Bane of the Dragon King Read online

  He kissed the horse on the nose and picked up his knapsack. “You do what you have to do. You find something to focus on and go for it.” He tacked the bag to the saddle.

  “What did you focus on?”

  “You,” he said, glancing at her as he led the horse from the stall.

  A tingle went up her spine. “Why me? Why not both of us? Didn’t you want to go home, too?”

  “Yeah, I did, but it didn’t matter what I wanted for me. Bottom line, I didn’t care what happened to me. You were all that mattered. I tried to explain it before, but you got all pissed off. I felt responsible for dragging you into all this. The guilt was insane. All I could think of was how to make things right and how to get you home and away from all this.” He gestured around the stable with his eyes. “And if that meant being tortured, beaten, or killed to make sure that happened, then that’s what I’d do.”

  Charlotte swallowed the cotton ball in her throat. Why? Why did he have to be so gallant and brave and … and … perfect? She clutched her arms tighter to her and looked away.

  “Are you mad at me, Kit Kat?” David asked, brushing his thumb across her chin.

  “No, but you’re supposed to be helping me come up with a solution to my problem. Instead you’re creating new ones.”

  “How so?” He stopped at the stable doors.

  “Because you’ve got this whole noble thing going on, and all I want to do is run away. Don’t get me wrong. There’s a part of me that loves the idea of this whole goddess thing. I mean, think of it. Me. A goddess.” She laughed.

  “I never thought of you as anything less.”

  “Oh please. Don’t be so cheesy.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  She looked after him as he kept walking, and her chest became so tight it ached. What a fool she was, passing off his feelings with such flippancy. She kicked the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did, and it’s okay. Forget about it, and let’s get back to your conundrum. You don’t mind being a goddess but … ”

  “Why can’t I use my powers for good? Why do I have to kill something?”

  “Because if you don’t kill Einar, he’s going to kill us.”

  “Stop being logical.”

  “You asked.”

  They stepped outside into the crisp night air, the horse clomping his way along the cobblestones. It was then she noticed the broadness of David’s shoulders, the length of his hair, the confidence in his stride. He’d become a man, and she hadn’t even seen it happen.

  She needed to start paying more attention.

  “You still haven’t told me where you’re going,” she said, racing up behind him.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t feel like listening to a lecture.”

  “Ah, so you’re doing something you know you shouldn’t be doing, but you’re going to do it anyway because … ?”

  “I want to help someone.” He refused to look at her.

  “And who might that someone be?”

  “Leave it be, Char.”

  She swept in front of him and grabbed the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. “Tell me where you’re going, or I’ll have to use my goddess mind-reading powers on you, and I don’t want to do that. I hate reading your mind. There’s a lot of gunk in there I don’t want to know, but I will if I must. No secrets, remember? You promised.”

  “That was a pinky-swear when we were like five years old. You’re not going to hold me to that now, are you? We’ve grown up. Things are different.”

  “So different that you’re willing to break a promise to me, your best friend?”

  They stared at one another, neither one of them willing to give. She unraveled a thread of power and sent it into his mind.

  He flinched and threw up an arm. “All right. Stop it!”

  She pulled back the thread.

  David glared at her and growled. “You’ve got to swear to me you won’t tell Trog.”

  She raised her right hand in an oath position. “I solemnly swear, forever and always.”

  David coaxed the horse into the shadows beneath a large oak and wrapped the reins around his hand. “When Twiller rescued me from the lair beneath Lake Sturtle, we kind of ran into these grasshopper things called vorgrants in Beggar’s Field. They protect the Vila lilies that grow there. They keep people from stealing their roots.”

  She lifted a brow. “Why would anyone want to steal lilies?”

  David looked off in the distance. “It’s been said that the roots, if harvested at night, can bring people back from the dead.”

