The Dragon Heir (5 page)

Madison leaned forward,
clutching her skirts in her fists. “He's always falling asleep in school.
Plus, he missed a lot of school back in the fall, when he was so sick.” And
whose fault was that? “I didn't think you were allowed to work
somebody to death like this. I guess there aren't any child labor laws for
wizards.”

Snowbeard lifted a teacup from
the side table and took a long swallow. He set it back on the saucer with
trembling hands, china clattering against china. “My dear, I am … sorry.
Although he is young, he is the most powerful wizard we have at our disposal,
aside from his father and me. Iris is willing, but she just isn't strong enough
to manage the boundary for long. It's incredibly draining. There are others who
are not particularly trustworthy. Most wizards have sided with the Roses or
D'Orsay. Many of the Dragon partisans don't consider the sanctuary to be a
priority, now that the war's broken out.”

“But you do.”

“I think we need a place
of safety, yes, or we'll be ground to dust between the stones of wizard
ambition. Have you noticed that the town is full of gifted refugees?”

Of course she'd noticed. These
were well-educated people, people with money, gifted artists who moved into
shops around the square. The Wizard Houses considered them rebels for their
refusal to support the war. And the more non-wizard Weir crowded in, the more
Trinity seemed like a target. Which didn't fit in with Madison's plans at all.

She sat next to Seph with her
back against the hearth, conscious of maintaining some small space between
them. The snow from her boots melted into puddles on the hardwood floor.
“I wish you wouldn't let all those people in here.”

“You can hardly blame
them for seeking sanctuary,” Nick said. “Wizards are snatching up the
non-wizard Weir all over the world, recruiting them for the war effort. They
need sorcerers to build weaponry, warriors to wield it, seers to look into the
future and plan strategy, enchanters for espionage purposes.”

He sighed. “This can only
spell disaster. For centuries, wizards haven't dared to openly war on each
other, for fear of breaking the Covenant and rousing the dragon that sleeps in
Raven's Ghyll. I suppose wizards don't believe in dragons—or the Covenant—anymore.” The old man's voice
trailed off.

Madison struggled to keep the
skepticism off her face. Dragons. Right. There were plenty of real-life
monsters to fight.

Madison looked down at Seph.
His face was a work of art that required intensive study. She was glad to be
able to do it when he wasn't looking back with those green eyes that missed
nothing. She resisted the temptation to trace his cheekbones and strong nose
with her forefinger. If Seph had some kind of reaction in front of Nick, it
would be all over for sure.

She'd met Seph for the first
time on the Lake Erie beach. He'd been hanging around her for days, watching
her in that entitled, rich boy, wizardly way. Like he could crook a finger and
she'd come running. She'd had enough of that from Brice Roper back home.

But Brice was simple—beneath that handsome surface he was about an inch
deep. There was a complexity in Seph that fascinated her. His eyes were like
the green, shaded pools of Booker Creek that changed with the light. Though he
was young, his face already bore traces of history and loss. She'd sketched him
repeatedly, trying to capture his intensity and power with line and color.

When Seph saw her drawings,
when he realized she saw the magic in him, he'd thought she was working for the
Roses. He'd used Persuasion on her, the power sizzling through his fingers.
She'd drawn in his magic, rich and sweet, and he'd fallen, stunned, to the
sand. For days afterward, she'd felt giddy, like she'd drunk from some magical
cup of joy.

So different from now. She
shuddered.

Nick cleared his throat. She
looked up from her reverie  to  find the  old man watching her. Min  always said Madison's
face was transparent as glass.

She stumbled into speech.
“I was supposed to help him with an art project that's due tomorrow. He's
way behind on all his work, and he won't have enough credits for graduation, if
he doesn't pass his courses. He…” Her voice trailed off. Nick was staring
into the distance, his weathered face drawn down into long lines of guilt and
sorrow.

“What about when he goes
away to school?” she said softly. It will be better when he goes away, she
told herself. You won't have to see him every day.

