Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3) (7 page)

“Tell me what happened.” Donovan lifted Tristan’s chin to force eye contact.

“He transported himself up from the bottom,” said Landon. “Victor and I had to stick to the stairs, so we weren’t here.”

Tristan tore his eyes from Donovan and studied the ghosts again. They were huddled so close together, he couldn’t determine who was wearing what. They were still trying to tell him something, but again, there didn’t seem to be any sound.

Donovan glanced over his shoulder, but had no reaction to the uninvited company.

“They came back, the mist people,” said Pink, diving for the safety of Landon’s hair.

“Mist people, as in, ghosts?” Donovan drew his sword and faced the open hall for a brief second. “Did they do this? Take him back downstairs and warn Samara—”

“No.” Tristan clenched his teeth.

“Start talking,” Donovan ordered, then spun to face the ghosts with the tip of his sword, oddly accurate considering he couldn’t see them.

The group of ghosts responded by sitting against the opposite wall.

Pink darted from Landon’s hair to Donovan’s shoulder. “They are sitting.”

“Odd.” Donovan took a step forward. He glanced back at Tristan. “You’re bleeding. Did they attack you?”

Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. One of the ghosts inched forward while Donovan’s back was turned; Tristan flinched away from a reaching hand.

“Are you a threat or not?” Donovan said, getting angrier by the second. He put his attention back on the ghosts. They shook their heads and Pink relayed the movement.

“The lights. The council,” Tristan finally managed. “Fight broke out.”

Donovan’s sword disappeared and he pulled Tristan forward from the wall. “Three long gashes. If you weren’t immortal, I’d say this would be a fatal hit. Can you feel this?”

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden stab of pain in his bad shoulder.

“This?”

He grunted as both ankles were tested. The numbness around his back seemed to be retreating and every movement stretched and pulled at whatever wounds he had.

“Obviously your back was turned to your attacker,” Donovan said angrily. “So let me guess. You were running away at the time?”

“Jacques. I was trying to get to Jacques.”

Donovan sighed. “So, you transported yourself upstairs and got pulled to the council, and…?”

“I may have said some things…. Jacques is still alive. Don’t know about Molajah. Fighting….” Tristan felt his eyelids droop, then jerked awake when the temperature around him dropped a few degrees. “You know, I’ve never been actually hurt while there with the lights,” Tristan whispered. “I still need to see Dorian.”

Donovan didn’t move. Landon and Victor moved closer, staring at the wall above his head.

Whatever power he possessed that allowed him to heal was becoming more noticeable, making the skin on his back itch like crazy. It was also using the last of his strength.

“Looks Russian,” Donovan said.

Tristan glanced up at the smeared symbols forming on the wall, smudged in a streak of his own blood. He reached for his staff and got to his hands and knees, his back finally healed enough to move.

“Come on, Tristan. Let’s have Madam Galina look you over.”

“I’ll be fine.” Tristan accepted Victor’s hand to help him up and faced the writing on the wall:

“It says, ‘Friend,’” said Donovan.

Tristan eyed the ghosts who remained sitting against the opposite wall, leaving a hand on Victor’s shoulder to keep him steady. The mist people stared back expectantly, extending their hands, palms up. He wasn’t sure if they wanted something, or if they were trying to prove they weren’t hiding weapons.

Victor jabbed him in the ribs, startling him back into consciousness.

If they are watching you, do not appear weak,
said Donovan in thought.

Tristan nodded, though he couldn’t imagine standing for much longer. “Is Molajah dead?”

The ghosts looked at each other, their lips moving silently until they came to some sort of conclusion.

“Yes or no? It’s not that hard.”

They shrugged. So maybe they weren’t sure?

“Molajah told me the council was divided. Is that what happened?”

They all nodded, looking relieved that he knew at least that much.

“I’m supposed to meet someone.” He had no idea how to phrase his question. “Often when I transport myself, or if someone else does it, those lights, er, the council, seem to take control. So the question is, how do I avoid being taken?”

“Make it a yes or no question,” added Donovan.

“Can I avoid the council while being transported?”

While the ghosts discussed it, Tristan glanced at Donovan. “I don’t know what to ask.”

“Your question is valid.”

“They’re taking too long to answer.” Tristan felt his weight shift and Victor stepped a few inches closer, keeping him upright. “I have to see Dorian. Maybe she could come here?” Tristan put all his attention back on the ghosts.

