Bane of the Dragon King Page 15

  “Yeah. I kind of got he was a bit selfish.”

  King Gildore nodded. “He is a bit narcissistic, but wouldn’t you be, knowing you held the keys to a vast kingdom that everyone wanted access to? He knows his worth, and he’s not afraid to play the game to get what he wants. What we need to find out is how much his assistance will cost. In three days time, we are to meet and discuss our needs and his price. In the meantime, you need to find a way to stifle this jealousy and come to the table with some suggestions. I’d like you there, as the paladin.”

  “I-I don’t know—”

  King Gildore patted him on the back. “Good. I’ll make sure Julien informs you of the meeting time. In the meantime, Eric’s private funeral will be at sunrise tomorrow in the gardens. I’ll see you then.” He took a few steps, paused, and turned around. “Trust your friend, Charlotte. She’s stronger than you think.” He climbed the steps to the upper courtyard.

  David paced back and forth, rubbing his chin. The idea of Prince Vinny hanging around for at least three more days curled his judgment. Regardless of his position, he had a forked, honeyed tongue, and he’d use it snare Charlotte. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. Perhaps, if he insinuated himself between them, Prince Vinny would get the hint. Charlotte wasn’t a pawn, and she wasn’t for sale. She never would be. She might be able to fend for herself, but Vinny would have to go through David first, and he’d have no problem putting the pompous prince in his place.

  He ran up the steps, determined to find them and put his plan into place. But as he approached, he found Charlotte surrounded by a gaggle of delegates, most of them old enough to be her father, but smitten nonetheless. She was playing the game, being cordial and kind, even to Prince Venniver. She had to. She was in prestigious company. She would never make a scene. It didn’t stop David’s entire body from shaking. He pushed past her gathering without a word, pretending not to hear when she called out to him. He sidled into a conversation with Mangus and some soldiers from Trent and ended up regaling them with his story of how he defeated the ifrit.

  Apparently, being braggadocios was a trait of a true paladin if one were to listen to current company.

  ***

  Dinner was a somber affair and one David couldn’t wait to excuse himself from. For what seemed an eternity, he sat across the table from Charlotte and Prince Venniver while he flirted, and she put on the fake airs. More than half a dozen times Charlotte tried to engage David in the conversation but Venniver continued to interrupt, engaging her in conversations with other heads of state. The insinuation by Venniver didn’t go unnoticed by Gowran and Crohn, and they did what they could to pull him away and give Charlotte some room to breathe, but the prince oozed his charm and continued to captivate his audience.

  With the chime of the clock signaling the eleven thirty hour, David stood, excused himself, and retired to his suite. He stripped his jacket and shirt off, tossing the garments on the floor.

  The door flew open and slammed shut behind him.

  “What in the heck is wrong with you!” Charlotte demanded, picking up his clothes and throwing them at him.

  “What’s wrong with me? Let’s talk about what’s wrong with you! You’re wearing his bird cloak!”

  “I was cold, but if it upsets you that much, here,” she yanked the cloak off and threw it at him, “you can have it.”

  “Don’t turn this back on me. Ever since you found out he did nothing to save anyone on the battlefield, you’ve wanted nothing more than to throw daggers at his throat and claw out his eyes. Now, all of a sudden, it’s ‘Oh Prince Venniver, I would love to go to Itas sometime. Would you mind escorting me?’”

  “I was mingling and conversing, trying to get him to reveal anything Hirth could use. If you weren’t so damn jealous you’d understand that.”

  “Pardon me,” a small but loud male voice said. “Are you going to continue this yowling, or are we going to have a chit chat?”

  David and Charlotte stared at one another then faced the credenza beneath the painting of the fox hunt. There, sitting in a wooden chair about a half a foot high was a small, older man, about nine inches tall, dressed in brown and tan rags and mismatched shoes. His face was long with a bulbous nose, and he ate from a bowl of porridge almost twice his size.

  “Fig?” David asked. He pulled up a chair beside the table and sat down.

