Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (26 page)

He peered through the window, gazing across the expanse of lawn and fields. Already servants cleaned and prepared the stands for the next competitions.

The Tournament closed in one week—a week until he wed, a week until he sent Cedric and the armies off to the Channel of Lise and Lismaria. He had split his fleet into three divisions, per Lanier's counsel, and he had plans to do the same with his armies, with Cedric heading the central body.

This time, the creatures would be going as well, and Sebastian had plans ... plans and more plans, but none of them did any good if he could not get Rennis to tell him where the maps were.

He slammed his palm against the table, cursing. Rennis would hold everything up, would tear apart all Sebastian's perfectly placed plans.

How had Nicholas Erlane turned Rennis, anyway? The thought made his spine prickle with a thousand points of fear as he remembered the many secret meetings in his council chambers with Lanier and Rennis and others. For years, Rennis had been faithful. Why had he turned?

Sebastian walked to the shelf of
taibe
books, his hands brushing the edges. The bindings were long since worn off; most of the pages were held together by ribbon and twine. It was here somewhere, the one he sought, but—ah, along the top shelf, pushed far back into near-obscurity, he found it.

He pulled the volume out and walked over to the table, opening it with a dull thud on the heavy oak. Dust motes flew into the air, shifting in the shaft of light from the window. Sebastian waved them aside and bent his head over the words.

Ancient script had faded and bled across the yellowed parchment, and it took several turns of the pages to find what he wanted.

He didn't know if it would work. It had been far too long since he'd practiced his
taibe
, and formulas like this one took patience and time, practice and more practice.

Well, he could practice. He had until the Tournament's end, and then it would have to be ready. He needed the truth serum before Rennis lost his tongue. Rennis could lead him to the scrolls even without his tongue, yes, but the steely determination with which his former court counselor had been enduring torture impressed even Sebastian. It was possible the man might resist leading him, or even try to deceive him, even after he lost his speaking parts. Or he might die in the process. Sebastian needed the truth serum to loosen Rennis' tongue.

He read through the list of ingredients. It was difficult, for most of the book was written in the Old Tongue. There was enough of a common semblance to the modern language that he could make out what it said with careful study, but it slowed him down considerably.

He would need to visit the kitchen for necessary herbs, and the stables would have to provide him with the horse intestines. He shook his head as he pored over the page, shuddering at the idea of the horrendous smell this serum was sure to unleash.

Well, he'd set his hand to the task, and he wouldn't turn back now. He'd never found this sort of thing pleasant, but the power that resulted from the practice had once captivated him ... before he'd found that controlling the creatures offered a more certain dominance, and he'd lost himself studying the Dragons and Trolls and Direwolves and Valkyries and myriads of other creatures that he could command through others.

Shouts outside the window drew his attention, and he straightened, striding to the opening.

Far to the south, a mass of his guards ran toward something. A large crowd had already gathered, but from this distance, he couldn't make out what the distraction was. He squinted, but it was no good. The sun's morning glare was too brilliant across the fields.

He strode across the room to the door and yanked it open, taking care to close it solidly behind him, turning the key in the lock before sliding it on its twine back up his wrist. He took the stairs two at a time to the main level of his palace.

Pomley was sprinting, actually sprinting, across the main entry hall when Sebastian turned the corner. His steward nearly flew right by him before he saw him and jerked to a stop. “Y—Your Grace,” he panted.

“Calm yourself, Pomley, whatever it is can wait until you've learned to breathe.”

Pomley nodded, but seemed agitated, his hands grasping his sides as he took huge gulps of air. In a moment, he was able to continue.

“Your Grace should come see this.”

Sebastian glanced at the open archway with an eyebrow raised. “What can have made my sedate steward go mad?” he asked, half joking. Pomley shook his head and hurried ahead of Sebastian, leading the way to the back terrace.

The huge crowd of guards and castle servants had grouped around something out there, but now that something moved closer to the palace. Sebastian began to see outlines here and there, glistening, reflective.

It was a Dragon. Not just any Dragon.

It was a Mirage.

K
inna could have cut
glass with the sharp edges of her nerves. Chennuh seemed anxious, too. His great head whipped from side to side, and it took all of Kinna and Ayden's soothing words to keep him from blasting the crowd with fire.

