Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

  What have I done?

  The world was reduced to sounds as she was rushed through the city. She could smell nothing but the foul sack, taste nothing but the fouler rag, and see nothing but darkness inside the rough-woven fabric. Darkness that lightened and deepened as she was dragged through patches of shadow and sun.

  Her feet and legs dragged over the stone flags that switched to small, bumpy cobbles. Aside from that, she could feel nothing. The sound of the city rumbling around her was no comfort, either. The maelstrom of voices and sounds was overwhelming, and she could distinguish nothing to give her any point of reference, save for up and down.

  She tried to still her juddering sobs, for they only made the breathlessness worse. Tears streamed down her face. Eventually, she felt cool darkness and heard a door slam shut behind her, then several more banged open and closed in quick succession, her feet stumbling over various thresholds.

  The bag was suddenly ripped from her head and the gag torn from her mouth. She retched with relief and sucked in a huge gulp of air. It was cold and filled with the fetid stench of mould and excrement, but she did not care. It was the sweetest breath of air she had ever tasted.

  She blinked, but need not have. It was dark. Small-wicked lamps threw flickering shadows and paltry light over the rough, dark stone. There were no windows.

  Harper tried to put a lid on the rising feeling of claustrophobia. She twisted her head, trying to see the way they had come, trying to see if there was daylight somewhere, but there was none. A moment later, they hauled her forward again, opened a door, and tossed her into a pitch-black cell.

  The door boomed shut behind her. When she heard a thump from the other side, she knew it had been barred. She scrabbled for it, pushing against the unyielding wood, to no avail.

  Trapped.

  TIME WAS IMMEASURABLE. Harper had no idea how long she sat on the frigid, hard floor. Not even her stomach or energy could mark the passage of time. She was already starving and exhausted.

  Her face pounded from the impact upon the ground earlier, and she felt a crusted trail of dried blood from her nose. She gently picked it off, carefully touching her tender face. One entire side of her body throbbed, sore and angry. She did not need to see it to know a gigantic bruise had probably started blooming.

  Harper's only companion was the dark. The smallest amount of faint light slipped under the door. That one solid, thin line connected her to the outside world, but it was small comfort for it offered no illumination on her situation. In here, the smell was even worse. Even before she explored its cramped confines, it was not hard to determine she was in some kind of prison cell.

  Moving agonisingly slowly, in no small part because of her complaining body, she crawled around the space. It was narrower than she was tall and not much longer. Straw, or perhaps some kind of rush, covered the stone-flagged floor. The shafts were wafer thin and trampled. Some crumbled as she picked them up.

  There was no mattress, bed, or blanket that she could find as she felt around, her fingers sinking into the corners of the floor. They trailed through dirt, grime, and slime until she was certain she would be a creature of dirt, grime, and slime herself.

  She raised a hand to her face to sniff it, immediately regretting it. Her fingers fumbled for the hem of her cloak, the only place she could think to wipe it. Looking around, she spied a bucket in the corner, which had an even worse smell. Harper recoiled.

  There's the toilet then, she thought with dismay.

  After a period of sitting in the dark, huddled against a wall and wrapped in her cloak, which offered no resistance against the cold around her, she stiffly rose and stumbled to the door, leaning against the hard wood. At least it was slightly warmer than the stone...for what that was worth.

  Yet no matter how she searched for any crack or weakness, pushed it, or slotted her fingers into the edges to try and pull it – there was no handle on the inside of the door, perhaps for good reason – she could not get even a whisker of give in the stout wood. Her palms caressed the worn boards as she rested her forehead against it with a sigh. Through it, she could hear faint sounds. It was low and deep, the drone of men talking.

  Think. There has to be a weakness somewhere.

  An idea struck her. She scraped some of the paltry, slightly soggy straw into a pile and reached down into the middle of herself, feeling for that slight tingle, the deep well where she knew the magic was. Knowing what it felt like to have Aedon's strong magic coursing through her, she knew exactly what to look for.

