Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (14 page)

“Let’s get you into bed,” Aunn said, extending a hand to Gaven.

“I’m fine.” Gaven managed to stand, glass crunching against the wood under his feet. Now he could see the rosy dragonshard on the other side of the bed, resting in a blackened crater in the woven Talentan rug. Between the window and the rug, Gaven’s outburst had probably caused a thousand gold galifars of damage. He stepped carefully out of the glass and bent to retrieve the shard.

Its heat surprised him, and a sharp surge of anger shot through him. For an instant, the man before him was really Kelas, who had stripped his mark from his skin. A prickle ran over his chest and shoulder, where his mark had been, and he heard thunder crack outside. He dropped the shard back on the bed.

Aunn’s hand shot to the hilt of his sword, as if the thunder heralded an imminent attack. “What was that?” he said.

“His storm flies wild,” Gaven muttered, “unbound and pure in devastation.”

“Nara said that,” Aunn said. “Is that the Prophecy?”

Gaven nodded.

“What’s the rest of it? You were saying it with her.”

“Pure in devastation, going before the traitor’s army to break upon the city by the lake of kings.”

“The city of Varna, on Lake Galifar.”

“Going before the traitor’s army,” Gaven said. “Kelas? Did he send the army marching to Varna?”

“Or Nara. Is there anything else about the traitor’s army, or the traitor herself?”

“I don’t know.” Gaven slumped onto the bed. “I don’t remember. Why don’t you look in there?” He gestured vaguely toward the papers still strewn on the floor.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” Aunn asked.

“No. You?”

“A little. I’m sorry. I’ll stop interrogating you.”

“What do you know about Nara?”

Aunn laughed. “It’s only fair, I suppose. But let me find Cart and Ashara first. They should hear this as well.”

Gaven gathered the papers from the floor while Aunn ventured down the hall in search of the others. He didn’t give the pages any more than a glance until he saw his father’s writing. The sight of the flowing script made something in him break. He fell on his knees, felt glass bite through his skin, and dissolved into grief.

“She was bringing the wine.” Ashara’s voice came from the doorway. “She said she had just knocked on the door when it flew open and threw her back.”

“Where’s Gaven?” Aunn said.

Gaven tried to compose himself and got to his feet, fumbling with the papers in his hand. Aunn stood in the doorway, relief plain on his face as Gaven returned to his view. Cart and Ashara crowded the hallway behind him.

“Is the servant badly hurt?” Gaven said.

“She’ll be fine,” Ashara said. “You’re bleeding again.”

Gaven looked down and saw blood soaking into the knees of his pants, where glass had cut through the cloth and sliced his skin. “It’s nothing,”
he said. The cuts burned, but they weren’t serious. He looked at Aunn. “So tell us about Nara.”

Aunn took a deep breath and let it out. “Very well. Nara ir’Galanatyr led the Royal Eyes from 975, I think, to 996. She was supposed to be close to Queen Barvette, but I’ve heard nasty rumors that she had something to do with the old queen’s death. When Aurala took the throne, though, Nara became one of her closest advisors, and she stayed that way right up until the end of the war.”

“When she was dismissed,” Cart said. “She didn’t want Aurala to sign the treaty, so Aurala appointed a new spy master who would work for peace.”

“Something like that,” Aunn said, “but there was more to it.” He paused, biting his lip.

“What?” Gaven asked.

Aundair’s internal politics were a mystery to him, for all that he’d been caught up in them since leaving Dreadhold in Haldren’s company. But opposition to the Treaty of Thronehold was something that Nara and Haldren evidently had in common.

“Well, first of all it’s not entirely clear that Aurala has ever been interested in peace, except a peace that results from her sitting on the throne of a reunited Galifar. So it’s possible that she replaced Nara purely for show, to convince the other nations that she was serious about the treaty—serious enough to remove her most trusted advisor.”

“What has Nara been doing since the end of the war, then?” Ashara asked.

“To all appearances, she’s been in seclusion—I think in Wyr, by the Eldeen Border.”

“But you think she’s been working for the queen in secret all this time?” Ashara said.

Aunn scowled. “Actually, the thought hadn’t occurred to me. But it’s possible. Perhaps they’ve spent three years plotting the next stage of the war. But that would mean …”

“That all of this goes back to the queen,” Gaven said. “The barbarians invading the Reaches, the Dragon Forge, my dragonmark. What about Haldren? Were Kelas and Nara behind all that as well?”