None of the crowd dared come too close, certainly, but they ranged in a wide circle all around the Dragon, and Chennuh quite obviously felt trapped.

Ayden gave the command for Chennuh to settle onto the ground. It took two repeats, so restless was the beast, but finally, he sank down, and Ayden launched himself free onto the earth to confront the mass of guards, groundskeepers and palace servants.

“Get back!” he shouted. “You're making him nervous.”

Chennuh's great wings punctuated Ayden's words with a single beat. People stumbled over themselves to back up.

Lincoln clung to the sharp fin in front of him, his face pale as he watched Chennuh's writhing neck. “He's going to blow, Kinna. Poof, firedust.”

“He's not going to blow, Linc.”

“It's been nice knowing you, just saying.”

Kinna narrowed her eyes and surveyed the crowd. More people were running their way, their fascination overcoming their fear. Near the ramparts of the palace that erupted through the city's skyline, a smidgen of bustle emerged from the garden below the terrace. A moment later, she could see several people approaching.

“Calm, Chennuh, be calm.” Her touch on the heated scales sent a tremor through the great beast, but his head stopped turning and held still as he looked alertly at the crowd.

The running figures grew larger, and soon, they pushed to the front of the mob.

There were six of them. Five wore the livery of the palace guards. One was dressed in a deep blue tunic and black boots. Auburn hair shaded his handsome face. His clear hazel eyes took in Chennuh's size and shape.

A jolt of recognition shot through Kinna. This was the boy, the one she had discovered in the barn back at home.

He hadn't seen her yet; Kinna allowed her hair to curtain both sides of her face.

Ayden's gloved hand touched Kinna's fingers. “Remember,” he said, his voice low, “here I am Rickard. Ayden of the Dragon Clan will have a death warrant.”

“Aye.” Kinna swallowed nervously. She rested her hand on Chennuh's scales, tension in her fingers. He stirred restlessly beneath her. Pulses of heat beat beneath the scales.

Ayden turned to the red-haired young man. “With whom do we speak about entering this Dragon in the lists?”

“That would be me, the Dragon-Master. But it is too late. The Tournament is half over, and the brackets have already been assigned.” His eyes barely flicked to Ayden as he spoke; he stared at Chennuh in awe. “Where did you find this magnificent beast?”

Ayden shrugged. “We've come a long way, Dragon-Master. Surely you can make room in your lists for another bracket?”

The Dragon-Master started to speak, but stopped when his gaze found Kinna. He jerked as if stung, recognition flashing across his face. Kinna summoned a smile to her lips.

A man pushed his way through the crowd, his white beard flung over his shoulder. “Pardon me,” he puffed as he arrived next to the red-haired Dragon-Master. “You are welcome to King Sebastian's palace, and he bids me invite you to enter his presence ... immediately.” The man pulled in his breath in great gasps as he fought for control.

Kinna's lips twisted in amusement.

“Aye,” she called from the Dragon's back. “And where shall we leave our creature?”

The Dragon-Master shook himself as he broke his stare at her face. Kinna was relieved; she felt like a specimen under intense scrutiny. “Leave him with me. I will take him to a holding den.”

Ayden's voice cut in. “We don't like to leave our Dragon in anyone's care but ours.”

The old man spoke up. “I can assure you...”

“No, he's right.” Kinna’s voice cut through the air. “Our Dragon is far too wild for any of you. Rickard will accompany you, Dragon-Master, to the den with Chennuh. Lincoln and I will proceed to see the King.”

Ayden looked up at Kinna, a shadow crossing his silver eyes. “I don't like it, Kinna.” His low voice stayed between the two of them.

“What could happen?” Kinna shrugged. “It will be fine. Lincoln will be with me, too.”

“Even Pixie magic can't always avert the most dangerous threats.” He neared Chennuh's side, looking up at her.

Kinna's mouth tightened as she leaned down close to talk to him. “And what of you, going with
him
down into the tunnels below the palace? How I do know you'll be all right?”

“I can take care of myself, but—”

“But I can't?”

“Kinna, please, just—”

“Just what?” Anger laced her words.

“Be careful.”

Kinna let out her breath with a soft sigh. She touched the tip of his glove with her fingers. “You, too.”

