“The Patriots have retaken the city. They’ve booted the mudbacks out.”
Jenna set down her wine, gripped his elbows, and danced him around the room in a kind of impromptu upland reel, her bare feet thumping on the stone floor. “Come on, Wolf,” she said, when his feet didn’t move fast enough, “put the wine down and dance with me!”
Ash did his best, and, finally, they collapsed into the chair, gasping and laughing.
“Say it again,” she said fiercely. “I want to hear it again.”
“The Patriots have retaken Delphi,” Ash said. “They’ve dealt the Ardenine army a crushing defeat.”
“Oh,” she said, smiling. “I’ll bet the bonfires are still burning on the hills. I wish I could be there to see it. Fletcher must be in a world of joy.” Gradually, her smile faded and the melancholy crept back into her eyes. “There are so many people who didn’t live to see it. Maggi, and Riley, and my da . . .”
He cupped her face with his hands. “Remember what you said—that worrying about the bad times can ruin what should be the good times. So celebrate. Celebrate without regret.” He kissed her, then poured them each another cup of wine.
“To the Patriots of Delphi, both the living and the dead,” Jenna said, raising her cup in a toast. She drank deeply, then stared into space, turning the cup in her hands. “There it is again,” she murmured.
“There’s what?”
“Flamecaster. I keep hearing that name in my head.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since that emissary arrived, I’ve been hearing voices. It sounds like someone crying for help, saying ‘Flamecaster! Help me!’”
“Flamecaster.” Ash frowned. “Wasn’t that your street name in Delphi?”
Jenna nodded. “I . . . picked it because I was always setting fire to things and blowing things up.”
“Is that new? The voices?”
She nodded. “It’s always been images before.”
“Could it have something to do with the fighting in Delphi? Maybe your gift is letting you know about somebody in trouble.”
She shrugged. “Or I’m losing my mind. Anyway. Tell me about the emissary’s weapon.”
Ash took a fortifying gulp of wine. “I didn’t actually see it myself, but I’m told that it’s a dragon.”
“A dragon?” Jenna’s voice rose. “But . . . there’s no such thing?” She said this in the form of a question, as if she were no longer sure what was real and what was fantasy.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Ash said. “But Lord Botetort saw it—he was all excited about it, in fact, and he has the imagination of a slug.”
“How big was it?”
“They said that it was the size of a horse, but, you know, built differently. Strangward said it was young, and not fully grown—that a fully grown dragon would be too big to transport by ship.” He paused. “It’s being kept in the hold, and Lila said that it looked like it was sick.”
“It was sick?” Planting her feet on the floor, she leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “What do you mean? What was wrong with it?”
“I’m just going by what Lila said. She said it was listless. Strangward said that it was fine, that it always sleeps a lot when it’s had a large meal.”
Jenna pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, as if her head was in danger of splitting apart. She seemed to be getting more and more agitated as the conversation went on.
“Are you all right?” Ash said. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know,” Jenna whispered, fingering the magemark on the back of her neck. “It just seems like there’s something about dragons, something I should remember. Something that’s burned into my bones.” Her eyes were glazed, her breathing quick and shallow, and Ash guessed that images were flying through her mind.
He waited until her eyes refocused a bit, then said, “Could you have foreseen that the empress meant to trade a dragon for you? Is that why it’s familiar?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Anyway. What does the king want with a dragon?”
“What he really wants is an army of mages,” Ash said. “That’s what the empress promised. Strangward is trying to persuade the king to accept a dragon as a kind of down payment or deposit so he can take you back with him. He claims that dragons could be useful in the war, to carry soldiers, and incinerate cities, that sort of thing.” It was an effort to keep his voice matter-of-fact. “Botetort was convinced, anyway. He was practically salivating, asking if he could have more than one.”
“What did Lieutenant Karn have to say about the dragon? Did he see it?”
Ash nodded. “He saw it. He didn’t say much, either way.” He paused. “What did you think of Strangward?”
“He’s such a mingle and a mix, he’s hard to read. My gut tells me he’s dangerous, he’s scared, and he’s telling a big, big lie.”
“I don’t believe him, either,” Ash said, “but he brought a big sackful of diamonds to prove he was in earnest.”
She rubbed her chin. “I wish I could get my hands on him.”