Chapter 6
STORED MEMORIES
Arioch
When Tyrin reached me, I was sprawled upon my back in the grass, staring up at the sky through breaks in the tree branches, trying to focus on anything but the fluid seeping through my fingers to paint my chest.
The ward is gone.
Sudden, unexpected freedom called to my blood, urging me to take flight, even as all strength drained from my body and trepidation crept along my spine.
The thief has escaped with my treasure.
My world was a snow globe, turned upside down and shaken until I no longer recognized it.
“M’lord!” Panic carved deep grooves into the gargoyle’s weathered face as he came into view. “Are you—”
“Healing,” I assured him.
The Norseman had shifted into his flight form. His wings fanned around him as he scanned the area, focusing on the breach in the hedge. “Who did this?”
Tyrin owed a life debt to my sire, one Ieshim had transferred to me following my mother’s murder.
As the son of a Jarl—a nobleman charged with territory and people—the urge to lead and protect was woven into the very fabric of the gargoyle’s being.
Yet he had bent his knee to me when I was a child, appointing himself my húskarl, my household bodyguard.
The additional flapping of wings announced the approach of another gargoyle. “What has happened?” Frode asked.
“He’s injured. Fetch Evadne,” Tyrin commanded.
“No,” I said, surveying the grim sight I presented.
My life’s blood saturated both my trousers and the earth beneath me, yet my wounds were the least of my concerns.
I would mend. My sire’s shield, however, would not.
The estate now lay exposed, my people vulnerable.
“I can handle this. There is no need to wake the healer.”
Frode materialized beside his mate, and the two exchanged a glance.
Neither appeared convinced by my assurances.
Their doubt spurred me to summon my discipline and direct my power toward my wounds.
This time, magic surged through me like the river in spring, frigid and formidable, cooling my blood as it mended torn flesh.
White spots detonated behind my eyes, and perspiration tracked down my brow.
My training had been rigorous, and this was not my first self-administered healing.
The wounds were, however, the gravest by far.
All magic demanded payment, and repairing this level of damage would extract far more energy than I presently possessed.
Had the blades carried poison, my body would have prioritized expelling the toxins before repairing the damage, but mercifully, that did not appear to be the case.
Muscle fused, depleting my reserves at an alarming rate.
Weariness seeped into my very bones as my eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.
I wanted nothing more than to shift and fall into a healing coma, but there was no guarantee that the estate would not be attacked again.
I needed to stay conscious. Yet remaining exposed with such debilitating injuries was unwise, so I released my magic before the well could run dry and endeavored to regain my feet.
Tyrin bent and secured an arm behind my back.
His unsolicited aid violated protocol, but the risk of reopening my newly mended flesh trumped my pride, so I clenched my jaw and accepted his assistance.
Nausea clawed up the back of my throat in waves of torment.
Forcing it down, I dismissed any further help the moment my vision stabilized, staggering only a single step before recovering my equilibrium.
I was lord of this estate. I would walk under my own power.
“What happened?” Tyrin asked.
Each wheezing breath sent fire racing through my lungs, but I fought past the pain. “A thief stole an artifact Ieshim tasked me with protecting, shattering the ward as she fled.”
Concern tightened Tyrin’s features as he assessed my condition. “Frode and I will hunt her down at once.”
Their wings snapped tight, preparing to take flight.
“No.”
My húskarl opened his mouth to argue, but I silenced him with a shake of my head, unwilling to risk my people when we knew so little about the threat we faced.
Tyrin and Frode were seasoned warriors who could handle themselves, but I was nearly drained and would not dispatch my two finest fighters on a fool’s errand.
“She possessed an amulet and could open the box Ieshim and I could not.”
Understanding hitched Tyrin’s breath, and the gathering energy dissipated. “How?”
“The manor must have let her into my hoard.”
Tyrin’s brow shot up. “What sort of creature was she?”
“Her scent was concealed, but her accomplice is a wolf.”
There was no need to expand since Tyrin had been the one to educate me on the way wolves conspired to isolate and exhaust prey before striking. Where there was one wolf shifter, there was likely a pack.
Frode scrubbed a hand down his face. “But the artifact—?”
“I will retrieve it after I heal. First, we must secure the estate. Alert Skarde and Revna to the breach. I require all four of you on patrol until morning. With the ward compromised, we are exposed.”
“Yes, m’lord,” they said at once.
Flicking my wrist, I dismissed the gargoyles.
Frode turned and took flight, hurrying toward the barracks where the other two gargoyles slept while Tyrin lingered.
His muscles tensed, and his jaw ticked as he watched me, but he wisely refrained from offering further assistance.
Finally, he turned and flew after his mate.
I waited until they were out of sight before collecting myself and reaching for my magic.
The trickle of power through my veins was an insult.
Dragon lords did not scrape by on dregs.
It had been a long time since my reserves had felt this depleted, a testament to the damage the thief had inflicted.
