by E. G. Foley
All the while, the dragon raced. The wagon and its occupants grew farther away, a burning torch of people, charred wood, and screaming horses.
A column of smoke rose from the road where they were dying. Oh God.
Janos turned in a daze. “What have you done?” he cried when he found his voice a second later.
“I killed them, of course.” Wyvern neatly deactivated the Atlantean device, then rolled his sleeve back down like nothing had happened.
Janos stared at him, at a loss. “Why?”
“Because it amuses me. Because I can.” Wyvern shrugged. “And that, my friend, was your one warning. Cross me and I will rip your heart out.”
The warlock gave him a pointed look, then gazed forward again and urged the dragon onward through the night.
Still reeling, Janos held on tight to the handrail as they flew.
In the distance ahead, the jagged spires of the Black Fortress waited. He could see the huge building now, parked on a plateau in the middle of the mountains.
Janos swallowed hard and summoned up his considerable courage as they headed for the belly of the beast. He was going to need it.
But he couldn’t help wondering, What in the world have I got myself into now?
CHAPTER 13
The Pact
Maddox St. Trinian had been thinking.
A short while ago, Jake had gone storming out of the ballroom, but Maddox remained sitting at the round table where he’d opted to dine with his adoptive parents, who had come to visit for the occasion of the Harvest Home.
His father, the towering, mustachioed blacksmith and forge-mage Liam St. Trinian, was engaged in a lively conversation with a tipsy dwarf lord who headed a Scottish clan, the same chap Jake had mentioned talking to earlier—Laird Hamish Broadbuckle.
The two had hit it off, the giant blacksmith and the wee dwarf laird, swigging ale and swapping stories about mining and metals and what ratios each liked for making the strongest alloys.
Normally, Maddox would’ve taken an interest, for he was fond of metalsmithing himself. But at the moment, he was distracted by an idea that had begun churning in his head.
Tuning out the constant roar of conversation in the ballroom, he continued mulling his idea, weighing the risks and possible rewards. But then his adoptive mother, Ida St. Trinian, seated beside him, nudged him with a fleshy arm.
She nodded at his empty plate. “Did you get enough to eat, son?”
Maddox smiled warmly at her. She was always looking after him. “I couldn’t force down another bite.”
“What about dessert?” She gave him a knowing look, while Pa boomed a hearty laugh over some comment from the dwarf lord about the recent quality of iron ore coming out of Wales.
Maddox patted his flat stomach. “Can’t, Ma. Guardians’ rules.”
“Pshaw, a little cake never hurt anyone,” she teased, smiling. But she didn’t push the matter, well aware that desserts were usually off-limits to those whose job required staying in top physical condition.
Deprivation when it came to sweets was just a part of being a Guardian. Along with the pulled hamstring and sore shoulder muscles from yesterday’s training.
It didn’t matter. He’d be fine.
“Just a little scoop of pudding?” she said.
“Don’t tempt me, Ma!” he scolded her gently.
She chuckled and gave him a loving caress between his shoulder blades.
Maddox loved her dearly, both of them. Strong and steady, humble folk, they were down to earth and homey.
He was glad they were here. They were a great comfort to him, with his birth mother missing and possibly dead. Sometimes Maddox could only wonder where Derek Stone had found such a loving couple to raise him after Ravyn decided that keeping her Guardian career was more important than keeping him.
Oh well. It had all worked out, he supposed.
But Ravyn’s choice had led Maddox to conclude that becoming a Guardian must be the most important kind of life anyone could have, and if that was the case, he wanted it too.
Besides, it was in his blood. When early signs of the usual Guardian talents had started appearing in him around the age of eleven, he’d been accepted readily into the program.
His adoptive parents had been supportive, as usual, but Maddox had heard much later that Ravyn had objected. The whole point of giving him up, she claimed, was so he could have some semblance of a normal life, not surrounded by violence and danger.
