26. Dimitri
26
It teased him. Dimitri had lost count of the days. Sunset blended into sunrise, one after another after another, before he finally found some trace of what he sought. A tantalisingly tiny tendril of the Dragonheart’s power snaked toward him at his summoning. His whole body lit up with the sensation of it. Simmering worry, his constant companion, was eclipsed by blinding excitement and then relief. Dimitri fought to keep his face utterly blank as he stood at the fringes of the gathered Winged Kingsguard. He rolled a twig between his fingers, casting a glance of bored disdain at Raedon, who lectured them all on strategy for that day’s hunt. Yet, inside, his blood held a tingling current of energy, his body longing to spring into action.
Patience was the key. The very last thing he wanted was for the riders to find it. He had to reach it first, then get away from this accursed dank forrest and the Winged Kingsguard, and back to civilisation—with his prize. Dimitri suppressed the urge to abandon the tree that was his shelter. Even there, the morning drizzle was inescapable.
He raised his hand in mock salute as Raedon cast a look of dislike toward him. Raedon scowled and turned away. The rest followed, mounting their grumbling dragons. No one liked the cold here. They were not that far north of Tournai, and yet, with no home comforts, it was a harsh environment far from the luxury the dragons and their riders were accustomed to.
Dimitri did not much like it either, but this was no time to lament the loss of his comforts. He did not show any discomfort, instead slouching on the rock as though it were the most sumptuous pile of cushions in his chambers. In reality, he struggled not to shiver as the pine boughs dripped their cold morning dew down the back of his neck.
When his unwilling companions left, wheeling off into the sky in formation—which he had to admit was impressive, despite his dislike of them—he slowly stood and ambled away, as if on a relaxed morning jaunt. Leisurely. Casual. Random. It was only when they were all out of sight that he raced into the void, slipping into nothingness upon the breeze to chase that faint scent of magic. Closer and closer he yanked it, hungrily seeking. The trace grew stronger until it was everywhere, the powerful item emitting an aura that knocked the breath from him. It forced him to slow. No longer could he track it at speed.
He stepped into the world again and found himself at the edge of a small clearing, staring at a girl. She had not noticed him, too busy bending down in the wet undergrowth, grunting. He squinted, trying to see what she was doing. Pulling arrows. And she was no girl, he realised, but a young woman in her early twenties, he estimated. As she stood and wiped off the glinting heads of her arrows, he saw how tall her folded frame was. And within her? Something in him stirred as he felt the faint tendrils of slumbering magic.
They were far from any settlements. What was she doing there? His curiosity piqued. Was it a coincidence? He was not sure he believed in them. A meeting with a strange young woman in the midst of a storm of magical energy roaring around them, and neither linked? Not a chance. The Dragonheart tugged at him. It was as if, out of the vaults, the Dragonheart’s essence had spread out over a much wider footprint. One he hoped the dragon-riders would not chance upon. He had to know more.
“What is a girl like you doing in the woods so far from… anything?” he drawled, leaning against the knobbed bark of a tree.
She spun, freezing at the sight of him. Almost faster than he could see, an arrow pointed straight at his throat. The seconds seemed like an age as he dragged his gaze up and down her body, taking in every detail until he met her steel grey eyes. Oh, how he wanted to know the secrets behind them. Could she sense the power around them? She was a nobody, dressed in common clothes, as far as he could see, and that well of magic inside her was pitiful and inert. Disdain filled him. No, he was quite sure she had no idea that somewhere close by, a treasure nestled. More than that, she was no threat to it—or him.
She knew how to handle a bow, that was certain, but she was so painfully thin, he knew she had no real strength to her. Even without magic, he could crush her with ease. Her gaunt cheeks attested to starvation, and the hungry glint in her eyes had flickered with fear the moment she beheld him. That pleased him. She ought to quail before him. He could feel her heart trembling as though his palm pressed against her chest.
“Stay back! I’ll shoot.”
He smiled a dark, predatory smile at the edge of shrill fear in her voice, and he could see that unnerved her further. Her shoulders tensed, and her fingers tightened on the bow and string.
“Who are you?” Her voice echoed off the trunks around them. Whoever she was, she was alone. And the Dragonheart was close. He felt it, pulsing through him. Could she feel it? He sensed a taint of magic upon her blood, but she did not sing of power. One way or another, he would find out if she knew something. He had to make sure she could not compromise him. He did not leave loose ends.
