Dragonshade (The Secret Chronicles of Lost Magic Book 2)

by Aderyn Wood

  Heduanna paced the room a few steps before standing still, her hands gripping each other tight.

  The king finally released his son, and Heduanna took a breath as Hadanash gradually stood and straightened his robe.

  “Leave me,” Father said.

  Hadanash wore a heavy frown. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Father had turned his back on them. “For now,” he replied, his voice back to its quiet tone.

  “Unbelievable.” Hadanash slammed the extinguished lantern against the wall. The crash of fractured pottery made Heduanna jump. Then her brother stormed out.

  Her father remained standing with his back to her. She wanted to reach out to him. To have him hold her the way he did when they were children. She used to love sitting on her father’s lap to bask in his affection. She still remembered the way he would whisper in her ear, “Remember always, daughter. I love you.”

  But instead she turned to leave.

  “Not you, daughter. Not yet.” Her father’s voice was hoarse. Was he crying? The mere thought almost made the world crack and shudder the way the lamp had against the wall. No, her father couldn’t cry. Could he?

  She turned slowly. Father now faced her, and to her relief his cheeks were dry.

  “And what does Phadite tell you, daughter? Have you had communion with her?”

  Heduanna swallowed. “You know I’ve not.”

  “You once asked me if you had any confirmation from the goddess that Qisht was a traitor—you asked me would I believe you. Do you remember?”

  Heduanna nodded.

  “That still holds. If you receive such a vision, in your dreams, or in any way. Report back to me. Immediately.”

  When the single bell sounded to mark the hour of darknight, Heduanna was wide awake. She hadn’t slept a wink since her return to the temple. Her mind refused to calm, and her heart thrummed with anger whenever she though of Qisht.

  With a huff she pulled back the covers and got up to dress. She opened her trunk and took the phial still half-filled with rue and slipped it into her pouch. She paced forward and back along the length of her small room, counting a hundred strides, before standing still. It was time. She donned her robe, flung the cowl over her head and slipped into the darkness.

  Moments later, she was back in the palace. She’d told the guards a lie about meeting her father once more. No doubt he’d hear about it tomorrow, but she’d worry about that later.

  Her breath echoed on the palace walls as she ascended the steps to the first terrace. Once again the only movements were from the dancing shadows thrown from the sconce flames. Out there, the city appeared to sleep restfully. Even the river streets seemed calm. All oblivious to the secret machinations of their enemies that never slept. Her mind wandered back, yet again, to the events of the night before. Qisht was a traitor. It was as clear as the pointed nose on his weaselly face. The only one who refused to see it was her father.

  “I’ll show you, Father,” she whispered to the shadows. “I’ll get the proof you need.” She walked on, and up to the second terrace, and then she let her feet take her where she knew she must go.

  Danael was sleeping. His breaths regular, calming. Heduanna turned the knob on the lantern by his bed, just enough to throw light on his face.

  She stood by his bed and marveled at his features. The high cheekbones. The wide, strong lips. The red hair, like coals of fire in the beard he now wore. She liked the beard. She liked the way it tickled her neck when he’d kissed her in the barracks that night. She imagined it tickling her in other areas too.

  She bent down and kissed his lips, they were warm. He gave a quiet groan before waking, his eyes blinking into the dull light. A smile spread on his face. “Am I dreaming?” he asked, his voice croaked with sleepiness.

  She smiled and kissed him again. In another heartbeat his arms were around her, drawing her to his bed. He rolled atop her and kissed her neck. “Sweet Phadite, I miss you, woman.”

  Heduanna grinned as she played with his thick braid. “You’re using our goddess’s name in vain.”

  “No.” He looked at her. “Not in vain.”

  Their lovemaking was slow and sweet, and just before dawn Heduanna woke and tipped a drop of the rue on her tongue, then she nudged her lover awake once more. They made love again as the sun crested the horizon and streaked through the passageways of the palace, altering the light ever so subtly. Heduanna could feel the goddess rise with it. The familiar tingling buzzed through her. A slight nausea gripped her stomach, and her vision fractured.