  Somewhere deep inside, there it was, the tiniest little nugget, slightly bigger than it had been before. She clung to it, muttering the incantation Aedon had for fire. Perhaps she did not have to sit in the cold or the dark after all.

  “Brun.”

  The magic slipped away. She grasped it tighter, focusing on the tiny trickle and repeating the words again and again. The faintest warmth heated the very tips of her fingers, but no more.

  Eventually, she shook with the mental strain and her hands fell to her sides. She slumped against the wall with a huff of resignation. Aedon had made it look so easy. It appeared it wouldn't be that way for her, at least not yet.

  Harper gritted her teeth in silent frustration. There was no way out that she could tell. Her weapon, Aedon's beautiful knife, was gone. And she had no means, magical or otherwise, to facilitate her escape.

  She would have to wait for whatever was coming, and that was the most terrifying thought of all. It made her stomach flip and body shake with nerves. Slowly, she pulled her cloak about her, retreated to the far corner of the cell, and slumped onto the floor with her knees drawn to her chest.

  FITFUL SLEEP WAS THE best she managed that night. Harper's eyelids drooped, exhausted, then jerked open again with every small noise from outside. Every sound put her on high alert.

  Were they coming to fetch her? Where would they take her? What would they do? Would she... Could she escape?

  Then the sounds would fade again and she would huddle deeper into her cloak, wishing for the comforting presence and warmth of Aedon and his companions.

  The growing torrent of anxiety also taunted her about him. Every nerve was frayed, and her thoughts were a runaway horse of worry. He had pleaded with her, but she had not believed his nature ran true. Perhaps, just perhaps, she had been wrong about him...about them all.

  She looked about her, from one dark corner to another, glad she could not see anything. If only they could see her now. They were right. Erika most of all. Harper was glad she would never have to admit it to Erika’s face.

  Once more, she was back to worrying about her own hide. Concern over what her own fate would be niggled her again. Not for the first time, she berated herself for making the wrong choice.

  I should have never come.

  THERE WAS NOTHING TO do but wait. Perhaps someone would come to rescue her. Harper laughed mirthlessly at the thought. Who would come for her? Who even could?

  Certainly not Aedon and his crew. They had made their feelings abundantly clear. She could not blame them. She had walked into exactly the folly they had predicted, and now she was in a strange world, about to be charged with a crime that seemed punishable by death...or “worse”, whatever that meant.

  None of her own kin or friends would come. They did not exist. She fleetingly pondered how long she had been gone, stopping that thought before it went any further, wondering what everyone would think had happened when she seemingly vanished without a trace.

  She did not know whether she hated herself or the situation she found herself in more. She had been foolish to believe she would be taken for her word. This wasn't Caledan, but there wasn't justice in either realm. That was blatantly clear.

  No “innocent until proven guilty”. This place was unjust, unfair, and she didn't belong. It was as far from her vision of being a noble knight or intrepid adventurer, or being sent home by a gracious and understanding king, as she could have foreseen.

  "
You're so stupid, Harper," she growled at herself. "Should have stayed with Aedon. At least they accepted me, as useless as I was." She scowled and punched the floor, as if she could punch her regret, frustration, and fear. It did nothing other than earn her a new pain.

  NO ONE CAME FOR HER in, well...however long passed. She thought somewhere longer than hours but shorter than days. Harper did not bother moving from her corner, huddled up in her cloak, shivering from head to toe.

  The light and warmth of early autumn seemed like a distant memory already. What had once seemed like a thick cloak, stifling in the heat, now felt like nothing more than her old, thin, tattered cloak, and offered her no shelter, comfort, or protection.

  When the door clunked open, Harper startled. The dim light outside was blinding after so long in the dark. After a moment of surprise, she scrambled forward. A dark form dropped a wooden bowl in the room and set a wooden beaker down, spilling most of the contents of both in the process. Before she could reach the door, it slammed shut again.

