Dragonwatch
Page 24
Mikhyal, however, didn’t even hesitate. He spread his wings to catch a rising air current, looking every bit as sleek and graceful as Master Ilya.
Mikhyal’s laughter bubbled in his mind.
Dirit’s ears flattened.
While Ilya tested Mikhyal on the basic maneuvers and taught him how to breathe fire, Tristin circled and watched, with Dirit flying alongside him, offering a detailed critique of Mikhyal’s performance. It wasn’t long before Ilya was satisfied, and Tristin and Mikhyal spent the rest of the afternoon chasing one another through the air and gliding over the mountains. The clouds had moved on, and the sun was warm on his back, a delightful contrast to the cool mountain air. Tristin had never felt quite so alive.
When they finally returned to the watchtower, it was late in the afternoon. Tristin landed lightly on the roof, and Mikhyal touched down beside him only a few moments later. Mikhyal shifted back almost immediately. Mindful of the bright sunlight that would hide nothing, Tristin hesitated. Mikhyal might not have minded his scars in dim lamplight, but now, in the clear light of day, he wasn’t so certain.
Mikhyal bent to retrieve their cloaks. His grin was huge, and with his sparkling eyes and tousled hair, he looked like a boy who’d just been given everything he’d ever dreamed of. “That was exhilarating! I can see why you all enjoy it so much.” He shot Tristin a questioning look, perhaps wondering why he hadn’t shifted back to human form yet.
Before Tristin could decide what to do, Mikhyal’s eyes widened. He took a few steps closer to lay Tristin’s cloak at his feet, then swung his own cloak over his shoulders and moved aside, turning his back to Tristin to look down over the mountain.
Tristin shifted and snatched up the cloak, which he wrapped quickly around his gaunt frame. “I… you can turn around now. Th-thank you.” Face burning, he stared down at his big, bony feet and wished his blushes didn’t always give him away.
Mikhyal turned to face him, a gentle smile curving his lips. “The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. When can we do this again? My father’s expecting me at the castle for dinner tonight, but we should be finished with all the meetings now.”
“Tomorrow?” Tristin said hesitantly. “I could… I could ask Alys to make a picnic lunch for us? If… if that would be all right?”
“That sounds wonderful.” Mikhyal leaned in to kiss him, but drew back at the sound of a draconic cry in the air above them. He looked up to see the shimmering, opalescent dragon form of Prince Jaire circling the tower.
A few moments later, the prince landed gracefully on the roof. He shifted immediately and went to fetch a cloak from the chest by the stairs. “I saw you two playing in the sky!” Jaire’s eyes were bright and his grin was huge as he flung the cloak over his pale, slender shoulders. “You looked magnificent! Mikhyal, you’re beautiful in the sunlight. Like a glowing sapphire. I thought you’d be green, like Vayne.”
“Vayne said some of the patterns already existed within my mythe-shadow,” Mikhyal said. “He just reinforced them, rather than having to burn new ones in. He said I might well have been a dragon shifter, had they only been a little stronger.”
“Like me and Tristin.” Jaire nodded enthusiastically. “I wonder how many members of the other royal families might have the same patterns… and how many dragon shifters were erased from history by the Wytch Council. It might be interesting to ask the kings of the Northern Alliance if they have any old books squirreled away. From before the Council seized power.”
“I can certainly open Rhiva’s vaults to you, if you’re interested,” Mikhyal said. “I’ve only been down there once or twice, myself, so I’ve no idea what you might find. My father might have a better idea.”
“That would be wonderful!” Jaire’s eyes sparkled. “I shall have to arrange a visit as soon as I can be spared. Oh… yes, and speaking of your father, he’s sent a message for you. That’s why I’m here, actually. Vayne’s reassured him that you’re fit to travel, and His Majesty asked me to let you know he’d like to leave in the morning. He wants you to come down to the castle and speak to him when you’ve finished practicing.”
