Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (8 page)

The creature paid him no heed and kept its attention locked on the jerky strip.

"Sorry," Rika said. "I won't say another word."

He let go a deep breath and moved his left hand forward touching the draco's saddle.

Like a coiled snake the draco stiffened under his touch, but made no move to stop his advance.

He took a step and raised his leg over the creature's saddle.

The draco lurched sideways but remained focused on the jerky hanging out of reach.

He tossed the jerky on the straw near the creature's feet and slipped atop the leather saddle.

The draco lowered its snout and snapped up the jerky.

He glanced toward Rika smiling from where he sat perched on the draco's back. "Who needs magic?"

The beast swallowed the jerky and screeched bucking from side to side.

Rika leaped forward and thrust out her hand. "Watch out!"

Blood rushed from his face and his legs slackened under a release of adrenaline.

The draco's head pitched toward him and the beast narrowed its eyes. It loosed a second high-pitched screech and hissed.

"Easy girl." He rubbed the draco's neck doing his best to put it at ease.

The draco opened its mouth and flashed its. The beast hissed, and in a blur of motion, sank its teeth into the leather armor covering his thigh.

Pain erupted across his leg. He howled and leaped from the draco's saddle.

The draco twisted its neck and pulled away a mouthful of leather.

Rika shifted into a forest cat and bounded toward the draco. With a roar, Rika bore her fangs.

He pulled himself across the straw carpet until he reached the safety of the stall's far wall.

The draco shrunk away from Rika and lowered its gaze. The creature squawked a low whimper of submission and tried to push its head beneath the piled hay.

Rika stepped back and shifted into human form.

Pain throbbed in waves from the wound in his leg.

Rika pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and knelt beside him. "Are you okay? Let me see it."

He sucked in air and tried to control his labored breathing. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." He covered the wound with his hand knowing Rika would never take his word for it.

Rika jerked away his hand and gasped.

His stomach sank and he stole a quick glance at the wound.

A six-inch gash ran along his thigh where the draco's teeth had dredged a furrow through his skin.

"This is something you can't mess with Ronan. You have to channel and fix it."

"It's not as bad as it looks." Pain throbbed in his thigh, and it took all his effort not to touch the magic blazing just under the surface.

Anger flared in Rika's eyes. "You're as stubborn as a mule."

"I'll be fine, but I need a bandage to stop the bleeding." He strained his neck and glanced through the stall's open door. "There's a blanket hanging in the corridor."

Rika retrieved the blanket and returned. She ripped a strip from the fabric and bound the wound. The anger hadn't retreated from Rika’s eyes. "You'll get an infection."

"I'll have Mistress Henley make a poultice before I leave," he said.

Rika gaped. "Leave? It won't let you near it."

"Can you soothe it?" He said.

"I might, but why should I?" Rika said. "Even if you can make the draco fly, what's to prevent it from dumping you off a hundred feet in the air?"

"I want you to command it," he said. "You know. With your guardian's magic."

Rika shook her head. "I can no sooner do that than you can grow wings and fly yourself to Dragon's Peak. My magic doesn't work that way."

His stomach sank. "If I can't make the draco fly me out of Forth, there's no telling what might happen. What if I accidentally wipe out the entire village?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that Rika." He ran his fingers through his hair. "What if I destroy all of Meranthia?"

Rika's lips drew into a thin line, but she didn't answer.

"Perhaps I can help." A raspy, inhuman voice answered from the adjoining stall.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Trace’s Hovel

Danielle’s boots clattered against the splintered stone.

Sharp echoes rattled from the citadel’s high walls.

She walked the subterranean hallway alone. In fact, the citadel’s prison hadn’t confined a single person in over a hundred years.

She paused outside a rusty iron door and summoned her courage. Trace had left her for dead while imprisoned in the desert camp. Every time she visited the emperor, she fought an urge to squeeze the tyrant’s throat.

She touched the seed pouch dangling from her waist belt. The seeds offered a modest sense of security, but she would never underestimate Trace. She let go a deep breath and pulled on the door’s iron ring.

The door groaned and swung outward. The prison cell came into view revealing a congealed wall of pure spirit.

Unlike a regular shield meant to serve a temporary purpose, Ronan built this one to last. The energy flowing through the barrier had slowed to a virtual standstill.

The room-sized shield trapped the man sitting inside. A man who sat reading a weathered book she found in the royal library. The gift, like her other attempts, had failed to loosen the criminal’s tongue.

She stepped through the open door and paused at the barrier’s edge.

Trace’s attention remained focused on the book.

She eased into a simple wooden chair beside the barrier and settled Trace's bag in her lap. “I need you to tell me where I can find the heartwood.”

Trace turned a page. “I never cared much for Therin’s work. Not when he was alive and not now.”

“I need to know where to find another heartwood sapling,” she said.

“Are you familiar with Therin’s work Miss Deveaux?”

She wouldn’t let Trace sidetrack her. Not this time. “I don’t care about Therin or his bloody books.” Heat rose behind her collar and she squeezed the seed bag resting at her waist. “Tell me where I can find the tree.”

“Therin had the peculiar tendency of revisiting the same theme in each of his works,” Trace said.

She clamped her jaw tight and stared at the sculpted gray hair laying perfect on the back of Trace’s head.

“It drove him mad,” Trace stole a quick glance at her. “He never did find his resolution.”

Inside her, rage festered like an infected boil.

