Dragoon (War of the Princes Book 2)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  Lord Brendon looked us over and shifted in his hardwood chair. “Rummel, Eley, take these four to the port veranda and see that they get some food. Their bonds can be removed when they arrive.”

  The guards bowed their heads in acknowledgement. “Yes, Lord.”

  I exhaled with relief, and began to walk toward my friends.

  Before I reached them, Brendon stopped us all short. “Wait.” His somber frown suggested that he was wrestling with a concern. “Remove their bonds now.”

  The guards obeyed. When they were free, Kyle wrung his wrists, whistling, and Sterling took up a position closer to Ruby, eyeing the guards with blatant distrust.

  Ruby sighed audibly. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet.” Brendon traced a finger over a document on his table. “I will allow you to pass through Breakwater to resume your search.”

  “Will you give me Florian?” I asked, half joking.

  Brendon looked at me quizzically. “Who is Florian?”

  “My horse. A tall, grey gelding from the keep stables.”

  “Yes, fine,” he waved dismissively. “But I’ll do more than return your horse. I will sponsor the provisions for your journey overseas and the money to hire a ship.”

  Brendon was being far more supportive than I would have ever expected. There had to be a hitch.

  “With one condition.”

  Knew it.

  “What's the condition?” I asked, wondering whether I should be worried.

  “My brother.”

  “Bad idea,” Kyle piped up, earning a hard look from Brendon.

  “Dylan? He’s still alive?” I blurted. Lord Brendon nodded to me.

  “Alive and living in a dark cell of our deepest dungeon,” Brendon frowned. “He betrayed me. Dylan allied with the psychopath that destroyed our city, murdered our people, and provoked the capture of our children.” His voice shook with anger, and he breathed it out. “He was barely clinging to life when we found him. He was wrapped in ropes of metal, head to foot, and he’d been,” Brendon choked on his words. “…dragged by a horse. His back was rent. It took four doctors, three with healing Abilities, to smooth the damage.”

  It was difficult for me to feel pity for Dylan after what he’d done, but it moved me to see Lord Brendon Axton showing his emotions.

  He steeled his gazed and worked his jaw. “When we cut him free and cleaned him up, we saw that he was a Commander. It wasn’t enough for that cruel bastard, Stakes, to murder my people and drive my city to ruin, he had to corrupt my brother too. If that man wasn’t dead, I’d kill him twice.”

  I cast my eyes down to the floor.

  Brendon pressed on. “He didn’t respond well to the healing process. His pride and quick temper have always been his downfall. He began to use the Lift and his Ability to command recklessly, and he’s been in and out of a dungeon cell ever since.”

  “Oh.” What else could I say?

  “What he did was wrong. But he is my brother.” His next words came out as a whisper. “And Breakwater has suffered enough loss. I cannot leave him locked away like an animal to the end of his days. I need to know if he's changed, if I can trust him again. He needs to be tested. That's where you come in. I'd like him to join your mission.”

  “Are you crazy?” was my diplomatic response. “Sorry, no disrespect... sir. But no. Not a chance.”

  “Think it over.”

  “There's nothing to think about! He handed me over to Stakes, I was lucky I lived! If that’s not enough, you’re telling me, right now, that he’s been nothing but trouble for you. I know I can't trust him, and you shouldn't either.”

  “You were very important to him. You may have more success in reaching him than I have.”

  “I really doubt that!”

  “It is my choice to test him. You need my help and these are my terms.”

  “What if he turns on me again?”

  “He was made a Commander illegally. If the military finds him out, he’ll be executed. He knows that. Dylan has no place in this world but Breakwater.”

  “I get it. Great test. You send him with me, he plants a knife right in the middle of my back, and you don't lose anything.”

  “You're wrong. If he does that, I lose a brother. I need to know what he'll do. It's a gamble, to be certain, but not a hopeless one. You receive the aid of a highly educated noble. That can go a long way, especially considering you have no other guide through our kingdom. Will your friends from home teach you our customs? Are you more likely to trust a complete stranger on the street whose values you can only guess at, or a young man working for his redemption?”