  Here it comes.

  Her eyes rolled back, and she let the convulsions take her.

  “No! Heduanna!” she heard Danael shout. The concern making his throat raw.

  All is well, my love. Phadite comes…

  The visions had her, and she was utterly lost to them. The shadow of wings flew above, wings impossibly large, gliding over the city. Every time Heduanna turned her head to look at the sky, the sun would blind her, and she was forced to gaze at the city once more. Those shadows. Those wings. What creatures were they?

  Heduanna.

  Heduanna turned to face the temple. Phadite’s temple atop the palace. Its blue radiated full and glorious, a hue not possible in the real world. Heduanna smiled broadly taking in the beauty. Such beauty, she recalled, made it difficult to leave this dream world. To return to normal life.

  But return you must. Come inside, little one. There is much I must show you.

  Heduanna blinked and looked on the divine entity before her. Phadite?

  She was a woman. So very beautiful. More beautiful than even Heduanna.

  Mother?

  A sudden flash from Heduanna’s past lingered before her, and Heduanna felt sure the woman was her mother. The woman crouched and reached for her daughter, the way she did when Heduanna was a child of not four sommers.

  The memory brought a flush of nostalgia and grief, and tears streaked Heduanna’s cheeks, but then the vision changed. A face floated before her. It was covered in roughness, like the bark of a tree. Heduanna frowned as she wiped the tears away.

  Keep walking, young one.

  Phadite? Heduanna asked again, looking for the woman, but now the face of bark was gone, and a bird with feathers blue-black flapped its wings and squawked a piercing cry before the image vanished and a smiling man stood before her.

  And then he was gone too, and the beautiful woman returned.

  That’s it now, little one. Reach for me. Touch of my essence. There is much I must reveal…

  Dreams swirled and images flashed before her. The galleys were now machines of war. Long prows sprung out from their bows, high gangplanks supported spear-throwers, and a double line of rowers lined their sides. Danael stood on deck, a sword of flame held aloft in his arm as he protected someone behind him. A closer look, and Heduanna saw Hadanash and her father.

  Shadows of wings interrupted her focus and a strong wind nearly knocked her off her feet. She gained her balance and looked once more at the view before her.

  Danael was thrown from the boat.

  No! Danael! she screamed.

  “Danael!”

  “She wakes,” someone said.

  Heduanna’s eyes fluttered.

  “She calls for Danael. Fetch the barbarian."

  Not yet, little one. There is more…

  Mists took her to a new country. She flew on the back of a raven. That was the name of the bird with the blue-black wings. She flew so high her feet tingled and she laughed into the cool moist wind. On they flew, over strange landscapes. Desert turned to mountains where trees taller than any palace loomed. The landscape shifted from the brown of the ceaseless desert, to the blue-grey rock of mountain peaks, to the deep green of forested valleys. And then they were spiralling down. The raven’s caw echoed off mountain rock and Heduanna shivered with chill.

  She stood on a plateau. The wind whipped her hair and she squinted into the low-lying sun. Something flew high abov
e. But not the raven. This was much larger with wings so broad their shadow turned everything to night.

  It’s Argath. The voice came from behind, and Heduanna spun to see the barbarian girl. Her funny little face with her large black eyes and small chin looked so serious. Her skin was pale and the scar on her upper lip almost white. Her dark hair flew in tendrils with the breeze. She wore nothing but a rough linen tunic, like a peasant, but the chill had no affect on her.

  Yana?

  Dream Yana frowned. Argath calls for me. Remember that. Argath calls…

  The mists swirled. The wing-shadows flew. A raven cawed.

  Yana?

  “Yana?” Heduanna groaned.

  “Heduanna?” Someone touched her hand, her real flesh, not her dream self. That voice, so fondly familiar.

  “Heduanna, it’s me, Danael. Can you hear me?”

  “She wakes,” a new voice said.

  “She was yelling Yana’s name.”

