“Aldred. He’s wanted to hunt her, one way or another.”
“You care for her, I know it.”
I pick up an iron and poke at the embers. “This life, my crown. Marrying a quasi demon isn’t an option for me. I must do my duty.” Looking up, I meet Mother’s gaze once more. “That’s what you taught me.”
“I did teach you.” Mother lifts her chin. “To be a better man than this.”
My brows lift with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“If Myla were thrax, what would you be doing right now?”
“Not talking to you,” I say with a chuckle.
“Right. You’d be at Myla’s side. So what’s stopping you now?” Mother steps closer. “Follow your heart.”
A combination of rage and disbelief churn through me. “I have followed my heart. These past months, everything I have done has been for Myla. The extra trainings. The autumn and winter tournaments. All the messages at the Ryder mansion. And face to face, I’ve been nothing but a rogue to Myla, and it’s all torn through my soul, but it’s served one purpose. I must keep Myla safe from my own people.”
“We’re thrax, not monsters.”
“It’s true that we have a thrax code, but it’s as much hope as it is reality. I’ve seen what our people can do.” I shiver, recalling the vantys demon. “And especially what Aldred can do. Walker has concerns as well, although he can’t tell me specifics. She’s better off without me.”
Mother tilts her head. “But you want to be with her.””
“You’re such a hidden a romantic.” I sigh. “You want to believe that being a quasi doesn’t matter. That’s not reality. I won’t take risks when it comes to Myla’s safety.”
“That’s a choice you should let Myla make. You take too much on yourself.”
I shake my head. “Myla doesn’t know what it means to be royalty. It isn’t a fair choice to ask.” I scrub my hands over my face. “This is something I’ve thought through a thousand times. I’ve made my decision. Today is the last time I speak or see Myla Lewis.”
Mother frowns. “Your father and I were wrong. We should never have taught you that love has no place in a royal marriage. Love is what makes the rigors of ruling worthwhile.”
“And where is Father right now? Hiding away out of respect for Aldred, that’s where. You see my feelings for Myla and you want to make your son happy. That makes you a fine mother. But that original advice? The one you gave me every day growing up? That you gave me to me as queen, and that’s when you were right. Love has no place in royal marriage.”
“Oh, my son. How I wish I could fix this for you.”
I force a smile. “That is definitely not your job.”
She sets her hand on my arm. “I understand why you’ve made this choice. You have my blessing.”
“Thank you.” My voice cracks. I wasn’t sure if Mother would support me, but it means the world that she does. I kiss Mother gently on the cheek and leave the mead hall. It’s all settled now.
I’ll live my life alone.
20
In the days that follow, I maintain my schedule.
Train nobles.
Keep an eye on Aldred.
Work on my map of the Tower of Wonders.
Yet whatever I do, my every word and movement feels sluggish. It’s as if I’m out of my body, watching someone else experience my life. Even the anti-Acca treaty has lost its lure. Now that I’ve announced I won’t marry, that alliance isn’t as necessary to protect Myla. Only one house has yet to sign. Horus.
Before I know it, the day of the Winter Tournament arrives. This time, it’s held at another and larger green. More pavilions encircle the battle area. Extra tents dot the landscape, since minor houses are coming in from Antrum for the day. I go through the motions.
Wake up.
Get on my body armor.
Visit the tourney grounds.
Greet my nobles.
I’m having that out of body experience again when a familiar face moves through the crowd. With a mental crack of lightning, I feel my body again. I stop, blink and look once more. Energy streams through my veins. No, my eyes aren’t wrong.
Myla’s here.
And there’s only one person who could have gotten Myla invited back after the incident with Aldred and the limus. Mother. I can’t have Myla here without understanding exactly what Octavia is up to, so I march back to camp and the royal reception tent. This time, I don’t even bother asking the guard for entry. I simply march inside. Sure enough, Mother waits for me. She’s alone, sitting in a high back chair as if it were a throne.
“Greetings, my son.”
