The Royal Wizard Page 17

  She blushed scarlet to be addressed directly. “Has our business been concluded?”

  Her impatience charmed him. Braith would be a hellion as soon as she found the courage to speak her mind more often. Saeran almost looked forward to it. He would enjoy the presence of more confident women among his advisors. The only trick would be to find them. Braith sneaked a glance at the window. No doubt she was eager to get out and join her cousins in their mischief. Saeran decided to be merciful. “It has,” he answered her, dismissing them all with a wave of his hand.

  He sighed as he watched the oldest shuffle their feet out the door and stroked his beard. Something important was about to happen. He needed to be prepared, and it was damned difficult to prepare for something without knowing what it was.

  “If only I could talk to Nia,” he said aloud.

  Call, the walls replied.

  “Do you think I have not tried?” Oh, how he’d tried.

  Soulcall, they said.

  “What?”

  Soulcall.

  Saeran shook his head and scowled.

  He wished he could speak to Mari; truly speak to her. But unlike Braith, his queen wasn’t so eager to demand her voice. She rarely held his gaze for longer than a moment, and though she has learned to speak his language well, she refused to say more than a handful of words whenever she was required to speak. To get her to say that much was a task in and of itself.

  “Pregnant,” he said, still baffled by the news. Four different midwives and a witch had confirmed what Mari had told him and the chambermaid told him his queen had asked for a witch to visit her every day since the wedding to see whether she’d conceived. He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

  She was a mystery, his queen. Saeran had been mistaken to think her weak. On the contrary, there was strength and courage running deep inside her, and he was beginning to admire her for it. True, she didn’t speak much, but in her silence she heard and observed so much more than anyone else he knew, besides Nia. She could sit by his side when he held court, listen to the petitioners speak and see into the heart of their dilemma. Saeran could tell by the way she tilted her head whenever she’d heard enough to make up her mind, and her decision, when he managed to drag it out of her, was always wise and just. It was the getting her to voice it to anyone but him in anything above a whisper that was the problem.

  “Easier to talk to walls. At least you answer.”

  Call.

  “Even if you are somewhat flat.”

  Perhaps it would help if he told Mari about his nightmares. He would risk frightening her, but a show of trust might inspire the same in her. And if she still couldn’t bring herself to speak to him, he could at least be safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t repeat what he said. “It is as good a plan as any.” And it would give him something to do besides sit around and wait for the gods to strike him their blow.

  Rubbing a weary hand over his brow he set out in search of her.

  He hadn’t gone five steps outside the chamber when someone called to him. Saeran turned to acknowledge the magician who had accompanied Mari’s caravan and stayed when the rest had departed. It baffled Saeran how a born northerner could end up so far from his homeland. Jasper was such a man. Though his skin was now darkened by the hot Southern sun, his hair still gleamed gold, and his eyes were sharp and blue.

  Cold eyes, he had. No matter how much he smiled, he could never disguise that. Saeran was uneasy beneath his direct gaze. He could sense Jasper was not all together sane, but he’d thought better of mentioning it.

  Now, the man bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, Majesty,” he said politely, but something dark lurked behind his too easy smile.

  “Be quick about it, whatever it is,” Saeran said, impatient to find Mari.

  “Of course, Majesty,” Jasper said, rummaging in his pockets with well practiced haste. “I have overheard the maids speak of a wizard.”

  His tone put Saeran on guard. “And what have you heard?”

  “Nothing of import, I am sure,” Jasper replied with an easy shrug. “But they mentioned, too, your Majesty’s interest in magic tricks, and it so happens that I am in possession of a rather clever one. I thought your Majesty would appreciate it.”

  Saeran tapped his foot as the boy continued to search for his trinket, but curiosity kept him from dismissing Jasper. Truth be told, he missed talk of magic and spells. Saeran continued to practice what lessons Nia had imparted on him, though it was never the same without her.

