“What else did the hatchling eat?” Jaylor asked.
Interesting phrasing.
Lucjemm’s right arm bent to rest behind his back. “Mother allowed the ugly snake to bite her finger and drink blood.” Lucjemm’s gaze dropped again. Not to his boots this time, but to the pattern of planks on the floor and maybe to the edge of rich rug that the desk rested upon.
“Did you ever have the Krakatrice draw blood from you?” Jaylor stepped forward. His hand flashed out and grabbed the boy’s left arm so fast Lucjemm couldn’t hold back. In the same gesture Jaylor pushed up the boy’s sleeve.
Old white scars shone stark against his skin. Each a pair of round dots, evenly spaced.
“These scars are years old, he hasn’t given blood to a beast recently,” Jaylor announced. He dropped the arm as if tainted.
Lucjemm shoved his sleeve down, a blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks all the way to his ears.
“What happened to the hatchling when your mother . . . left?” Darville asked soothingly. This boy needed his protection as much as Glenndon and Linda and the little girls.
“I . . . I don’t know. I didn’t see it for a long time. Then . . . then yesterday after you broke the Council, Father brought out this huge snake from his rooms at the manse, a . . . a Krakatrice and took it outside the city. He crooned to it like a lover. It coiled around his arm and neck and flicked its forked tongue like it was . . . it was tasting the air, seeking new victims to feed off of.” The last came out in a rush as if he was afraid to speak his thoughts and had to get them all out at once before they choked him.
Jaylor rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed gently, reassuringly. “Your father must be using the Krakatrice to enthrall his troops. Will he rise against his king now that the Council is recessed?”
Recessed. Good word. It lacked the sense of permanence of “broken.” It gave Darville hope that he could find a compromise to bring the government back together. Legally, without the Council, Darville only had authority over the city islands and small strips of land bordering the river on either side. He and his citizens were dependent upon the network of trade with the other provinces for grain and meat, for cloth and leather, and myriad other things to support life and civilization.
“I think so. He has taken Lady Graciella to wife. I think . . . I think she is a sorceress. I think they poisoned your cup, Your Grace.”
“Why would Jemmarc denounce one wife for working magic and then take another and use her magical talent?” Darville asked. Something about the entire tale bothered him. It had no logic.
Lucjemm shrugged; a gesture so reminiscent of Glenndon that Darville wanted to enfold him into the family. “Father didn’t really care if she worked magic or not. What he wants is another son. As if I am no longer good enough for him. He’s willing to use Graciella’s magic to further his plans.”
“Could the Krakatrice be manipulating Lord Jemmarc’s mind?” Jaylor asked. He started to run his hands through his tightly bound hair, encountered resistance and thought better of it. Brevelan must have worked the four-strand plait and ordered him not to disturb it.
Before he’d calmed his hands, his head snapped sharply to his left and his eyes grew wide. “Valeria,” he whispered. He slammed out of the room without pause or apology for waking the household when the door slammed, bounced, and reverberated against the wall.
“Your Grace, may I ask what is going on?” Lucjemm sounded bewildered and incredibly young.
“You can ask. But you probably won’t get an answer. Satisfy yourself that you are my alibi. I am not working magic. My wife and daughters are not working magic. I am not even in the same room with my Senior Magician and his very talented children. And you are not either, so you cannot be witness to anything but our discussion.” Darville scrubbed his face with his hands, acutely aware of his fine, golden hair spilling around his hands. There were more strands of silver in it than he’d noted just a few weeks ago.
Stargods, he was tired. And he wanted a drink, but knew better than to fill his cup now.
“And the Princess Rosselinda?” Lucjemm asked.
“Is sleeping three rooms away. You never saw her.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The scent of fresh bread had shifted from rising to baking while they talked. They’d be called to break their fast within moments.
“Master Lucjemm, consider yourself under my protection. I thank you for your warnings of your father’s aberrant behavior. For now, I shall have Jensen, my squire, escort you to guest quarters where you may clean up before food arrives. You will join us in the family parlor when the bell rings.” Darville stood, ending the interview.
Lucjemm either didn’t understand the signal or needed to prolong this bizarre meeting for some reason known only to him.
“What?” Darville asked curtly when the boy made no move to leave.
“Your Grace, the Princess Rosselinda?”
“What about my daughter?”
“Will she be all right with the . . . the magicians?”
“I trust Lord Jaylor with my life and my soul. In fact I have done so on many occasions. Glenndon is my son, raised by Lord Jaylor and his wife. The girls are Lord Jaylor’s daughters, much beloved. I assure you no harm will come to either my daughter or my son this day.”
“This day?”
“I have no control over tomorrow. We face civil war if your father gathers enough troops to move against me. I can guarantee no one’s safety if that happens. All I can do is my best to protect my family and the people under my care. And my country.”
“What is best for the country, Your Grace?” Lucjemm took on an oddly mature expression in both face and eyes.
“I believe that restoration of the government as defined by the original covenant is best for all concerned. I will do what I have to, to achieve that.”
“And that includes the magicians.”
“Most definitely.”
