While my people were observing him over the months, it occurred to me to be mature and magnanimous and let Salatak live. Then I acquired this dagger from a colleague. It seemed a perfect weapon to use on him, a magical blade once made for a preeminent assassin during the First Dragon Era. For the first time, Grekka touched its hilt, acknowledging the dagger’s presence in her boot. Even so, I was still of a split mind when I had my people sail me out to his little island. By then, there were only two Iskandian guards with him. It was easy to knock them out and slip into the stone cottage he’d been given near a lighthouse. I walked right up to him, startling the piss out of him. I was surprised he recognized me after all those years. Decades.
She loosened her grip on her wine glass. If he’d asked for forgiveness or even acknowledged that he’d overreacted and made a mistake, I might have let him live, however pathetic his life in exile was. He was, however inadvertently, the reason I became the woman I am. She waved toward the city and the harbor, perhaps to encompass her barge and all her business dealings. Had he been smart, he might have even asked me to help him escape the island and take him back to his homeland. But I think that year in exile had broken him. It was a perfectly hospitable prison, but a prison is still a prison in the end. To have no freedom and nowhere to go after having been the most powerful ruler in the world? Yes, it broke him. And all he did was growl at me and spit his bitterness. He accused me of being the one who helped the Iskandians capture him.
What did you do? Trip asked, though he knew the answer already. He remembered Dreyak saying that he’d sensed Salatak’s death a couple of years earlier and had come out here to confirm it, to bring back some proof of it, so that his people would allow Prince Varlok to finally and officially be named emperor.
I killed him. He said something snide and that I’d never use the dagger on him, that I wouldn’t have the guts to kill him with a real weapon instead of meddling and conniving with magic. Grekka drew the slender dagger and laid it on the table, the blade simple and unadorned. He didn’t know it was a magical dagger, not that its magic has anything to do with making killing easier. But I didn’t need it to be easy. He lunged and tried to knock the blade from my hand. I blocked him and stabbed him in the side. When he tumbled to the floor, screaming and cursing my name, I slashed his throat and finished him. I can only imagine what the Iskandian guards thought when they woke up and walked in on that. I was long gone by then, the vow I’d made twenty-five years earlier fulfilled.
So, Dreyak came here, seeking you out? He must not have known you did it because it was still a mystery to him when last we talked.
He didn’t know I did it, and he had no idea I was here. He didn’t have any memory of me, of anything but being raised by surrogate mothers in the emperor’s court. Grekka stared bleakly at her wine glass. I know he was only a year old when I left, and I shouldn’t have expected anything else, but I suppose I thought his blood might somehow sense my blood. The dragon part of it, anyway. And maybe he did sense it. When I learned he was in the city and sought him out—we had dinner in this very restaurant—he listened to what I said. He didn’t seem sure if he should believe me or not, about any of it, but my story did match up with what he’d sensed from afar about his father’s death.
Grekka lifted a shoulder. I offered to bring him the dagger, since I knew it would show the death of the last person it had killed. She touched the blade. I hadn’t thought to dig it out and bring it to our meeting then. I should have. If I had, maybe he would have come back to my barge and stayed with me instead of returning to whatever room in the city he’d gotten. I found out about his death the next morning. I believe Dreyak was targeted right after meeting with me, that someone overheard us… that someone learned he was important to me. You, Captain Trip, should be thankful I’m speaking to you telepathically so nobody can overhear this time. I didn’t want to be so intimate with Dreyak when he didn’t yet believe we were related, but… it was a mistake.
Who killed him? Trip asked.
An enemy of mine. I have many of them. I received a letter the next morning, bragging about stealing my son from me. I have vowed to kill the man who sent it, as I am positive I know who it was. And as you can see, I fulfill my vows. I was considering using this blade, but I believe I shall give it to you.
To me?
If you are a pilot as well as a sorcerer, it should be easy for you to get the blade to the Cofah imperial court.
Easy? Trip couldn’t think of anything less easy. He would be shot for sure. All right, he and Azarwrath could create a barrier and prevent that fate, as long as they were prepared, but by now, Prince Varlok might have ten dragons working with him and nesting on the rooftops of his palace.
Trip didn’t voice his concerns, telepathically or otherwise, but she must have read his dubious expression.
If you are Dreyak’s friend, then you should do this for him. I cannot return to the empire. Though Salatak is dead, the warrant on my head remains. It is the one place in the world I do not do business. But with your power, taking the dagger to Varlok would be simple enough. He will know what to do with it.
There is something that was taken from me. You mentioned it when you spoke to me last night. Trip touched his temple. I’m not leaving this continent until I find it.
The stasis chamber. Yes, Bhodian has kept a few things from me, but I tend to catch up with his secrets sooner or later. He doesn’t wear that amulet all the time. I know where the device is. I can get it for you.
When? Trip tried to keep his tone casual, but he couldn’t help but lean toward her, wanting to shake the answer out of her. We leave soon.
I can get it by this afternoon. Providing you do this favor for me.
Trip leaned back in the chair. As he’d said, he couldn’t leave without the baby girl, but could he make this promise to Grekka? He had planned to return promptly home, not to visit yet another continent. His people needed him in the air and fighting dragons, especially since he’d failed to secure one as an ally. They wouldn’t let him wander off again as soon as he got back.