Too bad. In his view, she had lost the right to make decisions about what he should or shouldn’t do. If anything, he devoted himself to Guardianhood all the more precisely because she didn’t like it. He knew she meant it for good, but it still hurt sometimes.
At least he didn’t have to worry about the St. Trinians lying to him about where he really came from. They didn’t have a dishonest bone in either of their big, husky bodies. Nor were they jealous of the bond Maddox couldn’t help feeling toward the woman who’d given birth to him. If it pained them, they were too generous of heart to say so.
Across the table, Pa’s conversation with the tipsy dwarf lord moved on to the preferred shape of hammers and anvils.
Maddox would’ve ordinarily found this topic particularly interesting. But, of course, he had not been himself of late. With Ravyn missing, he was continuously distracted. What if she was dead and he had been rude to her? He wasn’t sure he could live with that. All he really wanted was a second chance.
The uncertainty of all this was driving him mad. Sitting at the table, he stared into space, turning his butter knife slowly end over end beside his plate. Lately, it was all he could do to focus on his targets during weapons practice.
Thankfully, Master Ebrahim Sly, head of the Guardian training program, had not harassed him too badly for his rotten aim of late.
The head trainer understood his distress. After all, Ebrahim was a personal friend of Ravyn’s.
Indeed, before she’d gone missing, their friendship had caused the herculean black man to go extra hard on Maddox, lest he be accused of favoritism. But even Master Ebrahim had gone a bit easier on him lately.
Still, Maddox was sure that if he could just help the Order find a way to bring Ravyn back safely, maybe then he would finally retrieve a little peace of mind. Until then, Maddox felt perennially uncomfortable in his own skin—and it wasn’t because of the bruises, cuts, healed broken bones, and other injuries he’d sustained over the years in his training. It was all because of her.
Constantly on edge, he alternated between brooding and a restlessness that made him barely able to sit still. Lately, it seemed like there was always a part of him that wanted to punch something.
In the barracks, the Guardians liked to joke that, sometimes, violence was the answer.
Maddox scanned the ballroom with a moody gaze while Ma enjoyed a generous slice of pecan pie beside him. But, forced to attend this stupid feast, he was in an especially bad mood tonight.
He didn’t want to be here in the first place, then the wood elves that he’d agreed to talk to had made him feel lower than a worm.
Sure, they were an elegant and graceful folk. But they had their noses stuck up so high in the air that it was a wonder they didn’t drown in the rain.
Finderool, the elvish Lightrider that Jake idolized, wasn’t as bad as the rest of them, but still. They had barely glanced at Maddox and wouldn’t have answered his questions at all if it weren’t for Sapphira.
Maddox wondered cynically if the haughty wood elves would’ve paid him more respect if they knew his birth father was actually a prince.
Probably not. But it was true.
Prince Maximilian von Kahlberg was the sovereign ruler of a small, idyllic principality hidden away high among the Alps. Ravyn had been part of the Guardian team sent to help protect the handsome royal idiot nearly eighteen years ago, when His Highness had run afoul of the Dark Druids.
So much for avoiding romantic entanglements.
They
fell in love, the prince and his no-nonsense female bodyguard—at least for a while—and Maddox had been the result. But the prince couldn’t marry her, and Ravyn could hardly tote a baby along while battling magical creatures.
True, she had nearly gotten kicked out of the Order for this affair, but the Elders had allowed her to keep her post once she made the decision to give him up for adoption.
Maddox watched Pa laughing with the dwarf lord and knew that, somehow or another, he had surely ended up where he belonged. The St. Trinians had wanted a child of their own. They showered him with more love than he probably deserved. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes he still felt sorry for himself. Of course, he’d never admit it, for self-pity was considered the absolute worst vice a Guardian could have.
Self-pity was deadly. It kept your focus on yourself when a Guardian’s whole purpose in life was protecting others.
Anyway, Maddox doubted the wood elf courtiers would’ve been impressed to learn he was the illegitimate son of a loose-living prince.