  All the air vacated Charlotte’s lungs in one swoop. Her mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding right? You’re going to collect a root to bring Eric back from the dead? Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve got to do something, Charlotte. You didn’t see Trog’s face. You didn’t see the pain and heartache in his eyes or hear the suffering in his voice. He’s lost everything; his wife, his son, not to mention his home is on the brink of annihilation. If there is a chance that I can take some of that despair away, if there’s a way I can give him back his son—”

  Charlotte shook her head. Desperation seeped from her pores. “No. No, you can’t do that, David. I can’t let you.” The fear was overwhelming. She was near tears imagining the walking dead.

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t bring people back from the dead, David. It’s bad.”

  “How do you know?” He gazed into her face, no doubt waiting for a Pulitzer Prize winning answer that would never come. “Have you ever done it before?”

  A reply came from behind them. “No, and you don’t want to.”

  Charlotte covered her mouth with her hands and stepped back as Trog emerged from the shadows of the trees like a grizzly bear on the prowl. Her hands dropped to her chest to keep her heart from bursting through her ribs and escaping. He was so big and dangerous-looking in the moonlight.

  The horse neighed and shifted his weight.

  David stroked its muzzle. “Shh. It’s ok, fella.”

  Trog ventured around them, his green eyes staring David down. “It is said when people die, their souls leave and move into their next life. What remains is a shell of what once was. Wake up the shell, you wake up something void of humanity and spirit. What you would bring back to roam this world would not be my son, so if it’s all right with you, I’d rather keep my memories and be miserable than deal with whatever hellacious thing you’d create out of good intentions and a handful of Vila lily roots.” He snatched the reins from David’s hands. “Also, you may want to keep in mind that stealing a royal stallion is a punishable offense usually resulting in loss of limb.” He plucked David’s rucksack from the saddle and shoved it in David’s chest. “I’ll let you go this time. Don’t do it again.” He turned the horse and headed back toward the stables.

  Something inside Charlotte ignited. She’d never seen the man so heartless. “What’s wrong with you, Trog?” Charlotte shouted. “I agree that David’s idea wasn’t a good one, but his heart was in the right place, and you’re not even acknowledging what he was willing to do for you.”

  “I don’t need pity.”

  “It wasn’t pity, you old fool.” Energy surged within her but remained hidden beneath the surface. “He cares about you. He knew you were hurting and he was trying to help you, and all you could do is threaten him for taking a horse?”

  Trog turned to face her, his peridot eyes shining in the dark. “Do not lecture me, young lady. I know what you are now, who you are, and you don’t intimidate me. You think you can hide behind your parentage, your new-found abilities, but I see the same scared, insecure, spineless little girl I’ve seen all along.”

  “Hey!” David yelled. “Don’t talk to her like that just because you’re in a state.”

  “Stop defending her, boy. It’s why she is the way she is. Coddlin
g never did anyone any good. Look at her. She knows what she needs to do, and she runs from it.”

  Fury spread within Charlotte, red sparks dancing atop her skin. “Don’t start with me, Trog. You’ve always said standing for your principles and your beliefs is what’s important. I don’t agree with murder. It makes me no better than Einar, and you and all your guilt trips in the world will not change that.”

  He released the reins and thundered toward her. Her stomach flipped, heart jolting, but she remained planted, her mouth and eyes set as stubbornly as his.

  “My son died for you.” He shoved his calloused forefinger in her face. “He gave his life to protect all of us, and you are going to stand here and dishonor him this way?”

  “I’m well aware of what Eric did, and I’m sorry he died, but that doesn’t mean I have to turn into a murderer to avenge his death.”

