Talia turned her back on Holt with a mixture of apprehension and guilt. Doubt swirled in her. She ought to have gone with him. The only two riders left to defend Sidastra – her home – shouldn’t be taking risks, even inside the safety of the city walls. If something happened to him and she wasn’t there—
No, she couldn’t think on that. Her nightmares were bad enough already.
She turned inward to warm herself and her soul on Pyra’s embers of affection, drawing on more comfort from the dragon than she dare let others know.
“A hatchling must learn to stretch his wings alone,” Pyra said. “And you have a rat to smoke out.” A flare of Pyra’s anger traveled across the bond.
Talia weathered it. Pyra’s fire hadn’t overpowered her since they’d returned to the Crag. To think she’d reached for a blade against Ash, directed more by Pyra’s emotions than her own sense.
She loved Pyra, and Pyra loved her, but dragons were dragons. Mirk had been cold from Biter’s influence; Commander Denna so strong willed from Ysera’s might she often ignored counsel. All riders had to contend with an aspect of their dragon’s nature. Power flows only one way through the bond, after all. The dragon seeps into the human, not the other way around.
Not Ash though. Yet another curiosity about the white drake. Holt hadn’t shown any sign that Ash was overpowering his personality, if
anything the pair of them were in sync more often than not. It couldn’t just be because Ash was a lunar drake. Lunar couldn’t be so different. Something else made the pair of them special.
She only noticed then that Pyra was watching them fly off as well. “It’s nice you care, girl,” Talia said.
Pyra snorted. “I’m happy the baby is gone. He’s always squawking about food and following me like a duckling.”
“And there’s me thinking you liked admiration from others.”
“If he just remained calm some of the time…”
Talia directed her next words over their bond. “You like that he looks up to you. And you care. Can’t hide it from me.”
Pyra ruffled as though shaking off water. Talia smiled, stepped closer and reached up. Pyra obliged and lowered her head, allowing Talia to press her own forehead against the ridge of the dragon’s purple snout.
“There are nesting areas and plenty of space made for dragons in the sheltered courtyard behind the kitchens. I’ll tell them how you like your beef.” She ran a hand down Pyra’s face and their bond glowed.
Parting from Pyra, Talia noticed that Osric and his men had almost made it to the palace doors.
“Go on, now. I need to attend to that rat.”
“I won’t be far,” Pyra said before she took off.
Talia had slipped the all-important letter from Leofric down the front opening of her doublet. The grainy paper lay against her breast. She reached a hand up absentmindedly to check it was still there. It was. A splash of ink had survived all these ordeals while her brother had not. Resolved, Talia drew power from Pyra’s core before she flew out of range and sent the magic to drive her legs. Within seconds she had caught up to her uncle, stopping right in front of him to arrest his own advance.
“We must speak privately.” “And we shall. Inside.”
“No. Out in the grounds. Just the two of us.”
“If you insist.” He barked an order to his guards.
Talia called after them, “Send word to the kitchens that my dragon prefers her beef with medium spices.”
Osric had already strode off toward the gardens. She followed. Even this colorful place appeared lifeless with the threat hanging over them. Talia
sought out a fountain so its running waters might further conceal their words from any prying ears.
“You’re nervous for a dragon rider,” Osric said. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, which combined with the severe close cut of his hair gave him the look of being enveloped in shadow.
“It’s not my own safety I fear for.” “This city is defended well enough.”
“Well enough? Are you expecting reinforcements? Did you send word to Brenin?”
“Leofric may have sent messengers,” Osric said. “Some time ago. If they reached the court there they haven’t replied.”
That was most worrying news. Her mother was sister to the king of Brenin. He was Talia’s and Leofric’s uncle by marriage. Surely he would not abandon his own family to the scourge, not least because no kingdom could be allowed to fall. Risalia would not send aid unless out of the utmost necessity, of course. But for the king of Brenin to refuse his nephew’s pleas for assistance was unthinkable.
Osric grunted. “If only more of your Order had survived the attack.”
She found the sudden change of topic strange. Osric was rarely evasive on anything. Blunt and to the point, that was his nature. Was it pride then? Pride in seeing off the foe alone, and to prove that Feorlen was more than just a small country at the edge of the world? That had been her father’s vision after all, and it had got him killed.
It was too late now to seek help in any case, either from Brenin or the other Order Halls. They were on their own.
“Only Holt truly survived,” Talia said. “Had I not been away from the Crag at the time—”
“You were not there?” Osric interjected.
“No… I went to meet mother. Didn’t she tell you?”
“I haven’t heard from Felice since she left for the northern estate. Took her whole household guard with her. Could have used them in the fight to come but so be it. What happened at the Crag?” He asked suddenly. “We’ve heard only conflicting tales from overwrought refugees.”
Talia explained as best she knew from speaking with Holt. The end result was clear enough to convey.
“Makes sense,” Osric said. “It’s what I’d do if I were on their side. I’m amazed the scourge haven’t struck at Order Halls prior to an incursion
before.”
“The enemy hasn’t had the guidance of a traitor rider before.”
