THE DRAGON’S BREATH

The Shadow’s Dragon Book 5

DUSTIN PORTA

D.K. HOLMBERG

Copyright © 2025 by ASH Publishing

Cover art by Damonza.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

1. The Nightlife

2. The Room

3. The Humble Guest

4. The Hero

5. The Host

6. The Forgery

7. The Salon

8. The Has-been

9. The Cellar Door

10. The Scene

11. The Casualties

12. The Hearth

13. The Trophy

14. The Preparations

15. The Sendoff

16. The Sensitivity

17. The Split

18. The Fountain

19. The Pit

20. The Tridents

21. The Watercourse

22. The Treat

23. The Circle

24. The Familiar Face

25. The Descent

26. The Glimmer

27. The Treasure

28. The Opportunity

29. The Dwelling

30. The Steelsmith

31. The Queen’s Fingers

32. The Black-cap

33. Oathmender

34. The Choke

35. The Steeple

36. The Sentry

37. The Quill

38. The Worm

39. The Exit

Author’s Note

ONE

The Nightlife

Treylen lay on a rooftop in Port Maphera, resting his cheek against the cool tile and listening for his bondmate to creep up the dark alley below. While he waited, he opened his senses to the strange aromas of the Ketaresk peninsula.

Beneath the odd tang of seagrass stoves and sooty rushlights sat a dizzying swirl of cooking smells. Some familiar scents like the pepper broth of Lomish stew dredged up memories of pleasant evenings beside the hearth. Others, like the rue of Libbat bread or the incense of Kysik rice, prickled strangely at his nose; it was a bittersweet reminder of how far he’d traveled from home. Port Maphera had been a vibrant place before the rest of the continent fell to the Jaul Empire.

The world was closed off now, though its flavors still lingered. He had never felt this way in Iverna. When the old queens had sealed the valley off, such worldly cooking had been forbidden.

He opened his eyes.

A skein of cloud drifted over the stars, but the moonlight filtered down to shimmer dully off the harbor.

A dragon shrieked in the distance. Treylen sat up.

I heard it. Rime spoke through the dragonmind but was pushed aside by another.

In pursuit. Now passing the archives. Can you intercept to the north?

Beetle was the bondmate of Losina and one of the few dragons Treylen knew who could speak to the bondmates of others—certainly the youngest to have developed that talent.

Unfortunately, Treylen didn’t possess the ability to speak back.

He jumped to his feet, ran along the spine of the structure, then leaped over the alley. Landing on the roof of a temple forge, he scaled the temple’s smokestack for a better view. Two human figures fled over the rooftops in the castle district, moving toward the docks. Their objective would be to enter a pub named the Soiled Dowry in the warehouse district.

And there was Beetle, close behind them.

They were too near the waterfront for Treylen to cut them off. He would need to take the market street toward the dock if he wanted to reach the pub when they did.

Borrowing, he warned Rime. Treylen stole a little of his bondmate’s dragon strength before bounding from the top of the smokestack to a nearby bell tower, then off the rooftop toward an old boarding house. As he fell, he unsheathed his daggers, dragging them against the facade of the building to slow his descent. He let the dragon strength go as he landed.

Cut them off at the pub, Rime. I’ll try and get there.

The street ran along a high retaining wall. The Ketaresk called these walls barbicans because they turned port cities into fortresses against attacks from the sea. Below, a waterfront market bled into dockyards and pubs, and hawkers waved fistfuls of skewered meats while revelers in common-folk finery ambled gaily. The market was a relic of better days; most of the shops were empty, but the locals kept their spirits high with nightly lantern shows and puppet plays.

It was the kind of crowd where his mentor had trained him to go unseen. Long days at the Dragon’s Hide had been spent learning the movement of a crowd, how to walk with innocuous purpose, and how to use dragon stealth to move amongst the populace.

None of that mattered anymore.

In this city, Treylen had a power greater than dragonmind—popularity.

Treylen didn’t bother to remove the dragon mask that marked him as an assassin. He took a running start and leaped from the barbican, catching a row of lanterns strung from a pole. The crowd let out a collective gasp, followed by cheers as he navigated the row of lanterns hand over hand.

“Make way!” he called out.

There were more shrieks as Treylen wrapped his arms around another pole and slid down. He dropped the last of the way, rolled as he hit the ground, and sprang up into a run. All around, shocked exclamations and snippets of gossip found his ears. He understood very little of the Ketaresk tongue.

“… Ambassador…”

“That’s the Iveran!”

“Draka Mora!”

“… I heard he tore the palace down…”

“… those daggers…”

The crowd parted before him, but some ran forward, eager to lay hands on their Iveran visitor. Treylen ducked their grasp and kept moving.

Two barbican shieldbearers, the kingdom’s elite soldiers, stood at the entrance to the market with blades drawn and twin bucklers raised.

“On business!” Treylen yelled and flashed the signet that marked him ambassador. They stood down. He ran out from the market and down a crowded street before he spotted another shadow running along the rooftops at the other end of the docks.

I won’t make it in time!

I’ll hold them, Rime said.

“Move!” he barked at a cluster of sailors blocking the alley. They staggered out of the way, but not fast enough. He leaped over their heads. He was halfway down the alley when a pained shrieking split the night.

Bondmate! Rime cried into Treylen’s mind.

Treylen skidded around the corner. The shingle of the Soiled Dowry came into view, lit from above by colorful lanterns. Beneath the lamps, Rime was thrashing and hissing. A crowd of onlookers recoiled in fear as the dragon reared on his hind legs and beat his wings.

A tiny dragon hung from Rime’s snout, clinging by its teeth until the last thrash tore it free. Blood spattered the onlookers. A second hatchling scurried up Rime’s back, hissing and raking his wings with their claws. It struck Treylen just how much Rime had grown of late. He was as large as a horse, tail snapping like a whip, head tossing from side to side. Treylen almost laughed at the small thing getting the better of him, but remembered how sharp hatchling claws could be.

The shadowy figure jumped down from the rooftops, landing nimbly on Rime’s back. She was barely old enough to be an assassin, but her curved blade glinted wickedly in the light of the lanterns.

Treylen raised his own dagger as he closed the distance, and when he was near enough, he threw it. The hilt struck the assailant’s arm, and she lost her footing, tumbling to the cobblestones. Treylen leaped over his bondmate, kicking the small dragon as he went, and sent it flying. The crowd cheered. More drunks had come out to watch.

She’s fast, bondmate, Rime warned him.

The assassin had rolled under Rime. Her blade dragged a gash over the dragon’s belly. The wound was deep, but Rime wasn’t her target.

Focused on the door of the tavern, she rolled toward it before Treylen’s hand could close around her ankle, then sprang up and ran.

“Stop her!” Treylen called to a pair of guards who stood in the crowd, unmoving. He started for the door, but one of the fledglings latched onto his back, and he fell to his knees struggling to pry the little dragon off before it could cut his throat open with those razor claws. Rime was having the same problem with the second one. It had been so long since Treylen had confronted a hatchling, he’d forgotten how tenacious and slippery they could be.

The girl opened the door only to find Losina standing inside. Her eyes twinkled behind her black dragon mask.

The girl backed away, but Losina struck out first; only the assassin’s lightning reflexes saved her face from the dagger’s edge. A lock of hair drifted away, and the assassin put a hand to her head and gasped. It came away bloody. Losina chased her out, slashing again, before pausing to wink at Treylen.

“She too quick for you?” Losina tossed a handful of sulfur onto the ground, drew a glyph with her foot, and spoke a power word. A bonfire roared up to block the entrance, casting a harsh light over the street.

The girl looked from Losina to Treylen, then bolted in the opposite direction, diving into the startled crowd. The small dragons followed after her.

“Come on,” Losina growled, “it’s not over until they’re caught.”

Treylen frowned at his dragon’s blood dappling the stones, then grunted in agreement. Rime. Get in the air. Treylen chased after Losina, who shouldered an onlooker out of the way. The assassin was naturally quick, but with only a fledgling at her side, she was unbonded and would have no dragon speed to pull from.

The first two shadows Treylen had seen came running across the rooftops. Dropping down on the opposite end of the street, they ran toward the door, seemingly unconcerned about the pillar of fire.

Beetle landed just behind them, snapping at their heels. Treylen looked back to see a flash of black leather disappear down the alley. The girl was going for the back entrance.

“Take those two,” he said to Losina. “I’ll catch this one.”

“I don’t think you will,” she said.

“Just go!” It never worked to raise his voice at Losina. Threats of violence weren’t much better. But this once she seemed to listen, letting out a dark chuckle and turning on her heel.

Treylen saw Rime wheeling in the air above the alley behind the tavern. I can grab her now. Rime was beating his wings, getting ready to plunge.

Wait, Treylen said, we need to draw those fledglings out. There had been a plan before all of this chaos began, and it hinged upon the fledglings. Treylen hoped Rime would obey orders for once and hold back.

He scaled the wall and crossed the roof.

He didn’t worry about the seconds it cost him; it would take her longer to access the rear of the pub. Sure enough, when he reached the back of the roof and peered into the alley, he could see the slim shape in dark leather pressed against the back door of the kitchen. The frenzied working of a lockpick tickled his ears.

Treylen swung quietly out over the edge, lowering himself down a waterspout hand over hand.

Click click, clack. The lock popped open just as Treylen attacked. She let go of the latch, ducking one swipe then the next.

She was quicker than him—or would have been if not for the dragonmind. He didn’t use dragon speed yet. First, he wanted her to respond.

Treylen made a sluggish recovery, and she saw the opening and lunged. He summoned dragon speed. It was time to show these children what a real assassin could do.

Treylen turned his body so the blade slid harmlessly past his shoulder—she’d over-extended. As he rotated, he tapped her blade with the hilt of his dagger and used its own momentum to knock it from her hand. She reached for her second blade, but he hooked her heel with his own and pulled it out from under her. The second blade bounced from her hand when she hit the soiled cobblestones.

Treylen landed beside her and drove one knee into her stomach, then brought his blade to her neck. The girl’s eyes froze wide as he pressed the dagger down. He’d used the blunt edge near the back hilt, but she didn’t know that. A terrified gurgle escaped her lips.

That was enough to bring her hatchlings out of hiding.

One came screeching from the rooftops, and Treylen batted it away with his free hand. The smarter one sprang from its hiding place in a trash pile, lunging silently and sinking its teeth into his neck. The cowl bunched around his collar kept the razors at bay just long enough.

“Caught you!” Treylen seized the dragon, letting the girl go as he needed both hands to pry its mouth open and pull it loose. He clamped one fist around its neck. The second hatchling came at him screeching again, and he pinned it under his boot.

He could hear the girl behind him getting to her feet and ignored her, intentionally. Would she stop to save her hatchlings, or would she go for her objective?

“Now to get rid of these pests.” Treylen lifted the blade in his hand and spun it around. He watched one dragon squirming beneath his foot while the other twined feebly around his arm.

He raised his blade like a cleaver and brought it down. It sparked off the cobblestones, and the hatchling’s whine echoed in the dark. He chopped again. The blade sparked and the hatchling wailed once more.

Treylen growled, eyes narrowed. He listened for the girl to come at him from behind. But it was Losina who spoke.

“You can stop now. We’ve failed.”

He turned to look over his shoulder. The door was open. Light from the kitchen spilled into the alley. Losina waited just outside, arms crossed. The girl was gone.

Treylen groaned. Closing his eyes, he took a calming breath, then let go of the hatchling he’d been strangling. It hissed and scampered back into the pile of garbage. Lifting his boot, he checked that the one he’d pretended to chop was unharmed—except perhaps, for its feelings. It whimpered and twisted on the ground.

He sheathed the dagger and held his open hands out. The dragon sniffed and shrank away from him before scrabbling up the side of the building and into the dark.

Will you make sure they’re all right? he asked Rime, still flying overhead. I’m needed inside.

I’ll try. You may have ruined that one.

I was trying to provoke a reaction.

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Losina leaned against the door of the pub, arms folded, a know-it-all smirk plastered to her face. Treylen pushed past her.

The kitchen had been in full swing before their training session disrupted the cooks. Spitted meat, no longer turning, burned over the kitchen fire, fat popping and dripping on the hearth. A pot of soup had bubbled over while a tray of ale sat undelivered on the counter. Treylen passed through the double doors into the bar where the girl he’d been fighting now sat on a stool, one ankle crossed delicately over the other, gloating over a glass of wine.

Her Highness Chalys Ketar, Princess of Ketaresk, lowered her hood and removed the dragon mask as she lifted the glass to her lips.

Treylen closed his eyes and worked a hand over his brow to calm his breathing before speaking.

Training others in the methods of assassins used to come easy for him. He could teach combat, hunting, and tracking. But when it came to discipline and bonding with dragons, he’d always left that to the monks. He swallowed his frustrations and tried to think how Sister Ono would have handled this.

“What was the goal of this exercise, Apprentice Chalys?”

A ripple of barely restrained rage crossed her face when he addressed her without her title, but she controlled herself. It happened again when he plucked the glass from her fingers and set it out of her reach. The emotions passed. It was only a reflex, and she understood that to be an apprentice meant he was her superior. If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to teach her.

“The goal…” She blinked bright, intelligent eyes and thought diligently before articulating her answer. “Wasn’t the winner the first one to have a drink at the bar?”

“The first assassin to sit at the bar…” Treylen couldn’t keep the rumble out of his voice. Losina had come in behind him. He could feel her smirking behind his back; she liked it when he lost his temper. He didn’t care. “Do you see your mistake here, Apprentice Chalys?”

“I… don’t understand the technicality.” The princess must have grown up with the very best tutors. Her command over the Iveran language was better than his own. “Have I lost because of semantics?” Her cocky expression didn’t change, but her voice was shaky. Good.

“You want to be an assassin? An assassin needs a dragon. You can’t sit here as an assassin if your dragons are dead in the alley.”

“You didn’t say that was the goal. I would have made sure to bring them with me if you had been more clear at the start of the exercise.” She turned up her nose at him, but he could see her nostrils flare, the vein of her neck pulsing.

Good, let her be afraid. But she had better also be ashamed.

“I’m trying to get you to bond with these fledglings. I don’t like to frighten them the way I did tonight, but I do what I do because you won’t reach the dragonmind if you don’t care for them.”

“Moreover,” Losina interrupted, “once you have bonded with the dragon, it is a life-bond. One bondmate cannot survive the loss of the other.”

“I’ve danced before my future suitors in the royal court. I’m not afraid of death,” she scoffed, sounding strangely genuine.

“She beat us again?” The other two trainees entered through the front. The fledgling came in with them. Breg bent to scoop up one and set it on his shoulder. He was a handsome lad with an air of money; his high-heeled boots and tailored darks made him seem the elder of the two, though he wasn’t.

Lem came behind, cradling the other hatchling who had lost a nail in the fight. Shorter and slouchy in his secondhand darks, Lem was the former cabin boy of the Humble Guest. He’d shown a glimmer of potential after their misadventures on Ketch Isle, when Rime had come out of hiding in the bilge and the boy had quickly befriended him.

“I think she’ll be all right,” said Lem, inspecting the fledgling’s toenail. “They grow back, don’t they?”

Treylen glared at the princess one last time before turning his back on her. “It’ll be fine. Good work tonight.” He tousled Lem’s hair, then clapped Breg on the shoulder.

“Is that the lesson for tonight?” Losina yawned. “I could sleep.”

“I think we’ve pushed the hatchlings far enough. The trainees could bear another lap of the city…” He peered out the front door to make sure the fire was out, then searched his pockets until he found some coin and went looking for the kitchen staff to apologize.

TWO

The Room

That night he dreamt of Volanti.

The rooms where his old friend worked her magic had improved of late. Before, she’d hidden in basements and sewers. Now, she summoned Treylen to her chambers, a comfortable bedroom with a sitting room to one side and a wizard’s workshop in the back. 

These weren’t the quarters of a novice. She had moved up in the Wizard’s Tower quickly. 

The brightly papered walls and wood ceiling made him want to ask if this was a private residence or if she was still living inside the tower. But that wasn’t how these dream-meetings worked. Treylen couldn’t speak, because he wasn’t really here. The room was real. Volanti, in her crimson nightclothes and plum wizard’s robe, was real. The lacquered stool she perched on, the candles and the circle of powdered dragon bone, were real. The only thing that wasn’t was Treylen. 

“You’re still in Ketaresk?”

Treylen nodded.

“Still with friends?”

He nodded again. 

 The image of his body that hung within the circle had gotten fainter with each casting. Treylen had tried to ask why, but any gestures aside from a head shake would cut the connection, and he would slip back into his dreams. 