Touch the blade, Grekka said. You’ll see why it can provide the proof that Dreyak sought.
Trip hesitated. A part of him still suspected there might be some trap in place for him here, even though his senses told him that Grekka had been telling the truth.
Touch it, Telryn, Azarwrath said. I recognize it, and it is what she says, an assassin’s blade. There were many of them in my day.
Trip laid a finger on the dagger.
An intense vision washed over him, almost stealing his awareness of the restaurant and those around him. Instead, he was in a simple stone cottage, the sea breeze warm and salty, the furnishings simple but clean and comfortable. Two people stood in the main room, Emperor Salatak—Trip recognized him from the newspapers—and the woman now sitting with him. The emperor’s death played out exactly as she’d described, except that the blade flared with a strange black light as it sank in, and it seemed to relish drinking the life force of its victim. The emperor died with Grekka watching him, her face grim rather than pleased, and then the vision went dark.
Trip pulled his finger back, awareness of his surroundings returning. He was glad nobody had attacked him during that interlude.
The dagger will retain that vision and share it with others until it takes another life, Grekka explained. It was designed that way so that an assassin could return from a mission and prove to his employer that he’d succeeded. She pulled out the sheath for the dagger, slipped it inside, then pushed both toward him. Take the blade. Take it to Varlok. She squinted at him. Will you do that?
She didn’t attempt to manipulate him again, but Trip did sense her trying to read him, to see if she could trust him to do this thing. It meant more to her than she’d revealed. She had only just been reunited with Dreyak when he’d been killed, and it had been because of her, because he’d come to see her. Prince Varlok didn’t mean much to her, though she remembered seeing Salatak’s
eldest son around the palace when she’d lived there, and he hadn’t been a horrible young man. This was about Dreyak, though. She felt she owed him.
Trip picked up the dagger. I can’t promise that I will go personally, but I will make sure it gets to Prince Varlok one way or another. The weapon handily shows that Iskandia had nothing to do with the emperor’s death, other than Angulus exiling him in the first place, so it would be good for my country if the Cofah knew this. I would do it only because I knew Dreyak, and he helped us with a difficult mission, but now you can see that I have multiple motivations.
Good. I will make sure your stasis chamber is delivered to the waterfront this afternoon. Grekka signaled the waiter, as if to say the conversation was done, though she did add, I wouldn’t want piddling Iskandians to get credit for Salatak’s death under any circumstances.
Trip snorted.
“Now,” she said, speaking aloud as the waiter approached, this time with plates of food instead of wine, “let us sit in companionable silence and enjoy our meals.”
Finally, Azarwrath thought, and Trip felt the soulblade stretching his senses toward the plates, examining what they were being served. I thought we would never get to dine. On a chef’s fare. Delightful.
“And then we shall discuss this odd notion you have of only keeping one lover.” Grekka smiled slyly at him. “That is very un-dragon-like, you know.”
She probably meant it as a joke, but Trip thought of all the strange half-dragon babies in those stasis chambers, and he shuddered at the idea of being dragon-like.
15
Rysha squinted at the faded words on the journal page, wondering why an expedition leader had thought pencil was an acceptable medium for making records. Her dim surroundings didn’t make reading any easier. Too bad the first mate had shooed his passengers below decks, saying his men needed the space up top for cleaning the steamer and loading coal for their journey. The tiny porthole letting light into the crate-, barrel-, and hammock-filled cargo hold was on the small and stingy side.
She supposed she should be happy there was a porthole, at least on this end of the hold. After being ushered below, Rysha had left Kaika in the dark nook their group had been assigned, feeling guilty about foisting stasis-chamber guard duty on her again, but Rysha needed the light.
She had already solved her diving equations, and now she was sketching alternative ideas. The idea of sending Trip—or herself—down to the bottom without any kind of protection worried her. There would be more water pressure down there, and she hadn’t read of any accounts of humans going deeper than those Jonga Junga divers, even in diving suits with oxygen tubes that ran back to the surface. Though she believed breathing while underwater and under pressure would cause more problems than simply holding one’s breath, if one could hold it long enough.
Rysha would prefer to come up with another plan so they wouldn’t have to take the risk. If Trip could sense exactly where Dorfindral was, couldn’t they lower a chain or a cord with a grasping hook on the end of it? True, it would be hard to manipulate from so far up, and she couldn’t imagine how they could even do so if it was at the end of a two-hundred-foot chain, but with Trip’s engineering expertise, it seemed plausible. More plausible than building a submarine, though if they had more time, he would probably enjoy that challenge. He’d certainly taken to creating the small locomotive that had pulled the fliers out of the magic dead zone. But that had taken three days, and he’d had more help than he would have now. Surely, a submarine would be even more complicated to build.
“I’ve finally found you alone,” came a dry voice from behind her.
Horis? His Iskandian accent had disappeared, changing into something else, an accent that she couldn’t place.
Rysha grimaced, Kaika’s warning fresh on her mind. She didn’t smile as she turned to face the man, not wanting to encourage him in any way.