  “Should we fetch her?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Come back, little one…

  Heduanna turned into the mists once more and she stood again in Phadite’s temple. The face made of cypress bark filled her vision, and spoke into her mind with a deep and gravelly voice.

  Go now. Tell all. And give your father-king this message – let all the venom that lurks in the sands spring forth.

  Heduanna frowned. What does it mean?

  A breeze blew and the divinity faded. Heduanna looked out to the city. It was a blur of blue and orange. But those shadows drifted endlessly, aimlessly. Wings of giants, beating, swooping.

  She turned back but all was gone. Only the mists remained. Something tugged at her consciousness. There was something she was supposed to ask about a weasel. Or was it a wraith? But her head was as foggy as the mists that now swirled, and the question wouldn’t form in her mind.

  Then she was falling, into the mists, and the echo of the goddess’s voice spiraled around her. She waits…remember…

  Heduanna’s first sensation was the softness at her fingertips. Her hand curved over a smooth warmth that tickled her palm.

  She blinked her eyes open and took a moment to focus. A girl sat before her. Fourteen sommers old, perhaps. Certainly no older than sixteen. Her dark eyes held black centres and were the largest eyes Heduanna had ever seen. Her chin was slender, but she held it high, as though she were a princess too.

  “Ya—” Heduanna tried to speak, to say the girl’s name for the dreams were within a whisper’s reach, but her voice faltered in her throat.

  “Princess?” the girl said.

  Heduanna nodded and raised her head to look at the cause of the softness in her hand. A white bird sat on her bedcovers. “What is it?”

  “My duck. Ma always taught me to bring something nice to touch. For people confined to their beds. Or suffering with a haze. Usually we’d find a nice smooth rock from the bay. Or sometimes the khanassa would lend us one of her gems. But being a princess, I thought you’d have felt all the nicest gems in the world. So I brought you a duck. Nothing feels as good as duck down. Here, put your fingers under the wing, princess.”

  Heduanna’s hand was gently thrust forward and the warmth and softness there was indeed lovely to the touch.

  But she focused her attention on the girl. “Yana,” Heduanna said.

  “Yes?”

  “How is it we understand each other?”

  The girl blinked. “You know mountain speech.”

  “Is that what we’re speaking?”

  Yana nodded. “You were speaking it in your sleep.”

  Heduanna frowned. Yes, she was speaking it, but how had she learned it? The duck moved beneath her hand and she peered at it. It was different to the slim brown ducks that landed on the river in flocks of thousands after every high sommer. This duck had white feathers, interrupted now and then with splotches of brown. And she was fat. The bird nuzzled her beak under a wing and closed her eyes to sleep.

  Heduanna smiled. “She’s lovely.”

  Yana grinned. “She’s a good duck. Not as good as Patch was, but she’s rather calm, and not cheeky like Patch. That’s why I brought her. I knew you’d get along.”

  Heduanna was about to ask who Patch was, but a loud gasp drew her attention. Vitana, an old and fat little priestess who always had food and wine stains splotched on her tunic approached Heduanna’s bed with a look of pure horror on her face. “What is that disgusting creature doing on the princess’s bed? Get it off! NOW!”

  “No—” Heduanna muttered, still in mountain speech. “No,” she repeated in Zraemian. She wanted the duck to stay. She wanted Yana to stay, but the priestess bustled both girl and her duck from Heduanna’s bedside and out of her room.

  Vitana waddled straight back, wiping sleep from her eyes. A red crease lined her cheek and her two feathers sat bedragled atop her head, one of them bent in half. The old priestess reached out with her plump hand to feel Heduanna’s forehead. “How are you?”

  Heduanna blinked. She was good. Sleepy yes, but no nausea filled her stomach. “I feel all right.”

  Vitana squinted at her. “I best send for Blessed Verdualla.”

  Heduanna gripped Vitana’s hand. “How long was I asleep?”

  The priestess pursed her lips. “This is the eighth sunrise since your convulsions. A full quarter-moon has been and gone since last you woke.”

  “Eight days!” It was by far her longest convalescence so far.

