Aeron glanced back at the spell floating around Willem’s hand. It looked like vibrating ribbons—bands of various thickness and hue. Each band was a type of magic focus, placed just so, making the spell look like an intricate puzzle-box of color. As a spell was woven, the bands slid and locked into place, very much like the wooden novelties. Most spells weren’t actually in the shape of boxes, but they put him in mind of those puzzles.
Aeron frowned. Willem had to have magical ability. Dragonlinked definitely needed to know how to use magic, at the very least for defensive spells and to be able to counter nahual magical attacks. If Willem had absolutely no magical ability—
You need not worry, Anaya said. Willem is . . . nice. Then, sounding thoughtful, she said, I have been using that word for two things, but I need a different word for this. A better word.
A word? Aeron looked through the door at Anaya where she lay curled in her den.
She lifted her head and turned to him. For a person who is a good . . . candidate.
Candidate?
For Bonding. Because Willem is a good candidate. A pleased rumble came from her. That is the word to use. Candidate.
Relief washed over Aeron. So, Willem is a candidate?
He is a good candidate.
Aeron furrowed his brow. Are there bad candidates?
There are people who are candidates, people who are good candidates, and people who are not candidates at all.
Oh. Well, what makes a candidate?
People who are not candidates would never be chosen. They are blind to magic, or . . . mean? There are many reasons they are not candidates. All candidates, however, could be chosen. It comes down to the personality of a dragon, what they like, as to which candidate they will choose.
Aeron nodded. I see. So then what’s the difference between a candidate and a good candidate?
Those who are only candidates are limited in some way.
What do you mean, limited?
One of the reasons you and Willem are good candidates is because you both could love anyone.
Aeron glanced at Willem, still playing with Dagur’s Gleam, and smiled.
There are people who cannot or will not. They are limited. They might still be candidates, just not good candidates.
What are the other reasons we are good candidates?
Anaya lay her head on the ground, eyes still on Aeron. People have an inner . . . strength? You two have good inner strength. There are more reasons, but not all are so easy to explain. I get a feeling, a sense, about a person.
Oh. Aeron mulled over that thought a moment. How do you know so much about people?
I get impressions of them, almost hear their thoughts. Not anywhere near as strong as with you through the link, but after a short time near them, I can tell what kind of a person they are.
Do you know of other candidates besides Willem?
Anaya closed her inner eyelids. All your friends are candidates or good candidates. There is also the boy from when we were at the farm. We played in the snow with him. He is a candidate. And the boys who were so impressed with me on that hill when you were scouting gateway locations. They are candidates or good candidates, too. And there are many here where we live, like the girl who asked a question that first night when everyone in the Caer came to see us. She used to come see us all the time, and she still does, sometimes.
“Liara?” Aeron blurted aloud, surprised.
Willem looked up from the glowing orb. The top of it stuck out through a book he had placed on his palm. “What about her?” he asked.
She is the one, Anaya replied sleepily as she closed her eyes.
“Anaya mentioned her,” Aeron explained.
Willem nodded. Then, with a wry smile, he said, “I think she has a crush on you.”
“Anaya?” Aeron asked, confused.
“No!” Willem burst out laughing. “Liara.”
“Oh.” Aeron nodded. Then his head snapped around. “Wait, what?”
“You never noticed?”
Aeron shook his head. “I guess I’m kind of blind, or stupid, about those things.”
Willem placed the book back on Aeron’s desk. “Yeah, I think she does. It made me worry a bit, too. That you might . . . might start liking her.”
“She’s nice, sure. Pretty, too. But—” Aeron stared at Willem. The expression on the blond boy’s face, the look in his eyes—shy, almost scared—made Aeron’s heart thump once, hard. A sudden and strong desire to protect Willem came over him. He said, “I certainly don’t feel like this when I look at her.”
Willem’s face lit up with an enormous smile and he let out an awkward laugh, almost a giggle. Then, he blushed, cleared his throat, and looked around the room—anywhere but at Aeron. “Barbs,” he said, gaze landing on the chronometer. “It’s almost lights-out.” He waved his hand at Aeron. “Quick. Take this off.”
Still thinking about his feelings, it took a moment for Aeron to understand what Willem was saying. Then he stood, concentrated, and removed the spell.
Willem, an apologetic, almost wistful look on his face, said, “I’ve got to run,” before heading for the door.
“Hey,” Aeron said.
Willem looked back from the doorway. “Yeah?”
“I–I’ll see you in the morning, right? Before Millinith and I head out?”
“Sure, of course.”
Aeron smiled. “Good. ‘Night then. And hurry, don’t get in trouble on my account.”
“Goodnight.” Willem smiled and closed the door. His quick footsteps faded in the distance soon after.
Aeron couldn’t believe everything that had happened this night. The thought that Willem might be able to fly on his own dragon with him and Anaya made Aeron very happy. The prospect of more dragonlinked was exciting, too, as was the idea of practical spell training. The drills should help him get better at fighting nahual. If he was going to honor his mother’s memory, fight and defend against the beasts that killed her, he needed to figure out this whole dragonlinked thing. Besides, he wanted to have a better grasp of it before any new candidates did. And speaking of which, where were new dragonlinked going to stay? Where was there room?
