At last he spoke. “No,” he said. “I will never fall in love with a truehuman.” He said it gently enough, but with great finality.
Yet she thought she detected something else—a faint note of … triumph? No, he wouldn’t be so cruel.
And she would love him forever. She said, “I should go back.”
He nodded. Once again they rode through the woods in silence, angling toward the river now.
Far too quickly the trees ended. Before them was a small meadow, the road to the ferry cutting across it like a pale wound in the green. To the left lay the water glittering in the sun. The ferry boat wallowed in the middle of the river. It drew closer stroke by slow oar stroke.
Linden halted Shan at the edge of the meadow. He said, without turning, “You realize we must go on as before, Maurynna—don’t you? You’d be in danger … .”
“I don’t understand.” She swallowed. “I—”
“It would be best if you left Cassori immediately—go on with your trading run.”
She hated him for that, for his cool manner as he bade her go, his refusal to look her in the eye as he cast her off.
She hated him with all her soul until, voice shaking, he said, “If anything happened to you, I—I … Oh, gods. If you do go—and it would be safest—leave word with Otter which ports you’ll be sailing to. I’ll find you when this is over.”
Confused now, she asked, “What are you afraid of? Surely those robbers have fled—”
“They weren’t robbers,” he said, his voice hard and flat. “Not with magery of that caliber.”
“Then who?” she asked.
“The Fraternity of Blood. That attack was not a chance one on an unlucky traveler; it was prepared for a Dragonlord. And now that a direct attack has failed, what better way to strike at a Dragonlord than to hurt someone he cares about? Otter is safe, I think; his rank should protect him. As for Sherrine, I suppose her rank protected her as well during our dalliance. But you—you’re vulnerable; you’re neither noble nor Cassorin.”
She slid down from Shan, wondering at the frustrated anger in his voice, her head spinning from what he’d just said. She wasn’t quite certain she believed her ears.
The Fraternity of Blood? But they were just a legend … . He looked down at her, his face white and set. “Will you leave?”
“I can’t,” she said. “My hold is half empty. I can’t ask my family to take a loss like that; I must have cargo to sell and trade at my next port.” She reached up to him; he caught her hand tightly in his. “But I promise you I’ll be careful—I’ll keep one of my crew with me as much as I can; most of them are good with a sword—and set sail as soon as possible. Until this is over?”
“Until this is over,” Linden said as if he spoke a vow. He wheeled Shan around. They melted into the shadows under the trees.
The ferry was just making shore. Maurynna strode across the little sunlit meadow, her head held high. She never once looked back.
Linden rode through the tamed woods surrounding the river estates, trying to sort through his feelings. The terror he’d felt at their joining still echoed through his bones, but the joy of being Sealed at long last to his soultwin was more elusive, a quiet euphoria filling him like a slow and steady flood. It welled up at odd moments, ready to spill over, only to settle into a deep contentment a heartbeat later.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happened,” he said in wonder.
Shan danced under him. Linden laughed and shifted his weight. The big stallion broke into a slow, collected canter, then pirouetted first one way and then the other, snorting exuberantly through the maneuver.
So this is what it is to be complete. In some ways I feel just the same as ever; in others … Gods, how did I ever think I was truly alive?
He and Shan explored the woods, riding slowly, until Linden could no longer ignore his growing weariness. The sudden flush of strength that Maurynna’s coming had brought was fading fast now. His illness had taken more out of him than he’d first thought.
“Good as it is to ride you again, crowbait, I’ve got to get some rest. It’s back home for us, my lad.”
As they made their way back to the estate, Linden plaited the now-dry hair of his long clan braid into its proper pattern lest he chance upon anyone else. That Maurynna had seen it unbound didn’t bother him; he was only sorry that he hadn’t thought to ask her to plait it for him as was a lover’s right. That someone else might see him with it undone still struck him as somewhat indecent, though he’d heard that of late the old customs were not honored as they had once been.
