The Fading Dream (21 page)

She wanted to unravel the plot. Cadrel had almost pulled off the theft in her shadow. She wanted to know why. And if she could find some benefit for Breland, all the better.

“I can help you,” Thorn said. “So let’s talk terms. Mine are simple enough. I’m here as a representative of Breland. If I do this, you’ll open your gates to my people and accept ambassadors from the court.”

“Impossible,” Tira said, and the others nodded in agreement. “Look at the chaos you alone have brought with your arrival. We want nothing to do with your kings and your wars.”

“Just as well, I suppose,” Thorn said. “We don’t have much interest in yours. So I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” The eladrin woman raised a hand. “We cannot make promises to your king or to your kingdom. It is you who will take the risk on our behalf.” She looked at the other fey. “So what say you, ghaele all? Will you pay for her services?”

Thorn thought about a sharp reply, but she was curious to see where Tira was going. The entire situation had a dreamlike quality to it. Cadrel’s betrayal, Cazalan Dal, all of it … it was almost like listening to a story, and she was curious to see what would happen next.

One by one, the lords and ladies nodded.

Tira turned to Thorn. “Very well. We make this offer to you, not to your king, not to your country. Help us in this matter, with these questions and where it may lead. Help us and we shall each pay you in our own coin.” She looked at the others.

The gnome set a pendant on the table, a silver chain set with a stone that shimmered and shifted like the colors of his robe. “Within the walls of my citadel, we value words more highly than gold,” he said. “And I believe you are one who relies on her wits as well as her blade. Wear this and you shall understand any words you hear spoken. And any who hear you will understand you, as if you speak the tongue they both know and expect from you.”

The stone holds a strong divinatory aura
, Steel said.
It seems plausible. I’ve heard that House Sivis already has such a thing
.

Thorn nodded. “Impressive,” she said. “And still, something I could buy myself if I had a little more coin. Not exactly a stone of immortality.”

“We cannot offer what we have already lost.” It was the ice lord, blue light gleaming in his eyes. “Nor would we, as it was that foolish action that has brought this dilemma upon us. You mock us, girl, and still I offer my blessing.” He removed a silver brooch from his cloak and set it on the table. “I offer protection. Wear my sigil and the cold will not touch you. You will never feel the chill of winter, never suffer discomfort or harm from the frost.”

Confirmed
, Steel said.
Elemental protection
.

Again, it might be a useful trinket for her, but she hadn’t come there on a treasure hunt. How did any of that serve Breland? “A generous gift, to be sure,” Thorn said. She looked at the next eladrin.

Emerald lights spun around Lord Joridal, reflected in the gold of his robes. “I brought no jewels or treasures,” he said. “But my gift is one that transcends mere gold or silver. I offer you comfort. Aid us in this matter, and I will place my mark upon you. You will find that old friends cross your path sooner than expected, and new ones come to your door.”

That seems difficult to quantify
, Steel murmured.
It’s an intriguing idea, but he may simply be covering for the fact that he has nothing to offer
.

Thorn was inclined to agree, but there was no need to embarrass the man; she’d gathered his spire was under assault, and it was hardly surprising that he had little to offer. She looked to the Rose Queen.

“Mine is the City of Rose and Thorn,” the woman said. “I will not open my gates to your kingdom. But should you serve us in this and live to tell of it, you will be welcomed with any you should bring.”

Well, that’s something
, Steel said.
Only one … still, a personal invitation, and a welcome
.

Yes, Thorn thought. The other gifts were intriguing, yet left her nothing of great interest to take back to Zane. But that last … at least it opened the door for future exploration.

Only Lady Tira was left. “Perhaps it was my hand that set this tragedy in motion,” she said. “And so I must offer the greatest gift of all. I know you do not believe in what we seek to do. You do not believe that we can save your land by saving Marudrix. And so I make my offer to you. Aid us in this matter, and I will tell you the truth.”

“The truth?” Thorn said. “About what?”

“About you,” Tira said. “There are secrets within you. Even now, I can see that they weigh upon you. I do not know how you came by the Preserving Shard or the Quiet Stone. But serve me in this, and I will tell you. If you forge this bond between us and survive it, I will reach through that bond to read your soul. I will tell you all you wish to know about your past.”

“I need to think about this,” Thorn turned away, staring at the glittering prison that held Cadrel. She rubbed Steel against her palm. “It still seems like madness.”

I cannot offer any guidance in this matter
, Steel whispered.
It might be best to return and inform the Citadel of Cadrel’s betrayal as quickly as possible. On the other hand, you were sent to gather information about these creatures, and you are certainly doing that. And there is one more factor
.

She tapped Steel thoughtfully.

The Mourning. The tale that first brought us here. Unlikely as before, yet still … What if there is truth to it? What if they can bring an end to the Mourning?

“What can you tell me about the risks?” she said.

“Nothing,” Tira said behind her, and Steel echoed the word in her mind. “All we know are that he draws on fear and nightmare.”

Thorn walked over to stand before the icy coffin. She thought about Cadrel. About the time she’d spent with him at the galas in Sharn, the trek through the Mournland. She thought about his smile and the strange, dark eyes, and what she still saw of the old man in that face. He was playing a game, certainly, but what was it?

“Let’s break the ice,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you’d see the wisdom in it,” Cadrel said once he could speak again. “There are so many things I can tell you … if you survive, of course.”

The spymaster was still bound in his prison of ice, staring at her with those inky eyes. The pits of shadow made it difficult for Thorn to read his expression, but still, she didn’t feel menace in him. What are you playing at? she thought.

“Let’s get this over with.”