  “Damn it, girl, open your eyes! We’re at war. Right now, the enemy marches across our land, taking what it wants. Killing. Deceiving. Cities and towns you have never even heard of are falling to its wrath. It is brazen and bold. Its faces are many, and they move among us, unseen because we’re cowering in our self-righteousness. Do you think it cares about your stupid Utopian ideologies? No! It wants to devour you, and if you resist, you die, and you want to know why?” The knight bent over Charlotte, his eyes narrow. Cold. “Because it doesn’t understand humanity. It doesn’t give a damn about the Erics and Daniels of the world. Death, horror, destruction is all it knows. It becomes stronger when you bleed, when you suffer. When you try to make sense of its savagery. He will feed off your weakness, and he will win. You want to honor my son? You want to pay back the sacrifice he made? Then put aside your ideologies, your beliefs, and kill the beast. There’ll be plenty of time for you to spread the joy and make the world green, but you’ll never get anywhere until you kill the blight that is destroying it. That’s what a goddess does. Be one.”

  He flicked one more angry look at David, then turned and walked away.

  “There is nothing honorable in your words, Trog,” Charlotte hollered after him. “That’s not like you. Why not stand with me and find another way?”

  He swatted the air behind him in a shoo-off motion. A dismissal. She clenched her fists at her sides as he headed back to the stables, her breaths coming in hot, short bursts. Why did he have to be so infuriating! She gathered her cloak in a wad at her chest, burying the sparks still skipping across her arms. She shot David a look.

  “I’m going to bed. My head is pounding, and I can’t take any more of this one-track, closed-minded thinking. You need to do the same. And no more bringing back the dead talk.” A shiver ran out of her. “It’s creepy.”

  ***

  Charlotte sat on the rim of the lower courtyard’s broken fountain thankful for the moonlit quiet. She’d tried to sleep, but the more she thought of what David wanted to do, the more sleep escaped her. She’d knocked on his door earlier, but he didn’t answer. A peek inside at his undisturbed bed sent ripples through her. Had he followed through with his plan? She hoped not. It would be suicide. She stared toward the east at the tinge of pink streaking low on the horizon. Dawn would soon march across the sky, and she would be at the mercy of Mangus Grythorn and whatever weapon he thrust upon her. If only she could convince him that fighting wasn’t always the only way. If only she could learn and fine-tune the art of negotiating. If only she could convince herself that Einar would be willing to negotiate. She might as well ask fish to fly. Of course, in this magical Land of Oz, it was almost certain some fish did.

  From side alleys and doorways, a few people began to emerge, their daily chores ahead of them. Looking around, she marveled at the progress made in returning the castle to its former glory. It had been weeks since Einar attacked, but looking at the castle grounds, one would think it had been months. The rubble was all gone from the lower courtyard and rebuilding was underway. The oval drive appeared as new. Scaffolding braced the gatehouse, and stones lay in piles, ready to be reused. Up above, the battlements were also braced, and she’d noticed the day before a quarry of stone lay stacked on the hillside beyond the wall. She marveled at the perseverance of the Hirthinians. They’d experienced the worst, and yet they continued. They fought for normalcy. They refused to lie down and succumb to the evil looming around them. If only she could bring some beauty into their lives. If only she could bring smiles to their faces and joy to their hearts.

  She glanced at the head of the merman statue lying on the floor of the fountain, his stonework eyes looking back at her, his headless body towering above her. The hippocamp lay on its side, its tail shattered. Behind her, the wisteria tree stood bare, its limbs begging for life. What if she could fix them, bring them hope?

  She spotted an empty bucket by a doorway near the infirmary and snagged it, hurrying as fast as she could go to the Cloverleaf River. The return to the fountain took a bit longer, the water sloshing over the rim, but there would be enough to do what she needed.

  The sun peeked through the tree line as she poured half the water on the roots of the tree and the rest in the dilapidated fountain. The water barely made a puddle.

  Charlotte reached into the fountain until her fingers touched the water. Wave after wave rippled through her body. Her skin tingled with magic. One by one, she cast threads of it into the water and opened her mind as wide as possible, drawing on all her strength, on her memories, on those things that brought her happiness. She swayed and hummed, her eyes closed, her thoughts buried in the conjuring.

  Cool water crept up her fingers and soon engulfed her hand. Rocks, stone, marble clamored together, rattling, tumbling.

