Wyvern's Prince (The Dragons of Incendium Book 2) (13 page)

He hopped after Gemma and admitting that traveling with her was a lot easier than journeying alone, even accounting for the pavofel.

At least he knew where she was going. He could find the tunnel entrance, and suspected she would as well. She seemed to be quite competent, which was a good trait in a comrade.

It might even be a good trait in a romantic partner, if he was going to need to outrun his mother and brother for the foreseeable future.

She had also given him some of his powers back, with a touch of a fingertip. Even if they were still compromised, that was better than nothing at all.

The conclusion from that was obvious and unwelcome. It defied everything Venero believed that a woman like Gemma could be his true love.

He didn’t even believe in true love.

He sighed and hopped, considering the merit of trying to cast Gemma a dream. It seemed like a bad idea, given her prejudice against MindBenders.

He sensed that such a course of action could go badly awry.

But Gemma would need his advice to survive the Grotto and he needed her help to break his own curse. They needed each other—but more importantly, Venero knew that he owed her an apology.

Never mind that Gemma might perish, because he’d led her this far and she didn’t know—she couldn’t know—what was ahead.

Venero had to catch up and make this right.

* * *

The cave entrance wasn’t immediately obvious, but Gemma finally found it just as the sun was sinking. It was a good thing, actually, that it was hard to find, as that meant it was less likely she’d be pursued.

Well, except by the toad.

She climbed the side of the mountain instead of following the long switchbacks of the path, wanting to reach shelter before darkness fell completely. Felice jumped ahead of her and finally, the darkness of an opening loomed before them. Her hands were scratched and her feet were sore. She glanced down at the long route she’d traveled and wondered, just a little, what had happened to the toad.

If he wasn’t smart enough to cultivate alliances where necessary, she decided she shouldn’t worry about him.

Even if she did.

Gemma crouched at the threshold of the cave and opened the satchel. To her relief, there were a couple of candles and a flint. She took one and lit it, then hoisted the satchel and entered the cave with caution. There was only silence from within, but without knowing its depth and dimensions, she couldn’t be sure she and Felice were alone.

If nothing else, this might be the cave that led to the tunnel that led to the Citadel, and if so, it would be guarded at some point.

The candlelight illuminated a space that was more like a hollow etched out of the side of the mountain. It wasn’t very deep, and wouldn’t offer much protection if the wind turned. Felice sauntered toward the back corner with a confidence about the cave that Gemma didn’t share, then disappeared. The pavofel mewed and the sound echoed.

Gemma followed, only to discover that there was an opening in that back corner. It was only a narrow slit, but the shadows from the rocks surrounding it had disguised it from view. She peered through it, then surveyed the short and low corridor beyond. Once she stepped through, she could barely stand upright. There was a stream running in a crack in the floor along the length of the tunnel and it sloped upward.

Maybe it wasn’t the tunnel to the Citadel.

Felice was marching onward, her tail high.

Gemma looked left and right, then hugged her satchel closer and followed. The tunnel turned twice then terminated with a small and low hole. The water bubbled through this hole, that crevice carved in the bottom of the opening as well. Felice, who usually disliked water, continued through the hole. The diameter of the hole was big enough that the pavofel didn’t even have to lower her tail.

Gemma hesitated only a moment, then dropped to her hands and knees. It was difficult to carry the candle when she had to crawl through the gap—never mind avoiding the water that flowed down the middle—but she managed it.

When she stood up in the chamber beyond, she caught her breath in astonishment at the sight before her eyes.

She stood in a natural chamber shaped like a hemisphere. The highest point was probably twice her height and the walls were quite smooth. The rock looked to be a pinkish-gold in the light of her candle, with glimmers of crystal embedded in the stone. A pool had formed at one end of the chamber, and it emanated a refreshing chill. The water splashed a little, because it flowed down that back wall and into the pool. Beyond the pool was another narrow slit, probably offering access to more tunnels and caves.

But the remarkable thing was that the walls were adorned with the designs that the Warrior Maidens of Cumae drew when they meditated in preparation for battle. Gemma had participated in the ritual many times while in training on that planet. She remembered the cleansing of the body, the bathing and removal of hair. She remembered the mixing of pigments, the grinding of roots and herbs, and the blending of that with oil to create the familiar russet hue that embellished these walls. She remembered the painting of the body with protective symbols, the camaraderie of adorning another warrior with such talismans where she couldn’t reach to do it herself. They’d stood in a circle, each painting the back of another, humming the music of war. She remembered the communal meal, the prayer, and the final adornment of the walls of the caves.

Those from other civilizations thought the ritual was an invocation to the gods, but the Cumaens didn’t believe in deities. They saw the sequence as a meditative exercise, one that would both focus the will of the individual warrior and build a sense of union between members of the company. That, in their view, was a better indication of success.

On Cumae, the caves had been painted many many times, and Gemma had always felt a connection with past warriors as she drew her lines over theirs. This cave had been painted once, with deliberation and skill. The whorls and circular designs were a band of power on the walls, spilling into each other, feeding each other, flowing all around the room. They seemed to draw together disparate elements and stray power, then drive it all to the final culmination point. Gemma turned in place, remembering the surge of energy that she’d always felt when the last painted line connected with the first, making the circle complete.

It was similar to the jolt of the last line connected the images of the body paint into a coherent whole.

Where the end and the beginning connected on the cave walls, there was always a medallion, and this one was no different. The circular mark was always lavishly decorated, as befit a focus of power. The Warrior Maidens participating in the ritual, preparing for war, always signed the medallion with their own marks as their last deed before battle.

