Secret of the Dragon

by Jessica Drake

  “Perfect,” Tavarian said, looking over my shoulder. Our eyes locked in the mirror—well, Nole’s eyes, really—and he smiled. “You look just like her.”

  “But I don’t sound like her.” Miyanta’s rough velvet voice came out of my mouth, but in a plaintive tone, not at all like the seductress from last night who’d ensnared Tavarian so easily. I rose from the chair, slipped into a pair of Miyanta’s heels, and practiced walking around the room. Miyanta was probably graceful as a swan, but I looked more like a flamingo, minus the back-bending knees. “And I don’t move like her, either. People are going to notice.”

  Tavarian shrugged. “I’ll just tell them you’re feeling under the weather. Everyone has off days.”

  I made a face. “That must mean every day is an off day for me.”

  Tavarian caught my face in his hands, and I felt the magic tingle over my skin as he undid the transformation spell. “Miyanta may be a skilled seductress, but she hasn’t outwitted generals, rallied an army, or rescued a fleet of dragons,” he said, his silver eyes burning with passion. “I would choose you over her any day.”

  He kissed me hard, and the spark of frustration inside me ignited into hungry, gnawing passion. Miyanta’s gorgeous dress went flying, and the two of us tumbled onto the guest bed together. Any jealousy I might have felt over Tavarian’s behavior last night disappeared as he thoroughly made love to me, making my toes curl and my head spin with wave after wave of bliss.

  “All right,” I panted afterward as we lay together, sweaty and satisfied. “I’m convinced.”

  Tavarian laughed and pinched my bottom. “Good. Now let’s get some breakfast.”

  We went downstairs to the kitchens, where we raided the pantry for cold meats, cheeses, and bread.

  “Do you think that we should continue to stay in the mansion?” I asked around a mouthful of ham and cheese. “We can practice until the reception tonight and grill Miyanta on any relevant information about the local politicians and officers we’ll be rubbing elbows with.”

  “That would be a good idea,” Tavarian said, “except that our sudden disappearance from the hotel will be viewed as suspicious. At the very least, we need to check out first, then come back here.”

  After a bit of back and forth, I put on one of Miyanta’s more demure dresses—altered to fit thanks to Tavarian’s magic—and headed back to the hotel while Tavarian stayed behind in Nole’s office. He’d found heaps of treasonous correspondence proving that Nole had conspired with the Zallabarians, and dozens of files going further back showing that he’d been blackmailing the Elantian government all along, even before the war. There was also plenty of information about who Nole was currently working with, which would nicely augment whatever information Miyanta could give us. Tavarian promised to wait until I was back to interrogate her—I didn’t want the two of them alone, in case she somehow managed to convince him to take the blindfold off.

  Back at the hotel, I went straight to our room, only to find a soldier waiting outside the door. “Morning, ma’am,” he said, doffing his cap respectfully. “Sergeant Hickley asked me to come and collect you. He says he has more relics for you to authenticate.”

  I hesitated. “Is this something that can wait?” I really didn’t have time for this.

  He shook his head. "There's quite a bit to go through. Be best if you come now."

  Annoyed, I followed the soldier to the same mansion the sergeant had led me to last time. Hickley was waiting for me, this time in the ballroom rather than the parlor room, and my mouth dropped open as I took in the dozens and dozens of tables all laid out, heaped with looted dragon-rider treasure and valuables.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Brighton," the sergeant chirped. There were a half-dozen officers in the room as well, all looking my way eagerly. "Sorry to bother you, but we have more valuables that need authenticating. We have been quite busy gathering all this together, and we’d like to get it evaluated as soon as possible before shipping it home to our families.”

  "My wife is going to love this set," one officer said, picking up a pair of candlesticks sitting on the table next to him. He ran his fingers over the ornate patterns, utterly unaware that the candlesticks were actually made of brass and relatively worthless.

  "And my father will be very impressed when I bring this home," another said, hefting a massive broadsword that looked to be a genuine Dragon War artifact.