“I wish I knew what your mission was this time.” Volanti hugged her knees like a gargoyle on the edge of the stool. She dragged her nails over her sleeve, scuffing the rich velvet. She’d never had nails before. They’d have been impractical for training. 

Treylen shook his head. There was no mission. He was living in Ketaresk because he had asked to go. Apogee had needed an ambassador she trusted, and he’d needed to get away from it all. 

“That’s okay. I don’t need you to trust me.”

Treylen had to smile at that. He trusted Volanti more than anyone. The first time they’d met like this, she’d warned him of the Jaul offensive. Treylen had passed the warning along to Jargus, who must have warned Queen Apogee, because she’d pulled her armies back to defensible positions just in time. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she continued, “as long as you listen.”

“I’m listening,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him. 

“If you’d been listening, you’d get Ketaresk back into the war. There are attacks coming. If your ally won’t do their part, you’ll be overrun.”

“I’m trying my best,” Treylen grumbled. Had he known how impossible the job was, he might not have accepted it. The alliance between Ketaresk and Iverna had been fraying even before the Iveran coup. The new queen, Apogee, was a stranger to them, and they were enjoying the false peace while Jaul was preoccupied in the north.

“Time’s running out.” She glanced back at the door, her hand tapping nervously at the place where her daggers would have been. “You miss me?”

“Of course.”

“This is hardest on Ketcher. He’s lonely. We talk, but… I haven’t seen him since I came up here. He misses Rime.” 

Treylen wondered how Volanti’s dragon had grown. He hoped that Volanti had found her bondmate some place safe to live. There was nowhere more dangerous for a dragon than the Jaul capital.

“It’s lonely here, too,” Treylen said. “I’ve got people around me now. They’re friends, but not as close as the ones I left behind.” 

Volanti laughed. “I can’t hear you, fool. Oh, by the way, I have a present coming for you.”

“No…” Treylen gave a deliberate shake of the head. “I’ve got enough trouble.”

“More of a problem than a present…” she went on. “There’s a Jaul caravan coming your way. And your old friend is coming to Ketaresk with it.”

“Who?” Treylen mouthed the word.

“I don’t know if I should say. Marziel always said surprises keep us on our toes.”

“Volanti…” Treylen growled. “I’m serious.”

“This is dire business,” she said. “A Jaul delegation coming to Ketaresk. You know what that means?”

“Nothing good.” Treylen ground his teeth.

“If they make peace, we’re alone in the war. I don’t know why they’re coming. But if peace is on the table, you can’t allow it. Another thing, Treylen.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I may need you here. Not yet, but I’ll call for you. You’ll come for me, won’t you?”

“Of course.” He gave a slow, meaningful nod. He needed her to know he meant it before he woke up. The spell only lasted so long, and the room was fading already.

“Not yet. But I will need you.”

“You will see me,” Treylen said. There was a click like a key in the door, and Volanti’s head twitched to the side. 

“I miss you, too.” She swung one leg down from the stool, kicked at the glyphs, and broke the circle before her door opened. The shadows in the room twinkled with pinpricks of light like stars as a cold breeze rushed over his flesh. Treylen shivered. He should have gotten used to this sensation by now. He heard the flap of leathery wings, uncertain if they were real or imagined. Then the images of Volanti and the room scattered like embers on a night wind as Treylen fell back into his dreams.

THREE

The Humble Guest

The ceaseless thumping of a mallet striking a chisel echoed over the harbor as Treylen squeezed his eyes shut. Morning light streamed in through the portholes. The hatches of the Humble Guest hung open, and a faint breeze stirred the air in the hold, the dust of old ropes and spilled spices still tickling his nose.

“Psst,” someone whispered from the door.

Treylen yawned and opened one eye. He lay on a pallet of straw mats and down blankets wedged up against the bow in the forward compartment, now his private quarters.

Chalys peered in, still looking shaken from the night before. She had dark skin with pale splotches over her nose, red-rimmed eyes, and tightly-bound hair. A heavy gold signet ring hung from a strap of leather around her neck. “Psst. She’s here.”

“Coming,” Treylen groaned, and the princess ran off.

He stretched and found Losina’s arm draped over his shoulder, deeply scarred by fire, delicately muscled, long and deadly. Beetle’s tail lay over his face. Treylen lifted the arm and set it down gently, then slid out from under the tail, leaving her and Beetle curled up against the hull.

Good morning. He felt for his bondmate through the dragonmind. Rime wasn’t nearby. 

I was reading in the castle library. Rime was alert but irritable.

Find anything useful? Treylen asked.

Nothing that would interest you. Rime had taken to reading the same way he’d taken to mousing: obsessively. He had a nasty habit of sneaking off during their midnight runs to raid the reading rooms of Ketaresk nobility. He would slink back eventually, when his hunger and need for attention won out over his newfound curiosity.

There was something exhausting about the nights Rime spent reading. Rime’s pricked interest needled at Treylen’s thoughts even when he was dreaming. It was as if he’d been up all night reading, too. 

Treylen rubbed at his eyes and changed out of his darks from the night before. Unlike Rime, Treylen felt he grew less curious about the world the longer he lived in it. Tossing his darks on a stool, he fished a pair of breeches from the netting that held their belongings. 

We’re meeting with the vizier today. I’d like you to be there.

The dragonmind was silent. Treylen let it go. Better to raid libraries than larders, he figured. He tugged the breeches on and topped them with a white and blue tabard—Ketaresk style, but his colors represented Iverna. It was the third day he’d worn it. The embassy had servants for washing, but they refused to come down to the docks. He kicked his laundry out of the way, and bones and trinkets scattered with the clothing. Rime and Beetle’s scavenging was getting out of hand, too.

He moved aft through the cargo hold, which still held rows of undelivered crates. The middle had been cleared away to make training space for his three young apprentices and their dragons. The crates were stacked to form sleeping alcoves like at the abbey.

Lem sat in one of the alcoves. The former cabin boy wore a set of darks that had belonged to the spycatchers Treylen threw into the ocean outside Ketch Isle. Lem whittled at a hunk of wood with a pen knife. When he saw Treylen, he groaned. 

“I’m still tired.” Lem had gotten much whinier with his promotion.

Treylen wasn’t bothered so long as he continued to follow orders. “You have to struggle together to bond with your dragon.”

“I wasn’t given a dragon.”

“Neither was I. I had to earn him.” Treylen didn’t mention that some of his class hadn’t survived. Times had changed, and this was not Iverna.

 Unfortunately, no more eggs were coming. Ketaresk’s scheme to smuggle eggs had ended when Treylen killed their hunters outside Wetherdin. If they wanted more, they would have to negotiate with the new queen. There were two fledglings left from the last batch, however, and Treylen had agreed to help them bond as a favor to the king. If he succeeded, it would open the way for a new sort of cooperation between the kingdoms. The dragons were to be bonded to Chalys, the king’s daughter, and to Breg, the son of his favored general. The youths had titles and surnames, of course, but Treylen had done away with formalities when they became his apprentices. Lem was a backup. In case the unthinkable happened, there would still be someone close enough to the fledglings to receive the bond. But Treylen didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t really a candidate.

Lem hid the carving under his pillow and tucked the knife into a belt pouch before standing and straightening his darks. The addition of a short cape with a hooded cowl changed the uniform from spycatcher’s darks into something more appropriate for an assassin. It was an awkward fit with his slouching posture and rolled cuffs, but he had the muscle to fill them out. A leather dragon mask dangled from his belt.

“Don’t dawdle.”

Treylen left through the companionway, then passed through the watch bunk and out to the main deck. The scent of the harbor was heavy on the misty air, and Treylen breathed it in, pausing at the rail to take in the morning activity.

It was late, but the sun had only just risen high enough to peek down into the harbor.

The fortified cliffs of the capital city overlooked the Sea of Libbat. On the southern end of the city, a small inlet led to a steep-walled harbor, more fortified than any castle’s keep. 

The terraced neighborhoods that rose above the harbor were divided between shipyards and fishmongers on the southern side, and the king’s palace and opulent balconies of noble estates on the northern side. A sliver of ocean was visible through the harbor gate on the far side, where fishing boats came and went. Once, the channel would have been clogged with cargo ships, but trade had slowed as Midden, South Kysik, and the rest got swallowed up by the war.

Now, idle cargo vessels bobbed on their moorings alongside the Humble Guest. Captain Purlo didn’t have any business in Ketaresk. He was here as a favor—and because Treylen had paid him. After the disaster at Ketch Isle, it seemed sensible to keep a ship at the ready and friends nearby. Treylen had never slept well in beds, and the Humble Guest made a better dragon’s nest than anything the embassy had to offer. 

Besides, Purlo’s fees would come out of the embassy’s coffers. 

Treylen watched the fishing vessels until Lem emerged, then the two of them went to greet their guest. He found everyone gathered around a long dining table Purlo had constructed amidships. 

Kinna, the cook, was setting the table with help from two of Treylen’s assassins-in-training. Two shieldbearers stood alongside Captain Purlo. The only one seated was their guest, a dark-skinned woman in heavy armor—a pure white tunic beneath a leather cuirass, banded with straps of silver, and a skirt of mail that glinted in the sun. Her shoulders were as broad as any man’s, and she carried her load as easily as summer silk. There was a willful poise and polish to her. Her sword was a massive thing that hung off the back of her belt and dragged on the ground. Entirely impractical. A small Ketaresk-style buckler was on each hip, and the coat of arms painted on each marked her a Knight of Ketaresk.

“Sir Romora,” Treylen bowed. “Please, don’t get up.”

“Ambassador Corbel.” Sir Katryn Romora stood anyhow, armor clanking as she returned the gesture. “Sempis lu muati. I was told you were busy with important business.” She had the mutton-tongued accent of someone who’d learned Iveran out of necessity but disdained the language too greatly to pronounce it correctly.

“Sleeping, actually.” Treylen dropped the salute and flopped into the bench opposite her. “And you? Business?”

“Unfortunately.” She sat, frowning at a plate that Kinna placed before her, pushing it away. Treylen reached over and took it for himself, then waved for the students to sit. Lem took a half step toward the table, but a glare from the knight stopped him in his tracks. It softened when she looked at Purlo. “Join us, Captain.”

Purlo gave his thanks and sat to eat. The others didn’t dare. They stood at attention beside the knight, eyes looking every which way but at Treylen and Romora. Chalys and Breg were dressed in darks the same as Lem’s. Aside from the signet ring hanging from the princess’s necklace, they wore no symbols to mark their status.

“You’re aware the princess is His Majesty’s sole female heir? Since Her Highness was born, I have been her protector. And her primary tutor.” 

“One of six royal siblings?” Treylen asked the princess.

Chalys nodded, still not looking his way. It was funny, only in Romora’s presence was the girl cowed. Kinna set a plate before the captain. Purlo knew better than to eat before the nobility. He stared at the food like it was his compass in a storm. 

Romora tugged her sword and rammed it back into the sheath with a clack. “Six heirs, of which three survive. One lost in the fall of the border cities. It is a hard reality for which Her Highness must prepare. You understand my anger when I received these reports of gross misconduct, lax decorum, risk taking. ”

“Reports from whom?” Treylen glared at the pair of guards. There had been a constant rotation of Ketaresk soldiers stationed on board since they had arrived.

“That’s another concern,” said Romora. “I’ve received reports of dragons terrifying the populace. Assassins running the rooftops of the city. The librarian of the sacred archives claims Her Majesty, the Princess of Ketaresk, fell through a skylight during one of these exercises.” 

“She jumped,” Treylen said. “She hasn’t fallen… yet.”

“She had better not, Ambassador Corbel. The theatrics are as dangerous as they are unnecessary. I understand the necessity of martial training, but I don’t take Her Majesty to war.” 

“You’ve done well with her,” Treylen said. “I never would have agreed to help if she and Breg hadn’t impressed me.”

The young noble, Breg, went pale and made a strangled noise.

Treylen shoved a bit of meat in his mouth, chewing as he talked. “You can’t bond to dragons if you aren’t ready to fight.”

“So bring Her Majesty to the barracks and train her with the soldiers.” There was a growl of exasperation in Romora's tone, but beneath it, Treylen could hear the undercurrent of helplessness. The knight had no power here. The king had requested this favor of him, and that superseded any previous authority the princess’s guardian had. 

“That isn’t how it works,” Treylen sighed. How would Marziel have put it? He puffed himself up a little, trying to channel some of his old mentor’s wisdom. “The bond has to be built under difficulty. They have to struggle together.”

A thump and clatter arose from the bow, and a hatchling bounded down to the main deck. The other followed, snarling and nipping at its heels. They crashed into the benches and rolled between Treylen’s feet, play-fighting. The smaller broke away and was halfway up the mast when the larger caught it again. 

Romora made an irritated noise. “Have you tried discipline?” She snapped her fingers, and the color of the sailcloth overhead shifted to reveal a third dragon. This one was nearly an adult. It had a short, muscular neck and thick, rippling scales that settled into a golden hue when it dropped its camouflage. The dragon snatched the passing hatchlings gently in its teeth before jumping to the deck. It stood rigidly behind the knight, who grabbed the small ones by the tail. 

“Good morning, Draka,” Treylen said, tossing a flap of bacon to the new arrival. It bounced off the dragon’s chest and fell to the deck, untouched.

Romora huffed. “When my bondmate was their size, he was already drilling with the color guard. And keeping better step than the king’s oxen do.” The knight brushed a hand over her dragon’s flank, more a training technique than a gesture of affection.

“Well, they aren’t oxen,” Treylen said, meeting the dragon’s eyes. Draka was the Ketaresk word for dragon—no self-respecting bondmate would accept a name as plain as that. Despite her use of the term, he could sense no bonded intellect there. It would be a thousand years before this one could hope to think and communicate like a human. It was lucky in a way—its life was not tied to the life of a human, and it would outlive Rime and every other bonded dragon. The king of Ketaresk understood the difference, or he wouldn’t have asked for Treylen’s help.

The hatchlings didn’t yet have names. They would choose one for themselves when they bonded. Until then, Treylen didn’t bother trying to tell them apart from one another. They were equally irritating and destructive.

“The goal is to build the bond,” Treylen continued. “To do that, the princess and her dragon need to embrace each other’s nature. You can’t do that if you train it out of them.”

Sir Romora pursed her lips and frowned at her dragon. “His Majesty would have her bonded. I won’t stand in the way of the king’s wishes. But I think this experiment with Her Highness’s independence must end. From now on, wherever you go, however you train, you will do so under guard. I know the sorts of acrobatics you engage in. That is why I will be shadowing the princess myself, and my elite guard will accompany the rest of you.”

“I look forward to watching you try and keep up,” Treylen said, swallowing a laugh. “Are the rest of you going to eat? Apprentices only get one meal a day.”

“Eat.” The knight gestured for the others to join them.

Purlo took the cue and descended on his plate with ravenous aplomb. The three assassins-in-training stepped timidly forward, the princess sitting a respectful distance from Romora while Lem and Breg opted for the safety of Treylen’s side of the table. The guards would have been welcome to Kinna’s cooking, but they didn’t dare budge in front of their superior.

The knight watched them eat, eyeing the princess like she intended to smack the knife from her hands if she held it the wrong way. But the princess was unfazed. The girl was rarely bothered. It reminded him how Olysya, the old queen of Iverna, had comported herself in the dungeons of Ketch Isle. If this was the sort of daily scrutiny a princess of Ketaresk was accustomed to, how much crueler must the former queen of Iverna’s upbringing have been?

Romora made a satisfied sound and nodded. Then, picking up her own utensils, set about efficiently and precisely dispatching her breakfast.

When she’d finished, she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, folded it over, and tilted her head to indicate the guards behind her. “My people will be following you when I cannot. And for today, if her schedule allows, I’ll be taking Her Highness to the palace. She still has some official duties, you know.”

“So do I,” Treylen said, snagging the last of the bacon and tucking it into a pocket. If Rime didn’t eat it he would. He had briefly slimmed down while working as a sailor, but now that they were in port, Kinna’s cooking was constantly at war with his waistline. Treylen heard a quiet splash and glanced over the deck to see Beetle peering up from the water. “Okay then. The vizier is expecting me. You,” he turned to the princess, ignoring her guardian’s scowl at the informality, “will train again at sunset.”

“I’ll be ready,” Chalys said. She had taken to the life easily and seemed to dread going back to her daytime duties. Treylen worried nights simply would not be enough, but there was a little time left to remedy that. 

