Heart of Dragons

by Meg Cowley

  Harper saw none of it. Toroth stood so close beside her, she could have reached out and touched him. Of course, she did not dare, and stood like one of the garden’s statues, buzzing with nerves, waiting to hear what he would ask of her.

  Dimitrius had not been invited, but he lurked not too far away, listening. For that, she was grateful. Despite his outburst the night before, he seemed determined to see them both out of this predicament, though Harper had the feeling she did not even know the half of it.

  “What do you know of Lord Ellarian, girl?”

  Harper stiffened at Toroth’s words, her heart thundering into life. It was not what she had expected, nor what she and Dimitrius had practiced. “Not much, sire,” she said after taking a steadying breath she hoped he did not notice.

  As seemed to be his way, he glared at her until she continued.

  “He is a very private person. I know he is important within your court, but aside from what he looks like and where he comes from, I know little else,” she said, hoping he would find that acceptable. She supposed it was true.

  The king did not need to know how he snapped at her when she brushed a nerve, or how he was kind to her when she was scared, or how he insisted that she eat at every meal in a thinly veiled attempt to feed her up. She supposed he was much kinder than he had first appeared, but the nature of the court made her wonder whether it, too, was just an act.

  “That is all?” Toroth raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, sire. I know some scant details of his family,” she improvised, “but certainly no more than Your Majesty knows in that regard.”

  He stared at her with an intent focus that made her squirm. “And would you say Lord Ellarian is trustworthy?”

  “I have no grounds on which to speak of him thusly, Your Majesty. He has never borne me ill, if that is what you mean, and everything he asks of me is for your employ.”

  Toroth narrowed his eyes. Harper could see his interest was fading. Good. I’m useless. Dismiss me!

  Self-consciously, she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ears, which promptly flopped loose again.

  Toroth’s eyes followed her wrist as the loose sleeve fell back. “Where does a girl like you afford a bracelet like that?”

  A rush of terror flooded Harper’s body. She tucked her arm under the cloak as subtly as she dared, though her heart hammered. “This is an old trinket that I have had since before I can remember, sire. It’s nothing. An old scrap of leather and a bead.”

  “You did not steal it, girl? Lord Ellarian would certainly disapprove of a thief in his employ. Let me see it.”

  “It is unworthy of your great attention,” she squeaked and shrank away, clutching at the folds of her cloak in panic.

  “I command it.”

  “Your Majesty.” Dimitrius seemed to appear from nowhere. Relief rushed through Harper. “I beg your forgiveness. May I have a word with the girl? I have some urgent business for her to attend.”

  “Of course,” said Toroth, but as Harper turned away with a wordless glance of appreciation at Dimitrius, Toroth snatched her wrist. She squealed and wriggled in his iron grasp, but he tightened his grip until her arm screamed with the pain. Inexorably, he pulled her closer and lifted her by her arm to examine the worn leather strap and tarnished silver bead.

  “Hmmph,” he said, pursing his lips. “This is nothing.”

  “As I said, sire, unworthy of your notice,” said Harper, biting down on her lip to stop herself crying out in pain as he held her arm up, straining her shoulder.

  Toroth started to lower her arm when his eyes grazed over the metal, catching on the crudely stamped mark upon the bead. In an instant, he threw Harper away, as if burned by her touch. She landed in a jumbled heap upon the ground.

  “Saradon-cursed traitor,” Toroth growled and prowled toward her.

  Dazed and winded, Harper could do naught but watch him approach. With a jagged jab of his splayed fingers toward her, pain assaulted her, until Dimitrius stepped between them.

  “Sire, what is it?” he asked, though he knew full well what Toroth had seen. To her relief, he had the grace to not admonish her for it – yet.

  “Did you know she possessed that – that filth?” Toroth rounded on Dimitrius, shaking with anger. Spittle flew from his mouth with every word.

  “Filth, sire?”

  “Check her wrist.”