  At last, Jasper pulled a chain out of his pocket and Saeran watched as the dark, shining stone pendant settled on its loop, swinging enticingly back and forth. Back and forth. So beautiful and dark, Saeran felt as if he was falling into it. Back and forth. Back…and forth…

  “Merely a first step,” Jasper was saying, but Saeran was too distracted to follow his words. Something cold and ravenous dwelled in the depths of that stone. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. It swam in circles, trapped by the pendant, enraged and distraught that it could not get out. Then Saeran felt its gaze snare on him. It stopped and stared, singing a tune to lure him closer, even as invisible bands slithered around him and pulled taut. “You see, I need to find the wizard. She hides better than most I have come across, but she cannot hide her love for you.”

  Saeran swayed forward, as the dark chill of magic spread around him, and his hand reached out of its own accord to touch the black stone, so shiny it seemed like ice.

  “She will come back for you,” Jasper said with malicious determination, all pretense of innocence gone. All at once he sounded far older than he looked, and for an instant, fear gripped Saeran and he fought against the binds, a last ditch effort to free himself. It was too late. His call for help never made it past his lips. “Oh, aye, she will come. And when she does, I will be waiting.”

  At those terrible words, Saeran’s vision went dark and then he was falling through emptiness with barbed spikes stabbing into him, turning his blood to ice…

  * * *

  Nia woke slowly, fighting her way through layers of fog to find that her body was warm and languid, cushioned by something much softer than her mattress roll. It shocked her how difficult it was just to open her eyes and keep them that way. She could not move more, no matter how much she wanted to.

  Before her, a fire burned merrily in a stone hearth built into an almost smooth wall. Bright banners covered the walls around it like tapestries to keep out the chill, and there were furs strewn about the floor to protect bare feet. She was lying on a nest of pillows, covered with several of those furs.

  Had she dreamed it all?

  No. Nia still felt echoes of the pain she’d endured to get here, and her essence was barely glowing—a reminder of how close she’d come to dying. She made an effort to rise, but even raising her head proved to be too much. Too much effort. Too much pain. A helpless sound escaped her before she could prevent it. Her mouth was parched and her eyes felt dry.

  Strong arms came around her to help her sit up. The man they belonged to was a shadow against the fire’s light, something she thought was very deliberate. He retrieved a goblet and held it to her lips, and that was when she noticed his hand. It was covered with scales that shimmered in the firelight, his nails more like thick claws.

  Nia struggled to raise her arm to push him away, surprised to find his skin was warm to the touch. Rough, as if he wore armored gloves, but warm as any human flesh. Nia was shivering even with the many furs covering her, but this creature, whatever he was, seemed comfortable enough.

  He growled and twitched his hand to get away from hers, then pressed the cup to her lips again and tipped it, giving her no choice but to drink or have its contents spill all over her. The tepid herbal brew choked her at first, but she made herself swallow more, recognizing its power. Three gulps later she felt her strength returning, and after four she felt overheated and had to wrestle several of the furs off her just to breathe.

  When the creature dec
ided she’d had enough, the goblet disappeared behind him and he sat back on his haunches, studying her. “You are strong,” he said, his voice as deep as it was menacing. Nia got the impression that this was a whisper for him, his way of tempering his presence. She was grateful. “Most would not have taken more than a sip.”

  “Where are the others?” she rasped, then coughed.

  “Asleep,” he answered, “as they have been for the greater part of a month. I thought it best to keep them that way until you were well enough to mediate.” Then he leaned closer and she could almost make out his features. “Understand me, wizard, if one more raises arms against me, I will burn them all.”

  “They fought you?” She struggled to comprehend, but her mind wouldn’t work properly.

  “Thinking they were defending you, no doubt,” the almost-man said, sounding amused. “I will admit I was a bit gruff when you arrived.”

  “A bit,” she agreed. Squinting in the dark chamber, she tried again to make out his features. “Who…what are you?”

