The Broken Dragon: Children of the Dragon Nimbus #2 (18 page)

“I . . . I don’t know.” Ariiell looked up with that thought. Bewilderment clouded her eyes. “I was very young and alone. She didn’t love me enough to stay, to help me learn magic properly, to explain
anything
to me. No one loves me . . .”

“Was she trying to hide her talent?” Val prodded.

“I guess. I was young, not quite eight when she . . . when it happened.”

“Did she try to teach you anything about controlling your talent?”

“No. I remember her saying that revealing that I could light candles and levitate food from the kitchens with only a thought would brand me a witch and I’d be burned for it. She did tell me to find a way to block out people’s random thoughts.”

“Wise woman. Women possessing talent is more accepted now. But according to my history lessons, at the time, any woman who could do those things was considered evil, traitorous, in league with Simurgh.” She named the red-tipped dragon from before the time of the Stargods. The beast had developed a taste for human meat, not bothering to cook it with his natural fire or to wait until his prey was fully dead before eating. The Dragon Nimbus had outlawed Simurgh. Ever since then, his name had been used as a curse.

“But I continued playing with my little tricks and Mother killed herself because of it.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“What?” Ariiell opened her eyes wide. A brief glimmer of hope crossed her face then died aborning.

“Think about it,” Val advised.

“I have and I know I’m responsible. I have to apologize to my father for killing my mother.”

“No, you don’t. He needs to apologize to you for blaming you, for using your guilt to control you.”

“He wouldn’t . . .”

“He did. And he sold you to the Coven.”

“But . . .”

“You were only fifteen. You could not have met The Simeon unless your father introduced you. You did not run away with a charming man on your own. Your father sent you with him.”

“I don’t remember . . .”

“You have buried that memory along with many other horrible ones. Both your father and The Simeon needed you guilty and submissive, blaming yourself for all that happened afterward. They used you.”

“Why? What could the Coven offer my father? He’s a powerful lord. He controls a wealthy province and has the ear of the king.”

“King Darville was recently married at the time. He consulted his wife, Queen Rossemikka, more than his lords. Your father’s grip on power at court was slipping. Your brother was lost at sea. You were all he had left. A girl who couldn’t inherit.”

“A girl with a magical talent,” Ariiell finished the thought. “I was his tool of alliance with the Coven. But what could they offer him?”

“Regency for your son. Mardall has royal blood, but a malformed mind. His child, your child, carries that same royal blood as the king’s aunt, Lady Lynetta. King Darville has only daughters, who can’t inherit either. Kill the king and who is next in line? A grandson of the king’s aunt? Lord Laislac was promised regency, with the Coven as his chief advisers.” Val was guessing at this. She knew bits and pieces of it based on lessons and morality tales. But it was the only logical explanation that combined all those elements.

“They promised me the regency. All I had to do was seduce an idiot who didn’t know what he was doing.”

“It must have been terribly embarrassing to you. To have others tell you what to do with your body.”

“After what The Simeon did to me, in full view and participation of the Coven, Mardall was sweet and gentle. I did it because my body, my life, and my soul, were no longer mine. I was a slave to the Coven.”

“Bought and paid for.”

“Yes!” Anger flushed Ariiell’s face for the first time. An honest emotion generated by herself, not what others expected of her. “I want to talk to my father. Set up the summons.”

“What are you going to ask him?” Val grabbed a fine white porcelain bowl to fill with water for the spell.

“I need to know why he summoned me home after leaving me to rot in that tower for fifteen years. I need to know who he has sold me to this time.”

In ten minutes they had their answer. Through the medium of water in a silver bowl and a fine beeswax candle set up by his magician adviser, Lord Laislac nearly bounced in his enthusiasm. “I’ve arranged a marriage between you, my beloved daughter, and King Lokeen of the city-state Amazonia,” he chortled.

L
ILLIAN LOOKED AT
the juncture in the road with dismay. The path to the west forked gently to the right, staying wide, straight, and easy across the gently undulating prairie. Val’s path. Lily certainly hoped her twin’s journey remained easy and free of obstacles. The South Road, however, the one Lily must take, narrowed and began to wander around hills and boulders the size of a house. A long ridgeline stretched east to west. Once past it, she would be fully out of sight of Val’s half of the caravan. Would she be out of mind as well as out of sight? Was this road merely a reflection of the changing landscape? Or ominous portent?

Maybe Lily’s imagination made the worst of the situation.

Within hours Valeria would travel farther away from Lillian than just across the Clearing, or the city, or the other end of the long caravan.

Would their telepathic connection stretch that far? Was Lily’s magical talent truly strong enough to receive a summons through her tiny shard of copper-banded glass, a bowl of water, and a candle flame? Even from Val?

Valeria wrapped her arms around Lillian, clutching her back with fingers that dug deep into her flesh, almost like a raptor’s talons. Or a cat’s.

“I’ll scry for you as soon as the sun sets,” Val said on a gulp.

“I’ll be waiting,” Lillian said, barely choking the words out.

“Remember to keep watch for the cat and the weasel. I have to report them to Da. Eventually. If they do more than follow us.”