But his annoyance at them was nothing compared to the rage he’d felt earlier, seeing Isabelle surrounded by drooling bachelor lords.
Not that it was very surprising. Boys and young men stared at her everywhere she went. He usually did his best to ignore it. But she looked particularly gorgeous tonight in her rich, creamy white ballgown that glistened with gold trim that matched her hair.
Maddox leaned discreetly to the right to catch a glimpse of her sitting with the others at his friends’ table. Daintily holding her fork, Isabelle was nibbling on a cooked baby carrot; he knew she didn’t eat meat.
Which he thought was madness. But it was because of her telepathic bond with animals.
He supposed that would make it feel a little cannibalistic, but for him, life wouldn’t be worth living without a good steak now and then, or Ma’s barbecue…
“You’re not missing much,” she whispered, poking at what little was left of her pie. “Not as good as mine.”
Maddox grinned. “That didn’t stop you from eating it.”
She gasped indignantly, then pinched him, laughing. “Well, it’s just sitting there.”
Maddox put his arm around her shoulders. “Of course yours is better, Ma. You’re the best cook in the world.”
“Aw, you.” Her hazel eyes danced.
For a moment, Maddox debated telling her about Isabelle. It would be nice to have her sympathy, but he decided against it. Why bother? The aristocratic debutante would never be his, and that was that.
It didn’t matter if they had liked each other at some point. It would never work.
Guardians weren’t allowed to get involved in romantic entanglements. More importantly, she was too highborn for him. Her father would never allow it.
The elegant Lord Bradford was only slightly less arrogant than the wood elves, especially since Queen Victoria had recently elevated him from baron to viscount for his service as a diplomat to both the Order and the Crown.
Ah, yes, the diplomats, Maddox mused. They were the real elites of the Order. As a future Guardian, he was just a glorified bodyguard.
No, he concluded with a sigh. No doubt Lord Bradford’s lovely daughter had a duke or an earl or maybe even some Continental prince in her future.
So be it.
Getting upset about it was stupid. Maddox put impossible wishes out of his mind with the discipline of a true Guardian.
Then his gaze moved firmly past Isabelle to survey the rest of the gang.
The others looked a little lost without Jake there, especially Dani. Maddox figured it wasn’t long before the little redhead could no longer contain herself and had to go running after her Jakey-boy to see if he was all right.
Maddox’s thoughts were moving along the same lines, but he had more of a plan of action in mind to suggest to the doubler, rather than fussing over him. Clearly, he had to get to Jake before Dani did, or he’d never get a chance to talk to him in private.
Dani O’Dell was probably Maddox’s favorite out of the bunch. He admired her loyalty and courage, and thought of her as something like a little sister.
But she did tend to stick to Jake’s side like a nettle, and what Maddox had to say was for Jake’s ears only. If they followed the plan forming in his mind, they’d both get in a lot of trouble. He couldn’t risk the little girl telling on them.
Maddox began thinking about how to extricate himself from the table when he heard his father say, “My son here is a fine crafter of blades, as it happens.”
Laird Broadbuckle looked over at Maddox in surprise. “Your son? Why, I didn’t realize!”
Maddox forced a smile. He heard that a lot. Yes, yes, he looked nothing like his supposed parents in the eyes of others.
So what? He had stopped explaining a long time ago.
Pa sent him a private wink, all too familiar with the same, tedious routine. “Taught him everything he knows. I’ll have to send you one of the boy’s recent ax heads. I think you’d be impressed.”
“Why, that’s very kind!” Laird Broadbuckle said, slurring his words a bit on account of the ale he’d been guzzling throughout the meal. His tam-o’-shanter hat had gone crooked. “But only if you can spare it.”
“I’d be honored for you to have it, sir,” Maddox assured him. “I hope you find it worthy.” He nodded respectfully to the wee Highlander, but couldn’t help wondering how long that crumb had been stuck in the dwarf’s bushy red beard. “You know, um, you have something…” He started to point at Broadbuckle’s face, but Ma poked him in the thigh under the table to shut him up. “Er, never mind.”