  Though he’d not moved much since he’d sat, Nia somehow felt him grow still. “You don’t know?”

  Nia shook her head. “I have never seen anyone like you.”

  There was silence as she felt him study her and Nia caught herself reaching for the furs to hide. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, his gaze felt piercing sharp, as if he could see inside her skin into her soul and found her lacking.

  But when he answered, there was no distain in his voice, only something she might have called surprise. “I am a dragon.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Nia’s head swam as the light in the room intensified, aided by magic, to reveal the dragon as well as his dwelling. He looked so much like Saeran, but there were also marked differences. His hands were scattered with scales, his fingertips clawed. Though he was tall for a human, he seemed uncomfortable in his own skin, as if it didn’t quite fit. And why would it? He was, after all, a dragon. His hair was black, reflecting many colors when light touched it. The strands fell below his shoulders, but couldn’t disguise the smooth horns growing out of his temples. He had glowing silver eyes, slitted like a reptile’s, and even his features seemed sharp, hard somehow, as if his skin was stretched taut over stone.

  He allowed her to study him without comment, and didn’t speak even when her gaze slipped past him to glance at the chamber. But it wasn’t exactly a chamber. Though there was furniture aplenty, they were still in a cave. The dragon had made it as comfortable as possible, but at the border where the burrow ended and cave tunnel began, all luxury stopped. Nia could make out the sleeping outlines of the knights in the darkened corridor. They slept on the cold, hard ground, with nothing but blankets to warm them. The dragon’s hospitality, it seemed, didn’t stretch that far.

  As if reading her mind, he spoke again in a deep gravelly voice that made her think he was growling, “Their comfort was not my concern.” He pronounced the words carefully, as if unused to the need to form them.

  “Then why am I not among them?” Nia asked, not certain she wished to know the answer. From what little she had read about dragons, they were very few and very solitary creatures. But although they despised crowds of people, singular companions, usually chosen for their charm, or wit, were almost a necessity to them. Nia had read stories of maidens choosing to remain with a dragon and giving up everything else. If that was what he wanted from her, Nia might have to fight him to leave.

  “You are a wizard,” the dragon replied with an elegant shrug, his ancient eyes taking in everything about her. “Wizards are kin to dragons, in the same way wolves are kin to foxes.”

  “Does that mean you are only being polite?”

  He nodded.

  Nia shook her head. “You are lying.”

  The dragon’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t smile. She wasn’t certain he could. “I will admit there were other reasons for keeping you alive.”

  A knight stirred in the tunnel, drawing Nia’s gaze. “Wake them,” she said, before she could temper the order into a plea.

  The dragon didn’t seem to mind. “Not yet. I expect they might give me trouble for what is about to come.” He studied them for a moment longer before shaking his head. “Fools,” he scoffed. “They risk their lives for something they cannot even use.” When he looked at her again, Nia felt him probing her mind. “You do not know what they seek. But how could you? They themselves have never seen it.”

  Nia pushed off one more layer of furs. Her strength was returning quickly, but even with the dragon’s help it would be awhile yet before she was back to herself. It worried her. How long had they already been gone? She thought of Saeran alone in the castle, then remembered he wasn’t alone anymore, and never would be again. She cast her worries aside and settled. Nia was in no rush to get back.

  “What is your name?” she asked, then winced when he raised a mocking eyebrow. Names held power over their bearers. To name a thing meant to have control over it. Of course he wouldn’t tell her. “What do I call you?” she asked instead.

  Rather than answer, the dragon reached behind him. When he faced her again, he held a wooden chalice. “Behold, your knights’ coveted prize. One of man’s most wondrous inventions.”

  “What is it?”

  “A cup.”

  “What does it do?”

  The dragon huffed with impatience. “It holds drink,” he retorted.