  “That’d be me. You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?” He licked his fingers and smacked his lips.

  Charlotte dragged a chair over to the table, the legs shrieking across the floor. Fig cringed at the noise, his fingers in his ears.

  “Spineless beetles, could you not have picked up the chair and moved it? Do you see these?” He tugged on his ears. “They are tiny, and they hurt when exposed to such caterwauling.” Fig shook his head and sat back down. “Hmmph. And humans wonder why we don’t visit while they’re awake.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, sitting down and leaning in. “I was mad at David and failed to consider my own rudeness. Please forgive me.”

  Fig circled his spoon in the air. “No permanent harm done.” He took another bite of porridge. “Why did you summon me? Your valet said it was important.”

  “It is,” David said, leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “We need your help to defeat Einar.”

  Charlotte

  Porridge spewed from Fig’s mouth and splattered on David’s nose. The little man wiped his face on his sleeve, packed his spoon in his pocket, and collected his chair.

  “Hey, where are you going?” David asked, running the palm of his hand over his face. “We haven’t talked.”

  “You have said enough.” Fig walked toward the wall, fumbling and bumbling with his chair. David snatched it from him.

  “Hey! Give that back!” Fig shouted.

  “Not until you hear me out.”

  “There is nothing to discuss. Brownies do not fight.”

  “Not even if it’s to save your home?”

  “We fought long ago. We lost many of our kind. We will not do it again.”

  “But—” David began. Charlotte placed her hand on his knee.

  “What if we promised you wouldn’t have to fight unless you wanted to?” she asked. “What if all we needed was for you to be lookouts. Messengers.”

  “Spies, you mean.” Fig tugged on a leg of his chair, but David wouldn’t let go.

  “If you want to put it that way, yes, you would be spies. There are ways you could stay tucked away, out of sight.”

  “In a dragon’s castle? In a Dalvarian raiders camp? Are you mad, girl? Do you think because we’re small no one will know we’re there? I’m not taking any part in it.”

  “That’s fine for you,” David said, “but don’t you think you need to at least offer it up to the others? Maybe there are some who wouldn’t mind going on a bit of an adventure.”

  “I speak for all of us here in the castle, and the answer is no.”

  “And who are you to make up everyone’s mind for them? The Grand PuPah of Brownies?”

  Fig glared at David, his brows low, his little eyes reduced to tiny slits. “I am the elder. I am their protector.” He knocked on the frame of the painting. Seconds later, it tilted to the side revealing a small, dark tunnel. He yanked the chair from David and hoisted it over his head into two waiting hands.

  “What if I gave you the solemn oath as a Numí that no harm will come to you or your people?” Charlotte asked. She had to try something, and so far, the title had served her well.

  Fig shook his head. “You could be the Great Maker, and I would still turn you down. Go find someone else. Maybe the brown men scattered throughout the realm will help you. You can find them tending the sheep in the meadowlands. Goodnight, and don’t bother bribing me again to come see you.”

  The little man jumped and grabbed the edge of the tunnel, pulling himself in. He disappeared into the darkness, and the painting s
wung back in place.

  David sat back in his chair and expelled an exasperated breath.

  Charlotte rubbed his knee. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling not all is lost on that one. I think there are ways he could be persuaded to change his mind.”

  David slapped his knees and stood. “Yeah, well if you can figure out how to do that, I’ll give you a kiss you’ll never forget.”

  Charlotte rose, happy to see his anger gone. She touched the tips of her fingers to his cheek. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  David moved closer and whispered in her ear. “I never threaten the people I love.”

  He broke free of her arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Charlotte. You can let yourself out.” He paused in the doorway of his bedchamber. “Eric’s burial is at sunrise. I’ll see you in the queen’s garden. You may want to wear something warm, just in case.” He closed the double doors behind him and latched them.

  Charlotte collected the cloak and ran to her chambers, her heart ready to burst. How could he be so cruel? She fell on her bed, and for the first time in days, she sobbed.