  Harper cried out. The muffled thump of the bar slipping into place rattled the door, then footsteps and silence.

  She felt around the floor for the bowl and cup. Water. It didn't taste very savoury, but she downed it in one gulp all the same. The gruel in the bowl was weak and smelled of nothing in particular that would be edible. The hunk of bread was so stale that she could have mistaken it for a stone. She ate it all anyway, grateful for something to fill her stomach.

  Once finished, she retreated back to her corner. Her stomach still rumbled unhappily. A few mouthfuls of paltry food and tainted water did nothing to still its mutiny. She hung her head.

  Her forehead pounded mercilessly, as though she had the world's worst hangover. Unfortunately, Harper knew she would not be able to shake it off so easily. She could not help but wish that this was nothing more than a bad dream. The assault on her senses told her it was very real indeed.

  THE NEXT TIME THEY came, she had no idea how long it had been, but she was ready. There was only one name that might curry her some kind of favour, or chance, as much as she hated to use it. It had repeatedly taunted her, but would it help or damn her? She had no idea. She hoped it would not land her in a worse predicament.

  When the door slipped open to allow a meal in, she shouted past the burn in her throat. “Dimitrius Vaeri Mortris of House Ellarian! I demand to speak with Dimitrius Vaeri Mortris of House Ellarian!”

  The dish paused in midair, before the hand holding it dropped it. The door shut a second later, but with a quieter slam than before.

  Harper’s heart pounded. What have I done? Will it work? Will it help? It cannot make things worse... I hope.

  Forty-Two

  Dimitri longed to run, but he forced himself to take measured, unhurried steps, schooling his features into boredom with a hint of indignance at being disturbed for such paltry matters. Under the surface, he was a torrent of crashing anxiety.

  Is it her? Why is she here? How?

  “My apologies, Lord Ellarian,” stammered the guard again. “She asked for you by name, and we weren’t sure whether she was one of your...associates.”

  Dimitri waved a hand in dismissal. The man resumed scurrying ahead, taking fearful looks back at the spymaster, who stood a good head taller and was a good deal more imposing than the human guard.

  The rank air inside the dungeons did nothing to help his nerves. He stifled a retch at the foul stench of damp and decay, gritting his teeth against the insipid freezing chill of the place. A flick of magic warmed him and banished the scent, as well as bounced a faelight above him in the constricting corridor.

  The guard led him to a cell at the end of a passage, heaving open the door with a grunt. Dimitrius sent his faelight in first. He stilled as their eyes locked, and his heart stopped for a beat before thundering back to life.

  It’s her. Dragons save us.

  Steel-grey eyes met his. In a moment, she changed from fearful surprise to anger.

  “You! Tell them to let me go at once!”

  Dimitri raised an eyebrow. He had not been expecting that. Feisty, he thought with a twinkle of amusement.

  The guard’s mouth dropped open. He barged into the cell, an arm raised to strike her.

  “Stop!” Dimitri barked. “There’s no need for that. Where is the item she carried? I need it at once.”

  “M’pologies, Lord. It’s already been sent to the king.”

  A flash of fear spread through Dimitri, but he crushed it swiftly. I hope not.

  He pressed his lips together in a thin line, biting back his anger. “Of course. Release her at once then.”

  “M’pologies, Lord. The king’s orders...”

  “You know my position.” Dimitri advanced. “Release her to my custody. I shall deal with the king.”

  The man shrank away from the brunt of his full attention. Harper had the good sense to stay quiet, her attention flicking between them with confusion. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. Why is she here? The questions could wait. First he had to get her out of there, away from the king and his scrutiny, which Dimitri feared would eventually fall upon himself.

  “I–I can’t, m’lord. I can give you her property, if you wish.”

  “Fine,” he said after a pause. He knew she would have little on her worth anything to him, but it never hurt to collect such things for whatever useful means he could find.

