“Build him a new one and he’ll be fine.”
Something shimmered up ahead. Silver was appearing among the green leaves overhanging the path. My heart lifted with hope.
“Is that—?”
“Our destination?” As we got closer, the silver resolved into a shining archway wound about with vines, framing the end of the path. Mist crept from it like little puffs of dragon breath. “Yes, I believe it is. Thank goodness for that. You’re getting so sentimental I didn’t know if I could stand it much longer.”
“Idiot,” I said, and shoved him through the archway.
The gates of Whitehaven loomed ahead of us, silver and white and flashing with embedded jewels. The great branches of the Lady’s silver tree spread their shade and shelter over all who entered. Except no one was entering now, as the gates were firmly closed. A full company of pike men were lined up on either side and archers stood atop the walls. I sure hoped the king had some other, less mundane protective measures in place. There were plenty of things in the Realms that would laugh at arrows and pikes.
Two grim-faced pike men crossed their weapons, barring Raven’s way as he stepped forward.
“Your business, sir?” the captain of the guard asked.
“Bran of Night, returning on the king’s business.”
The guard nodded at him then offered me a perfunctory bow. “Miss Brooks. We weren’t expecting to see you again so soon.” There was no suspicion in his tone, only a rigorous adherence to the letter of his duty. “I’m sorry, but I must ask you both to repeat the hearth vow.”
You could tell people were getting jittery when the hearth vow came out. Visitors who swore the vow were bound by their own magic not to do any harm to the members of the “hearth” they were visiting. It was one way to sort Illusionist enemies from the actual friends they might be impersonating, and it had been more common in the days before the fall of Illusion for that reason.
But its use was an inherent admission of weakness, basically saying that the owner of this hearth wasn’t strong enough to protect his people without it—and it had rarely been used at the palace as a result. Clearly, Rothbold was done giving a stuff what people thought of him.
I highly doubted that any of the Night Vipers were Illusionists, but I had no problem with promising not to harm the king and his family. “I vow to bring no harm to those who call this hearth their home.”
Raven repeated it after me. Once that was done, the captain signalled for the postern gate to be opened, and we were allowed through.
Guards lined the pathway that meandered through the garden, lending an unaccustomed military air to the place. Whitehaven was a castle more in name than substance. It sat amid vast acres of pleasure grounds, and its walls were barely high enough to withstand any kind of siege, but the determined faces of the guards on duty proclaimed their willingness to try.
The assassins must have give everyone a good scare. Who would have ever expected them to strike at the princess in the heart of her father’s power? I still couldn’t see why anyone would. I mean, she was the heir to the throne, obviously. But the curse of the Brenfells protected her just as well as it did her father. Even her grasping uncle hadn’t had the balls to actually do away with the king, lest the magical curse fall upon him and his household. Anyone would know the same thing must happen to someone who assassinated the innocent princess before she could even take the throne.
It didn’t make much sense, but then again, a lot of things the fae did didn’t make much sense to me. Maybe Raven’s mysterious source was right and it had just been a piece of political manoeuvring by Kellith, far-fetched as that seemed.
We moved briskly through the gardens and soon arrived at the grand entry to the palace itself. We trotted up the steps, finding yet more guards stationed here, and we were once again stopped and questioned.
“Do you know where we might find the Dragon?” Raven asked the leader of these guards.
“He’ll be in the throne room with the king.”
The route from the front doors to the throne room was fast becoming a familiar one. I had trodden it several times in the past few weeks. Inside, the palace was remarkably quiet. Admittedly, it was early morning, the time of day when most fae would be at their last meal before taking to their beds. Even so, the lack of people was surprising. I wondered how many servants the queen had taken with her on her panicked flight to Summer.
There were guards stationed at the head of the corridor that led to the throne room, and yet more outside the massive doors themselves, but they didn’t stop us entering. The throne was empty when I walked in, and I looked around for the king, surprised.