“Ah, Shan,” Linden said, “you’ve no idea how good it is to be able to do this and not have worry about you stopping at every blade of grass or spooking at some silly thing. And since I don’t have any cords with me, you won’t mind if I snatch a few hairs to tie this off with, will you?” Without waiting for a response, he tugged a few long black hairs from Shan’s mane and bound the end of his clan braid with them.
Shan turned his head and snapped at Linden’s boot toe.
“Missed you too, crowbait,” said Linden.
Linden! Where in blazes are you? Kief’s mindvoice thundered in his head.
Wincing, Linden replied, No need to shout, Kief. Judging by the way you’ve rattled my brain, you’re not that far from me.
Bloody hell, you ass—we return home only to have the servants tell us you leaped from your sickbed and ran out the door with some young woman.
Tarlna interjected, The servants described her as wearing wide gold bracelets. Maurynna?
Then the grooms are trying to tell me some idiocy that Shan’s here from Dragonskeep, Kief fumed.
Uh—he is. And it was—Maurynna, I mean, Linden said. Could we wait to discuss this? I’m nearly back at the estate.
A long, frustration-filled silence. Then, from Kief, Very well. From Tarlna, We’ll look forward to … discussing … this with you. The contact abruptly ended.
“Oh, joy,” Linden said to Shan. “Kief and Tarlna are both madder than wet cats.” Which puzzled him; why so angry? And if they were this upset now, wait until he told them what had happened.
A short time later he rode out of the woods onto the grassy lawns of the estate. Across the vast expanse of green he saw Kief and Tarlna, still mounted, waiting in the courtyard of the stables, their guards still surrounding them. Shan broke into a gallop. Linden waved, knowing that the motion would catch the sharp eyes of his fellow Dragonlords.
It did. Kief and Tarlna spurred their horses into a dead run and met him halfway. For a moment the three simply stared at each other, Linden uncomfortable, the others plainly furious.
Kief broke the silence. “Damn it all, Linden—do you like thumbing your nose at the gods? Are you out of your mind, riding around alone your first day up from a sickbed? Do you want to be waylaid again—perhaps killed, since whoever tried it didn’t succeed the first time!” he yelled.
Tarlna, in her turn was quiet, but her voice shook with fury. “Don’t you ever frighten us like that again. Ever.”
Linden blinked in surprise. They were truly worried about him. The thought warmed him even as it astonished him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think about it. I won’t do it again.”
Kief, who’d had his mouth open to argue, shut it with a snap, the wind gone from beneath his wings by Linden’s honest repentance. He muttered something under his breath, but Linden saw the tension leave the slender Dragonlord’s shoulders.
Tarlna snapped, “See that you don’t,” sounding sorry that he wasn’t arguing with them. She tried another gambit. “How did Shan get here? Did Chailen or one of the grooms bring him?”
“Ah—no. As near as I can tell, he got loose and made his own way here.” Linden smiled sheepishly. Maybe they’ll forget to ask about—
“You,” said Tarlna, “and that horse deserve each other. And since he had no idea that you were here, someone had to bring him. Maurynna, I take it?”
Damn
, he was in for it now. “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “We’re Sealed to each other. It … just happened; Rathan was too strong.”
“You fool!” Kief exploded. Linden braced himself, expecting worse, but Kief suddenly checked his anger. A brief look of guilt flashed over his face. “But you weren’t the only careless one,” Kief finished cryptically.
Tarlna said, “What’s done is done, Kief. And it may be for the best.” Then, to Linden, “Since you’re riding blithely about, I assume she’s well?”
He nodded, trying to unravel the meaning of their words.
She accepted his reassurance and said, “It’s time. Tell him, Kief—about Tsan Rhilin.”
Linden’s hand went to his chest, seeking the wide leather strap of the baldric that supported the greatsword. Of course it wasn’t there. It was back in his chamber. His conscience twinged for not having thought of the sword earlier. Then an uneasy feeling struck; he searched his memory, trying to remember if he’d seen the greatsword in his chamber.
