Chapter 4 #2
“The only ruin I foresee is yours.” Working my jaw, I sauntered off as if his prediction wasn’t echoing inside my head, a harbinger’s shriek. As if I didn’t see Taron’s image flicker in front of me. As if the professor didn’t say, “Come. Find me.”
I quickened my pace only when I cleared the dungeon.
Another sleepless night filled with thoughts of Taron preceded the second morning. When the sun rose, its pale light bled through my windows and painted my bedroom walls in gold and shadow.
Desperate for a distraction, I joined the soldiers guarding our southern traveling stones. The kind of distraction that drew blood rather than memories.
Success!
Three of Lorik’s soldiers slipped through the veil, each carrying sacks that reeked of sulfur and smoke. Commander Hoffmann spotted them first, his sharp whistle splitting the morning calm.
The chase was on. Over dew-slick hills, through the tall whispering grass, and into the marsh where the air hung heavy with rot.
Two of the three died at the hands of my soldiers, but I caught the last before he made anything go boom.
Mud caked my boots, and my hair clung to my damp face on the walk back to camp. The tang of iron filled my mouth. By the time I dropped his limp, blood-slicked body at Commander Hoffmann’s feet, my limbs trembled from the effort.
My breath steamed in the morning chill. “Put him in the palace catacombs, with full sensory deprivation protocols.” Total isolation would ensure we got answers before Lorik even knew he’d lost three men. “Once we have the information we need, pike all their heads and hearts near the stones.”
“Ja, my queen.” Commander Hoffmann bound the prisoner in chains and secured him in a rolling cage. “But first, a word of warning. My father intends to ambush you and push for our marriage.” He heaved a sigh. “I cannot apologize enough.”
I patted his shoulder. “Marriage requests and murder plots before breakfast. It must be Tuesday.”
Relief softened his expression. He nodded in response, then hauled the unconscious shifter away.
I remained in place for a moment, pensive. How had our enemy snuck through the stones? My army guarded every entry point both inside and outside of Ashmorra twenty-four seven.
Did Taron have a hand in this, too?
I breathed deep. More and more, Lorik—and Taron himself—were becoming sharper thorns in my paw.
When I returned to the palace, Adelaide greeted me at the front door with a new cup of tea infused with extra, extra gelu root. I braced for whatever she had to say. “Just tell me.”
She winced. “So…. I’ve discovered a tidbit about the Yrnblade.”
I drained the cup. “And?”
“And I think it’s some type of conduit. The one who is cut begins to behave as though struck by Cupid’s arrow. The wielder experiences a similar transformation, only far more intense. Beyond that, the details remain unclear.”
So Cedric hadn’t lied. I thought back to his whirlwind affair with Nyla. His frenzy to always have her within sight. Her constant jealousy and eagerness to harm anyone who so much as looked at him had been even worse. Doomed…
Had Taron experienced unexpected symptoms since the stabbing?
Urgency whipped at my back. I must know.
But there was only one way to find out.
I shot off like a bullet.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” my sister called with amusement as I ascended a flight of stairs. She suspected my intention to confront the mortal.
“To clean up,” I muttered without slowing. It was the truth, though not all of it.
An-n-nd Councilman Roland waited for me at my bedroom door. Great. The promised marriage push. “How may I help you, councilman?” I asked as I approached.
“I’d like to meet with your father and—”
“Nein,” I interjected, surprised by the request. Cedric specialized in using his gaze and words to spread poison.
I didn’t need more trouble added to my list. “Only my sisters and I share his blood, making us immune to his tricks.” Mostly.
“Only we may speak with him. That isn’t up for negotiation. ”
A muscle jumped in Roland’s jaw. “I can get answers from him. Answers we need.”
“You think to negotiate with our betrayer? That he’ll be truthful?”
The councilman jutted his chin. “I failed to stop him once before. I won’t fail again.”
Determination, guilt and half a dozen other emotions lay behind his words. For this first time, I could understand his motivation. Not power but atonement.
“My father is simply too dangerous. My answer is and will remain nein,” I reiterated, slipping past him.
“My son—”
“Isn’t up for discussion either.” I entered my bedroom and shut the door behind me, wiping the councilman from my mind.
After a quick, hot shower, I changed into my most human clothing: jeans and a T-shirt that read “Royal Pain in the Ash,” a gift from my sister Bronwyn. Combat boots and weapons followed. Within seconds, I was sprinting for the balcony, diving into the air and unfurling my smokewings.
