The Dragonprince's Heir (35 page)

"She is not! She has done none—"

He raised his hands to cut me off. "Regardless, none of that has earned her this treatment. Her worst mistake by far was being cherished by
him
."

The king pointed a trembling finger at the form beneath his throne. My father looked a mess. His face was sunken and smudged with dirt and blood, his modest clothes now stained and torn. His bare feet were bruised, and wrists and ankles burned bright red in protest against the thick steel binding them. They were no ordinary shackles, but magic-spun metal, made into a single piece without joints or seams.

And yet these bonds were not enough. Nor were the six guards standing over him, though two of those were master wizards. More than a hundred other soldiers stood arrayed around the edges of the room. They held their positions close against the walls in places meant for discreet stewards, but every one was armed and dressed in the full battle armor of the Green Eagles. Two hundred guards to watch one man! A hero mighty as the Dragonprince might deserve such treatment, but right now, unconscious as he was, any one of those soldiers could have slit my father's throat.

I looked up at the king. "What do you intend for him?"

"I intend to end this threat, once and for all."

"By holding my mother hostage?"

The king smiled, lips pressed tight. "The boy has shown a due concern for her."

"And me," I added quickly. "Let her go and threaten me instead."

"A noble gesture, but it will not work."

"It will!" I said. "Twice now I've won him over—"

"No," the king snapped. "It will not work because I have another role for you."

"What role?"

He showed his teeth. "Did you not wonder why I let you walk armed throughout my palace? Did you not wonder why I let you bring a naked blade before my throne?"

He spit that last like acid, and I took a step away.

He laughed. "Dear boy, I have a use for you and your magnificent weapon."

My blood ran cold. "No."

"Oh, yes!" he cried. "I want you to be my headsman."

For a moment, the room seemed to spin around me like I'd taken a vicious blow to the head. I felt numb.

Despite the blade against her throat, Mother screamed, "No!"

The king spared a grimace for her. "Keep her quiet, Othin. Hit her if you must, but don't draw blood until the Dragonprince can watch."

That brought me back. I growled, "What do you want of us?"

The king pushed himself to his feet and met my eyes over the wizards' heads. "This land has suffered grievously. Our once-mighty kingdom lies in broken pieces."

"It would be
ash
without the Tower."

"Perhaps. Perhaps. But now the trial's over. Now we must rebuild, and the name Dragonprince has become an obstacle to progress. However great he might have been, he's now a problem."

"And you would kill him?"

The king pursed his lips. "No, in fact. I can't. Because the threat young Daven poses is not a military one. It is...political."

The Grand Marshall grunted disagreement. The king frowned in irritation.

I shook my head. "I don't understand. We have no dark ambitions."

"You may not be aware," the king said, "but there are stories. There are legends already in every forgotten little village about the heroic Dragonprince."

"I've heard my share."

The king nodded. "There are those who would prefer a man like that as king."

"My father has no intention—"

"So you say. So does Isabelle, but it doesn't matter. Thoughts like that are always dangerous. Especially in the proud hearts of Ardain. The people there remember the duke who dared to defy me, and they forget his depravities. They see their land almost untouched while the Northlands were all ravaged. They wonder if they really need to return to the fold."

I stared. "You would kill my father for what other people think?"

"I would, and that minor tyranny might save a hundred lives if it stops even a small rebellion. But it wouldn't. It would only light a fire. If people heard I'd cut down the Dragonprince, they would only be enraged."

"You fear that," I asked, disbelieving, "but you don't fear taking Mother prisoner? She's more popular than him."

"Perhaps. But I can shape that story. The famous Dragonprince fell to his madness. He shattered Gath-upon-Brennes with living fire. Terrified, his wife sought the protection of the king."

I gaped. "This was your plan?"

"It was. It is. But now I have a better option."

On the floor between us, Father groaned and twitched a shoulder. For an instant as heavy as lead, every eye in the room fixed on the pathetic form. No one moved. No one breathed. Then the king tapped Seriphenes's shoulder.