“To be truthful, my dear,
I'm not sure he should leave the sanctuary at all. It might put him in
danger.”

“But why would they go
after him? He's just seventeen!”

“Wizard politics,”
Nick replied. “He's a target, by virtue of who he is. This is not the kind
of conflict in which it is possible to remain neutral. Most wizards hate his
father for supporting the other guilds against the Wizard Houses. And now that
they know that Linda is one of the masterminds of the rebellion…” Nick
shrugged. “They've been recruiting him furiously, you know. The Roses.
D'Orsay. Making all sorts of offers I'm not supposed to know about.”

“Do they really think he
would … go over to the dark side?” Madison's cheeks burned as the blood
rushed to her face.

“Based on usual wizard
practice, they assume it's a matter of price, or leverage.” Nick rubbed
the side of his nose with his forefinger. “He's made an impression.
D'Orsay and Leicester would have won at Second Sister, had it not been for Seph
and Jason…and you, my dear,” he finished, delicately.

At Second Sister, she'd seen
wizards casting spells and conjuring images of dragons, and doing murder with
magic. She'd seen Seph flinging flame from his fingertips, battling for his
life. Had seen the greedy Wizard Houses circling when they realized how
powerful he was.

She'd finally understood the
stakes. And now she saw nothing ahead but catastrophe. She was no good for
Seph. He was no good for her. Madison had to get away from this magical
business. She had to. She reached up and fingered Min's opal, hanging from a
chain around her neck. “Do not mess with magic,” Min had said.
“It's meant nothing but trouble for our family.”

The old wizard cleared his
throat. “You know, Madison, given your gifts, you could have a role to
play.”

“No!” Madison was
suffocating, her lungs clamping down on each breath. “This is not my
fight. I'm not a member of any of your guilds or Houses or … or anything.”
She folded her arms across her chest, tucking her hands away. “There's no
magic in me.” She closed her mouth firmly on the lie.

“We don't really
understand what happened when Leicester and his linked wizards flamed you. Did
the power just…dissipate, or…”

“It really doesn't
matter, does it? The point is, I don't want to be part of this.”

She'd come to Trinity to shake
off the taint of magic. And yet it seemed to coalesce about her wherever she
went.

“My dear Madison,”
Nick said, and paused, clearly unused to this sort of persuasion. “We
could use your help. We wouldn't ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable
with. Hastings and I could work with you to…” His voice trailed off when
he saw Madison's expression.

“I want to be the first
in my family to go to college. By the end of this semester, I'll have a year of
credits. But, it's all I can do to get my schoolwork done and get in my hours
at the Legends.”

She glanced at her watch and
groaned. “I have to go. I'm late already, and I need this job.”
Shifting up onto her knees, she unfastened her portfolio and pulled out a
matted charcoal sketch, the one from Magic Hands. It was Trinity Square at
dusk, snow sifting down through the great trees, puddles of lamplight and
shadow on the snow-covered grass.

It was not what Seph wanted
from her, but it was something. A small offering that represented a dream she
had, once.

“When Seph wakes up,
could you give this to him? Tell him it's from me.”

She stood, zipped up her coat,
and stashed her portfolio back under her arm. On the way down the driveway, she
kicked the brick wall that lined the garden.

Jason preferred the snows of
Cumbria to the winter rains of London. It was only a brief splash across a
cobbled street from the cab to the pub, but he still got drenched to the skin.
He ducked beneath a wooden sign bearing the legend, THE PENNY WHISTLE and into
a gloomy interior that smelled of tobacco, malt, and decades of fried fish. It
was an old place, with brick floors and a tin ceiling. Tom the bartender
claimed the building dated from the 1600s.

Nodding to Tom and holding up
two fingers, Jason passed through the pub and into a private room in the back.
Tom never carded him. The drinking age for wizards was kind of flexible. Like
in medieval days.