Wind pulled locks of my hair from the braids. The dragon army guarding the traveling stones formed an unbroken wall of scale and smoke, raining a jagged shadow on the verdant green field below. How had Lorik’s men gotten past such a fierce fighting force? Did I have a traitor in my midst?
Parting, the warriors allowed me through.
A wide circle bordered by massive boulders came into view.
Those boulders were stacked two by two, creating doorways.
One doorway in particular drew my attention today, as if it were a magnet.
Since each pair of rocks led to a different location, and this specific set led to Georgia in the United States, the home of the Lockes…
It was a doorway meant only for me. I must assume Taron had left the ice land, a neutral territory for all berserkers, no matter their faction.
There were ten factions all together, each ruled by a different beast-king, and none welcomed intrusion. We did not enter another’s territory without permission.
If I did this, if I entered the US absent authorization from Malachi, King of Griffins, I would ignite a war.
He would learn about my door and demand its destruction.
But a formal request would have to go through the dragon ambassador stationed in the Hollywood Hills.
Then, that ambassador would either petition for an appointment or wait for the next scheduled meeting, which could take weeks. Months even.
On the other hand, Malachi owed me a boon of my choosing, after I’d spared his brother’s life. But did I really want to waste such a prize on an encounter with a man determined to murder me or die in my flames?
Every cell in my body shouted, “Ja!”
As I slipped through the opening, I blew a thick cloud of white smoke, letting it engulf and cloak me, hiding me from humans.
Below, the land unfurled in green forests of pine and small towns dotting hillsides.
I followed the stretch of highway, the traffic growing heavier as I neared a town with shimmering glass towers.
Three generations ago, the Lockes had left the mountains of Germany for the skyscrapers of Atlanta.
I continued past the sprawling city, the scent of something sweet adding to the pine. Peach perhaps?
As I zeroed in on my destination, my throbbing worsened, acting as a magnet, pulling me in a certain direction. Peach State University, where Taron taught and lived as a faculty-in-residence.
Guided by zinging instincts, I circled the campus within minutes. A patchwork landscape of green quads and red-bricked buildings. Rooftops glinted under the afternoon sun. I found a sprawling clearing, bright and open, and an invitation to land if I ever saw one.
I landed gently on my feet, already walking, letting the smoke melt and dissipate more with every step until only tendrils remained, concealing my weapons.
Then, and only then, did I allow myself to be seen.
I could have kept fully hidden to spy, no one aware of my presence, but I wanted Taron to understand how easily I could get to him.
As I strode inside the building, the humid Georgia heat evaporated into a frigid, air-conditioned blast fragranced with too many perfumes, anxiety and sugared coffee.
The pulling sensation steered me along the hallways.
Mounted maps and faded charts of empires and sea routes graced the walls.
My booted feet echoed off time-worn tile, passing by oak-framed doorways, marked with brass nameplates.
Dr. Jenna Snowaiter, Ancient Languages
Dr. Gill Montrey, History and Folklore
Dr. Jane Landling, History and Geography Department Head
A closed door loomed ahead, but it did nothing to mask the tendril of Taron’s heavenly cedar and pine scent, luring me closer. My heart leaped into a wild gallop, and my blood heated at least a hundred degrees.
How would Taron react to seeing me? Let’s find out.
I opened the door and sailed inside, chin high and attitude higher.
A crowd of students filled the tiered auditorium seats, captivated as Taron lectured from the front of the room, wearing a light-blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up showing his muscled arms. The straight-cut chinos and casual shoes would be a nuisance in a fight.
My mouth dried out faster than kindling in dragon fire. He looked good. Annoyingly good. Like he’d been formed from a mold of danger and desire and fashioned into one ridiculously charming package. Controlled power cloaked in a movie-star-worthy physique.
My dragon stirred, prowling the corridors of my mind with its usual demand: Trial by fire.
Nein!
Hmm. He had marks on his neck, jaw and cheek. My breath hitched. Those marks matched the blood splatter he’d worn during our battle. Now, the tiny, fiery dots glowed brightly on his bronzed skin. But. That was no natural glow. Except as I descended the steps, that glow faded.
No one else seemed to notice. Otherwise, there would be freak-outs. Few humans could handle a hint of the supernatural.