  Charlotte opened her eyes to see the merman and hippocamp statue reassemble itself, no cracks or mend marks in sight. The rim of the fountain returned to its pristine circle, the water within so blue, its ripples diamond sparkled in the sunlight. Charlotte withdrew her hand from the pool, now filled to the brim, and smiled. She stood and admired her work, then walked to the tree, laying her hands upon its trunk. Her heart opened and poured out all the love and compassion she could bring forth. All the peace and joy she wished upon the world flowed into the tree, an extension of her.

  The tree responded, growing and shifting, thickening. Above her, branches creaked and groaned as they grew and swelled. Purple pea-like flowers exploded in fragrant clusters releasing a sweet, honey scent into the air. On the ground, vibrant green grass spread in a thick carpet to the driveway’s edge. Charlotte looked around at what she’d done, and a smile settled on her face. This was what she was destined for, not killing, but rather offering hope where none existed. For now, she would fight because it was required, but when it was over, it was over. Her mind was made up, and no mage would ever change it.

  She stood and turned to find Mangus staring at her, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Hi,” she said. “I was on my way to find you. Are you ready to teach me how to be a murderer?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not today. I’ve been called away.” He pushed past her, his gaze on the tree. “I thought we had a talk about this. I thought you understood the dangers.”

  She nodded. “I did … do … but I can’t ignore who I am. The people need something to believe in, a reason to keep getting their hands dirty, to go to bed with their bodies bruised and aching. The sick need to know not all is lost. We all need beauty and some semblance of normalcy. If I can give this to them in even the slightest measure, then I will. Besides, you can’t expect me to keep this all inside. It’s as important to me as it is to them.”

  He dropped his arms and shook his head. “You’re as headstrong as your mother.”

  Charlotte smiled. “And yet you still love her.”

  He let loose a slight chuckle. “That I do, but it doesn’t make her right in her thinking or any less infuriating.” He turned to her, his eyes tender. “Your gift is nice. Please let this be the last of your grand transformations, at least for a while
.”

  “Fair enough. Where are you going?”

  “Unimportant. I will return this evening, and our training will begin tomorrow. Oh, and the funeral has been pushed back a day, much to Trog’s dismay, to accommodate the arrival of King Edwin and his son and wife, the Prince and Princess of Trent.” He glanced past her, over her shoulder, his expression turning grave and serious. “I must go. Stay out of trouble.” He tapped her on the nose and strode toward the stables.

  Charlotte smiled and hugged herself. She got a reprieve and a nod of approval from Mangus. Not a bad way to start the day.

  ***

  The uneventful day melted into night, and there was still no sign of David. She pulled her shawl tight to her shoulders, her heart consumed with worry as she stood on the upper balcony, a soft breeze lifting her hair. Where could he be? She’d asked Slavandria during their mental shield class in the afternoon, but she claimed she knew nothing. None of the staff had seen him. Now, here it was midnight and still nothing. Horrors flooded her thoughts. What if he were lying dead in a field of Vila lilies, his defenseless body a dinner for hungry vorgrants? She clasped the balustrade, her eyes closed, and unraveled a few threads of magic to find him. Twice she touched on his essence, but the tendrils snapped and retracted before she could connect. Please be all right, David. I beg you.

  The arrival of a few riders sent her heart into a whirl, hoping against all hope David was one of them, but it was only Mangus and five men she’d never seen. She watched as they dismounted and climbed the steps, each acknowledging her with a dip of the chin and a gruff-spoken My lady before continuing down the aisle of potted topiaries and willows to the castle. Mangus stopped before her.

  “Why are you up so late, little one? Are you well?”

  “I’m worried, Mangus. David is missing, and I’m afraid he may have done something he’ll regret. I’ve tried to reach out to him, but I must be doing something wrong.”

  “I wouldn’t fret. It’s possible he doesn’t wish to be found. It may be your skills are not advanced enough to locate him. How long has he been gone?”