The Dragonprince's Heir (15 page)

"That's not true. You're my son. You belong—"

I raised a hand, warring desperately with my emotions. "I thought so, too, but these are hard times. We must...we must make hard choices, Mother."

She blinked at me, then frowned as though she were just now hearing everything I'd said. She licked her lips. "What do you intend?"

"I need to go back to the Tower."

Pity and guilt flashed in her eyes. "Oh, Taryn—"

"No!" I snapped. "Let's both be realistic. I can sneak away, and then you won't have to worry about me. Caleb won't have to keep track of us both. I can take care of our people at the Tower. I just need you to—"

She wasn't listening. She tried to put her arms around me, but I shoved away.

"Don't feel sorry for me! You've done that already. Don't comfort me. Don't make me promises. All I need from you is a convincing explanation."

She said immediately, "I'll give it. I already promised. Stay with me, and I'll tell you everything we've kept secret."

"No! No. That's not what I mean. I need you to convince Caleb."

"Caleb will do as I command," she said. "We only have to keep you hidden from the king. If he finds you with me, we will have no time to talk."

I squeezed her fingertips and waited for her to stop talking so I could correct her. But the words died on my lips. Did I really want to correct her? This was what I'd been wanting since we left the Tower. This was more. She was prepared to fight to keep me close. She was prepared to tell me everything.

It didn't change anything Caleb had said. I knew that. The right choice was still for me to leave. But I ached to be close to my mother once again.

"Why didn't you do this all before?" I groaned.

"Oh, Taryn, we've been working for years. We've been remaking worlds. And just yesterday you were my little boy—"

"No. Yesterday I was marching to my own captivity."

My tone was more resigned than angry, but still she flinched. "I'm sorry. Too much has happened too quickly."

"And it will happen more quickly when the king is not busy coordinating an army. And more quickly still once we are safely installed in his palace, I expect."

"It will run as slow as ages, then," she said. "But still, you're right. Hush. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll have Caleb explain—"

"No. I'm sorry, Mother, but I need
you
to explain. I need you to tell me all your plans so I might help you instead of hindering. I need you to tell me everything that's at stake or I can't afford to stay."

She said nothing for a time, only staring into my eyes. Then she smiled. "You're so much like him at times."

I tore my gaze away, but she raised a hand to brush the hair back from my face. "He thinks much the way you do. But he never could speak his feelings. He barely even let himself feel them."

"Wait. Do...do you mean Caleb?"

Her smile twitched. "I mean your father. You wouldn't know it, but there were times he could've taught Caleb lessons in self-restraint."

I felt suddenly a long way away from the conversation we'd just been having, and Mother was further still. I reached up to catch her hand, and she curled her fingers warmly around mine.

"I need your word," I said. "One way or another. Make Caleb send me away, or promise me you'll explain it all."

"I promise. We'll talk tomorrow. We should have the opportunity once we're on the ships."

"But tonight—"

"Tonight we all need rest," she said firmly. "We have done more work than the king's army over the last few days, and we have more adventures still ahead. Let us sleep while we may."

"I can rest here," I said, "There's a couch."

But she shook her head. "There's a room for you and Caleb. It's just next door. I told you, you mustn't be caught here. It would raise too many questions."

"What questions? Caleb is your retainer and I your son. We came to join you—"

"And the king would love to know how," she said.

"Caleb found a friend down at the gate," I said, and then I stopped. I sighed. "Oh."

"Remember that Timmon suspects your father—that he suspects us—of something very near to treason," she said.

"And he would not look well on the city guard of Cara standing with us."

She nodded, approving.

I thought of the guard who had let us into Mother's room and sighed. "Or keeping our secrets."

"We should not make them pay for the kindnesses they've done us."

"No." I sighed. "I understand. I will wait with Caleb and join you in the ship tomorrow."

She smiled, lips tight. "Good. Thank you. And I will begin to repair the damage that I've done between us."

I nodded, satisfied. Then I threw my arms around her in a tight embrace.