“Indirectly,” Aunn said. “But that would also mean that Aurala is planning her own assassination, or planning to stage an attempt on her life at least. Because that’s what Kelas thought he was doing.”

“Ending a thousand years of Wynarn rule over Aundair,” Cart said. “At least, that’s what he told Haldren.”

“Kelas might have lied,” Ashara said. “Or Nara might have lied to Kelas. Think about it. Poor Aurala—she has rogue generals starting hostilities in Thaliost, barbarians threatening her western border, and insurgents plotting against her. Naturally, she has to take drastic measures to secure her throne—destroying Varna, invading the Reaches, taking control of House Cannith and Arcanix. What’s next? Some kind of assault on her own people under the guise of putting down a rebellion?”

Aunn shook his head. “I got the sense that Kelas knew everything Nara does, or just about.”

“Which puts you in a difficult spot,” Gaven said, “as long as you’re wearing his face.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

Gaven looked at Aunn and scratched his chin. What did he actually know about the changeling? He was a Royal Eye—deception and intrigue were his life’s work. He had been sandy-haired Darraun, a whispering dwarf opening Gaven’s manacles, tall and proud Aunn, and now Kelas, the mastermind behind the Dragon Forge. Gaven had never seen his real face, and he wondered if he would ever know the real man. Aunn lived in a world Gaven could barely imagine, and he seemed perfectly at home in all this discussion of conspiracies and betrayal.

“What did she say?” Ashara asked.

“First she asked about the storm—the demonstration for the queen.” He snapped his fingers. “She said she saw it, so she can’t be in Wyr, that’s two hundred miles from Varna.”

“Unless she was using magic to watch it,” Ashara said.

“Anyway, she asked about the queen’s reaction to the demonstration.”

“And she cited the Prophecy,” Gaven added. “She saw the storm as a fulfillment of the Prophecy.”

Aunn frowned. “So did she plan the Forge in order to fulfill the Prophecy, or is the Prophecy just an extra?”

“I don’t think it’s just an extra,” Gaven said. “If Nara is trying to shape history so the Prophecy is fulfilled, it’s because she wants whatever she thinks the Prophecy promises. Like Vaskar—he brought about the clash of dragons at Starcrag Plain because he wanted to be the Storm Dragon. He wanted to cross the bridge to the sky and become a god.”

“So what does Nara want from the Prophecy?” Aunn asked.

“The destruction of Aundair?” Ashara said. “Barbarians plundering the land as some kind of revenge against Aurala?”

“Perhaps,” Aunn said, “but then why all the intrigue? It would be enough to stir up the barbarians, perhaps weaken the armed forces from within. She wouldn’t need House Cannith and Arcanix for that.”

Gaven ran his fingers through his hair. “But she needed them to build the Dragon Forge, to take my dragonmark. To make that storm that she thought fulfilled the Prophecy.”

“And she thinks she needs you for the Prophecy as well. ‘We need him in place when the time is right for the reunion,’ she said.”

Reunion—the word sparked a memory, and he shuffled through the papers in his hands. “Storm and dragon are reunited,” Gaven said. Then he found the page Aunn had read. “‘In the darkest night of the Dragon Below.’ The Time of the Dragon Below is beginning now.”

“What else is supposed to happen in the Time of the Dragon Below?” Cart asked.

Gaven closed his eyes and tried to remember. “The rise of the Blasphemer,” he said, and an echo of a vision flashed through his mind, an impression of bone-white banners. Beyond that, his mind was a blank. “I can’t remember what else.”

“The Prophecy makes my head spin,” Aunn said.

Gaven sighed. “All this political scheming does the same to my head.”

“I need some of that wine now.” Aunn moved to the table by the bed and stopped, staring down at the wine bottle and the glass beside it.

“Are you sure it’s not poisoned?” Gaven said, trying to laugh.

Aunn turned and pointed at Ashara. “The servant who was hurt—she told you she was bringing wine to Gaven.”

Ashara nodded. “She said she was just about to knock on the door when it flew open.”

“And the glass broke on the floor in the hall. So why is there a full glass of wine here?”

“There was a young man,” Ashara said. “He came just after you did, holding a glass of wine. You told him to set it down and bring the bottle.”

Aunn shook his head. “How long has there been a spy in Kelas’s house?”