Dimitri’s smile widened. He pushed off the tree and took a step toward her. Her fingers slipped from the string, and her arrow flew toward him just as her shrill scream split the air. By reflex alone, Dimitri warded himself. The arrow vanished into nothingness. Annoyance spiked. She was either dangerous or stupid—and he did not care for either.
“That was rude, little huntress,” he hissed, and as he advanced, flames flickered in his open palms.
The young woman nocked and drew another arrow. Her dark hair was tucked behind her ear to afford herself a clear view. Dimitri felt the faintest current of magic stir within her—fear did that in the untrained. Oh yes, she definitely had magic in her blood, and she had no idea how to use it. That served him just fine. Panic and defiance fought within her eyes. Her blood sang of fear. The arrow’s shaft wobbled against the string, and her body held as much tension as the bow.
Despite everything, despite the pressing need and the diminishing time driving him, he found himself stayed by curiosity. It was so rare that anything piqued his interest in the monotonous games of courtly intrigue and betrayal he played. This young woman was an enigma. Dimitri did not like the unknown. It was alluring—but dangerous.
Dimitri paused, just far enough away that she stilled, clearly holding back her shot, though she did not lower the bow. “I am Dimitrius Vaeri Mortris of House Ellarian.” Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition at his name or that of his House. Who is this peasant? She must be from far away if she had not heard of him. “Who are you?” He glared at her, fixing her in his stare like prey. He could tell how reluctant she was to fight him, though she had clearly recognised he was some kind of threat.
She remained silent.
“Come now,” he said with honeyed venom in his tone. “I told you my name. It is only courteous to return the gesture.”
Crashing erupted through the bushes behind him. “Harper!” a male shouted, but Dimitri distinctly heard several figures approaching.
The fire in his palm flickered and died, then erupted again, three times as big, when he saw who approached. “You!” Dimitri snarled.
The elf stopped before him in incredulity, staring between him and the girl. He bounded toward her and faced him. She relaxed, the bow slipping from its aim at Dimitri’s chest. A protector.
“I never thought I would see your face again,” the elf spat at him.
Dimitri’s lip curled. “The pleasure is not mine, I assure you. I see the company you keep has fallen.” He scoured them all, a ragtag band of misfits. A dwarf, an Aerian, and two ragged women? “Aedon Lindhir Riel of House Felrian… or do you just go by Aedon the Thief nowadays?”
“None of your damn business, Spymaster.” The title was an insult, but it rolled off Dimitri’s back. He had suffered worse.
His hands returned to his pockets, the picture of relaxation. He would show nothing to them. “Who is your friend?” He glanced at the woman Aedon had called Harper. What did an elf like Aedon want with her? His other companions had clear worth—armed to the hilt and exuding weaponry competence. But, plucky or not, this woman was a wraith who did not fit.
“Nobody.” Aedon shifted to close her off from him, hiding her behind his broad shoulders.
Dimitri cocked his head. A toy of his, perhaps? He shrugged. It would not do to show his interest in any of them. “As you wish. I’ll leave you to your miserable existence then. I have more pressing places to be. A pleasure to meet you, Harper.” He smiled mockingly at her. She returned it with a scowl.
Dimitri vanished into smoke and wind, only allowing his composure to slip when he was far from them. He materialised against a tree and pressed his hands against the rough bark, leaning his forehead on the trunk. His heart hammered. What had he stumbled upon? The disowned son of House Felrian. A ragtag band of outlaws. A strange girl who fit nowhere. And somewhere tantalisingly close lay the Dragonheart.
How were they all connected? He was only certain of one thing now. This was definitely not a coincidence. Such a thing did not exist where the Thief of Pelenor was concerned. As Dimitri flitted away, he cast a spell of concealment across the entire valley. No one would be able to detect the Dragonheart until he had gotten to the bottom of the matter himself.
That night, after Raedon and his riders returned, Dimitri stared him down. “It’s none of your business where I have been or what I have done,” Dimitri reminded the leader. “You report to me, not the other way around.”
Raedon scowled. When he did, Dimitri let his smirk show. The resemblance was uncanny. It had been so many years since he had seen Aedon, but he was still the mirror image of his elder brother, Raedon.
“What?” snapped Raedon as he tore off his helm and unclasped his cape.
“Oh, nothing,” Dimitri replied airily and sauntered away. Now, at least, he had a reason to stay in the damp, miserable valley.