“Mother.” I sigh. “What are you up to?”
“I want a woman to win the title.” There’s no question what title she’s referring to: the Greatest Warrior in Antrum. It’s given out at every winter tourney. “You keep succeeding over and over. It’s rather a bore, that’s all. I brought Myla here to compete.”
“You’re meddling in my personal life.”
“That as well.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Please try to enjoy this day.” Mother’s voice cracks with emotion. “I just want to see you smile again.”
Closing my eyes, I search my soul. Is there any scrap of happiness left in there? I find nothing. The electric sense in my body fades into numbness once more. “I promised myself I wouldn’t see Myla again. I’m holding to that vow.”
“Why not just once more? All I ask is a last look and smile.”
I shake my head. I’ve always known that Mother has a romantic streak, but this is beyond belief. A look. A smile. It may please Mother, but it only prolongs my agony … while placing Myla’s heart at risk.
Mother means well, but no.
Simply no.
I’m about to explain all this when Father steps into the tent. “There you are, my sweet!” He steps to Octavia’s side and kisses her cheek. “The tourney’s about to begin. Aldred holds the first match of the day. I promised we’d be in the pavilion to watch.”
Mother smiles. “Of course, Connor.”
Father rounds on me. “What about you?”
“I’ll be a long shortly.” I try to put on my most unreadable demeanor. Sadly, my words sound hollow and lifeless, even to me.
“Why not follow now?” asks Father. “We really should all be—”
“Lincoln will join us when he’s ready,” interrupts Mother. My parents exchange a long look, and I have a feeling they’ve both discussed about my feelings for Myla. At one point, that might have worried me. Now, I simply feel burned out somehow.
“Take whatever time you need,” says Father. “I’ll send a messenger along when it’s time for your exhibition battle. You’re fighting a shadow dragon, you know?”
“Yes, I know.”
My parents exit the tent. I sit on the chair Mother vacated and stare out at nothing in particular. Minutes tick by. I’d gotten so used to looking forward to my next stolen glimpse of Myla. Now emptiness gnaws inside me. I want to see her again. Yet I know it will only make the pain worse later on. Time heals everything, or the saying goes.
Perhaps I just need to be patient.
A messenger calls me for my exhibition battle with the shadow dragon. I head back to the tourney area, ready for my fight. When approaching the actual battle ground, I avoid looking directly at Myla. That isn’t easy. Myla’s been seated next to Mother—meaning above the crowd and on an elevated platform—so it’s rather a feat to keep my attention elsewhere.
The shadow dragon is released onto the battle field, and that locks in my attention. I take a few turns around the creature, sizing up my opponent. In less than a minute, it’s clear that I will never make a single strike. The reason? The creature isn’t yet a full grown dragon. My insides churn with outrage. I’ve been asked to fight a child. Not acceptable.
Even worse, my Master of Creatures hurt the youngster with stinging nettle.
The pain was so intense, it forced the dragon to attack. After a quick chat with Nat, I call off the match. Then I find Lucas. If anyone can help the little dragon feel better, it’s the Earl of Striga. Once I locate the master wizard, we take off for the stables, which is where the dragon’s been placed for recovery.
As I walk away, I try not to think about the fact that, chances are, I’ll never see Myla again. It helps to focus on how to cure the dragon. Lucas and I step up to the final stall in the long stables. There the dragon lays on its side. It’s a young creature about the size of a cow. The poor thing’s eyes are filmy. Its breaths come in rough gasps. Leaning down, I touch the dragon’s flank. The skin is cold.
Lucas steps pauses behind me. “The beast doesn’t look good. What do you suggest I try?”
“Cast a health status spell. Check for poison. Boost the child’s strength.”
Kneeling beside me, Lucas completes casting after casting. With each spell, bursts of purple light flare from his palms. As the sparks near the Furor’s skin, they die out to embers. At length, the earl tosses his hands up into the air. “It appears immune. I’m sorry.”