The king has just condemned himself. I cannot allow him to continue as monarch since he relies so heavily on magicians. All magic must be removed from Coronnan for the safety of all those who have no so-called “talent.” Magicians are as filthy and unreliable as the Rovers that also roam our sacred land.
I regret that my friend Prince Glenndon must be eliminated as well as the king. I’ve never had a friend before . . .
But the princess? My beautiful princess I regret most of all. I may find a way to redeem her, since she showed no talent and no interest in magic before her half-brother entered their household. I believe what she does this day is directed by Glenndon and Lord Jaylor. Any talent she may have now is only borrowed. For their convenience, not for the good of Coronnan.
I will save her if I can. But if she dies in the coming battle to destroy the dragons, then I must accept her passing. Her two younger sisters are too young—not yet transitioned into womanhood—and too frivolous for my purpose. The people, even the power-mad Council, would take offense if I took a girl so immature to wife. I will look to SeLennica to provide me with a royal bride if I must. But my princess is so very beautiful, smart, and . . . and I think I love her.
Wait, my lovely says that is not possible.
She cannot know. It is not in her nature to love. But Linda, my Linda loves me as I love her. She has to. I cannot continue this mission if my princess does not love me.
At all cost, I will save her. She is not available for sacrifice, but her father the king and her mother the queen are.
CHAPTER 39
VALERIA LISTENED to the discussion about her as if from a great distance. She seemed to view the entire room from somewhere around the high ceiling—such a waste of space, a loft up there could sleep three. Her brother’s words, and those of the girl she presumed was the princess, had an echoey quality to the
m that distorted the few that were loud enough to reach her.
Lillian’s arm about her physical body was the only thing that kept her from drifting away like a bit of dandelion fluff on a summer breeze. She couldn’t leave Lillian alone. Not ever. They belonged to each other. If she thought about it hard enough—which seemed easier now than when her ailing body weighed her down—she could almost remember when they were one soul, one personality, all contained within one egg inside Mama.
“Valeria, wake up, sweetie,” the princess said, shaking Valeria’s body. “We need you to do something. Something special that will help heal you.”
With a disappointing rush and whoosh of wind pushing her, Valeria dropped back into her body and regretted it instantly. Her blood and bones ached with a chill she didn’t think even Mama’s down comforter and a big fire in the hearth could banish.
Did she truly remember a dragon nest where she’d been warm and free of pain?
“Wake up, Val!” Glenndon ordered her.
With supreme effort she shook her head and tried to escape her body again.
“Not yet, Valeria!” Glenndon continued. “You have to help us help you.”
Lillian’s soft weeping pulled her back to physical form.
Then Indigo nudged her hand until it rested atop his head. His rhythmic purrs, working in time with his breathing, soothed her enough to open her eyes.
“That’s a good girl,” the princess said, smoothing Valeria’s tangled hair, separating the long strands from Lillian’s matching curls.
(Dawn, the time of transition,) Indigo said. But his voice was full, awesome in the way it penetrated her mind and body, as if he spoke with the authority and the company of all dragons.
“We have to do this now,” Glenndon said. He looked to the princess with questions in his eyes.
“I don’t know how,” she said. “Your blood is linked to hers. Mine is not. I can’t lead this spell.”
“Wh . . . what spell?” Valeria croaked out.
“Val, you have to change,” Lillian sobbed. “You have to become a flywacket like Indigo. You have to let the dragon spirit within you take control. You can’t be my twin anymore.” Tears choked her and her chest heaved with crying.
I will always be your twin. I will always be with you, Lily. Even if we are separated. My mind is only a thought away. Easier to speak with her mind than her mouth. Like Glenndon. His throat used to hurt horribly when he spoke. The effort to speak made her entire body ache.
(Circle,) Indigo said. He sounded uncertain.
“A ritual circle, or should we join in a circle, all touching you?” the princess asked. She seemed the only one capable of thinking clearly at this moment.
(Both.)
That sounded right. They needed to contain the spell within a circle drawn and then work the spell with them all involved, all touching Indigo’s soft fur. So soft. So comforting. So easy to fall asleep with her face nestled in the thick luxury of his black coat . . .
(Awake, my child,) Indigo ordered. His thoughts pierced her mind like a sharp knife.
She came alert with all of the pain and chill in her body that she wanted to escape.
“All will be well in just a few moments, sweetie,” the princess soothed. “I know you hurt, but if you can endure just a few more moments you will feel a lot better.”
Promise?
“I promise.”
Glenndon chanted something. His voice rose and fell, drifted away, and came close again. When he settled in front of her, she sensed more than saw a bubble of magic around them all. Mostly blue and gold, it had lots of purple lines dancing around, weaving patterns of light and dark, adding to the power of the circle.
Valeria wondered if every dragon alive in all of Kardia Hodos was present in that bubble.
She didn’t have long to think about it. Indigo swelled beneath her cheek. First his fur bristled; each hair within his coat doubled in size and trapped air between the tips and his skin—his very pale, almost transparent skin. He extended his wings so that they formed a tent over her and Lillian. The black feathers thinned and spread, looking more like the membranes of a dragon’s wings, transparent except for the indigo-colored veins and tips.
