“We cannot do that, my lady,” Soldian said apologetically. “Two of us must be with you at all times.”
Dareena clenched her jaw. What was the point of being the Dragon’s Gift, mate to the three most powerful men in the kingdom, if her wishes could not be respected? “Fine,” she snapped, flopping onto a settee by the fireplace. “Fetch me some food and drink,” she ordered Lyria. “The two of you can finish organizing the bookcases.” She’d been meaning to start that project herself, but since she wasn’t even allowed to lift a finger, she might as well let the ladies do it to get them off her back.
While the women worked on the tasks she’d set, Dareena tried to lose herself in the novel she was reading. But her blood was up, and all she could think about was how close she’d come to being flattened by that wardrobe. She truly didn’t think the servants were responsible, and yet, as she replayed the events in her mind, she couldn’t fault Drystan for suspecting them. Someone had knocked that wardrobe over. Heavy furniture like that was very stable and didn’t usually come crashing down the stairs on a whim.
And yet, if it wasn’t the servants, then who? Did a warlock bespell the wardrobe from afar? Was that even possible?
If they can spy on you from a distance, there is no reason why they can’t do other things, a voice in her head whispered, and she shivered. Maybe she really did need to be more careful. Magic was a very versatile weapon, and until Lucyan found out more information, they had no idea of the warlocks’ true capabilities. At the very least, she needed to be more vigilant of her surroundings. The last thing she needed was for Drystan and Alistair’s fears to be realized. She would survive, she would deliver her babe, and damn anyone to hell who tried to stand in her way.
12
“Faster!” Alistair barked as he ran the troops through advanced conditioning drills. He watched the men and women execute a series of explosive jumps and kicks and advanced maneuvers, all requiring great dexterity and strength. The drills he and his sisters were putting their recruits through were far more strenuous than the usual drills the soldiers had to perform, but since much depended on these strike forces, Alistair and Tariana had decided not to pull any punches.
He was running the soldiers through their third set of grueling exercises when Tariana stepped into the room. “A word, brother,” she called, pitching her voice so it could be heard over the grunts and groans in the room.
“Corporal Mian,” Alistair said, singling out one of the men toward the front of the room. The soldier jogged up to him, then saluted and stood at attention. “Lead the remainder of the training exercise in my stead.”
“Yes, sir!” the soldier shouted. He took over the drill, and Alistair followed his sister outside. He pulled in a deep breath of fresh air, free of the sweat and odor that constantly plagued the training rooms no matter how thoroughly and often they were cleaned. Alistair had gotten used to it when he’d done his own army training, but his dragon nose was very sensitive, and all the time he’d spent away had stripped the resistance he’d built up.
Tariana led Alistair down the steps of an underground cellar. It was one of several on the base, and it had been cleared of wine and food to make room for chairs and tables and maps. They’d converted it into their new war room in an attempt to avoid the warlocks’ spying, and held all sensitive meetings in here. Whatever Tariana had pulled him aside for must be important, he thought as he took a torch from the wall and blew a thin stream of fire to light it.
“We’ve received a message from Shadley,” Tariana said, pulling a scroll from her sleeve. She sat down at the table and unrolled it, her eyes gleaming. “His spies have identified a temple just on the warlock side of the border where they suspect weapons and magical artifacts are being stockpiled.”
Alistair’s pulse jumped with excitement. “How far from the border?” he asked.
“Only a few miles, in a hamlet otherwise barely worth mentioning. The spies report that the temple is quite oversized for its location, and it has three full-time priests who behave more like soldiers than holy men. Very suspicious for a place with a population of only a few hundred people.”
“Indeed.” Alistair tapped his chin in thought. “This is a worthwhile target, if we can pull off the raid without being identified as Dragon Force soldiers.”
“That’s what we’ve been training the men for, isn’t it?” Tariana pointed out. “We’ve spent countless hours coaching the dragon born to fight like humans, which is no mean feat considering that they’ve spent their lives being taught to use their full strength.” She shook her head. “They aren’t quite ready yet, but if we take a human-only force we will be decimated.”
“We?” Alistair lifted a brow. “Are the two of us going together?”
Tariana huffed. “I thought about leaving you behind, but I knew you wouldn’t hear of it, and I have had enough of sitting back and letting the others do the fighting. Drystan would not approve,” she added with a wry smile, “but his stodgy arse is locked up in the Keep, so he isn’t here to tell us no.”
Alistair laughed. “One would think he is the older sibling, not you,” he teased. Under different circumstances, Tariana would have stayed behind, but since the two of them were personally commanding the strike forces, he understood her need to ensure the first one was a success. “How would you like to proceed?”
“I want you to take your second-in-command and scout the area,” Tariana ordered. “Since you can fly, you will get there far faster. We will camp at the border until night, and if we do not hear from you before sunset, I will lead the strike.”
“Very well.” Alistair got to his feet. “It’s getting close to mid-morning,” he said, checking his timepiece. “I suppose I’d better leave now.”
The two of them parted ways, Tariana to ready the strike force, and Alistair in search of Captain Tinor, his trusted second-in-command. He fetched the captain from a meeting, then brought him down to the cellar so he could brief him.
“Finally.” Tinor rubbed his hands together in excitement. He was a fit, broad-shouldered man of twenty-five, with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes that looked like they could cut diamonds. He was also dragon born, and one of the most skilled fighters on the base. Alistair had taken to using him as a sparring partner in the evenings; the man was nearly as good as Drystan and made a decent replacement for his older brother. “I’ve been waiting forever for a real mission!”
“As have I,” Alistair said, grinning. He knew everyone was itching to stick it to the warlocks; he felt the same way himself. “We’re to scout out the temple and the town and make sure there are no unpleasant surprises waiting for us.”