  I didn’t like it. Not one bit. I needed help, but there was nowhere else to get it. “Fine. But I have a condition of my own.”

  “Go ahead,” he prompted me.

  “I have a dissolving bullet that can remove a person’s Abilities for one day. Let me use it on him, and I’ll bring him with me. If I have to share space with him, I don’t want to have to worry about him Commanding me to walk off a cliff.”

  “Incredible,” Brendon said with marked fascination. “I would be most interested in acquiring such a formula. Would your people be willing to consider a trade agreement?”

  “Maybe.” I had no idea. “But not unless I come back safe and sound.”

  “Agreed. You may use this formula on my brother. It will likely be for his own benefit that his power is dulled for a time. Make no mistake, if my brother is killed by you or this bullet of yours, I will bring the fury of my Prince’s kingdom on you.”

  “I’m not going to kill him,” I promised.

  “To be sure, I will keep one of your friends here for safekeeping.”

  “What?” Sterling and Kyle demanded in chorus.

  “No,” Ruby said, shuffling backward into Sterling’s arms.

  “Absolutely not.” My shoulders tensed and I took a step toward Brendan’s raised desk. “They’re here by mistake.”

  “And one your people seem to be fond of making,” Brendon quipped.

  “They were just leaving!” I persisted.

  “I’m afraid not. This is not some child’s game, Ambassador Kestrel, we’re a kingdom at war. As of this minute, I will be keeping one of those three. You protect my brother, I protect one of your friends. Do what you will with the other two. There is no need to flee to your country for reinforcements, your friend will be my guest, treated with the utmost respect and dignity until your return. You have my word, and my brother.”

  “And if I don’t,” my voice broke. “…return?”

  “Ninety days, and then she can go as she pleases,” he vowed.

  “She?”

  “As a mercy, I’ll be taking the girl.”

  C hapter 9: The Dark

  At first, I couldn't believe the level of security in place to contain Dylan. After some consideration, it made perfect sense. He had a strong Ability that allowed him to manipulate gravity, and, in addition to that, the power of a Commander. With a single thought, he could control a person’s body. Make them walk off a cliff or stop breathing, if he willed it.

  As Brendon had told me, he was being kept in the dungeon below the keep. I had spent a night there before, so I was surprised to see its new design. My pair of guards escorted me to a narrow outer room. It housed two Militia watchmen, two massive levers attached to four grinding gears set into the wall, and a single door without a visible lock or knob.

  “Send her in,” my guard said to the others.

  In a moment, one of the watchmen was turning the first lever. It was such a large mechanism, he had to put his back into it. The heavy door slid open. It was a slab of stone, tipped with bronze, and made way slowly. I was already feeling queasy at the prospect of seeing Dylan again, but if this setup was any indication, I should be afraid of him too.

  “Well, what's the worst that could happen?” I joked, mostly to myself. The guards didn't find me at all funny.

  I stepped into the room
and shielded my eyes. There was a bright spot lamp aimed at a massive cube of barred iron. Within this cage was a cot, a single chair, a small table, a deck of cards, and Dylan, with a metal collar around his throat. A thick chain hung from his neck, down to the floor, and gradually weaved through the bars, plunging directly into the stone wall.

  “Who's that? Who is my brother sending down this time? A priest?” Dylan Axton laughed darkly.

  My guts wrenched upon seeing him. He looked so different, standing there, squinting at me through the light that blasted him in the face. He was taller than before, and by the shape of his plain, dirty clothes, I could tell he had become more muscular. Once fashionable and elegant, he was scruffy now, with blond hair that had grown past his shoulders.

  “You could dim it a little, I can't see a thing,” he complained. “I'm on best behavior, I promise!”

  The lights dimmed and he saw me. No one had spoiled the surprise. His mouth fell open, and dazed, he wandered to the front of the cage to hold the bars.

  “You,” he whispered.

  Scruff or not, he was still infuriatingly beautiful. Prettier than any guy should have been.