  Dimitrius bent toward Harper and slipped the bracelet from her wrist, examining it carefully, like he had not already done so at his own leisure. His face paled at the symbol and a frown appeared.

  “This is most grave, sire, but perhaps there is something we do not know. Caledan is far away. Perhaps this symbol means something else in her homeland.”

  “Or perhaps she is a Saradon-cursed traitor,” snarled Toroth. “Throw her into the dungeons and find out.”

  “It would be my pleasure, sire.” Dimitrius bowed.

  “Then wait upon me, for you have questions of your own to answer, Dimitrius.”

  Dimitrius’s face showed nothing as he roughly hauled Harper up by the arm and dragged her away. “I’m sorry,” he said into her mind. “Play along.”

  She furiously protested aloud to make a good show of it. “What’s going to happen?” she asked him desperately, fearful of returning to the hellhole of the cells.

  “I do not know,” Dimitrius replied, a bite of worry in his own voice.

  A cold fear spread through her stomach.

  Fifty

  “I will send for you as soon as I may,” Dimitri whispered to her after he ordered the guards from the cell. “I have work to do if I am to see us through this safely. Have courage, and patience.”

  “How long am I to remain here?” she asked, a gleam of desperation in her eyes. But he had no answer.

  “I will come soon,” he promised again, though he did not know how on earth he would save himself, let alone her. With more regret than he thought he’d feel for a nobody like her, he left without another word, closing the door behind him and leaving her in the dark, fetid squalor.

  I pity her, he realised. A part of him felt bound to protect her, despite the danger she posed to him. She was a victim of injustice, like him and so many others. And yet, despite a hard life, she had not given up her spark of defiance and hope for better, for more. She was precisely the kind of person the changes he would bring would ultimately protect, one way or another.

  Though he did not want to, Dimitri returned to the king, bound by his order. Toroth had been brooding again. He could see it in every cold line of anger in his face, his dark eyes, his thunderous brows.

  “Explain, before I damn you for either being incompetent or a traitor,” Toroth commanded.

  Dimitri knew Toroth longed to punish him. Regardless of Harper’s fate, he had to save himself first. He sketched a bow to the king. “Sire, I apologise for my duplicity. I did keep something from you.”

  Toroth ceased his pacing and fixed Dimitri in a piercing glare.

  “The symbol means little – nothing even – to the girl. I asked her to wear it.”

  Toroth had utterly stilled. Inwardly, Dimitri smiled to himself. He worries I am a traitor. Ha. How little he knows.

  “There are murmurings in the south. Ones I wish to keep a close eye on, for they portend possible rebellion. I was readying the girl to go to them. I did not wish to say in the gardens where anyone might have heard us speak of this.”

  “What rebellion?” Toroth said sharply. “Who?”

  Dimitri inclined his head. “Forgive me, but it is just murmurings that have only reached my ears in snatches and shreds. That is what I wish to determine, and the girl will find the truth for me.”

  “Why does she carry Saradon’s Mark?” Toroth advanced, full of menace.

  “To aid me. I suspect they are sympathisers to his cause. I need her to gain their trust – be one of them – in order to break into their circle. If my suspicions prove true, I shall draw them out. We are just now working on
her cover story and details of the task at hand. It will be dangerous for her, but she is well up to the task, given her success with recovering the Dragonheart.”

  Toroth paced back and forth, mulling over Dimitri’s words. “And you are sure – beyond certainty – that she is loyal and no sympathizer of Saradon herself?”

  “Yes. She is a foreigner. Our history means nothing to her.” For goodness sake, you paranoid, batty old dragon, let it be.

  “I would like to be certain. Mayhap I will have my own men question her on this.”

  Fear spiked in Dimitri. “That will be unecessary, sire,” he said smoothly. “If anything, I would beseech you to grant her immediate release so I may task her at once on this mission of utmost importance.”

  It was precisely the wrong thing to say.

  “Do you think you know better than I, bastard?”

  “No, sire.” Dimitri bowed low to conceal his rage before he fought to get it under control.

