30. Dimitri
30
Dimitri returned to Tournai with the Winged Kingsguard, though not by choice. It was a necessary annoyance. The farther away from the Dragonheart he was, the farther away the riders—and the king—were too. As much as he longed to find it, biding his time was the only sensible choice, no matter how impossibly frustrating. When he returned to the area, he would be able to explore alone. Away from their prying eyes. Hidden from the king’s attention.
His attention sharpened as Toroth strode into the study. Dimitri had been inside the study before, but only rarely, and only for his most secretive tasks. It had not changed. It was as cold and unwelcoming as the man who owned it.
Raedon’s scowl at being made to wait vanished the moment the king entered. Dimitri suppressed a smile. For all Raedon’s arrogance, even he did not dare peeve the king. Dimitri was also fed up of waiting. It had been the longest of days and it was late when they returned, but he did not show an ounce of it to Raedon or the king. Instead, he stood in the small circle of light cast by the flickering fire and waited in silence.
Toroth sank into the plush chair at the far side of his grand desk and raised an eyebrow at the pair of them, asking for their report without permitting them to sit. Dimitri opened his mouth, but Raedon beat him to it.
“I can’t work with this spy,” Raedon spluttered. Toroth’s thunderous brows knitted together as he glared at Raedon, then Dimitri. “He tails along after us, appearing here and there without warning or courtesy. He sits and skulks and never seems to do anything. He disappears, and no word do I hear of what he has done to earn his place.”
The king stood, his fists resting on the desk, and turned to Dimitri. “Is this true?”
“Not at all, Your Majesty.” He smiled blandly at Raedon. “The dragon master does not understand the nature of my work. Why, if I had the same courtesy of him, I would have said he did nothing except shout orders all day and fly about on his dragon. Did you find what the king seeks?” he asked Raedon innocently—and savoured grim glee as Raedon squirmed.
“No, as you well know,” he muttered. He looked at Toroth and straightened, the picture of defiance. “I won’t work with him. His shadiness sullies the name and good reputation of the Winged Kingsguard.”
“Won’t?” Toroth whispered dangerously before he exploded. “You are ordered to work together. I don’t give one damn whether you like it or not! If you dare defy me, I shall give your title to a more deserving rider.”
Raedon subsided, but Dimitri had the spark of an idea. He dropped into a low bow. “Your Majesty?”
“What?” Toroth snapped. Dimitri knew one false word and they would both be out of favour.
“Forgive me.” Dimitri’s words were as smooth as smoke on the wind. “I believe the general may have stumbled upon a grand idea, though entirely for the wrong meaning. Perhaps we would be better off parting company.”
When the king stood tall, glowering at him, Dimitri held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Apart, we can cover more ground. If we split up, we can cast the net wider, find what you seek twice as fast.”
Dimitri leaned forward, putting every ounce of persuasion into his voice that he could. “Of course, my king, you know best of all. It is no trouble to me. I only wish to better serve you. I humbly submit to your judgment.”
Toroth narrowed his eyes at him. Dimitri could see how much Toroth hated to agree with him, but it was not his first time playing this strategic game. It was almost like a game of chatura. Just with people, not pieces upon a board.
“Fine,” Toroth relented. “Part ways. Search faster, and harder. It has been too many days.” He sat once more, and his attention turned to the contents of his desk, dismissing them.
Raedon bowed and left. Dimitri followed suit. The general spoke not one more word to him as he peeled away down a corridor to his chambers. Dimitri stared after him before he turned the opposite way to his own quarters. It had been so many years, but the resemblance was still uncanny. Five years separated Dimitri and Aedon. If Dimitri had been a legitimate son, he considered he and Aedon would probably have been close friends. After all, their houses were allies, though Aedon’s was held in much higher regard than his.
He huffed as he walked the dark, deserted corridors. They had grown up as far apart as could have been. Dimitri, the illegitimate shame, hidden away. Aedon, the golden son, afforded every privilege. Aedon was everything Dimitri had ever wanted—and everything he could never be. How different their lives had been. Dimitri shook his head. Their fortunes had reversed in a strange way. Now, Aedon was as infamous as he was famous, and Dimitri was the one with a place at court.