  My eyes narrowed. I could see where the metal ridge poked at his shirt from his collarbone. The unnatural growth was a side effect to consuming another person's life energy. I looked him over, wondering if this was when he would fall to his knees, begging my forgiveness for the wrong he had committed.

  “You,” he repeated with an edge to it as sharp as any good knife. “It seems you lived.”

  “So did you,” I said, unwilling to take my eyes off of him long enough to blink. The tension in the room was tangible.

  A fierce smile broke across his face. “Right. Is that what you'd call this? Living?” He pushed away from the bars and stalked in a circle. “All the comforts of home. No windows. No company. No shower. No lavatory but a bucket. No functioning doors. That's right. This birdcage of mine is welded shut, end-to-end. Living. Oh, right! And if I say something they don't like, the lever in that other room winds up my leash here, and snap I go! Right into the wall.” He swept his hand across his table, flinging his few belongings to the ground. Resting his palms on the table, he slumped for a brief moment, staring at its surface. “I can't even hang myself properly.” Turning his head slowly, his hazel eyes found me again. “Is that what you'd call living?”

  I clenched my jaw. “You did this to yourself.”

  “You did this to me!” he shouted, rushing the bars.

  The chain snapped taut in an instant and he came up short, momentum knocking his own legs out from under him. Hands clutching the collar around his neck, he lay on the ground, coughing. “I didn't do anything!” he shouted at the guards in the other room, dragging himself up to a sitting position. His voice was raw and ragged. “I won't hurt her. I'd never do that.”

  The chain went slack and he leaned over to catch his breath.

  I folded my arms together, refusing to pity him. “You've done enough of that already.”

  He looked up at me through strands of unkempt hair. “What do you want from me, Katelyn?”

  “Your brother,” I began, but he cut me off with a bark of laughter.

  “My valiant brother. Such a fair and just leader, he locks away his only living kin to rot.” His words dripped with bitterness. “The two of you are friends now? Bosom companions? A pair of stately heroes worthy of everlasting praise? You're both so perfect. I take it Rune didn't work out for you. Tell me, how long was it before you started moving on to seduce his childhood friends?”

  Boiling anger swelled up in me. “Forget it. I don't need this.”

  As soon as I turned to leave, he stopped me. “Wait. Katelyn, wait. I apologize. Please, don't go.”

  Reluctantly, I faced him again.

  He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. “I'm not myself. It's difficult to be anyone worth speaking to, in this place. What did my brother say to you?”

  “He wants to give you another chance,” I said in spite of my discomfort. “I'm here to look for something. When I find it, I'll return home. Lord Brendon wants you to help me in exchange for your freedom.”

  “I'll do it,” he said immediately.

  “Anything to get out of here, huh?” I asked, watching him.

  “Can you blame me?”

  “You’d probably be safer here. Brendon told me there's a chance I'll run into the Prince's army.”

  Dylan thought for a moment. “Yes, I believe that would cause quite a stir. You'll need a plan, and a good one. I can pass you off as a Historian. It's the perfect cover. I'll teach you what to do. If we meet any soldiers, they will treat you with respect, especially if you're in my company. We can do it.”

  Skeptical didn't even begin to describe me. “A historian?”

  “Trust me, it will work,” he insisted.

  I gave him a sidelong look that provoked him.

  “Or don't trust me, but it'll still work.”

  He was as desperate as a man drowning. I could see it in his eyes. Was it enough to influence him to do good? Maybe a second chance was what he needed. Year long solitude in prison didn't count for nothing.

  What was I thinking? He was a manipulative liar who'd do anything to save his own skin.

  “I can't,” I said squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head.

  “You need me,” he implored, shuffling to his feet.

  What I really needed was a boat, and I wouldn't get one without Brendon Axton's help. I could make an appeal for Ruby’s release, turn around, head home.

  And leave Paperglass here to die.