She grunted in surprise but squeezed me back every bit as fiercely. "You make me proud," she said, barely more than a breath in my ear. "You grow so fast."

I pushed back so I could show her my smile, then I swallowed hard. "I should go."

She nodded in silent agreement and pulled the curtains aside just in time to reveal the outer door swinging open. In the hall beyond, the king waited.

I had one moment of perfect clarity. The king stood with the Cara guard and two of his own Green Eagles, his attention not yet turned my way. I saw the anger in his eyes, the dark victory, the certainty he would catch my mother in some betrayal. I saw another disaster that would be blamed on me, another setback to my mother's plans and to Caleb's desperate attempts to protect her.

My heart beat once, then I turned in place and threw myself from the balcony.

8. The Lord of Cara

It was not as reckless a maneuver as the one I'd attempted in our tower. Perhaps the balcony here was higher than my room's window, but my target was more substantial than empty air. Instead I aimed for the balcony next door, outside the room Caleb was in. It was barely three paces away, and desperation gave me strength. I jumped to the banister and kicked off hard.

But my boots slipped on the sea-slick stone. I stretched my arms and crashed hard against the railing of the next room's balcony. Sculpted stone drove the breath from my lungs, but I focused through the pain to grab at the wide stone rail. I saw Jen's startled face for an instant among the curtains, heard a quiet, angry bark from Caleb, and then my grip slipped on the stone, and I was falling again. I almost caught a grip on the narrow ledge at the base of the balcony, slowed just enough to spin my fall, and then I was staring down at the churning sea below.

And another balcony, one floor down. My right leg hit the top of the railing, sending a shock of hot agony flashing past my hip, but I kicked against the pain and threw my body into a lunge that spilled me over the rail. I heard a commotion above—not from Jen or Caleb, but from the balcony outside Mother's room. I saw the flash of the Green Eagles' uniform and heaved myself into a little roll beneath the curtains and into the room.

East wall on the second floor. I'd heard the king's nobles were stationed there. For all I knew, I might have landed in the king's own room. I scrambled to my feet and almost fell again at the new shock of pain in my shin, but after a moment my heartbeat slowed. My panic faded. I was in an empty room, dark and silent save for the occasional pop from a fire burning low on its grate.

I darted to the outer door and pressed my ear to the fine-grained wood. There was some bustle in the hall without, but no real sound of alarm. I stood for several long seconds, straining my ear, listening for the crash of boots pounding down the nearest staircase, or even shouts of outrage from the balcony above. When neither reached me, I began to relax. They'd obviously seen or heard something, but perhaps it hadn't been enough to really rouse their suspicions.

I turned in place and rested my shoulders against the door. I let my head fall back against it and focused on relaxing. My head ached from the tension in my jaw and temples, my shoulders and back from knotted muscles. I breathed in, slow and steady, and with each breath I relaxed a little more. My heartbeat slowed, and my mind cleared. It took more than a minute, but by the end of it I was calm as midnight and ready to make a plan.

Then a voice spoke out of the gloom. "For a moment there I thought you were him." He stopped short, then clucked once and said, "Haven's name, boy, I didn't mean to give you such a fright. Relax. Try breathing one more time."

The darkness moved, a shadow separating itself from the shape of a heavy-framed chair, and a tall, thin man stepped out into the crimson light of the dying fire. His eyes were deep-set and dark, his hands frail and spotted with age, but his dress was as fine as anything Mother owned. He held the same sort of authority in his eyes as well. He held out a trembling hand toward the chair he'd left. "Have a seat, please."

I didn't move. I did force a slow breath just to gain enough control to speak. "Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Wilsid Doverlan. I am...I was a friend of your father's."

"You're with the king," I said and immediately regretted it. Everyone was with the king. Before he could answer I said, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to intrude."

He laughed. "You are your father's boy." He cocked his head for a moment, listening, then nodded to me again. "Please, accept my hospitality. You might find the reading nook even more comfortable than your own rooms. At the moment anyway."