It seemed Aedon travelled with others as infamous as himself. Dimitri had used his time earlier that evening, arriving home well in advance of Raedon, to dig into the elf’s companions. Brand, the exiled Aerian rebel. Erika, the nomad with unknown origins. Ragnar, the disinherited dwarf. Nowhere was there mention of another woman by the name of Harper. That pulled at Dimitri. He had to know more. To both sate his curiosity and find the Dragonheart.
More than that, he also had to find Saradon—still morbidly curious as to where the cursed one rested, what had happened to him—and the strange prophecies that surrounded him. Somewhere in it all, Dimitri was determined to find clues that would help him follow in Saradon’s footsteps and break the wheel.
Dimitri halted with an epiphany. The halls were utterly silent around him, as if waiting in anticipation. He could use it to his advantage. First, he would use the quest for the Dragonheart to cover up his own search. Then he would use it to seek Saradon. All the while, he would keep a watchful eye on the elf and his misfit accomplices. A grin split his face, and he strode forward with a new spring in his step. It was lucky indeed that he had a swift way to travel, for there would be much ground to cover in order to accomplish everything he had hoped. Time was of the essence.
When he entered his own quarters, the upended vase of roses on the floor reminded him of his other duty. With a sigh and a wave of his hand, he made them, along with the mess on his fine rug, vanish. His first duty would be to the court. Of course, he would have to ensure his eyes and ears watched there, too. But there was one place they could not aid him.
“I see you called upon me, my princess.” Dimitri bowed low to Rosella, who reclined before her fire, her body covered in a thin, silken nightgown. Her quarters were far more warm and welcoming than the king’s. Every touch of comfort had been added. In truth, he despised the ghastly plumpness of all the cushions, the cloying softness of her furnishings, and the overbearing heat. It was just turning to autumn, for heaven’s sake, and she hardly needed the hearth raging in every room. He said none of this, betraying nothing of his true feelings on his duty there.
When Rosella flicked her hand, the servants vanished in silence, setting down their trays of choice canapes and drinks on the way out. Rosella lifted her chin imperiously. “You have been absent.” Her beauty paled when she was petty and angry, but he pretended not to notice.
Dimitri strode forward to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled away, so he stepped back to a respectful distance. It was not an unfamiliar game. Rosella liked to do the abandoning, not the other way around. “I can only apologise, my princess. Your father sent me away on urgent business. Would that I could have seen you instead.”
Her pout subsided just a little.
He shifted his weight, so her gaze angled toward a suggestive part of his body, and grinned wickedly. “Did you miss me?” he purred.
Her pout disappeared, opening into a mischievous smile, and she tilted her body toward him, letting her gown slip from a shoulder. “Show me you’re sorry, Dimitrius.”
His body ached with tiredness and he wanted nothing less than to serve her, but that was the dangerous game he had to play. He showed no hint of it as he unfurled a dark smirk that promised her hours of pleasure.
The next morning, with the tension in his body released after his dalliance, Dimitri returned, even more tired, to the king’s task. He longed to seek Saradon using the relic from Karietta’s tomb, but it would have to wait. He glanced toward the item’s hiding place, tempted to recover it.
Not yet. Soon, he promised himself.
It would be the easiest of his tasks, now he had the relic. Like called to like. The relic would guide him to Saradon’s remains, wherever they were. If only he had even a part of the Dragonheart to do the same. Something more than the teasing tendril of memory of its power coursing through him.
The dead could wait. The living could not.
Dimitri did not delay. He slipped through the shadows to the valley where he had left them. The woods were empty, save for the steady pitter-patter of rain falling on the canopy above him. Mist and low clouds clung to the valley, and with mild irritation, Dimitri spelled himself against the cold and the wet. There would be no saving his fine boots from the mud. A Dragonheart is worth muddy boots, he reminded himself.
He moved like water through the air, cutting from one place to another as he followed the scent, the feel of the Dragonheart’s unique power, deeper and deeper into the woods. Stronger it grew as he covered a day’s worth of travel in minutes, finally finding them. Dimitri remained in the shadows, ever watchful and careful, lest he be detected. He did not need to alert Aedon and his companions that he watched them. First, he wanted to see them relaxed. Off guard. Magic thrummed next to him, an invisible net that threatened to wreak havoc should he cross those lines. Dimitri leaned close to the wards Aedon had set, then carefully stepped back with a curl of his lip.