“Thank you, Jaire,” Mikhyal said gravely. “Will I see you at dinner tonight?”
“Ai, I’ll be there,” Jaire said. “And I can’t stay long here if I’m to be ready, but since I’m here, I’m going to the kitchen to see Alys. I do love her blackberry tarts.”
“She served a great plate of them to me and Drannik this morning, so there should be some left,” Tristin said, smiling. “Assuming, of course, that Dirit hasn’t eaten them all.”
An offended sniff came from nearby. “I heard that!” Dirit appeared, perched on Jaire’s shoulder. “Honestly. I only ate one. And only at His Majesty’s invitation. Tristin was there. He’ll tell you.”
“Ah, yes, well, I only actually witnessed the going of one,” Tristin said.
Jaire laughed and headed for the stairs. “Come on then, Dirit. We’ll see if we can talk Alys into parting with a few more, shall we?”
Mikhyal turned back to Tristin, pulling him into his arms for a kiss. When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead against Tristin’s. “I’m sorry, but it sounds like our picnic will have to wait. If things weren’t so tense and busy at the moment, I’d stay on for a few more days and follow my father home at my leisure, but I fear what we might be facing once we arrive home. The Dragon Mother only knows what Shaine has been up to in our absence, and we still don’t know who was responsible for the attacks.”
“Or who the target really was,” Tristin reminded him. “You be careful.”
“I will. Look, Tristin… I’m the commander of Rhiva’s army, so I doubt I’m going to get the chance to get away again, not now that the treaty has been signed and we’re putting our defense plans in motion. I fear I’m going to be terribly busy for the foreseeable future. Once things have settled down a bit, and it’s safe to travel, I’d love for you to come to the palace for a visit.”
Tristin’s heart leapt. “I’d like that,” he said shyly. “Very much.”
“Consider it a promise, then. I’ll send word as soon as I can.” He lifted Tristin’s hand to his lips and kissed his palm.
“The sooner, the better, my prince,” Tristin whispered.
Chapter Nine
“Absolutely not.” Garrik’s black eyes narrowed as he stared down Wytch King Drannik across the breakfast table.
They’d finished eating, and Mikhyal was itching to leave, but his father was not happy with the travel arrangements.
“There have been two attacks and no culprit yet found.” Garrik’s tone was perfectly reasonable, but his expression was implacable. “My soldiers will escort you all the way to the palace. This is not negotiable, Drannik. I would be remiss in my duty as your host and your ally if I were to allow you to return to your home unprotected.”
“If your dragon warriors escort us home,” Drannik explained patiently, “then you tip our hand to Wytch Master Anxin, and through him, the Council.”
“Assuming it hasn’t already been tipped,” Garrik said drily.
“They may soon know of the Northern Alliance, but we can hope they do not yet know of our plans for a dragon army.” Drannik looked to Mikhyal for support, but Mikhyal was torn. He wanted his father protected on the journey home, but giving away their advantage to the Council before they were ready would be a terrible mistake.
/> Drannik rolled his eyes at his son, and continued, “If we are to have any chance of taking them by surprise, we must act under the assumption that the Council still knows nothing of the dragon army, which means Wytch Master Anxin cannot be alerted.”
Garrik regarded him with a faint frown. “You will be arresting Anxin upon your return. Ilya gave you the blood-chain that will prevent him from using his power, did he not?”
“He did, and given the opportunity, I will use it,” Drannik said. “But there is no guarantee I will have the opportunity.”
“And that is precisely why I will not loan you horses to make an overland journey. It is not safe. Whoever is behind these attacks waited until you were on the road, and then tried again here. My mind is made up. You will return home on dragonback with an escort, or not at all. What if you return to find your palace overrun with Council troops?”
“There hasn’t been time,” Drannik said. “Shaine is not a skilled enough rider to make the journey in less than ten days. We may even arrive before he does.”
“Regardless, I will see you safely home,” Garrik said.
