Crown of Dragons
Date: 2020-07-09 04:00:00+00:00

Morgan Rice

Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising three books; of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six books; of the epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY, comprising eight books; of the epic fantasy series A THRONE FOR SISTERS, comprising eight books; of the new science fiction series THE INVASION CHRONICLES, comprising four books; of the fantasy series OLIVER BLUE AND THE SCHOOL FOR SEERS, comprising four books; of the fantasy series THE WAY OF STEEL, comprising four books; and of the new fantasy series AGE OF THE SORCERERS, comprising five books (and counting). Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.

Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!

Select Acclaim for Morgan Rice

“If you thought that there was no reason left for living after the end of THE SORCERER’S RING series, you were wrong. In RISE OF THE DRAGONS Morgan Rice has come up with what promises to be another brilliant series, immersing us in a fantasy of trolls and dragons, of valor, honor, courage, magic and faith in your destiny. Morgan has managed again to produce a strong set of characters that make us cheer for them on every page.…Recommended for the permanent library of all readers that love a well-written fantasy.”

--Books and Movie Reviews

Roberto Mattos

“An action packed fantasy sure to please fans of Morgan Rice’s previous novels, along with fans of works such as THE INHERITANCE CYCLE by Christopher Paolini…. Fans of Young Adult Fiction will devour this latest work by Rice and beg for more.”

--The Wanderer, A Literary Journal (regarding Rise of the Dragons)

“A spirited fantasy that weaves elements of mystery and intrigue into its story line. A Quest of Heroes is all about the making of courage and about realizing a life purpose that leads to growth, maturity, and excellence….For those seeking meaty fantasy adventures, the protagonists, devices, and action provide a vigorous set of encounters that focus well on Thor's evolution from a dreamy child to a young adult facing impossible odds for survival….Only the beginning of what promises to be an epic young adult series.”

--Midwest Book Review (D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer)

“THE SORCERER’S RING has all the ingredients for an instant success: plots, counterplots, mystery, valiant knights, and blossoming relationships replete with broken hearts, deception and betrayal. It will keep you entertained for hours, and will satisfy all ages. Recommended for the permanent library of all fantasy readers.”

--Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos

“In this action-packed first book in the epic fantasy Sorcerer's Ring series (which is currently 14 books strong), Rice introduces readers to 14-year-old Thorgrin "Thor" McLeod, whose dream is to join the Silver Legion, the elite knights who serve the king…. Rice's writing is solid and the premise intriguing.”

--Publishers Weekly

Books by Morgan Rice

AGE OF THE SORCERERS

REALM OF DRAGONS (Book #1)

THRONE OF DRAGONS (Book #2)

BORN OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

RING OF DRAGONS (Book #4)

CROWN OF DRAGONS (Book #5)

DUSK OF DRAGONS (Book #6)

OLIVER BLUE AND THE SCHOOL FOR SEERS

THE MAGIC FACTORY (Book #1)

THE ORB OF KANDRA (Book #2)

THE OBSIDIANS (Book #3)

THE SCEPTOR OF FIRE (Book #4)

THE INVASION CHRONICLES

TRANSMISSION (Book #1)

ARRIVAL (Book #2)

ASCENT (Book #3)

RETURN (Book #4)

THE WAY OF STEEL

ONLY THE WORTHY (Book #1)

ONLY THE VALIANT (Book #2)

ONLY THE DESTINED (Book #3)

ONLY THE BOLD (Book #4)

A THRONE FOR SISTERS

A THRONE FOR SISTERS (Book #1)

A COURT FOR THIEVES (Book #2)

A SONG FOR ORPHANS (Book #3)

A DIRGE FOR PRINCES (Book #4)

A JEWEL FOR ROYALS (BOOK #5)

A KISS FOR QUEENS (BOOK #6)

A CROWN FOR ASSASSINS (Book #7)

A CLASP FOR HEIRS (Book #8)

OF CROWNS AND GLORY

SLAVE, WARRIOR, QUEEN (Book #1)

ROGUE, PRISONER, PRINCESS (Book #2)

KNIGHT, HEIR, PRINCE (Book #3)

REBEL, PAWN, KING (Book #4)

SOLDIER, BROTHER, SORCERER (Book #5)

HERO, TRAITOR, DAUGHTER (Book #6)

RULER, RIVAL, EXILE (Book #7)

VICTOR, VANQUISHED, SON (Book #8)

KINGS AND SORCERERS

RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)

RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)

THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)

A FORGE OF VALOR (Book #4)

A REALM OF SHADOWS (Book #5)

NIGHT OF THE BOLD (Book #6)

THE SORCERER’S RING

A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)

A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)

A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)

A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)

A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)

A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)

A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)

A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)

A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)

A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)

THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)

THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY

ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)

ARENA TWO (Book #2)

ARENA THREE (Book #3)

VAMPIRE, FALLEN

BEFORE DAWN (Book #1)

THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

TURNED (Book #1)

LOVED (Book #2)

BETRAYED (Book #3)

DESTINED (Book #4)

DESIRED (Book #5)

BETROTHED (Book #6)

VOWED (Book #7)

FOUND (Book #8)

RESURRECTED (Book #9)

CRAVED (Book #10)

FATED (Book #11)

OBSESSED (Book #12)

Did you know that I've written multiple series? If you haven't read all my series, click the image below to download a series starter!

Want free books?

Subscribe to Morgan Rice's email list and receive 4 free books, 3 free maps, 1 free app, 1 free game, 1 free graphic novel, and exclusive giveaways! To subscribe, visit: www.morganricebooks.com

Copyright © 2020 by Morgan Rice. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Zeferli used under license from istockphoto.com.

CHAPTER THREE

The sun beat down on Lenore as she and the others walked. Around her, fields of wheat and barley stood moving gently in the wind, dry stone walls separating them and small drovers’ tracks providing routes from one place to another. Here and there, a scarecrow stood in the fields, or a stand of trees broke up the monotony of the landscape.

They’d been walking now for days, moving carefully, keeping to the smaller paths between fields. Her legs ached with the effort, but she knew not to complain. They were lucky not to be dead right now. Compared to that, a little discomfort was nothing.

“Are you all right, Princess?” Odd asked. He’d been concerned for Lenore’s well-being since they’d left the city, heading out into the countryside. He still looked strange in noble clothes, his shorn hair not suiting it, and he kept his cloak around him as if it were a substitute for his monk’s robes.

“I’m fine,” Lenore said. In truth, she was hungry and tired and frightened, but she would be strong. She knew how she had to look by now. Her clothes were stained and torn at the edges from catching on bramble hedges they’d had to cross. Her dark hair was tied back to keep it clear of her face, and the sunlight dazzled her eyes.

Erin walked ahead, leaning on the stick that hid her short spear. She was grubbier than either of them, because she was always the first to plunge on through streams or across low walls. There was a glint of her armor every time she moved, and her features looked set below her short hacked hair, determined not to show any of the pain that she must feel. She looked around for threats, eyes on every bush, tree, and wheat-filled field. She’d been quiet over the last few days, and Lenore didn’t know whether that was about her continuing anger at them not staying to fight, or grief at their mother’s death.

Lenore shared that grief, and more than a little of the anger that went with it. If she closed her eyes, Lenore could still see the moment when Ravin had raised his sword before her mother, tied helplessly to an execution stake. She couldn’t escape the sight of that blade plunging into her mother, seeing the moment when she’d died over and over again. Why would it be any different for Erin?

“Can you see anything ahead, Erin?” Odd asked.

Erin didn’t answer.

“Erin,” Lenore said. “Is the way clear?”

“It’s fine,” Erin replied. She looked around, and she briefly gave Odd a hard look before she answered. “I think that there’s a village ahead, past those trees. I can see chimney smoke.”

Lenore looked, and there was smoke, just as her sister said. She hoped that it was chimney smoke. There were too many worse things that it could be so soon after an invasion.

“We should approach cautiously,” Odd said, as if thinking the same thing.

“What’s wrong?” Erin shot back. “Afraid?”

Lenore held back a sigh. It had been like this since they’d left. Before, Erin and Odd had seemed like a perfect complement to one another, in spite of the former monk’s strangeness. Now… there was tension between them. They barely trained with one another, and Erin took no part in Odd’s morning meditations. Each seemed to be fine with Lenore, but the tension between them was palpable.

“We will get a good look at it as we get closer,” Lenore said. “If it’s burned out, we’ll have to move on, but I don’t think it will be. Ravin thinks he can rule, so he doesn’t want to burn everything.”

Just saying his name made Lenore’s hands clench into fists.

“There might be guards,” Odd said.

“Then we kill them,” Erin shot back.

Lenore kept walking. “We’ll have to risk it. We need more supplies.”

Those were proving costly. Because they’d planned for this moment, they’d been able to take money with them, and jewelry that could be sold if needed, but even so, Lenore was worried that they hadn’t brought enough.

“We can’t run forever,” Erin said.

“I could find somewhere safe for us,” Odd said. “Somewhere beyond the kingdom.”

Lenore stopped on the track. She had no time to resolve this, but she wanted to be clear about one thing. She stared at the others, letting them see the resolve in her.

“This isn’t about running,” she said. “We’ve escaped the city, but I will not spend my whole life running. Ravin is not going to win this, not after everything he’s done. Argue about everything else if you want, but we are going to take back this kingdom.”

They looked at her in surprise, but then with a hint of respect. Lenore was already walking again, though. She didn’t have enough time to mediate whatever argument this was. Right then, it felt as though she’d already wasted too much time. She’d wasted it being the princess that everyone expected. She’d wasted it being meek, and obedient, and passive.

She wasn’t going to do that now. It felt to Lenore as though there was a fire burning somewhere inside her, fueled by all the loss she’d felt over the last few months, all the ways she’d been betrayed, or hurt, or seen those she’d loved taken from her. Her mother was the harshest part of it, but it wasn’t the only one. Her brother Rodry was dead, and her father. Her sister Nerra was gone, and Lenore didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Greave was missing too, and he was not cut out to be caught in a war.

Lenore hadn’t been either, but it felt as though this fire inside her was hardening something in her, like the heat from Devin’s forge. Thoughts of him brought a wave of other emotions too, wishing that he was there, that he might find them. Lenore knew that she had to focus, though. She couldn’t be distracted, even by thoughts of him.

They kept walking, and soon a village lay ahead, nestled between trees on one side and open fields on the other. It was small and sleepy looking, with thatched roofs and quiet gardens between the houses. There was a forge, an inn, a granary, and a small open square with a few people about their business, but little beyond that.

Lenore moved forward into the village with the others at her back. People stared at them, obviously trying to work out who they were, and if they were any kind of threat. Lenore looked around them, trying to guess if any of them might be Quiet Men. That was the hard part with what she was going to do: the moment she started to gather support, there was a risk that Ravin would hear, and strike back.

Even so, she had to do it, so she went to the middle of the village green, standing there while Erin kept her hand tight on her spear and Odd looked around for possible threats.

“Who’s in charge in this village?” Lenore said, then realized that she was speaking too quietly to be heard. She could imagine her mother there, telling her to speak up, so that her voice would carry across any lord’s hall. “Who runs things here?”

A man stepped forward, perhaps forty, with the weather-beaten look that came from being outside.

“I’m Harris, the miller,” he said. He nodded to another man, who had to be ten years older than him, with a beard shot through with gray. “That there’s Lans, the burgoman. Other than that, these are some of Lord Carrick’s lands. Who are you, lady?”

Lenore took a breath, glancing from Erin to Odd for support, feeling as many nerves as she had before any courtly dance, and more. She knew how many dangers there might be in this moment, all the watchers who might be lurking, all the threats that might come from what she was about to say. Even so, she had to say it.

“I am Lenore, daughter of Queen Aethe and King Godwin the Third. I have come from Royalsport to speak with you all, to try to raise support, and to undo the damage that King Ravin has done.”

The older man, Lans, looked at Lenore for a moment or two before shaking his head.

“What kind of joke is this?” he demanded. “Are you here to steal from us, or to test our loyalty? Why are you lying to us, girl?”

“No,” Lenore said. “It’s not a lie. I am Princess Lenore.”

“Princess Lenore is dead,” Lans said. “Everyone knows that. Criers came to announce it, along with the death of the queen.”

He moved away, shaking his head. The miller made as if to leave with him, but Lenore stepped forward, grabbing his arm. He started to brush away, shoving her back, and Lenore saw Erin start toward him. Erin grabbed the large man, twisting his arm behind his back in a way that looked painful. That wasn’t what this moment needed. She held up a hand to forestall her sister.

“Erin, let him go,” she said. She could see some of the villagers around them growing restless, and could see Odd’s hand going to his sword, looking out for trouble.

“But he’s not going to listen,” Erin replied.

“He’ll listen,” Lenore said. “But not if the only reason he’s doing it is because we’re hurting him. Let him go.”

She did it, and Lenore breathed a faint sigh of relief. She saw the miller rubbing his wrist where Erin had grabbed him, and knew that she had only a brief moment to change his mind about them.

“If you’ve heard that I’m dead,” Lenore said, “maybe you should think about why they’re saying that. Maybe it’s because they know that we’re a threat to them. Maybe it’s because we’re the one chance of actually fighting back against everything that’s happening. I know it’s hard to believe, but I am Princess Lenore, and that is my sister, Princess Erin. You’ve heard that she trained with the Knights of the Spur? Do you think someone so small who hadn’t trained with them could do that to you so easily?”

The miller looked at Erin. “Aye, maybe.”

“And that is Odd,” Lenore said, gesturing to where the former knight still stood ready with his hand on his sword’s grip. “He used to be Sir Oderick the Mad.” She saw the way the miller stared at Odd then, in obvious fear. “Would anyone lie about that? Would anyone dare to claim it, knowing how much trouble it would bring? Just by telling you who I am, I have put myself and my sister in danger.”