  As the officers pawed and drooled over the massive collection, anger roiled inside me. Who did these men think they were, coming into our country and unapologetically stealing our heirlooms? It was so obvious they cared nothing for the history of these things—they were just trinkets, spoils of war to hang in their family homes or sell to the highest bidder.

  “Are you all right?” Sergeant Hickley asked, his gaze narrowed in suspicion, and I realized that he was staring at my hands, which I’d clenched.

  I forced myself to relax and pulled in a deep breath through my nose. “Sergeant,” I said, unable to keep some of the annoyance from my tone, “I am glad you think so highly of my skills, and normally I would be happy to help, but this is far too much work for one person alone, and I do have other matters to attend today.”

  “Which is why you won’t be dealing with this alone,” a deep voice said from behind me, and I spun around, shock flooding through me.

  "Barrigan!" I cried, taking in my old rival and employer. It had been two years since I'd seen him but he looked the same as ever with a shiny bald head, and thick salt-and-pepper beard that partially hid his ruddy complexion. Today he was dressed in a rich sable colored tunic shot through with gold. His tool belt hung beneath the paunch of his substantial belly—Barrigan had a fondness for apple cakes and was a heavy-set man even at his thinnest—and his trademark monocle was perched beneath his right eye.

  “Yes, that’s me,” he said, blinking at me. “Do I know you?”

  Dragon’s balls. I’d forgotten I wasn’t Zara right now. “I—I’ve heard of you,” I said lamely. “My husband visited your shop several times during his previous trips to Zuar City. I’m afraid I haven’t had the privilege yet.”

  "Well, you will have to pay me a visit while you are in town," he said genially, and I seethed inside at the way his eyes twinkled at me. Barrigan was extraordinarily charming and a fantastic salesman—he'd had me fooled for years before he'd finally shown his true colors when I'd decided to leave and start my own shop. The man had harassed Carina and me for years, spreading terrible rumors about our shop and driving away all our customers. As the foremost authority on artifacts and antiques in Zuar City, his word was law, and his lies had nearly been the death sentence of our business.

  Seeing no way out of this, I set to work. Barrigan and I spent the next hour cataloging artifacts, starting with the least valuable ones. I was loath to get to the higher ticket items; I didn't want to tell the Zallabarians their true value, but with Barrigan in the room, I couldn't lie.

  “Do you think my mother will like this vase?” one of the officers asked another at the end of the table I was working at.

  “It is rather pretty,” the second one said, stroking the porcelain blue finish and the gold vines trailing around it with his forefinger. “What do you think, Mr. Barrigan?”

  “It is a lovely piece indeed but worth only a few coppers,” Barrigan said. “Your mother deserves something more valuable. I, however, would be happy to take it off your hands for—”

  “Excuse me,” I said, putting down the gauntlet I’d been inspecting. “May I see the vase?”

  “Of course.” I approached, palms out, and the soldier handed it to me.

  “Hmm.” I made a great show of inspecting the object, tracing the gold vines, turning the vase over in my hands. “I believe this is a Golden Age vase, worth at least eighty gold dorans. My husband has one just like it in his collection.” I gave Barrigan a cool stare. “You wouldn’t be trying to fleece these soldiers, would you?”

  “Well, your husband must be
mistaken,” Barrigan spluttered, his cheeks reddening with anger and embarrassment. “That vase is only fifty years old, if that. Surely not worth the preposterous sum you propose!”

  “What is going on here?” Sergeant Hickley demanded, coming over to see what the commotion was about.

  “Mr. Barrigan was just telling me that the vase I wanted to send to my mother is worthless,” the soldier from before said. “He offered to buy it from me, but Mrs. Brighton says it’s a Golden Age artifact and worth at least eighty dorans.”

  “It would seem that one of them is lying, then.” Sergeant Hickley narrowed his eyes as he looked between us. “But how to tell which?”

  I shrugged. “If it truly is worthless, then why do you want it, Barrigan? An antique shop owner as prestigious as you wouldn’t bother with paltry trinkets.”