No. It hadn’t been there. Of that he was certain. A great hollow opened in the pit of his stomach. He licked dry lips. “Where—,” he began.
“Stolen.” Kief wouldn’t look at him. “And it was a few days before I remembered that you had had it with you when you left here that night. You weren’t wearing it when I carried you away from that field.”
It was hard to swallow now. “So the men who attacked me—”
“Have Tsan Rhilin,” Kief finished. “That seems the only logical explanation. If we find the sword, we find the culprit.”
“Oh gods,” was all Linden could say. The summer evening turned cold around him. To have lost the sword that was so interwoven with his life, that Bram had given him, shook him to his heart’s core. What would he say to Bram—and, even worse, to Rani—when he finally passed on to the other side? It was almost all he had of the two people he’d loved the most for the better part of his life.
He burned to take Casna apart stone by stone. Instead he asked, “What has been done to find it?”
Kief made a hopeless gesture. “We deemed it best not to make a general announcement. Duchess Alinya has had agents from the palace hunting it. They’ve turned up nothing yet.”
Linden found it hard to breathe. The loss of this mainstay of his life threatened to drag him back down into the grey misery he’d so recently escaped. He steeled himself against it and found a last reserve of strength deep inside.
“Kief, I think it best if I return to my own house. Let the people see that I’m well once more.” To himself he added, Perhaps that will somehow flush out the thieves. Shan edged past their horses.
Kief nodded. “I think you’re right. There have been rumors of your death. But, Linden—”
Linden halted the stallion. “Yes?”
Kief jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the courtyard. “This time take the blasted guards with you.”
Fifty-eight
Althume waited on the battlements of the palace. It was cooler up here, a welcome respite from the humid heat. The ghost of a breeze drifted in from the south, bringing the scent of the ocean with it; if he squinted he could see the water glittering on the horizon.
He was tired. The power of the ceremonies he’d been working lately was draining him. True, he could tap the energies stored within the soultrap jewel to revive himself, but he preferred to save those. He yawned. Annoying as it was, he’d have to cease his magical workings for a few days. The whores of Casna would be safe once more.
The scrape of boots on stone came to his ears. A quick look told him no one else was about. Good; he’d not have to play the submissive servant. The act was becoming more tiresome with every passing day.
“Much better up here,” Peridaen said as he joined the mage.
“Indeed. Cooler and more private than many places,” Althume answered. “And a fine view of your kingdom-to-be.”
Peridaen made the sign to ward off ill fortune. “Don’t tempt the gods, Kas. It’s not over yet and they don’t like presumption.”
Althume shrugged. Such superstitions had no fear for him. “I assume you’ve heard the news?”
“That Linden Rathan returned to his city house late yesterday afternoon? Yes. Now what?”
“Now we set the stage. First, the meetings must begin again—as soon as possible.”
Peridaen stroked his beard. “You want the meetings to resume after all that effort to get them to cease? Kas, remem-her—I’ m certain they’re leaning toward Beren for the regency. We’ve got to think of something else or—”
“The regency is no longer the important thing, Peridaen. We have a chance—”
“No. I told you that already. I will have this regency,” said Peridaen. “We will proceed with the original plan only.”
“Forget the original plan! I already know it would work—I touched her once already using the soultrap jewel. That can be done at any time.” Althume hissed in frustration. “Peridaen, think about it. This would be the greatest coup the Fraternity has yet scored. A regent loyal to the Fraternity would be useful, yes—but a tame Dragonlord? Think, curse it!”
“I have thought about it. You might kill Sherrine—and you will certainly kill Rann,” Peridaen said.
“May I remind you, Prince, that it was your orders that doomed your sister and her husband? You already have the blood of your family—”
Peridaen shouted, “Dax knew too much and my sister had turned against me! They were adults. I do not kill children.”
Althume pressed him harder. “Then what of the potion?”
“It merely keeps the boy quiet and biddable. You said yourself it won’t kill him.” Peridaen pushed off from the battlement he leaned upon. “I forbid you to consider this plan anymore. Do you understand?”