“I… I suppose so,” Harris the miller said.

Lenore knew that she had to push now, or she would never convince him. “We are not here to lie to you, or to steal from you, but to build an army. Just gather people together, and have them listen to me. After that, it will be your choice what you do, and if you believe me. Please.”

“All right,” he said. “Tonight, at the inn, but I can’t promise they’ll listen.”

“They’ll listen,” Lenore said. “I’ll make them listen.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The room they gave Renard at the House of Sighs was… red. Very red. The sheets were red, the drapes were red, even the furniture was made of wood of such a deep hue it could have been stained in blood. Some flicker of memory stirred inside Renard, so that he was sure he had been in it before, but sorting through all his memories of the House of Sighs was… complicated, and Renard didn’t have the attention to spare, right then.

He found himself focusing instead on the feeling of the amulet by his side, slowly draining the life from him, even now. Renard sat, looking around the room. This was one occasion when maybe memory was actually useful, rather than something to be pushed away, out of embarrassment.

He did remember this room. He’d been here before, and that meant… he walked over to a spot in the corner, lifting the edge of a delicately embroidered rug and finding a place where his knife could dig into the space between two floorboards.

As weak as he was, it was an effort to pry up the one that was loose, revealing the space beneath. There was a box there, made of a mixture of copper and gold that fit together the way marquetry might in a wooden box. Renard caressed it; he could still remember the moment when he’d stolen it. Of course, having to leave it here had been… less than ideal, but right now, it presented an opportunity.

He touched the box in one place, then another, pushing gently so that he wouldn’t trigger any of the needles built into it. The top unfolded like a flower blooming, revealing an open space in which sat a ring, a smooth carved ruby, and a few coins of indeterminate value.

Renard took those out on general principles, but also so that he could make space. He set the amulet in the box and teased the sections back together. They clicked into place, and Renard set the box back under the floorboard, putting the board back in place and setting the rug on top of it.

He went back to the bed, the effort even of that much having tired him. Yet Renard could feel his strength start to flow back into him, little by little, the way it had when he’d briefly given the amulet to the merchant.

He could just leave it there. He could get up from this bed, walk out of the House of Sighs, and never come back. He could lose himself, and this time it wouldn’t be like Geertstown, because the amulet wouldn’t be out there in the open, where anyone could just grab it.

But the Hidden would still be coming for it, and any dragons who came close enough to sense it. They would all destroy the House of Sighs without a thought in order to get at it, and as much as Renard wanted to say that had nothing to do with him, he knew that it did.

Life would be so much easier without a conscience.

He was still contemplating when he’d managed to grow one of those when the door to his very red room opened and Meredith walked in.

“I thought it was you,” she said, looking him over. “I wasn’t sure, but the others don’t know not to use your name. They don’t know that it’s banned here.”

“It’s good to see you too, Meredith,” Renard said, sitting up. He was halfway through the movement when Meredith pressed a slender blade to his neck. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

“You’re not,” she replied. “Although you’re looking better than you did when you walked in.”

“Soon you won’t be able to keep your hands off me,” Renard said.

She increased the pressure on the knife, just a fraction. “There were reasons you were told never to come back here, Renard. After what you did—”

“It was a long time ago,” Renard protested, raising his hands.

“Not long enough,” Meredith snapped back. At least she took the knife away from his throat.

“I didn’t want to come back,” Renard said. “I had to. I need to find the king’s sorcerer.”

“There are a lot of people looking for him right now,” Meredith said. “He’s gone.”

Renard swore, long and loud. Meredith stared at him while he did it, then laughed.

“I’d forgotten what you were like when you were disappointed. It must have been really important for you to find him, if you’re prepared to come back here.”

“It was,” Renard said. “Life or death.”

Meredith looked at him as if trying to gauge him. She’d always been good at seeing through his lies. What she saw there now must have caught her by surprise, because her eyes widened slightly.

“All right,” she said. “But I should still throw you out.”

“Would you be so cruel?” Renard said. He tried his most winning smile. “To me, of all people?”

He heard her sigh. “Maybe we can find some use for you. Come with me. I’m meeting with the others in the orangery, but I wanted to decide whether I was going to kill you before I let you join that meeting.”

“I suppose I should be honored,” Renard said, as Meredith led the way. “Especially when you remembered the old room, and what—”

“Mention any of that in front of people, and I will kill you,” Meredith said, without looking back.

She led the way to a room at the top of the House of Sighs, where a glass roof provided light for citrus trees to thrive, and chairs had been set out among them. Aurelle and Orianne sat there already, and both looked significantly less road-worn than they had. Aurelle had picked out a dark outfit of gray and black, complete with kidskin gloves and boots. Orianne was wearing a fresh dress of green velvet, elegant and simple in its beauty, the bruises on her face covered by makeup now.

“You’ve all been through a lot,” Meredith said, as Renard took one of the seats there, “but the whole city, the entire kingdom, has been. We need to act if we’re going to stop all of this.”

“You have a plan,” Renard guessed, because he’d never known Meredith to be without a plan.

She nodded. “But I’ll need your help. People have talked about killing Ravin, or his allies, or whoever, but it’s not enough.”

“Killing someone usually stops them,” Aurelle pointed out. Renard already knew that she had someone in mind, because she’d told him as much out on the road.

“And then what?” Meredith countered. “We need to create the conditions so that, when Ravin falls, things actually change. We can’t just let it be about killing one man; we need to destabilize the whole regime, and do it without being seen.”

“I already have a task here, Meredith,” Aurelle said. “The men responsible for Greave’s death have to pay.”

“And they will,” Meredith said. “But for now, killing Duke Viris or his son would be… inconvenient.”

“It’s not about what’s convenient!” Aurelle snapped. “It’s about what’s right!”

“And what’s right about leaving the city in the southerners’ hands?” Meredith demanded.

Renard sighed. “Meredith’s right, Aurelle. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but sometimes you have to put what you want aside for the greater good.”

“And I definitely never thought I would hear Renard the thief say something like that,” Meredith said. “But he’s right; this is bigger than all of us. We’re each placed to shift things in the city, but we have to do our parts, or it won’t work.”

Aurelle looked to Renard as if she might be about to stand and walk out, but she didn’t.

“What do you need us to do?” she asked, in a careful voice, one that still hadn’t fully agreed to anything yet. Renard could tell just how important her revenge was to her.

“We need to start to pry nobles away from Ravin’s side,” Meredith said. “But without it being obvious. We need to listen, and gather information. When we hear dissatisfaction, we need to make the smallest moves to fan the flames. I… already have access to the castle, so I will start to whisper to those among his entourage who are dissatisfied, and I will listen out for rumors. Men like that always have a thousand small feuds with one another. Ravin thinks he has me contained and controlled, but I will find a way to use it.” She looked over to Orianne. “You can’t be seen by those loyal to Ravin, but people will know you as Princess Lenore’s maid. That means you can go to the few remaining loyal to King Godwin and his family, persuading them to work with us, setting up ways for them to do it quietly.”

Renard thought that was a good idea, although he wasn’t sure how openly most of them would be able to act.

“Aurelle,” Meredith said. “I need you to do something harder. I need you to go to Finnal and his father, and I need you to tell them that you succeeded in your mission. I know how much you want to kill them, I know how hard it can be to be around someone you’ve sworn to put a blade in…” Did she give Renard a quick glance in that moment? “…but you’re our best chance to get someone where they can start to sow dissent with the ones who are loyal to Ravin.”

To Renard’s eye, Aurelle didn’t look happy about it, but even so, she nodded.

“All right, I’ll do it. When this is done though…”

“When it’s done, they’ll be dead,” Meredith promised her.

There was only one part of her plan that Meredith hadn’t articulated yet, and it was the part Renard most wanted to hear.

“What about me?” he said. “If you’re bringing me into this, you must have something in mind for me.”

“In time, yes,” Meredith said. “When you’re recovered enough to be of any use. For now, though, I have a task for you that I suspect will prove to be the most difficult of your life.”

“What?” Renard demanded. He thought of all the dangers he’d faced in the preceding days, from Lord Carrick’s executioner to the Hidden, being chased by dragons to the lingering threat of the amulet. What could possibly be so difficult compared with all of that?

“I need you to stay here and stay out of trouble,” Meredith said. “And if your last visit is anything to go by, that’s going to be more difficult than every other element of this put together.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Erin did her best to train the men who were starting to arrive at the farm. She stood there in front of them with her spear, and she made them stand all in a line while she looked them over, and she did her level best to think of something that would turn these men into a force that would stop Ravin’s armies.

In the end, she cut sticks from a nearby tree and set them down in the dirt in front of the men.

“You need to be prepared to fight for each other,” she said. “I was there in the fight for Royalsport, and I saw men saved over and over again by the men beside them.” She thought of Odd for a moment, and the times that he’d saved her, then of what else he’d done. “When one of those people betrays you, fails you, it is the worst feeling that there is.”

“Why are there sticks here?” one of the men asked. “I have a sword right here.”

“A sword you can’t use well enough to keep from gutting your partner while you practice,” Erin snapped back. It should have been obvious why they were using sticks. More than that, the men should have obeyed instantly. She was a proven fighter, briefly even a Knight of the Spur. She was a princess too. Shouldn’t that be enough?

“I can use this sword,” the man retorted, hefting it and essaying a couple of swings in the sunlight. To Erin’s eye, they looked clumsy and slow. She took up her staff, making sure that the end of it was firmly in place over the blade of the spear.

“Then prove it,” she said. “Land one single blow on me, and I’ll let you run the training how you want. You don’t think sticks are good enough for you? They’re good enough for me.”

The man started to back away. “That’s not what I meant, I—”

“I gave you an order,” Erin said, raising her voice. “Hit me, you useless, lily livered—”

She was already ducking as the soldier swung for her, letting her anger at the man’s incompetence fuel her as she swung her staff around, taking his legs from under him.

“Worthless,” she said. She pointed at another, this one with a sickle in his hand. He was easily the largest man there. “You, help him. Maybe both of you at once can land something. Do it.”

They came at her together, and Erin dodged the blow of the sickle, parried a sword stroke, and rammed the butt of her spear into the swordsman’s belly. She caught the next sweep of the sickle toward her head, twisted, and sent the weapon flying from the man’s hand.

Erin kept going, taking them on in ones and twos, sending them sprawling one after another, and they never even got close to landing anything on her. A part of her wanted to take on all of them at once, wanted to take the cover off her spear’s bladed head and show them what really happened when they went up against someone like her…

She took a step back, her breath coming short as she tried to get control over her urge to keep fighting, to hurt these men. She looked over them on the ground, some of them wincing with bruises, some of them looking at her in terror as if she might lunge at them and slay them all.

“You’re all useless,” Erin said. “You’re lucky I even think it’s worth giving you sticks. Now get practicing with them.”

She stalked off, heading away far enough that she could start to get her anger under control. She sat on a sack of grain, feeling the fury running through her even now, urging her to lash out.

It wasn’t at the men there, of course; it was far larger than that. It was a rage that seemed to include everything within it, from Ravin and his armies for all that they’d done, to Odd, for what he’d stopped her from doing, to herself, for all that she’d failed to do…

“I could have saved her,” Erin whispered. “I could have.”

She sat there for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, Tess came over to her, bringing a plate of lamb and flatbreads.

“I’ve offered some to the others,” Tess said. “But they don’t want to stop. It seems like they’re scared to.”

Erin cursed herself for that. “I went too far with them, but… they can’t do this. They’re willing enough, but there’s a difference between them and real fighters.”

“Training,” Tess said. “That’s the big difference.”

“But do we have enough time to train them properly?” Erin asked. It hadn’t just been her training with the Knights of the Spur or with Odd that had made her able to fight like this; it had been years of playfighting with Rodry, years of sneaking away to the House of Weapons.

“The sooner you start, the sooner it will be done,” Tess said. “And… don’t tell them that they can’t do it. They need to believe that they can. These men are going to fight for you, maybe die for you. They can’t think that it’s inevitable that they’ll lose.” She stepped away. “I’ll leave you to think for a moment.”

Erin was thinking. She knew that Tess was right, and that she needed to think about the way she was choosing to train these men. She also knew that she needed to do more than that, and she’d known what she needed to do from the moment Lenore and Odd left. It had been part of the reason she stayed behind.

For now, she went back to the men. They were essaying sword cuts at one another with the sticks, parrying and cutting back at one another, occasionally connecting, mostly missing. The men looked round as Erin approached, and she could see the fear there.

She sighed.

“I’m going to show you how to do this better,” she said. “You could have beaten me before, when it was two on one; you just need to know how.”

She pointed at the first two she’d beaten, drawing them out from the group. She took one of the sticks she’d cut, because she didn’t trust herself not to use her spear if she was losing.

She pointed to the big man.

“You have two jobs for this bout,” she said. “You block anything that comes at yourself, and anything that comes at him.” She pointed at the other man. She turned to the former soldier. “You can strike at me if there’s space, but that’s your second job. Your first is to protect him, understand?”

“Yes,” the soldier said.

“Good, then fight.”

The first time they tried it, they split up, circling in different directions. Erin struck each of them in turn, declaring them dead. The second time, they got it, sticking together. She lunged at the bigger man, half speed, and the smaller one parried it. She lunged again, and this time the bigger man was in time to catch the blow, while the smaller one managed to sneak his stick through Erin’s defenses, tapping her on the shoulder.

“There!” Erin said. “You can do it! Two of you working together just managed to defeat a Knight of the Spur. If you can do that, you can defeat anyone, but you have to work together.”