They shook their heads no, but had all sorts of silent words to go with it.

“It’s a ‘no’ on transporting. Why can’t I hear you?”

One of the ghosts tapped an index finger on his temple, frowning.

“Can you make it so everyone can see you?”

They eyed Donovan and shook their heads again.

“Why are you here?” Tristan sucked in a breath as the mist collapsed to the ground, reforming into a line of bowing people, including the one who’d been writing on the wall. Landon stepped in to support his other side.

“What are they saying?” Donovan demanded, irritation once again radiating from him.

“I wasn’t lying to the council,” Tristan said to the bowing people. “They were right. I am pathetic and weak. I don’t understand the contract, the politics, or any of these powers that may or may not be natural for me. I just want Jacques back, and I can’t handle the idea of anyone being imprisoned, and maybe that’s only because I myself am a prisoner—”

“Tristan,” Donovan growled, drawing his sword again. “Enough.”

“Please just go away,” Tristan begged. “I’m not your leader. Or anyone’s leader.”

“If you want my trust,” Donovan aimed the tip of his sword at the wall above their heads, “do as he says and get out of the castle.”

“No! I’m not leading.” Tristan’s knees buckled and the staff clattered to the floor; Landon kept him on his feet. “Don’t do as I say.” The last part was mumbled, but everyone had to understand: Some people were meant to lead, and he was a hundred percent, positively, without a doubt, not one of them.

TALKING TOMATOES

A DRONING VIBRATION
A droning vibration hummed through Tristan’s bones, making his body both queasy and numb. He reached up to feel his head, confused when a set of earphones fell into his lap. Landon and Victor were sitting in front of him, facing him.

“Seaplane,” Victor shouted, placing the earphones back on Tristan’s head. “We’re flying to see Dorian.” The sound came through a speaker system in the headset.

Tristan nodded that he understood and shifted his position to look out the small window, where nothing but clear sky and a vast ocean spanned the horizon. A white wing with black tips extended from above the row of windows, and the cover for the engine was painted black with red at the intake. Tristan put his attention back on Landon and Victor, and the inside of the plane.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights,” Landon said, only half joking by the looks of it.

“I’ve never flown is all.” How had he been able to sleep? “Who’s flying this thing?”

“Donovan,” Victor answered. “We took a helicopter from the castle to an airport in New Zealand, where we transferred to one of his personal jets. From there, we flew to Alaska, rented this seaplane, and now we’re heading to the island.”

“I didn’t know Donovan had a pilot license.”

“I don’t think he does,” Victor answered. “But he owns a whole fleet now, and has a few pilots on standby if needed. He had Landon study the airport protocols while we were in the helicopter.”

Tristan stifled a groan and felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

“We’ll be landing in about fifteen minutes,” Donovan said through the sound system.

Tristan tightened his grip on the seat. “The last plane that tried to land in Dorian’s lake crashed a quarter mile off shore.”

“Told you we should have sedated him,” Victor said cheerfully.

“He’ll be fine once we land,” said Landon.

“Sure.” Tristan loosened his clenched jaw and tried to roll his shoulders. “Besides, if we happen to crash, we’ll just transport ourselves to safety and everyone will be fine. Unless the council grabs me and skins me alive.”

“Are they here?” Donovan asked.

Tristan scanned the plane. There were two couch-like bench seats along the curved walls and Donovan’s silhouette sat beyond a fogged glass partition. Someone had lowered all the shades over the line of windows and there were no ghosts. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Don’t trust them with any information until we know whose side they’re on, got it? And if this rendezvous with Dorian is a schoolboy social call, I’m going to be one seriously pissed off guardian. Another thing, unless you start training your dragon brain, I’m going to start teaching you Russian so you can understand what they’re saying.”

“Learning Russian doesn’t solve the sound issue,” argued Tristan, glad the level of irritation was getting his mind focused on something other than crash-landing in the lake.

“You know how to read lips, don’t you?”

“Pink! Where’s Pink?” Tristan asked, searching for the little pixie. “I need her for this.”

“I told you, she’s not my priority,” said Donovan.

“But while we’re here, we may as well take care of everything—”

“It’s okay, Tristan,” said Landon. “She’s with Alvi. I’ll just go get her when we land.”