  “Because you do not,” said Toroth, as if he had entirely ignored Dimitri’s reply. He launched into a tirade of his ultimate authority and Dimitri’s worthlessness, but he had heard it a thousand times before. He schooled his face into blankness and ignored the king, wondering how on earth he could secure Harper’s release from the dungeons. A spark of an idea hit him.

  Perhaps I need not release her. An escape would work just as well. As long as she is free of Tournai – and Toroth – she cannot implicate me in anything. My safety hinges on her. Who else could I ask to rescue her but the grand escapee himself?

  Dimitri hid a smile as he realised just how he might reach all his goals in one fell swoop. The Dragonheart would be his once more. Harper would be safe and so far away she could not implicate him. And Toroth would soon see just how much he ought to fear the name of Saradon.

  Fifty-One

  Aedon watched Dimitrius cross the gardens alone. He frowned. Where is Harper? The knife now suggested she was far away, beyond his reach, which concerned him. He noticed Dimitrius’s quick stride and the worry on his face. What has occurred? He hoped Harper was well. Despite his confusion and suspicion at seeing them together amicably, he still had a small kernel within him that worried something was not right.

  He followed Dimitrius to beyond where he could comfortably follow – the dungeons. His heart sank. I hope she’s not in there. But the knife tugged him forward. He knew the answer he did not want to admit to.

  After a short time, Dimitrius returned, looking more worried than before. As he entered a deserted part of the palace, he stopped. Aedon halted in the shadows behind him.

  “I know you are there, elf.” Dimitrius’s voice rang through the empty hall.

  Aedon stilled.

  “Reveal yourself. I have a proposition for you.”

  Nothing.

  “If you wish to save Harper, you ought not ignore me.”

  Aedon could not resist. He melted out of the shadows and approached Dimitrius, halting a healthy distance away and eying him with suspicion.

  “She is in there, isn’t she?” Aedon spat, gesturing back toward the dungeons. “What have you done to her? If you have harmed her, I swear—”

  “Do not swear what you cannot deliver,” Dimitrius snarled. “For once, you need to listen, Aedon, because there is no time. She is beyond my help for now. There is but one chance, and it is infinitesimally small.

  “She is in danger from the king. I can protect her no longer, but I can give you a window of opportunity. You must get her out, or she will be made to suffer most horribly. It is not a death I would wish for.”

  Aedon bristled at that, but he stilled. It had been a century since Dimitrius had been able to bear calling him by name.

  “There is far more at stake than you know, Aedon. Unless she escapes, Harper will be caught in the middle, and I cannot help her any more than I already have. Forget the Dragonheart, I know not what you wanted it for, but it is in the vaults with the others now, under wards that require a power greater than you to break. If you save her, you can do a great deal more good than ever you shall know.”

  “Why do you speak in riddles?” Aedon shot at him with a scowl.

  “Because I need not explain myself to you, thief. Time is up. I can dally no more. Make your choice, and make it well. If you act, act before the day is done. She depends on you.”

  Dimitrius strode away before Aedon could respond. He looked after him, then back from whence he had come. It would be easy to gain entry. He had done it before. Go on. Do it, a small part of him urged. But though he flexed forward, ready to bend to that will, the rest of him held back. It could easily be a trap. He would not put it past Dimitrius, or the king, who had longed to end him for decades.

  Is it a trap?

  Most definitely, he answered himself.

  Harper was within the dungeons, but to know her state, he would have to look upon her face himself. It was not a decision he could make alone, for it would endanger them all.

  DIMITRI HOPED HE HAD done enough to convince Aedon. It had been easy enough to leave out his own protests to the king, to make Aedon believe Harper was in a far worse predicament than was the case. If nothing changed, he knew she would be soon enough.

  It was the only way he could think of to goad Aedon into acting. Once more, he prayed he had done enough. If Harper were interrogated by the king’s men, the truth would emerge of their true relationship, and they would both be damned. Even if the king could not pin him for treason, he would be dead for deceit.

