The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Nick nodded. “Yes.”

  “He’ll betray her,” the Lady said, flaring up dangerously, reaching for Seph with her taloned hand. Seph stood frozen and closed his eyes.

  No! Leave him alone! Madison struggled clumsily with the Lady within her, trying to wrest control away from her.

  “No!” Nick said quickly, morphing once again into the young Demus. “He loves her, too. He is, I believe, wiser than I was.” He paused. “I know you are tired of life. But there is hope in the young. I think they’ll find their way to peace.”

  The Lady Aidan looked them over, her gaze shifting from Jack to Seph—who still shivered under her glittering scrutiny. “The boy is damaged,” she said, curling her lip back to reveal razor teeth. “He’s using flame.”

  “He is desperate to save the ones he loves. He would trade his life for theirs.”

  “Hmmm.” Shifting back into Madison form, she reached out her hand and touched Seph in the center of his forehead. His entire body relaxed, his hands unclenched, and the pain and exhaustion and need in his face fell away. Seph dropped to his knees on the turf, head bowed. “M ...my Lady,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “Madison—is she—all right? Please. She never wanted any of this to happen. Don’t take her. Take me instead.”

  She gazed down at him a moment, leaned down and kissed him on the top of his head. She turned to Demus.

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Put an end to this conflict. Sort out the Roses.”

  The Lady bristled with fire. “I never wanted to rule over you. You, of all people, should know that. I wanted an academy. Collaboration among peers. Meetings of the mind and communion of the heart. Philosophy and discourse under the trees. And yet you led a conspiracy against me.”

  Demus didn’t answer for what seemed like a long time, and when he spoke, his voice fractured. “I am . . . so tired . . . of trying to make things right. If I could undo it, I would.” He shifted back to Old Nick. “If you will not mediate this dispute, then take back your gifts. The Weirstones.”

  She gestured toward Seph and the others. “You’ve lived a long life, but they are young. Their Weirstones are a great price for them to pay to cleanse you of guilt.” She smiled sadly and extended her hand. “Nicodemus. The age of dragons is past. I’m going back to sleep in the mountain. Come with me and rest.”

  “The Roses will annihilate or enslave the other guilds.” Nick met Madison’s eyes, then looked away. “Then they will murder each other. They’ll destroy the world.”

  The Lady shrugged, as if to say, Who cares? Then she seemed to take pity on Nick. “It’s too late, anyway. I have abdicated in favor of the girl,” Lady Aidan said.

  Nick’s head came up. “What?”

  “The girl is a blooded descendant of the Dragonguard. She wears the stone of that lineage. I name her the heir of the Dragonheart, the giver and taker of power. If you want someone to rule over you, she can do it.”

  Now, wait just a minute, Madison thought, rattling against confinement like a marble in a jar. Who’s this girl you’re talking about?

  Nick cleared his throat. “But . . . so much power in the hands of one person.”

  The Lady Aidan shrugged carelessly. “She does not want it, either,” she said. “And that is a hopeful sign. Let’s trust her to make good use of it, shall we?”

  “But, my Lady . . .”

  The Lady drew herself up. “Good-bye, Demus. You know where to find me.” Madison felt the touch of the Lady’s mind as she departed—and was suddenly and terribly alone.

  The green landscape faded, and the stone walls of the church closed in again. The others stirred, as if a spell were broken.

  Madison looked down at herself. Her vision swam, and she knew she must be hallucinating. Her skin still glowed, and she seemed to morph subtly from one shape to another—from a girl in jeans and a denim jacket to the Lady with jeweled skin to something more dragonlike. Her skin glittered when the light hit it just so, and flame seemed to trail her gestures.

  Seph gripped the end of a pew and pulled himself upright. “Madison?’he said cautiously. “It’s really you, isn’t it? But, you’re . . . shifting.” He reached for her hands, and when Snowbeard said, “Careful!” he ignored it.

  It was like gripping a live wire—power mingling and colliding in their fingertips. Seph’s touch seemed to anchor her, and she held on tight, gazing hungrily into his face. His green eyes were clear now, no longer muddy with pain. He leaned down and kissed her, another exchange of potent power, leaving Madison overwhelmed with guilt and gratitude.