Tristan let out his breath. “Okay. Good. I want her to describe the flower she needs to Dorian. Maybe she’ll know what it is, or where to find one, or how to plant one—” The plane tipped sharply and his stomach lurched. They seemed to plummet for a few seconds. “How much longer?”

“Not long. Pink will be so happy,” Landon said. “I know she’s been anxious about the possibility of never finding one.”

“I told you I was planning that, didn’t I?”

“No, but it’s a really nice idea. Very considerate.”

“How much longer?”

“A few minutes.”

“Theoretically, if we crash, let me swim. I don’t want to face the council again just yet.”

Victor laughed. “You can’t swim.”

“A boat, then. I’ll row. Or heck, put a motor on the dang thing.”

“Anything else?”

“A life jacket,” Tristan said between short breaths. “Where’s my staff?”

“We’re right here….” Landon and Victor said together.

“What?” Tristan opened his eyes and glared as they waved in unison. Donovan chuckled in the headset. “You aren’t staff. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Landon pointed to the wooden staff lying along the top of the bench seat next to Tristan. It was within reach and he clutched it tightly.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’d advise you to get used to flying unless you want to face that council,” Donovan said. “And quite frankly, with your wingspan, I’d say you’d better get used to flying regardless of facing the council.”

Landon and Victor both agreed, nodding as though they hadn’t considered that.

“You can’t be serious. I can’t fly in public. People would see. I’d probably be shot down by the military as a threat to national security—” His voice squeaked into a scream as the plane jolted hard and skipped against the water surface. They were thrown forward as the speed slowed drastically. “A plane can’t possibly float. We’re going to sink—”

“Thank you for flying with Donovan Air,” Victor announced. “Please stay in your seats until the craft has come to a complete stop.”

Tristan nodded, trying to conceal his trembling hands. “No sneaking past Oliver in this thing. Do we have permission?”

“We do,” Donovan said. “Although, as you can imagine, he’s not happy.” The plane stopped moving. “Dorian’s not happy either, but I promised we’d take care of any pollution we put in the lake.”

“Figures.” Tristan rubbed his temples. “See? I told you this wasn’t a friendly social visit.”

“I believe she is only acting disagreeably because she doesn’t want Oliver to think she looks forward to seeing you.”

“Does she?”

Victor winked and Landon patted Tristan’s shoulder. “I’ll be back with Pink.”

“Please take a moment to collect yourself,” Donovan said. “I refuse to carry you.”

Tristan nodded gratefully. “That would be good. I don’t want her to—I mean, I can totally do this. I’m feeling pretty good actually.” Maybe he
could
survive without food?

“I’m giving you one hour.”

“That should be plenty of time. I’m sorry about the transportation problem. Dorian wouldn’t come to me?”

“She might have, but I don’t want Lazaro coming to the castle.”

“How much has this cost you? Whatever it is, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay it.”

“It’s not a problem. The helicopter has been mine for several decades, and I quite enjoy flying. Although now that I’ve flown myself, I might upgrade to something more accommodating.”

“But flying is so time consuming compared to transporting yourself wherever you need to go.”

“I find it relaxing. So often we don’t make time for sitting around, always questing for efficiency.”

Tristan nodded. “I’d like to talk to Dorian alone, if you don’t mind.”

Donovan shrugged on a suit jacket over his white dress shirt. “Oliver has prepared for our visit. There are nine men, or possibly women, with weapons surrounding the village. They’re heart rates are slightly elevated, but I feel it’s more nerves than fear.”

Tristan nodded and bowed his head. Nine people wouldn’t be enough to protect the village, but maybe enough to put him on the run if he shifted. “Where’s the cave from here?”

“Why do you want to know? The cave wasn’t in this arrangement.”

“If I shift, that’s where I’d go.”

“Northeast.”

Landon appeared in the plane and Pink leaped from his shoulder into the air, circling the area and coming to a stop on Tristan’s knee. “Are we in the city? Do I get to meet more people? Are we waiting?”

“This isn’t the city,” Tristan said, encouraged by her abundance of enthusiasm. “You have to stay hidden until I call you out, okay?”

Her wings drooped, then perked up again. “But not for too long, right? Or you wouldn’t have wanted me here, right?”

“I hope so. We don’t want anyone to know about you yet, so I have to make sure it’s safe before we introduce you. I think we can trust Dorian, but I don’t know about anyone else. And they’ll be watching everything we do.”