He stood by the windows, and my heart rose as I realised the Dragon was with him. They were both staring at a scale model of the palace and its grounds laid out on a gigantic table. As we drew closer, I realised the model wasn’t made of clay or anything so mundane, but constructed of the stuff of magic itself.
The king waved his hand, and the gleaming towers of the palace rushed closer, the building rapidly doubling in size. It looked real, as solid as anything else in the room, but it was some kind of Glamour, insubstantial as mist. Two men were taking notes as the king and the Dragon chatted. Obviously, security still weighed heavily on the king’s mind.
He was so engrossed with the discussion that he didn’t notice us for a long moment, though the Dragon smiled at me before returning his attention to the king.
Finally, Rothbold looked up, and a smile spread across his tired face. With a snap of his fingers, he banished the Glamoured model of the palace then turned his attention to me. “Allegra, you are a sight for sore eyes at a difficult time.”
“I was sorry to hear about the attack, sire. That must have been very frightening for the princess.”
“So frightening that she and her mother have fled, until Ebos here and I can assure her that she will be safe under my roof.” The smile flattened into a grim line. Clearly, the king was less than impressed with his wife’s reaction.
The queen was far from being my favourite person, but I couldn’t help a smidgen of sympathy for her. It was bad enough finding yourself under attack by the Night Vipers. I could only imagine how much worse it must feel when their target was your beloved only child.
“But what brings you here? Not more problems, I hope.”
Poor Rothbold certainly had enough of those on his plate. “In a manner of speaking, sire. It’s Squeak.” I gave him a brief update on Squeak’s condition and what Morwenna and Lirra had both said about his likely prognosis, then I turned to the Dragon imploringly. “Sir Dragon, you once told me the dragons know more about healing wings than anyone. Is there any hope? I’ll do anything.”
The Dragon glanced sideways at his king. “I couldn’t say for certain without seeing him myself, but there’s a very good chance that my people could help. But that means someone would have to go to them.”
“And the borders of Fire have been closed for decades,” the king said.
“Quite so.”
I glanced from one to the other of them, my heart in my eyes. “But surely they would let you in, Sir Dragon? You’re one of them. If you could take me there so that I could plead my case to them …”
The king shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”
“Wise has nothing to do with it, sire.” I knew what he meant—he was as bad as Kyrrim. He wanted me to stay safely tucked away on Arlo. I lowered my voice, conscious of the servants against the walls. “Your Majesty, you said once that you understood the bond between an Illusionist and their bondmate. You said if I needed anything to help Squeak—anything at all—you would help me. Please, sire. He has only days to live.”
“You are right. I did say that.” The king glanced at the Dragon. “But perhaps Ebos could go on your behalf without the need for you to risk yourself on the venture. The closest entry point is the mountains of Winter, which are dangerous territory. It would be an arduous trek to reach the borders o
f Fire. In fact, there may not even be enough time before Squeak …”
“Then the sooner we leave the better,” I burst out.
The Dragon was shaking his head. “Sire, you know the reason I left. I am afraid my pleas would not move the Lord of Fire. To have any hope of success, I fear Allegra must plead her own case.”
“I’ll come with you,” Raven said suddenly.
We all stared at him for a moment, perplexed.
“It will be hard enough getting my people to accept one stranger, let alone two,” the Dragon said.
“Not as hard as it will be to face the Hawk and tell him I let Allegra go off alone with you. If he was here, he would never allow it.”
“Out of the question,” the Dragon said.
“Then swear a binding vow that you will do her no harm.”
“Bran!” the king said. “What are you accusing Sir Ebos of?”
“Nothing.” Raven held the Dragon’s eyes. “I just want him to swear.”
“Raven, what are you doing?” Was he trying to ruin my only chance for saving Squeak?
“It’s all right, sire,” the Dragon said. “I take no offence, though I wonder if the Lord of Night knows how passionately his son feels about the lady.”