A
unn bolted to the room at the end of the hall, where Cart and Ashara had placed the injured servant. The bed was empty. He forced himself to walk back to Gaven’s room, though he wanted to run.

“We’re leaving,” he said from the doorway. “Gather your things.”

“Where are we going?” Gaven asked.

“No more discussion.” The servant had probably heard everything they’d said. “Let’s move.”

Ashara edged past him to retrieve her pack from her room as Gaven pulled his mail shirt back on. Aunn reviewed the morning’s events, trying to fix the two servants in his mind. The young woman’s disappearance suggested that she had been the spy, not the boy, but he couldn’t be certain. She’d had a round face, dark hair hanging over her eyes, thin lips, the pale skin of a household servant who lived her life indoors. Her eyes had been closed in pain or veiled behind her hair—perhaps hidden on purpose.

Ashara emerged from her room and Gaven stood ready. Without another word, Aunn led the way back to the front door. Halfway down the stairs, he remembered—his pack was still in Kelas’s chamber. When he’d heard the thunder in Gaven’s room, he’d bolted out, stopping only long enough to pull on his boots. He had to go back.

“Listen,” he whispered. “You three go to the Ruby Chalice, near Chalice Center. You know it?”

He glanced behind him and saw Ashara nod, at least. Good—she could lead the others. The plaza called Chalice Center held an airship docking tower and a lightning rail station, making it a good place to blend in among travelers.

“I’ll be right behind you. I just have to get some things from my room.”

“We can wait,” Gaven said. “No need to split up.”

“No. In fact, it would be better if you split up, and be careful you’re not followed.” They had reached the front hall, and the same servant who had met them at the door stood smiling, ready to hold it open for their departure. “Go,” Aunn whispered.

“I hope you had a pleasant rest,” the woman said. Her smile almost looked genuine, for a moment while she looked at Gaven. Aunn watched her eyes as his companions filed past her out the door, and he saw only venom and steel.

I’ve spent my whole life crawling through a nest of vipers, Aunn thought. So far I’ve managed to bite before getting bitten, but how much longer can I do that?

He left the hall by a different door and strode down a wide hallway floored in marble. He turned and started up another flight of stairs, but a voice at the top brought him to a halt.

“You’re not Kelas.”

Aunn looked up and saw the young woman Gaven had injured, though no sign of the injury remained. She held a long knife to the throat of another young woman … no, the same woman, staring at him with pleading eyes. One was a changeling—presumably, the one with the knife—and the one who had been spying on Gaven in his room. Her pale blue eyes bore into him, as if she thought she could see through his disguise if she stared hard enough.

“Of course I am,” Aunn said. “One changeling in this house is enough.”

“Kelas wouldn’t care if I slit this girl’s throat.”

Aunn had to will his heart into a steady rhythm. She was right—Kelas wouldn’t care. And a year ago, he wouldn’t have risked his disguise to save a servant’s life. He was a servant of the crown.

“What is his death,” Kelas demanded, “if Aundair is served by it? What does it matter if I die, if you die, if hundreds of soldiers march to their death, so long as Aundair remains?”

Laurann’s knuckles were white on the hilt of her dagger. The man—a Brelish spy, Kelas had said—stared up at her, pleading in his eyes
.

“You serve the crown!” Kelas shouted in her ear. “You are a Royal Eye of Aundair! You are not a person, you’re an eye, an appendage, a part of Aundair. The queen relies on you to do her work. Do it!”

The dagger cut quickly across the captured spy’s neck. For Aundair
.

“Neither would any spy worth a damn,” he said. “You prove nothing by doing it.” Please don’t, he thought. Not another life’s blood on my hands.

The spy hesitated, confused, and he saw the hand holding the knife relax ever so slightly. Aunn climbed another step, then the captive woman exploded in a blur of motion. Aunn heard bones crack as the knife changed hands, then blood sprayed him as the knife plunged into the first woman’s chest. Aunn watched her sink to the floor, waiting for her face to change in death, but it was the other woman who changed, smiling wickedly.

“Thank you,
Kelas,”
the changeling said. Then it was Haunderk’s face sneering at him, ridiculously perched atop a serving-girl’s smock.

Aunn’s heart pounded, refusing to be quieted. Who was this changeling who had stolen his face? Did he expect Kelas to believe he was Haunderk? Or was he taunting him somehow, trying to show that he saw through the Kelas disguise? Whatever he intended, he had demonstrated how dangerous he could be.