“You two,” he turned to Lem and Breg, “will train now. What do you say, a lap to the castle and back before you train with Losina?”

Treylen hadn’t asked precisely what Losina and the apprentices did when he was off doing his ambassadorial duties, but their frequent injuries and twitchy attitudes made him question whether her methods were doing more harm than good. Still, fear helped build the bond as well as anything else.

“The young lord is not my charge.” Romora waved them off.

 Lem and Breg were just as eager to get away from the oversight of Sir Romora as Treylen was. The moment she excused them, they leaped up and jogged for the gangway.

“Where are you going?” Treylen asked Lem. 

“To the castle.” Lem had that stormy look that overtook him when he couldn’t make sense of something.

“Not that way.” Treylen moved to the edge of the ship and climbed up onto the rail. Beetle was floating in the water below. “Sir Romora, I’ll leave you and the Captain to enjoy your breakfast.” Treylen bowed, then stepped off the rail, landing on Beetle’s back and crouching there while she snaked through the water.

Faint oohs and ahs sounded from the nearby docks. There was always a small crowd gathered hoping to catch sight of a dragon. The two boys were less pleased. Their small dragons hopped down the rail, plopping into the water and wriggling eagerly after Beetle. 

The trainees begrudgingly followed. Treylen grinned as one of the guards who’d been assigned to tail them shuffled to the rail of the Humble Guest, scowled at the water, removed his wallet as his commander offered some words of admonishment, then dove in. 

Treylen caught sight of Losina laughing through the porthole. Treylen wasn’t certain he could make these foreign children into truly bonded assassins, but it amused him to try. He wished Rime was there to see the guard splashing wildly to keep up with them. He reached out to his bondmate again through the dragonmind and felt him deep in concentration.

Rime, we have a new game for training tonight. Do you remember how we used to play keep-away?

Vaguely. Rime feigned disinterest, but Treylen could feel that old hum of animal excitement vibrating through the dragonmind. He’d be truly excited once he learned Romora and her dragon were the ones they would toying with.

FOUR

The Hero

The terraced cliffs that surrounded the small harbor made the gated inlet of the capital city feel like the stage of a grand amphitheater. Treylen could only imagine how these streets must have swarmed with commerce before the war.

The Humble Guest sat on the outer edge of a small cluster of vessels moored between the commercial district and the sea gate. Treylen and his companions were the prime spectacle for the citizens of Port Maphera. The piazza with the best view of the Humble Guest had become a permanent outpost for eager dragon watchers and anyone with a morbid curiosity for assassins.

They waved for attention as Treylen and Beetle passed. The two hatchlings wriggled through the water beside them, and his apprentices splashed to keep up.

“A little slower.” Treylen knelt on Beetle’s back, patting her flank. 

I would rather the hatchlings set the pace, Beetle replied. Catfish here are large enough to take both in one swallow.

“That would be a disaster for the trainees.” Treylen felt ill just thinking about it. The hatchlings weren’t old enough to have developed much personality yet, but he was fond of them.

And to your diplomatic mission. Beetle blew a stream of irritated bubbles. She was always too practical. Even more than Losina, who had been acting stranger since her near-death experience in the sewers of Ketch Isle. Treylen still hadn’t decided if the two of them were loyal to Queen Apogee or Queen Olysya, but he was glad for their council. 

“The king would probably ask me to steal more eggs.” He waved as they passed a balcony lined with onlookers on the wellborn end of the city.

Best to keep such thoughts to yourself lest the king gets ideas.

“If it would get Ketaresk back into the war, I suspect Apogee would give him all the eggs he wants.”

Spymaster Egin would say to never give coin when a crumb will do.

The walls of the keep extended out into the water, looming over the swimmers as they approached. The watergate was closed, but the old Iveran queens had sent their agents to infiltrate every mason’s guilt on the continent. Some spy from ages past had cleverly built a ladder of narrow handholds by offsetting every seventh brick on the edge of the facade.

“See you tonight.” Treylen left Beetle and scurried up, startling a guard on the walkway. The woman recovered quickly; by now the guards had grown accustomed to his antics. He waved a greeting, then sat and dangled his feet over the edge to watch the trainees struggle up the wall. 

Lem was the faster of the two with his sailor’s grip, but halfway up his fingertips lost purchase on the shallow handholds, and he splashed back into the harbor, growling as he started again. He was back on Breg’s heels by the time the young lord reached the top.

“You’re improving.” Treylen had to acknowledge their progress. A month ago, Breg wouldn’t have made it up at all, while Lem could have made the climb back then, but not the swim.

“Aren’t you forgetting something though?” They stared dumbfounded, still panting for breath. “Your dragons?” 

Together they peered over the edge. One of the hatchlings was dangling playfully from a seam in the masonry. The other was still swimming in circles around Beetle.

“You have to train together. To bond together.”

Before he’d finished, Breg had leaped from the wall, splashing back into the harbor to retrieve the dragons. Lem started after him.

“Wait!” Treylen caught Lem by the arm before he could jump. “Let him get them. He needs the practice.”

“But he’s my competition…” Lem was still seething at having been second to reach the top.

“Don’t forget they’re your friends. You should value those you came up with. If this is the life you want, you won’t have time for any other friends, or for family.”

“Don’t have family. Don’t need friends.” Lem stared into the distance. Treylen remembered how the boy had been treated when they sailed together. Sailors had no respect for cabin boys or their safety. And Lem was one of the lucky ones, fortunate enough to serve willingly under a captain who looked after him.

“Not every day you have the opportunity to make friends with nobility.” 

Lem started bitterly. “Don’t want friends. I want a bondmate.”

Treylen eased the pressure in the boy’s arm. “When you’re finished, go back to the ship. And don’t let the hatchlings swim alone. Beetle says they’ll get eaten.”

Lem’s eyes widened at that. He nodded fervently. Treylen released his arm, then left the trainees. With a running start, he jumped to the next wall, then the next, startling more guards and nearly getting run through. He was about to leap for the balcony where he’d enter for his meeting when an odd sound caught his ear.

“You hear that?” he asked the sentry nearest to him. 

The guard shook their head. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to be up here.”

“Hush.” He borrowed Rime’s hearing and listened again. There was someone calling for help. “What’s over there?” he pointed beyond the castle. 

“Parks, vineyards. Ambassador, you aren’t allowed to be up here.”

“Then don’t tell anyone I was.” Treylen stepped off the ledge and dropped down into the keep. He ran up a series of staircases that led to the ramparts of the castle, then along the top of the walls until he found a water channel that led around to the corner. He stepped in, hugging the stone as he tiptoed high above the ground, moving in the direction of the sound. When the water channel had taken all the way to the spout, he climbed over the edge, found a groove carved just beneath the waterspout, just wide enough for a few fingers to help him control his descent as he slid down the gutter.

An Iveran must have laid these stones, too. Treylen was beginning to understand why his allies were always so distrusting. The old queens had their hooks in everywhere. 

He landed on the lower rampart, standing over the royal gardens. Terraced vineyards lay beyond. A strange, sooty temple with a high smokestack stood in the center. Beyond that was a hill district. All noble houses were built in clusters of twos and threes with parks in between.

The day was warm, and the heat off the city was forming a nice updraft that would’ve made for easy flying if Rime was here. But the heat also meant sound wouldn’t carry. The cry for help couldn’t have come from much farther than those houses. 

 It would be a long jump over the castle yard to the manors. The cry for help came again. It was more of a whimper now, but his supernatural hearing homed in on it. 

Borrowing, he warned Rime, then seized as much of the dragonmind as he could. His vision sharpened, and he scanned the city. 

There it was—something at the edge of the parks. He’d need all of Rime’s strength to get there quickly.

His muscles twitched with such raw power they felt they might burst. Then he shot off into the air with a kick that shifted stone underfoot. Treylen soared like an arrow through the air. 

Down in the gardens a lady gasped. Children pointed and ran after him, shouting. Their voices held more awe than fear. It was strange not being feared. For a moment Treylen felt like he had in those dreams where he touched the dragonmind of the ancients: wind whipping his face, dragonmind filling his thoughts; he could almost sense that greater presence while he soared over the palace gardens.

He almost didn’t notice that he was going to miss the smokestack he’d been aiming for.

At the last moment he stuck one hand out and just barely caught it, groaning as the grit of the brick cut his fingertips and swung him round. The collision jerked his shoulder, then thumped the wind from his lungs.

Are you hurt, bondmate? It must have been bad if Rime felt it.

Just a rough landing.

Treylen sucked at a bleeding fingertip, spitting a piece of broken nail as he inspected the damage to his uniform. There’d be no avoiding laundry tonight. 

He clung to the side of smokestack and shimmied to the top. Worship was over for the day, and only a trickle of smoke drifted out.

One of the manor house workers knelt on the ground at the park’s edge. A man in livery was bending to help gather her scattered things. Not her things—a silk tunic, a child’s dress with buttons of gold, a shawl of blindingly white lace—they belonged to her employer. The two picked up the clothing, brushed it off and folded it. The man’s face was bleeding. The woman had tears in her eyes as she looked around for more items.

Nobody was badly harmed. But why the horrible screams? A robbery? This was a pair of servants who’d lost their employer’s laundry—it must have been something dear or valuable. From the way the woman was crying, it was clear that she would be paying for the loss out of her own pocket, if she kept her position at all. 

Treylen had listened to bards singing ballads of robberies. But he’d never seen one happen. Large thefts didn’t happen in Iverna where the queen’s eyes were everywhere. The fear was too great, punishment too swift. Iveran children’s rhymes told of whole villages slaughtered because a beggar had stolen a biscuit or a farmer forgot to return a borrowed mule. 

They weren’t just stories.

Treylen had been a part of one such massacre in Wetherdin. One of the queen’s servants had been murdered, and her assassins descended on the city in a wave of bloody retribution. 

Treylen shuddered. He couldn’t undo the past. But perhaps he could set things right for these poor folks. He scanned the city streets. High folk strolled the parks, merchants and working people walked amongst them on the high street which led to a second dockside market down by the watergate. Somewhere out there was his quarry. They couldn’t have gone far. 

There.

Bending over in an alley to dig through a bloodstained sack of expensive laundry was a filthy man with one bad eye and mismatched boots. 

Hunting? Rime must have sensed his emotions through the dragonmind. In return, Treylen felt the same tickle of anticipation that he often felt when Rime was stalking a mouse. 

Just a troublemaker. Want to help?

I’ll hear about it later. That was odd. Rime never turned down a hunt. I’m reading.

One more leap, Treylen warned, then drew in power as he bent his legs and sprang like a flea on fire. He heard the chimney crack, and hoped it was only the top brick that went tumbling as he flew off through the air once more.

It was a hard landing on the rooftop, but the slope took most of it. Treylen limped to the edge and found the thief staring up at him. There were three others with him. That explained how he’d gotten the better of the two working folk.

“What’s that you have there?” Treylen asked.

The man spat a string of Ketaresk curses. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying either. Just drop that sack and we’ll let this go, what do you say?” Treylen pointed at the bags.

The men looked at each other, then up at him and laughed. They didn’t know how he’d gotten onto the roof, but they didn’t seem to think he could get off all that quickly either. Stuffing the contents back inside, they cursed him again, then began walking up the alley. 

At least he’d tried to do it peacefully. 

Treylen dropped over the edge, and the robbers turned to watch him fall. Their laughter was cut short when he landed unharmed. He brushed himself off, strolling casually up the alley. 

Treylen saw a club emerge from under a coat—another held a blade hidden in his palm.

It would hardly be a fair fight. But what should he do with them?

If this were Iverna, under the old queen, the answer would’ve been simple. Death, swift and callous. 

He wondered how things were changing under Queen Apogee’s rule. Maybe it should have troubled him that his parents and sister were living through such tumult. But nothing could be worse than the terror of the old queen’s justice.

Treylen was half-lost in thought when the robbers made their move. It hardly mattered. If the lightning-quick attacks of Chalys had felt sluggish next to dragon speed, then fighting this lot was like ducking under the boughs of an unkempt orchard.

It felt almost leisurely as he moved to avoid their clumsy flailing.

The thief snarled and snatched at Treylen’s face when he gripped the sack and tore it away, but Treylen turned the man’s hand aside, snapping a couple of fingers for good measure.

It wouldn’t do for an ambassador to kill another kingdom’s subjects, but he’d give these crooks something to remember him by. 

Treylen heard the club whiff through the air behind him and ducked. The hidden blade never had a chance to leave the palm of the third one before Treylen caught the hand, squeezing until the man screamed and doubled over. A fourth came at him, larger than the rest, also carrying a blade. Treylen nearly struck before he got a good look at him. 

It was only a boy—a very large boy.

From the torn clothes and dirt-crusted fingers, this one had a hard enough time without having to nurse any broken digits. Treylen dodged the knife, reached up and caught the boy’s tangled hair and tugged. He kicked the back of a knee and the boy toppled onto his companion. He had the good sense to stay down. The others had to be cracked over the head once more before they settled. When the lot of them were on the cobblestones, Treylen gathered the loose items from the sack and packed them away before slinging it over his shoulder. 

A murmuring rose behind him, and Treylen turned to see. A small crowd had gathered at the entrance to the alley. One of the local boys took a brave step forward.

“Draka Mora…” The boy raised a clenched fist. “Draka Mora! Draka Mora!” Treylen knew the first word: dragon. 

These thieves must have been a well-known nuisance because the crowd soon took up the chant while the thugs dragged themselves in the other direction.

Treylen fought down his embarrassment. He waved them off, and they parted enough for him to get through. He jogged back toward the gardens, not looking back until the sounds of chanting had fallen away. The victims hadn’t gone far when he found them.

“Does this belong to you?” Treylen held the bag out, and the man rushed forward, falling to one knee when he saw the signet that Treylen wore. 

“Milord,” the woman bowed alongside her companion. “You honor us.”

“Just returning what isn’t mine. You speak Iveran?”

“I speak Libbat tongue, milord. We fled here when Midden fell.” That explained it; Libbat, Lomish, Iveran, Jaul—they all spoke the same. 

“Take it,” Treylen offered the bag again, “ I hope that nothing has been damaged.”

She accepted the bag reluctantly and with a little coaxing she untied it to look inside. “Yes milord, it is all here.”

The man nodded and agreed. The woman bowed again.

“Milord, my gratitude is beneath you. I do not know how to repay such a deed.”

“It’s nothing.” Treylen felt a crawling discomfort that he’d never experienced before. He was used to being respected, as all Iverans feared and respected assassins, especially the one who’d overthrown their queen.

 This new popularity didn’t feel all that different. Even the milord reminded him of when he had masqueraded as a minor lord from the Stone Kingdom. 

But this was his real self. The position of ambassador came with a title to match—he was a real lord now. His deeds were his own. He was not simply following orders. And he wasn’t sure that he cared for this feeling.

“I’m not that sort of uh… lord.”

“Please, milord, you have my deepest gratitude. Whatever you ask…” There was more bowing and scraping here than he felt necessary. Maybe she was just grateful. It had been a cruel robbery, and the tears were still in her eyes.

“You do laundry?” he asked suddenly, noticing the bloodstains on his white and blue tabard.

“I’m a seamstress.”

“Not laundry, then?”

“Milord, if you have washing, I’ll wash for you.”

“It isn’t beneath you to come down to the docks for dirty laundry?”

“Nothing is beneath my gratitude, milord.” She entered into another bow. The man beside her bent lower until his forehead touched the street.

“If it’s not too great an imposition, I have some assassin’s darks…” Treylen began.

“Dark clothes, delicates, I’ll soak the blood from your whites as well. I can also darn and patch for you.”

Treylen laughed, then looked at the man, tapping the stone with his head. “What say him, then?”

“You haven’t the need for a footman, have you?”

“Afraid not. If he stops groveling I’ll consider us even.”

She laughed at that and managed to coax the man out of his supplication. Only when Treylen agreed to accept his gratitude and devotion in exchange for some future favor would the man agree to stand up. 

They thanked him again and promised to come down to the Humble Guest that evening to collect his laundry. 

He managed to get away and back to the castle without drawing more attention. Climbing the facade again, he returned to the balcony and peered through the glass. The hall inside was empty. 

He was about to enter when another shout caught his ear. This one didn’t come from quite so far away.

At the far end of the castle was a whitewashed villa with a blue banner hung beside the door marking it as the Iveran Embassy. An elderly gentleman in a tight-fitting tunic that matched Treylen’s leaned over the rail of the garden terrace, one hand in the air. 

“I see you, Garian!” Treylen shouted over the harbor noise. The man yelled something in response and waved again. 