There was only one mark on this medallion, and Gemma’s heart stuck in her throat as she stood before it and traced the familiar insignia with a fingertip.

Arista.

Gemma blinked back her tears. Arista had been on Regalia. She had been in this cave. She had painted all of this herself. She had departed from this cave to fight for some cause or another. She had won, because she had returned to Cumae, only to be killed.

Arista’s time on Regalia must be at least part of the reason Urbanus had paid for her assassination. Why had she been here? She had gone into a battle of some kind, given that she’d painted this cave.

Had she survived alone with no one to paint her back?

Or had she fought with a companion?

Who?

Gemma’s heart clenched at the notion of Arista taking another Sword Sister. But there was only one signature in the medallion, only Arista’s own. If she’d fought with another, that person hadn’t been trained on Cumae.

Which was very strange. The Warrior Maidens of Cumae trusted only their own kind. Arista must have fought alone.

Why had Arista been on Regalia?

What had she done?

That seemed, actually, like a good question to ask the toad, and once again, Gemma regretted leaving him behind. She would have to venture into the Queen’s Grotto alone, without his advice, and find the antidote to her spell, without any idea what it might look like or where it might be. She was entering battle with less than perfect preparation. She sensed that Arista’s story was an important detail, and she didn’t know much about the queen’s powers, either.

Maybe Gemma had been a little impetuous.

But what was done was done. She could go back for the toad, but didn’t imagine it would be easy to find him. He would have left the path for his own protection, and with the coloring of his skin, she’d never see him.

Especially at night.

Maybe she should take advantage of this unexpected gift and prepare herself for the uncertainties ahead in the way she knew best.

Gemma wasn’t superstitious but in this cave, in this moment, she felt as if Arista’s ghost was right beside her. It made no sense, until she brushed her fingertips over her Sword Sister’s familiar signature one more time and loosed a stone.

The wall had been patched, quickly, and the marks disguised the spot.

Gemma pulled her knife and dug at the crumbling surface. She caught her breath when a small metal capsule glinted in the light, then fell and rolled across the cavern floor. She pursued it and picked it up, smiling as she examined it in the light. It was about the size of her thumbnail, spherical, and smooth.

It was a Cumaen
memoria
.

Some part of Arista was in the palm of Gemma’s hand.

Maybe Gemma wouldn’t arrive at the Citadel as unprepared as she’d feared.

* * *

A Cumaen
memoria
was a one-time recording device used by the Warrior Maidens as a secure means of passing intelligence to those who followed. The manufacture of the device was a closely guarded secret, requiring no less than twenty-seven separate steps, each of which was understood by only a single individual on Cumae at any given time. The identities of the Twenty-Seven were so secret that each of them knew the identity of only one other, the one to whom he or she delivered the device after completing the assigned phase. The coordination of the manufacture of each
memoria
was managed by the computer known as the Hive, built in the depths of the Vaults of Cumae.

Gemma hadn’t seen one since she’d left her training. The individual
memoria
were indistinguishable from each other. Although the surface of the
memoria
appeared to have no sensors or seams, it responded to an oral command, set by the owner. The device recognized only the code word uttered by the owner, and the same word uttered aloud by the owner’s Sword Sister. Sword Sisters were forbidden to reveal a code word, under penalty of death, and not a one by the time Gemma left Cumae had ever divulged such a code, even under torture.

Betrayal of one’s fellows was a greater indignity than any pain that could be inflicted upon the body. They were taught that, and those who could not uphold this duty were discharged from training.

Given where she had found the
memoria
, Gemma could only assume it had been programmed by Arista. She held it in the palms of her hands for a long moment, then bent and whispered Arista’s code word to the device.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Gemma wondered whether Arista had chosen another code word, or taken another Sword Sister, then the
memoria
began to hum on her palm. It vibrated, then a seam was revealed and it split in half like an egg. The interior projector unfolded itself and a beam of light was projected across the cavern.

A hologram.

Of Arista.

Gemma sat down hard at the sight. She was amazed by how real her friend appeared to be. Arista was crouched before her, dressed for war, her hair shorter than it had ever been. The blue tattoo on her neck seemed darker, as if her tan had faded, but the gleam of purpose in her dark eyes was just the same.

“I don’t know why I’m recording this,” she confessed, her husky voice making Gemma ache with its familiarity. She spoke crisply and without hesitation, not wasting a gesture. “Only my Sword Sister can ever view it, and I can’t imagine any circumstance that would ever bring Gemma to this cave. But I am confronted by such a puzzle that I wish I had a dragon’s ability to solve a riddle, especially one that seems to have no good solution.”

Felice looked up at the sound of Arista’s voice. The blue hair bristled on the back of her neck and she stalked the hologram, eyes shining.

Arista looked directly at her, and Gemma’s breath caught that her friend seemed to be looking straight into her eyes. “Maybe Gemma will sense my appeal, and her abilities will help me.” Arista shook her head. “That sounds more like the magic and whimsy of the Regalians than anything that has ever crossed my lips. This is a curious place, to be sure, and there is no telling what has been influencing my thoughts, even without my awareness. I have, after all, been traveling in the company of a DreamCaster.”

Had Venero been with Arista? Or was that ability common on Regalia?

Felice pounced on the hologram and passed right through it. The pavofel rolled and rose to her feet, spinning to assault the image again.

Arista sighed and pushed to her feet, pacing across the chamber. The pavofel darted between the display of her legs, then retreated to the perimeter of the cave. Just before Arista pivoted, her image faded, perhaps because she had stepped beyond the range of the projector. Felice crouched to watch the hologram, ears folded back against her head. Arista returned to her former position and folded her arms across her chest, staring at the device.