Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (38 page)

"He seemed confident he would be," Hawk said. "Come, let's find a good spot to make supper."

***

They ended up back on the stable level. Hawk pointed out, correctly, that with a stable built of stone, there was little danger from a campfire. They found a clean stall near the horses and spread their bedrolls. Hawk offered to go for water.

Azmei waited until Hawk's footsteps had retreated before she sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. She'd lost Yarro to a dragon and then forgot about him at the seductive song of the baths. Some protector she was turning out to be. But Yarro had seemed confident and happy when he came back to them. He'd found his Voices. Maybe he didn't need her anymore.

She rubbed her face and pushed her hair behind her ears. She'd been letting it grow out for the past year, though she wasn't sure why. Assassins were better off with short hair.

Dismissing the thought, she knelt and went back to feeding kindling into the fire. A few minutes later, she heard Hawk's footsteps approaching again. He wasn't limping, she realized. The bath must have helped.

"What do you suppose the dragons need Yarro for?" she asked as he poured water into a kettle and set it next to her.

"I don't know. The stories don't say anything about them needing people."

"They don't say anything about the dragons having retreated to a Shrouded Vale in the middle of the desert, either," Azmei said. She paused. "We always thought the war with Strid was about the mines. Do you suppose they were actually looking for dragons?"

Hawk sat cross-legged on the floor near her. "I'd never thought about it." He began rooting around in his pack, his tone turning dark. "The first place they attacked was the mines, though. That seems like a good clue that it was about the mines."

Azmei nodded, wondering if she'd upset him. He wasn't looking up at her. He'd grown up in the Kreyden, hadn't he? He looked to be about thirty, though she wasn't the best judge of age. He might remember the start of the war.

"Tea?" he said, without looking at her.

"I'll make some." She found the leather pouch that held the most expensive of her teas. This was a spicy tea that tasted best when brewed with milk added, but was still sweet and spicy without it. She hadn't had any since leaving Meekin, but she needed something comforting tonight.

The conversation dwindled as they focused on their tasks. Azmei measured out the tea and got the water heating. Hawk toasted bread over the flames, letting cheese melt over it. By the time supper was ready, evening had fallen outside. A cricket was chirping somewhere in the stable. Aside from that, the only sounds were rustling straw and the breathing of horses.

"You grew up in the desert, didn't you?" Azmei asked softly.

Hawk nodded and swallowed the food he was chewing. "A town called Hedron. Three hundred or so souls, Tamnese, Strid, and mixed." He looked down at his toast. "I've been in the desert most of my life, except when I went to Tamnen City."

"Even Strid?" Azmei asked. She'd never been to Strid; it had been the one place Master Tanvel had refused to take her with him. Too much at stake, he'd said at the time. She swallowed hard and poured the tea. It must be brewed by now.

"The part they held me in, yes," Hawk said. His voice was soft. "I've heard further south it's more fertile and green."

"What are the Strid like?" She poured a second cup of tea and set it on the floor by his knee.

He shrugged. "People, mostly. Some good, some not so good. It wasn't too awful. They did heal me."

"The leg?" she asked. She'd wondered about that. She was glad it hadn't been torture. She didn't like to think of someone hurting Hawk like that.

He looked away from her. "I was left for dead on the field after the Push. Someone recognized me, thought I'd make a good hostage." He paused. "I suppose eventually I did."

Azmei shivered. There had never been prisoner exchanges before, that she could recall. If her father hadn't pursued this one, she might never have met Hawk. "How was my brother when you left him?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "Anxious for your father's sake. The reports said the king was badly injured in the attack."

When Azmei looked over at him, he was frowning down at his cup. "Tanvel meant to protect Father," she said. "He thought he'd worked out..." She trailed off. If her father had been injured, Tanvel must be dead. She swallowed hard. "Something must have gone wrong. Is the tea all right?"

He looked up, eyes wide. "Yes, it's nice. Different from what we've been drinking."

She fought not to smile at him. She had smiled a lot at him today. He would start to think she was silly.