Unable to summon sufficient power to transport myself, I gritted my teeth and took my first tentative step.
Partially healed muscles protested, but I refused to heed my body’s complaints and painstakingly traversed the property to the ivy-covered stone pillars marking the manor’s main entrance.
My grandsire had built the manor in the early 1900s when Washington was a newly formed state.
Three levels and approximately twelve thousand square feet, it had been modeled after the European Gothic castle keeps of the late 1800s, containing the irreplaceable art, furniture, and antiques that were my birthright.
As my steps dragged and my muscles complained, I reassured myself that I simply needed to keep to a measured pace.
My strength would return, and my magic stores would refill.
Sensing its master’s presence, the twenty-foot-tall double doors, built to accommodate a full-grown draconic form, swung open at my approach.
I stepped inside and leaned against the wall, steadying my breath.
Warmth brushed across my skin, and the sticky blood coating much of me vanished as the house magic cleansed me.
Why did you let her in? I snapped.
No answer.
I forced back a growl and focused on my hoard.
This time, when I took a step, the manor transported me immediately, depositing me in the center of the crime scene. The room appeared remarkably undisturbed, save for two crossbow bolts stretching a taut rope from the front of the room to the back wall.
You should have alerted me the moment she breached your walls. Why did you wait? Better yet, why not simply lock the door and deny her entry?
No response.
Perplexed, I crossed the room to better study the bolt near the pedestal. She damaged you.
In answer, the walls ejected the bolts. They clattered against the floor, the rope collapsing my treasure piles as it fell. Gold coins and gems rolled in every direction on waves of wealth, upsetting my entire system of organization.
I sighed. The manor had never given my mother or grandsire this sort of trouble.
Exhausted and only partially healed, with a crime scene to investigate and a thief to hunt, I had neither the energy nor the patience to solve the disconnect between myself and my home, so I focused on the priority.
The wooden box lay open, revealing a bed of golden satin.
I flipped the lid, caught a hint of blood in the air, and felt grooves beneath my fingertips.
Dipping my head, I studied the peculiar design that most certainly had not been there before, even as it faded before my eyes.
Between one blink and the next, the carvings vanished completely, leaving only the smooth wooden surface.
How did she open the box?
When the manor remained silent, frustration ripped a growl from my throat. How was I supposed to learn anything about my enemies with no answers?
She had left no scent trail. Only powerful magic could so completely hide a person’s scent. Was she some sort of caster? Could wolves wield magic? I needed information and verification of her nature posthaste.
Ziara.
That was what the other wolf had called her.
Her unexpected presence had caused a lapse in judgment that I still could not fathom. Had she bewitched me somehow?
With no viable path to the answer, I turned my attention to a nearby pile of unused gems. An emerald, the same shocking green as Ziara’s eyes, called to me, so I scooped it up.
Closing my hand around it, I brought recent events to the forefront of my mind and focused my will, meticulously duplicating every moment of my interaction with the little thief and pushing the memory into the emerald for safekeeping.
Finished, I closed my eyes and observed our interaction anew, once more marveling at her beauty and swiftness. She was a fascinating creature. A pity I would have to end her life. I stored the emerald among my treasures.
I felt like a loose kite in a storm. Needing to find my tether, I sought my first memory of the artifact. Claiming the diamond that stored it from its perch upon a bookshelf, I closed my eyes once more, focusing upon the scene unfolding within my mind.
Ieshim stood before me in battle armor, mindful of the sword strapped to his side as he crouched to meet my gaze.
“You found her,” I said.
A tempest raged within bloodshot silver eyes that reflected my own, save for the rounded pupils. “I did.”
Ignoring his expression, I looked around expectantly. “Where is she?”
He shook his head. “I have burned her remains, as is custom for your—”
The agony of loss and disbelief hit me in equal measure. “No.”
He winced and looked away. “I will leave at first light to find her murderer and bring them to justice.”
“I will come with you.”
Ieshim clapped me on the shoulder and shook his head. “Your courage is undeniable, but your duty lies here. You are the lord of the manor now, and your people will look to you for protection in this dire time.” He met my gaze once more. “Do you understand why you must stay behind?”
I nodded, even though I most definitely did not. How could Mother be gone? She was wise and powerful, a testament to the strength of our lineage. Surely there had to be a mistake.
“Good. Now, I need you to do something for me.” He slid a plain wooden box from his satchel and offered it to me. “Can you open this?”
I took the box and tried, but could not.
Ieshim frowned. “Your mother hid it before she died. We believe it holds a powerful artifact that must be kept from the machinations of our enemies. Will you install it in your hoard for me?”
I nodded. “I will keep it safe, sire.”
He nodded, his glittering silver eyes somber yet earnest. “I accept your vow, my son.”
I released the diamond, ending the memory before it could continue.
I would retrieve my treasure.
And punish the befreckled thief who had dared steal from me.