  “I—I don’t want it,” Barrigan said, backpedaling. “I merely thought to help this young man out, to give him something for his effort, since the vase isn’t worth as much as he thought.”

  The effort? You mean waltzing into someone else’s house and taking their belongings? I fumed inwardly, but kept a smile on my face. “Well, if that’s the case, then you wouldn’t mind me doing this, would you?”

  “No!” Barrigan shrieked as I tossed the vase. The soldiers gasped as it flipped through the air, and Barrigan leaped after it. His big body thudded heavily against the ground as he caught it, mere seconds before it would have smashed to pieces on the marble floor.

  “That’s odd,” I said, pursing my lips. “I thought you said it was worthless.”

  “Arrest this man for fraud!” Sergeant Hickley roared, and four soldiers sprang into action. They grabbed the struggling man and put him in handcuffs, while Hickley took the vase and handed it back to the soldier who’d recovered it. “Get him out of here. Thirty days in jail should teach him not to cheat my men.”

  “You can’t do this!” Barrigan howled as they dragged him away. “Please, there’s been a misunderstanding!”

  Sergeant Hickley turned back to me, ignoring Barrigan. “My apologies. I didn’t expect the man to create such a scene, never mind lie so blatantly to us. Thank you for catching his ‘error’ and preventing him from robbing us.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, and this time my smile was genuine. I didn’t like helping these soldiers, but if I could make lowlifes like Barrigan suffer, I would gladly put up with them.

  13

  As it turned out, thwarting Barrigan wasn't the only useful thing I did. As I cataloged the rest of the artifacts—occasionally lying about priceless relics in the hopes that they'd remain here in Elantia rather than be shipped off to who knew where—I overheard some decent intelligence regarding the autocrator's reception. Apparently, the autocrator wouldn't show up until after everyone else had arrived and been checked, which ruled out the idea of trying to ambush him on his way in. The whole area would also be covered by cannons, which meant that Lessie and the others couldn't rush in for a rescue if we needed them.

  “Yes, we could,” Lessie argued as I was leaving the mansion. “Serpol can use his magic to shield us from attack. In fact, since he can make us invisible, the cannons would never fire on us.”

  “That’s not a risk I’m prepared to take,” I said sternly. “Serpol’s magic only lasts so long, and besides, we never intended on having any of you fly into the city. How is your recon going, anyway?”

  “Well enough. We are still memorizing the watch schedules and so on—Muza insists we plan our attack out to the letter, even though, between the three of us, we should be able to annihilate the camp in a few minutes. We were going to attack tomorrow night, but now I think we should wait until after you’ve finished with the autocrator.”

  “Actually—” I started to say, but a deafening explosion knocked me off my feet. I slammed sideways into an ornate mirror, which shattered into pieces beneath my shoulder. Disoriented, I pushed off the wall, then hissed as one of the larger pieces of the mirror sliced my arm. Smoke billowed into the hallway, coming from the east side of the mansion.

  “Death to the Zallabarians!” someone cried, followed by the sounds of clashing swords and screams. The smoke cleared, and I stifled a gasp as I saw a man dressed in fighting leathers cut down a soldier. The Zallabarian went down in a heap, blood spreading rapidly across the floorboards, and I locked eyes with the rebel. His feral expression dissipated, his face going slack with shock. “Commandant?” he gasped.

  “Dammit!” I grabbed a handful of my hair, which was now bright red and curly. What the hell? Was the spell faltering because I was bleeding? Panicking, I dashed into a parlor room, my legs pumping as fast as they could go. A window had been left open, and I dove through it without pause, tucking and rolling across the ground and springing up into a crouch.

  “Miss!” Someone grabbed me around the shoulders as I sprinted into the street. Ducking my head, I sucker-punched him and kept right on running. I felt a twinge of guilt at leaving him that way; he’d probably just been trying to help. But I couldn’t afford to let him see my face.

  “Zara!” Lessie cried as I ran through the city. The magical disguise I was wearing kept flickering back and forth, my skin and hair color changing. “Are you all right? Do I need to come and get you?”