They seemed to get it then, and for the rest of the afternoon, Erin worked them mercilessly, determined that when more troops showed up, each man would be able to show them what she was teaching. She showed them how to fight one beside another, each defending for the next using weapons or makeshift shields, each protecting himself, and each stabbing to his right, at the enemy next to him, striking at the angle no one would think to block.

She showed them how to hit and run next, rushing up to strike a sack of flour as a group and then running back to hiding spots on the farm.

“The goal is not to have a fair fight,” she said to the men. “The goal is to win. Strike from ambush. Kill and run away. Strike your enemy from the flank. If you can find bows, shoot them from a distance while they are preparing for a glorious charge. I cannot make you knights, but I can make you into men who can beat the best Ravin has to offer!”

That got a cheer from the men. Erin was just sorry that she was lying to them.

As darkness fell, she let them slip away to their places in the barn or dotted around the farm. Erin went to her own room in the farmhouse, blowing out the candle that lit the room, pretending sleep until the moon was well up and she was sure that everyone else was in their beds.

Then she slipped back downstairs, tiptoeing to the door and releasing the latch that held it closed. She stepped out into the darkness.

It had to be this way, had always been going to be this way from the moment she let her sister and Odd go to Lord Carrick without her. Maybe they would find support, or maybe they wouldn’t, but Erin knew the truth: it wouldn’t be enough. If the nobles had been enough to defeat Ravin’s forces, they would have done it when he invaded. As for the men here… they were good men, brave men, and they would be slaughtered in the first battle.

No, Erin needed to end this her way. Alone, she stood a good chance of being able to get back into Royalsport. Alone, she could slip into the castle unnoticed. She’d always been a good climber, so maybe she could climb the walls. Alone, Erin would have a chance to kill Ravin where an army might not.

She’d heard her sister and Odd talking about why they couldn’t just do that, and to Erin’s ears, it was nonsense. His army was already causing misery in the kingdom. It was already everywhere. Maybe without a leader, it would be easier to pick off.

The truth was that Erin didn’t care. All that mattered to her then was killing Ravin. She’d missed the chance back in the execution of her mother, had missed the chance to save her mother. Whatever the political dimensions around it, whatever the aftermath, that meant one thing:

Ravin was hers to kill.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Aurelle walked to the castle with an outward appearance of calm, but inside, she was fuming. This was too much for Meredith to ask of her. It was too much to hope to do. To sit there with men she’d sworn to kill and to pretend to be their friend was too much.

Yet if the House of Sighs wasn’t that, what was it? Aurelle knew as well as anyone that the men and women there could smile and convince people that they were special, even as they disliked them.

Smiling to men you’d sworn to kill was harder, though.

She walked up to the front gate, because sometimes the best way in was the obvious one. The guards there eyed her openly, and Aurelle wondered if she would have to kill any of them before this was over.

“What are you doing here, woman?” one asked. “Here to offer yourself to the emperor?”

“I’m here to see Duke Viris and his son,” Aurelle replied. She managed to make her voice innocent and non-threatening, as if she didn’t even understand the suggestion the guard had just made. “My name is Aurelle.”

The guards stared at her, then one beckoned over a passing servant, who looked as though she was already far too harassed with all the tasks she had to do.

“You, go to Duke Viris. Tell him that there’s a woman here to see him by the name of Aurelle. See if he wants to see her, or if we should throw her into a dungeon to await his attention.”

Aurelle suppressed—with difficulty—the urge to lunge forward and cut the guard’s throat for that. She stood not showing any of the fear she felt in that moment, because there was always risk in something like this. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t, putting herself at the heart of her enemies, was always dangerous, and times like this were only reminders of that.

Because they could kill her. She would probably be able to kill one of these guards easily enough in a straightforward fight, maybe even both if she was lucky, but in truth, even her most violent skills were about killing from the shadows, not openly. After she’d killed them, what then? There was a whole castle full of guards, enough to bring her down easily.

Her best defense in moments like this was not being discovered, sinking into the role she was playing until she was who she was pretending to be. That the person in question was herself this time seemed to make it harder, not easier. She had to be a version of herself now that didn’t want to kill her former employers, that was still loyal to their cause.

The waiting seemed to take forever, and for every moment of it, Aurelle could practically feel the guards’ eyes roving over her. She could tell that they were hoping she was lying, so that they would have an excuse to seize her. She wasn’t, but even so, her position felt precarious. What if Duke Viris decided that this was a good moment to be rid of her? What if he simply decided to ignore any connection with her?

Then she would run, come back, and kill him in spite of what Meredith wanted.

Now, Aurelle found herself almost wishing that the duke would try to betray her. She was still picturing all the things that she might do when the servant came back, hurrying as if she’d been told to run.

“The duke and his son say that they will see you immediately, my lady,” the servant said. “If you will follow me?”

Aurelle took a step to follow her, and the guard blocked the way. “We still need to search you. For weapons.”

“Do you really think Duke Viris will appreciate hearing why you delayed me?” Aurelle countered, letting a little of the anger she felt flow into her voice. It was enough that the guard stepped back, letting her pass.

She followed the servant through the castle, seeing more guards, more servants. The interior had changed, the pictures replaced with ones glorifying Ravin, or with scenes from the history of the Southern Kingdom. There were maps of sections of it now, from the deserts to the grasslands and the cities. There were statues of warriors. There were nobles and officials in the red and purple of Ravin’s colors. Some of those nobles were new, southerners Aurelle didn’t know. Others were men and women she had met before, and who knew her as Aurelle Hardacre the minor noble.

The servant led her to a suite of rooms as opulent as any there. They were in the middle of redecoration, the drapes and tapestries being changed to the red and purple of the rest of the castle, while a painting of Duke Viris alongside Emperor Ravin was being set in one corner.

Duke Viris and his son sat waiting at a table. Seeing them together, Aurelle could see the similarities between them, in the same elegant sharpness of the features, the same slenderness, and the same hard edge to their gaze.

Aurelle curtseyed, bowing her head mostly because it made it easier to keep the hatred off her face. It would be so easy to lunge forward, to just draw a knife or a strangling wire from within her clothing, and to finish this.

“Aurelle,” Duke Viris said. “This is a surprise. When things took so long, I didn’t know if you would be back.”

“It took time to find the right moment in the midst of the chaos,” Aurelle said. “And then it took time to get back from Astare.”

“Astare?” Duke Viris said. He must have caught Aurelle’s glance over toward Finnal. “Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of my son. He knows all my business, and helped plan this.”

That confirmed to Aurelle that Finnal needed to die just as much as his father, right at the moment when she could least afford to do it.

“I initially tried to be subtle, and guide him away from what he might find. Once Prince Greave reached Astare, it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.”

“And so?” Finnal asked. He leaned forward slightly, almost eagerly.

“It’s done,” Aurelle said. “The prince is dead.”

“How?” Duke Viris asked. Of course he would want to know the details. He gave the appearance of such a cold, calculating man, but Aurelle knew exactly how much he enjoyed all this. As for his son, she’d seen him there in the House of Sighs often enough.

“In the chaos of the initial attack,” Aurelle said, but one look at the duke told her that wasn’t going to be enough. She had to lie, even if lying about this felt like a fresh betrayal of her beautiful, dead prince. “I let him think that he was leading me to safety. I let him put me on a boat. Then I stabbed him and dropped his body in the bay. No one will find it.”

“Good,” Duke Viris said. “You and your House have done well, Aurelle.”

“I have been told to tell you that I remain at your disposal, Duke Viris,” Aurelle said. She bowed her head. “For whatever other tasks you require.”

“There is little to do,” Duke Viris said. “None of them are left. Princess Lenore and her sister are dead, Vars is gone and can never hope to lead men. Prince Rodry is dead, as are his parents. Now, Prince Greave is gone as well.”

“You’ve cleared the way for a new emperor quite well,” Aurelle said. That got a sour look from both the duke and his son.

“We have positioned ourselves as Emperor Ravin’s most loyal northern nobles,” Finnal said.

“So you’re in the same position you were before under King Godwin?” Aurelle said, making it seem like an innocent question, rather than something with barbs.

“The old kingdom was never going to last,” Finnal said. He sounded a little disappointed, though.

“So it wasn’t the plan for you to rule?” Aurelle said, feigning innocent puzzlement.

“Plans change,” Duke Viris replied. He drew over a sheaf of paper, making a mark on it, obviously addressing some small piece of business to do with his lands. “For now, at least, we have achieved the best position it is possible to achieve in the circumstances that we have.”

“Of course, great men manage to change circumstances,” Aurelle said. She smiled at Duke Viris in a way that she hated. “And you are a great man, my lord.”

“Are you trying to flatter me to keep your position?” Duke Viris said.

“Yes,” Aurelle admitted, because sometimes letting someone catch you out could be a weapon. It made them think that they were cleverer than you, and that they could catch you out again at will.

Of course, she had to remember that Duke Viris was clever, and was dangerous. So was his son.

“As it happens, I will continue to have a need for someone prepared to listen on my behalf. A powerful man will have enemies.”

“Especially when they realize that you have made yourself Ravin’s heir in all but name,” Aurelle said.

“Do not say such things,” Duke Viris said, sharply, and Aurelle schooled her features to something apologetic.

“Forgive me, my lord. I merely meant that the emperor has no obvious heir, and that, as the man closest to him in the Northern Kingdom, and as the man who can command the support of the whole kingdom, if something were to happen to him…”

“And if a Quiet Man were to hear you say that,” Finnal said, “it would be a slow death, not just for you, but for us as well. We should kill you just for suggesting it.”

“And will you, my lords?” Aurelle asked. She half hoped that they would say yes, because then she would have an excuse to kill them both and run.

Duke Viris shook his head. “No, you are far too valuable for that. As you say, a man in my position will need help. You will have a place with me, and tasks that will suit your… abilities.”

“Thank you, my lord. I am grateful,” Aurelle said. She was happy about more than just the position, though. She was happy about the thoughtful look on the duke’s face. It was a look that promised a lot, and that, in time, might prove more dangerous than any knife.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lenore stared up at Lord Carrick’s castle home, hoping as she did so that she knew what she was doing. Back at the farm, it had seemed obvious that she should go to get the help of the local lord, but now, with his castle looming over her, it was a reminder of just how big the disparity in their positions was. She had almost nothing at the moment, while he had all of this.

The castle itself was a squat, broad thing, built around an open bailey and with towers set around its walls. Men patrolled those walls, looking out over the surrounding countryside.

“If I remember Lord Carrick,” Odd said, “he likes to think of himself as a practical man. He is not a man to be swayed by an impassioned appeal.”

The former monk and knight stood beside her, looking up at the defenses as if trying to calculate all the weaknesses in them. Lenore found herself wondering how many he saw.

“What will work with him?” Lenore said.

“He cares about what other people think,” Odd said. “He strikes out at any who slight him, because he thinks he cannot afford to let anything go. If we can get in to see him, and remind him of his obligations, that might work.”

If they could get in to see him. That was the first problem. If Lenore was to persuade Lord Carrick, then it sounded as though she would need to stand in front of him with people around. If she walked up as she was, he might insist on a private meeting, or he might just turn her away, not believing who she was. Maybe he would even turn her away if he did know who she was.

Lenore could think of another way to do it though. She turned to Odd. “Come with me.”

She led the way to the castle’s gate, looking from one guard to another. “We’ve been sent from Royalsport with urgent messages. We need to speak to Lord Carrick. Is he holding audience?”

Lenore managed to get the right level of urgency into her voice, because the guards didn’t question it, just parted, pointing to the keep that sat at the heart of the castle.

“He will be in his hall,” one of the men said. He was an older man with a bushy beard that stuck out underneath his guard’s helmet. “I will show you the way.”

He led the way through an open courtyard, ringed by outbuildings. People there were bustling about their tasks, and everything seemed orderly in a way that it hadn’t been anywhere else on their journey. It seemed that everyone had their tasks to perform, and were just getting on with them.

Lenore followed the guard into the keep, going through into a large hall that looked to Lenore far too much like her father’s had. Lord Carrick’s banners flew on the walls, surrounded by weapons, while trestle tables sat there for his men to eat. The lord himself sat at a table up above, looking out over the rest as he ate.

The man was perhaps her father’s age, gray-haired and solidly built, dressed in dark clothes whose slit sleeves showed flashes of white cloth beneath. Gold chains sat around his neck, and he looked out with piercing blue eyes as Lenore approached with Odd.

“My lord,” the guard said. “This is—”

“Princess Lenore, daughter of Godwin the Third,” Lord Carrick said, placing his hands on the table and standing.

Lenore froze, unsure how to react at being caught out like that, especially when Lord Carrick didn’t sound happy about her presence. Lenore glanced across to Odd, reminding herself that she wasn’t alone for this. She had his support, at least.

Lord Carrick kept going. “And that is Sir Oderick the Mad, knight and murderer. I’d thought you were dead, Sir Knight. I’d hoped you were dead.”

“There have been days when I hoped it too,” Odd said. Lenore could see him looking around at the hall filled with warriors, as if trying to work out which of them might strike first.

“How did you know me so easily?” Lenore asked.

“I have been at court before,” Lord Carrick said. “Enough to see you; enough to know who you are. A pretty little princess who did as her mother commanded, if I remember rightly.”

He didn’t sound impressed, and Lenore knew that with a man like this it wouldn’t be enough to be courteous and kind.

“If you know who I am,” Lenore said, “shouldn’t you be bowing, my lord? My parents are dead, my older siblings are gone, so what does that make me?”

He stared at her for a moment or two. “If all of that is true, then there is a case to be made for you being queen.”

“Exactly,” Lenore said. “And that is a claim that I intend to make real, with the aid of my father’s trusted nobles.”