He maintained a carefully blank expression, but I had no trouble guessing his meaning. I nodded gratefully, and he ushered me past the chair he'd occupied and through the wide doors into the inner room. He spoke a word and light flared, showing a room with a low, narrow bed, a single armchair, and a wide table.

There was no other furniture. There was no room. Every wall was packed with tall bookcases, filled with manuscripts bound in wood or leather. The table was stacked with more books. And there above the chair—

When he'd spoken light into existence, I had thought him a wizard. But now I saw the quiet globe of cold fire suspended in a sconce of air above the room's reading chair. Bright as day, and never-failing. Deeply familiar and utterly unique. It was my father's magic.

I looked around the room again, comfortable and well-used. And then back to the richly-dressed man who had welcomed me in. "You're the Lord of Cara," I said.

He smiled and gave me just the hint of a bow. "And you are Taryn Dragonprince. I'm honored to finally meet you. Now, if you will excuse me..." He stepped gracefully backward into the sitting room, pulling the doors closed behind him. A moment later I heard a knock on the outer door, heard him answer it. He spoke for some brief time in politely baffled tones while my heart hammered with worry, and then I heard the door fall shut again. A moment later, the lord returned.

"Apparently," he said, almost offhand, "there is some rumor of an intruder stalking the halls of my house. And me with the king himself enjoying my hospitality. My honor could be irretrievably stained."

I shook my head frantically. "My lord, I'm sorry. I assure you—"

He chuckled and spoke over me. "I'm sure it's nothing more than a rumor. I have nothing to fear, so long as the king's men do not find an intruder skulking about the halls."

I swallowed hard. "I was only trying...."

He smiled down at me, and I trailed off, confused.

"Your father would have found that quite funny," he said. "Forgive me. You reminded me so strongly of the boy, the way you burst in."

My jaw dropped open at that. "I did?" I tried to dredge up a memory of my father, the legendary hero who fashioned fortresses from his imagination and commanded an army of men and monsters. I remembered him strong and fast and always distracted. Always thinking. Always serious. Despite myself, I asked, "The boy?"

He laughed again. "Not from your perspective, I suppose. And they are long years since I saw him last. But some things never change. He was always leaping out windows and popping in unexpectedly."

"My father?"

The old man shrugged. "Of course, he generally had a dragon waiting to catch him out there. That, or it was a dragon chasing him in. But he was always just as panicked. Just as impetuous. And just as frightened of whatever was waiting on the other side of the door."

I fell back into the chair, staring up at him. "No, that's not right. He was a...general. He was practically a king. He didn't run and hide."

The old man smiled. "Your father
became
a general. And something like a king. I like that turn of phrase. But he did it almost entirely by accident. It...happened to him."

"But they all say he was a hero."

"Oh, he was a hero," the old man said. "Even more a hero, really, because he never truly believed he was a leader of men. He made his name as one man, alone, against impossible enemies. And no matter what he became, he never lost that attitude. He had armies at his beck and call, yet he still tried to do everything on his own."

"Caleb would have hated that," I said.

"Hah! Indeed. But Caleb admired him for it, too."

"Everyone admires him," I grumbled.

The old man leaned forward. "Do you know how I met your father? Have you ever heard that story?"

I cast back. "No. I'm sorry, I barely knew there was a Cara. All the stories I know take place in dragon lairs or around the Tower."

"I envy your memories," he said. "I suspect those are the far more interesting tales, and I probably only know a tenth part of them. But mine is not such a dull story for all of that."

"Then tell me," I said. "How did you meet my father?"

Instead of answering, he stepped back into the sitting room and dragged the other chair through the door. He placed it opposite me and sank down into its cushions.

He pressed back, eyes closed, and let out a long sigh. "It was...twelve years ago? Fourteen, I think. Yes. After the rebellion, after the dragonswarm began. They did not come to Cara."

"The rebels?"

"No. The rebels didn't come, but neither did the dragons. I eventually learned that the worst of them had a lair not forty miles down the coast, but they were bent entirely on destroying your father. They didn't even notice my city."