She and Lincoln slid off of Chennuh's back, and Ayden spoke calmly to Chennuh as he led him across the fields with the Dragon-Master and some of the guards. The crowd parted before them as if by magic.

Kinna turned to the man waiting for them. “Shall we go?”

“Aye, miss. This way, please.” He hurried through the dispersing crowd, jogging toward the palace, and Kinna had a hard time not laughing at him. He reminded her of a squirrel, darting here, there, but never resting, never stopping for longer than a split second to look, listen, and then hurry on again.

Lincoln's hand snagged Kinna's wrist. She turned, surprised to see the worry in his normally calm eyes. “What's the matter?”

“I don't think you should see the King.”

“Why ever not? We've come a long way for us to give up now.”

“I'm not saying you should give up. But I think Ayden should be the one to plead our case, not you.”

Kinna stared at the Pixie. “Obviously, Linc, Ayden's gone to take care of Chennuh, and anyway, the farther he stays from the King, the safer he'll be.” She glanced at the King's steward as he turned and motioned for them to keep up. Kinna quickened her steps. “If he were recognized for any reason, he'd be dead, and you know it.”

“Fine.” Lincoln ran a hand through his orange hair. “Then let me do it.”

Kinna sighed in frustration. “Linc, you can't. You know the King won't listen to anyone but a Dimn. I'm not saying it's right—I think you'd do a great job of presenting our case, but this is the way it has to be for now.”

Thoughts played across Lincoln's face. His footsteps dragged. “I still don't think you should,” he said stubbornly. “It's dangerous.”

Kinna's mouth tightened. “I'll be careful, Linc. Don't worry. I'm fairly sure I'm capable to handling myself.” Her tone left no room for argument.

“Just ... don't tell the King your name.” Under his breath, Lincoln added, “Stubborn wench.”

“Linc,” Kinna huffed, “will you ever grow up?”

“I believe I've done that long ago, m'lady. But in all my one hundred and forty-seven years, I have yet to run across a human who is as obstinate as you.”

Surprise elbowed past Kinna's frustration. “You're a hundred and forty-seven?”

Lincoln bowed again gracefully, no easy feat when they were striding long paces toward the palace.

“Aye, m'lady. I'll soon be hitting my prime, if only I would grow up.” His face was still tense.

Kinna rolled her eyes. “Do try to stay out of trouble, Linc.” As outrage crossed his face, she hurried up the steps to the terrace after the man, Lincoln keeping pace behind her.

T
he vast
, airy spaces of the palace's great hall overwhelmed Kinna. She looked at the arching ceiling, the lofts that lined the sides, the tapestries that covered the cold stone, the columns that disappeared into the darkness far above her. Torches lit the way between the columns, and the old man motioned them forward. “This way,” he said. “The King awaits.”

As they followed him, Kinna glanced over her shoulder. Palace guards had fallen into step behind them, moving them forward at a quick pace. They reached the double doors at the end of the hall, and the heavy panels opened for them.

At the far end of the hall, the King sat on his throne, his expression brooding and dark. Kinna screwed her resolve into place and took a deep breath.

“Courage,” Lincoln whispered. “You have a Pixie with you for protection.” He dropped an impish wink in her direction.

Together, they strode forward. The old squirrel-like man scurried toward the throne, and when he reached the King's dais, he bowed low before him. “I have bid them come, Your Grace. These two were on the back of the Mirage. The third has accompanied the Dragon-Master to the dens with the beast.”

Kinna stepped into a graceful curtsey, embarrassment shooting through her once again as she eyed the ragged tear in her gown.

“What are your names?” The King's voice was not unkind. Kinna allowed a glance at his face. It was handsome but hard. Dark eyes gleamed as they surveyed the two of them. Kinna's thoughts traveled back to the whispered rumors in the Pixie Clan.
He's mad
, they'd said.
They say he raped his sister-in-law.
Kinna gathered her courage.

“I am Kinna, and this is Lincoln, my friend.”

Lincoln drew in a sharp breath. At the same time, the King jerked on his throne, and Kinna took a step backward in surprise. The King's hard gaze traveled over her face to her feet and then traced back up again.