“Later!” Treylen shouted. “I’ve got an audience.” 

Treylen wasn’t certain what the former ambassador thought of the coup, or Apogee’s decision to replace him with an assassin. Garian was too good of a politician to let his true feelings ever show. But he’d never been shy with his criticism of Treylen’s methods. It had been days since Treylen had visited the embassy, so he was sure to get a lecture when he finally did. 

The old Iveran made another attempt to get his attention, but Treylen pretended not to hear. He finessed the lock on the balcony door, then slipped inside.

FIVE

The Host

The balcony doors opened into a mirror-lined hall above a double stair that overlooked a darkened ballroom, a lone servant sweeping the dance floor. He saw Treylen and gasped, tripping over his broom before sprinting out through the antechamber. 

Are you coming, Rime? Treylen straightened his shirt and strolled through the dim chamber. 

Shortly, was all the answer he got.

You’ll miss the meeting. There was no further response, but he sensed a distinct sharpening of focus. All that practice reading diplomatic correspondence had awakened something in Rime. It was a keenness bordering on human intellect, but he wasn’t sure he trusted it the same way. 

Treylen paused to inspect the construction of the room. The old stone of the castle had been covered over with a wood facade and panels painted with scenes from Ketaresk lore. A dragon coiled around a forge in one image. A great wave crashed over a city in another. On the night of a ball, braziers of the purest oil would cast this room in a glow whiter than day, and the chandeliers would scatter rainbows as brilliant as anything he’d seen in the audience hall at Queenseat. 

Right now, it was dull and gray. 

The footsteps of the servant came echoing from the entrance, then he burst in, skidded to a halt and leveled a finger at Treylen. Behind him, two guards flanked an older woman.

Vizier Alicca Staryno, Speaker for the King, looked like a treasured antique in her gold-edged robes and ivory sandals. She was bright-eyed, broad-nosed, silver-haired, and bent half-over with age. 

 Recognizing Treylen, she put a thick-fingered hand on the nearest guard’s shoulder, using him to stand a little taller. She spoke a command in Ketaresk. The guards sheathed their blades, and the servant reluctantly lowered his eyes to the floor. He edged past Treylen and returned to work.

“You summoned me?” Treylen asked. 

“My dear Ambassador, we have protocols for this reason.” The guards had begun to encircle Treylen and Vizier Staryno, but she flicked her fingers, and they retreated a respectful distance. Leaning heavily on a jeweled cane, she tilted toward him. 

 Treylen bowed. “Vizier, you asked me to probe the castle for vulnerabilities.”

“I didn’t ask for you to exploit them. Your signet will grant you whatever access you need.” The vizier put a hand on Treylen’s, inspecting the ring he had taken from his predecessor. “Come with me.” She threaded her arm through his and led him deeper into the castle. The guards followed. 

“Sir Romora and her people are of the opinion that your training methods are a provocation aimed at humiliation of the princess. I hope that I speak truth when I assure his majesty that your methods are in earnest.” 

“I wouldn’t make a liar of you, Vizier. I promise everything we do is part of the bonding process,” Treylen said, taking her cane as she shifted her weight onto him. She was a small thing now, but her large hands and broad shoulders would have rivaled Romora’s in her day.

They entered the administrative wing of the palace, already buzzing with petitioners queueing outside the offices. The simple bureaucracy reminded Treylen more of a city hall than the receiving area of a palace. 

In Iverna, there was no such place. Any petition, no matter how small, would go through the royal chamber. Minor requests might be settled by the queen’s representatives in the chamber’s outer circles. Anyone unfortunate enough to require the queen’s direct attention would brave the inner circles where assassins’ blades fell at the slightest offense. The wanton killings had ended when Queen Apogee took the throne, but she still held court in the vast throne room. The dome had been shattered during the coup, so the new queen’s court was open to the elements.

Staryno waved her arms until the line blocking her door parted. An attendant pulled it open, and she led Treylen inside. 

It was a modest chamber for the king’s right hand. Plain shelves piled with ledgers touched the low ceiling, and the morning light streaming in a harbor window warmed a thick-tasseled rug. The same attendant rolled a cart in from the corner, uncovering a pot of steaming water, and began spooning dried oddities from an array of jars into the pot.

“Tea?” Staryno leaned her staff against her desk and allowed Treylen to help her into a chair beside it. “Sit.” The attendant poured her tea then Treylen’s. “Not too full. He’ll only pretend to drink it.”

“Do you know me that well?” Treylen accepted the cup and sniffed it, grinning.

“I know Iverans. Not intimately, but as well as anyone can hope to. I am often surprised, still.” Her eyebrows shot up when a shriek sounded from the hall, followed by the sounds of a scuffle and petitioners fleeing.

The door burst open and Rime’s head pushed through. A guard clung to the door frame, blocking the dragon from entering. Three others flanked him. A pendant around the dragon’s neck bearing the same symbol as Treylen’s signet ring was the only thing keeping their swords at bay.

“The dragon may enter,” said the vizier, and the guards stepped aside. Rime pulled his wings in to squeeze through the door and stopped to lower his head in a formal bow before settling on the floor between their chairs.

Staryno reached into a drawer of her desk. She held out her hand for Rime. He snatched the treat from her palm and swallowed it.

“I also know dragons,” she winked. It did little to settle Treylen’s anxiety that he hadn’t been summoned here for good news.

At least smell it before you swallow it, he thought as he rubbed the ridge of Rime’s head.

You aren’t half as relaxed as you pretend to be, Rime mused.

The number of people that would like to poison us didn’t go down when we took this job, Treylen replied.

Rime huffed and settled on the carpet.

“You’re troubled,” Staryno said, sipping her tea. “More than you let on. I know the look, and you’ve had it since we entered my office. Are you unwell?”

It seemed everyone was reading Treylen’s thoughts today. The kind way she had said it made him chuckle. “No, do I look unwell?”

“You look… trapped. Tell me, do you loathe the indoors, Ambassador? Is that why you live on the water instead of the quarters we generously provide to you?”

“I couldn’t move into the embassy. Where would Garian stay?”

“I had assumed the former ambassador would return to Iverna when his tenure ended.”

“I doubt it,” Treylen said. “We can barely get a pigeon through. What hope does the old man have of going home?”

“Sadly, you speak the truth. At our age, the journey alone would be perilous. But Lord Garian has been ambassador longer than I have been vizier. Surely he has friends within the city who would give him lodging.”

“I’m happy on the ship, for now,” Treylen said. “And I do draw on his experience.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Treylen did prefer living on the water. And he had sometimes relied on the old ambassador’s wisdom. But the truth was Treylen had taken one look at the state of the ambassador’s residence and decided it would be easier to let the old bachelor stay put than to try and clear out the lifetime of clutter he’d collected there.

The vizier slurped her tea. “Then why did you not seem happy to see me today?”

“I had hoped for another audience with the king.”

“You? The king?” The woman snorted and spat a little tea before covering her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Isn’t it my job to meet with him?” Treylen thought he’d made a good impression with the man. Good enough he’d been entrusted to train his daughter.

Staryno smirked benevolently and patted him on the arm. “There are those in this palace who’ve served all their lives and not met the king. You should count yourself fortunate—especially for an assassin—to have been granted such trust.”

“I’m retired—sort of.”

“You seem quite active to me. I can watch you from my chambers, you know, down in the harbor.”

“The whole city watches us,” Treylen said. “I’m not here as a killer. I’m here to build trust. Our two kingdoms have to remain close. That takes work and communication.” Treylen was repeating something Garian had said. 

“The king is a busy man. You know, there are nobles who would gouge their eyes for a chance at tea with me. I speak for his majesty on matters of state. Now, something is boiling in that brain of yours—out with it. If you have something to say to the king, say it to me, and I’ll decide if it merits his attention.”

“It’s about the war.” Treylen’s grip on his cup tightened. He brought it to his lips and forced himself to take a drink.

Garian often emphasized how important it was to show trust. These gestures of vulnerability might not mean much to someone who didn’t understand assassins, but the vizier saw it. Her expression softened, and she waited for him to speak again.

He started slowly. “Iverna needs to know that our allies are going to shoulder their share of the labor.”

“I remember when you made your first appeal. And you remember our terms.” She paused, watching Treylen take another drink. “Unless something has changed. You’ve news from the front?”

“No news.” He couldn’t let the vizier see how desperate he was. Queen Apogee had made it very clear that any sign of weakness now would be fatal. This was an alliance built on strength and mutual necessity. It had almost collapsed after the coup. To preserve it, Treylen had to assure his allies that Iverna’s new leadership was strong enough to carry their weight in the war.

He called over the servant with the cart and stirred another spoonful of sugar into his tea. 

“When you’ve done what was promised we can speak further. Give my king his first dragon bond, and you will have earned his favor. Give Ketaresk a real weapon, and we’ll be more eager to march back into war.”

“We’re a long way from bonding,” he said hastily, “but the candidates are making good progress.” 

“Then there isn’t any more to talk about, is there?” Her lips pressed into a tight line, but that sternness faded almost as quickly as it had come. She pulled another treat from the desk and fed it to Rime. “I’m sorry, Ambassador. I didn’t ask you here simply to disappoint you.”

“Are you sure?” Treylen smiled. It was hard to be cross with the woman. 

“No, in fact, I asked you here to thank you… and to request a small favor.”

SIX

The Forgery

“You’re wound like a serpent’s supper,” said the vizier. “Traditionally, loosewort tea is for relaxation.”

“It’s difficult to relax when my homeland is facing the combined might of the Jaul armies. I’ve read the reports of recent skirmishes you call battles. But you know they aren’t,” he said, feeling bold. Perhaps it was the loosewort. “Those who have been watching know our enemy is not on a war footing. Emperor Jaul has fought his battles, now he is resting on his winnings and turning to economic matters, consolidating his gains. Now should be the time for us to counterattack and press him. But your king also chooses to rest. Why?” 

Treylen was speaking above his own expertise; most of these points were things he had been instructed to say by the letters that Apogee sent with him when he was given the posting.

Staryno had heard them before. The vizier swirled the last of her tea, staring intently at the bottom of the cup as it settled. “The leaves would have us table the matter.”

Rime widened his eyes, curious. Lifting his head, he leaned over her.

“Do you see it?” She tilted the mug toward him. 

I see a stag sleeping in a meadow, Rime said. Treylen repeated it aloud.

“Fascinating.” She turned the cup, looking at it anew. 

“What’s this request you had for me?”

“Right,” she drained the tea. “Ambassador, I should tell you, the king is quite pleased with your efforts to shore up weaknesses in our fortifications.”

“You still have a long way to go,” Treylen said, eyeing the wide, unbarred window behind her. This was Treylen’s area of expertise, and he spoke with confidence. “You saw how easily I got in. Now imagine a team on dragonback. I’ve told you Jaul has eggs. It’s only a matter of time before they have riders of their own. They may even be further along than you are.” 

“We’re taking a methodical approach. Starting with the subbasements, which is what I brought you here to discuss.”

“But I didn’t find anything in the subbasements.” Treylen wasn’t quite lying. He hadn’t bothered to look too closely down there yet. Why reveal all of the city’s weaknesses when a smaller portion would earn just as much favor?

“Oh, but you forget. Here.” The vizier rose stiffly. Moving to her desk, she shuffled through a stack of parchment. She retrieved one ink-stained sheet and brought it to him before easing back into her chair. It was his handwriting. A far more extensive list of architectural crimes perpetrated by Iveran spies over the years and methods to remedy them. It read:

• Passage likely in subbasement. Seek out unnatural walls and uneven seepage.

• Kill-stone on the northwest turret. Replace keystone with a precarious crack. Use caution.

• False grate southwest sewer. Replace with solid iron.

• Hidden hinge in the sea gate linkage. Old device. May have rusted shut on its own.

Two underwater passageways along the sea wall with outlets in the palace latrine. Backfill with earth and stone.

• Hiding hole halfway up the central air shaft. Empty this of supplies and backfill before bricking over.

It went on to list other minor vulnerabilities. 

Rime was resting his head beneath Treylen’s chair, and he tapped it with the heel of his boot.

What is this? Are you copying my handwriting?

Rime twitched and rolled his head over. I told you I was researching.

Treylen could feel the vizier watching him as he pretended to read over the list a second time. You said you were in the library.

I was. And one of the histories said the cellars were expanded during King Ennard the Second’s reign. But do you remember we looked down there a few months ago? The masonry was an older style. Why would they use an older style? To hide a Ferrick door.

Another irritating side effect of Rime learning to read was that his thoughts had grown more complicated. They didn’t take much longer to communicate through dragonmind, but they crowded Treylen’s head in a way that made it hard to focus. I haven’t talked with you about masonry styles since you were a hatchling.

Are you cross with me because dragons have better memories than humans? Rime asked.

Treylen struggled to keep his face passive. No point in letting Staryno see their disagreement. No, I’m cross with you for forging my signature. And for sharing more secrets than we needed to. What’s your game here?

You don’t want the castle to be more secure? Rime asked.

“Ahem.” The vizier cleared her throat. She had an amused look on her face.

“I was just thinking…” Treylen began, “these are just suspicions that I had. I can’t be certain that you will find what it says you’ll find.” He put a finger on the list and pretended to go over it line by line as he scolded Rime again. You’re acting awfully clever for someone who just learned to read.

The dragonmind is helping me, Rime said cryptically. He seemed to hesitate before going on. I’m finding I can borrow a little knowledge from you, bondmate. Lately it feels as if the dragonmind works both ways.

Treylen had never heard of that before. But he was always discovering new aspects of the dragonmind. That troubles me more than it should. 

Yes, Rime said, I can sense that, too. 

“You needn’t worry. Your speculation has proven sound,” Staryno said.

“Oh yes? You’ve found these weaknesses and fixed them?”

“Much to the chagrin of the mason’s guild.” She chuckled. “Most of the problems have already been fixed. It is only this one that remains. That which I brought you here to discuss.” She pointed to the first item on the list. “There was indeed a door in the subbasement. But the tunnel didn’t lead to the city or the sea. It went down!”

“What do you mean, down?” Treylen leaned forward in his chair. Rime tilted his head, one eye watching intently.

“I mean that there was something down there.”

“How far does it go?” 

“I wish I could tell you.” She held out her cup, and the attendant took it. “But the team we sent to investigate never returned.”

“They disappeared?

“Oh, they were found… in pieces.”

So this was the favor she had brought him here to ask. She wanted his daggers.

“And you want me to look into it.” Treylen absentmindedly fondled the handles of the daggers before remembering he wasn’t supposed to carry weapons here. He draped his stole over them, hoping she hadn’t noticed. 

“Send the Iveran ambassador into a hole in the ground? Of course not. I only need you to tell the workers what’s down there. That’s why I called for you. Tell us what this creature is so we can root it out without losing any more laborers.”

“I have no idea.” Rime was sniffing at the air like a dog. Treylen put a hand on his head and pushed it down.

“Your queens’ spies didn’t put something down there in ages past? Perhaps something small, now grown to terrible proportions?”

“They may have, but I wasn’t privy to it.” Treylen saw Rime was breathing eagerly, tongue flicking like that of a snake with an appetite. “Vizier, with your permission, Rime and I would like to go take a look.”

“Oh, I don’t think it would be appropriate, do you?” He couldn’t tell if her surprise at the offer was genuine or if she’d expected it. “In your position, certainly not.”

“I suppose not.” He thought a moment, locking eyes with Rime. He could feel the dragon’s curiosity pulsing through the bond. “But the king did say that I must do whatever is necessary to forge the bond between trainees and their dragons.”

The vizier nodded. ‘“The princess cannot be anything less than exceptional in times such as these.” She sighed, then leaned toward the window, watching the harbor. “The king does not hand over his daughter lightly—you understand the dire implications of such an act.”

“She seems to think he considers her expendable. Of course, I would never say that myself.”

The vizier winced as if the thought pained her. “No heir is expendable in times like these. And yet…” She was quiet for a long while. Treylen, always comfortable in silence, watched and waited. “What a lull. You must learn to keep the conversation spinning if you’re going to play in higher circles, Ambassador.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. Treylen shook off his stillness, pulling Rime’s head into his lap, and scratched his dragon’s cheek. “It’s the training.” 

“I see.”

“You were saying, Vizier, about heirs?” 

