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

Dragomir reared back, choking. More fire spewed from his throat as he attempted to incinerate the blockage, and Drystan scrambled from the mouth of the cave, then launched himself into the air. He didn’t dare make a grab for any more of the gold—he might have delayed his father for a few moments, but he would come after Drystan with fury if he took even a single gold coin.

Bloody dragon sickness, Drystan fumed as he flew away. It was a disease of the mind, and made dragons greedy, unable to part with a single piece of their hoard. If Drystan wanted to wrest the treasure back from his father, he was going to need a much better plan.

Hurry back, Lucyan, he said as he headed back to the castle. Perhaps if his brothers returned and all three of them could shift, they stood a chance of bringing down their father together. That had been the original plan, and though Drystan did not want to harm their father, he was beginning to worry that patricide might be the only option if they were to regain control over their kingdom.





27





“Come on,” Dareena muttered under her breath as she summoned more energy to her fingertips. “You can do it!”

Sparks snapped and popped around her hand as she willed the magic to take the shape in her mind’s eye. The glowing white energy unfurled, and her heart jumped in excitement as it elongated into a whip. Flicking her wrist, she made it snake through the air before coiling back to wrap around her wrist. Though the energy didn’t hurt her, she knew from the scorch marks in her bedroom that they could burn, which was why she’d found an empty storage room to practice.

Dareena flicked the whip back and forth a dozen times before it flickered, the power failing. She extinguished the magic, then wiped the sweat from her brow, feeling satisfied. Each time she summoned the whip, she could wield it for longer and longer periods. No, she might not be able to kill a guard with it, especially not an armored one, but she could certainly hurt and stun them if needed. After Lucyan had left, Dareena had gone to the library to find a book on offensive magic. She had discovered a wide variety of techniques one could use to hurt, maim, or kill enemies. Most of them were beyond Dareena’s skill level, but there was one called “exploding eardrums” that she longed to try. The theory seemed simple enough, though of course she wouldn’t know how easy it was without an enemy to try it out on, and she didn’t dare practice on the guards.

Worn out, Dareena returned to her room to freshen up before lunch. She had planned on eating with Alistair today, but a messenger arrived as she was about to go look in on him, informing her that Princess Basilla had invited her to have lunch in her private sitting room. Dareena wasn’t entirely certain she was up for it, but she could not refuse after Basilla had given her so much help and support. She followed the messenger to the princess’s suite.

“How is Alistair doing?” Basilla asked as they repasted on fish soup with thick brown bread and butter. “I imagine you’ve been snuggling with him to keep his strength up?” she added with a saucy smile.

Dareena laughed a little. “You’ve got us all figured out,” she said. “He is doing much better after that healing.”

“Good.” Basilla swallowed a spoonful of soup. “Count Kianor has departed for Shadowhaven, thank the goddess. I expected him to be in a sour mood, but I’m told he left in great haste, almost as if he was excited about something. I can’t imagine why he would be in any great hurry to tell his king that I’ve refused the match with his son.”

“It may have nothing to do with your rejection,” Dareena said. If the warlocks were truly behind this war, anything that made them happy could not be good for either Dragonfell or Elvenhame. “My mates and I suspect the warlocks were responsible for killing their mother, my predecessor. We found a warlock spell that induces death in an eerily similar manner to the way she passed.”

“Really?” Basilla’s eyes widened. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“My mates brought it to the council, but even though King Dragomir did not dismiss the possibility, he also refused to give up on his assault against your country.” Dareena sighed. “From the way it looks, both the scroll and the fact that the warlocks have been arming your country against ours, it seems that they have a stake in seeing us at each other’s throats.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised, but our alliance with the warlocks has long been suspicious,” Basilla said. “Father seems much more himself now that Count Kianor is gone, and in light of what you just said, I can’t help but wonder if the count was responsible for his change in behavior. It started not long after he arrived, and I must say I am quite glad to be rid of him.”

“As am I,” Dareena said. Privately, she wondered if Arolas knew about the count’s meddling—he certainly had no issue taking advantage of his father’s mental state. “What’s going to happen to Arolas?” she asked. “Is he going to be charged with a crime?”

Basilla sighed. “I’m not certain, and neither are Father or the council. They are split—some believe he should be punished, while others think that his time spent in the oubliette, and being stripped of his rank as general, is punishment enough. My brother may be a foul individual, but he is smart, and has made friends in high places.”

Dareena’s heart sank. “I really hope he doesn’t get out anytime soon,” she said. “I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

Basilla nodded. “I fear what will happen to Ryolas once he is released,” she said. “I was going to pay him a visit after our meal. Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes, please.” She was anxious to meet the foreign prince who, in concert with Tariana, had done so much for her country.

The two women finished their meal quickly, then went to visit Ryolas. His rooms were just up the hall from Basilla’s, with two guards posted outside. Dareena was relieved when they let them pass without question—it saddened her that Ryolas was under house arrest when he had done nothing wrong, but at least he wasn’t barred from visitors.

“Good afternoon, sister,” Ryolas said with a smile, sitting up as they entered his bedroom. He was a striking elf, so similar in coloring and features to his sister that Dareena wondered if they were twins. He looked a bit ill, his skin and hair lackluster, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, but otherwise not bad for a man who had just recently been a prisoner. “Who is your friend?”

“This is Dareena, the Dragon’s Gift,” Basilla said as they stopped by his bedside. “I thought you might like to meet her in person.”

Ryolas’s eyes widened. “I would indeed!” He pushed back the covers and attempted to leave the bed. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” he began, then gripped the wall when he stumbled.