“Edwin?” Kate gasped.
She hadn’t thought about Corwin’s older brother in ages. Growing up, the three of them had sometimes played together, but they weren’t close. The rivalry between the two brothers never allowed for it. The last time Kate spoke to Edwin was the night before her father attacked the king. They were in the gardens playing Scouts in the Bailey—Corwin the drake and Kate and Edwin the sheep in hiding. Kate chose her favorite spot, a little cove between the rosebushes where Corwin would know to find her. She waited with her heart fluttering in anticipation of the kiss Corwin would steal when he caught her. He appeared just moments after he finished counting. The ringed moon was waning that night, making it so dark that she couldn’t see his face through the shadows when he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers. Still, she sank into the kiss, her mouth hungry for his. Only it wasn’t Corwin, but Edwin—a fact she realized moments later when the real Corwin found them. Kate had never seen him so furious. She tried to explain, but he stormed off. He stormed all night, it seemed. Why else would he have been awake and roaming the castle at dawn, only to find Hale trying to kill his father?
And I never explained what happened, that I thought Edwin was him, she realized. The mistaken kiss had seemed meaningless in light of her father’s crimes, a cruel prank played by a jealous brother.
Kate wanted to press Corwin for more, but he’d fallen asleep, and she couldn’t wake him. His stillness frightened her. His skin was still afire, and she wet rags and laid them over his brow, arms, and chest. She spent the night afraid to leave his side. Every few hours a fit would come over him, and he would thrash about, delirious. She held him down as best she could, afraid he would injure himself further.
The moment dawn broke, she saddled Darby. Castle Gilda, the nearest freeholding, was only a few hours up the road. She could get there, entreat Count Gilderan for help, and get back to the Relay tower before sunset. She couldn’t risk leaving Corwin alone long enough to make it to Farhold, a whole day away at a quick pace.
When she was ready to go, with Corwin’s outer tunic stuffed into her saddlebag as proof of her story, she knelt beside him and shook him awake. “Your highness . . . Prince Corwin.”
His eyes fluttered open. They found her face, but she couldn’t tell if he was seeing her this time or not.
“There’s water and food here for you. I’m going for help. I’ll be back before nightfall.” She paused, resisting the urge to shake him again, harder this time. “And don’t you dare die.” Dear Noralah, please make it so. It was the first time since her father’s death that she’d prayed to the patron goddess of Norgard, but if any of the gods were to help her in this, it would be her.
Kate kept the pace easy at first, well aware of the gelding’s fatigue. They hadn’t ridden any harder than usual yesterday on the return journey from Andreas, but it was still a lot of miles, and the stress of the drake attack had taken its toll as well.
For the first three hours, nothing moved on the road except for them. It was as if the entire land was holding its breath, perhaps out of fear of the daydrakes, this newest threat in a world already overflowing with danger. How will we survive when both the night and day are so perilous?
Kate kept her eyes in a constant sweep, alert for any movement. Only the presence of Bonner’s revolver—now fastened to the front of the saddle in its holster—brought her any comfort. She was in such a heightened state of awareness that she spotted the group of riders in the distance long before they saw her. They were little more than specks on the horizon, but a dust cloud heralded their movement, dozens of shod hooves pounding the road. As they drew nearer, she caught the glint of steel. Whoever they were, they rode armed and ready for battle. There was no flag bearer among them, their pace too quick for the burden of it. They could be mercenaries or bandits, but she doubted it. That ilk wouldn’t ride so brazenly in the open.
She heeled Darby into a gallop toward them and didn’t slow until she saw several of the men draw their bows, arrows nocked.
Reining Darby to a halt, she called, “Good sirs! I need your help!” She pulled Corwin’s tunic free from her saddlebag and raised it over her head. “In the name of the high king.”
At once, the group moved forward, but they didn’t lower their weapons. For a second Kate thought ill fortune had found her again and that they were bandits after all, but then she saw familiar Norgard uniforms and that the man leading them was the same nobleman who’d been with Corwin that day in Farhold. Her spirits lifted. Riding with them were three blue robes and one green, a master healer.
“Kate Brighton!” the nobleman said, reining his horse to a stop. “Is that you? What are you doing here? Where is Corwin?”
“How do you—” she began, then shook off her surprise. “The high prince is alive, my lord, but only just. His caravan was attacked by drakes—ones that moved in the day, un—”
The man cut her off with a raised hand. “We know about the drakes, but you say Corwin’s alive? Where?”
“A Relay tower, three hours’ ride from here.”
“Then let’s make it in two.” The nobleman waved her on. “Show us the way.”
Once they were on the move again, the nobleman introduced himself as Dallin Thorne of Thornewall. “But you may call me Dal. Tell me, though, were there any others left alive?”
“No, my lord,” Kate replied. “Not that I found.” She brushed hair back from her face, scanning the hills ahead but seeing only a rainbow growth of everweeps swaying in the breeze. “Excuse me, my lord, but how did you know about the attack?”
Dal motioned to the blue robe riding silently beside them at the head of the group. “Master Raith was with Corwin’s caravan. He managed to escape and come for help.”
Kate frowned, questions crowding into her mind. “Do you know what these creatures are, then?” She addressed Dal, but her gaze lingered on the magist, face hidden behind his mask. The man’s fingers were blackened at the tips, bent at a stiff angle around the reins.
“We know only as much as you do. Nightdrakes that attack in the day.”
“Daydrakes,” Kate said.
“Yes, that’s a good name, I suppose. Only I hope you’re wrong. If these creatures breed and spread like nightdrakes . . .” Dal trailed off.
Master Raith turned his masked face toward Kate. “Please, Miss Brighton, describe Prince Corwin’s injuries. Was he bitten?”
“Yes,” she replied, a little breathless at the idea of talking to a magist. She couldn’t forget for a second who she was and what she could do. Not in front of this man or the other magists present. If they detected her magic, she would be the next target of the Inquisition. “A single bite in the shoulder, but I cleaned the wounds and applied some of the salve we riders carry for our horses. He was still feverish when I left him this morning.”
Raith nodded. “He’s lucky to have survived so long, and that you came along when you did. I believed all had been lost.”
“How did you survive?” The question escaped her lips before good sense could stop it. The magist couldn’t have outrun them. No horse could, and drakes loved a moving target.
Dal gestured to the sky, palm up and fingers spread. “With magic, of course.”