Staryno sighed, perhaps disappointed he hadn’t taken whatever lesson she was trying to teach him about tact and the flow of conversations. But she continued. “Heirs, priceless as they may be in such dark times, cannot afford to be anything but exceptional. Pentearth is closing in around us. Allies falling to coup and chaos.” She held his eyes as she said the last part. “It’s not enough to simply play the role in which chance has cast them. They must aspire to the roles of heroes of old. My king has demanded no less from each of his children. His sons have bled on the warfront. The heir apparent must distinguish himself among warriors, or fall trying. I had hoped to spare the princess the blunt end of it, but…”

“She has speed,” Treylen said. “And other talents that make her an ideal candidate. It would be a waste not to train her.”

“You put it plainly.” 

 “But… she struggles to make the emotional connection the dragonmind requires. I can’t force a bond without a bit of real danger. Not these games we play in the streets.” Rime was up and pacing now. “Vizier, if there’s something dangerous in your cellars, I’m afraid my trainees must hunt it for you. Unless the king is satisfied with his daughter as she is.”

It was a cruel thing to imply the girl wasn’t good enough for her father. But that perception seemed to be what drove her to work as hard as she did. Her father seemed to agree. And while the vizier was more kind than the man she served, she was bound to obey him.

“If that is the case, then I can hardly restrain you.” She sighed again, frowning for the first time since they’d entered the office. “You must do what you must do. But Sir Romora is not going to like this plan.”

“I know,” Treylen laughed inwardly. That was his favorite part of it.

SEVEN

The Salon

“The princess. Where can I find her today?”

“You’re intent on going to the cellars immediately?” Staryno rested her head on her hands. “The princess has a salon once a week, reserved for the wives and daughters of visiting dignitaries. Of course we don’t get dignitaries anymore, but local politics continue.”

“No salon for the men?” Treylen joked, but Staryno didn’t appear to see the humor in it.

“I think you’ll find the duties of men and women in Ketaresk are more rigidly defined than those to which you are accustomed. It’s something of a scandal that the princess had been allowed to train with you. If her father had not already gone against tradition by allowing her to study under Sir Romora, it might have been too much for the people to bear. Women simply don’t engage in certain business. They certainly don’t do warfare and politics.”

She chuckled, so Treylen felt it was okay to laugh at his confusion. “I have noticed, but I can’t say I understand it fully. It all feels different to what I’m used to. But you and Sir Romora are women… aren’t you? Doesn’t that go against this rule?”

“Sir Romora and I are from Turindyl. You know Turindyl? They call it the fortress under the fields. The dwarves who left it also left many gifts to us—there is old dwarven blood in Turindyl. How can I say it so you might understand? You… would not find a Port Maphera woman serving in my position, but I am not a Port Maphera woman… and so certain rules do not apply. It would make more sense if you lived here. It is all somewhat backward, isn’t it? Don’t trouble yourself trying to understand.”

Treylen wrung his hands, thinking it over. Perhaps he didn’t understand, but he did know what it was to be free from the traditions that burdened others. “I suppose coming from Turindyl has its own separate challenges.”

“Maybe you have the lay of it after all.” She let her nose hang over the edge of the teacup where the last of the steam curled up around it. “I must confess, it was all a bit strange to me when I first came down from the provinces, but you will see that for the sake of politics, at least, the division serves our purpose. While the king and his advisors are having heavy talks up in the palace, the women do the real work of smoothing things out behind the scenes. But don’t take my word, there’s a gazebo in the lower gardens off the old wing. You’ll find the salon there. Don’t expect a warm welcome.”

“No?” Treylen tried to imagine Chalys in something other than her darks. “I think Her Highness will be glad to go.”

“She may be, but you will step on many toes. Go on now, you have my leave.” She settled deeper into her seat, eyes drooping. “I would see you out, but I’m quite comfortable.”

“A pleasure, as always, Vizier.” Treylen took the hand offered and bowed his head.

“A curiosity, as always, Ambassador. Take care, and please, have patience with the process.”

Treylen nudged Rime awake, and the dragon bade goodbye to Staryno, earning another snack from the drawer of her desk. Then, out the door and down the hall, the frightened petitioners moved aside more quickly with Rime leading the way. A few short turns and they’d reached the gardens below the older wing of the castle. 

In Treylen’s opinion, these were the better gardens: a series of gated yards, each leading into the next like a labyrinth of flowered passages. Though small and lacking in sunlight, they were the most mature of the castle gardens and used climbing flowers and manicured shrubbery to create an illusion of hidden depth and structure. 

A trio of shieldbearers guarded the entrance, but Treylen hacked away at the plants before they noticed him. Something the vizier had said made him curious just what sorts of conversations happened in a salon. Instead of the gate, he scaled a wall and dropped down behind a topiary in the shape of a fish. More ocean shapes—sailboats and serpents—filled the yard, creating a screen of obstacles to hide behind as he crept forward. Rime dropped from the wall behind him, color shifting to match the green of the foliage as he folded his wings in and bunched his tail as he waddled closer. Rime moved, then froze, looking every bit like a well-trimmed topiary.

The gentle music of laughter drifted through the garden along with the chimes of cups on saucers and soft voices. They spoke an elevated dialect of the Ketaresk language, not the muddied talk of dockworkers, but something more inland and isolated. To his disappointment, Treylen could barely make out a word of it, but he recognized the same rigid formality that was used in the higher circles of Iverna.

Here and there, he caught a few words that he recognized. There were five women seated for tea, but only Chalys and her guest were speaking. The guest’s husband was some noble from the northern territories. It seemed that he’d come to petition the king about commerce. Something about border trade, which made little sense because the war was on the border. The only exchange that should have been taking place was of spear tips and arrowheads.

It wasn’t entirely clear whether the woman’s husband had come to ask for protection from these foreigners crossing the border or permission to trade with them.

The ladies seemed to change the topic often, as if avoiding the subject, while at the same time, they hovered around it, like ravens pretending not to notice a scrap of meat before the butcher’s back was turned. 

The guest spoke of her husband’s love for hunting and how the traders crossing the border often trampled the hunting ground. The princess told a story of her father’s youthful exploits, when game was more plentiful. Neither seemed all that interested in hunting; the Ketaresk women always turned their conversation back to the tea and a game of stones laid out on the table. 

Treylen watched to see who would win the game, but the ladies seemed more intent on making the exchange last than going in for a decisive victory. 

It feels rude to be watching, Rime said.

I was just thinking the same thing. Treylen stood and stepped out from behind the topiary. One of the guests let out a yelp and Chalys spun in her chair, hand going to her weapon. The dagger was hidden beneath the layers of silk and lace that puffed the lower half of her dress up like a storm cloud. The skirt swallowed the small chair she sat on and hung about the table legs. Her upper half was held tight by a half-corset and banded with braided ribbons of silver and gold.

He faltered a moment. 

It was the first time he’d seen the girl in something other than darks since the day that he’d agreed to train her. And that expression… her father had presence, but there was something in her eyes that reminded Treylen of his old queen—not the weakened Olysya who now lived in hiding with Aaron on the island across the sea, but Olysya when she had sat on the throne of obsidian. Queen Olysya Rewenis Ivera, daughter of Olumus Rewenis, son of Olysya Nevelyn, Daughter of the line of Ivera, whose eyes saw every secret, whose ears heard every name, whose hand touched every land. Perhaps there was some age-old family connection to the Iveran line. 

Old monarchies were all related, weren’t they?

Treylen shivered and took another step forward. The woman beside Chalys stood, and searched for a guard to call. Chalys put a hand over hers.

“Please,” she turned to the table and spoke something reassuring before beckoning Treylen. It wasn’t until he stepped forward that he realized he’d been waiting for her permission.

“Your Highness,” he bowed, not wanting to spoil the mood further.

Treylen half expected Sir Romora to appear, but she must have taken the day to rest for that evening. When he approached the table, he had another shock. The chair between the princess and her guest held a long cushion. Perched atop it like a couple of pampered house dogs, sat the hatchlings.

Bright green bows adorned the dragon’s tails. One wore a small vest that looked as if it had been custom tailored, and the other kept a small silk hat balanced atop its head.

What are they doing here?”

“I’ve been training them. Last night, you said I should take more interest in them. It should please you to see that I have been after all. Do you see how well-behaved they are?” 

Treylen stifled a laugh. So much for the timidity she’d shown that morning. Her confidence was back. “Dragons understand a bribe.” 

Both of the hatchlings’ focus was fixed on the plate of cured and candied meats set just out of reach. Drool hung from their jowls as they fought the urge to leap onto the table. The fact they hadn’t done so was impressive.

“I see what you’re doing, and I’m impressed that you’ve worked the hatchlings into your castle duties. But don’t train hatchlings like that.”

“Draka is trained.”

“Sir Romora has Draka trained like a dog. We can’t touch the dragonmind through a dog.”

“I don’t see the difference. Draka is intelligent.” She offered another candied meat to the hatchlings, and they snatched it up, tearing and squabbling over the larger half. On cue, Rime dropped his camouflage and hopped forward to beg for a scrap of his own. The princess happily obliged.

You aren’t helping, Rime. Treylen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know they can be intelligent. In the Dragon Lands north of Iverna, there’s a clan called the Fire Den. They live simply, in the mountains. They tame the feral dragons and ride them, and those dragons are intelligent. But they aren’t bonded. Do you know why?”

She frowned, not wanting to have this discussion in front of her guests because she couldn’t be brash like she was in the evenings. She had an obligation to listen demurely and give earnest answers. “I suppose because they must tame the dragons to train them. You don’t tame your dragons at all, do you?”

“There, you understand.” He pulled himself up straight like a lecturing tutor. “To ride a feral dragon, it must be tamed and broken before it will take a saddle. The Fire Den is proof that it can be done. Your father can have his dragon riders without my help, but they’ll never touch the dragonmind. To touch the dragonmind, you mustn’t break the dragon, you mustn’t train them. It’s the job of the trainee to descend into the mind of the animal, not the other way around. I had to run, to hunt with Rime. It was only after I learned to share my thoughts with him he chose to behave himself the way he does… some of the time.”

“I see. So…” she looked around at the table setting, the bows on the dragon’s tails, the little vest and the tiny hat. “Then this may be a counterproductive exercise.”

“It may.” Treylen smiled and there was a glimmer of something in her eyes. Understanding? Relief? 

“I, uh, I hope I haven’t done any permanent damage then.”

“I doubt it,” he said, smiling at the dragons’ barely restrained appetites and the way they twitched and salivated at the edge of the table. “You do well to include them, but a larger part of bonding is training yourself to behave more like a dragon does, not the other way around. I may just have a solution for that anyway. How about we go on a real hunt?”

Treylen quickly explained the situation in the basement.

“Why didn’t you say so to begin with? Get me out of here.” The princess hopped up, forgetting her guests as she hitched her skirts and pinned her hair back. 

She said a quick goodbye, making a final move on the game of stones before leaving the table. They hopped the wall rather than pass the guards. Rime and the hatchlings followed.

Treylen halted before they were back inside the castle.

“Hold fast a moment. You two,” he snatched the hat from one hatchling and peeled the vest off the other. They escaped before he could get the bows untied from their tails, hiding behind Chalys. 

So, they looked to her for protection. That was promising. 

“Chalys, what was all that chatter about the border and such? It sounded important, but I couldn’t make out the meaning of it.”

“Oh, you heard that?” She blushed and something conspiratorial flashing in her eyes as she leaned closer. “That’s because they weren’t saying it out loud. The truth is the people up north are unhappy regular trade hasn’t resumed now that the fighting is paused.”

“There was trade before.”

“Not since Midden fell to the enemy. But the people who live on the borderlands are no more loyal to one kingdom than the other, and there is some concern those who stray into Midden and return safely and well-fed will bring stories of how much better life is for people conquered by the Jaul. The longer this blockade lasts, the more we yearn for the riches of the world that was shut off from us. 

“Iverna was shut away much longer,” Treylen said. “We never complained.” 

“Don’t you cut your people’s tongues out?”

“Not anymore,” Treylen said. Unless Apogee had brought it back. 

“It’s easier to lose something when you never really had it.”

Where have I heard that before? There was more wisdom in this girl than he’d given her credit for. Perhaps he was approaching things all wrong with Chalys. She could never see things as his normal trainees did because she would never know a normal life. But she was already exceptional… and insightful in a way he hadn’t been at her age.

“So what does her husband want, and what did you tell her to do about it?”

“Her husband wants the king’s authority to punish these people who’re trampling his hunting lands. Or else to open the roads to trade caravans, since the army has been recalled and his family has ties with the landed nobility on the other side of the warfront. He doesn’t understand the first thing of how precarious our situation is.”

“And you got all this over tea?” 

“Indirectly.” She winked, the same cocky brat from the barstool last night.

“You’ll do well when we start training spycraft,” he said, “interrogation, codespeak.” 

“I know I will. Anyhow, I told his wife he should make an example of the trespassers. We can’t have rumors of Jaul wealth spreading. My father already struggles to hold onto the people’s favor.”

“And you said Iverans were cruel…”

“Did I?” There was something unsettling in the giggle that came out. “Come on, we should move before my shadow comes looking for me.” She hurried into the castle with the dragons. Treylen rubbed at his nose again, thinking over the conversation. There was something unsettling about this place in general. It wasn’t just the crowds of admirers Treylen seemed to be amassing, or the princess, or her father, or the kind, old, deceptively sweet Vizier. 

Maybe Beetle or Losina could help to put a finger on it for him. Or at least they could help to better understand his students. They were a difficult batch, dragons included.

EIGHT

The Has-been

It was invigorating to have a mission again, even if it was a mission of his own devising.

It would be just what the trainees needed. In the old days, Treylen had relied on the monks to guide his trainees and bondmates together. Rime said those meditations were garbage and daydreamed through half of them. But he’d probably been too young to remember.

Either way, that wouldn’t work here. 

They had their own gods in the city, so meditating on the deposed Iveran queen was futile.

If Treylen couldn’t find his own way to force the bond, then his first attempt at diplomatic bargaining had already failed. And if Volanti’s dream warnings were correct, he didn’t have time to wait around for another audience with the king.

The sooner they started this mission the better.

Treylen sent Chalys and Rime to help the others prepare. But Treylen had one stop to make before he could join them.

A courtyard at the end of the hall bore a service door that led into a walled garden with a staircase at one end. The staircase narrowed as it squeezed between the castle bailey and the king’s library before plunging downward into a breezy tunnel that smelled of the harbor. A bright arch at the end opened onto a flowered terrace where a small white stone building draped with blue banners clung to the edge of the barbican, pressing up against the side of the castle like a nursing foal.

A balcony off the back boasted even more flowers and climbing vines. A servant on the balcony was preparing another tea, and when they saw him enter, they waved him over, then ran inside to answer the door.

“Ambassador.”

The door swung open into a short hallway that came out at the back of a reception area dominated by a massive ledger laid out on a hardwood counter. 

On the right, Treylen’s office sat mostly empty. 

“Hello, my boy.” The former ambassador was a thin, old man with a reedy voice and no more than a dozen wispy hairs still clinging to the top of his sun-spotted head. He had the pointed ears of a true Iveran. Human, but with a drop of elven blood in their lineage. Treylen and Losina’s had once been pointed, before they were cropped to better hide amongst the enemy. The Ketaresk sun had been unkind to old Garian, but he reveled in it. Even now the top of his robes hung open to show a sunburnt chest and shoulders. 

“You called me?”

“You haven’t been at your desk in… well, who’s to say how long?” He looked at the small room on the side of the hall. Treylen stared into his office for a moment. A layer of dust had formed over the top of the desk and a spider was making its home on the shelves. A short column just inside the door held a stack of papers that had been steadily growing since his last visit.

“It doesn’t suit me, Garian. Look at this.” Treylen brushed at a spot on his uniform, which turned out to be a glob of half-dried blood from his confrontation in the alley that morning. It left a long, ruddy smear beneath his palm.

“That, I understand. You know, I, too, once trained at the abbeys before my health took a turn, and I was permitted to enter into the foreign service. There were scores of us in my day—can you imagine a world where Iverna still had allies?”

“We have Ketaresk.”

“Do we, my boy?”

It was a long, excoriating look, but Treylen didn’t budge. Apogee had been clear in her orders when she’d assigned Treylen to this position. The old ambassador was out. He had held the same position for as long as Treylen had been alive. He had deep family connections to the royal line. As far as Apogee was concerned, Garian was not to be trusted.

Treylen wasn’t so sure. If anything, Garian’s long tenure had simply weakened his convictions. He was loyal to the Ketaresk heat, to shuffling about his apartments in fair weather and sunbathing on the patio. 

“Has anything happened in the office that I should know about?”

“Missus Rimkin says you’ve been spending.”