+ + + + +
Lora applied night-cream to her elbows, arms and hands, rubbing it in well. She was careful not to get any on her silk smallclothes. Next came each of her legs, with special attention to knees and feet.
Though in her forties, she prided herself on having skin just as soft and supple as when she was a girl. After similar attention to her neck and face, she put on the long, silk night robe she had placed on the dresser, then sat in front of the vanity and began brushing her hair.
“I heard from my sister today,” she said.
“Oh?” Eldin, also in silk nightclothes, sat at his small desk in the nook on the side of the bedroom. As was his custom every night, he was going over the last of the reports for the day.
“Yes. And her handwriting is as prefect as ever. I do so enjoy the letters we send each other.”
The sound of papers and parchments being leafed through came from his direction. “What did she have to say?”
“Oh, mostly sister-talk. She did mention the dragon again.” The silence made her glance at his reflection in the looking glass. He held a report, though he seemed to be staring ahead. “Apparently,” she continued, “Baronel has plans for the boy and dragon, plans that he will put in motion soon.”
“Oh? What plans?”
She placed the brush back on the vanity and looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side. “She didn’t say. Maybe it has to do with the investigation of nahual. Baronel has been focused on that for years. I don’t think she knows much about the project, specifically.” Standing, she walked over to Eldin and hugged him from behind. She whispered teasingly in his ear, “It seems her husband tells her as little about all his plans as mine.”
“My love,” he turned his head and smiled at her, “do you really want to know everythi
ng that goes on in the Caer every day?” He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “You’d cry from the boredom.”
She chuckled and stood, smiling. “Truer words were never spoken.”
There was a knock on the door. Lora cinched her robe closed with the belt before opening it. A runner stood in the hallway.
“My Lady,” he said, bowing. “Apologies for the late hour, but Master Philippa requests Lord Eldin’s presence.”
Eyes on the runner, she pursed her lips.
“Thank you,” Eldin said from behind. “Tell her I shall be there shortly.”
“Yes, sir.” The runner bowed and left.
Lora closed the door and walked to her husband. “This is about your own project, isn’t it?”
Eldin glanced at her briefly as he searched the wardrobe. “Yes. Probably.”
“This is the fourth one you’ve embarked upon.” She glanced at the dresser, at her sister’s letter upon it. “And the dragon project is Baronel’s second. Third, I suppose, if you count the Caer as his first.”
Eldin made a non-committal grunt.
“You were friends, once. What happened to you two?”
“Nothing happened,” he replied, removing a heavy robe. “I’m sorry, love, but this must be important for Master Philippa to summon me this late. I’ll return as quickly as I can.” He kissed her on the cheek and put on the robe.
She raised a hand to where he had kissed her. She brushed the skin under her eye, at the corner of her mouth, and then sighed. Has she changed as well?
Her husband left the room, closing the door.
+ + + + +
Hand still resting on the door handle, Lord Eldin paused in the hallway.
He loved Lora. He did. As much as he could love anyone who wasn’t her, anyway. It had taken some time, but he loved his wife. Their children, too. He still recalled first seeing Gregor cradled in Lora’s arms, and years later, their daughter Elise. So tiny, so vulnerable. Those moments would forever live in his memory. It had been both surprising and shocking, the love each of his children engendered.
Even so, he still could not forgive the thief, Baronel.
It took Lord Eldin several minutes to make his way to the chambers used by Master Philippa for the project. Located on the western side of Caer Ilan, the largest room had two enormous archways opening on the outer yard. He found her there. The Smith Craft master was of medium height, though quite burly, and spoke quietly with one of the many people bustling about the room.
Sounds of labor could be heard everywhere. The clanging of hammer on metal, the sawing of wood, and even the occasional muted curse could be heard. He was again glad he had these rooms for the project added on the outside of the Caer and away from living quarters.
As he waited, the project’s gleaming, thick metal rails, two for each archway, caught his eyes. Each set ran beside a long wooden platform—he was standing on one of the two platforms in the room—and continued beyond them, running out the archways and then off across his land. Initially, there had only been one rail per track, but after testing, they had to add a second rail. Magical levitation kept the carriages, or carts, afloat over the track, and double rails, two points of levitation, eliminated the slight rocking that made some people sick.
The work on the tracks had started many months ago. They connected to a neighboring lord’s land, to a rail station there, before continuing beyond that. Veritable roads of rails, these tracks lead to his future. A future, he hoped, that was filled with success.
For this project had to succeed. The expenses incurred in the previous failed projects had run the Caer’s coffers low. If Lora found out . . . But he felt certain about this one. Every business relied on shipping in one way or another. Parts, supplies, finished product, they all needed to be shipped, transported. And one who controls most of the transportation resources controls—
“My apologies, Lord Eldin.” Master Philippa walked over, her conversation apparently complete. “My assistant had more reports on the final test and I had some instructions for him.”
