Chapter 30
We leave so early the next morning that the sun isn’t up, although the sky is beginning to brighten.
From up high on Sava’s back, the blue glow of the Hellions draws an eerie line across the horizon, until the sun finally washes it away.
After that, the blue glow is barely visible; the horizon a little too bright and too blue but not so stark as it was against the dark.
In the early afternoon, we reach the large mountain that I saw in the distance the evening before.
From far away the mountain was devoid of life, like any other in the seas. But the closer we get the more I can see, hidden like the village, visible only from above. Ridges of rock guard roads and rows of houses. If we came from a village, this is definitely a city.
The mountain itself is the Tower.
We circle over the top of the mountain and Sava drops into it, Roiven’s arm tight around my waist. This must be a dormant volcano, because the mountain’s top looks like a giant has scooped it out.
The ridges of the caldera are at least forty feet tall, and if I had to guess, a mile wide.
Sava fits easily inside, and as she lands I see other dragons.
A red half the size of Sava gallops over, wings tucked.
A clutch of dragon hatchlings, each scaled in a different vivid jewel tone, stumble behind the red as they try to keep up, their immature wings dragging at their sides.
Roiven and Sava both feel the same fierce pride at the sight of the young dragons.
Roiven climbs down before me. I wait a moment on Sava’s back, looking around as an uncomfortable feeling twists in my gut.
Part of me still can’t believe I’m doing this; believe that I’m here willingly.
I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things in the past few days, and maybe it hasn’t all sunk in yet.
I stare at the rugged stone ground, and squint at another pair of dragons on the far end.
“Cai,” Roiven calls. He’s already reached the ground.
Gritting my teeth, I follow him down Sava’s leg and to the base of the caldera.
The skin inside my thighs feels raw as my trouser legs scrape against it on the climb.
No matter how healed I thought I was last night, riding for a second day has done me in.
There’s a wide double-door twenty feet to our left, leading into the mountain itself. A man with light brown skin approaches us from beside it, like he was waiting for us to arrive. He’s got a sword, leather armor, and long coarse hair twisted in braids and knots.
“Things are different here,” Roiven says to me quickly. “My word will buy you protection, but you can’t go around calling witchcraft foul or evil. It’s our way of life.”
“It isn’t mine,” I say, twisting my spine one way and then the other.
“Cai,” Roiven warns. “As my people are quite literally dying to protect themselves from the Empire, please, I am just asking you to be careful with your words.” His voice is measured and steady.
His burning eyes meet mine. My eyes slip down to his lips and for a breathless moment I’m reminded of last night, and Roiven’s mouth on my body. My cheeks burn and Roiven, seemingly aware of what’s running through my head, raises both eyebrows.
“I wouldn’t say that, anyways,” I mutter, and turn to face the soldier as he finally draws close.
The man bows to Roiven, the first person I’ve seen who gives him the honor I’d expect for a king.
Things must be different in this place than the village.
When his burning yellow eyes turn to me, I feel a slight flare of nervousness from Roiven.
And then Roiven tugs at the glove covering his bond, not taking it off but pulling it more firmly on.
We’re on the ground now. It isn’t cold here. But he can’t be trying to hide it, since he made me get it to come here in the first place. And anyways, although he offered me a coat and glove again at our last stop, he didn’t force me to take them when I refused.
The warrior who approached us frowns at my metal arm but ignores the bond mark entirely.
“We’re under way?” Roiven asks.
“They’ve prepared as much as they could without you. The Coven of Ancients gathered when we spotted Savasaeirn. They asked me to tell you to come straight in.”
Tell him to? Nobody would order the God-Emperor or the Exalted around like that.
“Good,” Roiven says briskly. He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.
I can’t forget the Hellion glow that dominated the far horizon, like a blue sun dawning. A shiver slides down my spine despite myself.
War is coming, or perhaps just a massacre. And I still feel like I’m straddling both sides of it, off-balance.
Roiven strides toward the open doorway, and I follow.
When we reach the entrance I glance over my shoulder at Sava.
She’s thumped down onto her side. The little dragonlets, each probably weighing five times what I do, bat at her and stomp around, engaged in care-free childhood play.
A pulse of emotion hits me through the bond, like ice through my veins.
Sava doesn’t feel so much amused as… sad. A grief for what’s to come.
This place is balanced on a knife’s edge.
“Cai,” Roiven calls. I turn away from Sava.
He pulls the tie from his black hair as he waits for me to catch up.
His hair spills smooth as silk over his shoulders.
With his burning eyes, the enchantment marks framing his face, and the leather armor visible in the open slit of his black overcoat, he looks as beautiful and deadly as ever.
I turn and follow him quickly inside. The warrior who greeted us remains in the caldera. I know it would be unreasonable to ask for a meal or one of those washing-fountains, when his people are preparing for an attack. That doesn’t stop me from wanting both.
The open door swings shut behind me. We’re in a large hall. On the far wall, twenty feet away, there’s a staircase down, and a ramp to the right, fifty feet away. The hallway stretches even further to the left, where it ends in a series of doorways.
If the caldera’s floor was plain, dusty rock, lightly scored by dragon’s talons, this is a palace.
I was expecting a rough-carved channel like in the village, but the floor here is patterned tile and the walls are carved with geometric designs, in pleasing ridges and arches that echo the shapes on the floor.
Light streams through holes in the ceiling far above us, pale shafts of sun that glaze the leaves on a long row of potted plants.
I squint up and wonder what the hell they do when it rains.
