of a new Dragonlord. And they’re always the first to feel the souls merge. Unless—oh, gods; please no.” Kief’s voice shook. “Unless it’s like—”

Linden knew what Kief was thinking; the other Dragonlord’s stricken face betrayed him. A sudden chill took Linden and his stomach twisted. He hadn’t even thought about that. “You mean like Sahleen, don’t you—twinned to a truehuman?”

He remembered the tale—and its tragic ending—heard by many a winter’s fire in Dragonskeep. His mind’s eye saw the unfortunate Sahleen dangling from a tree in the gardens.

Not realizing he spoke aloud, he whispered, “What use living when your soul is gone from you? Such a short time truehumans live.” He felt cold despite the heat.

“Has she a Marking?” Tarlna’s voice, hard and practical, shattered his fears.

He grasped at her words like a drowning man at a rope. “Yes! Her eyes. They’re two different colors: one’s blue, the other green. Even though she said others in her family have them, that doesn’t mean they can’t be a Marking for her. I’m not the only person—truehuman or Dragonlord—with a birthmark like this.” He touched his eyelid. “Even Sherrine has one like it on her back. And didn’t you once tell me that six-fingered hands ran in your family, Kief?”

“Um, yes,” Kief said, still kneeling on the floor. “But the truedragons—”

Tarlna exploded, “Oh, Kief! Forget the truedragons! Somehow they didn’t sense her birth.”

She jumped up and bent over her soultwin. “Don’t you see what’s happened? For the first time, soultwins have met
before
they’ve both Changed!”

Kief fell back, landing with a thump. He stared up at Tarlna. “Gods help us, love—you may be right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Tarlna said. “And close your mouth; you look like a fish. The thing we need to think about is: what do we do about this?”

Puzzled, Linden said, “What do you mean? She’s my soultwin. I’ll tell her, court her, and—”

“No!” Kief said. “That’s exactly what you mustn’t do—not until we know more about her.” He scrambled up, dusting himself off.

Black rage filled Linden, a rage so powerful it frightened him. Before he knew what he did, he sprang at Kief, hands reaching for the smaller Dragonlord’s throat. At the last moment he realized what was happening to him.

He was in the grip of Rathan’s draconic rage. Shaking, he took control of himself once more. He forced his hands to his sides.

Kief met his eyes unflinching. “Force him back, Linden,” he said softly. “Rathan is dangerous to you right now. To you—and your lady.”

“Why?” Linden said. His voice was harsh with pain. “Why should I wait any longer? I’ve waited more than six centuries to be complete, to find the person with the other halves of my souls—far longer than any other Dragonlord has had to wait without hope. And you dare tell me I have to wait longer? Why?”

“Think, you fool!
She hasn’t Changed yet!
Think what that could mean—you know what’s happened from time to time to
full
Dragonlords.”

As Kief’s meaning became clear, Linden fell back a step. Despite the warmth, his skin was suddenly clammy and cold. “Oh, gods. I—I understand. I’ve heard the stories, but I’d forgotten.”

“I remember,” Kief said grimly, “because it happened during my first century as a Dragonlord. It’s not something I ever want to see happen again. You may be a pigheaded pain in the ass sometimes, Linden, but I’d hate to lose you. Especially that way.”

“Go sit down,” Tarlna ordered. “You look as if you’re going to faint or vomit. I’d rather you did neither. So sit down and have some more wine.”

Linden obeyed. Tarlna might well be right; he felt shaky enough for either one. She steadied his hands as he drank.

“Thank you,” he said. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, concentrating on the shape of the goblet in his hands. Rustling sounds told him the others had also sat down once more. When he could breathe evenly again, he looked at them.

“Thank you both. While I realize there’s a danger to us, I can’t not see her. Can you understand that?” he pleaded. If Kief invoked the Lady’s name and forbade him to find his dockhand …

Kief sighed. “Yes, we understand. It would be cruel, having her so near and not being able to even talk to her. But hold Rathan in check, Linden; until your lady goes through First Change he’s more of a danger to you than a dozen dark mages. And what’s your lady’s name, anyway?”

Linden looked down at the floor, feeling foolish. “I don’t know. I never had a chance to ask her. We were working too hard.”

“Drink some more wine; you’re still pale,” Tarlna said. She added suspiciously, “Working?”

He decided it might be best not to elaborate.

Kief said, “This will be painful for you, Linden—very painful. Every instinct you have, every fiber of your body, will drive you. It’s an imperative for us to join with our soultwins. I don’t envy you one bit. Gods—I wish we could help somehow.”

“You have,” Linden said, “by telling me this. Just as Lleld did when she told me about—” He cleared his throat. Even after so long it was difficult to talk about. “About Bryony, after I had gone through First Change.”

“Ah,” Tarlna said, pouring more wine into his goblet. “This Bryony—I think I heard you mention her once. Was she the wife who left you?”

Linden drank off the rest of the wine in one gulp. “Yes.”

Tarlna shook her head. “She must have been livid when she found out later you were a Dragonlord.” Wicked laughter bubbled under the words.

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord

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