"Prince Razem didn't know you're still alive," he said, studying her face.

"He might now. He'll have reached the palace by now, won't he? Tanvel told my father right after the attack on me. Maybe Father will tell him now." Azmei brushed her hair back behind one ear. "Oh, gods, I hope I made the right decision." Tanvel had thought it best, and he had carried the word to her father. He had reported later that her father agreed, but what if he'd said that to make her feel better?

"What else could you have done?" Hawk said. "I'm sure your brother will agree."

Azmei didn't answer. She sipped her tea and stared at the fire. With the sun down, its warmth was pleasant. She suddenly felt very tired.

"What will you do now?" Hawk asked after a time. Azmei looked up from the fire, staring in his direction as her eyes cleared from the dazzlement. She didn't know what he was asking.

"Will you come back and be the princess again?" he said, when it was clear she wasn't going to speak.

Azmei had no answer to that. She cupped both hands around her mug of tea and looked back at the fire. "You think it's Aris, don't you? My cousin Arisanat."

He didn't protest her changing the subject. "My lady, he's the only one who could have sent those mercenaries after me. I'm not important enough, in myself, so the only reason anyone could want me dead is to protect whatever was in Meekin."

She huffed in frustration. "But I didn't find anything there!"

He was silent for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. When she glanced over at him, he was watching her, the firelight flickering in those charcoal eyes. "You found Yarro."

"Oh, gods save the foolish." She jumped up and scrabbled at her pack. "I
did
find something, and I'd forgotten about it until just now."

Hawk had risen to his knees. "What?"

"Before I killed the Patriarch. There was a packet of papers in a hidden drawer. I took it with me to look at later, but then I was searching for Yarro, and I completely forgot about it." Her fingers closed on the smooth parchment. She drew it out and cut the string with a dagger.

"Kesh, the last of Yar's family, said it was one of the Nine who commissioned my death. A man, but that was all he knew." She knelt next to Hawk and opened the packet of papers.

The first was a contract for an assassination in the Long Coast. Azmei turned to the next page, which was a shipping schedule—canal boats traveling between Meekin and Tamnen City. The third was a letter. As Azmei stared at it, her hand began to shake. Her eyes fuzzed with tears. She scrubbed impatiently at them.

"It's Arisanat's handwriting," she whispered. Even after four years, she would know it. He'd always done that funny corner with his capital letters.

Hawk leaned in closer, his hand closing around hers and holding the paper so they could both read it. She closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of his skin instead of the ache at Arisinat's betrayal.

"Patriarch," Hawk read aloud. "I wish to commission your family's services. I will not discuss the particulars except in person, but I assure you the contract will be worth a princess' ransom. My messenger will tell you the meeting I propose. Send your reply with the messenger. With all due respect, A Prospective Customer."

Azmei dragged in a ragged breath. "You were right," she whispered.

Hawk's arm slipped around her shoulders. "For once, I wish I weren't."

***

Yarro had often wondered what it would be like to fly. He had watched the swallows swooping over rooftops in Meekin and had imagined himself darting like a dragonfly. He had never believed he would experience it one day for himself. It was better than he could ever have imagined, and for a wonder, his mind was his own the entire time Darixu carried him to the mountaintop.

The ponderous wings beat slowly and steadily, carrying them forward so quickly the ground blurred under them. The wind blew Yar's hair back from his face and made his eyes stream with tears, but he turned his face up to the sun and laughed. Under his legs, he felt Darixu rumble with laughter, too, and the great golden dragon folded his wings, plummeting for several heart-tumbling moments before snapping them wide and coming out of the dive.

Yar shrieked, clutching at the thick, craggy scales, but he didn't stop grinning. Orya had made him feel loved, and Azmei had made him feel accepted, but Darixu made Yar feel whole for the first time in his life. It was like his mind had been divided all his life until now, and the pieces of himself were finally coming together.

Darixu let out a long bellow. Then they were climbing, the wings beating powerfully so they began gaining altitude. Yar leaned forward over the great shoulders, inhaling the crisp smoke and sulfur of Darixu's scales, and wept.