“Ah! So you completed testing?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“From your expression, it went well?”
“It went perfectly. We’ve determined the best bank angles for the turns in the tracks to offset the centripetal force at normal running speeds.”
“I see. That’s good, but you could have apprised me of this in the morning.”
“Oh, yes, but that wasn’t the news I wanted to give you. Track line one is nearly complete. All that remains are the turns, which, now that we know the bank angles, can be finished. It should only take two or three weeks as most of the line is a straight run.”
“Excellent!”
Master Philippa smiled. “You can start planning the public demonstrations, my lord.”
Lord Eldin glanced to the other platform. “You have already built ten, what did you call them, carts?”
“Cars, my lord. And yes, we have ten already built, five for carrying cargo and five for carrying people. They passed their own tests some time ago and are ready for demonstration. It is a very exhilarating time.” The smith’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
Lord Eldin nodded, turning to the cars. “Yes, it is. Was there anything else?”
“No, my lord, that was all.”
“Thank you, then. And good work. Please continue to keep me apprised of track line completions.”
“Of course. Goodnight, my lord.” Master Philippa gave a short bow before taking her leave.
Lord Eldin looked about the room, at the workers, at the structures, at the core of his business. He was in a competition of sorts with Baronel. He hated that his former friend had won—stolen!—the heart of Rora, leaving him to settle for Lora, her twin sister. But he would get back at him.
The demonstrations for the public and his partners would be successful. Their first track line spanned nearly a third of the entire continent, and with the speed of the locomotives, as Master Philippa had taken to calling the rail engines, his company would be able to transport cargo in a fraction of the time others could.
A slight frown creased his forehead.
It actually wasn’t entirely his company. He’d had to bring in partners. All of them brought valuable resources of one kind or another, but he would have preferred to own it outright. He had hoped to get Gregor to join him in the business, keep more of it in the family. But he hadn’t seen his son in years, and their recent communications were strained.
There had been an argument about Gregor’s future. Lord Eldin was upset that the boy couldn’t or wouldn’t decide what he wanted to do. Words had been said. Even so, though Gregor continued to decline the occasional request to join the business, perhaps he could still be of use. Better information made for better plans.
Rumor had it that Baronel’s ‘project’ would be to form a company to take advantage of his dragon’s capabilities. But the protection–from–nahual yarn Baronel was spinning had to be a ruse. Where was the money in it? Oh, he could charge fees, but that was pissing change. It wasn’t real money. No. Stories had been circulating that the dragon was very fast. It was much more likely that Baronel was going to set up some kind of transportation business using dragons. And that could present a problem.
Lord Eldin’s nascent transportation company was not yet positioned to dominate. He wanted to head off any potential competition, especially from Baronel.
Whatever business the man’s company turned out to be involved in, there was the dragon. For now, that gave Lord Eldin somewhere to start. Steps had been taken. Slow, careful steps, perhaps, but he didn’t want to tip his hand. No need to alert Baronel that anything was amiss.
After all, the man only had the one dragon so far. He, on the other hand, would eventually have dozens of locomotives, maybe even hundreds. Each pulling trains of cars filled with cargo, filled with passengers, and filled with profit.
His company, The Continental Transportation Company, was going to re
shape the transportation industry.
A small smile curved his lips. “We’ll see who’s the better man, the more powerful man, eh Baronel?”
Chapter 3
Sulday, Secundy 12, 1874.
Morning.
The day was already getting warm, though sunrise was only a few hours past. The high temperatures, coupled with the heavy, humid air, forced Renata to find a shaded spot to rest. She wanted meat, the loss of the turkey still rankled, but there was no one out here to save her should she succumb to the heat.
Sitting in the shadow of a large acacia tree, she watched the seemingly frantic flight of insects as they flitted from flower to flower in a newly born sea of blooms, aftermath of yesterday’s downpour. Almost all the flowers, multihued and otherwise, were rain pips. The storm had been heavy enough for them, but most wildflowers would need more time to grow and bloom. The short-lived bounty of nectar was being enthusiastically taken advantage of by all who could.
Was it ever that way? Did everyone and everything grab all they could, when they could? Was it right to do so? Was it wrong? She certainly hadn’t hesitated to benefit from her position while a Pesan. She had risen so far from where she had started. The methods she’d used, however, and the things she’d done? Her skin crawled just thinking about it. Perhaps it was good that her time had been short. How much worse would she have gotten?
Isandath had also made mention of that short-lived power nearly a month ago. His note requesting a meeting had been delivered to her in the Manisi quarters.
The knock on her door had interrupted a short nap between training and lunch. After the messenger left, she read the note. Certain of what the meeting would be about, she took her time walking to his room, thinking.
Everything he’d discovered concerning the Order lead her to the same conclusion. He was right. She was certain of it, and it made her angry—for the lie and for making people believe so fervently in something that was not true.
The Bond (Book 2) Page 4
