Page 28

Three weeks later, I stood in the small salon of the centuries-old castle, braced near the roaring fire without feeling the heat and barely aware when I murmured, “The cold is worse than I remember.”

“You’re getting soft, Kion,” said Renwick Raz, master of the training facility housed here, known as the Nithe. Hidden in the Tholian Mountains, the Nithe was north of Dangira. A three-hour ride on horseback to reach it—through which Senaria had complained and I’d ignored everything she said.

The fortification was a place where secrets were kept and visitors were noticed on the open roads.

The surrounding town was Samira, with the typical stone-and-wood buildings, a blacksmith, a tavern, the apothecary, and merchant shops.

On the outskirts were the animal pens and stables.

Each day, the town residents walked up the steep road to the castle.

The children cleaned and played when chores were done.

The women ruled the kitchen while the men kept to the stables or tended the fields.

They repaired the castle roof every spring, hunted when winter came, supplementing the food supply—chickens, goats, the cattle that grazed during summer on the sparce grasses .

Centuries ago, the castle had been overrun with eager young men and women. Each of them dreamed of passing the rigorous training, and then facing the final trials of the dragon lord—the leap of faith to bond with a dragon.

They couldn’t do that without Renwick Raz’s firm guidance.

No more, though. Not for two hundred years.

The old dragons refused to interact, and the young dragons weren’t eager to bond.

Perhaps they’d forgotten how. But so had the men and women in the Faded Lands.

Without a reason to seek the highest honor of a dragon lord, most had turned to other pursuits.

Renwick Raz was now treated like an honored grandfather.

He’d once been a feared warrior, a skilled instructor, a hard taskmaster—and my mentor when I’d come as a boy.

He still held that role, although he was not as spry.

He wore a plain cassock, belted at the waist. I’d never seen him dressed differently, and no one else held my trust when it came to Senaria’s training.

Once she’d settled in, I’d left to attend to some minor demon infestations in the borderlands, a side effect from the Malice Moon.

The energy lured mage creatures out of hiding.

Some emerged from the ground. Others from the bottom of the sea—like the doomsday fish Senaria talked about with Sevyn.

“Demons are an excuse, Kion,” Renwick had said before I left. “But go. Do your duty. She’ll be safe enough until you return.”

Three weeks had passed. I hadn’t meant to be gone so long. Or perhaps I had.

“You’re showing that face again, Kion,” Renwick grumbled. “The one that makes grown men piss their pants. Do you find the expression useful with your friends?”

We were in a comfortable room. Tapestries decorated the stone walls. Candle sconces stood in the corners, supporting mage lights instead of the candles with dripping wax—wax I’d had to scrape from the floor whenever the old dragon lord decided my focus needed strengthening.

Thick woven rugs covered the floor, and I appreciated the new furnishings. After the hours of training or weeks in the saddle, the padded chairs eased the ache in stiff muscles.

Renwick settled in his favorite chair, close to the fire.

He stretched his left leg, sighing as he rubbed his knee.

Knowing Ren, he’d been training alongside Senaria, enduring what she endured to shame her into pushing through the exhaustion and pain.

No one wanted to quit before a very old man did.

Not if they wanted to survive the Nithe.

Various expressions settled on Renwick’s lined face—pride, disapproval—reminding me of a time long ago.

I’d been nervous and afraid in front of the legend.

Renwick Raz. Bards had written songs about him.

Traveling mummer troupes told the stories.

One of the greatest dragon lords to ever live, a master fighter, and a friend when I’d needed one.

“What?” he growled. “You’re staring, Kion. It’s making me nervous.”

“I’d forgotten what a legend looks like.”

“If I told you to use a mirror more often, I’d be pandering to your ego.” He pointed toward the mud on my boots. “Still dragging in the outdoors, I see. ”

“Where is she?”

“The training yard.” His attention turned to the narrow window that overlooked the walled space one story below. Outside, the light had gone gray. Another storm was on the horizon, which explained the chill.

“She does chores,” Ren said. “Scrubs the floors. Helps in the kitchen. Sometimes, she uses that magic and sneaks into Cook’s head, gives her suggestions. The food is better when she does.”

I scowled.

Ren brushed my irritation aside. “You wanted her trained, Kion. I recall you having chores when you were here. Mucking out the stables and leaving manure beneath a rival’s bed.”