  He knows what I did, he knows what I am, and he doesn’t hate me.

  “Nick. So it was you.” Jack’s voice was icy cold.

  Madison turned. She’d forgotten anyone else was there.

  Jack slid his dagger free and pointed it at Nick, his blue eyes brilliant against a face pale with anger. “You were Demus—the wizard who established the guilds, who . . . who wrote the Covenant.”

  Nick was silent for so long that Seph thought the old wizard would not answer. When he spoke, he could scarcely be heard. “Yes. I led the original conspiracy against Lady Aidan. It was a long time ago, Jack. I was . . . very ambitious. Very full of myself. I saw no reason we should answer to a dragon, no matter how wise and virtuous she was. The price of living so very long is that one sees the error of one’s ways.”

  “And the tournaments? They were your idea, too?” Jack’s voice shook.

  Nick bowed his head against this assault. “I did not anticipate the level of destruction that resulted from putting such devastating power in the hands of flawed human beings. It was not only the Weir who were dying, but thousands of Anaweir, in battles that raged all around the globe. We were destroying the earth, as well—poisoning the atmosphere, sullying our waterways, drenching the ground in blood.

  “So. With the help of some confederates, I wrote the Covenant, convinced representatives of the guilds to sign, and persuaded the nation of wizards that magical disaster would strike if we did not adhere to it. I created a legend and enforced it with magic. Those who violated it paid the price.

  No small feat, but then, I was in my prime.” He looked up at Jack. “I know this is difficult to believe, but the Game saved thousands of lives.”

  “Just not the lives of warriors,” Jack said bitterly. “We’re expendable.”

  Snowbeard slumped into the nearest pew, his eyes still fixed on Madison. “At one time, that seemed ...a reasonable trade-off.”

  “A reasonable trade-off?” Jack’s voice rose. “And now Ellen’s lying out there with a mortal wound—”

  As if to add punctuation to this statement, a flaming missile smashed through the stained-glass window above the altar, sending shards of glass flying toward them. Seph put up a hand, and the shrapnel dropped to the floor as if it had hit an invisible barrier. “They’re getting close,” he said. “We’d better go.”

  But Madison put her hand on Nick’s shoulder. He flinched violently when she touched him, and she pulled back her hand. “What changed you?” she asked.

  He smiled, his face crinkling into familiar lines. “Why, my dear, I fell in love. One of your May–December affairs, my . . . fifteenth bride. I was totally smitten. I had no idea she carried warrior blood. When our son was born a warrior, I tried to conceal him. When the Roses took him for the Game, I—ah—freed him and fled to America. That was in 1802.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Jack, your great-great-grandmother Susannah was my many-greats granddaughter.”

  Jack stopped pacing and swung round, looking not a little horrified. “You mean you’re my ...grandfather?”

  “So to speak. With a great many greats. I very much resembled you as a young man. Though not quite so . . . muscular.” Nick shook off the memory. “In recent years, I’ve tried to remake the hierarchy of the guilds, but found I’d lost power over it. My power has waned, while the system has taken on a life of its own. When Jason brought the
Dragonheart, I was hopeful that it might be a link to the lost Lady. A last chance.”

  “What . . . was it, exactly?” Seph asked. “The Dragonheart, I mean.”

  Nick shrugged. “The Dragonheart is the Lady’s encoded memory. Both her essence and the source of power given up by the Lady to the Weirguilds.”

  Outside, the fighting rolled toward them, its advance marked by the percussive tread of explosions. Flames flickered outside, casting bizarre shadows on the walls and floor, and thick smoke seeped in around the windows.

  “Well, none of this is going to matter to any of us before long,” Seph said. “They’re in. Obviously.”

  “So. I guess this is the end, then,” Fitch said, pressing his fist over his heart. “I have to say, it’s been really ...” He swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” he added, his voice faint in the cavernous sanctuary.