“You’re talking about going to war,” Lord Carrick said. He sat back down and swept an arm toward his men. “You’re talking about me giving up my men to you, and risking my position, my life, for your cause.”

“For your cause too,” Lenore said. She looked around at the men there, then back at Lord Carrick. “You got your position because you served alongside my father, Lord Carrick. You fought by his side. You hold your lands because my father trusted you, and your men follow you because of who you are. You are from a noble family, and without my father, you would still have something, but you would not have all this.”

She knew that she had to make that connection. She had to make him see that everything good in his life had come from his association with her family. She had to appeal to his sense of honor, and to his existing ties. He might not help her because it was the right thing to do, but would because it was the orderly, honorable thing to do.

“You recognized me because you were in an honored place at my father’s court,” Lenore said. “Well, why not have a place like that at my court? You fought by my father’s side, so why not fight by my side? What place will you have in King Ravin’s kingdom?”

“You make an interesting point,” Lord Carrick said. “Come, sit by me and eat, and we will discuss things further.”

To Lenore, it seemed like an important first step. She went up to the top table in the hall, and men and women shuffled to the side, making way for her to sit. Odd didn’t sit, but stood at her back, every inch the bodyguard.

“Will you not eat with me, Sir Knight?” Lord Carrick said.

“Odd takes my safety very seriously,” Lenore said.

“Odd? Is that what he calls himself these days?” Lord Carrick laughed as he looked over to the former knight. “It suits you.”

“So my abbot told me.”

Carrick laughed again. “The monk’s robes aren’t a joke? Well then, are you still deadly with a sword? Does your princess have at least that going for her?”

Lenore cut in, because she wasn’t about to be ignored by this man. “Odd is quite deadly, yes. Fight beside me, and you will probably get to see it.”

“You’re determined to push me on that, aren’t you?” Lord Carrick said. “Won’t you at least eat with me, Princess?”

Lenore took a delicate bite from a goose leg. Then she set that leg back on her plate pointedly. “Lord Carrick, you’re trying to deflect me. Would you have done that if it were my father sitting here?”

“Ah, that’s the difficulty, you see,” Lord Carrick said. “You are a lovely young woman, and from what I remember of my times in Royalsport, you are well versed in the niceties of court, but you are not your father.”

“I am his oldest remaining heir,” Lenore pointed out. “I have the best claim to the throne. If anyone is going to fight back against Ravin’s rule, I am the best choice for them to rally around.”

“But you are a woman, not a trained war leader,” Lord Carrick said. He took a sip of wine.

“I am willing to be advised on such matters,” Lenore said. “I have Odd to help me, and my sister Erin rode with the Knights of the Spur. Their efforts helped to slow the invasion of Royalsport.”

“And yet, ultimately, they lost,” Lord Carrick said.

Lenore’s patience was starting to wear thin. “You are finding excuses, Lord Carrick. You are delaying and deflecting, without getting to the heart of this. Once upon a time, you would have come running the moment a ruler raised their banners, calling for help. Now, it seems that you are doing everything you can to avoid giving me a clear answer.”

“Because I have not decided what my answer will be yet,” Lord Carrick said simply. “You ask me to join your armies, but I have no evidence that you even have an army. You are asking me to come out in support of you, against the most ruthless of enemies, risking my life and that of my men. I served with your father, and I fought against uprisings. I have seen how easily they fall, and what can happen to those who engage in them.” He gave Odd a pointed look. “Why should I join you?”

“What assurances are you asking for?” Lenore asked. “If it’s about the number of other lords who have joined—”

“I’m asking what’s in it for me,” Lord Carrick said. “Can you offer me increased lands? Gold? Your father was always against the strict enforcement of laws of serfdom, but if you tell me that I will be able to treat peasants as they should be treated, we might have a deal.”

Lenore thought, trying to work out what to say. She knew that she needed this man’s forces, but she also knew that she couldn’t betray ordinary people like Harris and Tess in order to do it. She wouldn’t become like Ravin in order to beat him.

So she shook her head. “No,” she said. “I cannot offer you any of that. I can promise that the world will go back to what it was, and that we will not be ruled over by an emperor who butchers those who oppose him. I can promise you that your existing lands will be safe, and that there will not be Quiet Men stalking your halls. Beyond that, I can’t promise anything.”

“Ah,” Lord Carrick said, standing and stepping back. “Then I think we have a problem. On the whole, I think that Emperor Ravin will give me far more if I simply hand you both over to him.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Vars still couldn’t believe how well he and Bethe were getting along. He had nothing in common with this peasant woman, had lived a life about as far removed from hers as it was possible to get, and yet he felt more comfortable around her than he had around any of the women of the court.

Perhaps it was because there were no games with her. Bethe said what she thought, and wasn’t afraid to tell Vars when he was doing things wrong. No one did that. Currently, she was in the front room of the hovel, telling him that he was folding the laundry wrong.

“No, you need to fold it gently, without pressure, or it will crease,” she said.

Vars did as she suggested, and she seemed pleased by it. For some inexplicable reason, that made him happy. Once again, Vars had to remind himself that he was just using her to stay safe.

Still, as long as he was here, he might as well at least try to be friendly.

“What was your husband like?” Vars asked. “Did he help you to do all this?”

Bethe shook her head. “He used to go out to work, because people always needed a woodworker. He would help when there was building to be done, and occasionally he would make small trinkets to sell at the market.”

Vars could see how sad just talking about it made Bethe, and for some reason, he found that it mattered to him that she was upset.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he didn’t know whether he was apologizing for what had happened to her husband, for bringing up the subject, or just for not being him.

“It’s all right,” Bethe said. “It’s just—”

They were interrupted by the sound of a fist hammering on the door.

“Guards! Open up!”

Vars and Bethe stared at one another for a moment. Vars could feel the terror building in his chest, so that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was only when Bethe pointed at the door to the back room that Vars knew he should be moving.

“I’m coming,” Bethe said. “Let me put this washing down.”

Vars was already running for the back room, hiding there behind the door, knowing in his heart that it wouldn’t be enough. They’d found him! Somehow, the searching guards had found him. He should never have gone out of the house to market with Bethe. He should never have stayed here when he should have been running, not until he was far across the sea and no one could find him. He stood there, pressed against the door, leaving it open just a crack so that he could see out into the room beyond.

Bethe opened the door, letting in two of Ravin’s soldiers, wearing red tunics and gilt-edged plates of armor. They looked a little different from the guards Vars had seen around the city, cleaner and with more ornamental scrolling on the hilts of their swords. Vars guessed that they had come from the castle itself. Had Ravin sent his best men to seize him?

“You are the woman, Bethe?” one of them said. He was powerfully built, with whorls tattooed on his arms that suggested to Vars that he’d come from one of the desert tribes of the Southern Kingdom’s wastes.

“Of course she is,” the other said. “Look at her.” This one was a little taller than the other, with shaven dark hair and a triangular beard.

Vars kept perfectly still, not daring to even finish closing the door. His fear pinned him in place, unable to do more than watch, and listen, and wait.

“You are to be honored, woman,” the first guardsman said. “Emperor Ravin takes the finest women of his kingdom to his bed, and those who please him are rewarded. His officials have heard of your beauty, and now it is clear that this is true. You will come with us.”

Emotions rushed through Vars, tangling with one another as they burst inside him. Relief came first, of course, because these men weren’t here to find him, to capture him, to kill him. He was surprised to find anger rising alongside it though, at the thought that these men could just come and take Bethe from here, from him.

What was he thinking? It was good that they’d come for her, because it meant that they weren’t there to find him.

“What?” Bethe said. “No!”

“You would refuse your emperor?” the taller one demanded. “In the south, the noblest families fight with one another to present their most beautiful daughters and wives.”

“No,” Bethe repeated. “I’m not some whore for him to snap his fingers and demand.”

“You are his subject!” the first guard said. “And a woman in a conquered kingdom! You will come with us, now!”

“No!” Bethe shouted back, starting to edge away from the men.

In the moment that they grabbed for her, Vars wanted to leap out, to fall on them and beat them senseless for what they were trying to do. For the first time in his life, he truly wanted to be a hero, wanted to be the kind of man that his brother had been, or his father.

Fear still kept him there though, and Vars cursed himself for that even as the guards grabbed at Bethe.

She didn’t seem to be about to stand there and let them drag her away, though. She broke free of the men’s grips, and as they grabbed for her again, she swung a punch at the taller one that most warriors would have been proud of. It connected with the side of the guard’s face, hard enough that he reeled from it. It didn’t fell him though, only made him angry enough that he struck back, and Vars heard the crack of that blow even from where he hid behind the door. He had to bite back a cry of anger at the sight of Bethe being hurt like that.

As Bethe turned toward him, Vars could see that her eye was swollen up now from the force of the blow, the skin beneath split by it.

“Idiot!” the shorter guard shouted. “The emperor won’t want her like this!”

“Then leave me alone,” Bethe snapped at them. “Get out of my house!”

For a moment, Vars felt hope, but it was only for a moment. He knew better than Bethe just how cruel people could be, mostly because he’d been as cruel as any of them before now.

“You might not be good enough for the emperor now,” the tall one replied. “But you’re still more than pretty enough for us. When we’re done, we’ll cut your throat and display you out on the street so that all know the price of refusing the emperor anything!”

They grabbed for Bethe and again, and Vars wanted to lunge out from his hiding place to take them on. Again though, fear froze him in place, holding him there even as the guards held onto Bethe’s arms, dragging her across the floor of the hovel step by step.

Vars’s fears only increased as they brought her directly toward the door he was hiding behind.

“There will be a bed back here somewhere,” the tall one said. “Come on, bring her.”

Vars panicked in that moment, caught between the urge to help and the far more urgent need to survive. He looked around the room, trying to find a hiding place even as one of the men hit Bethe again. His eyes settled on the wardrobe, and Vars turned for it.

He stumbled as he did it, half tripping, and the door came open, leaving him staring in terror at the two guardsmen trying to drag Bethe there. For a moment, it seemed that everyone was still, everything balanced.

Then it seemed that fear and the need to help were both pulling in the same direction for practically the first time in Vars’s life. He flung himself at the guards, partly because he wanted to help Bethe, but mostly because the raw, animal terror of what would happen if he didn’t propelled him forward.

For a second, the guards didn’t seem to know what was happening. Vars slammed into them, the raw ferocity of it making them take a step back, losing their grip on Bethe as they did so. Vars actually managed to get a punch in against one of them, feeling the impact against the man’s face, but mostly feeling the pain of his knuckles bruising.

Then the shorter, stockier one recovered from his shock enough to smash a return punch into Vars’s stomach, hard enough that Vars doubled over, retching. The tall one hit him then, sending him sprawling to the floor.

They started kicking him, pain bursting over him as their boots connected with his stomach, his ribs, his back. It was all Vars could do to cover his head with his hands, taking the impacts that might have slammed into his face on his forearms instead.

Vars tried to rise, tried to fight back, tried to do any of the heroic things that might have actually saved his life. It just earned him a punch to the face, and now the guards were standing over him, swords in their hands.

“Someone thought he was going to be a hero,” the stocky one said. “Well, bad news. Now you’re just going to die.”

“Wait…” Vars tried. “I’m…”

His head was swimming too much even to declare who he was to try to save his life. He could only stare as the tall one raised his sword to stab down.

The point of a knife appeared from the front of his throat as Bethe stabbed him from behind with a kitchen knife. He stood there, blinking in incomprehension as he died, and in the moments he took to do that, Bethe was already leaping at the second one from behind, stabbing again and again with her knife.

He toppled as well, and now Vars was lying between the two dying guards, the pain in him too much to even begin to stand. His head was swimming, and he was sure that he felt a loose tooth somewhere in his mouth.

Bethe was there then, helping him to his feet. The look of concern on her face was something Vars had never seen before.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked like she might say more, but then shook her head. “Thank you.”

Vars wanted to laugh at that, wanted to point out that he had done it out of sheer terror, but he didn’t. Part of it was that it still hurt too much to talk, but more of it was because this was the first time he could remember that anyone had genuinely thanked him like this, or looked at him like he was heroic, or seen him as more than a coward.

He was surprised to find that he liked it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

As the dragons passed over the Northern Kingdom, Nerra looked down with a sense of wistful longing. This had been her home once, and there was something about seeing it rolling beneath her that made her think of the past.

The future is what matters, Shadr said. Our future.

Nerra nodded, because she could imagine that future, and it was glorious. The world would know dragons again, and serve them as it always should have.

It helped assuage her homesickness that the landscape below wasn’t truly the one Nerra had known. They were flying across the high north of the kingdom, far from Royalsport, avoiding all the major towns, while the dragons towing the rafts of the Lesser and the Perfected guiding ships did so on a winding path around the northern coast. Until the moment they struck, they wanted as little news as possible of their arrival to spread.

The dragons helped with that. Those who could breathe mists and smoke did so, making it so that from the ground, they must have been only dim shapes, wreathed in cloud. Being so far north helped too. Up here, it didn’t matter if the occasional person saw them. They were too far from anywhere to say anything, and no one would believe it anyway if they did tell what they saw.

Nerra looked around at the flocking horde of dragons soaring behind Shadr in a wedge shape, gliding on wings of every hue. Who could possibly believe something like this?

They flew, and their flight ate up the distance to Astare almost languidly, giving the dragon pulled ships time to meet them at their destination. From Shadr, Nerra had the impression of some great, shared communication between the dragons, less precise at such a distance, but still enough to make sure the flotilla would arrive when it should. Nerra clung to Shadr’s back throughout, trusting to the dragon queen completely.