  Harper glared up at him, though she remained huddled in the corner, covered in filth. She knew she was no match for him. He stared at her coldly in return, before spinning around and striding away. Part of his anger was directed at her, at how stupid she had been to walk right into the king’s hands. But most of it was just anger at himself. Fury that he had dallied too long.

  The anger masked his fear, too. I cannot let it fall back into the king’s hands, he worried. I’ll never see it again, never have another chance. In the wake of the thefts, the king had doubled the security upon his vaults. Besides which...

  What if there is some way to discern that it was I who stole it in the first place? Dimitri could not dwell on that. It was a dark path to walk down. What the king would do to me...

  It provoked his desire for self-preservation and success more than ever. His thoughts jumped back to Harper, sitting in the cell. To his surprise, he felt a wisp of pity for her. He could still see her grey eyes staring him down. For a nobody, she had a compelling presence, a challenge in her gaze he rarely received from anyone given his fearsome reputation.

  He stifled a dry laugh. She had no idea who she dealt with, free from such prejudices, yet she still disliked him. He supposed he had never given her any reason to feel otherwise. But even though he had demonstrated just how powerful he was, she did not seem to fear him. She was an interesting one.

  “H-Here, m’lord.”

  The guard thrust a parcel at him containing a dagger, a small bracelet, a pair of boots. He eyed the dagger. One of elven make. He had noticed the same one hanging at Aedon’s waist.

  What a charming gift, he thought disdainfully.

  His entire being stilled when the charm on the woven leather bracelet caught the paltry light of the dirty lamps. Saradon’s Mark. With barely a hitch, his gaze passed to the clasp on the boots. He examined them for a second, appearing as nonchalant as he could, though his heart thundered in his chest.

  He cleared his throat, and the guard’s attention flicked to his face. “Has anyone else looked through these?”

  “No, m’lord.”

  With the guard’s attention on his face, Dimitri swiftly slipped the bracelet up his sleeve and thrust the rest of the things back at the man. “Then I leave them with you in case the king should desire them.”

  “M-M’lord?” the guard stuttered, holding the things and staring after him. Dimitri was already halfway out, striding toward the door and the faint hint of a fresh breeze, the silver bead burning cold upon the inside of his wrist.

  IT TAUNTED HIM, REVEALING no se
crets, as Dimitri reclined on his sumptuous couch. He fidgeted, unable to find comfort, turning the bracelet over and over in his hands and examining every minute detail of the silver charm.

  “Where did she get you from?” he breathed out with a shake of his head. Mysteries upon mysteries. He tried to piece together all he knew of her.

  Harper, an uncommon name in Pelenor, who spoke the Common Tongue with a twang he was unfamiliar with. Definitely foreign. She was a companion of Aedon and his ragtag band. That could mean nothing. They’re all outcasts. Yet she seemed young, naïve, and inexperienced in comparison to them. A new recruit? Something did not quite fit. Yet she carries an item of such importance and power.

  Dimitri growled, and his fingers drummed upon his leg as he rested. Did I send it to her somehow? Why her? An answer eluded him. He huffed in annoyance. Still, her steel-grey gaze taunted him. She was temptation and distraction incarnate.

  I cannot afford to deviate now.

  If he was sensible and callous, he would end her. She was nothing more than a loose end that could possibly incriminate him.

  He had no confidence she would last through torture without revealing whatever she knew. Though he was certain she did not know the importance of what she carried, she could certainly incriminate him enough for the king to question why he had taken so long to recover the Dragonheart when he plainly had known where it was.

  She could destroy him. His entire body seemed permanently flooded with nerves since his discovery that she had arrived in Tournai, but the more he dwelled upon it, the more he realised just how much trouble it could land him in. At the very least, the king would have grounds to charge him with treason for his disobedience.

  I should kill her at once and be done with it. Even if that would make him as bad as the king. He fingered the charm again. She carries Saradon’s Mark... There’s more to this than I know. Somehow, she must play a part. But what? Dimitri closed his eyes and let out a silent scream of frustration.