“Let’s move.” Donovan opened the airplane door and a ramp appeared as a walkway, curving slightly to meet the shoreline. “Victor on the left, Tristan in the middle, Landon on the right. I’ll be behind.”

Tristan stepped into the fresh air, relieved to be out of the plane and into the open. The rocky beach surrounded by various grasses and shrubs turned into a forking path: one leading to Dorian’s cabin on the right, the other straight up a slight hill to the village itself. Tall evergreen trees covered the hillsides. The water was deep enough to be over his head if he should fall, and he made a show of searching for signs of fish to justify moving at such a ridiculously slow pace.

Whispering cheers from the plants above and below water surrounded him. He tried to put a wall of silence around him, to no avail. At the end of the walkway, Dorian’s uncle, Eric, and Oliver were standing on either side of her. She finally got tired of waiting and dodged Oliver’s grasp to meet them in the middle.

She looked happy until she stopped a few feet in front of them. The whispers of plants hushed slightly.

“You shouldn’t have left Oliver,” Tristan said, though he was glad she was willing to risk the man’s anger.

“And you said you were doing better! What the heck is all this?” She waved a hand over him and he stepped back, bumping into Donovan. All of the plants were silent.

“No matter what happens, don’t touch me. It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Dorian planted her hands on her hips. “What illness do you have now? Is that the only reason you came?”

“Can we just get to shore first? Then I’ll explain everything.”

“No.”

“Look, Dorian. The last thing we want is for Oliver to think we might turn around and take you with us. So let’s just get to shore and have this meeting go smoothly. I promise if it goes well, you won’t regret it.”

“I’m sorry.” She frowned and rubbed her arms. “I’m in a bad mood.”

“What else is new?” Victor said under his breath. Before anyone could cringe, Dorian palmed him in the chest and he toppled backward into the water.

“Don’t!” Tristan’s eyes shifted instantly and he squeezed them shut. “Don’t touch Victor or Landon, either.”

“Easy,” said Donovan, caging Tristan with his arms from behind. “She’s not starting a war.”

Tristan knew this, logically, but the instinct to protect Victor had risen up his throat and couldn’t be tamped back down. “This is a bad idea.” If Oliver’s people retaliated, Landon and Victor would fight to the death. For him. “I’m sorry. We should go.”

“I just spent a fortune of time and money to get you here, so right now, you are going to pull yourself together and have this conversation. On shore.” He glared at Dorian to turn around and she did.

Tristan took a few more calming breaths and refocused on his steps, ignoring the waves lapping against the wooden decking. The water should be the least of his concerns. When they reached rocky shore, there was a wooden table with six chairs.

“This is as far as you go.” Oliver stood firm with his arms crossed. “Have your conversation and be gone.”

Tristan dropped into a chair and leaned heavily on the staff. Thank goodness he didn’t have to walk all the way uphill to Dorian’s shop at the village.

She sat beside him. “All right, spill. You said you were doing better and this is not better.”

“What do you want from me? This
is
better. I’m walking, talking, and able to carry a coherent conversation.”

“But you’re starving to death.”

“That’s one of the things I need to talk to you about.”

“You’re impossible.” Dorian slammed her hands on the table and stood.

“Dorian, please.” Tristan glanced at all the people standing guard and longed for privacy. “What’s going on? You’re not usually
this
angry, and when we last spoke, you seemed willing to meet with me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she sat back down.

“You two spoke?” Oliver threw his hands into the air and walked away. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Remember when we were in California?” asked Dorian.

“Yes. Are the plants recovering?”

“The ones I took are. But, right after we said goodbye, the rains came. Most of the plants and trees were washed away. People too. They’re still looking for survivors.”

“What?” Ominous dread tightened around his chest. “Just because of a little rain?”

“It wasn’t
just a little
rain. There was a mudslide and a small town in the valley below was practically buried.”

“But.” Tristan felt the air go thin and found it hard to think. “But…it wasn’t. It shouldn’t have.…”

“Tristan,” Landon said. “Don’t tell me you had something to do with the rain?”

“I was just…the plants were dying. I just thought a little water would, you know, be helpful.”

Everyone stared, speechless, until Donovan spoke up, addressing Oliver. “If you would like to show me this location, I’ll see if there are any survivors to be found.”