They passed over the kingdom completely, striking its east coast and heading south, toward the spot where Astare sat. Now, Nerra could see the flotilla again, dragons straining at the ends of great ropes to pull rafts of the Lesser, ships piloted by the Perfected cutting through the water alongside them. Idly, Nerra thought about Leveros, still further east, wondering if it was worth descending on the monks there, taking the island from them. They had the forces to do it easily, even before thinking of the dragons.

Eventually, Shadr said. But not yet. They are not the ones with the amulet, after all.

“I might have guessed wrong,” Nerra pointed out. “It might not be in Astare.”

I trust you, as you trust me. If it is not in this human place, then we shall descend upon the next. So long as we do it before they can use the amulet, that is all that matters.

Nerra could only agree with that. She’d seen the devastation the amulet could cause, the beauty of dragon-kind ripped from the skies by the evil workings of human things. Nerra had seen so much of that evil in her brief human life, seeing all the things that people did to the world, hunting and ravenous, trying to impose themselves on it even though they could never match the beauty or the wisdom of the dragons.

Nerra was still thinking about that when Astare came into view, the darkness of its stone inner city set against the coast, the contrast obvious between the regular lines of its black slate inner city and its chaotic outer city obvious. That contrast between the ancient and the modern was the first thing she saw.

The second thing was the evidence of fire, down at its docks, and within the inner city. Nerra could see the blackening from it there, and the wreckage of the dock. As they flew closer, she could see people working to rebuild it.

She could also see the army there, sitting outside it, red and purple uniforms easy for her sharpened senses to pick out. Those uniforms were not those of the Northern Kingdom, and Nerra found her mind casting itself back to the lessons she’d learned in her childhood. Shock ran through her, sharp enough that she had to cling tighter to Shadr’s back to avoid toppling from it.

“The Southern Kingdom?” she said. “King Ravin has taken Astare.”

Those soldiers were gathered in massed ranks outside the city, encamped in blocks around campfires, tents set up to maintain order. More soldiers went through the streets, patrolling or standing over work gangs as they worked to repair the damage in the city.

Once upon a time, the implications of that would have broken her heart, because to get here, how much more must the southerners have taken? What would have happened to the people Nerra knew and cared about, as that attack came? What would have happened to her sisters and her brothers?

She knew that she should have felt crushing grief at it all, should have been terrified of what was happening, should have been so many things. Instead, while those feelings were there somewhere, it seemed as if they were buried deep inside her. Instead, she had other feelings at the sight of so many armed humans, ranging from contempt at the difference between them and dragons to apprehension at what was going to come. One feeling was shared between both parts of her, though: anger.

“Kill them,” Nerra said, loud enough that it carried even over the rush of the air around her. “Kill them all.”

Yes, Shadr replied, and banked inland, the rest of the dragons following in formation. She wheeled around the city until they were approaching it from the landward side, forming a long line, their wings beating in concert as they let the mist around themselves dissipate to allow those below to see what was coming.

Now. The word echoed in Nerra’s head and she saw the dragons respond, their wings tucking as they dove at the massed ranks of King Ravin’s soldiers. Now, Nerra could make out the screams from below, could see men rushing to arm themselves while others simply ran. Nerra found herself enjoying that moment, even though she was never normally one to enjoy the pain of others. These men deserved it.

She saw Shadr’s mouth open wide, and black flames poured out, while around her, flames came from all the dragons who descended on the Southern Kingdom’s forces. Tents burst into flames, and people’s uniforms, and people. Shadr came in low enough that her claws could snatch up a soldier, and those claws ripped him in half, dropping the carcass down onto the waiting troops below. Shadr’s swoop carried them up again, and she whirled round as Nerra clung to her.

Some of the dragons landed among the army, lashing out with claws and teeth and tails. The ones who had risen into the air again swooped once more, breathing lines of fire and lightning, frost and acid. Shadr swooped down on another cluster of soldiers, and now she breathed darkness that killed, so that Nerra saw only bodies as it passed.

Shadr landed this time, and men came at her. Nerra leapt down from her back, and a soldier lunged at her with an arming sword. Nerra wasn’t armed, but she didn’t need to be. She swayed aside from the blow, and her claws were more than sharp enough to punch through armor, through flesh, through everything. She saw Shadr whip her tail around, sending men flying. A sword scraped along Nerra’s side, but her scales were thick enough to stop it from being more than a graze with such a glancing blow. She struck back, opening the soldier’s throat, sending blood to burst into the air.

More of the Perfected were on the ground now with her, their dragons fighting beside them, or taking to the air again. She saw Shadr snatch up a man in her jaws, crunching down on flesh and bone, saw another dragon lash out with sword-like claws.

The soldiers tried to strike back. Nerra saw one of the Perfected fall, brought down by a sword thrust through his chest. She saw men jabbing at a great yellow-scaled dragon with spears, and if none of them struck anywhere vital, even so, there were enough to wound it through the gaps in its scales.

Nerra saw a group of men trying to flee into the countryside beyond, and her first instinct was to just let them, but Shadr was already taking to the air again.

None may escape. None can speak of us before we have the amulet!

Several of the dragons went with her, chasing any who fled in the direction of the open ground. More were fleeing in the direction of the city, and those were the ones Nerra went after, snatching up a spear so that she could plunge it into the back of a fleeing foe, knocking aside an axe stroke from a man who turned at bay. Nerra caught the weapon and ripped it from the man’s hands, even though he was larger than her, the density of her muscles now far greater than any human thing’s.

The outer city was starting to burn now as dragons swept over it, turning the houses to candles and bonfires, destroying them in great booming explosions that sent rubble flying. Nerra and the others pursued the soldiers as they tried for a fighting retreat into the walled part of the town, probably hoping that the ancient black walls could stop the attack where nothing else could.

They were still running when the hordes of the Lesser came in from the side of the city that backed onto the ocean, slamming into the soldiers from the far side, howling and snarling as they poured over them in a tidal wave of blood and death. Nerra barely had to fight now, only watch as men were torn apart and devoured, slain in their dozens, their hundreds.

Nerra felt the pressure of the wing beats as Shadr came in to land beside her. The dragon had blood around her jaws, and her presence created a ring of stillness that no one tried to enter. The one man who came at her was met with a blast of shadow that flung him back into the mass of Lesser.

Around her, men died, and buildings burned. The Lesser gorged on flesh and the Perfected strode among it all, controlling them. Second by second there were fewer human things left, until at last Nerra was alone with Shadr at the heart of it all. Satisfaction burned through Nerra, and pride, even as there was the sense that this was only the beginning.

The city of Astare was theirs.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

It was dark when Erin reached Royalsport. That was fine, because it made what she had to do so much easier. The only disadvantage was that it left no time to wait, to hole up and plan her approach or catch her breath, but Erin didn’t need any of those things right then; she just needed Ravin dead.

Erin was cautious as she approached the slums outside the city. They might have no walls, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that they had no watchers. She padded silently through the muddy streets, keeping her grip tight on her spear.

There were a few more people out in the dark than there had been before, suggesting either that the curfew that had been in place had been relaxed, or that people were growing comfortable enough to know when they could get away with breaking it. Erin wasn’t comfortable; she kept her eyes open for Quiet Men with every step.

There. In the shadows, she spotted a figure lurking, spying on a group. Erin slipped up close enough that she could see the insignia of Ravin’s troops, the flash of red and purple in the shadows. Just the sight of it was enough to raise her anger, making her drive her spear into the back of the man’s neck in one swift movement. The watcher crumpled without a sound.

Erin didn’t bother hiding the body; if guards came to investigate, it would only draw them away from everywhere else. Even if they raised the alarm and locked down the castle, she wouldn’t care. She would find a way through to do what she needed to do.

She made her way around to one of the smaller entrances to the city. It was open, but a light beyond suggested that it was watched. Erin considered her options. Maybe someone else would have come up with a cunning plan to gain entrance without being spotted, or just withdrawn and found another way, but Erin didn’t have the patience for that. If there were men waiting beyond to question anyone who came through, she wasn’t going to play the game of trying to talk her way past them.

She ran through the gate instead at full speed, and there were three guardsmen beyond, two of whom appeared to be playing cards while the third did the actual guarding. He moved to block Erin’s path, and he died for it, her spear lancing out to plunge into his chest. Erin slammed into him, knocking him back, then kept running, plunging away into the dark before the other two could react enough to follow her. Shouting sounded behind Erin as she hurried on, but she ignored it, quickly leaving it behind.

She made her way to one of the rivers, and cursed her luck because now the tide was high, making it too dangerous to risk swimming, yet she knew that she couldn’t chance any crossing the Southerners controlled. There, she really might be trapped, and even if she didn’t fear dying doing this, she wouldn’t do so without having completed her task.

That left Erin hunting around outbuildings and storehouses until she found what she wanted, in the form of a simple length of rope and a couple of iron bars that looked as though they might be bands waiting to be affixed to the outside of a chest. Erin tied them to either end of the rope and looked for a likely vantage point, finding a spot where two rooftops stood opposite one another with chimney stacks sticking up.

“It’s no different than the night of the invasion,” Erin whispered to herself as she swung the rope, flinging it out underhand, so that the iron briefly caught in the moonlight as it flew.

On the third attempt, she managed to get it to catch, but testing the strength of the hold quickly made it give way. It wasn’t until the fifth try that she felt confident about how secure the rope was, and even then she took her time about securing her end.

Erin started out across the rope, using her spear as a balancing pole, stepping lightly as she ignored the rush of the river below. It might not be magically high now, but it was still fast enough that if she fell… no, only cowards thought about falling. She just plunged forward, taking small, birdlike steps one after another until…

There was an awful moment of stillness as Erin missed a step, feeling herself almost hang there teetering in the instant before she dropped. She started to fall, and her hand went out automatically, grabbing onto the rope hard enough that it jarred her shoulder. She almost lost her grip on her spear, but she clung to it as urgently as her life. She needed it to finish this.

Erin swung herself back up toward the rope, managed to catch it with her foot, and slowly scrambled across to the far side. She made it onto the far roof, jerked the rope free, and kept going.

Even in the night, the castle stood out against the rest of the city’s skyline. Erin headed for it, working her way over the rooftops one by one, because it was the quickest way to avoid people below. She knew that she would have to descend at some point to cross the last part, but she needed to find the right spot.

When Erin saw two guards moving together below, she knew that she’d found her opportunity. She dropped on them, the weight of her slamming into the first of them, smashing the man to the ground. The impact of it made Erin’s teeth rattle.

She recovered fast enough to strike up with her spear, skewering the guard who was still on his feet even as he tried to cry out. She stood and stabbed down, killing the guard she’d knocked over before he could recover. She ran again, moving forward in the dark even as she heard people converging on the spot where she’d been.

That was the point, and Erin smiled savagely in the moonlight as she heard a bell sounding an alarm back toward the walls where she’d come into the city. Every guard she drew away from the castle was one more who no longer stood between her and Ravin.

What did stand between her and him were the defenses of the castle. That meant the moat around the base, the walls, and then the strength of the keep’s doors. For the moat, Erin took a simple approach, repeating her makeshift rooftop bridge, only this time she used her spear, flinging it hard into the ground on the far side, where it stuck quivering with the rope wrapped around the haft. She tied off her end, and this time she all but ran along the rope, wanting to leave no time to make a mistake.

When she reached the other side, Erin untied the rope from the spear and fastened it to the second piece of iron instead. With her spear across her back, she started to climb, her hands finding the smallest of cracks in the castle’s walls. Her feet pushed as her hands pulled, raising her up little by little. Erin’s muscles burned with it, and she felt as if her hands might give way, but she kept climbing in spite of that burn. When she got close to the top, she looked left and right until she was sure that there were no guards coming.

Finally, she slipped over the battlements, onto the wall. An army couldn’t have done this. An army would have been seen, and Ravin had enough men to hold off the world here, in a way her family had not. Alone though, Erin could do this. She felt anticipation building along with the anger, and she kept going forward.

The most dangerous part was yet to come, because she still had to cross the space between the outer walls and the keep without being seen, and she still had to find a way into that keep once she got there. Erin didn’t care about the danger, though, not when it came to this. She dropped lightly into the courtyard, sticking to the shadows as much as she could as she tried to make her way closer.

She froze as she heard the sound of booted feet approaching. Guards went past in formation, stomping off into the night while Erin pressed herself back against the wall, hoping that the shadows would hide her. She held her breath, willing them to go, not daring even the smallest twitch of movement until they passed.

The moment they did, though, she decided that she’d had enough of being cautious. The moonlight might make it obvious to anyone watching that she was approaching, but only if they happened to be looking the right way in that moment. Steeling herself, Erin sprinted across that space, not stopping until she was pressed in the shadows again, tight against the wall at the base of the keep.

Now what? The walls of the keep might be climbable, but doing it without being seen from the castle walls would be nearly impossible. No, she had to think of another way. The doors were her best option, but could she get through them without sounding the alarm? There would be at least two guards on a door like that, and if one of them managed to shout a warning here, it wouldn’t be the help it had been in the city, because it would warn Ravin that she was coming.

Erin wasn’t going to give in to fear, though, and besides, she had a plan. There was a spot not far from the door where she knew that a stone stuck out, providing plenty of opportunities to hide. Taking the butt of her spear, she hammered on that door, then slipped back into the shadows beneath the stone. The door opened a crack, then further as a guard poked his head out. Erin held her position, waiting.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Who’s there?”

He came out, sword drawn, and another man started to follow behind.

“Someone’s out here,” he said. “If this is some kind of joke, then know that the Quiet Men will kill you slow.”

Erin kept waiting, and the men came out, looking for trouble. She heard them curse, and they went back inside. Erin waited a moment or two, then hammered on the door again. This time, she was barely back into her hiding place before the door opened again.