The fireplace in the back room
shared a chimney with the hearth in the front. With a gesture, Jason kindled
the heavy logs on the grate and sat at the table nearest the hearth. He set his
backpack on the floor between his feet, feeling jumpy as a terrorist with a
bomb hidden under his chair. Totally aware of the hot proximity of the stone.

A few minutes later, Tom set
two pints of dark ale in front of Jason.

“Thanks, Tom.”
Closing his eyes, concentrating, Jason forced the water from his clothing.

“You're steaming.”

Jason opened his eyes to find
Tom gone and Hastings standing over him. He must have fallen asleep. He'd not
really slept since hiking out of the ghyll, save a few accidental minutes on
the train.

Hastings could ghost around
like a demon. Sometimes it seemed the wizard could walk through walls. Rubbing
his gritty eyes, Jason looked around. The door to the outer bar was shut, and
the borders of the room had the smudgy look of magical barriers. They were secure.

Hastings sat down across from
him and studied him from under heavy black brows. It was spooky how much
Hastings and Seph favored each other, with their thick, curling hair, high
cheekbones, prominent noses and green eyes (though Seph's eyes tended to change
color hour to hour and day to day, no doubt courtesy of his enchanter mom).

“These both for me?”
Hastings asked wryly, inclining his head toward the pints on the table.

“One's for you.”
Jason shoved one glass in Hastings direction and reached for the other.

Hastings gripped Jason's wrist
before he could raise the glass to his lips. “Not a good idea. You need to
stay sharp. Just because you can get away with something doesn't mean
you should.”

You like your pints,
Jason thought, but knew better than to say it. He shrugged and let go of the
glass. “Bloody filthy weather, as the locals say.”

“Pronounce it more like
blue-dy,” Hastings corrected him, taking full possession of Jason's pint.
“You still sound American.”

Must've saved up lectures
while I was gone. “I am American.”

“It makes you stand out.
It makes people remember you.”

Hastings just didn't get it.
Jason wanted to be remembered.

“Where have you been? I
told you to stay put.” Hastings was never one to waste time on
pleasantries.

There was no point in holding
out on Hastings. He'd have it out of him soon enough, anyway.

“I decided to check out
Raven's Ghyll.”

“You what?” The
wizard didn't raise his voice, but it seemed loud just the same.

“You were gone. I had
some time.” Jason took a breath and forced himself to look into Hastings's
eyes.

“I told you to watch and
let me know if Jessamine Longbranch returned to London. That was your
assignment.”

“That's make-work,”
Jason protested. “Her place has been shut up for months. There was nothing
to do.”

“Oh?” Hastings
lifted an eyebrow. “She's been back now for at least three days. And I
have no idea what's gone on since her return.”

“Wylie was there
yesterday. And a bunch of others. They've been meeting every day.” Jason
slid a paper across the table at Hastings. “I … um…persuaded the neighbors
to keep track while I was gone.”

Hastings tapped his long
fingers on the battered tabletop. “I did not give this assignment to the
neighbors. What did you hope to accomplish? In Raven's Ghyll, I mean.”

“Well. Everyone's afraid
to go in—the Roses, the—ah— everybody.”
Jason focused on the table. He'd been arguing for an attempt on the ghyll since
he'd arrived in London, and Hastings had refused.

“We've discussed that.
You knew the ghyll was likely to be heavily fortified. There was little to gain
and a lot to lose by going in. If you'd been captured, the consequences would
have been dire. I've been to the cellar of Raven's Ghyll Castle, and it's not a
place I'd want to revisit.”

“I figured that one
person, alone, could probably slip in unnoticed.”

“And did you? Slip in
unnoticed?”

I bet he already knows the
answer to that, Jason thought. He cleared his throat. “No. They—ah—noticed.”

“So what happened?”

“Well. It was like
kicking an anthill. He has an army up there, and they all turned out. I went
unnoticeable and headed for the hold.”

Hastings frowned. “You
should have left immediately when you knew you were outed.”