Maddox smiled at him instead, and Ma relaxed.
Ah well. His bluntness was both a virtue and a flaw, he supposed. It was hard to know when to tell the truth and when to be polite.
Ma seemed to think that a mere forge-mage family ought to consider themselves lucky that the laird of a Scottish clan was talking to them at all. It was not their place, apparently, to go telling one of their betters about the wad of food he had stuck in his beard.
Broadbuckle was confused. “Wh-what? What’s this?” The dwarf glanced around uncertainly, but Pa changed the subject.
“Tell us about the Deep Delves, my lord. I’ve heard they are majestic. Just how deep do they run?”
Speaking of his homeland was clearly the dwarf lord’s favorite subject. While he launched into a flowery description of the famous dwarven mines and underground palace, Ma sent Maddox a discreet nod of approval, then pushed her dessert plate toward him.
He gave her a mock frown. She shrugged.
With that, Maddox leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Can I be excused? I’d like to go and talk to my friends.”
“Oh, of course, dear. You’ve humored us long enough.”
He smiled, took the napkin off his lap, and set it aside. Ma beamed at him as he rose. Pa had no objection to him leaving, and the dwarf lord smiled broadly, inspecting him.
“Fine lad you’ve got there, St. Trinian. You must be very proud.”
“We are,” Pa answered.
Then the dwarf lord beckoned to a waiter to bring them more ale. Maddox wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, but who was he to judge?
After giving his father a slight bow and his mother an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, Maddox sauntered off to find Jake.
As he crossed the ballroom, heading for the lobby, he could not help but notice in his peripheral vision a few more disapproving glances on account of his clothes. But he was not sorry for ditching the proscribed formalwear.
Tuxedos were stupid, but more to the point, now everyone would know that it was he who disapproved of them for having this party in the first place.
Traditions were all very well, but it seemed outrageously wrong, with Ravyn missing, and Red, and Tex, and who knew how many others.
Maddox had lost count of the number of Lightriders who’d disappeared. Too many. Were they dead? Kidnapped? Nobody really knew. It was a scary
situation. But he could only focus on one crisis at a time.
When he stepped out into the gleaming white lobby, he noted small clusters of guests here and there chatting together, but nobody paid him any mind.
Then Maddox glanced around, wondering where Jake would’ve gone.
He’d heard Lady Bradford order him to go to his room, but he seriously doubted the rowdy young troublemaker would’ve complied.
Maddox turned to the fancy marble staircase, then decided not to waste his time checking upstairs. The chances of Jake doing as he was told were slim.
Instead, he walked to the center of the lobby, pausing directly under the apex of the ceiling dome.
Glancing to the right and left, he peered down each of the wide corridors that branched off the huge foyer; they led into the two main wings of Merlin Hall.
The huge block of guest chambers was upstairs—rather like a grand hotel for all these visitors who flooded in on regular occasions to attend various magical events.
But the first floor contained the more public regions of the palace. The enchanted art gallery, the lecture halls and conference rooms, and many posh, quiet parlors. All of these were usually open to everyone, except on special occasions.
Other areas, like the magnificent Gothic chamber where the Fey Parliament held their official assemblies, could only be visited with a docent or a member of the palace staff. Sir Peter had taken them on a tour of it once, on one of those long, dull days during August when they’d sat around here with nothing to do.
Biting his lip as he debated, Maddox quickly decided that Jake would probably not have taken either of these routes.
Instead, he walked straight ahead to the threshold of Merlin Hall’s stately main entrance.
The huge double doors had been propped open to allow the fresh night air to circulate into the ballroom. Otherwise, it would’ve grown too hot and stuffy with so many people in there.
Far too many people for his liking.
Lingering in the open doorway, Maddox scanned the darkness for that stubborn-headed doubler. His eyesight was very sharp; his hearing as well. It was part of being a Guardian, along with extra-fast reflexes. But he didn’t see the boy out there.