“He hung himself.” Trace’s gaze returned to the book. “The healers believe he died a slow agonizing death. Poor sod.”

“I need —”

Trace’s one remaining hand raised and cut her off. “Unless you’re here to execute me, flee. I’ve no use for you.” The emperor gestured toward the open doorway

Even imprisoned Trace remained in control. Why should he give her orders? “I have something I want to show you.”

Trace glanced at the burlap bag settled on her lap and rolled his eyes. “Not that wretched sack of knick-knacks again.”

She peeled open the bag without responding. One by one, she pulled out the pendant with the missing stone, the petrified heartwood seed, and the engraving of Trace and Elan.

“Why don’t you throw that rubbish in a fire?” Trace glared at her with disdain. “That’s what you threatened last time.”

“Your reaction to these items strikes me as odd. These items must mean something to you. You carried them half-way across the world. They even held a place of honor beside the spheres you stole from me and my brother.”

Trace stared at the items piled in her lap. “How can I steal something I created? By definition, the spheres belong to me. I could make the same accusation about you and your scheming brother.”

“How old is this engraving,” she said. “It’s quite extraordinary.”

“What does that matter?”

“You and Elan seem…happier in the engraving. You must have been friends at some point.”

“My personal life is my own, and the nature of that engraving is none of your business.”

She nodded. “I thought you might say something like that. Did Elan know about this engraving?”

Trace stared at the engraving for several long moments before he spoke. “Miss Deveaux, you'll not further bait me. If there's nothing else, I’ll return to my reading.”

She stood and placed the seed and the pendant on the empty chair behind her and walked to the edge of the spirit membrane. “I wonder if Elan knew about this?” She pressed on Elan’s right eye and the invisible door popped open.

Trace’s face turned ashen. The emperor’s gaze locked on the silver key.

“You’d like me to destroy this key. Wouldn’t you?”

Trace’s gaze returned to the book in his lap. “I don’t care what you do with it.”

“Thank you emperor. You’ve given me the information I need. Aren Broderick might supply a few more of the missing clues.”

Trace’s head whipped around. “You’re playing with forces beyond your comprehension.”

“You’ve left me no choice.” She rolled the key between her fingers. “Unless you’re willing to tell me where I can find the heartwood.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“Where did you get the sapling?” She said. “It didn’t come from the forest or it would’ve died with the first tree.”

Trace’s lips tightened into a thin line.

“You know what I think?” She held the key high for Trace to see. “I think this key unlocks a door where I’ll find the heartwood tree and God knows what else.”

Trace had dropped all pretense of reading and stood. “You don’t want to use that key Miss Deveaux. Trust me.”

“I want to cure the plague ravaging your people,” she said. “It will spread beyond the desert, and once our immunity wears off, it will kill us too.”

“There are other ways to cure the plague,” Trace said. “Surely someone as intelligent as yourself might find a way? You command every plant and animal on the face of the planet. Why don’t you look for a cure with the ingredients right in front of you?”

“Ancient wardens tried. They —”

Trace laughed and shook his head. “Ancient wardens didn’t have an innate command of nature the way you do Miss Deveaux. They were blind men bumbling around in the dark.”

“Why should I spend time finding a new cure when one is waiting for me in the desert? The heartwood will cure the plague. It might be the only cure. New research could take decades that we don’t have.”

Trace’s face brightened. “Ahhh… I see. Your reasons go beyond the noble. Don’t they, Miss Deveaux?”

Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t like the conversation’s direction. “I want to cure the plague. Nothing more.”

“You don’t want to be the one that allowed the forest to die. What would your father think?”

Goose bumps rose on her back. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” A smirk slithered across Trace’s handsome face. “If nobody ever knew, how would you answer then?”

Heat spread across her cheeks and she lowered her gaze to her shoes.

“If you spent half the effort researching a cure as you’ve spent on this quest for your tree, you would’ve found one by now.”

Her anger rose to a boiling point, and she leveled her gaze on Trace.

“You don’t want the world to remember you as the little girl that let the forest die.” Trace let go a short mocking laugh. “Pathetic. You’re no better than me, Miss Deveaux.”

Anger flashed behind her eyes. “I never murdered thousands of innocent people.” She jabbed her finger toward Trace. “You did that. Not me.”

Trace raised an eyebrow. “You’ll kill millions with your selfish quest for a tree that doesn’t exist.”

Nature energy boiled from her skin and collected at her feet like a green fog. “Shut up.”

“I take it back. Maybe you’re not like me,” Trace said. “At least I’m honest with my treachery.” The emperor turned away from her and sat in the weathered rocking chair.

She could strangle the cretin right now and nobody would care. In fact, they would celebrate. She inhaled a sharp breath and tried to calm herself. Trace wanted her to lash out. To kill him. But why? “What did you want with all three spheres?”

Trace’s nose remained buried in the book and he flicked his hand toward the door. “Be gone with you.”

“Did someone visit you in your dreams? Did that someone tell you why?”

Trace’s body went rigid and the book fell slack in his lap.

Exultation surged inside her. “Did the visitor demand the spheres?”

Trace turned revealing a face that had turned as white as the bed sheets tucked in behind him. “How do you know about that?”

She folded her arms and turned her own condescending smile on Trace. “I know more than you think…emperor.”

“If you know about the visitor, then you should know about the key.” Trace surveyed her face for several long moments. “But you don’t. Do you?”