Mage studied prince; considered; decided there was wisdom in defeat—for now. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. I want that regency. See to it.” Peridaen stalked away.
Althume watched him go, shaking with rage. The hell with Peridaen. He had betrayed the Fraternity—and for what? For personal gain and because he was soft, the mage thought with contempt.
The fool. There was no place for softness in this war. With Peridaen or without him, Althume would have Sherrine as a slave to the Fraternity.
He would have to move fast. Peridaen was not overly cunning or bloodthirsty, but even he would eventually realize that he would be safer without a certain wayward mage about. And if he didn’t, Anstella certainly would if Peridaen told her what he, Althume, had planned for her daughter. Althume had no intention of dying just yet.
It was time to gather forces magical and mundane. He had arrangements to make and a baroness to trick.
Linden sat in the library, turning over the pages of the book before him. He was sorry that he’d never taken the time before this to look more closely at Lady Gallianna’s bookshelves; she was obviously well read, interested in a wide range of subjects. He settled himself more comfortably and began reading the book he’d selected, a history of Kelneth.
“Your Grace? I’m sorry to disturb you, but the Baroness of Colrane asks if you would see her,” the house steward said from the doorway.
Anstella? Linden thought. What does she want?
Only one way to find out. “Very well, Aran. Show her here, please.”
Aran nodded and withdrew. A few minutes later Linden heard him returning, followed by the hiss of satin slippers on tile and the rustling of a gown. Aran bowed Baroness Colrane in and withdrew once more.
Linden rose. “How may I help you, my lady?” he asked, polite but wary.
Anstella made him a courtesy. “I’ve come to beg a favor of you, Dragonlord. The Solstice is approaching and Sherrine—Your Grace, it is a hard thing to ask a young woman to miss the celebrations at the palace. My daughter has been looking forward to them for months. Of your kindness, Dragonlord, would you consider rescinding her exile?”
It would have to be this. But at least the moth
er had not sought to trap him publicly as the daughter had. And it wasn’t fair to deprive the baroness of her only child’s company; Anstella was blameless in all this. “It was not I who exiled your daughter, Baroness, but she herself. If she wishes to return I will not oppose it. It would be a shame if she missed the celebrations. So send to her, bid her return—but she is to remember that there is a condition to it. I think she’ll know what it is.”
Anstella dropped another courtesy. “I understand. Thank you for your kindness, Dragonlord. I will send for her this very day,” she said, and left.
Fifty-nine
Linden lay on his back on the lawn, nibbling on a sprig of mint, watching the clouds float across an achingly blue sky. His thoughts drifted on the silken threads of melody from Otter’s harp as Shan cropped the grass near his shoulder. Occasionally the stallion would stop and sniff Linden as though to make certain his person was really there. Linden stretched up a hand and scratched Shan’s nose as the big black head once again loomed over him. A goblet of wine waited, forgotten, by his elbow.
He cast aside the last of the mint. Otter played softly; the tune now was a lullaby, old when Linden had heard it as a child. He closed his eyes, just this side of sleep, mulling over the news Otter had brought him.
That Maurynna was having such trouble worried him. Linden vividly remembered the terror he’d known before his First Change, the horrible certainty he was going mad, hearing voices in his head, his senses overwhelmed by the world around him. Judging by Otter’s account, Maurynna was going through the same hell.
And there was nothing he could do to help her, save hope that her First Change would come soon. There was only one bright spot in Otter’s tidings. “You say that this began before we were Sealed to each other?”
“Um, yes. I hadn’t meant to tell you, but … The night you were attacked, Kief was so upset that he didn’t think things through and Changed very close to Maurynna. He’s been afraid that’s what triggered all of this. He didn’t tell you, did he?”
“No,” Linden said dryly, “he didn’t. But it does explain something he said. When this is over, I believe I shall have a word or two with him.”
The Last Dragonlord Page 39