Rimkin was a holdover from the old administration, a sweet, soft-spoken half-Iveran woman whom Treylen rarely saw but strongly suspected of being a queen’s accountant—deadly interrogators who kept tabs on the kingdom’s scattered assassins. He’d yet to work up the courage to confront her about it, but sooner or later Iverna would have to begin the difficult work of seeking out assassins who had been abandoned in the field when the coup happened. Garian claimed that any working in Ketaresk had been recalled to help with the war effort. But a queen’s accountant would know best. 

“She’s right, I have been spending. It isn’t cheap to outfit apprentices,” Treylen said. “Have you any other business that I should be aware of?”

Garian scratched at his head. The solitary white hairs drifted one way then the other, like the whiskers of a windfey. “Nothing our secretaries wouldn’t have apprised you of already. Tea?”

“I just had some.”

Light from the terrace that overlooked the harbor filtered in through a living chamber cramped with old furniture and trinkets. Rime would’ve loved living in that hoard of junk. Treylen felt a pang of regret at the decision not to take the rooms for himself. 

He’d left it because the old man’s guidance was more valuable than his lodgings. Recently, however, the more familiar Treylen had become with the tangled paths of politics, the more Garian had begun to feel less like a guiding lodestone and more like a stone in Treylen’s boot.

“A game of stones then? We never finished last time.” 

“I’m busy today. We’ll have to get right to business. Or was it just the tea?”

“No, I called you for good reason. Here, where was it?”

Garian shuffled into his apartments and spent some time moving things around. A haze of dust drifted out, swirling on the wind from the patio. “Oh, yes. The king will be hosting a ball at the castle toward the end of the month, so you must keep at least one set of these free from bloodstains.”

He tottered back and shoved a bundle of fabric into Treylen’s arms. There were two new uniforms, better tailored than the hastily-made ones he’d been wearing, and a pile of purple fabric sitting on top.

“What is this?” He held up the purple garment.

“It’s a stole. Three, in fact.”

“It’s the wrong color.”

“You have to stay current, Treylen. The gossip out of Iverna is that our new queen has trashed the old banners and hung new standards from every parapet. The new colors of Iverna are to be white and purple. Out with the blue and in with the new. I’ve already ordered new colors to be hung over the embassy—I hope you don’t mind me taking liberties, that is, being as you hold the key to our coffers, so to speak.” He twirled his finger at Treylen’s signet ring. Garian’s own finger was still pale and withered where the ring had once been.

Treylen looked for some place to set the bundle down and settled for the floor. “Garian, are you mad? What gossip? What’s this about purple?”

“You haven’t heard? A bird got past the emperor’s falconers. The first since… well, since the one that carried the news I should be expecting you.”

“Really?” It was a bit of a shock. The number of pigeons homed to Ketaresk was diminishingly small, and the enemy’s falconers were ever diligent. 

It had gotten so bad the old queen had resorted to sending dragon riders to exchange news and bring back more of the birds. When they, too, started disappearing, communication between the allies was all but severed. 

“So, she knows I’ve arrived here and taken the position? Has she received our letters? What did she say? No, let me read it.”

“Not from the queen, I’m afraid. This was a private correspondence, but, well, it is your prerogative.” He tottered back into the rooms and dug through a pile of parchment, coming back with a small metal canister. Treylen snatched it and popped it open, unspooling the rolled letter and squinting to make out the cramped handwriting. 

“This isn’t from Queenseat…”

“No,” he said, shakily looking around for something. One of the secretaries brought over a cane, and he steadied himself on it.

Treylen squinted at the tiny, looping hand. It began with an unnecessarily long greeting, followed by two lines about the weather and a death in the family. It wasn’t until the letter continued on the back side of the note that the author even mentioned the kingdom had been overthrown and a new queen usurped the throne. The author seemed more irritated at the arrival of the elves who now roamed the fields and woodlots than the upheaval in Queenseat. 

“Garian, who wrote this?”

“That would be my good friend, the esteemed Fulmin Ashfall, Count of Wodurn.”

“A social correspondence? Garian, how are you getting social correspondence when I can’t even get reports on the war? I don’t even know if Queen Apogee knows I’ve made it here safely.”

“Well, if you read on, you’ll see he’s inviting me to his granddaughter’s wedding.”

“A matter of grave importance to you?” There was no point in hiding his disbelief.

“A nicety, uhh…” Garian made a noise like a hollow frog, as he searched for the word, fingers clutching and releasing at the handle of the cane. “A courtesy. Of course he understands I can’t attend, but it’s the thought that matters. It ends with his condolences at having lost my posting. I think we can read that as confirmation at least one of our pigeons have made it through. And then some juicy gossip of a mutual acquaintance, followed by the bit about the changing of colors. Out with the blue and in with the new. Purple, he says.” Garian sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and let it out in a long, rattling sigh. “White and blue have been the colors of the Iveran kingdom since the throne was ripped from the fiery mountains. But who am I to correct the new queen?” 

It was a good-humored complaint, at least. Treylen couldn’t detect any real bitterness in it. Not that he expected any. This was the top diplomat for a people who’d had disobedience bled out of them over the centuries. That was one of the reasons it had been so easy for Apogee to put down any resistance when she stole the throne. They didn’t know any other way. Power in Iverna came from above, and only above.

The two of them shared a chuckle, and Treylen returned the letter before collecting the bundle and tucking it under his shoulder. He pulled his old blue stole off and handed it to Garian. 

“Maybe your friends’ pigeons would be better used by Queen Apogee or her generals than for friendly correspondence, don’t you think?”

“I would tell him if I could. Alas, I have no way of responding to him. He may yet have a few birds homed to here. When we send our next report off to Queenseat, I will make mention of it, and the queen can do as she sees fit.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Understanding was my profession. Such being the case, I know how busy you must be, and I didn’t have the added duties of training assassins on top of it. Go on then, off with you. I see you have one foot out the door already, Ambassador.”

“Glad you understand,” Treylen said. “We’ll play stones next time.”

“A word of warning though,” he said when Treylen was halfway to the exit. Treylen paused, listening. “I hear you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

“Oh?” Treylen thought of the crowds that gathered to look at his boat. “Where, when?” 

“In the nighttime.”

“You mean training?”

The old man nodded. “You of all people must understand the importance of stealth and subtlety.”

“I do…” Treylen remembered the other night and his mad dash through the market, the people who ran after to watch him fight. “But the king asked me to train his people and to do it here, in the city.”

“You can’t exercise a little more discretion?”

“I don’t have a mountain abbey to take them to, and I have to remain here for my duties.”

“I’m well aware of your duties… the problem is not that the people are frightened. Quite the opposite really. This popularity…” There was that word again. Garian had been the one to first use it, but now it seemed to carry darker connotations, and he cupped his hand over his mouth as he whispered, “… is an affront to the king’s own vanity.” 

“Honestly?” This was the first Treylen had heard such a thing. He couldn’t even get another audience with the man. He couldn’t imagine how he was in any way a threat to his vanity. “I doubt that. Why would that be?”

“Not all is peace and joy in the peninsula. We are under naval blockade, after all, and even if we weren’t, name one trade partner that has not been subsumed by the empire? Tensions rise, and the king has never felt more pressed by the people. I’m not telling you to pack it in. I understand it was the king himself who charged you with the task. I’m just asking you to carry it out with a dollop of humility. A dash of discretion wouldn’t spoil the stew either.”

Treylen waited until he was sure the man had finished, then a little longer, to give the impression he’d been listening rather than staring off at the birds on the harbor. “I’m trying my best. Losina wants to run them in the sewers, but I hate the stink. I need them to train on the rooftops.”

The former ambassador’s mouth worked, as he listened. “But… my boy, aren’t assassins able to go unseen?”

Treylen shrugged. “They’re trainees. When they reach the dragonmind we’ll talk about stealth.”

“And when do you think that might be?”

“I can’t say, Garian. It’s a very difficult thing to teach without the monks. Perhaps if we could get a letter to Queen Apogee, she could find some way to smuggle a monk or two down here.” 

When he’d left, Sister Ono and the others were stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Apogee as the new regent. They were loath to open the gates of the courtyard to her messengers, let alone send one of their own on a perilous journey to aid her designs. But perhaps they’d come around since he had left. 

“It might not hurt to ask, Ambassador. I’ll send a bird and see.” Garian waved an attendant over, and they made a note of it. It went without saying that the bird would likely be intercepted, so the message would have to be encoded. It would have to wait and go out with a number of other missives. The same messages were sent many times over in hopes that one made it past Jaul’s falconers. There weren’t many birds still homed to Iverna, and those remaining would find the canisters on their feet heavy-laden with many messages.

“Is that all?”

“Just heed my words.” He tapped the cane.

“What’s this about a ball at the castle?” Treylen asked.

“It’s a social event. The king doesn’t care for them, so they are rare. Don’t take it as an opportunity to talk politics around the king. I’m warning you in advance, a ball is not a formal audience. Think of it more as a test you must overcome. You can dance, I hope? Queen Apogee would not send me a replacement who can’t dance, would she?” 

Treylen didn’t care for the sneer in his voice when he said Queen Apogee, but he let it slide. They’d all struggled with the change, even Treylen, and he’d been there for it.

“Not really,” he admitted.

“Well, you’ve a fortnight and a half. I suggest asking the princess for help there.”

“Not a bad idea,” Treylen said, thinking of how he might approach the king. He might not be able to talk of war and politics directly, but could he talk around the subject like Chalys had in the garden? He wondered if dances were like teas in that respect. “I’ll prepare as much as I can, thank you, Garian.”

 Treylen let himself out the front gate and took the high street up and around the castle. He’d likely draw a crowd as he wandered the city, but contrary to what he’d told Garian about being too busy, he didn’t have much to do while he waited for the princess and the others to make themselves ready. 

He checked his pockets to make sure he had a little coin for the vendors, then called out to Rime to join him on the walk. If he was going to be a spectacle wherever he went, then he might as well bring a dragon along and really give the people something to look at.

NINE

The Cellar Door

Treylen had hoped they would be in and out before Sir Romora caught wind of the mission.

No such luck.

She was seething when she caught up with them in the subbasement. 

“What did I tell you just this morning?” The knight’s jaw was so tight Treylen worried she might shatter a tooth. “If Her Highness is training, then I must be at her side.” 

Gone was her heavy armor and the oversized blade. She wore a fencing top and breeches patched with leather in its place. A pair of short swords hung on her belt, although the ornate bucklers remained. 

At least she was dressed right for caving.

The poor guards who accompanied her must not have been warned. They wore the same heavy armor and grinned smugly, not yet aware of how they would struggle to keep up. 

Losina had been in a rare mood since learning they would be training underground. She’d taken the lead as soon as they left the ship. Now, she was the one who answered Romora.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have let her out of your sight, then. Come now, the rest of you.” She held the door and beckoned the others to squeeze into the small room. They were fifteen by the time the dragons filed in. Two guards, two hatchlings, three grown dragons including Romora’s Draka, one knight, two assassins, and three apprentices. Last, came two haggard-looking workers who had only agreed to return to the subbasement under duress. 

The dark, cramped little room was abuzz with frustration and animosity. 

Lem, Breg, and Chalys waited near the door, but Treylen pulled them to the center of the room where a hatch covered a hole in the floor. The boys jostled over who would stand nearest to Treylen. Chalys saw Sir Romora beckoning her to the front and moved to the back of the room instead. The fledglings wrestled underfoot while Rime watched with curiosity, and Beetle climbed one of the walls, then flattened herself against the ceiling—terrifying the already-frightened workers. Treylen could feel his own nerves fraying at the cramped chaos of it all. Only Losina was unbothered.

I hate this. It was more of a feeling he shared than a thought.

We could have stayed at sea, Rime said. You wanted this.

I wanted to help my own people. Now I’m surrounded by people that I don’t like.

You don’t like the boy? Rime nipped Lem’s boot playfully, which got a yelp out of him and terrified the workers.

Don’t you feel like we’re crowded all the time? Down here. In the city. Everywhere. The trainees don’t like this either. They need space to run.

That could help us, Rime said. Maybe they’ll bond over it. Remember how we used to steal from Sister Ono’s kitchen and Brother Ono would chase us around with a rolling pin?

That was mostly you. 

While Treylen was distracted, Losina interrogated the workers.

“This is the end of the basements? A few cellars and a larder? Where are the rest of the cellars? Where’s your dungeon?”

One of the workers whispered something in the Ketaresk language, afraid to raise his voice around the dragons. Beetle sniffed at the man’s head. His knees quivered, he clenched his hands together and refused to raise his eyes from the floor.

“Would Her Majesty honor us by interpreting for this poor wretch?”

Chalys pushed to the front of the room, ignoring Romora’s complaints it was beneath her. The man grew even paler before the princess. He whispered and lowered himself until his chin scraped the floor, but Chalys was patient, listening and nodding.

“He says there is a prison in the southern district, but it’s aboveground. I haven’t been there. I was not allowed to wander in my youth. My brothers had no such restrictions…”

“They would not have found much of interest,” said Losina. “For a port so grand, there’s very little underneath. Your sewers aren’t half as extensive as they should be. All the stranger that these workers have come across something. Ask him where the bodies were found.”

The princess spoke to the man who whispered back. “There is a passage in the room below. It leads to the caverns.” 

The worker lifted the hatch to reveal an old wooden stair. Romora’s guards raised their lamps, casting long shadows over a damp cellar strewn with tumbled-down blocks and old barrels. A black opening yawned on the far wall.

Losina took the first step down. The man put a hand out, shrinking away when she glared at him. “What is it?”

Chalys’s eyes widened. “He says they didn’t find much of the bodies. A bit of flesh, a boot with a foot inside. He says you will know the place by the blood on the ground.”

“Perfect.” Losina patted the princess on the hand before plunging into the darkness. Beetle dropped from the ceiling, causing the workers to scatter, then squeezed down the staircase. Chalys started after her, but Sir Romora stopped her.

“Not you, Your Highness. You two.” She pushed the shieldbearers down first before descending after them.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Treylen said to Chalys. “If she insists on shadowing us, we’re going to make her work to keep up. When you get down there, keep up with Losina. She’ll know the way. And don’t forget your dragons.”

Plucking one of the hatchlings from Lem’s arms, he perched it on her shoulder before sending her down. Breg went after, carrying the second while Lem trudged dejectedly behind them. 

He’s fond of them, Rime said. There is potential there.

She’s the only one I’m worried about. Lem’s the backup.

Treylen went next, followed by the reluctant workers, who only came because the alternative was being left alone in the room above with Rime.

The others had already gone deeper, taking the lanterns with them. Treylen let them go, enjoying the uncrowded space. The workers, panicked at the sudden disappearance of the lamp bearers, struggled to get a torch to light. Rime lit it with a puff of fire, and the workers shrieked, dropped their torch, and dashed back to the stairs. The discarded torch lay there, casting shadows over the strange stonework in the cellar.

I told you something would be here. Rime sniffed at the tunnel entrance while Treylen inspected the hidden mechanism of the Ferrick door.

I never doubted you. There’s no other reason for such heavy stonework in a cellar except to hide a door like this.

The door was massive, identical in every way to the wall, but swung open with such effortless balance a child could have lifted it. The previous workers had propped it open with a cask of brandy. 

Treylen beckoned one of the workers hiding behind the stairs. The man shuddered, clinging to the wall. Swallowing, he stepped down and tiptoed past the dragon, stopping just behind Treylen. 

“Milord?”

“The tunnel continues north?” Treylen’s Ketaresk tongue was weak, but the man seemed to understand when he pointed.

“Yes, milord.” 

“How far?” 

“A short way only. Caves beyond, but… that is where something hunts.”

“All caves? This stonework… is there more stonework?” he struggled with the words. “Did you see much before the trouble? Stone carving? Did you see like this?” He gestured at the masonry and the tool marks on the door.

“Oh yes, like this.” 

That was interesting. Though hard to say what it meant about these old cellars and when in the course of history the door was constructed. A Ferrick door was an ingenious but simple thing meant to blend seamlessly into rough stonework. What he truly wanted to ask was if they’d seen more intricate carvings deeper in the caves.

He saw a mason’s mark on the foot of the door—a complex bit of carving. The shape of a queensberry flower was a secret tribute to the pervasive influence of Iveran spies.

“Like this, here.” He pointed to the intricate work of the mason’s mark. 

The man scratched his head, then spoke haltingly. “The far cave, behind the tall stones. I will not go there.” He took a step back, quivering before the door as if it were the mouth of some beast. Treylen felt the cold rising up from the cave behind him, memories of dark water and a terrible serpent rising up from the black sent a chill through him.