  You know he is behaving the way he is because he is scared for you.

  Charlotte rolled over in bed and stifled her scream. “Eric?”

  Eric’s apparition cocked an eyebrow. You seem surprised.

  She scooted back toward the headboard, her nerves a jumbled mess of wires sparking over themselves. “W-what are you doing here?”

  You seem lost. Confused. Hurt. I thought you could use a friend.

  “B-b-b-but you’re dead.”

  And you’re not. Eric swung around one of the posts and plopped lengthwise across the bed. What does that have to do with anything? Would it seem more apropos if I begged for forgiveness?

  The teasing in his eyes bottled her breaths. She glanced away. “What do you need to be forgiven for?”

  Do you want my life story or just the past few months?

  Charlotte wiped her face with her palm and turned her face back to his. “To be honest, I want nothing other than to be free of this place. I miss my home. My family.”

  So do I.

  A knot formed in Charlotte’s throat. She nodded. “I’m sure you do. If it’s any consolation, Trog misses you terribly, but you probably know that. He is filled with guilt, as am I.”

  Why are you filled with guilt? He propped up his head.

  Another tear fell upon her cheek. “I didn’t save you, Eric. I’m supposed to be this all powerful Numí goddess blessed with all sorts of abilities, and I couldn’t save you. I didn’t even try.”

  Dragon’s breath, Charlotte. He floated upward, crossed his legs, and sat back down. You didn’t even know you were a Numí then. Even so, I had a talon tipped with poison stuck all the way through my chest. There was nothing you could have done. Not even the Great Master could have saved me. Sometimes you have to let go of things you cannot change.

  “It is difficult sometimes.”

  He smiled. Charlotte could almost see the green in his eyes. Yes it is, he replied.

  Charlotte sat forward, her shoulders hunched as she picked at a thread in the bed covers. “I lied to you, Eric. I told you I loved you.”

  And you do. Maybe not the way you love that incorrigible paladin cousin of mine, but you do.

  He winked, and her heart fell apart.

  “I’m so sorry, Eric.” She wiped the tears from her cheek. “God how I wish things were different. You shouldn’t have died.” She plucked a handkerchief from the nightstand and blew her nose.

  Maybe. Maybe not. Who’s to know? I do admit I miss having a body, but where I am and where I’m going I have no use for one.

  “Are you happy?”

  He considered and then nodded. Yes. I am. There are no dragons, no war, no sorrow, no sadness. My friend, Sestian, is here, and he is as I remember him before Einar in every way. I ran into my great-grandfather today and my great-grandmother. There is so much love and knowledge and understanding. And at sunrise, I will begin another adventure. My soul will take another turn, and my existence will evolve. He floated closer to her. I lived a good life, Charlotte. I will continue to live a better one. Don’t cry for me. I’m okay.

  “You came here to tell me this?”

  I wanted to see you one last time, to tell you I love you, not in a let’s get married sort of way—though had I lived, David would have had to step aside—but more in a magnanimous sense. Before you knew who and what you are, you were this amazing person. You were saucy and feisty and funny and smart. You took a piece of my heart, and I gladly surrendered it. For once, I felt that wild abandonment that comes with being in love. You gave that to me, and I shall carry that gift with me always. He touched her hand, and a ripple of energy unbottled her breaths. Do not ever let anyone take that away from you. Promise me.

  More tears fell, and she nodded. “I promise.”

  Good. If you don’t keep it, I’ll come back to haunt you forever until the end of time.

  She laughed through her tears.

  He glided from the bed. This is goodbye, Charlotte. Be happy. He turned to leave then paused and glanced over his shoulder. Oh, by the way, Fig and the brownies will fight for Hirth, thank you very much.

  She peered at him, astonished. “How did you manage that one?”

  Brownies don’t like ghosts, especially ones that show up in teeny tiny brownie holes.

  He winked again and was gone.