“That’s it!” the first guard said. “I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you.”

He and the other man came out, searching the area in front of the castle. Erin waited until their backs were turned and then slipped inside, through the still open door. Erin smiled to herself, proud of the way that she’d dealt with the two guards.

There was a third guard.

He stood staring at Erin, open-mouthed, and then turned as if he might run screaming into the depths of the keep.

Erin reacted on instinct, lifting her spear and flinging it, so that it sailed across the space between them to slam into the man’s back. He stood for a moment transfixed, and then crumpled.

Erin breathed a sigh of relief as she walked to the guard and wrenched her spear free, then dragged his body back out of the way, where it wouldn’t be noticed. She’d done it; she was inside. Now, she just needed to kill Ravin.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

There were, Renard decided, definitely some consolations to Meredith’s “stay there and don’t cause trouble” plan. One such consolation murmured in her sleep as he rose from the bed, while another opened her eyes, her tousled blonde hair falling in waves as she sat up with the covers clutched around her.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Lady Meredith said that we were to keep you here by any means necessary.”

That hurt Renard’s pride a little, because he’d always done well enough with women, and hearing that these were here mostly to watch him stung just a touch.

“Oh, don’t pout,” the woman said. “You’re perfectly lovely and you know it.”

Renard was feeling more like himself now, and looking that way too. A glance in the room’s mirror told him that his hair had returned to its usual fiery red, and his skin looked healthy again, not pallid and lined as it had been. As for his energy… well, he felt that he’d proved that to the satisfaction of everyone concerned in the last little while.

“Pity Meredith can’t be here,” he said.

“She had other matters to attend to.” The woman patted the bed beside her. “Come back here.”

“Let me go fetch wine first,” Renard said. Meredith might have instructed him to stay there, but that didn’t mean that Renard was literally going to stay in one room. Pushing at the edges of other people’s rules was one of the things he did best.

Finding his clothes, he headed down into the main body of the House. There were plenty of people there, of course, because there were always plenty of people there, some wearing masks and costumes, some not wearing very much at all, although it was less common outside of private rooms. Renard found a bottle of wine, opened it with his teeth, and took a swig. It felt good to be alive, or at least not to slowly have the life being drained out of him by the amulet.

It felt good enough that when he saw a lute in one corner, Renard actually took it up and started to play. He started with “The Chamberlain’s Hands” because here of all places a bit of bawdiness would always go down well, but somehow he found the tune turning more maudlin, with the haunting minor tones of “Planxty for Lady Mirren” spilling out. For the first time in a long time, Renard actually felt happy. Maybe when all this was done, he could stay here and sing for his supper.

He was still playing when he saw the old man in the tattered dark robes enter the room. It wasn’t that there were no old men who visited the House of Sighs, plenty did, and at least some of them looked like washed up scholars from that House. Very few of them, however, were likely to wander in vaguely, holding a strange contraption made from twigs as if it were precious. Renard saw him shake it with a frown, then cough pointedly in a way that somehow made all the noise and bustle of the House of Sighs stop around him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the old man said. “But I don’t suppose anyone here has seen an amulet somewhere here? It would be octagonal, set with stones. Anyone?”

Renard frowned at that. He almost spoke up, but then he thought of the kind of people who might be searching for something like this. Was this man some kind of agent for the Hidden?

“Who are you, old man?” one of the masked patrons of the House demanded. “Why are you interrupting our evening?”

“I told you what I’m looking for,” the old man said. “As for who I am, isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

The old man stood there for a moment, and even though nothing seemed to change about him in that moment, everything did. It was as if power radiated from him, and authority, so that everyone in the room took a step back. A second after that, his robes shifted their color, becoming a pure white, edged with gold.

“You… you’re the king’s sorcerer,” Renard said.

The old man nodded solemnly. “And you know more than you are saying.”

Renard swallowed. He’d had the Hidden look into his eyes, with all their terrible power, and all the madness that it had brought in them, but somehow this old man seemed to look right through him.

“I know where what you’re looking for is,” he said.

“Show me.”

Renard led the way, and as he did so, he felt a sense of relief seep through him. In just a minute or two, he would be rid of the amulet. He would give it to the sorcerer, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it again. For once, just once, it seemed to Renard that the gods weren’t making his life worse just for their amusement.

Renard reached his room and found that the women there were already gone. Ah well, they probably had other things to do with the House so busy. Renard gestured vaguely.

“Take a seat.”

He saw Master Grey look round and stay standing. Renard went over to his hiding place, lifting the rug, then the floorboard.

“Who are you?” Master Grey asked. “How do you come to have the amulet?”

“I’m Renard. I’m a… thief.” It was probably better to be honest. “Some people persuaded me to fetch it for them.”

Glancing back, he thought he saw Master Grey frown.

“What is it?” Renard asked.

“I fear that we may not be talking about the same amulet. If you had touched it…”

Renard didn’t want the wizard deciding to back out of this, not when he was so close to finally getting rid of the amulet. He took out the box he’d put it in, opened it quickly, and took out the amulet to show the sorcerer. Instantly, he felt the faint pull on his life, but now at least he had some strength to spare.

“Here,” Renard said, holding it out to Master Grey. “Is this, or is this not, what you’re looking for?”

The magus was very quiet for a moment, looking at the amulet, then at Renard.

“That is… impressive,” Master Grey said. He made no move to touch the amulet. “You realize, of course, that you should be dead.”

He sounded surprised that Renard wasn’t, and from his reluctance to touch what Renard held, being a sorcerer wasn’t a protection from it. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Renard, though; the Hidden had sent him for it rather than fetching it themselves for a reason.

“I came to Royalsport to try to get rid of this,” Renard said. “I’ve seen what happens when other people touch it. I can feel what it’s doing to me. I thought a sorcerer would be able to help me. Now, you’re looking for this amulet. So if you want to take it off my hands, be my guest.”

“It is not so simple,” Master Grey said. “You know what it can do to the unprotected. It will also attract unwanted attention.”

“From dragons,” Renard said, and Master Grey stopped short, staring at him. “I had to throw myself over a waterfall to avoid one, back in Geertstown.”

“Then you know the scale of the danger that could come,” Master Grey said.

“So don’t take it,” Renard said. “Destroy it.”

“To do so would be to take away our most vital weapon in what is to come,” Master Grey said. “You have seen one dragon. Now imagine hundreds and the amulet the only thing that stands between us and them. No, I will take the amulet, but to do that, you must help me to get it to somewhere I can contain it, so that others will not be able to sense it.”

“And where is that?” Renard asked. Just when he’d thought that his luck was starting to turn.

“There is an apparatus within my tower that will do it,” Master Grey said.

“Your tower? Surrounded by King Ravin’s troops?” Ravin sighed. He should have known better than to think anything could ever be simple for him.

“Don’t frown so,” Master Grey said. “I thought you said that you were a thief. Presumably a good one if you were contracted to steal something of such importance.”

“The best,” Renard said, before he could stop himself.

“Then you should have no problem getting us there.” Master Grey stood by the door expectantly.

“The thing is,” Renard tried, “I’m really supposed to stay here. Meredith herself told me to.”

“And which of us are you more worried by, right now?” the magus asked.

Frankly, it was a close run thing. The trouble was though, if he didn’t go with Master Grey, Renard would probably never be free of the amulet. He would be stuck there with it under the House of Sighs’ floorboards forever. He had to at least try.

“All right,” he said. “Then we’d better go now, before Meredith gets back.”

Renard grabbed his sword and his cloak, tucked away the amulet in a belt pouch, and then they set off, making their way down through the House of Sighs and out into the city.

Renard picked the way, skulking along with all the skill and silence of his profession, choosing a route that would avoid guards. Master Grey was back to looking like just an old scholar, but he walked quite calmly in Renard’s wake, strolling along without worry, as if certain that nothing bad would happen.

It just went to show that even wizards got to be wrong sometimes.

They were halfway through the noble district when three figures stepped out in front of them, one coming each from alleys to the left and right, while another approached from in front, the darkness of his robes rendering him all but invisible against the night. It was only when he got closer that Renard could make out the pale blankness of the mask beneath, the pits of emptiness that were his eyes. The figure from the left walked in a trail of flowers blooming up from under the cobbles hard enough to crack them, while the one from the right thrust one fist into a wall as he passed, shattering the brick in an obvious display of power.

Verdant, Wrath, and Void stood in front of Renard, and he felt the gathering of their power. Or maybe it was his own fear; it was kind of hard to tell the difference right then. Renard was so certain that he’d left the Hidden behind, and now here they were again. He looked around for a way out, but there was none.

Void held out a hand. “Give us what’s ours, and I will at least kill you quick.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Ravin stood over the defeated form of his foe, drinking in the moment as he prepared to deliver the killing blow. Most of the time, he played the part of the calm and calculating ruler, but in moments like this, it was impossible not to feel satisfaction singing through his body, the sense of triumph building in him as he raised his sword for the stroke that would end her…

Light burst over the city, and a rumble of sound like thunder, only a hundred times louder. An explosion sounded outside, and the rumble of it was enough to throw Ravin off balance, the flash of it half blinding him, leaving after-images stinging his eyes. Outside, Ravin heard alarms sounding, people shouting, the sounds of a terrified response from his guards.

He ran to the window, looking out, trying to make sense of the sudden blinding light. More flashes came, accompanied by more explosions, each one large enough that Ravin felt it like a rumble through his bones. There were moments in those seconds when it seemed as if the air itself were on fire. The city certainly was, flames licking up from the fringes of the noble district, houses turned into pillars of flame by some inexplicable force.

What was happening? Was this some kind of attack? Had the princess’s assassination attempt merely been the first move in some kind of fight to retake the city? Were these flashes down to some new siege engine that even Ravin hadn’t heard of, or had the old king’s sorcerer found a more direct kind of magic than raising rivers and disappearing suddenly? Ravin didn’t know, and not knowing scared him in a way that most foes could not.

In the next flash, Ravin saw it.

The bulk of the dragon hung over the city, blue-scaled and leathery, bursts of energy flying around it as someone did battle with it using what could only be magic to try to bring it down. Even as Ravin watched, it opened its mouth and flame lanced out in response, striking the houses below it and sending them up in a cascade of fire.

There was something primal and terrifying about the sight of it there. Ravin had faced many foes, both human and beast. He had fought men in single combat and survived countless would-be assassins. He had stood in the middle of battles with his heart cold as stone as he shouted orders, yet there was something about the sight of the beast there that meant that he could only stare at it for long seconds.

“No,” he managed after a moment. “It can’t be… they… there hasn’t been a dragon here in lifetimes.”

Yet there it was, swooping over the city, so close to the walls that Ravin could make out the details of its scales every time it blew fiery breath down toward its targets on the ground. It circled, as if hunting for something, then dove again, a fresh line of flame scouring the city below.

Even as he stared at it, Ravin knew that he had to do something. Below, he could see men running around the castle, trying to work out what to do, and it was in moments like this that a king had to be seen, had to make the decisions that mattered. Ravin was no coward king like Vars; he would not stand back here and let others make the choices that mattered with his castle under attack.

He spun back toward the princess, recovering a sense of himself long enough to realize that he should finish what he’d started with her. A quick thrust, and then…

When he turned, though, there was an empty space where she had been lying on the floor of his chambers. A smear of blood showed the direction in which she had fled, and on another day, Ravin would have hunted her down slowly, playing cat and mouse until he caught and killed her.

The roar of the dragon outside reminded him that he had no time to start pursuing one princess. Instead, Ravin ran to his armor, pulling the most important pieces of it into place and trying to ignore the pain of his wounds. The girl had come closer than most to ending him.

Now that he was armored, Ravin ran from his rooms, heading down the stairs beyond and moving through the keep. Men were waiting for him, joining him so that it seemed that he was a comet pulling a tail of advisors along behind him. A commander among the Quiet Men fell into step with him, and a captain of the guards, but there were noblemen too, and servants. Even Lord Finnal was there, still dressed in his night things, yet clutching that oh so fancy sword of his as if he might take the dragon on himself.

“What are we going to do?” a nobleman demanded, sounding on the verge of panic. “What is anyone supposed to do against a dragon?”

Ravin turned and struck the man, hard enough to send him sprawling. “You will do what you are commanded to do. Now, follow.”

He led the way to the great hall. Already, it was packed with people. Nobles and soldiers, servants and seemingly all the others of the castle were there, waiting for instructions. Ravin strode to the front of them, feeling their attention upon him. He kept his face from showing any of the myriad of emotions he felt, keeping his expression determined and focused. People needed to see an emperor who was in control, in command.

That meant giving commands and thankfully, Ravin already knew the commands that he wanted to give.

“Archers to the walls,” he said. “Every soldier and Quiet Man who can hold a bow is to take one from the armory and use it. If that thing comes close, I want it peppered with shafts.”

“Will arrows stop a dragon?” a soldier asked. “In the stories—”

“I don’t care about stories!” Ravin bellowed. “If it breathes, it can be killed, and arrows will stop even a man in armor. Are you going to try to tell me that a dragon’s scales are thicker than plate?”

None of them dared to. Distantly, Ravin remembered a few stories about dragons from his childhood, from the rare occasions when he hadn’t been plotting his rise among his father’s sons and the nobles of the Southern Kingdom. There had been stories of men bringing such beasts down, heroes slaying them, so it had to be possible, didn’t it?

“I see men from this city’s House of Scholars here,” Ravin said, picking out a few of the black robes among the rest of those there. “You will consult your books, and you will tell me everything that is known about dragons before the dawn, or I will have your heads.”

He saw some of the men there flinch, presumably thinking of how little they knew about dragons. Ravin didn’t care. If men of knowledge could not give him the knowledge that he wanted, then what use were they?