He was barking up the wrong tree entirely there. Raven had no more interest in me than I did in him. I waited in a fever of impatience while the Dragon laid his right hand on his heart and swore the traditional oath. When would they all stop talking so we could leave?
The king scowled in frustration when it was done. “I still don’t like you going off like this.”
“And I don’t like knowing that my bondmate is dying when there’s something I could do to save him.”
Rothbold sighed, a gusty sound of resignation. “Very well. Sir Ebos, I charge you with the protection of Lady Allegra.”
Whoops. No one outside our little circle knew that I was actually a Lady Allegra at this point, but the Dragon hadn’t reacted. Hopefully, he would assume the king had just been seized by an excess of politeness.
“Accompany her at once to the Realm of Fire and do your best to effect a cure for her bondmate.”
The Dragon bowed low. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
15
A gate carved from a solid chunk of ice appeared out of the leafy gloom of the Wilds on the path ahead.
“This is it,” the Dragon said. “Are you ready?”
“Sooo ready.” Apart from my usual uneasiness in the Wilds, we’d been walking for at least two hours, and I was wearing heavy winter gear borrowed from the princess’s wardrobe. “I’m melting under this stuff.”
“You’ll be glad of it in a moment. The mountains of Winter have to be experienced to really be believed.”
Without a backward glance, he strode through the icy gate, and I followed, sweat trickling down between my breasts underneath the heavy furs. The king had insisted I needed to be properly outfitted for the trip, so the royal wardrobe had been duly raided.
Instantly, my face was lashed by a thousand tiny knives as the temperature plunged. The Dragon was waiting on the other side, his hood pulled up and his scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face so that only his dark brown eyes were visible. He was a big man, roughly Kyrrim’s height, though of a less solid build. Even so, rugged up in white furs, he looked like a yeti or perhaps a small ambulatory mountain.
I tugged up my own hood and hastily arranged the folds of my scarf across my mouth and nose. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe. Already, I couldn’t feel my feet in their heavy boots.
Fine snow filled the air and blanketed everything in sight. Visibility was poor, but I could tell we were high up, even if the bracing air hadn’t given that away. There was a vast sense of emptiness all around. Even the trees seemed to huddle together for company, bracing themselves against the Winter winds. Not a place I wanted to spend a great amount of time.
“How long will it take us to walk to the border with Fire?” I’d been out in winter storms once or twice before, but home was always a short walk away. Here, we were on our own, at the mercy of the elements and whatever else was lurking in the snow-blasted mountains.
“That depends a lot on the conditions. If it remains fine, something like eight to ten hours. If not …” He let the sentence trail off.
If it remained fine? Right. I eyed the icy snow with misgiving. If this was fine, I didn’t want to see anything worse. Anxiety gnawed at me. We didn’t have time for mishaps. Everything had to go smoothly if I was to save Squeak.
“Eight to ten hours?” Usually, the Wilds were more cooperative than that, and opened gates much closer to your actual destination.
“Dragons don’t believe in half measures. When they closed the border, they extended their wards out a good long way. You can’t gate in any closer than this.”
“Let’s get going, then, and make the most of this lovely weather.”
He might have grinned at my poor attempt at humour, but I couldn’t tell with his face muffled the way it was. But he nodded and began to forge a path through the snow. Fortunately, it wasn’t very deep, so walking was easy enough. I followed, trusting in him to find the way, though there was no obvious trail for him to follow.
Soon, I fell into a walking dream, putting one foot after the other, occasionally stopping to swipe the frozen snow from my eyelashes or to rearrange my scarf. The unchanging landscape added to the sense that we were making no progress, lost in a world of white. Though my feet were numb, the exercise warmed me and I sweated under my heavy furs.
There was no sign of animal life, or any other life for that matter. After a couple of panting hours, I ventured to make conversation. “Who lives up here?”