  An overwhelming sense of peace and calm fell upon her. She smiled and looked to the ceiling. “Thank you, God.” She curled up on her bed, her bed covers drawn to her chest, and drifted into a peaceful slumber free of nightmares and regret.

  ***

  All heads turned as Charlotte entered the garden donned in a white velvet gown and matching overcoat. Black fur bordered the hood surrounding her face as well as the cuffs and hem, while black iridescent threads wisped thin and light through the white fabric, offering up the slightest sheen of raven feathers in sunlight.

  Slavandria approached and gently grasped her arm, easing her away from the others. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Why are you dressed like the snow queen from Kalandra? This is a funeral.”

  “Yes, it is,” Charlotte replied. “It’s a funeral for Eric, and I know as well as everyone here he would not want us to be moping around and looking like death had a hold of us, too. I wanted to celebrate the fact he lived, not that he died.” She walked away, leaving Slavandria speechless, and found the priest. “Please accept my apologies, Father. You may begin.”

  She glanced at the beautiful casket made of lapis lazuli, rose quartz, and gold. On the top was a hand-carved crest of Gyllen Castle—a bull raised on its hind legs with an eagle perched atop its head, its wings spread and ready for flight. David’s tattoo. Beneath the casket—a rectangular hole in the ground. Eric’s physical resting place. Her heart smiled knowing his soul had moved on to a much better place.

  A blast of cold wind whipped through the garden. Charlotte clutched her coat tighter to her and slipped behind the knights into the corner where a pink marble headstone already stood. She read the inscription, curious to know who Eric would spend eternity near.

  Gwyndolyn Brennus

  Adored wife

  Loving mother

  Savior of a lost soul.

  It was all the stone read.

  David slipped from his place beside his queen mother and stood next to Charlotte. “That’s Trog’s wife,” he whispered. “Eric’s mother.”

  “Oh.” The word escaped her lips in a broken breath. She stole a look at Trog who stared at her, his eyes narrowed. His lips were set in a thin line, and she knew without him saying a word he was disappointed in her.

  Charlotte glanced at each person there—Mysterie and Gildore, Slavandria and Mangus, Trog, Farnsworth, Crohn, and Gowran. They were all dressed in black. No frills, no lace, no gold buttons, just simple, reverent black. Even David fit the m
old in black leather trousers and jacket. In their midst, she resembled a flamboyant peacock casting airs upon her onlookers. How could she have been so stupid? The black damask gown had been there on the chair, opposite the white one. She should have put it on instead. Oh, God, no wonder Trog’s looking at me that way, she thought. I’ve let him down. I’ve let them all down.

  She brought her hand to her nose to stifle the tears. She’d have to apologize to them. All of them.

  David held her hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re a Numí. Dare to be different, right?”

  She smiled at him through the brimming tears, grateful to have him beside her.

  They stood in silence as the priest delivered his eulogy. At the end, each person said something about Eric and laid a long stem red rose from a pewter platter on top of the coffin. Everyone except Trog.

  “Come on,” David said, guiding Charlotte by the elbow away from the scene. “It’s time to get ready for breakfast with the dignitaries before they leave.”

  “You go ahead,” Charlotte said. “I’ll be along in a few.” She glanced at Trog standing alone before Eric’s casket. “There’s something I have to do.”

  She approached the knight, her movements timid and slow. She stood beside him, waiting for him to say something. When he finally did, her insides scattered.

  “What do you want, Charlotte?”

  “To say I’m sorry for not dressing appropriately today.” She paused for a moment, trying to form the hardest apology of all. “And for not trying to save Eric when you begged me to.” A tear fell, and her voice trembled. “I should have tried, and I didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

  He ground his teeth, his gaze never leaving Eric’s casket. “Apology accepted.” His tone was flat and unconvincing.

  Her heart cracked. How could she make him understand and believe her? What more could she do?

  “Is there something else you wanted?” Trog asked.

  Charlotte dipped her head. “No. There’s nothing else.”