He addressed the rest of them then. “The castle is strong,” he said. “It is made of stone, and stone does not burn the way wood and thatch do. We will ride out the attack here, driving the beast off with arrows. I want men to go and close the gates.”

“The gates, my emperor?” To Ravin’s surprise, that came from Lord Finnal, who looked uncomfortable at the prospect. “Gates will not keep out a dragon, when it can burn them, or simply fly.”

“But they will keep out the panicked hordes of city folk who might otherwise come into this castle, demanding safety and overwhelming us all,” Ravin said. “They will keep out those whose very presence might make it harder to defend this space. They will prevent panic, and will mean that the dragon will have to fly if it wants to enter the castle, so that the archers have a better chance of driving it off.”

Ravin was not used to explaining himself. He gave commands, and people obeyed. Those who did not tended to die horribly. He explained his reasoning now for two reasons. First, it reassured the people there that their emperor had the situation fully under control. Second, Finnal and his father were among the more powerful nobles of the kingdom, and their support had been of use in ensuring that there was no serious revolt against his conquest.

“Shut the gates,” Ravin repeated. “Let no one in or out.”

To his shock, though, Finnal spoke again. “Emperor Ravin, my father is out in the city, in one of our town houses there. He had business to attend to. Surely you do not mean to deny him the protection of the castle?”

Ravin strode over to the young nobleman, giving him the full weight of the stare that had made enemies back away and caused commanders to surrender rather than face his forces. He drew himself up to his full height, just one short step away from striking out with his sword.

“You and your father have been useful to me,” Ravin said in a carefully controlled voice. “Your quick submission to my rule meant that a lot of men who might have tried to stand and fight chose to kneel as well. Your presence shows that a man of the Northern Kingdom can be among my closest nobles, and that my empire is truly one thing. You have been well rewarded for this loyalty, with your lands and your position.”

He paused for a moment, then drew his sword.

“But do not, do not for one moment think that you are my equal. Do not think that you get to command me, or question me, or change what I decide. If your father is out in the city, he will take his chances with the others there. Do you have any objection, Finnal?”

He saw the other man flinch.

“No, my emperor.”

“Good, then I will not have to kill you,” Ravin said. He turned to his men. “Now, seal the gates. We will protect this castle and those within. Those without are on their own. They can burn for all I care.”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

As darkness fell Lenore stepped out into the middle of the next village. It would have been so easy to just stay at Lord Carrick’s home, to at least rest there, but there was a part of Lenore that would not let her stop like that.

“All of this would still be here in the morning,” Odd said. He sat atop a horse because the injury to his leg would not permit him to walk any distance. Lenore had dismounted from hers, because it was important that she could get closer to the people who thronged there, waiting to meet her.

“We have to move quickly,” Lenore said. “We’re still vulnerable. Until we have enough of an army, Ravin could still strike back and roll over us. Staying moving is our best choice.”

That was part of the truth, but the other part was that there were still too many more people who needed to be convinced. Lenore couldn’t have sat there in Lord Carrick’s castle while that was true.

“I understand,” Odd said. He winced slightly. “Although one night in a feather bed would have been pleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” Lenore said. “Is your wound hurting much?”

“I’ve had worse,” Odd said, as if it was meant to reassure her. It wasn’t a good thing that this man who had done so much to protect her had been hurt so many times before in his life.

Still, if he was willing to keep going, Lenore was grateful for it. There was an inn here, which called itself the Broken Scale, and Lenore headed for it, letting the crowds of people around her watch her as she went.

That there was an art to being watched by a crowd had been one of the lessons her mother had taught her. Assume that someone is looking every second, maintain your posture, act like the princess you are. Lenore smiled at the thought of those old lessons of her mother’s actually being useful for something, then had to hold that smile to keep it from slipping as thoughts of her mother brought back too many memories of the way she’d died.

Lenore could remember more of her mother’s words than that, though.

“You have the strength to be a true queen... People love you, and will listen to you. Now, you have to have the courage to say something.”

They’d been practically the last thing her mother had said to her, and her mother had been right. Lenore was a little shocked by just how much she’d been able to do with her words in the last few days. Now, she needed to keep going.

She waited for Odd to hitch his horse outside the inn, actually helping him down from the saddle before he limped inside with her. The inn was full, in a way that Lenore hadn’t expected, yet the people there moved aside so that she could make her way to the bar, where a woman waited, looking at her as if she were some figure out of legend rather than flesh and blood.

She actually curtseyed as Lenore approached. “Your majesty, I’m Yselle. Welcome to my inn. When I heard you were coming… it was such an honor.”

“Stand up, please,” Lenore said. “This is your inn and… wait, when did you hear I was coming?”

“People haven’t been talking about anything else,” Yselle said. “They say you beat Lord Carrick, just you and a mad monk. They say he cut down a hundred men. They say that you stopped them with a word, and that they all threw down their swords and swore to serve you.”

“That’s…” Lenore shook her head. Things hadn’t happened like that, but she wasn’t sure that she could explain it all. Then she realized that she could. “It’s not about being special,” she said. She looked around at the rest of them there, and raised her voice. “You all think that I’m something unstoppable, something that will sweep away Ravin like he’s nothing.”

Lenore leaned against the bar for support, but she made sure that she stood tall and straight. Let them see the queen that she could become, that she was.

“The truth, though, is that I’m just a person,” Lenore said. “I listened to a lot of stories as a child; stories of perfect princesses and noble warriors who could take on any number of foes without being hurt. But you, all of you, know that life isn’t like that. Odd, how many men did you kill at Lord Carrick’s castle.”

The knight stood there among the people, a faint look of concentration on his face. “Perhaps half a dozen.”

“And he was wounded doing that,” Lenore said. “I have no special power to overcome Ravin and his men just because I am a princess.”

She paused for a moment, letting that sink in. Lenore could hear a few of them muttering. This clearly wasn’t the speech that they had been expecting to hear. She kept going.

“You do, though,” she said. “All of you, working together. It is easy to sit back and wait for someone else to solve things, because someone else is special, someone else has the power to do it. Yet the only way that we succeed in this is if you are prepared to take the step that matters. Stand with me, and we can take back this kingdom. Stand with me, and—”

Lenore saw the man advancing through the crowd toward her, but for a second or two her mind didn’t register it as anything important. He was just a man trying to get closer, to listen better, an ordinary-looking man with medium-brown hair and a bland, forgettable expression.

It was only as he got closer that Lenore saw the flash of the knife in his hand.

“Odd!” Lenore said, trying to draw the knight’s attention to the man, but it seemed that Odd’s eyes were already on him.

Unfortunately, the knifeman was already in motion.

“Death to traitors!” he shouted, and lunged forward for Lenore, his knife sweeping toward her throat. On another day, perhaps Odd would have intercepted that blow, as he had intercepted others aimed at ending her life. Now though, Lenore saw him move slowly, hindered by his injured leg, drawing his sword quick enough but not able to cross that distance.

Lenore had only a fraction of a second to decide what to do. She had no room to dodge back, and in any case that would open up her throat to his attack, so she ducked her head and threw herself forward instead, hoping that at least she could avoid a fatal slash.

She felt pain flare across her cheek as the slashing knife bit into it, and now she was falling, tumbling to the ground while around her people screamed in terror. She stared up at her attacker, who was already kneeling to try to finish the job with thrusts. Lenore grabbed out for his knife arm, but it only meant that he slashed another cut across the back of her forearm, making her cry out.

Then Odd was there. His injury might have bought the attacker a second in which to strike, but now Odd’s blade was out, and he struck even as Lenore’s attacker raised his arm for another blow. Odd’s cut took his hand off at the wrist in a gout of blood. Lenore saw him reverse the direction of the blade, and now it sliced through flesh and bone as it slammed into the would-be assassin’s neck, taking his head from his shoulders in one smooth movement.

He collapsed atop Lenore, and for a moment, the horror of it was too much. Around her, people were screaming, and there was blood everywhere, the chaos of it too great to keep track of. A part of Lenore wanted to just lie there until all of this went away, but she knew that she couldn’t. She pushed herself back to her feet. She needed people to see that she was still alive, since presumably the point of sending an assassin here like this had been to make sure that everyone saw that she was dead.

Around her, she could see people pushing and shoving, some trying to get closer to see what was happening. Odd appeared to be holding those back, leaning on the bar with his sword held in both hands as he looked out for other potential assassins. Lenore could see the potential for all of this to go wrong, and for people to get hurt, the longer this went on.

“Stop!” she called out over the chaos, and the force of it was enough that people did stop, turning to look at her.

“Lenore, stay back,” Odd said. “You’re hurt.”

“Do you think I didn’t know that this could happen?” Lenore said.

Her cheek burned like fire, and very deliberately, she put her hand to it, so that it came away wet with blood. She held it up so that the others could see it. “Do you think I believed I could get through this without bleeding?”

She looked around them levelly, waiting very deliberately, letting them see her hurt but not dead, still standing in spite of the injuries that had been inflicted on her.

“I am not some meek, weak princess,” she said. “I am not going to wilt and run away just because I have been hurt. The girl I was would be terrified right now that her face would scar. Now, I’m more frightened of what is happening to the people of my kingdom, of the people who are dying or enslaved in Royalsport while the worst that has happened to me is a little blood.”

She stepped out among them. There was a danger to that, because there might be more assassins, but right then, Lenore didn’t care.

“I will be hurt again before this is done,” she said. “Perhaps I will even die. It doesn’t matter. I will give my blood a hundred times over if it will save the people of this kingdom, my kingdom. The question is, will you?”

The cheer that started around Lenore shook the inn to its rafters. She knew in that moment that she would have all the people she needed. They would follow her, and they would die for her if necessary, the same way that she was prepared to die for her kingdom.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Aurelle felt grubby as she started to make her way back toward the House of Sighs. Not that she’d had to do anything, particularly. It was just that now, even the thought of pretending to work for Finnal and his father again was hard to stomach.

She strolled down through the city as darkness fell, glancing back occasionally to make sure that there were no Quiet Men following her. As she did so, Aurelle told herself again and again that she was doing the right thing, and that she’d done more good already with a couple of subtle hints than outright murder ever could have.

Even so, it was hard to believe. She found herself thinking of Greave, and how much she’d lost when he died. She wanted revenge for his death. She wanted Finnal and Duke Viris dead for what they’d done to him, and for the person they’d made her be.

Aurelle could imagine Greave’s response to that, of course. He would want her to put it to one side, would want her to be a better person. He wasn’t here to tell her that, though, so the most Aurelle could do was try to remind herself that at least this way, she had a chance of bringing down the whole of the invasion, as well as just the men she wanted dead.

She kept making her way on through the city, taking a winding route that would allow her to be sure that there was no trouble coming. Aurelle was confident that she could deal with anyone who tried to follow her, but she could do it more easily, and more subtly, if she saw it coming early. Spot an opponent early enough, and she could simply lose them in the city as she headed back to the House of Sighs.

It wouldn’t have mattered how little attention she was paying though, when it came to the moment the fight started in the noble quarter. The magic and the explosions rocked the streets around her, lighting up the sky with their energy. For a moment, Aurelle could only stand and stare, trying to make some kind of sense of it all.

Then the bulk of a huge, scaled creature swooped in over the city, flames pouring from its mouth. Aurelle heard the whoomph of rooftops igniting, saw the night give way to light as the flames brightened it, and as the magic thrown back at the creature burst around it.

For a moment, Aurelle could only stand there, staring at it, her mind refusing to supply a name for something so big, so terrifying, so impossible. Then it did, and it was like the word “dragon” snapped something in her. She turned and started to run.

Even as she did so, Aurelle dared a glance back. She saw the dragon wheel this way and that, pouring fire down seemingly indiscriminately. Almost inevitably, she saw it swing her way, and a line of fire burned its way along the street in her wake.

Aurelle ran, blindly and filled with terror, taking twists and turns at random. Flames burst around her, and for a moment, she thought that the creature must be targeting her. That thought awakened a kind of fear in her that was so old she didn’t even have a name for it, something primal and shiver inducing in the knowledge that something more powerful than her wanted her dead.

Then the dragon swooped past, turning a house in front of Aurelle into a blazing candle, and kept going. This wasn’t about her, it wasn’t hunting her, and there should have been some measure of relief in that, but faced with the destruction it was wreaking, Aurelle couldn’t feel anything except the need to get away.

Aurelle kept making her way through the city, reasoning that she had more hope of surviving if she made it back to the stone and slate of the House of Sighs, rather than risking being caught out on the street. She could still see the dragon, the moonlight and the light of its own flames making it easy to pick out. Even as she watched, it hovered in place, spitting fire down toward the city below.

It was hard to make any sense of it. There didn’t seem to be any pattern or point to the dragon’s attacks. Instead, it seemed to be zigzagging its way across the city, burning things below seemingly at random, tearing off roofs and smashing aside walls. It reminded Aurelle a little of a hound searching for its prey, but without the ability to smell it. Was that it? Had its brief battle with whoever was using magic in the noble district blinded it to whatever it was looking for? Was it flailing blindly now?

Aurelle knew she didn’t have time for questions like that, because at any moment the dragon could swoop around again. There were already flames everywhere she looked, black smoke billowing into the streets. Around Aurelle, those who could manage it started to try to form bucket chains down to the rivers, trying to fight the worst of the fires even while they had no hope of fighting the dragon.

Aurelle kept running. She made it down to the river, and to one of the partially rebuilt bridges, the span of it bridged with planks in place of its usual stones. There was a guard there, but he was so busy staring up at the night sky that he had no hope of stopping Aurelle. By the time he started to shout a challenge, she was already past him, sprinting across the planks of the bridge, heading on into the entertainment district.