But he didn’t go all the way to full dragon size. He couldn’t fit inside the room if he did. Not even as big a room as this was with the useless extra height to the ceiling.
“Watch Indigo, Val,” Glenndon ordered. He had one hand on the flywacket’s head and the other on Valeria.
She noted that both the princess and Lillian each touched some part of Indigo and herself.
(Anyone can gather magic from a purple-tip,) Indigo chuckled.
“Watch how Indigo collapses himself, drawing all of the light his pale fur and wings reflect back inside himself,” Glenndon said in that strange chanting voice, almost as if he sang the words to an old dance tune she’d heard in the village.
“Watch,” Lillian added her command to their brother’s.
“Watch and copy, sweetie,” the princess said, her voice penetrating the fog of Val’s mind better than the others. “Copy what he does. No, don’t think about it. Just do it!” She sounded so much like Da when he taught her how to reach deep into the Kardia and draw forth the energy of a ley line, Valeria had no choice but to obey.
Without thinking too hard, she sent her magic deep, deeper, deeper yet through all the levels of stone and thick plank flooring into the dirt and native rock beneath, then outward, seeking a silvery blue line that pulsed with power. She rejoiced at the abundant lines, fat and luscious and eager to bleed off a little of what they were. If she took all she could absorb and then some, she barely touched the amount of energy they offered. She had no fear of exhausting the lines, didn’t have to take a dab here and a drip there, never enough to sustain her or feed the dragon spirit within her. It all came to her with a jolt and a heady rush.
Dizzy with excitement she found Indigo’s mind, saw how he transformed, even this partial change within the confines of an artificial building. Easy to mimic his actions. The simplest thing in the world now that she knew how and had all the ley lines in the world converging into one vast pool to feed her.
She didn’t even mind the grinding and crunching sensation in her bones as they distorted and changed angles. She wanted to laugh at the tickles from sprouting fur.
And then she allowed the dragon spirit to surge forth and let her own mind drift in the background. For a time she’d let the dragon have dominance. But only for a little while, until she healed.
Her throat rumbled with new tones as she drifted to sleep, deeper tones, more authoritative.
Indigo spoke, (The balance of twins is restored. Now, I need a strong dose of Tambootie.) Then he disappeared in a cloud of sparkling light.
CHAPTER 40
“STARGODS! I HAD NO IDEA old Lyman was such a strong personality,” Glenndon sighed as he plunked down on the floor, his legs no longer capable of holding him up, even kneeling. The cold planks seeped a chill into his butt and down his thighs that felt almost good.
The protective bubble of magic shredded, the purple lines of power remained visible longest. Eventually even they crumbled to dust and fell to the floor. A glittery sheen remained. It too faded quickly, leaving no trace of the magic except . . . expect Valeria was gone and a new black flywacket lifted its head from being tucked between curved front paws. It blinked sleepily and peered back at him with bewildered magician blue eyes.
Lillian held tight to the ball of black fur, crying copiously.
Glenndon had no idea where Indigo had gone.
(The balance of twins is restored. There can only be one flywacket at a time, just as there can only be one purple-tip at a time. I can remain the purple-tipped dragon now.) He sounded quite proud of himself as his voice moved farther and
farther away.
(I will not desert you, my brother. I am only a thought away from you. Always.)
“Lyman? Who is that?” Linda asked. She looked almost as tired as Glenndon felt, and she had not carried the weight of the spell. Or had she? Their bond was strong. They’d been linked to each other and to Indigo since he’d drawn the spell circle.
“He was the oldest of the old magicians. I surmise, from what I’ve seen and heard over the years, that he was born a purple dragon, long, long ago. He was the twin who chose to become something else at the age of two.”
“He took over the body of a dying child,” Linda whispered. “He saved a loving couple the grief of losing a child.”
Glenndon had to gulp at that, knowing how many children Linda’s parents had lost before they were born. He shared her sadness for a moment.
“But it was Valeria’s body that was weak, not her spirit,” Glenndon said on a deeply indrawn breath. “I think one of the reasons she was always so sickly and fragile was because of her constant battle to dominate the dragon spirit within her. She didn’t have much left over to ever let her body rest and heal.”
“If I hadn’t just witnessed what I did, and heard Lyman’s voice in my head, I don’t think I could believe such a strange tale,” Linda admitted. She listed a bit as she joined him on the floor. They leaned against each other, perfectly companionable in the silence.
“Glenndon! Where’s Val?” Da demanded bursting into the room. The door bounced against the wall and nearly slammed back into him on the rebound. He thrust it aside again and stormed into the room with long strides and deep fear creasing his face. He’d managed to loosen his queue enough to relieve the stark uplift of his eyebrows. Mama always plaited his queue too tightly.
Mama.
“My Lord Jaylor,” Linda said, not moving from her post beside him. “Indigo is gone back to the dragons. Valeria is now the flywacket, Lillian’s boon companion for as long as needed.” She related the necessary information without embellishment or apology.
The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1 Page 27
