64. Aedon
64
Aedon watched Dimitrius cross the gardens alone. He frowned. Where was Harper? The knife now suggested she was far beyond his reach, which concerned him. He noticed Dimitrius’s quick stride and the worry on his face. A curl of unease slithered to life in his belly. He prayed Harper was well. Despite his confusion and suspicion at seeing them together amicably, he still had a small kernel within him that worried something was amiss.
He followed Dimitrius to beyond where he could comfortably follow—the heart of the palace. His heart sank. I hope she’s not in there. But the knife tugged him forward. He knew the answer he did not want to admit to.
After a short time, Dimitrius returned, looking more worried than before. As he entered an emptier part of the palace, he stopped. Aedon halted in the shadows behind him.
“I know you are there, elf.” Dimitrius’s voice rang through the vacant hall.
Aedon stilled.
“Reveal yourself. I have a proposition for you.”
Nothing.
“If you wish to save Harper, you ought not ignore me.”
Aedon could not resist. He melted out of the shadows and approached Dimitrius, halting a healthy distance away and eying him with suspicion.
“She is in there, isn’t she?” Aedon spat. “What have you done to her? If you have harmed her, I swear?—”
“Do not swear what you cannot deliver,” Dimitrius snarled. “For once, you need to listen, Aedon, because there is no time. She is almost beyond my help for now. There is but one chance, and it is infinitesimally small. She is in danger from the king. I can protect her no longer, but I can give you a window of opportunity. You must get her out, or she will be made to suffer most horribly. It is not a death I would wish for.”
Aedon bristled at that, but he stilled. It had been a century since Dimitrius had been able to bear calling him by name.
“There is far more at stake than you know, Aedon. Unless she escapes, Harper will be caught in the middle, and I cannot help her any more than I already have. Forget the Dragonheart. I don’t know what you wanted it for, but it is in the vaults once more, under wards that require a power greater than you to break. If you save her, you can do a great deal more good than ever you shall know.”
“Why do you speak in riddles?” Aedon shot at him with a scowl.
“Because I need not explain myself to you, thief. Time’s up. I can dally no more. Make your choice, and make it well. If you act, act before the night is spent. She depends on you.”
Dimitrius strode away before Aedon could respond. It would be easy to gain entry. He had done it before. Go on. Do it, a small part of him urged. But though he flexed forward, ready to bend to that will, the rest of him held back. It could easily be a trap. He would not put it past Dimitrius, or the king, who had longed to end him for decades.
Is it a trap?
Most definitely, he answered himself.
Harper was within the palace, but to know her state, he would have to look upon her face himself. It was not a decision he could make alone, for it would endanger them all.
“It’s definitely a trap,” said Erika flatly.
“I agree,” said Brand.
“It probably is,” Ragnar added glumly, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“But she’s definitely in there,” Aedon reminded them. “And if she’s in there, she certainly isn’t being treated well. It probably is a trap, but that doesn’t mean we can’t outwit them.”
“Even Dimitrius?”
Aedon looked at Erika. “Especially Dimitrius. I have extra reason to best him.”
“This isn’t a game, you know,” she replied flatly, glaring at him.
“I know that,” he snapped. “But this is what we do best. Manage the impossible, then slip away.”
“You’re forgetting something very important. She might be a traitor. You told us how she was with Dimitrius, how amicable they were, how she seemed ingratiated with his kind.” Erika’s suspicion was neverending, Aedon knew.
“I know. I cannot explain it. Perhaps she is doing whatever she needs to survive. Wouldn’t we all do the same?”
“Why is he trying to save her, though?” asked Ragnar. “I like to believe the best of people, but none of it makes any sense.”
“It doesn’t,” Aedon said with a huff of annoyance. “But she is our friend. And she is, at this moment, in the dungeons of King Toroth, where she does not belong. Moreover, he has her Dragonheart, and many others, tantalisingly close. Isn’t it tempting? We can rescue Harper and obtain a Dragonheart. Perhaps an unlimited supply!”
“You really think you can get us past the wards?” Brand was the voice of reason—as always.
“I am no ordinary elf.”
The Aerian dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Even so, you are not as powerful as once you were.”
Aedon’s face was a mask of stone, but he knew they realised the turmoil of hurt roiling beneath the exterior. “I can do it.”
“Let’s take a vote,” suggested Brand. “Who votes for rescuing Harper, despite the fact it’s probably an obvious trap?”
Aedon and Ragnar raised their hands.
“And who votes against?”
Brand and Erika raised theirs.
“Two versus two. We appear to have reached an impasse.”
“We don’t have time for impasses,” Aedon said, utterly exasperated. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll go after her myself. Trap or not, I have to try, for we owe her that. And, whilst I’m there, there’s got to be a way to obtain a Dragonheart.”
“Don’t be so bloody foolish!” growled Brand.
“Well, what else can we do?” he snapped. “Time is running out. This is our chance. What say you?”