She leaned forward but Cadrel pulled his head back. “I’m supposed to kiss you with my hands bound in this way? With you pressed against the ice? Oh, my dear, this hardly seems fair or pleasant for you. Would you ask a master to play an instrument without his hands?”

“You didn’t say anything about the bonds,” Thorn told him. “If you want the kiss, let’s be done with it now. Otherwise, I’m taking the next boat to Breland.”

Cadrel glanced up toward the heavens for a moment. “It is your loss, my dear. Though perhaps the ice will be sufficient to reduce my ardor, to keep from overwhelming you with the fire of my passion. Perhaps—”

Thorn put one hand behind his head and pushed her lips against his …

And the world fell away.

A
moment earlier she’d been pressed against a slab of ice, staring into the shadow-filled eyes of a traitor. When she looked around, the ice was gone. She wasn’t in the fey citadel anymore. She was in a hallway that had haunted her dreams for the past year. Behind her, a wall of whirling dragonshards rose from floor to ceiling, a glittering whirlwind that could tear a man to pieces.

Far Passage
.

The man in her arms was as familiar as the room, tall and lean, his black shiftweave pulling the darkness to him. Vambraces of blackened mithral, just like those she wore, covered his arms. He pulled back from the kiss, and his smile was as warm as she remembered.

Lharen. Her mentor when she’d first joined the Dark Lanterns. He’d died in that very room—died destroying the mystic core that lay behind them.

He frowned as she took a step back, but she wasn’t fooled. She reached down for Steel, but he wasn’t there. She was dressed as she’d been on the mission, and she hadn’t received Steel until afterward—when Lharen was dead and she was still recovering from her injuries.

“Amusing,” she said. “Very clever. I’ve dealt with changelings before, and I’m not in the mood for games now. I gave you what you asked. Now it’s time for answers.”

He was good; she had to give him that. For someone who’d never seen Lharen before, Cadrel managed his expressions perfectly. The look of concern was just as she remembered it. “There’s no time for talk,” he said. “I don’t expect to walk away from this. But I’ve beaten the odds before. Perhaps—”

Those were his final words, the last thing he’d told her before diving into the core. She wasn’t about to listen to it again. She hit him, swinging her fist forward and letting all rage flow into her arm. The strength of the dragon surged through her, and she felt bone snap beneath her fist. The false Lharen flew backward, falling into the storm of shards. The cry was choked off in an instant, and he was gone.

She was still in the hall. Still looking at the mystic core and the whirling crystals, flecks of blood scattered across the floor. She’d expected it all to fade. And yet … she was still there. What did it mean?

“How did that feel, beloved?”

The voice came from behind her, and Thorn could feel the familiar presence, a scent she’d come to know as well as his voice: Drego Sarhain.

She turned to face him. “I’m not your beloved, Drego.”

He wore the guise she’d seen at their first meeting, the black and silver doublet of a Thrane courtier. Lharen had been rough, scarred by fire and battle. Drego’s skin was perfect and unblemished, not a hair out of place. “You could be,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m not having this conversation. You’re no more real than Lharen was.”

“Which is to say, I’m just as real as he was,” Drego
replied. “And it seems to me that you’ve little else to do. We can sit here in silence if you’d prefer.”

“What do you want?” Thorn said. “And you can stop pretending, Cadrel. I know this is you.”

“Oh, it is, on some level,” Drego said. “Your friend deals with nightmares. The death of your first real lover. And you and I … well, it seems we have unresolved issues. If I’d been in his place, I might have looked for something a little darker to work with, but perhaps it was all he could do with the opening you gave him. Love. Are you afraid of my love, Thorn?”

“You don’t love me,” Thorn said. “And you’re not here now.”

“A part of me is. I’m a memory. A fear,” he said. “I love the shadow within you. I love the dragon waiting to be reborn. You’re not Sarmondelaryx. You’re not the one I gave my heart to in ages past. But you will not last. In time, she will crush your spirit and take your life from you.”

“You sure know how to win a girl over.”

Drego shrugged with that easy grin she remembered so well. “I’m just telling you what you already know. This is your nightmare, after all. The more you use her power, the stronger she becomes. And yet when you struck that shadow a moment ago, the one you thought was this Cadrel, you drew on her strength.”

“I—” She didn’t have an answer. He was right. She was getting used to the power, beginning to rely on it.

Drego smiled. “Perhaps there is too little to hold on to in your life.”

“There is plenty good in my life,” she said.

“Oh?” Drego stepped toward her. “A brother you barely speak to. Father and mother gone. A country your only love, a country you don’t even know whether to trust. What really happened in this place, beloved?”

Thorn stepped back. Part of her wanted to throw him across the room, to banish the shadow as she’d banished the shade of Lharen. And yet … the doubt was a dagger in her heart.

So many things didn’t add up. The Citadel had given her a ring, told her it sharpened her senses and let her see in the dark, but she knew those were talents she drew from Sarmondelaryx. Someone in the Citadel had wanted to keep that knowledge hidden, to prevent her from noticing the change that had taken place, the change that had occurred when the stones were embedded in her spine. The eladrin claimed the stones were ancient treasures, ancient treasures that just happened to be thrown at her as shrapnel.

“I’d love to hear the answer,” she said.

“I wish I could give it to you,” Drego said. “I’m not really here. I’m only a shadow, conjured to do Cadrel’s bidding. But he doesn’t know what he’s called. I am far older than he, and there is a spark of me even in this shade. So I will tell you this: I gave my heart to the Angel of Flame long before you were born. And yet I told you the truth beneath Sharn. Flawed as you are, I love you as well. You are the flower I will treasure, even knowing it will fade. You may be doomed, but do not go easily, Nyrielle. Don’t fall to the likes of this one.”