Right. I bet you'd have
stormed the castle with your bare hands, Jason thought. “I figured that's
what they would expect me to do.” He realized his foot was jittering and
consciously stilled himself. “Then D'Orsay—or somebody— flooded the ghyll with Luciferous mist.”

Hastings swore. “You're
certain? I didn't think anyone still knew how to make it.”

“It was that, or
something like it. I left off making for the castle and headed for higher
ground. I climbed up Ravenshead as far as the Weirstone. Then there was this
earthquake.”

“And fire and pestilence
as well, I suppose,” Hastings said dryly.

“Ha. Anyway, a big crack
opened up on Ravenshead, just below the Weirstone. I hid there until the mist
cleared.” Jason lit a cigarette, connecting on the second try, then blew
out a stream of smoke.

“Were you seen? Were you
recognized?” Hastings waved away the smoke, making no effort to hide his
disapproval of Jason in general and his smoking in particular.

Jason hesitated. “I was
seen,” he admitted. “I don't think I was recognized.”

“If you were seen, you
will be identified. You made quite an impression at Second Sister.”
Hastings slammed his hand down on the table. “Despite your unrelenting
thirst for confrontation, going after D'Orsay doesn't really help us. At least
he diverts the Roses' attention. We need to get hold of the Covenant and
destroy it before someone tries to ram it down our throats.”

“What if D'Orsay has the
Covenant?” Jason countered stubbornly. After all, the former Master of
Games had disappeared from the ill-fated meeting on the island of Second Sister
along with the document the guilds had signed under duress.

“Maybe he does,”
Hastings growled. “But I don't think so. Else he'd have called in his
allies and held a big ceremony in the ghyll consecrating the document and
declaring himself ruler over all of us.”

“I didn't find the
Covenant, all right? But there's this.” Jason lifted the backpack from
between his feet, unzipped it, and dumped the contents onto the table—everything except the opal and its stand, which were
hidden in the side pocket. He hadn't exactly decided whether to share that with
Hastings.

Hastings looked down at the
loot on the table and up at Jason, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

“I found this stuff in a
cave behind the Weirstone.”

Hastings raked through the
mixture of gems and jewelry and magical artifacts on the battered wooden table,
held some of them up to the light so he could read their inscriptions, looked
up more than once as if to make sure the door remained secure.

It seemed that, for once,
Jason had impressed the unimpressible Leander Hastings.

Finally, Hastings spoke.
“Is this all of it?”

Jason shook his head. “It
was all I could carry out. The mountain was still unstable. The entrance caved
in around me as I was leaving,” he added. Why did he always feel like he
had to defend himself?

“Do you think D'Orsay
knew about these things?”

“Nah.” Jason shook
his head. “It looked like nothing had been touched in centuries. Plus, I
mean, wouldn't he have used this already, what with the fix he's in?”

“How did you decide? What
to take, that is.”

Jason shrugged. “My mom
taught me a lot about amulets and talismans. So I chose the pieces that seemed
most powerful, either by their inscriptions or the—you know—the vibes. I took mostly magical pieces.
Plus a sword,” he added.

The wizard's head came up.
“A sword?”

“I left it back in my
room. I didn't think I should cart it through the streets of London. It was
hard enough smuggling it down here on the train.” He'd used a golf bag.
Come to think of it, a ski bag would have been more in keeping with the season.

“Right,” Hastings
said, taking natural command. “Let's pack these things up.” He
reached for the backpack.

Jason held on to it. “Oh,
yeah. I almost forgot. There's this other thing.” Jason fumbled in the
front pocket, pulled out the opal and handed it to Hastings.

The wizard weighed the bag in
his hand, then undid the drawstring and dumped the opal out onto the tabletop,
corralling it with his arms. The faint glow from the stone threw the wizard's
planed face into high relief.

“What is this?”
Hastings whispered.