Still, fire rained down on the city. Aurelle had been there in Astare when Greave had burned the docks. She had set light to its library herself, to give them a chance to get away. None of those flames even began to compare to the ones that ate at some of the buildings around Aurelle. She heard the whoosh of flame somewhere behind her, and threw herself flat to the cobbles as fire flashed past her, setting light to a fruit seller’s stall. It all but exploded with the heat of the flames, fragments of wood flying past her.

Aurelle got up, because to stay where she was meant death. She made it to her hands and knees, forced her way to her feet, and kept running. Above her, the dragon struck out at the surrounding buildings with more than flames now, striking out with its tail and claws. The sheer power of it was enough to send stones flying, lumps of rock the size of Aurelle’s head hammering into the ground around her.

Aurelle dodged her way between the falling stones like some dainty noblewoman trying to pick her way through the rain, except that this rain would kill her if it touched her, the stones smashing into shrapnel as they struck the cobblestones.

She could do this, would do this. She had been trained to survive the worst things that might happen, had already survived the chaos of an invasion. If she kept moving, and used the most solid-looking buildings for cover, she might be able to avoid the flames well enough. As for the dragon’s impact on the walls around it… all Aurelle could do was wait and hope.

Briefly, the dragon’s efforts turned in another direction, striking at a different part of the city, and Aurelle saw her chance. If she ran now, she had a good chance to make it to the House of Sighs. At the very least, she could get to the next safe spot, judge her next run, working her way forward little by little.

She broke from her cover, and ran for all she was worth, hurrying along back alleys, leaping over a small fence and keeping going. She was still running when she saw the girl.

She couldn’t have been more than around five or six. She was tiny and soot smudged, looking around with the blank expression of someone who couldn’t take in the horror of everything that was happening to her. The terror-filled part of Aurelle wanted to keep running, not stopping until she got to safety.

She did stop, though, reaching out a hand toward the girl.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

For a moment, the girl seemed too terrified to answer, but then she managed a couple of words, pointing.

“My mother…”

Aurelle followed the line of her pointing finger. She saw a charred shape there, among a section of blackened stones. Aurelle made a decision in that moment, reaching out and taking hold of the girl, lifting her smoothly.

“We’re going to get you somewhere safe,” she said. “Come on.”

She ran with the girl, heading in the direction of the House of Sighs. The bulk of it was there ahead. Just a little longer, and they’d be there. She’d wasted too much time by stopping, and the additional weight of the girl was slowing her down. One glance behind showed her that the dragon was closing in again, heading back in their direction. As short as the distance was to the House of Sighs, Aurelle knew that they would never make it in time.

She looked around at the surrounding buildings, trying to work out which would offer the most safety, yet they all looked so very fragile in comparison to the House. Swallowing, Aurelle realized what she had to do, making the kind of decision that she’d always known that she would have to make one day. That didn’t make it any easier. She didn’t want to die, but looking down at the child she held, she knew that she wanted this girl to die even less.

“When I say,” she said, setting the girl down, “I want you to run to that building and bang on the door. Don’t stop, and don’t look back. Tell them that Aurelle sent you and that they’re to keep you safe.”

She watched the dragon closing in, then pushed the girl in the direction of the House of Sighs.

“Run!” she yelled and the child set off. Even as she did, Aurelle was already standing there, waving, making as big of a target of herself as possible. She darted off in the opposite direction, back among the houses. The dragon followed, and Aurelle felt the briefest flash of relief that it was following her, not the girl, but then the terror was back, propelling her forward.

The dragon was almost overhead, and Aurelle dove into one of the small buildings to the side. She paused there for a moment, looking up and trying to listen, attempting to guess where the dragon was by sound alone. She heard, and felt, the house shake as something struck it. Aurelle started to run for the door, knowing that this was only temporary safety at best. A second impact came above her.

She ran harder, but it still wasn’t fast enough. A third impact came, and now stones were falling around her. The last thought Aurelle had was that she hoped the girl had made it to the House of Sighs, and then something struck her, consuming her in darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

As the first rays of dawn touched Nerra’s face, she sat atop one of Astare’s walls, watching the city being torn apart, and all she could think of was how her brother wouldn’t have been able to watch any of it.

This is necessary, Shadr said. We must be protected.

Nerra understood that, but there was still something sad about watching the Lesser plunge into the depths of Astare’s great library, about them tearing out possessions from homes and throwing papers into the air as they searched. It was like watching an army sack the city, but with all the fury that the howling fury of the Lesser brought with them.

“Is this what it will be like when we take the rest of the kingdom?” Nerra asked. “This much destruction?”

Sometimes destruction is necessary, but no, Shadr said. We come to conquer, not to destroy utterly. Human things will serve, as they should.

There was a kind of relief in that, even though Nerra couldn’t see why she should feel such a thing at the thought of human things being allowed to live. They didn’t matter, not compared to the beauty and wonder of the dragons, the Perfected, even the Lesser.

For now, the destruction of the search continued. Dragons wheeled around the city, or perched her and there on its spires. They flew out into the countryside, and came back with cows or sheep between their jaws. Others simply plunged into the masses of the dead, snatching up soldiers off the Southern Kingdom who had opposed them. Again, Nerra had the sense of a small, foolish part of her being strangely disgusted by it, but the rest of her understood that it was simply the way the world worked. Human things who fought against dragon-kind were no use as anything other than food, after all.

Below her perch, the rest of the Perfected continued to guide the Lesser about their search. Nerra jumped down to join them, heading for the now broken library, trying to help in the search. She plunged down into the depths of the library, her enhanced vision letting her see even by the faint glow of light that made it in from above. The Lesser teemed around her, and for a moment, it seemed like far too many, their howls and growling turning it all into chaos that seemed to hem Nerra in, making her think about what it would be like to be torn apart by these beasts.

Then she pushed her mind out toward them, commanding them in their search, reminding herself that she was Perfected, the chosen of the dragon queen herself. She made her way through the library, looking out for the amulet, determined to find the one thing that might threaten them.

As she walked through it, Nerra could make out the destruction. Most of the bookcases had been torn down, so that they lay like fallen dominoes. Many of the books were burnt beyond recognition, with only charred covers left of some of them. Nerra kept going through the library, picking through the books, trying to find any sign of a space where the amulet might be hidden. She saw four cage-like structures around the perimeter of the library’s interior, two of which seemed to be open already, bodies lying in front of them, torn open by what were obviously traps within.

Even as Nerra watched, the Lesser surged toward the others, tearing them open. She saw them fall, brought down by poison darts and slashing blades. Nerra stepped into those spaces in their wake, but still, there was no sign of the amulet that they sought.

Nerra. Shadr’s mental voice was fainter at this greater distance, but it was still clear. This was not a connection that could be so easily broken. Come back to me.

Nerra could feel the urgency there, so she turned and pushed her way back through the ranks of the Lesser, heading back in the direction of the surface. The Lesser parted to let her through, clearing a path so that she could hurry upward, out into the open air.

Shadr was waiting there, in the middle of the open space in front of the library. She was alone, none of the Lesser or Perfected coming close to her, leaving a wide space of open ground around her. Even the other dragons were at a distance, circling in the air or perched atop buildings.

There was one approaching though, flying toward them straight as an arrow. Nerra saw the blue of its scales shining in the sun, saw it close in and land in a sweep of open wings. As it did so, Nerra realized that she knew this dragon. It was hers, the one whose egg she had found, out in the forest.

This one is not yours, Shadr said, and Nerra could feel the note of anger there under the surface. You are mine, not Alith’s.

Nerra could feel the jealousy there, and the sudden tension. She put a hand on Shadr’s flank.

“That isn’t what I meant,” she said softly, as the other dragon approached. Even so, Shadr reared up to her full height, looking down on Alith with such fury that the other dragon crouched low in submission. Nerra felt bad about that, not wanting to see the creature she had helped to bring into the world treated like that.

She caught the flicker of communication between Shadr and the blue-scaled dragon. Touching Shadr, she could make out some of it, the words and feelings flying fast.

I have found it, might queen, Alith sent.

Found what?

I have found the amulet, Alith sent, the one that we seek.

Nerra could feel Shadr’s surprise. Where? Show us.

Images flickered through the link between her and Shadr. She recognized the sight of Royalsport below, seen through the eyes of a flying dragon. She saw the castle and the Houses, the separate islands and the city walls. Nerra felt the pull of the amulet through Alith’s memories, there, and then gone, and then there again. She felt the pain that had come in the midst of a battle with the humans who had thrown magic up, dangerous as a dragon’s breath, even if their bodies were soft and easy to devour.

She saw a man with hair the color of dragon flame. He was holding something aloft, and to Nerra’s eyes he looked frightened, but maybe it was just that she could feel the fear coming through the link from Shadr and the other dragon. She saw the amulet in the human thing’s hand, eight-sided and shining with the colors of dragon-kind. Nerra felt the push of the amulet’s power for herself, the control that had sent Alith into battle against the human things in masks. She felt the way that Shadr pulled away in that moment, tearing free of the connection as if it hurt.

Nerra found that she was breathing hard in that moment, her body shaking with the memory of the control that had come from the amulet. At the time, it had felt like nothing, but now it felt as if some sticky substance were all over the scales of her skin, coating her and making her feel somehow unclean.

“That is… vile,” Nerra said. “To control a dragon like that… I thought I understood before, but it’s so much worse than I thought.”

It is why I wanted to get to the amulet before humans could use it, Shadr sent.

Nerra bowed her head. “I’m sorry. I failed you, I guessed wrong about where it would be.”

The reasons were sound enough, Shadr sent. And you are mine. Any failure of yours is mine as well. I should have risked more, rather than coming here first.

A ripple seemed to emanate from Shadr. Around her, the Lesser ceased their destruction; there was no point to it now that they knew that the amulet was not in Astare after all. They formed up behind those of the Perfected whose task it was to shepherd them, moving from the inner city out into the space beyond.

Even as they retreated from the inner city, the dragons came in, perching on buildings, looking down at Shadr and Nerra. Nerra could feel the dragon queen’s displeasure, and something else as well: a hint of nervousness.

They are not happy that we did not find the amulet in time, Shadr sent. They say that we should have gone the other way. They say that we should go that way now and that my Perfected should pay the price of failure.

One of the dragons, with scales the deep gold of amber, dropped from one of the roofs toward Shadr. As if she had been expecting it, the great black dragon took to the air, slamming into the other dragon, claws drawing blood as they raked along its scales. The two dragons tangled in midair, tumbling and turning like two fighting cats, even while fire and shadow burst around them. Their roars were deafening, the impact of their bodies against one another resounding across the city.

The fight was brief, and it was brutal. In just seconds, the amber dragon was tumbling from the air, one wing ragged from Shadr’s claws, a patch of its scales darkened by shadow fire. It fell to the ground and lay there, making pained sounds as Shadr stood over it in triumph.

I rule! The words echoed in Nerra’s head, loud enough that it almost hurt. Around her, she saw several of the other dragons recoil, as Shadr made her way back to her.

“What was that?” Nerra asked.

A challenge, Shadr replied. They wanted to do the next part their way, racing for the human city. They called me weak when I refused. I am not weak.

“You are strong beyond all others,” Nerra assured her, placing a hand on the dragon’s flank. There was a spot there where a wound lay, and it pained Nerra even to see it. “Does this mean that we aren’t heading to Royalsport?”

Not their way, Shadr replied. If one has found the amulet, we must be more cautious. We must find that one, draw them out. We must kill them before they kill us. Only then can the rest proceed.

Nerra understood then. In the space of one vision, this had gone from an easy conquest to something else, something far more dangerous. This was no longer about just taking back what had been lost. This was about survival now.

EPILOGUE

As dawn broke over the city, Anders sat atop the edge of a broken section of roof, admiring the blade that currently rested in his hands. As much as he hated to admit that Devin could do anything better than him, this was something he could never have made by himself. He was almost grateful to the other boy for that, even if Devin had proved himself too much of a coward to use the blade as intended to kill the dragon they had faced.

Anders would not hesitate when the time came. For now, though, he looked out over the city in the direction of the castle, and more specifically at the tower attached to its side. There was never any guarantee that the magus would be somewhere, but if he was going to be anywhere now, with all that was happening, it was there. It would take a lot of effort to get inside the castle unseen, but Anders was willing to risk it, for this.

He would go there, and he would wait for the sorcerer. He would give Master Grey a reason to appear. Then, when he did, Anders would kill him. He would kill him, finish things with Devin, and then fulfill the destiny that had been his all his life.

Slowly, Anders climbed down from the roof, heading for the castle. He made his way along streets strewn with rubble, fire-blackened timbers showing the aftermath of the dragon’s attack. He found himself hoping that the family he’d helped would be able to find another place to live, especially as it was partly Anders’s fault that the dragon had come their way at all. Perhaps when he was done, he would find them and give them coin for shelter.

For now, he kept walking, ignoring the people working to dig others out of the wreckage. He kept on through the city, up into its noble quarter, until he was only a short way from the castle. He paused, considering the guards on its gates, and the thickness of its walls.

He was still considering it when he felt something pull on the edges of his mind.

Anders felt the magic in that pull, felt the power there, and for a second he thought that it might be Master Grey. This was something different though, although something that still held a lot of power. Looking around in curiosity, he followed the feeling, tracking the magic the way a hound might track a scent.

It led him to the ruins of a wall, and Anders started to dig. He threw aside stones, large and small, pulling them out of his way, following the traces of the magic. He clasped his arms around a particularly large lump of rock, heaving it aside with a cry of effort.

Below, an amulet sat, eight-sided and shining.

Table of Contents

- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
- EPILOGUE