The wizard shook his head. "Not yet."

The king sighed and turned back to me. "I want you to kill the Dragonprince with that lovely sword."

"Your Majesty," I said, "you're mad."

"I'm not. I'm just better informed. I know exactly what your father is. He
is
a threat to this kingdom. To you. To your mother. Child, Daven could kill you with a thought. He could kill us all."

"He's not that bad. I've seen him in his madness. He can still control his power."

"It hardly matters. The Dragonprince's legacy will lead to war unless we change how he is remembered."

"But why would you ask me to do it?"

"Because I've seen your determination. I see nobility in you. I see brave sacrifice."

I squared my shoulders. "And bravely I will die before—"

He waved away my speech like so much smoke. "If you kill him, the world will understand. For the good of all, the monster was put down. You will be a hero."

"I don't want to be a hero."

"You will be a hero who saved the king to serve the kingdom. You will reunite the nation Daven gave his life to save."

"He didn't do it for your kingdom," I growled. "He did it for the people. For families."

"Then follow his example," the king said. "Do this for your family. Cut Daven down when he wakes up, and I will send you and your mother home in glory. I'll shower you with honors. I'll authorize the Tower's walls and build you a cathedral."

"I won't."

"I'll name you Duke. You can have Whitefalls and Tirah."

The Grand Marshall stirred in protest, but the king silenced him with a gesture. The king never dropped my gaze. "Your father saved a thousand lives, but you could save a nation."

"I won't," I said again.

"Then you will watch him die. You'll watch your mother die. If Othin has his way, you will die, too."

I raised my chin. "Then what stories will they tell?"

The Grand Marshall answered for the king. "
Then
we'll have a military problem. That kind of problem, I can solve."

The king stared down at me for a moment, then settled once more on his throne. "In truth," he said, almost under his breath, "I'd much prefer to see you kill your father."

Once again my father stirred, and now his guards backed away. The Justice, too, though Seriphenes held his ground. The wizard seemed prepared to do the job.

Would that be enough to satisfy the king? Would he let us go if Seriphenes struck the blow? I doubted it. But I believed the king would keep his word if it was me. What would the king have to fear then? If word got out that I had made the killing blow—and he would make certain word got out—I could hardly lead an insurrection under that ignominy. I'd lose the love of everyone who cherished Father's name. Including Mother's.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She hadn't voice to speak, but she had no need. I understood. She could not win. She might lose him. She might lose me. She might go home, but she would go home to live a life of grief.

And yet...she'd lived ten years without my father. She'd lived ten years not knowing. She could not have asked it of me, but she would gain in freedom if he died here. Not just by going home, but by knowing what her future held.

She'd been prepared to give him up to Laelia, to save him from the fear of losing control. I could answer both those worries at one stroke. I could gain us liberty and accolades, and bring the tragedy of the dragonswarm to a close. I might even stop a war. Here and now.

All I had to do was kill my father.

The sword felt heavy in my hand. Father had made it just for this. He'd understood that I alone was proof against his magics, and he'd crafted me the blade he couldn't stop. He'd always known it might come down to this.

His fingers twitched, and I nearly jumped. I swallowed hard and tested my grip. My father groaned again, and across from me Seriphenes raised his hands with murder in his eyes.

I raised the sword toward the wizard. "This is not your role."

Unflinching, the wizard met my gaze.

Behind him, the king barked impatiently, "Leave it, Seriphenes."

The Grand Marshall and the wizard both cried out in objection, "Your Majesty!"

"No!" King Timmon roared. "You've said your parts, but I have confidence in the boy. He is strong enough to do what's right."

I watched Seriphenes retreat to half a step behind the king's throne, opposite the Grand Marshall. The wizard was no less dangerous up there, but there was resignation in his stance. This burden fell to me alone.

Through the stained glass windows at one end of the hall, brilliant golden sunlight flooded the room. Dawn had come, and it hung dazzling in the air.

Then the king's voice made me jump. "He stirs!"