“Of course. What . . . what are we to do with them? We can’t just let them run free.”

“I expect Da will tell me to kill them. Especially if they show signs of transforming.”

Lillian almost choked at the thought. “We don’t have the right to kill anything, not animals, not anything!” Mama had drilled that into them over and over. Mama hadn’t eaten meat, not even fish, since before she met Da. She said she couldn’t bear the thought of eating something that had lived, even if someone else took the life. “Krej and Rejiia were once humans with minds and souls.” They still had the essence of life and intelligence.

“They are evil. They can’t be allowed to endanger anyone again. Not ever. If you knew . . .”

Suddenly Lily’s mind filled with the horrific images of Ariiell’s initiation into the Coven. Rejiia had been there. Had taken a burning brand from the fire and applied it to Ariiell’s naked skin with delight!

More images.

“Stargods, why did they make her suffer so?” Lily shuddered and buried her face in her twin’s shoulder to block out any more secondhand pain.

“They needed to use her to gain political power, to exploit this land and our people through terror for their own pleasure. No one would benefit from their rule except themselves. They knew if they hurt her enough she would either will herself into death or release her magic full force. They found the torture and rape of an innocent more pleasant than we would . . . find petting a kitten.” Val clung tighter.

(They will kill the dragons. All of the dragons, for they know we would block their attempts to rule,)
the sad voice of Shayla, the dragon matriarch, whispered into the back of Lily’s mind. Shayla had been a victim of Krej when he ensorcelled her into a glass statue.

“We can’t allow the Coven to gain power. Ever again. And if that means killing a cat and a weasel, we have to do it.”

“I don’t think I can.” Lily imagined a black field of nothingness to blot out the persistent images.

“You’ll have to if they approach you or Skeller again.”

Lily nodded mutely. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t think about it. But she had to protect Skeller. And Graciella. Both were vulnerable. . . .

“Watch your back, Lily. And be careful.” Val’s last words took on a desperate tearfulness.

“You too. I think our enemies are more likely to follow you than me,” Lillian said. With something outside her own misery to focus on she could speak while her tears slowed. By naming them enemy she could contemplate their demise. But not by her hand.

A blaring of horns and snorting of steeds signaled the beginning of the end of their . . . closeness.

Lillian vowed they would always be together, little more than a thought away. She should look on their separation as the beginning of an opportunity to learn to be herself. To seek out friendships, and perhaps even to flirt more openly with Skeller, to playfully bring him to the conclusion that magic was beautiful and natural, was useful. And important. Without Val’s constant disapproval, maybe she had a chance to let that tentative liking grow into something more.

Maybe Skellar would kiss her again.

“Remember to chip away at Lady Ariiell’s knot in her head. She’s healed a lot already. But there is more locked up in there. I know it. She’s not strong enough yet to know what it means to be herself,” she advised Val for lack of other words to fill the impending gap between them.

“And you remember to find Lady Graciella’s biggest fear and help her face it before she goes crazy and gets locked in a tower,” Val said into Lily’s ear as they clung together a moment more.

Other travelers flowed around them, impatient with their overlong leave-taking. A drover snorted in disapproval as he urged the team supporting Lady Graciella’s litter forward on the South Road.

Lillian stiffened her spine and sniffed back a new spate of tears. “Your lady is already half a mile along the West Road,” she whispered to Val. “You’ll have to run to catch up.”

“At the speed of these lazy steeds I need only walk a little faster than normal. But Lady Ariiell will miss me. She’s grown quite dependent upon me, afraid of those who stalk her, and of herself.”

“Lady Graciella seems quite friendly when we talk about restoring the gardens and teaching the castle cook how to use better herbs in his recipes. But any time I try to get her talk about herself, she feigns sleep.”

“Is it feigned? Or does she escape from her memories?” Val asked, pulling away but still holding Lillian’s hand.

“That remains to be seen. Take care of yourself, Val. Remember to sleep. And to eat, even when nothing tastes good or you think you are too tired to eat.”

“The same to you. And be cautious of the bard. He can’t be trusted. He’s foreign. He knows nothing of magic or dragons. He’s too pretty.” With grim determination she turned her back on her twin and headed toward her lady.

Lillian did the same.

“Now you can learn to be yourself and not a reflection of her,” Skeller said, coming up beside her.

“It will be nice to travel at the head of the caravan and not have to eat the dust of the other half,” she replied, putting an extra arm’s-length between them and moving a bit faster toward Lady Graciella’s litter. Maybe Val was right. Maybe she shouldn’t trust this man who disapproved of her twin. Her other half.

A flash of agreement crossed her mind from Val.

“It’s only the truth,” Skeller said louder, more defensive. He made up the distance between them in two long strides.

“How can you say that! Val is my twin. We are the same person stretched between two bodies.” She stopped and stamped her foot, anger at him replacing the deep emptiness in her belly.

“Twins?” He stared at her, mouth gaping.

“Of course. It’s obvious to everyone else.”

