Page 10 of Magick and Lead (Dragons and Aces #2)

ESSA

I held the spoon of cooked oats and bacon flecks out to the little dragon, but he clamped his mouth shut and shrugged away.

“Come on, open up,” I tried again, but he pushed the spoon back at me with his tail.

Charlie.

The dragon baby projected the name into my mind—a plea, like a child calling for their daddy.

It was heartbreaking. And it was worse because dragons didn’t talk with words; they spoke with feelings.

So instead of a string of vowels and consonants, the name Charlie brought with it his face.

The rough feel of the stubble on his cheek.

His scent—like maple syrup and summer mornings and earth after a rain.

The low rumble of his laugh. The feeling of his hand, gentle and soft yet callused where the fingers met the palm.

It even carried the feeling of his presence when he entered the room.

Smug humor. Quiet confidence. The feeling of safety, knowing that he’d tear the world apart to protect you.

I sighed and dropped the spoon back into the bowl. Reaching out, I stroked Parthar’s head. He rubbed against my touch like a cat.

“I know, sweetie. I know…”

“Sweetie, eh?” I heard the clear tenor of Ollie’s voice behind me as he approached. Like all Torouman, he was a eunuch, and I would have recognized the specific timbre of his voice anywhere.

He knelt next to me, looking at the dragon with knitted brows.

“This is the dragon that bonded with Kit, isn’t it?”

“Charlie,” I corrected. Hearing his name aloud felt like a barb in my chest, a reminder that he’d been lying to me all along—about everything.

“Are we banning the use of his name?” Ollie asked with a teasing smile. He must’ve seen me wince. Nothing escaped a Torouman’s notice.

“Maybe,” I said. “But yes, this was his dragon. His name is Parthar.”

I stroked the little dragon’s head again, and he licked my fingers.

“He’s grown. Hey, buddy,” Ollie said, reaching out.

Parthar snarled, curling his upper lip and showing a row of nail-sharp teeth.

Ollie pulled back fast, but the little dragon’s wrath was short-lived.

A second later, he’d flopped back down to the nest of blankets we’d made for him, looking sad and listless.

“Sorry. He’s not doing well,” I said. “Ever since?—”

Just then, a shout came from across the long hall.

My hand went to my sword hilt, and my head snapped in the direction of the sound.

Dagar stood in the food line, yelling at the man who’d prepared breakfast. As we watched, he flung his wooden bowl.

It broke, sending a splatter of oats across the wall.

“All I was looking forward to was a warm breakfast!” he shouted. “Is that too much to ask?”

Pocha put a hand on his arm, trying to soothe him, but he jerked away and stormed off. Pocha gave us a weary look and followed him out the door.

“Dagar isn’t doing well either…” Ollie observed.

“No…” I agreed. “A dragon without their rider, a rider without their dragon…”

“Both are doomed to wither until madness overtakes them,” Ollie said, finishing the saying. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, gazing at Parthar.

“I’ve thought of trying to bond them, of course.

I had Dagar sitting with Parthar most of the day yesterday,” I said.

“But it doesn’t seem to be working. Probably his bond with…

that foreigner is too strong. It’s a shame, because he’s a sweet little guy.

And of course, we need all the dragons we can get if we’re going to take back this kingdom.

Especially with Dorhane under siege and the hatchery gone. I would hate to have to…”

I trailed off, but of course, Ollie knew my meaning.

A dragon who lost their rider and failed to re-bond often became hostile and antisocial.

It was too dangerous to keep a dragon like that around, and worse yet to raise a dragon bonded to an enemy.

If Dagar couldn’t bond him, he’d have to be killed.

Ollie was leaning forward now, eyeing Parthar with keen attention.

“You know what type of dragon this is?” he asked.

“Tauran,” I shrugged.

Ollie shook his head. “No. Look again.”

I did. There were the reddish gold scales, the little horn buds…

“He’s a tauran,” I said.

Ollie pointed. “No. Look. Behind those horns, there’s another set of horn buds, see? And look at the way his tail is barbed. How old is he supposed to be?”

“About three months,” I said. Ollie’s excitement was making me nervous.

“Look how big he is already. This is no tauran, Essa,” Ollie said. “He’s a stellhan.”

It must have looked comical the way my mouth dropped open. “A stellhan. Like my mother’s dragon?”

Ollie nodded.

But that was impossible. Mother’s dragon, Autan—may his soul fly—was the rarest type of dragon in existence. Stellhans came along less than once in a generation. They were huge and incredibly powerful. Powerful enough that, if used correctly, they could turn the tide of a war.

Or retake a kingdom…

From the fire in Ollie’s eyes, I knew he was thinking the same thing as I was.

“We can’t lose this dragon, Essa. He’s the key to everything. He has to be re-bonded to an experienced rider right away—to Dagar.”

I shook my head. “But he won’t bond. Not when he’s already bonded.”

Ollie put his hands on my shoulders. “Then that bond must be broken.”

The meaning of his words filled me, burning like the rising of a sun. We both knew there was only one sure way to break the bond between rider and dragon.

“I know you cared for him, Essa…” Ollie began.

“That foreign snake?” I spat. “His life is worth less to me than the fluff on a dandelion. I’ve already vowed to pay him back for what he did to my mother. It’s just…” I trailed off.

Ollie glanced at the little dragon again and I could tell he was deep in thought. I was, too, my mind taking flight like a dragon lifting off from a mountaintop. When Ollie looked back at me, he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. We both knew already what would have to be done.

“I’ll go there,” I said. “To Admar. I’ll find him. I’ll kill him. Then the bond will be broken.”

Ollie shook his head. “No, Essa. It’s not a mission for you. You’re a queen now. You can’t go risking yourself behind enemy lines. Send Lure. And Pocha.”

“Lure is still recovering from a serious injury,” I said. “And can you imagine Pocha trying to blend in among those foreign necromancers?”

“Perhaps I could go then,” Ollie mused. “Let’s think on it. No need to make a rash decision. Although we shouldn’t wait too long, either…”

We both looked at Parthar once again. He’d curled his tail around himself and nuzzled his head into it like a pillow, his wings wrapped around himself like a blanket. Ollie was right. He acted like a baby, but he was already as big as a Doramant hound. Parthar was a stellhan.

And he might be the key to everything.