“It is actually a little boy,” I correct.
Lucas sighs. “The child is suffering. Wish I could do more. ”
I scan the little dragon. Since Lucas began, the child’s breathing has turned more shallow. A white film now covers his scales. Worry tightens up my spine.
“Feel free to return to the tournament,” I state. “I’ll watch over our friend here.” I scan a nearby shelf. “Hopefully, the stinging nettle is the problem. I’ve a full set of ointments here for when horses are injured on demon patrol. I’ll test these out. Perhaps one can help.”
“That sounds wise, Lincoln.” He pauses.
“What is it?”
“None of the great houses won any awards this year.”
I know what he means. When it comes to battle, the great houses have been on the decline for a while, even Rixa. It’s never been so bad that they didn’t win anything, though. “And?”
“Do you really think we have what it takes to defeat Acca?”
“They didn’t win, either.”
“But they don’t mind death the way our soldiers do. Aldred has them under his thrall. We can’t win against men who don’t value their own lives.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Most alliances work due to the threat of retaliation, not actual war.”
“It’s a hope at that.” After bowing, Lucas leaves the stables.
The little dragon opens his eyes half-way. Tears spill down his leathery cheeks. The gaze is almost human. A thought hits me.
I can’t repair things with Myla, but I can help this little boy. Somehow, that makes it even more important to save this child.
Stepping over to the shelves, I pull down a jar of anti-inflammatory ointment. It’s a white and sweet-smelling paste. With gentle motions, I rub the crème onto the dragon’s wounds.
Minutes pass.
Nothing changes.
With careful movements, I wipe away the first ointment. Time to try the second option.
Next I select an anti-poison crème. This is foul-smelling stuff that stings like Hell. I gently dab it on the wounds and massage it in. The shadow dragon perks up, sipping a bit from his water bowl.
My pulse speeds. He’s better.
Finally I grab a green liquid that’s for rapid healing. This jar comes with a small brush which I use to apply the medicine. The child’s breathing evens out. His color improves.
I lean back on my haunches and exhale. This little guy will live. Some of the weight in my heart lightens. I even feel good enough to straighten up the stall a bit. In all the rush to save the dragon, his muzzle and reins were left laying about.
All of a sudden, Nightshade prances into the stables. She stops beside me, staring at me with her large and knowing eyes. I know this particular gaze from her. My mare has news.
“What is it, Night?” I ask.
My horse whinnies. Puffs of purple smoke waft from her nostrils and settle on the ground. Another spell. Scraps of straw magically lift up from the floor. The bits form into a small scene. It’s Myla, and she’s fighting a massive spider demon. The arachnoid. In all the excitement about the shadow dragon, I’d forgotten about the tournament.
“Myla won?” I ask.
Night shakes her head.
“She hasn’t fought yet.”
Night nods. The sculpture spell changes once more. The arachnoid demon balloons in size until it towers over me. The straw jaws snap. Night whinnies.
“You’re worried about her,” I state.
Night nods once more. Another puff of smoke fills the stables. When the air clears, all the bits of straw float down to the floor. The spell is over. Night canters to the stable door, pauses, and stares in my direction. The implication is clear. Are you coming or what?
I look down at my little dragon. He’s much better, so I can certainly step away for a few minutes. And Night is correct. If anything went wrong at Myla’s match, I’d never forgive myself.
Leaning over, I give the dragon’s flank a gentle pat. “I’ll return shortly.” Rising, I brush the bits of straw from my body armor and then stride out the door. Soon I stand at the end of the tourney grounds. Myla strides onto the field. She’s dazzling in a golden breastplate over leather body armor. Tall boots reach up to her thighs. The look on her face mixes confidence and fierce joy.
Magnificent.
The arachnoid lumbers onto the field. It’s a massive spider monster, seven feet tall with legs as solid as iron. A few grey marks line the bottom half of its limbs. No question what that means. Other warriors have already tried to defeat the arachnoid, and they went after its limbs. Big mistake. Then again, there are thousands of demon types. Few have studied enough lore to know that the only way to kill an arachnoid, and that’s to get atop its body. A pang of worry moves through me.