Roiven turns back to face me. He’s uneasy, his heart pounding too fast. I can feel it through the bond.
I fold my arms over my chest and stare at him. I have no idea what’s suddenly got him so twisted, but I’m not going to be the one to speak first.
“I wanted to wait until we got here,” Roiven says. He glances away for a moment, then back at me.
“For what?”
“To explain myself. The bond…”
“Roiven,” a woman calls. I turn and see three witches climbing the ramp, a woman and two men.
The woman who spoke breaks free of the group and strides toward us, walking about as fast as she could without breaking into a run. I feel a surge of warmth from Roiven’s heart. For a moment my stomach sours in jealousy until I remind myself I don’t care.
“Aria,” he says, a smile in his voice. The name is familiar; I’m certain he’s said it before.
The woman looks a little like him. Her long black hair falls in waves to her waist, impractically loose despite the fact that she’s dressed in tight leather armor.
Her eyes have the same orange glow as Roiven’s.
She throws her arms around him and he embraces her back.
“I thought I heard your voice.”
“I need a moment,” Roiven says stiffly. “Go back in. I’ll be there soon.”
“Torain will take it the wrong way,” she says, stepping back from him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As a sign you aren’t yourself.”
“The coven has gathered,” one of the men says. “You spoke the pacts, Roiven. The call must be answered.”
“I just need a minute. Go back and I’ll join you.”
“Torain thinks you shouldn’t be allowed in at all,” Aria tells him. “And if you don’t come right now, he’s going to take it as...”
Roiven’s eyes find me for a minute. He wavers, then nods.
“Fine,” the Witch King growls.
We descend a wide, shallow ramp, and I blink up at the ornate wooden doors at the bottom, which are so tall I’m pretty sure a smaller adult dragon could fit through them, never mind that they’d never get in through the doors to the caldera. We pass through with me at the back.
It’s a breathtaking room, taller than the one we just came from.
Columns soar up to the ceiling, where more holes allow dusty light to stream down.
The biggest tree I’ve ever seen is right in the middle, and I nearly gasp at the sight.
Its trunk is wider than I am, and the gnarled branches weave a lattice over my head.
Brightly-colored birds flit around the branches, chirping to each other.
Eight more witches stand beside the tree’s base, arguing as they surround a low table. Their conversation falters and halts the moment we step inside. Then their eyes are all on Roiven. And on me.
Avreen lounges against the tree with her arms crossed. She glares at me for a second, then nods to Roiven. Whatever this ‘Coven of Ancients’ is, it seems she’s part of it. We’re far from friends, but it’s kind of nice to see a familiar face.
Aria stays with us, but the other two witches that came to find Roiven stride across the room, returning to their group.
“I’m voicing my objection, again,” a handsome man in the group of witches says.
He’s tall and lean, with high-boned cheeks.
He doesn’t look much older than me, but the hair falling to his shoulders is already silver-white.
“We don’t know the full extent of the enchantments on Roiven.
He should not be allowed to join the coven on Avreen and Nor’s reports alone. ”
“I take that personally,” Avreen says.
Why Avreen and Nor’s reports? Roiven didn’t mention the shy blonde person was coming here too. I don’t see them with the rest of the coven. Maybe they just sent a letter, or something. I’m not sure why they’d need to, when Avreen is here and is clearly someone important.
“You let your loyalties blind you,” Torain tells Avreen.
“You wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit your ass,” Avreen answers.
“Enough, both of you,” Aria says, stepping past Roiven. “We already voted. My brother stays.”
This is his little sister, then. The one he was trying to get water for when Sava bonded him. I feel my shoulders relax slightly even though it’s ridiculous to care. The silver-haired man draws a deep breath, his lips pressed tight.
“What happened to being blood brothers?” Avreen asks Torain, in a tone that feels taunting. Torain’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look back at her.
“He's Enchanted. I merely want it noted that I believe this is a mistake. King or not, friend or not, we do not know enough to trust his will is his own,” Torain snaps.
“Nor, of all people, would know if he had lost his free will,” another witch says. She’s got gold hair twisted like a crown around her head, and she’s seated in a wheeled chair.
“And the imperial knight?” Torain asks. My back stiffens. “I thought Roiven would keep her under watch, not bring her to a meeting and make her privy to—”
“She is under watch,” Roiven says, his voice perfectly smooth. “My watch. And I'll follow the will of the coven on whether I am part of the planning or not.”
It’s uncomfortable, being talked about like this. What’s more, Torain is acting like I’m a spy. I’m not here to destroy these people anymore. But I guess I can’t blame him for assuming, when my hands are so bloodstained.
“Perhaps…” Aria starts to respond. She turns to look at me, a considering weight in her gaze. Then her eyes drop down and she freezes.
She stares straight at the mark of the bond Roiven forced me to forge with him. Aria blinks, and then her gaze slides slowly over to Roiven. He’s still got his long-sleeved coat and his gloves on, nevermind that it’s warm inside this room.
Aria grabs her brother’s hand.
“Ari,” Roiven says warningly, pulling his hand back, but he doesn’t fight. Too late. She tugs his glove off. The bond mark extends down past the hem of his sleeve, coiling around his hand like roots grew where my fingers gripped him tightly.
She gasps, her eyes locked on her brother’s hand like there’s a face growing there.
Aria drops the glove onto the ground and steps slowly back. I hear murmurs break out among the rest of their coven, but can’t make them out.
“We agreed you should get close to the knight,” Aria says, her voice high and shatteringly tense. “But what in all the gods’ names possessed you to make her your wife?”