“Stay here, then,” Treylen said. “Or go back, I don’t care. But whatever happens, whatever you hear, you’re not to let anyone close this door. Do you understand?”

He must have understood because he chose the latter. Both workers ran up the stairs, footfalls clattering through the subbasement as they fled to the upper levels, taking their torch with them and leaving Rime and Treylen to find their way down in the dark.

TEN

The Scene

A faint glow illuminated the opening of the tunnel, and Treylen hurried to reach it, mindful of any traps the builders might have set. He trusted Losina to have kept the trainees alive but not to have left a warning for him.

A hundred paces in, it opened into a long cavern lit by a strange blue light. At first it had the look of something natural, but the longer that he stared at the ceiling, the more he recognized the deliberate architectural lines of a vaulted hall.

It was many times as long as it was wide and ribbed with arches. If his parents were here, Treylen’s father would have been pondering whether they were supporting the ceiling or if they were decorative, while his mother would’ve been chipping away at the muck to see the craftsmanship underneath. Every surface was scaled with small stalactites or draped with delicate threads of mineral deposits that hung in sheets or carpeted the floor with stony lumps. Glowing fungus was scattered throughout. He’d seen that glow once before, in the hellcaves. But how had they gotten up here? 

The small crowd huddled farther in. Romora and her guards raised their lanterns in a protective circle around the princess. His poor apprentice had her eyes fixed on the ground, embarrassed about the escort. The other two apprentices stood outside the little circle, Breg gawking at the ceiling while Lem struggled to restrain the two hatchlings who wanted nothing more than to crawl around in the filth. 

Losina walked the perimeter, bending to inspect the wet and chalky lumps on the floor. Treylen took one of the squirming hatchlings from Lem again and tossed it to the princess who caught it and tucked it under her arm. 

“You’ll practice staying together. Maybe take some pointers from Sir Romora. She sticks to you like pitch.”

“You brought this supervision upon yourself,” said the knight. “If you had shown even the slightest interest in Her Highness’s safety, such measures would not be necessary.”

Something clattered in the dark, and she turned, drawing her swords. Her guards waved their lanterns about, sending shadows dancing through the cave. Draka puffed up, spread his wings, and thrashed his tail. The hatchling must have bitten Chalys, because she yelped, dropped it, and sucked on her finger as she, too, searched for the source of the noise. 

The hatchling ran off toward the sound, disappearing behind the stalagmites. 

“That’s your cue,” Treylen said. “Go after it. You’d better keep up.”

“But—I—” She looked at Romora, her guards, and dragons forming a perimeter around her, then back to Treylen and the other trainees. “Right.” She nodded, then ducked between them and dashed into the dark. 

“Good luck.” Treylen winked at Romora, and the knight stared daggers at him before racing after her charge. The guards immediately fell behind as they ducked and twisted to get between the clumps and columns.

“Should we, umm, go after them?” Breg watched, flat-footed. Beside him, Lem was struggling to keep the other hatchling. Then it broke away and scampered into the dark. Lem cursed and ran after it. 

“What do you think?” Treylen asked. Breg teetered. “Yes, yes, get in there!” He shoved the boy after the others. Lem cursed louder, as he knelt to crawl under a row of stalactites. “Good effort.” Treylen grinned as he watched Lem bump into a rock in the dark. He found one of the guards’ lamps on the floor and hooked it atop the nearest stalagmite, raising the hood to cast its full light over the cave.

“What do you think that sound was?”

Rime stood behind him, pressing his neck against Treylen’s side. He lowered his head and sniffed the ground. Remember that spider we found in the hellcaves?

Treylen borrowed dragon sight, and the flickering lamplight was replaced by the stark outlines of old sestus magic that seeped out of the stone and permeated the cave. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Sestus was weaker in the lowlands than it had been in the Iveran mountains. The moisture coating the stone gave off aquos magic—not enough to work with. The same was true of the crotus; the mushrooms generated only a trickle of the magic of growth.

The only surprise was entropos. The magic of death and decay was quickly swept away by wind and weather, but in low places, it pooled and lingered long after other magics faded away. It was normal for a cave to store some entropos in low-lying places. But here, the magic of decay was fresh. Like a fog swirling around their feet, it curled this way and that. Treylen squinted, watching its sluggish movement. It seemed to be flowing from some place farther down. 

She has found something, Beetle whispered in his mind.

Treylen didn’t need to guess where the corpses would be. He followed the entropos down the length of the cave. Here, overturned rocks and broken stalagmites littered one side. Rime was already sniffing around behind a cluster of the glowing fungus. Somewhere in the far recesses of the cave, Romora’s guards were cursing and clanking as they struggled to try and follow Chalys, still chasing after her hatchling. Losina knelt in the center, prodding with her dagger at bits of flesh and scattered offal, noticing scraps of clothing and a broken lantern. 

The clatter of armor and boots echoed off the walls.

“They’re making an awful lot of noise,” Losina chuckled.

“Good, it will draw out whatever it is that’s down here.”

“I’m not sure it’s going to be hungry.” She smiled and pointed her dagger at a shape behind her. The half-eaten torso of a man was impaled on a stalagmite. Treylen covered his nose, and she laughed again.

“Is this homey for you?” he asked her. One of the hatchlings hopped out from behind the rocks, and Treylen caught it before it could eat anything.

“Egin did have a penchant for corpses.”

“I remember.” Treylen had watched one of Spymaster Egin’s lessons performed on a corpse in the ruins of a basement in Oara Valley. He could only imagine how much darker and more twisted those lessons had been in the dungeons beneath Queenseat. There was no denying the results; Beetle and Losina hadn’t the privilege of training in a mountain abbey, yet they had bonded under the twisted extremes of Egin’s torturous methods and survived—albeit, not entirely unscathed.

She’d offered to do work with the trainees. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

One of the columns had toppled over nearby. Losina bent to inspect the tool marks on the stone. “Is this familiar?” 

“Should it be?” Treylen squinted at the workmanship. It didn’t look like the work of Iveran masons. That was odd, considering how much of the old castle had been constructed by agents of the old queens.

“You don’t remember seeing work like this? You were there below Wetherdin when the shadow died. I was there, too, you know.” She pressed her lips, watching his reaction. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

How could he? At the time he hadn’t known any of the Queenseat assassins. Under her mask, Losina had just been another of the faceless killers the shadow had brought with him. He shook his head, no. There were too many events surrounding that night Treylen would rather not discuss, especially with her. 

Losina touched her finger to a pool of congealed mess on the floor, then brought the finger to her tongue, furrowed her brow, and spat it back on the floor. “Human.”

Do you smell that? Rime asked. 

The gore? Treylen glanced around but couldn’t see Rime.

Not the gore. It is strange, almost like—a dragon’s den.

There was a crash behind him, and Treylen whirled, catching Breg as he burst from a cluster of stalagmites. Treylen seized the apprentice by the collar to stop him slipping in the mess. Lem emerged next and knocked into the back of Breg.

“Oh, no.” Breg covered his mouth and retched. Lem scowled but stepped around him, edging toward Losina in the faint blue light. He sniffed the air with a scowl.

“Someone died here.” Lem looked a touch green but did not shrink back even when Losina pointed out the hanging, dismembered torso. Death at sea was not uncommon; Treylen wondered how many corpses the cabin boy had seen.

“Lem, what do you think these markings mean?” Treylen already knew, but he wanted to take his mind off the corpse. 

Lem squinted at the stone. “It’s cleaner than the tunnel that brought us here.”

“How so?” Treylen had given Lem a basic primer on stonecutting—such knowledge had helped Treylen in the past—but it wasn’t the sort of thing assassins were really expected to learn. 

“I’m not sure. But the cuts look… sharper. Are they newer?” 

“That was a good guess. Breg? Care to guess?” There was no answer from the young lord. He had turned a deeper shade of green, and his dagger was shaking in his hand. His eyes were locked on the corpse. “The answer is that these stones are older.” Treylen used his finger to trace the tool marks. “This was certainly here before the castle. It almost looks like dwarven work or work done under dwarven supervision. They had better tools back then.”

“What’s so important about that?” Lem asked, only half attentive. He couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse behind them. 

“It means these structures were here long before the castle was built. It could confirm that Port Maphera was a dwarven city once. And it means these cellars might go a lot deeper than anyone realized, possibly as far as the hellcaves. Lem, are you listening?”

Lem was staring at the body.

Losina beckoned him to come closer to the corpse. “What do you see?” There was a smile in her voice.

Lem picked his way over the gore to inspect it. “It’s been gnawed on. I’ve seen bilge rats do that,” he swallowed and leaned in, “but this was something bigger.”

“Are you sure? Look closer.”

Breg was going weak in the knees. Treylen dropped the hatchling and fished in his toolkit for a vial of smelling salts. Uncapping it with his thumb, he waved it under the boy’s nose. 

“Ugh, what is that?” Breg scrubbed at his nose and backed away, sneezing.

“Something to keep you on your feet. Hey, where’d it go?” Treylen searched for the hatchling, but it was gone. “Find it.” He pushed Breg into the dark. To his credit, the young lord was competent. He dropped low like a dragon would, creeping beneath an arch of rock and followed the sounds of the hatchling behind a pillar. 

Losina and Lem were still prodding at the body. 

“Is it…” Lem blinked in the dim blue light and touched the stump of a leg. “It isn’t gnawed on… bits have been sliced off?”

“There you go.” Losina tapped her fingers over Lem’s head, tugging affectionately at a stray bit of hair. “So it isn’t a mole or a rat, is it?”

“There are moles that can… do this?”

“There are as many monsters under pentearth as there are in the sea. But moles and voles and volves and ratfen all gnaw their meat. This wasn’t gnawed, was it?”

Lem nodded attentively. He was a good student, though Treylen suspected his patience for lectures would someday wear thin.

More clattering echoed from the opposite end of the cave where Chalys pursued the other hatchling. The shieldbearers chasing her had fallen farther behind. The corner where Breg had gone was eerily quiet.

He still hadn’t spotted Rime. 

Where are you? What do you mean you smell dragon?

Not sure. Rime sounded thoughtful. An old den, maybe from one of the old queen’s assassins. It’s faint though… strange. 

There shouldn’t be any, Treylen said. They were all recalled to aid in the war years ago.

Calm, bondmate, nothing is certain. But something is strange.

Losina was still answering Lem’s questions, encouraged by the boy’s lack of fear in spite of the grisly display. “Your mentor is the real tracker. Treylen, what do you make of this kill?”

Treylen stepped carefully across the bloody clearing to join them beside the corpse. He looked closer at the wounds. The limbs had been gnawed off, but not by teeth. Large, crescent-shaped slices like a gardener’s shears had severed the neck, then the arms and legs, before moving to the organs. He held back the urge to empty his stomach. 

“What do you make of the tracks?” Losina asked.

Treylen knelt and lay his head, almost touching the floor of the cave. The floor was sprinkled with granular bits of rock and flaked minerals from the constant drip of water. He looked past the blood and mess to focus on the marks upon the floor. There were boot prints everywhere—the easy tread of explorers entering the cave for the first time, followed by the frenzied footsteps of a struggle. Intermixed with these were his own footprints and those of Lem, Losina, and the hatchlings. It was all muddled by the dripping of water.

“It’s a mess,” Treylen said. 

“But here.” Losina pointed again to the water marks, which, on second thought, didn’t belong at all. It wasn’t dripping on him now. So what had made the thousand pockmarks that stippled the floor?

“Talons?” he wondered aloud. “It could almost be a dragon. If dragons walked only on their toes. Whatever it is… there are many of them. We should call the others back.” 

He was about to yell when Losina stiffened.

“Wait…” she shot out a hand to hold Lem’s shoulder, signaling with the other for Treylen to be quiet. 

Don’t move. Beetle’s voice ran through his thoughts like a chill. Now, very quietly, call Rime to you. I will attempt to bring the others.

Treylen did as he was told, except for one hand drifting slowly toward his dagger. He could hear a commotion on the far side of the cave as Beetle intercepted the others. She wouldn’t be able to speak into their minds. But from the sounds of it, she had gotten her point across, grabbing the knight and dragging her toward them. Beside him, Losina was still as a spider. Lem tried to hold still, too, but he was breathing rapidly, eyes searching the clearing for hidden danger.

“What is it?” Treylen whispered through his teeth.

Beetle answered. My master says to be quiet. Don’t make a sound. And most importantly, do not look up.

ELEVEN

The Casualties

Rime, are you seeing it, too? How many of them are there?

Only the one. Not sure what to call it. Rime sounded concerned. Which was odd for him. He relished a good hunt. Even when the quarry was dangerous.

Is it larger than me? Treylen was staring at the strange prints on the ground. He could feel eyes on him.

It’s quite large, bondmate.

The tracks were unlike anything he and Rime had ever hunted. Losina might have known, but her face didn’t give anything away.

It’s distracted. You can look up. Quickly.

Treylen stole a glance at the ceiling.

For a moment, he thought it was a dragon after all. Long and thick, like the heavy tail of an elder dragon. It wasn’t a snake, but the way it had woven itself between the stalactites, it could’ve been mistaken for one. The insect’s carapace was banded with thick plates that wrapped around the body, and between each plate protruded a short, spiny appendage—thousands along its length, each barely long enough to be called a leg. They clenched the rock on either side of the body. 

The monster was as big around as an ox cart and long enough Treylen couldn’t see where it ended. But he could see where it began. Directly above him, a pair of wicked mandibles waved over a maw that snapped at the air like the hatch of a murderous letterbox. Two clusters of unblinking black orbs dotted the stubby head.

That’s a millipede. Treylen blinked. The head swiveled just above him as it scanned the cave, slender antennae waving above the eyes. 

Millipedes aren’t usually big enough to crush a house, Rime said. 

Lem saw Treylen and turned to look, letting out a startled yelp before Losina could clamp a hand over his mouth. 

The millipede swiveled to face Lem, eyes fixing on Treylen. A sickening chatter echoed through the chamber as a thousand little legs let go at once. Losina seized the boy by the shoulders. The light of dragonmind flashed in her eyes as she leaped backward, hauling Lem with her. Treylen rolled the other way. The beast crashed to the ground, dust and rubble raining down with it. Shouts rang out as elsewhere, more coils of the insect’s body fell on Romora and her guards.

It seized Lem. Mouth chittering, mandibles catching his leg, it lifted him. Losina held on, but its body thrashed, crushing her against a rock. She grunted as it curled around her, half a dozen of the little legs prodding, and it tore into the leather of her jacket.

Treylen leaped and kicked its head. Pain shot up his leg as if he’d kicked an oak tree. He fell away clutching his knee; the insect rattled and threw a coil of its heavy body over him. It caught on a boulder for a moment, and Treylen slipped away.

It lifted Lem higher, and the boy struggled with the mandibles as they lowered him toward the mouth. He jammed a foot into the slicing plates, then screamed as it scissored the heel off of his boot. One of the fledglings landed on its face, hissing and tearing at the eyes, but it barely noticed. Lem made a frustrated noise, kicking and hacking at the mouth with his blades as it drew him in for another bite.

Treylen tore a handful of sulfur from his pouches and traced a glyph in the air. 

“Flavus!”

Fire washed over the creature. Lem yelped, but the millipede had no reaction to the flame.

Some help please! Treylen called to Rime. 

But Beetle was already coming. She darted from one hanging rock to the nest, then glided down from the ceiling, clutched Lem with her legs and ripped him away, leaving a boot behind. She beat her wings and hauled him into the shadows. 

Losina’s eyes flashed, and she shoved again at full dragon strength, but the creature didn’t budge. The rock behind her cracked and toppled over as she twisted free. The legs clutched at her, tearing long strips up her jacket as she fell away. Treylen lost sight of her in the dark. 

The millipede let out a rattle that traveled up and down its body, vibrating the cavern. Rocks tumbled from the ceiling and crashed onto the floor. 

I need your help, bondmate. Rime sounded harried.

Treylen still didn’t know where he was. He jumped onto the millipede, ducked its mandibles and ran along its back, onto a coiled mass of body that writhed at the center of the room. It was just high enough to see the chaos.

On the left was Chalys—who never disappointed—deftly avoiding the flailing tail, which bore a pair of pincers of its own. She lunged, testing the chinks between the segments of armor with her daggers. They wouldn’t pierce it, but she kept trying. Draka threw himself against it, talons forward, but found the carapace to be just as solid and immovable as Treylen had found the front to be. Romora kept near Chalys but couldn’t quite reach her or she’d have dragged her away. No sword drawn, she was the only one who seemed to understand the futility of fighting the thing with blades. The poor men who accompanied her were struggling. One was pinned against the outer column of the chamber, a coil of body pushing tighter and tighter while the insectile feet that protruded from it screeched and scraped against his armor. The other lay unmoving beside a pile of fallen rubble.