My frown deepened. “Your memory should have faded by now, old man.”

Renwick chuckled as he braced both hands on his knees. “But what did you learn?”

“Fresh manure left in a castle during winter freezes to the stone floor.”

“And thaws at the most inopportune times,” agreed the old man. “You excelled at your studies but chafed at authority, and look at you now, Draakon.”

“Yes, look at me.” I brushed away the dried mud clinging to my pants. “Still mucking up your precious castle.”

“Ah.” Renwick held his palms closer to the fire, then slid his hands into the cassock’s long sleeves. “It’s been some time since we had anyone here training. I’ve set the men to repairing the obstacles.”

“How goes her training? ”

“I handle the lessons. She practices alone. None of the men will help her.”

“I can talk to them,” I offered.

“She would resent it.” He paused long enough to add another log to the fire. “Senaria likes to be alone—calls it her penance.”

Repetitive sounds drifted from the training field, a dull thudding that I recognized—someone swung a training weapon against the hard-stuffed sword dummy.

“She misses Bogo,” my mentor said, almost as if he missed the dragons, too. He’d always been fond of the young ones, feeding them scraps the way Senaria had fed Bogo.

“I can’t bring him here when he needs to bond with other dragons.”

“She’s his mother, or as close to it as a human can get.”

My mouth tightened with the obvious. “She can’t teach him how to survive.”

“But you can teach her how to survive,” Ren countered. “Her power is unique.”

The black leather I wore was suddenly too warm after the earlier chill, but I hadn’t changed from the pants and protective shirt I favored when traveling, wanting to talk to Ren first before settling in a drafty room.

He’d touched on an important matter though, and I asked, “Have you gotten a measure on the magic she has?”

“Mage abilities, stronger than I’d expect from someone coming from the Southern Lands. She’d be locked up on Deimos right now if the priests had ever sensed it. ”

“Ardalez kept her hidden behind a veil, rarely let her out of her room. He has magic of his own, so it’s possible he blunted hers.”

“She’s been stunted like the fledgling.” Renwick leaned back in the softly creaking chair. His trimmed white hair revealed more scalp than hair, and brown spots covered his veined hands. Neither observation would be appreciated, if I pointed out the signs of age.

He stared at the flames devouring a blackened log. “She clings to her identity as Silk. We talk, but she’s adamant. Believes she can’t go beyond playing with someone’s thoughts. Each time I push her into more, her fear gets in the way and she shuts down.”

“She fought wyverns while wearing mage shackles. Killed one.”

“I believe her power helped her survive,” said Ren, as he glanced at me. “Sarnorinth sensed it. He’s intrigued by great power, and seems drawn to her. He was drawn to you, wasn’t he?”

“The Draakon has no dragon.”

“No, the Draakon cannot show favorites, can he? You have them all, Kion. But dragons are a poor substitute for a family.”

“You were a good mentor once,” I said.

“Oh, be mad at me if you must. But I speak the truth. I understand why the Thales king wanted her. Magic aside, she’s a beautiful woman.

Completely unaware of her destiny.” He glanced at me over his shoulder.

“It can go either way, you know. Her mage power. But her ability to talk to dragons will be useful in any war.”

My lips firmed. “She is more than what she can do.”

“She is, isn’t she?” A woman I recognized sauntered into the salon.

Anneli Zayas. She moved with the glide of a mage, her blue brocade gown swishing around her feet, the low neckline offering a swelling view of creamy skin.

Her body was a man’s dream, or a nightmare.

Hair the color of walnuts reflected the light in a crown of curls.

Drifting tendrils brushed against her neck.

Dark eyes glinted. Red lips pouted. Everything about her simmered with an offer of passion and dominance.

I glanced at Renwick, my jaw tight. “You sent for a sorceress?”

He smoothed his cassock. “Senaria needs the training, and Anneli Zayas is the best there is.”

“She destroyed Perun.” I didn’t care that Anneli Zayas stood there, smiling at the insults.

According to the whispers, the mage demolished a powerful city filled with thieves because she possessed a dark knowledge given to her by the old Gods, although the rumors surged with the idea that Anneli had eliminated a rival and not a menace.

I didn’t think it was an idea. More of a fact.