“Kinna, you say?” King Sebastian leaned forward, his hand cupping his beard, smoothing it. Kinna suddenly wished she had followed Linc's advice not to use her name. She couldn't understand the glinting thoughts in his eyes. After a long pause, the King spoke again. “How is it that a Pixie rides on the back of a Dragon?”

“It was no pleasant experience, Your Grace.” Lincoln's voice was riddled with tension. Kinna shot a glance at him, surprised to see the stiff line of his normally relaxed shoulders. “Had we any other choice, I would have walked.”

“Ah. And why did you feel you had no choice?”

“We wished to make it in time for the Tournament, Your Grace,” Kinna answered. “But I fear we are too late. Your Dragon-Master has told us that the brackets are set.”

The King made no response for or against her statement. He traced one ringed finger in a circle on the arm of his wooden throne as he stared at the two of them.

“Where did you find your Mirage?”

“In the Ridges of Rue, Your Grace.” Kinna hoped the white lie would pass inspection. The King had lost this very Mirage from the Dragon Clan, but he surely could not know that it was the same one. Mirage's were very rare, to be sure, but more than one could surely be caged. “His wing was torn nearly off, and we trained him.”

The King nodded thoughtfully as he continued to scrutinize her. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

“I see. So you are a Dragondimn?”

Kinna shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I come from the Pixie clan.”

“You will need to identify yourself.”

Something about the way the King spoke those soft words struck terror into Kinna's heart. She hadn't counted on this, hadn't even considered it. Over the winter, her Pixie identification mark had disappeared into her flesh, and not even a trace of it remained.

“I'm afraid my mark has faded, Your Grace.” Her voice came out in a whisper. Lincoln's hand closed over her wrist in a vise-grip. Panic sparked at his touch. It wasn't like him to be anything but relaxed.

Fear spread like liquid silver through her veins. The King's guards exchanged dark looks on either side of Sebastian's throne. The King's lips narrowed into a white line.

“You are a Pixiedimn, and therefore must know the law of this land,” the King spoke at last, gravity resting heavy on his face. “All persons must be able to show a mark of identification at any time.” He nodded to one of the guards behind Kinna. “Search her.”

“She is not from this land, Your Grace.” Lincoln's quick words stayed the guard's grab of Kinna's wrist. “She is from Lismaria.”

The King's eyebrows arched, and rising, he descended the steps to stand directly in front of them. “A spy then.”

“Do you naturally assume that all guests who cross your borders are spies?” Lincoln's question sounded impudent to Kinna, and apparently, it did to the King as well.

A look from the King to his guards pulled the Pixie into their grips. He struggled while the King surveyed Kinna. He grasped the collar of her dress and yanked, exposing her shoulder. Then he yanked down the other shoulder. Tearing fabric told her a seam had ripped.

Angry, humiliated tears gathered in the corners of Kinna's eyes. She held still as the King surveyed her shoulders and back, searching for any trace of a mark.

He let go of her and stepped back. “I assume all guests who cross my border from Lismaria when we are on the eve of war are spies. Lismarian or no,” he breathed, anger tingeing his voice, “Pixiedimn do not train Dragons.”

“Your Grace, I—”

“Take them to the dungeons.”

“The dungeons! Your Grace—”

The King's voice thundered through the hall. “Did you mistake the fact that I am the King of West Ashwynd? Are you not now standing in my very palace? Is it not an edict in this country that all citizens show the mark of their Clan? If you are indeed from Lismaria, you had better have papers to show it. In the meantime, you will spend your time in my dungeons.”

“Please, you don't understand!”

“Take them away.” The King's gaze burned furiously at her, and after a moment, he turned his back. Guards gripped Kinna's arms, dragging her backward as the King returned to his throne, his dark-eyed stare following them until the double doors slammed on his shadowy form.

Kinna and Lincoln twisted like wild cats, but the grips were too strong, and the stairs to the dungeons were a path to their eternal prison, or so it felt to Kinna.

Their cell doors locked with finality, and Kinna stared at Lincoln through the bars.

“I'm sorry, m'lady,” he whispered as he picked straw from his orange hair where it had tangled when the guards threw him to the ground. “We'll get out of this somehow.”

Kinna leaned against the bars, gathering what little heat she could from Lincoln's form in the adjacent cell. They both shivered with tension whenever they heard the noises down the hall—doors clanging open or closed.