“It's a sefa, I
guess,” Jason replied. “I thought maybe you could teach me how to use
it.”

Now that it was free of its
velvet covering, the stone seemed to yank at his insides. Images of a broken
landscape brushed his consciousness, like wings. A seductive voice whispered in
his ear, but he couldn't make out the words.

Hastings quickly put the stone
back in its bag, drawing tight the cord. “We've got to get this … all of
this … to a safe place. And that's nowhere in Britain.”

Jason was pleased by
Hastings's reaction, but confused by his words. “What do you mean?
Why?”

Hastings didn't respond
immediately. He sat thinking, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, green eyes
glittering in the firelight.

“We'll take this lot to
Trinity,” he announced finally. “It's the safest place, because we're
already maintaining a boundary around the sanctuary, and no one will ask
questions about increased security.”

“Trinity?” Jason
squinted at Hastings. “I thought you and I could use some of this stuff to
go after D'Orsay. And the Covenant.”

“Claude D'Orsay is not
our first priority,” Hastings said, biting off each word. “I want
Nick Snowbeard to take a look at these things. And Seph, since he's involved in
maintaining security in Trinity.”

Seph. Of course. Jason fought
down a surge of jealousy.

“I thought maybe we could…”
Jason began, but Hastings raised a hand to shut him up.

“I'd like to see the
sword, but I don't think we can risk being seen together. Go straight back,
collect the sword, and catch the first plane back to the States.”

Jason's weary mind stumbled.
“You want me to carry this stuff back to Trinity myself?”

“Well, yes,”
Hastings replied, as if Jason was impossibly slow. “It has to be you. The
fewer people who know about this, the better.”

“But I don't want to go
back,” Jason protested. “Give me another chance, and I know I can get
into the ghyll on my own. If I can't find the Covenant, I'll look for the
hoard. Maybe I can get back into the cave.”

“You'll never get in
again, especially not after a failed attack.”

“Who else is going to do
it? You? Everybody knows who you are. Everybody knows your face. You won't get
within miles of the ghyll. The Roses will murder you, even if you're supposed
to be their ally against D'Orsay.”

“I am not allied with the
Roses,” Hastings said stiffly. “Even if our interests temporarily
coincide, we'll end up fighting them in the end.”

“So this is what I get
for failing,” Jason said bitterly. “I'm out.”

Hastings drained his glass and
slammed it back down on the table. “This is what you get for taking a foolish
chance for no good reason. Do you think your face isn't known? D'Orsay's
no fool. Do you think I advise a nondescript appearance because I'm a bloody conservative?You're
overconfident, Jason, and you're flamboyant and careless, and that combination is
going to get you killed. I don't want to be responsible for the mess you leave
behind.”

This was ironic coming from a
man who had one of the most memorable faces and personages of anyone Jason had
ever known. Whose daring escapades were legendary.

Jason leaned across the table.
“Listen to me. I'll lose the earring.” He touched his earlobe.
“I'll lose the plumage.” He sluiced his fingers through his bleached
hair. “I'll wear a bloody tweed and ascot if that's what you want. Just let
me stay and work with you.”

Hastings sighed. “Don't
think this means it's all gone wrong.” He rested his hand on the backpack.
“This is a tremendous find. Sometimes I'm not very…liberal with
compliments.”

“I don't want
compliments. I want to stay here. I want to do something.”

“And I want someone I can
trust to take these things back to Trinity before D'Orsay manages to track us
down. Do you think he's not looking?” Hastings sat back, extending his
long legs. “It's not enough to do something. It's important to do
the right thing.”

“I know it is,”
Jason said, trying not to sound sullen. “But nothing's going to happen in
Trinity.”

“Don't be too sure. I
have a feeling that the pieces you found are important. The battle may well
turn on them.”

“Then why take them to
Trinity? You'll put the whole town in danger.”

“That is exactly why no
one must discover where they are. And, bear in mind: if we lose this war,
Trinity will be destroyed along with' everything else.”