Rudimentary. Aedon ought to have done better. Careless. They practically invited him to take it. Dimitri could have broken through the wards with a single thought, but that would have served no purpose. Not yet. It would give him the greatest pleasure when he could tear through them like a spider’s web. Instead, Dimitri cast extra wards, ones Aedon would not detect, sinking them into the earth, the trees, the very air outside the paltry camp where Aedon and his companions toiled. It would not do for someone else to take advantage of the shoddy protections.
He could not care less for Aedon or his companions, not even the mysterious young woman, but Dimitri was determined to protect the stone. Now, no one outside the vicinity would be able to follow that telltale scent of magic… should they know what it was. Toroth might not have been the worst thing seeking magic like that. There was no doubt in Dimitri’s mind that it was there, with them. The trail ended here. He shivered as the wind picked up and the fog descended farther, turning the already murky day into premature dark. He slid back into the shelter of the tree, regarding them slightly enviously as they all shuffled closer to the fire.
Through the wards, he could not hear what was said, but he watched, eagle-eyed, to discern the relationships between them. The nomad woman, terse and a lone spirit. The dwarf, warm. The Aerian, a protector of all. Dimitri did not want to think about the elf. Cocky. Arrogant. Conceited. His mind filled in the blanks as he watched Aedon lean toward Harper in an entirely overly familiar way. And this Harper…
She held a beautiful desolation in her grey eyes and proud, straight back that called to the familiar ache in his soul. It was obvious from the group’s relaxed body language that they were in good company but her… she held herself slightly apart from them, and her smiles did not quite reach her eyes, as though she did not feel the same level of comfort. He had already surmised she was a newer companion, and his observation supported that. It opened more questions—to which he had no answers, and nothing he could glean from watching her.
The group was open, friendly, chatting and laughing amongst each other with easy camaraderie that Dimitri knew was born from years of companionship. They seemed at ease with the new addition to their group—except the nomad. She watched Harper with obvious wariness, glances thrown from the corner of her eye when no one else watched, and a body coiled in readiness. Dimitri could see that it was her nature, yet his gaze lingered on her.
What is the reason for such distrust?
Harper chuckled, then sent some quip back at Aedon that had the elf and dwarf howling with laughter. Even the big Aerian grinned. Dimitrius could not look away as that smile finally reached Harper’s eyes, infusing them with an infectious light, one that he wanted to see more of. He cut off the thought, turning over the problem at hand instead once more. She spoke the Common Tongue with a strange twang. One he did not recognise. Yet she was of clear Pelenori descent, with elven blood coursing through her veins.
Their talk turned more serious—smiles fading and brows furrowing. He longed to sneak through Aedon’s wards to hear the outlaws’ words, but he did not have the time to unpick them without detection. Dimitri shifted from one foot to the other, pulling his black cloak tighter about him as he strengthened his protective magics against the worst of the elements. True darkness was falling, and the chill seeped into his bones. A blast of warmth banished it back to the forest.
Then the woman, Harper, pulled something from inside her cloak. It sparkled in the shattered firelight. Dimitri stilled. His heart stuttered for a moment before thundering into life once more. There it was, plain as day. The Dragonheart. The girl handled it with care, but without the reverence and respect it deserved, as if she had no idea of the power she held in her slim hands.
It was, without question, the Dragonheart he had attempted to take. And it went to her? Dimitri flexed a hand involuntarily, as if he could reach out and grasp it. Not yet, he told himself, but immediately questioned why. Why wait? Why not crush them all and take it? His hand sparked with magic, then subsided.
He did not know why he withdrew into the shadows when the magic called to him. It was like a physical tug, almost sending him tripping over his own feet. It took all his will to turn away from it. You don’t yet know what you’re dealing with, he rationalised to himself. The nomad, the Aerian, the dwarf, the elf—they were probably predictable. But who was the young woman, Harper, who travelled with them? She was an enigma, one he wanted to solve.
He could afford to wait a day, he decided, against his better judgment, watching how the young woman’s grey eyes filled with warmth and laughter at one of Aedon’s jokes. There was obvious attraction in her body language towards him, the way she angled closer, the way her gaze lingered—Dimitri scoffed and kicked a stone. His mood soured as he looked at how easily, naturally, Aedon managed it. It was outrageously frustrating that even as a criminal, Aedon could still command hearts and minds.
Unable to watch him anymore, Dimitri slipped away, back to the city. The last thing upon his gaze before he faded into the shadows was the young woman and the stone illuminated in the fire, with the Dragonheart shattering iridescent light in her laughing, grey eyes.