“No, it’s not. She looks a lot like you, but you are . . .” He paused to scan her figure with a faint grin of approval. “You’re more mature in mind and body. She’s a wispy teenager where you are a woman.”

“I am?” A pleasing warmth tamed the roil in her middle. “But . . . but she’s smarter and. . . .” How could she admit that Val had more than enough magical talent for both of them? In the eyes of her family, that meant Lily was as broken in mind as Val was in body. Together they were one whole person. Apart . . . “She’s been ill. A lot,” she added, a lame excuse, not admitting any of her own fears and inadequacies.

“But she still forces you to walk in her shadow. The same shadow she casts under Lady Ariiell’s litter.”

“She told me not to trust you. Now I see why. You . . . you’re trying to subvert us, to break our family apart!”

“No I’m not. I’m trying to get to know you better. Trying to harmonize my song with yours. That’s the only way I can understand the weirdness going on here.”

“Is that what you call it?” She raised her eyebrows in skepticism, wishing she could lift just one in that sarcastic look Glenndon and the king had perfected.

“For now.”

“Learn to sing with dragons and then we’ll talk.” She flounced off to join Lady Graciella, her charge and her responsibility.

Secretly, she smiled.

Mikk rotated his shoulders trying to ease the itch in the center of his back. He felt as if someone followed him as he crept through the dusty and cobwebby stacks of books seeking a lesson in magic. He now knew the story of how the Stargods had found energy within the Kardia and in the air. Gradually they had invented ways to heighten their concentration, with repeated words—Kimmer of the South called them mantras, University-trained magicians called them spells. Mikk needed to figure out how to harness the energy and create magic with it.

Lighting a candle with only his mind was still difficult, but becoming easier and more reliable.

He’d practiced staring into a candle flame for hours on end; felt the tingle of power in his toes and fingertips; visualized lifting a quill with only his mind. But he hadn’t been able to connect the tingle to the quill, or seen beyond the flame into the distance outside the four walls of his room.

None of the books leaped into his hands or even nudged his fingertips as the first one had. And yet the pervasive irritation along his spine, through his nape and into his popping ears told him he was missing something. Something important.

Perhaps the dragons were telling his restless feet and eyes to seek help. Glenndon. He needed to find Glenndon and start asking questions.

He dusted off his tunic as best he could after leaving the archives. No sense in attempting to correct his dishevelment until he was free of the debris from neglect that filled the air.

Fortunately Lady Miri did not await him at the foot of the stairs, ready to pounce and manipulate him into disclosing secrets about Prince Glenndon. He could proceed to his room without risking his image as a dashing and elegant courtier.

Something more than dust, mold, and cobwebs filled the air today. The tip of his tongue tasted metallic, and the light, barely visible beyond the arrow-slit windows of the tower, had a strange coppery tint to it. And he couldn’t stop wiggling his fingers in an arcane pattern that tried to weave the air into a brighter and lighter tapestry.

Glenndon would know what was going on. Glenndon knew everything.

Mikk did pause in his room long enough to change his plain linen tunic to a more formal blue and gold brocade. He couldn’t bring himself to call upon the Crown Prince in anything less, no matter how casual the visit.

“Geon,” he called his servant, clerk, and bodyguard away from his moody stare out the parlor window toward the eastern horizon and the Bay. Glenndon had a different man for each function, but then he was a step closer to the throne than Mikk.

Geon shook himself free of his brooding thoughts and turned slowly, stiffly, to face Mikk. His gaunt face remained pale and bland, but his eyes almost glowed with fervent excitement. Then he blinked and returned to his normal impassivity.

Must be a trick of the strange coppery light.

“Geon, would you please knock on Price Glenndon’s door and request an appointment for me, as soon as possible?” Mikk tried imitating the authoritative voice that came naturally to the king while maintaining an air of politeness. As if Geon actually had a choice in obeying the order.

The tall and slender man with prematurely gray, receding hair bowed and retreated out the door without a word. Geon never said much. Sometimes Mikk wondered if his cheeks had collapsed from continuously biting back rude retorts.

“Well?” Mikk demanded when Geon returned scarcely one hundred breaths later. He knew because he’d counted them during his frequent practice of deep, controlled breathing. Geon’s blank countenance hadn’t changed.

“Forgive me, sir, but His Highness seems to have quitted the palace some time ago.” Geon bowed again and took the first step toward the window.

“Where did he go?” Mikk asked.

Geon stopped in mid-stride, opened his mouth, closed it, then breathed deeply before speaking again. “I am sorry, sir. I do not know.” Nor did he care, obviously, or he might show some emotion.

“Do you know when he left?” Mikk prodded.

“No, sir. He took his cap and cloak.” This time Geon made it to his silent observation post before Mikk could think up another question.

Something was different about the man today. He seemed outlined in a copper-colored glow. Maybe it was the strange light beneath gathering storm clouds. Or maybe Mikk could finally see an aura. An aura that spiked and expanded as he watched.

Mikk tapped his foot in indecision. The air seemed heavier than before, making it difficult to draw a full breath. His mind wanted to shut down. Maybe he should take his boots off and . . .