But when their gazes met, she almost gasped. He had changed.
Oh, he looked the same, his face alluringly handsome, his eyes attractive and appealing. But they were more than that now. They were captivating. Rysha had a hard time looking away. He radiated power, the way Trip sometimes did. But even more so.
The first inkling that this might not be the real Horis Silverdale entered her mind.
“It’s been irritating trying to get close to you when your guard dog hovers by your shoulder all the time,” he said.
“And why do you want to get close to me?” Rysha raised her voice. “Major Kaika, are you still in the hold?”
Horis smiled, a wolfish smile, and he looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her chest.
Unease plucked at her senses, and Rysha backed up, but she could only go a few feet before her shoulder blades hit the porthole glass. Even though Horis radiated power in a manner similar to Trip, she didn’t feel drawn to him. She felt… afraid.
Major Kaika didn’t answer. Rysha realized she didn’t hear any voices or sounds that would indicate other people were in the hold. There had been earlier. It was a large ship with a crew of two dozen. How had Horis gotten rid of everyone on this deck?
“You took something from the dragon-rider outpost,” Horis said, walking closer, his steps slow like those of a predator stalking its prey.
Rysha reached for her sword before remembering it was on the bottom of the harbor. She rested her hand on her pistol hilt instead, lifting her chin and trying to appear unafraid, even though she suspected—no, she was certain—that shooting this man—or whatever he was—would do nothing.
“An old journal that has instructions for rituals and the founding constitution for the Brotherhood of the Dragon,” he said.
“Why would you care about that?” Rysha’s grip tightened on the hilt as he stopped in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch her.
“The cultists have proven themselves skeptical about my right to rule over them. Their minds are easily manipulated, but even so, it would be much easier if they believed I was the one they’d waited for all this time. Agarrenon Shivar. That is what I told them, and I showed them my dragon form, a slightly more golden hue than typical, but they are skeptical, you understand. Apparently, other interlopers have tried to position themselves as one of his descendants over the years, so they’re suspicious of people claiming a right to rule them. If I could not only quote from their foundational material but return the stolen tome to them, I suspect they’d more easily believe I was their rightful leader. Then they would be faithful to me even if I was away for a time and my mental influence wore off.” His wolfish smile deepened.
Rysha stared at him, trying to grasp what he was saying—and if she could believe any of it. He couldn’t mean…
“They were most distraught to lose their foundational book.” Horis tilted his head. “Why did you steal it?”
“To study it. I intended to return it.”
“It is fascinating reading, isn’t it? I have been perusing it while it’s been in your pack. Even though the true Agarrenon Shivar disappeared before my time, I find myself intrigued by the things he did, the religion he created around himself, and the humans who so willingly served him. The humans he so thoroughly enjoyed.” Horis looked at her chest again, his gaze staying there this time. “It is strange. In my natural form, I have no attraction for humans, nor any interest in rutting outside of mating periods, when females in heat display themselves and make the request. Not that this happens much to bronze dragons.”
His lip curled, and it slowly dawned on Rysha that Horis wasn’t lying. He was complaining. By the gods, was he truly a dragon?
“Bronze females always seek a silver or gold mate,” he explained, “so their offspring have a chance of being born with their traits. Then the status is much greater for them. Few females want to mate with bronze males, no matter how powerful we are, no matter how cunning. But right now, I find that I do not care much. Perhaps Agarrenon Shivar was wiser than his contemporaries gave him credit for, to create his own religion, his o
wn worshippers, and to have females whenever he wished.” Horis licked his lips. “I find my arousal is frequent in this form. I even wake with the desire to mate. It is strange, but I have also found it satisfying thus far. Pleasurable in a way that mating with other dragons is not.”
He reached toward her breast.
Rysha couldn’t back up any farther, but she whipped up an arm block and attempted to stomp on his instep. She managed the block, but then a wall of power slammed into her. It plastered her against the hull, her head clunking the glass of the porthole. If only it were large enough that she could escape through it.
“Major Kaika!” she yelled again.
“Your friend with the sword will not hear you. Nobody will. I’ve created a sphere of silence around us. So I can get the journal.” He pointed toward the pack slumped against the hull by her feet, but he made no move to open it. “And so I can sate myself upon you.”
She growled and tried to spit at him, but her tongue was as restrained by his power as the rest of her. The way her arms were flattened to the hull made it impossible to punch, impossible to gouge his eyes out as she desired.
She should have listened to Kaika and stayed far away from the man. Why had they even let him come along? Had he used his mind powers to manipulate her? Kaika should have been immune with the sword, but Rysha was vulnerable right now. And Trip—how had he not known? How had the soulblades not known?
“Bronze dragons are crafty,” Horis said, grinning and stepping forward. He lifted his hand, and she could neither shift her body nor block him as he grasped her breast. “We are used to hiding what we are. You do not want to mate with me?” He cocked his head, stroking her. “This is surprising. Thus far, the females have been eager to please me. It has been extremely satisfying. I understand Agarrenon Shivar more each day, and I’ve vowed to take what he created. He is long gone and cannot object. All the females here will be mine whenever I wish.”
Unraveled Page 21