  “Yes, and there were eight convulsions too. Now, I’ll send for the master healer, she’ll want to attend you.”

  Heduanna closed her eyes and let sleep take her again, if only for a little while.

  In the days that followed, the priestesses fussed and hushed so much Heduanna wished she could climb the back of the giant raven that had appeared in her visions and fly away. Her healing took much longer this time. The nausea came down on her, and for three days she could barely keep a spoonful of the gruesome brown brew in her stomach.

  The visions also took longer for Heduanna to piece together. And when she did begin to remember them, the horror of seeing Danael flung into the river amidst fire and destruction reduced her to a shaking mess of tears. She asked to see Danael, but her wishes were never granted. She asked to see Yana too, especially once she’d recalled the visions of the girl on the mountaintop, but Yana never came back.

  She saw Qisht, though. He called on her every morning, whispered to the priestesses and quietly swept away, no doubt to give her father a report. She turned her back whenever he entered the room, and searched her consciousness for any message from the goddess confirming the weasel’s treachery.

  On the eighth morning of her convalescence, she sat on her settee in her reception hall. Vitana was attending her once more and Heduanna was grateful for that. The bedraggled priestess was easier to sway than the others. She allowed the old woman to sponge her down, but insisted she dress herself in the raw linen tunic that was her temple wear. She tied the head band round her head and placed the feather to the side. She willingly drank the brown brew Vitana prepared for her and ate a small breakfast of fresh fruit as well.

  She dismissed Vitana, who put up a protest, but one that was easily overridden. Then Heduanna sat on the settee, her shoulders straight, appraising some old poetry, and waited for Qisht’s appearance.

  It wasn’t long before the weasel approached, preened and primped as usual. His eyes widened when he saw her, but he soon regained his composure.

  Heduanna spoke before he even opened his mouth. “Tell my father I will see him now. And tell him to bring two scribes. There is much to tell.”

  And so it was her father-king made his visit. His amber eyes filled with relief when he saw her. In truth, Heduanna still felt heavy with fatigue, but there were more important things than her health right now.

  She told her father all she had learned from the goddess, in the most coherent way she could find.

  “Tell the Praetans to complete th
e new fleet of warring galleys, and to add some adjustments,” she revealed first.

  Her father had frowned, but Heduanna didn’t pause. She turned to Ashti, the old scribe, and told him to write her instructions to the word, and she explained the long prow, the high gangways, and the double row of oars.

  “Get those instructions to the boat builders at Praeta.” She looked at her father. “Gedjon-Brak will be fought on the river. And the Drakians must begin teaching Azzurian soldiers how such battles are won.”

  Her father nodded and the scribes scribbled furiously.

  Heduanna spoke further. “You must keep Danael with you, Father, for he will protect you.” A fist squeezed her heart when she said it. And the memory of the vision of her lover plunging ever down into the bloodied waters of the Uryphat filled her mind. But she clenched her jaw and refused to let one tear fall.

  The king narrowed his eyes. “It was because of Danael that you ended up sick and bedridden—”

  “No, it wasn’t his fault.” Heduanna’s voice was raised and she exhaled a slow breath. “I sought him out for this very purpose.”

  “It’s why I’ve been so strict with your previous… lovers.”

  A flush grew along Heduanna’s cheeks.

  “This communing with the goddess… it could kill you, daughter. I don’t want you tempted by Danael again.”

  Heduanna shook her head. “I love him, Father.”

  The king blinked. “Be careful of love. It can be more dangerous than hate.”

  They sat in silence a moment before the king spoke, “Zamug thinks that if you went with him—”

  “I agree.”

  Her father raised his eyebrows.

  “Zamug could teach me how to access the goddess safely. You were right, I should have gone with him into the desert a long time ago. Phadite will visit me again before Gedjon-Brak is finished..”

  “Another vision?” her father said, the concern returning to his eyes. “I’ve never seen you so ill, daughter. It is not good for you.”

  Heduanna shrugged. “It is my duty.”

  “There must be another way, a safer way.” He shook his head.