  Seph reached into his jacket and pulled out the bottle of flame. He gazed at it a moment, then opened his hand so that it fell, smashing on the stone floor.

  “Listen,” Seph said. “The rest of you, get Ellen and go down in the crypt and out the tunnel to the lake. They won’t know how many of us there are. They’ve broken through the walls, so there may be a way out.”

  “And what will you be doing?” Will asked suspiciously.

  “I’ll hold them off as long as I can. You know, to give you a head start with Ellen. Then I’ll come meet you,” Seph said lightly.

  “Right,” Will said, not buying it. “Not a chance. We all go, or nobody goes.”

  “This is my fault,” Madison said. “I am so sorry. I was just . . . just trying to save Grace and J.R., and I’ve ruined everything. You had one little chance, and I wrecked it. Now Jason’s dead and Ellen’s hurt, the Dragonheart’s gone, and they’re coming for us.”

  “Madison,” Seph began, but she knew better than to look at him.

  “Anyway, you all go on. I’ll go out there and see if I can suck the power out of some of them. It’s worth a try.”

  “Madison.” This time it was Nick. “That won’t work now. Not in the way you mean. You don’t draw power anymore. But . . .”

  “Don’t argue with me; my mind is made up.” She felt almost peaceful now that she’d made her decision.

  “No,” Seph said. “You didn’t want to be involved in this in the first place. We pulled you into it, and now ...”

  “Listen to me!” Nick Snowbeard’s voice boomed out with something of its old force, and everyone stopped talking. “Madison,” he continued in a softer voice. “You do indeed have the means to save us all, but you must act quickly and with intelligence. I can teach you some things, but there’s not much time.”

  “How? With what?” She looked around at the others, who seemed as puzzled as she.

  “With the Dragonheart.”

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “The Dragonheart is gone.”

  “You are mistaken.” Nick stood, and pressed his fingers to the base of her collarbone. “The Dragonheart is here.” “What?” Madison looked totally bewildered. Nick smiled grimly. “Madison, like it or not, you are, shall we say, the Dragon Heir.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The Dragon Heir

  When it came down to the final assault, Jessamine Longbranch was surprised at the lack of resistance at the wall. After the days and weeks of siege warfare, it seemed the rebels’ strength was far less than had been believed. In fact, the Roses had taken their greatest losses outside the perimeter—from inter-House battles and a diabolical series of nonmagical mines and explosive devices that infested the ground between the walls.

  It was a mark of ill breeding for wizards to use such tactics against their fellow gifted.

  In the end, they sliced through the Weirwall in three places. When the armies poured into the town, the rebels dissipated like smoke. The Roses sent flame howling up the streets and alleys of Trinity, but it was like hunting stardust.

  Still, Jess was unsettled by the fact that Joseph McCauley, Jack Swift, and Ellen Stephenson were conspicuously absent. Her greatest fear was that somehow they’d found a way to escape with the Dragonheart and were even now making their way to a rendezvous with Hastings and Downey.

  No sign of Madison Moss, either. But there could be no doubt that the Dragonheart was still close by, somewhere near the center of town. Now her objective was to get to it ahead of Geoffrey Wylie and the Red Rose.

  So when she came through the wall, she did not linger to finish off the last defenders. Leaving the cleanup to others, she led a score of her most trusted lieutenants toward the source of the power that welled from the city core.

  The town was in ruins. Its once-picturesque square fumed black smoke into the dawn, surrounded by blasted storefronts and littered with broken glass. Its gingerbread Victorian homes were ablaze. The streets were deserted, the Anaweir residents nowhere to be seen.

  Jess saw movement off to her left and right, a flash of red livery. Not rebels, but some of her purported allies. She sent flame spiraling out in both directions and heard screams as they connected. She could do with a little less competition.

  She quickened her pace to an undignified trot. If she could find the Dragonheart, so could anyone else.

  She rounded a corner and all but skidded to a stop, swearing forcefully. Ahead stood a large stone church, like a great ship swimming in a sea of wizards—Red Rose, White Rose, and some brave indeterminate fools who had taken the new ecumenicalism to heart.