“He was here not two months ago. As charming and arrogant as any puffed-up Lord of your Order ever is.”
His response took her by surprise. She’d always thought her uncle to be a great admirer of the riders, he’d even fought alongside them against the scourge in his travels. Then again, she’d not had many occasions to speak with him since she was a young girl. Had she made a false image of her adventuring uncle? Or had Harroway gotten his ideas into him? Was that why her mother had not confided in him either?
“What I want to know,” Osric continued, his gaze becoming – if possible – more piercing, “is why and how? Do you have any theories?”
Talia wasn’t sure how much she should burden him with on this matter. Rake’s theory of a powerful puppet master; the mention of a ‘Sovereign’ from the Wyrm Cloaks and Clesh which aligned with that theory. Osric was tough and cunning but he dealt with men and steel, not dragons and magic.
“Some,” she began, “but these are matters for my Order to deal with. But that’s not why I had to speak with you. There is another threat closer to home.”
He nodded and she got straight to the point.
“It’s Harroway. He needs to be summoned before the court and questioned immediately.”
“Not this infighting again. Is this your mother’s doing? Political grievances can wait.”
“Grievances? Uncle, he ordered the western garrisons not to march to Sidastra.”
Osric’s eyes appeared to drift into space for a moment. The pupils shifted strangely, he glanced away, then looked back with a piercing intensity.
“He did what?”
“We discovered much on our journey from the Crag. The Knight Captain at Fort Kennet told us quite plainly of his orders from Harroway.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Why would the Knight Captain lie about such a thing?”
“I do not know. Yet for Harroway to weaken the city’s defenses as the swarm gathers does him no favors. None at all. He’s performed
commendably as Master of War, far better than that sop Burken your brother put in at your mother’s request.”
Another rift between Osric and her mother then. Things weren’t as united as she’d hoped for.
“There’s more—”
“To prefer him over Harroway who has actual military experience on the grounds of ideological differences was foolish. Your father wouldn’t have done it.”
Talia’s next words died half formed in her throat. That had stung. Finding her strength, she said, “Father, would have wanted the two of you to work together.”
“Godric wanted many things. He wanted you to wed that baby-faced weasel prince of Risalia. He wanted me to stand idly by his side rather than forge my own place in the world. And he wanted the Toll Pass too. He didn’t get the things he wanted most.”
That stung worse. Osric had slipped a dagger of ice into her heart. Why bring up old traumas? And suddenly she was warding off fresh tears of rage and guilt as a voice in her head told her she should have just married that boy, then her father wouldn’t have gone to war, then Leofric would be alive, then none of this would be happening.
Her hands shook. She balled them into fists and flames danced across her knuckles.
“Will you not even hear what I have to say?”
“I don’t have time for petty infighting.” He said, perhaps harsher than he intended. His shoulders slumped and he gave her a pitying smile. “Forgive, me. I’d hoped you would have been spared of this truth, but your brother was a sick young man. He became wild of thought in his final days. Shouting at his counselors, mistrusting everyone, holing up in his room and inspiring little confidence in his ealdors that he would see us through this crisis.”
Talia thought that strange. “He had the wherewithal enough to send out the Summons.”
“The king’s seal might have adorned the orders, but I assure you he did not issue them,” Osric said. “His last true act was to pay ludicrous sums of money to get prisoners back from Risalia despite my winning that war – we shouldn’t have had to pay a damn copper for them. Sentiment for his old tutor no doubt.”
He groaned then carried on. “Meeting them when they returned only excited wilder stories from him. I’m sorry, Talia. Whatever sickness long plagued him must have struck at his mind. When he finally passed, I was glad he’d found some peace.”
Talia choked back the grief threatening to consume her. Was it true? Had she been chasing ghosts? No. No, too much on the road had pointed to a conspiracy from the palace. Brode had agreed. Nibo had not given any indication that Leofric had been sick with anything other than worry.
She extinguished the flames around her knuckles and brought her hand to her chest, aiming to draw out the letter. As she did so, she met her uncle’s eyes. They had a chill certainty to them. It was then she realized the letter would mean nothing to him. He had already decided her brother was unwell. Only hard proof might sway him, and even then she wasn’t sure. Something wasn’t quite right, either with Osric or the situation between him and her mother. What if Osric told Harroway of the contents of the letter? What if she was prevented from getting to the evidence first?
Talia raised her hand to run it through her hair to excuse the sudden motion to her chest.
“Are you listening?” Osric asked. “Yes, uncle.”
Osric grumped. ““We have a battle to plan for. The court has already been summoned to discuss these urgent matters I urge you not to cause divisions now. Do it after if you must. If we live.”
He left her alone in the gardens.
He left her but one option. If it would take hard proof – and it would always have come to this in the end – then she’d go in search of the promised evidence Leofric left for her. If she found none, so be it. Harroway had been falsely accused. She’d deal with the pain of her brother’s madness in her own time.
But if she found proof, well, it would take more strength than even her uncle had to stop her from burning the traitor herself. Oaths be damned.
Resolved, she stormed off for the palace. She knew just where to go.