Will Myla know what to do?
When I was cleaning up, I’d grabbed the dragon’s muzzle. I meant to put it away, but somehow it remained in my grip. I now clutch it in my fists like I could snap the thing in two.
Myla approaches the demon, trying to hoist herself atop the round body. Our gazes meet. She stumbles, catches herself and refocuses. What happens next is more ballet than battle. Myla’s irises flare red. Her demon power comes to the fore. With graceful movements, Myla glides about the spider’s body. Every twist of her limbs is an act of natural grace. No one taught Myla how to fight. It’s just part of her soul. Within minutes, Myla’s wrapped her tail about the demon’s legs, capturing it in place.
Myla’s safe. More than that, she won. A sense of pride balloons inside my chest.
My girl. What a warrior.
Smiling, I head back to the stables. I spend more time with the little dragon. Before long, Night joins me once more. Her prancing steps means she’s happy.
“What boon did Myla request?” I ask
Night looks away. You won’t like this.
“What’s that face for?” Little by little, my horse swings her head back in my direction. “Did Myla request you?”
With broad motions, my horse nods.
“And do you want to go with her?” I ask.
Night nods even faster.
“Traitor.” But even as I say the word, I’m grinning. I raised Night. It’s good to know some part of my world will stay with Myla. And I am glad I saw her one last time and smiled. I’ll have to tell Mother. As always, she was right. And it was thoughtful of Octavia to go through so much trouble just to see her son happy.
I return to tending the dragon. Time passes. I test out different ointments. The young dragon continues to improve. At some point, I hear a familiar rhythm of footsteps approach the stables. My eyes widen.
Myla.
My pulse speeds. Myla is taking Nightshade right this second?
Night nudges my back with her nose, which is her way of saying, Myla is coming right now! Ya
y!
With a long creak, Myla opens the stable doors. Part of me wants to leap to my feet and call to her. I can’t. The shadow dragon still needs my attention. Plus, Myla may just take Nightshade and leave. Besides, I made my vows. Seeing how only makes things harder.
Night nudges me again; I pat her cheek. “I know you’re there, Night. I’m happy to see you too.”
Myla sounds from across the stables. “Hi, there.”
In reply, I suppose I should want to grumble.
Or sigh.
Instead, all I feel is bone-deep satisfaction to see Myla again. Rising, I stand to face her. “Oh, hello.”
“I’m here for Nightshade.”
“She knows.” I pat Night’s neck. “We’ve been saying good-bye.”
“Is she your horse?”
“One of them. The House of Striga breeds them; I raised her from a foal. Every Striga horse is enchanted, but Night takes it to a new level.”
Myla grins; the sight makes my heart soar. “I know, she keeps me on her back without a saddle. I don’t even have to ask, she takes me where I need to go. Or she’s waiting for me when I get there. I think she does magic.”
I sift my fingers through Night’s mane. “The House of Striga specializes in witchcraft. Nightshade casts spells for everything you described. She also has the power to make small things appear and disappear. Oh, and she loves to send fireballs at enemies during battle. We’ve gotten out of some close scrapes that way.”
“Look, I never would’ve asked for her if I knew–”
“It was a fair request. You fought well today. My mother comes from the House of Gurith. It’s a lesser house, but one of the few that allow women warriors. She’s wanted a female tournament champion for years. You’ve made her very happy.” I tilt my head. “Besides, Nightshade chose you, didn’t she?”
“Yes. At the Ryder stables.”
“I rode her there to meet the minister. Normally, she comes back on her own.” Night tosses her head and snorts. “I don’t take it personally, girl.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a few small biscuits. Night nibbles them from my palm while scenes from Myla’s battle flicker through my mind.
“I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you did today. Your eyes turned red.”
Lincoln Page 20