I retreated half a pace, sword at the ready, and stared at the feeble figure on the marble floor. My father was indeed stirring. He moaned and opened his eyes. He saw me and smiled. "My son."

He was himself. For a moment, he was the same frail man I'd stood with in the shepherd's cellar room.

I swallowed hard. "Good morning, Father."

Nothing could have made me look away, so I did not see how all the watchers reacted in that moment. But Mother sobbed. She said his name, and then she gasped in pain when the Grand Marshall tried to silence her.

I tried to hold my father's gaze. I prayed he hadn't heard. But his head snapped around. He saw his enemies upon the dais.

The king's mouth twisted in a snarl, and he cried, "Now, boy! Do it now!"

Father turned again, hesitating on the edge of disbelief and rage, and he was utterly defenseless. I could have cut him down and ended this nightmare. I didn't.

Then Laelia's dark vision came to life. He'd seen Isabelle in the king's peril, and now I watched fury kindle behind his eyes. Shadows washed like fog toward him. He didn't look at me but at the bared sword I held, and fire burned away all reason in his eyes.

I could yet have stopped him. I only had to strike. I whispered, "No. I won't."

The ceiling gave a sound like cracking ice, and the dark of a tomb banished all light from the room. Through it all, my father's laughter rang out, deep and terrible.

18. The Dragonprince's Heir

Blackness filled the hall, and with it came a crushing pressure that seemed to crawl along my skin. It started around my fingers and slithered up my arms, leaving them utterly immobile. While that first wave was still spreading, a new pressure drove down against the tops of my boots and climbed up my legs. Then another rolled across my scalp, sliding down my face and curling under my jaw like a carapace.

That image flashed across my mind, and it felt right. The blackness itself had made a case around me, an exoskeleton binding me still as a statue. I couldn't swing a blow, couldn't turn my head. It blocked my eyes and stilled my tongue.

A nasty trick, that. And it didn't melt against my skin, so this was not the wizards' kind of magic. It was my Father's construct, some elemental force bent into shape....

I remembered the ringing
crack
from the stone above our heads. If I'd had the liberty, I would have shuddered. He'd pulverized the palace ceiling and buried us inside a pool of living stone.

It was a neat move. It stilled the Grand Marshall's hand, even with the blade at Mother's throat. He couldn't have twitched at all. And the wizards would be blind and mute within this mess. But as for Father...hadn't he walked right through a mountainside? If this was his construct, he could do anything within it.

He could certainly kill the king. My carapace still left me liberty enough to breathe, but how hard would it be for my father to block that too? I remembered the spires he'd dragged out of the earth to protect me from a dragon. How hard would it be for him to reshape the inside of the shell from a smooth plate like hammered iron into a bed of stabbing needles?

Even as the thought crossed my mind, my father's voice cried out in rage. "You dare to strike at what is mine?"

The answering scream came not from the king, but from the implacable Grand Marshall. Father would have had to relax the man's bonds just to allow the chilling cry.

I heard Father's heavy step toward the dais, a sound like fine-grained gravel crunching underfoot. "You will suffer," he growled. "You all will suffer."

I remembered how he'd tortured the dragon, the mad fury that had blazed behind his eyes, and Laelia's warning rang clear in my mind. If he took his vengeance on the king, here and now, my father would not come back. Not from torture and murder, no matter how much these men deserved it. It would be kinder to kill my father by my own hand. Here and now, I believed it.

The sword he'd made felt heavy in my right hand. Barely daring to hope, I tested it and the blade moved. All the rest of my body was wrapped in a solid shell of stone, but my right hand and wrist rolled in a tiny motion, unrestrained. I pressed the flat of the blade against my leg and felt the shell there melt away.

I began to carve away the shell that held me captive. The fashioned stone dissolved into a powder fine as dust wherever the strange blond blade touched it. It was a delicate maneuver, and I didn't dare draw my Father's attention while I was so vulnerable. But the sounds of the Grand Marshall's suffering masked my actions.

I freed my sword arm, then worked to bare my face. As soon as I could see the throne room once again, I gasped in shock.