Dragon's Blood (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy #2)

“This is absurd!” Drystan exclaimed. He snapped the scroll shut and handed it back to the delegates, resisting the urge to tear it into tiny scraps and shove it down their throats. “A hundred thousand gold crowns, plus ten percent? Your king is out of his mind.”

“I believe it is your king who has recently lost his mind, not ours,” Lady Eanor, the delegate sitting on his left, said with a smirk. “Our king is quite well, and he understands how valuable your Dragon’s Gift is. He said to tell you that if the terms for their release are unpalatable to you, that he will accept fifty thousand crowns instead, and that Alistair would be released in ten years after working off the remainder of the debt.”

“And if I refuse?” Drystan asked, sounding far calmer than he felt.

“Then you will never see them again,” Lord Parkas said simply.

Dead silence descended upon the room as Drystan frantically scrambled for a solution. Even if he did recover the treasure, did they really have enough to cover such an outlandish sum? He would do anything to get Dareena back, but the thought of beggaring the kingdom…and not to mention the ridiculous request about quartering their army…

“What if I paid the ransom in land instead of gold?” Drystan finally said.

The delegates exchanged surprised glances. “What land do you have to give?” Lord Thranar asked. “Are you prepared to relinquish part of Dragonfell itself?”

“No,” Drystan said. “But there is a province in the west called Dawnfall that we conquered some centuries ago. Though it belongs to us, we do not technically consider it a part of Dragonfell.”

“Dawnfall is not a very large province,” Lady Eanor said with some disdain. “Surely you could offer us something better?”

“I would also be willing to throw in Kalakas Island,” Drystan said.

The elves leaned in, their eyes gleaming with interest. Kalakas Island had belonged to them some two thousand years ago before the inhabitants had declared their independence and managed to free themselves from elven rule. Not fifty years later, Dragonfell had swooped in and taken it for their own, and the elves had wanted it back ever since.

“I must say, I am quite surprised by your counteroffer,” Lady Maliwood finally said. “It is well-known that dragons hoard their gold jealously, but they are even more possessive of their land. Why is it that you would rather not pay us?”

Drystan shrugged. “As I said, those two pieces of land are not truly part of Dragonfell, and Kalakas Island was originally an elven territory. My father was a warmonger, no doubt about it, but I assure you, my lords and ladies, that my brothers and I do not share his bloodthirsty tendencies. I throw in Kalakas Island in the hopes that you will consider it a gesture of goodwill. I will, of course, insist upon certain trade agreements, but overall I think it is quite a good deal.”

There was another beat of silence as the elves considered this. “We are not authorized to negotiate territory or trade concessions,” Lord Parkas finally said. “We will need to send a missive to our king and wait for instructions.”

Drystan gave them a wide smile. “I guess you will be staying more than one night after all then,” he said, getting to his feet and signaling the end of the meal. He had no intention of handing over any lands—he simply needed to offer them something to chew on to prevent them from hurting Dareena or Alistair. Hopefully Lucyan would have something useful to offer once he returned from wherever the hell he’d gone off to, preferably something that they could use to free their mate and sibling. Drystan was coming up empty. Unless his brother put that brilliant mind of his to use, they were well and truly fucked.





13





By the time Lucyan arrived at the cave, the sun had long set, and his stomach cramped with hunger. It was a damn good thing he hadn’t eaten breakfast before he’d left—the ritual for summoning the dragon god included fasting for an entire day. He’d drunk deep and often from his canteen during the journey, refilling it several times to keep the hunger pangs at bay, but with his extraordinarily high metabolism, fasting was particularly hard on him.

“This had better be worth it,” he muttered as he dismounted from his horse.

It had taken Lucyan quite a while to locate the cave in question—it was hidden halfway up the cliffside overlooking a vast lake thirty miles south of Paxhall. Since the pathway to the cave was narrow and treacherous, he left his horse at the top of the cliff rather than forcing him to wait directly outside. While the animal grazed, Lucyan stripped off his clothes and dunked himself into the cold, clear spring nearby, then changed into a fresh pair of clothes.

He had to look his best for the dragon god, after all.

Once he was presentable, Lucyan climbed back down to the small opening leading into the cave itself. He had to duck to enter, and even so, the moss hanging from the entrance slid over his hair like ghostly fingers, making him shudder. But the same sense of peace and contentment he’d felt at Targon Temple swept over him, and he let out the breath he’d been holding as the apprehension prickling at his scalp vanished.

“All right,” Lucyan said, pulling the torch he’d picked up back in Paxhall from his belt. He blew a gentle stream of fire atop it, igniting the beeswax. He had to hold the torch low to keep from accidentally lighting the moss on fire—it seemed to hang everywhere, so thick it was almost as if Lucyan was staring at a forest while hanging upside down in the air. His keen ears picked up the sound of critters skittering about, but as he did not see or smell anything dangerous, he disregarded the noises and continued walking.

About ten feet inside, Lucyan came upon a simple stone slab no higher than his waist. The sigil of the dragon god was carved into the flat surface. Lucyan frowned, wondering why there were no signs of previous offerings. Surely there would be something if his ancestors had visited this place, and yet the slab was as smooth and pristine as it had likely been the day it was carved. The hairs on the back of Lucyan’s neck rose as he placed a gold ring on the stone, then kneeled before the tiny altar and clasped his hands together.

Please, Fiorlax, he prayed, invoking the dragon god’s name. Accept my offering, and speak to me as you have done with my ancestors.

Lucyan didn’t know what to expect. The only reason he believed in the gods was because of Shalia’s Curse, but even so, he wasn’t much for prayer. Why hadn’t he sent Drystan to do this instead? He wasn’t as devout as Alistair, but since his younger brother wasn’t here, Drystan would have done just fine.