Before Drannik could open his mouth to argue, Mikhyal said, “What about a compromise? We travel on dragonback until we reach the estate at Brightwood. That will take, what, about eight hours? And then it’s only a two-hour ride from there to the summer palace. At the estate, we can switch to horses, and you and your dragon warriors can head home, or spend the night and head out in the morning. There are guardsmen stationed at the estate, and they can escort us the rest of the way home in safety.” He looked from Drannik to Garrik. “Would that suit you both?”
“I would remind you that the first attack occurred within the borders of Rhiva,” Garrik said.
Dirit hopped down from his perch on Mikhyal’s shoulder and minced across the table toward the pastry tray, where he materialized and addressed Garrik. “I would remind Your Most Gracious Majesty that I will see to it that the Wytch King of Rhiva and his heir come to no harm. It is my sacred task to protect them, after all. The presence of you and your dragon warriors, while a most appreciated gesture, is entirely superfluous.”
“Thank you, Dirit,” Mikhyal murmured.
With a sharp nod, the little dragon settled himself on his belly, head between his outstretched front legs, and gazed longingly at the blackberry tarts.
Garrik burst out laughing. “Well said, Master Dirit. I suppose I cannot argue with a creature who leaves naught but a pile of clean-picked bones behind when those he watches over are in danger. Go on, help yourself to a tart. I know you’re quite partial to them.”
Dirit sat up very prettily and bobbed his head respectfully. “Why, thank you, Your Most Gracious Majesty. I don’t mind if I do.”
And with that, the little dragon proceeded to devour three blackberry tarts in very short order. When he’d finished his meal, he carefully groomed his claws and whiskers, much to the amusement of everyone around the table.
“Very well,” Garrik said finally. “A compromise, and only because you have such a fierce and valiant little defender. We will escort you as far as Brightwood, and leave you in Dirit’s very capable claws for the remainder of the journey.”
Dirit made a very proper bow and faded from sight.
Garrik turned to Mikhyal. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a harness made for you for times when you might wish to travel in dragon form. I believe it is waiting for you in your suite.”
“Thank you, Garrik. That’s very kind of you,” Mikhyal said. “I’d never have thought of that myself.”
Back in their suite, Mikhyal and Drannik packed their things in the saddlebags Kian and Garrik would carry. Eager for any excuse to use his new abilities, Mikhyal would have preferred to make the flight in shifted form. Drannik, however, was adamant about keeping Mikhyal’s transformation a secret until after Anxin had been dealt with.
When he’d finished packing, Mikhyal examined the harness Garrik had sent up for him. It was identical to those used by Garrik’s dragon warriors, with places to attach saddlebags and a cleverly designed holder that would accommodate a sheathed sword and sword belt.
“A handsome gift for a dragon commander,” Drannik said, fingering the neatly stitched leather.
“As was the transformation,” Mikhyal murmured. “What will they be saying at home, do you suppose? Surely there will be rumors about Dirit’s performance during the bandit attack. Shaine knew all about it, although he seemed to be under the impression that my Wytch power had awakened. When I told him it hadn’t, he said Anxin would want to investigate.”
“Anxin will have difficulty investigating anything with a blood-chain locked around his scrawny neck.” Drannik’s smile was grim. “And as for rumors, the only witnesses were the King’s Guard, and I forbade them to speak of what they saw.”
A knock sounded at the suite door. Mikhyal opened it to find Tristin standing in the hallway. “I’ll just be a minute, Father,” he called, and didn’t wait for an answer before slipping out to join Tristin. The two of them walked a little way down the hall, out of earshot of the guards.
“I, ah, just wanted to see you once more before you leave,” Tristin said quietly, cheeks going pink. “I imagine it will be some time before we can see one another again. If there’s a war—”
Mikhyal stopped and pressed a finger gently to Tristin’s lips. “There will be a war,” he said quietly. “I fear we cannot avoid it at this point. But our hope is that we can win it quickly and decisively.”