He paused for a drink from his canteen while he considered the question. “Cave trolls, mostly. A few goblin clans, the odd bear.”
“I’ve barely seen any tracks. Just a rabbit or two.”
“Oh, they’re here, all right. But it snows so damn often that their tracks are hidden. Plus, their camouflage is good.” He hefted the canteen for another long swig then replaced the folds of his scarf around his mouth and nodded towards a stand of tall pines a small distance away. “There’s a foxhole over there, under that big tree, but you won’t see much of the foxes until nightfall.”
I squinted into the pale sameness of the landscape. I could barely make out the hole he was talking about; it was just a slight depression in the snow, more than half hidden behind a sparse bush. “You have sharp eyes.”
He grinned. This time I could tell, despite the scarf, because of the way his eyes crinkled up. “Dragons hunt from the air. We have better eyesight even than eagles. If I was up there, I could see a mouse move from a mile away.” He gazed skyward, a certain longing in his eyes.
“Why aren’t you up there?” I asked, remembering for the first time that he had wings. “I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to fly to Fire than to trudge all this way?”
“I daren’t take my dragon form here, so close to Fire. It would likely send my brother into a rage, and then he would never help you.”
Well, in that case, I was happy to trudge there and back. Squeak was the most important thing in this whole scenario, and I wouldn’t do anything to put his chances at risk.
I eyed the Dragon as he packed his canteen away in his backpack again. “Why would taking your dragon form enrage your brother?” Probably it was none of my business, but it was a long way to walk in silence. We had to talk about something.
“Orobos sees me as a rival to his throne.”
“Are you?”
“Of course not. I left Fire and pledged myself to the king to prove to him that I had no intention of usurping him.”
“But?” I sensed there was a but coming.
“But showing my dragon form would only remind him that I am, in fact, stronger than him. It wouldn’t be wise.”
“Surely if you left your home, that would be proof enough that you’re no threat to him?”
&n
bsp; “You would think so, wouldn’t you? I’m afraid my brother isn’t entirely rational on this point.”
“Is that going to be a problem for us?”
His eyes crinkled above his scarf as he smiled reassuringly at me. “I’m sure your presence will defuse the situation. And it has been a long time. Who knows? He may have gotten over it.”
Several more hours passed as the sun moved overhead then began to sink towards the west. Still a light snow fell, just enough to be truly annoying. My hands as well as my feet were now numb, despite the thick gloves I wore. Kyrrim had taught me how to adjust my own body temperature with magic, and I’d been adjusting my guts out all day, but the more we walked and the more tired I got, the less effective my magic seemed to be.
We came to the saddle between two mountain peaks, and a winter wonderland was laid out below us, like something from a Christmas pageant. Of course, I might have appreciated the view better if I’d had any feeling in my fingers and toes. I began to hit my hands together and shake them, trying to urge the feeling back into them, and finally, the Dragon noticed.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to warm up my fingers. I can’t feel them any more.”
He muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary and strode towards me. “Let me see.”
Reluctantly, I slid off one glove, baring my frozen fingers to the Arctic wind. The tips of them were bright red, but the rest was as white as the snow itself, as if I had the hands of a dead thing stuck on the ends of my arms.
He shook his head. “Haven’t you been warming yourself? Why didn’t you tell me they were this bad?”
I just shrugged, too cold and miserable to come up with a sensible reply. He took off his own gloves and took my hand between both of his. They were astonishingly warm.
“Give me the other hand, too.”
Obediently, I bared my other hand and watched it disappear into his clasp. “How do you stay so warm?”
“I’m a dragon. We come with our own central heating.”
We stood there in the snow for several minutes as warmth and life gradually returned to my fingers. It hurt like hell, but it was a relief to get some feeling back. When he was satisfied that I wasn’t going to get frostbite, he insisted on gifting me his own gloves. “Take them. I don’t need them, and you obviously do.”
Changeling Illusion (Thirteen Realms Book 3) Page 14