  Nia gaped. “That’s it? That is what we have almost died trying to find?” She’d seen little more than ideas in their minds when she’d searched for their treasure. Nothing but myths and legends, stories of miracles and great power to those who found it. “We came all this way for a cup?”

  Before her anger could manifest in the air, the dragon waved his hand down, forcing her power into submission. “They came here for the cup. A cup which is useless without something to drink from it, though they would not believe even me, should I decide to tell them. You, Lady Nia, are here for the drink itself.”

  Leaving her to ponder that mysterious proclamation, he rose and walked to a table near the far wall. He made no sound at all as he walked, making Nia wonder whether he was there at all, and his long, reptilian tail swished left and right in his wake. Taking up a pitcher, the dragon man returned to his seat before her and poured deep red wine into the wooden cup.

  “At least tell me it’s the magic one. The one they said once held the blood of…I forgot his name.”

  Again, that almost smirk. “Humans,” he said as he set the pitcher aside and placed the cup before her. “Always twisting everything to serve their own purpose.” He uncurled the fingers of his right hand and pressed a black claw into its center, drawing blood. He allowed three drops to fall into the wine before the wound closed and the wine boiled and sizzled, giving off black smoke.

  Nia swallowed with difficulty, but accepted the cup when he held it out to her. Staring into the dark liquid, she imagined she could see shadows in its depths. “It will hurt,” she said, knowing it was true.

  “You have and will yet endure far worse,” he replied. This was a gift, as well as a test. She knew nothing about the magical properties of dragon’s blood, something she was sure dragons kept a close secret. Combined with her own magical essence it could do any number of things: permanently alter her physical being or even mark her soul. If she drank, it would mean submitting fully to the dragon’s will. Blood bonds created a link between beings, allowing the stronger to control the weaker if he so desired.

  If she refused it, he might simply move on to another topic of conversation, or he might burn her to ash where she sat. There was no telling what mysterious thoughts compelled a creature so old and powerful to give up three full drops of his blood for a lowly, finite human.

  “You wished for answers,” the dragon said. “They are in the wine. Drink.”

  She took a bracing breath before bringing the cup to her lips. Her hands shook, but she made certain not to spill a single drop. The wine flowed smooth
ly down the back of her throat, leaving warmth in its wake, a mere taste of what was to come.

  She’d no sooner handed the cup back to him than fire exploded in her belly, sending tendrils out into her blood to scorch her from the inside out. Nia doubled over, unable to draw breath to cry out. Her tears turned to steam before they could be shed, and the inferno inside her kept growing, burning, changing her. Her muscles locked until she couldn’t move, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

  When the fire reached her mind, she choked on a scream as her vision went black and the shadows she’d thought to have seen in the wine took shape. Dozens, hundreds of images flew at her, too fast for her to understand, but they ingrained themselves among her own memories, as if she herself had lived them.

  There were thousands of years the dragon had given her—his years, his memories. In them, she saw a beautiful, fair haired woman. She laughed as she spun around a pyre, looking back at the dragon many times with so much emotion in her gaze that even the mighty dragon’s heart squeezed in his chest. Nia felt his love for her.

  But in an instant, the strength of that love turned to agony as she saw through his eyes the beautiful, dark haired child held in his big, rough hands. Only memories of the child’s mother remained, and each brought with it equal measures of pleasure and pain. All he had left was his daughter, his beloved’s final gift to him.

  And he adored that child more than his own life.

  The girl grew up and ventured into the world, and met a man Nia recognized, though he was still young and full of all the joy he’d lost when his queen died in childbirth.

  And then it was the widowed king who stared at a child in his arms, his beloved wife far and gone. The boy opened his big gray eyes and uttered soft coos, mourning his mother as his father did.

  The dragon caught her against him when she would have collapsed. “Saeran,” she whispered, fighting for breath and shivering as the fire slowly died down inside her. “He’s your grandson.” It all made sense now. His thirst for spells and magic, his aptitude at both¬—it was in his blood. Why had she never questioned it before?