“And if you cannot?”
“I will find a way to come and see you. I’ll be commanding my troops in the field, but that does not mean I cannot slip away now and then. I am not waiting until the end of the conflict to see you again.”
Tristin managed a tremulous smile.
Mikhyal leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We will be together again before you know it,” he whispered.
“I hope so,” Tristin whispered back, and flung his arms around Mikhyal before tearing himself away and hurrying off down the hall.
Mikhyal stared after him, fingers pressed to his lips, and wished with all his heart that the conflict was over and those he cared for were all safe.
* * *
The afternoon sun was warm as Mikhyal, Drannik, and their escort made their way toward the summer palace from Drannik’s Brightwood estate later that day. Garrik had clearly been torn about leaving them, and once they’d arrived at Brightwood, he’d renewed his arguments of the morning. In the end, Dirit had materialized and convinced him that he could remove any threat much faster than the Wytch King could, and without the risk of accidentally roasting those he was trying to protect.
The journey had been uneventful thus far, but they were nearing the palace, and despite his assurances to Mikhyal, Drannik was clearly becoming nervous.
When the narrow track through the forest widened enough, he brought his horse up alongside Mikhyal’s and said in a low voice, “I don’t suppose you can send Dirit ahead to check the palace?”
“Alas, no. He doesn’t have that kind of range. When the sword was in our suite at Castle Altan, he could only roam as far as the edge of the castle grounds.”
“Unfortunate. They’ll have seen us by the time we get that close.”
“Dirit will serve us better if he stays nearby,” Mikhyal said. “He’s been patrolling our immediate surroundings ever since we left Brightwood, you know.”
“Has he?”
“Every so often, he comes to perch on my shoulder to assure me that all is well.”
Drannik nodded and lapsed into thoughtful silence.
Mikhyal dared not bring up the possibility of facing an armed force at the palace. He was certain his father was already brooding upon the possibility. Personally, Mikhyal would welcome an open challenge. It would be far less nerve-wracking than having to constantly watch his own back and his father’s.
Did the fact that both of the attacks had occurred far from the pala
ce mean their enemies hadn’t been able to penetrate the palace security? Or was that only what they were meant to think?
Perhaps it would have been better to follow the queen to Castle Rhivana in the mountains. Though Mikhyal loved the summer palace, it wasn’t nearly as secure as the castle. A sprawling, mostly single-level construction of light stone and pale, polished wood, the palace boasted open breezeways and large windows to let in the cool summer breezes of the northern forest. Many of the rooms opened out into courtyards and walled gardens. The entire compound was surrounded by a high, heavily guarded wall, but Rhu had confided in Mikhyal many times that the place was a security nightmare. She hated it, and would much rather have the royal family safe at the castle year round.
Mikhyal was in complete agreement, but he’d given up suggesting it to Drannik, who wouldn’t dream of giving his enemies the pleasure of seeing him run for the safety of his castle like a whipped dog.
As they came in sight of the palace wall, a group of guardsmen rode out to meet them, joining the Brightwood escort. They rode through the main gates and into the courtyard with a clatter of hooves. Shaine awaited them in front of the main doors, Wytch Master Anxin at his side.
A vague feeling of disquiet stirred in Mikhyal’s belly as he swung down from his horse and two men in the uniform of the King’s Guard — men he didn’t recognize — moved closer, as if to assist him.
“Put your weapons down, Mikhyal. And you, Father.” Shaine’s voice was loud and steady, and Mikhyal turned his head to see his brother approaching. Behind him, Anxin stood watching, a small, satisfied smile on his face.
Mikhyal’s hand dropped to the hilt of the Wytch Sword, but Shaine said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. There are crossbowmen on the roof.”
With a sinking heart, Mikhyal looked up to the roof overlooking three sides of the courtyard. At least a dozen men were arrayed around the perimeter, their weapons trained on the king and his son.