  She was late. She took a quick count and shook her head.

  Geoffrey Wylie greeted her on the church steps, a big smile on his ugly face, his shields firmly in place against a surprise attack from the sanctuary. Or his allies. “Jess! So glad you could come. We’ve demanded the surrender of the Dragonheart and are awaiting the rebels’ response.”

  Jess shook back her hair and delivered a withering sneer. “Really, Geoffrey. Why are you even negotiating with them?”

  The smile did not falter. “Once we have the Dragonheart in our hands, we will, of course, renegotiate. Watch and learn.”

  As if called by their conversation, the boy wizard Joseph McCauley emerged onto a second floor gallery, dressed all in black, glittering with wards. A few over-enthusiastic wizards (mostly Red Roses) directed a smattering of fire at him, which he brushed aside contemptuously. The boy surveyed the assembly as one might an infestation of fire ants— unpleasant, but, for the most part, manageable.

  He was admittedly handsome, though he’d already mastered his father’s habit of squinting down his long nose at his betters. Too bad he carried so much bad blood.

  I should have kept hold of the girl, she thought. Perhaps McCauley still could have been turned.

  The boy’s voice rang out over the churchyard. “We’ve discussed your proposal,” he said. “And we have a counter offer.” He paused, as if to assure that he had everyone’s attention. “We propose a new Covenant of peace and forgiveness. If you all go back where you came from and swear off violence, coercion, and attack magic, we will allow you to live.”

  For a moment, Wylie couldn’t conjure a response. “Are you out of your mind?” he sputtered. “What kind of proposal is that?”

  “If you refuse,” McCauley continued, unperturbed, “we’ll strip you of magic and leave you Anaweir.”

  A buzz of outrage erupted from the assembled wizards.

  Jess couldn’t help but admire the boy’s arrogance. Apparently McCauley had also inherited his father’s inability to recognize when he was beaten.

  Wylie was less impressed. “Why, you self-important young ...”

  “A generous offer,” McCauley’s voice boomed out again, drowning out the commentary from Wylie and the rest of the crowd, “given the other crimes committed by some of you. Including the murders of Jason Haley and Madison Moss.” His voice trembled a bit at the end, whether from rage or grief, Jess couldn’t tell.

  Jess was finally goaded into speech. “The girl’s dead?”


  “She was killed by falling debris during the attack.”

  Jess sniffed. “Haley got what he deserved for not delivering what was promised. And if the girl is dead, it’s your own fault, for resisting.”

  McCauley went very still. “Well, she’s still dead, isn’t she?” he said softly. “And if not for you, she’d be alive.”

  “Enough of this posturing,” Wylie said. “Give us the Dragonheart.”

  McCauley inclined his head, and came up smiling, an awful smile. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said. He turned and looked back into the church. The windows kindled, illuminated by a light so bright Jess had to shade her eyes.

  There was movement in the doorway: a long, sinuous neck uncoiling, wrapping itself around the tower of the church, a glittering body following, an armored tail clattering against the stone walls, the suggestion of wings that remained imprinted on Jess’s vision when she closed her eyes. Slate roof tiles clattered down, followed by a gargoyle downspout, as the beast settled itself into the architecture of the building, its serpent’s head questing out toward the wizards on the ground, its clawed forelegs gripping the stonework over the door. Wizards toppled, landing hard on the pavement of the parking lot, driven down by raw and irrresistible power.

  Dragon! The word rippled through the crowd.

  Jess managed to remain standing, though just barely. The apparition was so bright, it was difficult to look at for any length of time. The image wavered, and for a moment coalesced into a human figure, a woman, tall and terrible, with brilliant blue eyes and a cloud of glittering hair. She had a rather startled look on her face. Jessamine frowned, thinking she recognized her from somewhere.

  Wylie had fallen. Now he gathered himself, forcing himself upright. “We’ve seen this before,” he gasped, his face a fish-belly white. “At Second Sister. It’s just a shade. A . . . a glamour. N-nothing to be afraid of.” He sounded totally unconvinced.