  Dimitri’s nerves seemed to run on a permanent high as of late, thrumming through him with a corrosive energy that wore him down little by little. He did not welcome it. Whatever happened, he was at risk.

  His only hope was if Aedon rescued the girl and took the temptation to chase the Dragonheart, too. Will it work? Did I plant the seed? It was not beyond Aedon’s nature. Anything so daring would light the fire in him, if for no other reason than the sheer bravado and thrill of it.

  Dimitri could not care less if they left with one Dragonheart, a hundred, or none. As long as he also obtained one under cover of their theft.

  This can still yet be resolved.

  Then there would be nothing stopping him from raising Saradon and breaking the wheel once and for all.

  “IT’S DEFINITELY A TRAP,” said Erika flatly.

  “I agree,” said Brand.

  “It probably is,” Ragnar added glumly, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “But she’s definitely in there,” Aedon reminded them. “And if she’s in there, she certainly isn’t being treated well. It probably is a trap, but that doesn’t mean we can’t outwit them.”

  “Even Dimitrius?”

  Aedon looked at Erika. “Especially Dimitrius. I have extra reason to best him.”

  “This isn’t a game, you know,” she replied flatly, glaring at him.

  “I know that,” he snapped. “But this is what we do best. Manage the impossible, then slip away.”

  “You’re forgetting something very important. She might be a traitor. You told us how she was with Dimitrius, how amicable they were, how she seemed ingratiated with his kind.” Erika’s suspicion was neverending, Aedon knew.

  “I know. I cannot explain it. Perhaps she is doing whatever she needs to survive. Wouldn’t we all do the same?”

  “Why is he trying to save her, though?” asked Ragnar. “I like to believe the best of people, but none of it makes any sense.”

  “It doesn’t,” Aedon said with a huff of annoyance. “But she is...was...” He shook his head, “is our friend. And she is, at this moment, in the dungeons of King Toroth, where she does not belong. Moreover, he has her Dragonheart, and many others, tantalisingly close. Isn’t it tempting? We can rescue Harper and obtain a Dragonheart. Perhaps an unlimited supply!”

  “You really think you can get us past the wards?” Brand was the voice of reason – as always.

  “I am no ordinary elf.”

  The Aerian dipped his
head in acknowledgment. “Even so, you are not as powerful as once you were.”

  Aedon’s face was a mask of stone, but he knew they realised the turmoil of hurt roiling beneath the exterior. “I can do it.”

  “Let’s take a vote,” suggested Brand. “Who votes for rescuing Harper, despite the fact it’s probably an obvious trap?”

  Aedon and Ragnar raised their hands.

  “And who votes against?”

  Brand and Erika raised theirs.

  “Two versus two. We appear to have reached an impasse.”

  “We don’t have time for impasses,” Aedon said, utterly exasperated. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll go after her myself. Trap or not, I have to try, and whilst I’m there, there’s got to be a way to obtain a Dragonheart.”

  “Don’t be so bloody foolish!” growled Brand.

  “Well, what else can we do?” he snapped. “Time is running out. We have today, and only today. What say you?”

  Fifty-Two

  Commotion outside woke her, but this sounded different. Harried. Panicked. Harper's ears pricked and she tensed, holding her breath as she strained to hear more. Their voices were muffled and echoing down the passage.

  She realized it wasn't panic. They sounded excited, even merry. The noise grew louder, closer. She could pick out words, but most of it was in a language she did not understand. “Pelenor” was the only word she could pick out from the rabble.

  Now they were outside her door. She scrambled to it, pressing her face to the floor and trying with all her might to see under it, but the gap was too thin. The light flickered, winking in and out as bodies blocked the faint light. The tramp of booted feet shook the floor, rattling her head.

  What did they have to be so excited about? It also sounded like they dragged something along the corridor. Whatever it was slithered along the floor, much as she had done when they had dragged her through.