Another being pressed gently against his awareness. It was a light touch, but it slithered warmly against his thoughts. DISTRESS?

"No," he whispered, not knowing if the Slithery Voice heard him. But the gentle pressure withdrew, so it must have.

Then Darixu soared down, all four legs outstretched to touch down more gracefully than seemed possible. They were not quite at the mountain's peak, but a huge ring of stones indicated that this was their destination. On each of the blocky menhirs perched another dragon.

A slender, serpentine dragon with scales the color of new grass stretched its neck out, flickering a tongue at Yar. LITTLE BROTHER, WELCOME, she said, and he recognized the Slithery Voice. She was beautiful, something he hadn't anticipated from hearing her in his head. Her eyes were a deep, swirly silver, her leathery wings edged with a feathery fringe along the primary bone. I AM XELLAX.

Yar slid down Darixu's front leg and tumbled into a deep bow. "Greetings, elder brothers and elder sisters," he said. "I am Yarro Perslyn."

There was a murmur of laughter, but it was Azmei's sort of laughter, not the kind of laughter Yar had received from Rith and Kesh. Gentle, warm. Enveloping.

NO, LITTLE BROTHER. YOU
WERE
YARRO PERSLYN. NOW YOU ARE YARRAX, VOICE OF DRAGONS.

He staggered upright, staring around at them. Voice of Dragons? What did that mean?

A deep blue dragon lifted his head and sang out his name—VETTERIX. Yar recognized his voice as a kind one that liked warm sunshine and listened to Yar's daydreams. A red dragon with black-edged scales—REXIEL, he roared—was a voice that had come during his nightmares and whispered that all would be well. Xerin was a bulky midnight green dragon with a ridge of spines down his back who had given Yar dreams of heroes. Inlux was a delicate bronze creature, only twice the size of a horse, with wings that looked almost lacy in the scarlet sunset.

WELCOME, LITTLE BROTHER. Xellax leapt into the air and dropped lightly to the ground in front of him. IT FILLS US WITH JOY TO SEE YOU IN THE FLESH AFTER SO MANY YEARS OF WATCHING FROM AFAR.

Yar took a deep breath, bending backwards and craning his neck so he could see all of Xellax. His heart was pounding so quickly he felt light-headed. "You are all...so much more than I ever dreamed," he breathed.

WE TRIED TO SHOW OURSELVES TO YOU, BUT THE DISTANCE WAS TOO GREAT, said Darixu. Yar turned to stare up at him. Dizzied by the height of the dragon towering above him, he swayed. Darixu lowered his head. AND YOU WERE UNPREPARED. YOUR MIND COULD NOT TAKE US IN.

Something smooth, like a marble sculpture, pressed against Yar's back. It was cool when the bare skin of his forearm brushed against it. Yar peered over his shoulder to see that Xellax had delicately placed one talon where it would support him. His heart twisted and he smiled painfully at her.

IT WAS DARIXU WHO TOLD US TO CALL YOU, she crooned in his mind. HE IS OUR LEADER, THE ELDEST OF US AND—USUALLY—THE WISEST.

Yar couldn't help laughing. He was relieved when he felt laughter from the golden dragon, too.

TRUE, BUT XELLAX IS THE DRAGON WHO FELT YOU FIRST. SHE SAW YOUR POTENTIAL, SHE CALLED YOU WHEN YOU WERE YET A BABE. Darixu lowered his head until his snout glittered just a few feet from Yar's face. His breath smelled like a blacksmith's furnace. His teeth were easily as long as Yar's arms. XELLAX WATCHED YOU GROW. SHE TRIED TO HARDEN YOU, TO PREPARE YOU FOR US.

A warm, dry wind ruffled Yar's hair, blowing it over his forehead, and he realized Xellax had sighed. WE DID NOT ANTICIPATE HOW OUR CALL WOULD CHANGE YOU.

Yar looked down at the ground.
Freak,
whispered a voice that sounded like his brother's.
Lackwit. Idiot. Monster.
"I hated being different."