  If Prince Raserion made her talk, he'd find Haven. Eddie Elm's prediction would come true. Could I be satisfied with the hopes that she could get home herself? Eddie hadn't thought so. It was bad. My odds with Dylan were better than the alternative.

  “Gravity, I hate this,” I groaned, fighting off the bad feeling devouring the pit of my stomach. I knew it was a stupid choice, but I simply couldn't see any other way.

  I could get a job at the docks. Spend the next six months trying to save enough money to buy a rowboat, be tossed overboard by waves and eaten by giant bloodthirsty fish.

  The seaworthy vessels were steam ships and some of them hovered several feet above the water. Even if I managed to steal one, I probably couldn't drive it. Not to mention, I'd make an enemy of Lord Brendon and have a hell of a time getting past Breakwater and back home on the return trip.

  “I can't believe I'm actually saying this. You're in. I'm not going to ask you to promise me anything, because I wouldn't believe you anyway, but there is one hitch.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have a condition of my own,” I said pulling the shiny leather satchel from where it was slung over my back. “I’m going to neutralize your Abilities.”

  “What?”

  “It will only be for a short time.”

  “Small consolation!” he cried out.

  “I’m afraid it’s non-negotiable.” I snapped the case open, fished out a paper packet of gunpowder, and produced the sleek flintlock pistol. After pausing to think, I chanted a memorized phrase. “Powder, paper, bullet, paper.”

  He straightened to his full height. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Shoot you,” I said, tearing the packet open and pouring the gunpowder vertically down the throat of the barrel.

  “Not so much of that!” he hissed, looking horribly disturbed. “Neutralize? So this is an execution?”

  “You know, I kind of wish it was,” I said, pursing my lips together. “The bullets dissolve. Just think of it as an inoculation. It's just going to sting a little... I think.”

  “I object to this!” he said, his chin lifting with pride. “I could stop you.”

  He certainly could. I glared at him. “Yeah. You could Command me to stop, or you could lift the pistol out of my hand, but if you do, you'll end up losing to yourself at card games until you mature into a dashing young skeleton.”
<
br />   Dylan frowned at me, and I couldn't care less.

  I tore a chunk of the paper packet, crumpled it, and stuffed it down the barrel. Next, I carefully picked a single round bullet from the ammunition pouch. It was a strange thing, a perfect sphere of incredibly hard yellow gel. I popped it down the tube, followed by a smaller wad of packet paper.

  “I thought you people were peaceful,” he complained.

  “Marksmanship is a sport,” I said, loosing the ramrod from its position below the barrel. Carefully, I packed everything down against the gunpowder. When I was finished, I replaced the ramrod, pulled back the hammer to a half cocked position, and tapped the tiny amount of remaining gunpowder into the pan beside the pistol's hammer. “People use guns for hunting all the time.”

  “Comforting,” he groaned. “Is that packed down enough? It would just be tragic if the thing blew up in your eyes.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I used my thumbs to pull the hammer even farther back. The gun was ready to fire. I gripped it and tested the weight of it in my hands. When I pointed it at him, he stumbled backwards with his hands up, and bumped into the table behind him.

  “Cover your face.”

  “Why?” his voice cracked.

  “I'm not a very good shot.”

  “Not a good shot? Have you ever fired one of those?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I learned to load a fake one in survival camp. How hard could it be?”

  He grimaced, turning his head as far over his left shoulder as he could reach. He used one hand to block his face, and the other to protect his nether region.

  “I think I did everything right,” I mused thoughtfully to myself, giving the pistol a quick look over.

  “Ugh. Just get on with it!”

  “Okay, I'll count to three,” I said, aiming the gun between a wide gap in the bars. I squinted, leveling the barrel at his leg. My finger rested on the trigger. “One...”

  Bang!

  C hapter 10: Ship on the Water

  “Take care of her,” I pleaded, standing at the foot of Breakwater Keep. The waves crashed against the wide, paved pier that connected the towering structure to the land. Seabirds glided over us, comfortable, despite the wind's harrying threat of an incoming storm. Darkness was building on the horizon. The air smelled of brine and dread.