  “Stay away!” I barked. The idea of Lessie flying in for a rescue made me panic even more—with all this commotion and the guards on high alert, I didn’t want her anywhere near the city. “I’ll be fine! I just need to get back to Tavarian.”

  Lessie growled in frustration, but she kept silent, merely sending me support through the bond. Knowing I couldn’t go back to the hotel looking like this, I made a beeline for Nole’s mansion. Normally, it would have taken a long time to sneak back undetected in broad daylight, but since the attack had drawn the soldiers away I was able to scale the iron gate and duck into the house without being seen.

  I dashed into Nole’s study, where Tavarian was sitting behind the desk, nose deep in a thick tome. He sprang to his feet at the sight of me. ““Zara! What happened?” He took me by the shoulders, and magic sparked along his hands. The illusion fell away completely. His silver eyes widened when he saw the gash on my arm. “You’re hurt!”

  “I went to the hotel to get our things, but one of Sergeant Hickley’s men was waiting there for me. He asked me to go authenticate some more relics for him. I was just leaving when a group of rebels attacked.”

  “And you were hurt in the crossfire.” Shaking his head, Tavarian pulled me over to a chair. My legs shook as I sat down, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off I began to feel lightheaded and woozy.

  “Let’s get this taken care of.” He placed a hand over the torn flesh, closed his eyes, and muttered an incantation. Glowing blue light flowed over my arm, and Tavarian clenched his jaw as the magic knitted skin and muscle back together. Healings always seemed to take something from him—I wondered if he felt the same pain I did, or if it was just the energy drain that was so hard on him.

  “There you go.” He sighed as he released my arm, which was as good as new.

  I slumped back in the chair and closed my eyes. I was still feeling a bit lightheaded—the healing didn’t replace the blood I’d lost, after all.

  “Did anyone recognize you?”

  “A rebel did, but since he’s on our side I think it’ll be okay.”

  Tavarian scooped me into his arms, and I opened my eyes as he carried me out of the study and to bed. “Why did the spell falter?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I think it’s because the magic is bound to your skin. When you were wounded, in essence the spell was ‘cut’ as well, which is why it was flickering back and forth like that. Now that you’re healed, it should work properly once I cast it again.” He set me down on the bed and tucked the blankets around me. “No more talking now. Rest.”

  I slept hard for several hours, and when I awoke, the golden-red rays of sunset were streaming through the bedroom window
. Tavarian was sitting in bed next to me, reading a book, but he closed the volume when I stirred, and turned toward me.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked, running a hand through my hair. His touch was gentle, his silver gaze soft with concern and affection.

  “Much.” I snuggled into him, wanting to reassure him as much as I needed to reassure myself. “That was a close call today.”

  “Indeed,” he said, his voice tight. He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him. “Damn those rebels for planning an attack now, so close to the autocrator’s arrival. The Zallabarians will be more paranoid than ever, and the guards will start lashing out at all Elantians, treating visitors like us as enemies. It is a good thing we are going as Nole and Miyanta, or we would never get near the reception.”

  “Zara!” Lessie’s voice cracked through my head like a whip, and I jerked, startled. “You’re awake! Did Tavarian heal you? I don’t sense your pain anymore.”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” I sent a wave of reassurance and affection through the bond, hating the anxiety I felt on Lessie’s end. “You don’t need to worry.”

  Lessie huffed. “Of course I need to worry. You’re fragile and human, and I’m not there to protect you. And before you tell me that you managed to survive without me, let me remind you that Elantia wasn’t at war back then, and your life was much less exciting.”

  I sighed. “I wish Serpol and Yalora’s spell had worked.” I could have gotten much worse than a flesh wound today, and there was a good chance that Tavarian and I would be caught and killed while carrying out the autocrator’s assassination. “I don’t want you to die just because I’m a fragile human, Lessie.”

  “If we die, it will be in service of our country and because of our heroic deeds, not because you are a fragile human,” she pointed out. “Besides, you’ve faced a death god and come out alive, so this should be a piece of cake for you.”