Rime wasn’t with them. His roar echoed from the entrance of the cave where more of the insect’s coils crashed and slammed. 

“Hellcaves,” he cursed. 

Losina was keeping the creature busy. It snapped and rattled as it tried to seize her in its mandibles, and she danced backward, blades glancing off its armor without much effect.

“Be right back.” Treylen jumped from one coil, running along the body as it twisted and turned under him. 

At the entrance to the cave, shadows flickered over a crushed oil lamp, its flames spread on the ground. Rime was tearing at the body of the insect—it was coiled tight around something—and he couldn’t budge it. As he drew closer, Treylen saw a head protruding from the center of the coil.

Breg was blue-faced and gasping for air. “Bones of the king.” Treylen knelt on the coil as it thrashed, grabbing one of the insectile feet to keep from being tossed off. He unsheathed a dagger with his free hand and pressed the tip into a joint in the carapace; the small feet wriggled. and the great body tightened beneath him. Breg’s tongue lolled from his mouth. and his eyes rolled back. Treylen twisted the blade and a vile ooze seeped from the wound. He couldn’t seem to cut deep enough to harm the thing. 

Two-handed, he sawed at it. Beneath him, the body lifted up and slammed again. Breg made a belching noise. and Treylen held tight to the handle of his blade.

It’s not working, bondmate. Rime clung beside him, and Treylen looked up to see the others having similar difficulty. Chalys was quick enough, and Romora had drawn her swords and bloodied them. Losina kept the maw occupied, but the cave was quaking under the assault as the monster lunged for her, toppling columns—Treylen prayed they were only decorative and not holding the weight of the rock overhead. It dragged the rest of them with it as its swollen body slumped behind, grinding over the fallen guards and pulling Treylen and Breg along. 

It’s not working, Rime said again.

Treylen spat in the dragon’s direction. He gritted his teeth and twisted the blade again. “I’m doing my best.” A hatchling ran along beside him scratching harmlessly at the shell.

Look here!

Treylen glanced up. Rime had scratched something into the animal’s carapace. The lines were the beginning of a glyph.

“You did this?”

I told you I’ve been writing.

That’s a glyph.

It is a glyph chain, bondmate. You remember this one? 

He blinked, holding tight and inspecting it again as the body lifted and slammed into another column. There were a few strokes missing, but it was close to the pattern he had once used to melt a hole through a door. 

“I see it.” Treylen didn’t have the oil that he needed to complete the sort of glyph that Rime wanted, but… he jumped to the ground and ran to the burning lantern, smeared a gloved hand through the flames that licked at the edge of the puddle. It came away oily—that would be good enough. He smeared the hand with the sulfur from his belt pouch then returned to Rime, smearing the mixture to connect the elements of the glyph that Rime had started. 

It wasn’t quite right, but he hoped that the soil mixed in with the oil would help to attune the mixture to the composition of the chitinous armor underneath.

Rime clung beside him, jaw moving like he wanted to speak the power word himself. Of course Treylen had to do it for him.

“Entropos!”

He felt the swirl of energy and heat as the millipede’s armor cracked and melted, a yawning hole peeling opened on its side. The monster shrieked and rattled, its coil loosening around Breg. He heard the crash and clatter of claws as its front end spun around and came for him. He hooked an arm under the boy’s shoulder and pulled him out. Breg was pale and unmoving, but he only had time to dump him behind a rock before Treylen dove, just as the mandible came crashing down where he had been.

My master says you’re to keep it occupied, said Beetle.

Treylen dodged another lunge that sent rocks scattering. The creature may have killed the first group of explorers quickly, snatching them one by one as it hung from the ceiling. This new prey was elusive, and it was angry. 

He caught a glimpse of Losina. Following his lead, she had one blade wedged into the gap in its armor to hang on, while the other was scratching a glyph.

Did she know the one to use?

No time to ask—it was Treylen’s turn to keep the dangerous end busy. Dodge, crash, dodge—it moved faster and more recklessly the longer he evaded it. He danced around the edges, working toward the entrance, zigzagging in the hopes its body would be hung up on the columns. 

He nearly ran headlong into Chalys. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She was bent over one of her guards, working in the dim light to staunch the blood seeping out from beneath the armor.

For a brief moment he was grateful to see Chalys worried more for another’s safety than her own training. Perhaps next it would be the hatchlings. Then the shadow of the creature reared over them and shoved her aside as he rolled out of the way. The armor buckled with a sickly crunch as it crashed down.

Treylen felt a pair of arms as Sir Romora lifted him from behind. “That girl is mad.”

He looked up to see Chalys screaming as she leaped onto the back of the thing, but the head spun around, seized her foot and lifted Chalys like it had with Lem. 

Where was Lem anyway? There was no time to look. It stretched out its body and carried Chalys high in the air as she shrieked and struck with her blades. Losina carved another glyph chain. Romora was scaling it like a tree, too slowly to help. The hatchlings had returned, both of them biting its eyes to little effect. The important thing was that they had come to her aid.

Treylen started toward Chalys but halted. 

Can you get her quickly, Rime?

I’ll try. Rime darted out to help.

I’m trusting you.

He ran for Losina. Two glyph chains burned like ulcers on its back. Treylen helped her to cut one more beside the others, listening as Rime and Beetle and the other dragons kept it occupied, wondering if they’d gotten Chalys free. 

It made another rattling screech as more of the glyphs flared to life along the thrashing coils. Now they had a string of them. 

Look out! 

Treylen could feel it coming down on them, and he jumped off. The mandibles sank into the glyphs instead. With a great snap, the armor cracked, and ichor flooded the cave as the top of the body fell loose and crashed to the ground. Treylen leaped onto a boulder and found the remaining guard dragging himself up out of the rubble, pulling the man to safety. 

The cave thundered as the two halves twisted. Stones fell, and columns toppled. The roof held.

The rocks and columns of the cave were mixed and macerated as it writhed about. It crushed another lantern, and another burst of fire lit the chamber. He saw the shadows of dragons fleeing to the entrance. He slipped one arm under the guard’s and helped him off the boulder. They worked their way more slowly around the outside. 

When they reached the exit, they found Chalys on the ground, pale but conscious. She grimaced and fought back tears as Losina inspected a wound on her ankle. Romora stood over them, silent and angry. 

Draka was blooded.

 Lem limped out of the shadows, hanging his head. One of the hatchlings walked close beside him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.”

“You kept it busy a while.” Treylen pointed at the torn leather of Lem’s boot. He’d survived mostly uninjured, which was more than some others had managed. “Where’s Breg?”

Lem looked like he might be sick. He glanced back.

The thrashing had slowed. The creature was dying. Treylen followed Lem to the spot where he’d left Breg at the start of things. He was still there. Still pale and unmoving.

The second hatchling nuzzled at his cheek. Lem lifted the small dragon and tucked it into his jacket. 

I remember when I could fit into your jacket. Rime was watching from somewhere above.

Treylen didn’t need to check, but he felt for a pulse anyway, finding none. Together they dragged the boy’s body back to the others, laying him down beside Chalys.

“Dead,” Losina said, not looking. Romora’s mouth pressed into a tight line as she watched Losina tending Chalys’s injuries.

Treylen bent over the body, looking for the wound. Breg’s skin already felt cool. “What about solius?” 

Losina still bore the scar from where the solius glyph had revived her. Twice.

“You can try. It’s harder when the wounds are internal.” 

Losina had stopped the bleeding on the princess’s leg and had moved to a wound Treylen hadn’t noticed earlier. A gaping hole in her side. With a penknife, she was carving a glyph chain into the princess’s flesh. Chalys grunted but kept quiet as Losina worked. He hadn’t realized just how pale the girl looked, but all the blood seemed to have drained from her face, and she was shivering. Romora squeezed her hand.

“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Treylen fretted. “It could do more harm than good.”

Losina answered with a curt nod. “It’s in the cavity. You see if you can help him. I’ll work on keeping her alive. I’ll need entropos, but there is just enough decay from the killings yesterday to work this spell. I just hope there’s sufficient crotus, too. This is usually performed outdoors.” 

“Right.” Treylen understood the worry. It was the careful mix of growth and death magics that hurried wounds along and urged them to knit themselves closed. Without enough crotus magic to counterbalance the entropy, the princess would age and shrivel before the wound closed.

Treylen put his worry aside and focused on the boy. He could feel Rime and Lem watching over his shoulder. The glyphs that Losina used wouldn’t help Breg; there weren’t wounds to close, and there was no life in the flesh to heal them. He would have to funnel some of his own energy into the boy—a trick he had only learned a few years earlier and only ever used once. 

It was a horrid thing to watch if it didn’t work. 

Treylen made a cut to draw blood and painted the glyph directly into the flesh, mingling some of his own blood into the markings, too. “It’s ready.”

Nobody was listening; Losina and Romora were bent over Chalys, and he could sense the magic already flowing to her. A nervous energy pervaded the space, echoed by the slow rumbles of the dying millipede.

“Solius.” Magic pulsed, and he felt something drawn out from him, down his hand and into the glyph. Breg’s body stiffened, back arching, and he drew a cracking breath. Then it faded, and he froze that way.

Treylen leaned in, wary of the clawed hands halted in the act of dragging at his own flesh. He was still cold. 

“Solius.” He felt more of his essence pulled into the glyph. The back arched again, legs twisted. He heard a snap from inside Breg. The eyes fluttered wildly, still glossed over. Breg froze again in that horrible pose, twisted and unmoving.

Treylen felt the weight of weariness on him; it wasn’t without costs, this magic. He could try it again, but…

“You’re too late.” Losina said. “The damage is too great. It only worked on me because I was lucky.” 

She met Treylen’s eyes, shadows from the fires flickering over her scarred and mottled face. In that moment she didn’t look particularly lucky, except by comparison.

Treylen spoke it again. Dragon sight showed the energy drawn from his body coursing into the corpse. Breg gasped and blinked, looking up at him with something close to recognition, before his eyes glazed over.

“Solius.” He cast it again, sinking down to his elbows, feeling weaker with each pulse. 

“I’ve seen this tried before,” she said. “It can be dangerous to continue.”

Treylen sat up and stared at the boy’s pallid face.

“Solius.” He struck the chest again and Breg sat up. He inhaled deeply, then fell over coughing and moaning on the floor. 

“Oh. It’s worked.” Losina rushed to his side, kneeling over the boy and patting his back. “There you go, no harm done then.” 

Breg screamed and retched, his coughs racking his body.

“Half his ribs are broken.” She stood over him. “In that case, he’s no good to us anymore, is he?” She left Treylen and went to see how the princess was feeling. “Gather what you can find of the dead. We’ll send workers down for the rest.”

“Well, Ambassador,” said Romora, “are you satisfied?”

Treylen looked over the scene—the dust settling over the cave, the weight of it all settling on his shoulders. “I’ll face the consequences.”

TWELVE

The Hearth

They had given Breg something for the pain and left him in the care of the castle nurse. While the others limped back to the ship, Treylen snagged a long cloak from the entryway closet and made his own way to avoid the attention of the night market crowds. 

Dinner service at the Soiled Dowry was in full swing, and Treylen’s mouth watered at the smell of spiced mollusk and bitter ale. Both had once repulsed him, but he’d found himself pining after them on those long passages down the coast when the vegetables spoiled and the worms got into the hardtack. 

He stashed his dragon mask, pulled the hood low to cover a wound on his brow, and headed for a table at the back. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but all the eyes in the room were on the musicians on a small stage beside the hearth. The lead was an older bard with a talent for playing fast on the lute and singing in a bold staccato that matched the dance of his fingers.

Treylen let his eyes linger just long enough to make sure the man was not the bard Atrop—he wasn’t—then took a stool behind his table and gave his order to the barmaid. He didn’t wait for the order to come to the table but grabbed it himself, and with some sleight of hand swapped it with a similar tray of food that was meant for another table. Most poisonings happened at preplanned meals, not impromptu tavern visits, but one could never be too careful.

There was someone seated at his table. 

Chalys lifted her hood to wink at him as she snagged a mollusk off of his plate. She pinched it between two fingers and nibbled at the corner.

“You should be resting.” He settled on the stool across from her and drank his ale. It wasn’t that he disdained company or thought his trainees should be below him. But something about her presence spoiled the warm, restive atmosphere of the inn. Something in the way she carried herself made him feel like they were sitting in a classroom in that gloomy castle waiting for a tutor to arrive and give a lecture. “I thought you would stay with Rime and rest. Aren’t you in pain?”

“I think Rime missed you. He slipped out, so I did, too.”

“He must’ve gone to the library. How is Lem?”

“Still limping. Losina says he’ll recover.” She ate another mollusk and tightened a bloody bandage around her wrist.

“Why are you here? I know you didn’t follow me just to steal my dinner.” Treylen drained the drink and pulled the mollusks back to his side of the table.

“Lem said he could feel something. In his mind, that is.”

“Oh? Strange he didn’t tell me.” Treylen sucked at the broth.

“He’s afraid of you,” she said, slumping her shoulders. She accepted a drink from a passing server and slurped the foam from the top of the cup. 

He relaxed a little. Now that he had seen her in the salon, he was better able to recognize when she was changing her behavior to match his. All those years of politics had prepared her well for spycraft. He decided not to mention it. It was nice to be at ease, even if there was a level of falsehood to it.

“I’ve been gentler with Lem than my teachers ever were to me.” Treylen thought of Marziel putting a blade to his throat. “But those harsh lessons have kept me alive. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing him a disservice.”

“His life was hard before you,” she said, then quickly changed the subject back to where she wished for it to go. “Is he feeling the dragonmind or not?” She never dropped that relaxed tone, but her foot rapped against the leg of the table, and Treylen could see the muscle of her jaw clench in envy.

“I could feel it before I touched it,” he said. “But sensing it and forging the bond are different. I was on a hunt when Rime and I connected. He needed me, and I needed to be faster in order to protect him.” 

“So it happened by accident, and these silly meditations don’t work.” She let out a breath, lifted a bit of mollusk, and tore at it with her teeth.

“They lay the foundation.” Treylen kicked her foot off the table leg to stop the shaking. The girl really had no patience, much as she tried to pretend otherwise. 

“I do everything you ask. I do the meditations. I spend time with the hatchlings. We face danger together. It isn’t working. Another ale please!” she shouted at a passing server. The lights of the tavern were burning lower, and the crowd grew as another bard took the stage. Treylen excused himself a moment and went to look at the musician, just to make sure it was still not Atrop, then returned.

“If what you say is true, then it has worked. He’s getting close. You’ll find it, too, eventually. We may just need another hunt.”

She laughed at that, rubbing a hand over a stiffness in her knee on the side that the magic had mended. “You think we can handle another hunt like that one?” 

Treylen met her eye and saw a crease in the corner on the one side. It hadn’t been there that morning. “Well, no. Going down there may have been a mistake. You aren’t ready for that. What happened to Breg is proof. I’ll arrange a lighter hunt, something aboveground. Let’s wait for the dust to settle from what happened today. If the king even allows me to keep training you, then I’ll put in a request to travel north. The guest you had for tea today said there was good hunting on the border, didn’t they?”

“I’m not Breg. You needn’t coddle me. We should go down again, see what else those caverns hold.”

“Her Highness will just have to become accustomed to not getting her way. If it had been you instead of Breg, then all my work here would be for nothing.” The moment he said it he knew it was a mistake. Her easy demeanor fizzled like a snuffed wick, and the old fragile ego returned.

“I’m plenty used to it.” She tilted her nose up, crossed her arms, and faced the band. They played the Rats of Oxbra’dal—that old Stone Kingdom tune seemed to follow him, no matter how far he traveled. The tavern keeper stoked the hearth, and the firelight and shadow danced over the ale-slick tables and heat-beaded faces of the patron and players. 

Another bard took the stage—not Atrop. Another round of drinks went ‘round. 

Chalys left. 

Treylen stayed out until his bondmate had crept home from whatever reading rooms he had been burglarizing. Rime called him back to the Humble Guest to find what sleep they could before the sun rose.

THIRTEEN

The Trophy

Even the most fearsome predators rested after a hunt. 

That was how Treylen justified two nights without training.

He’d sent Chalys back to her rooms in the castle the next day, with orders to rest and to focus, while Lem was allowed to limp around the city and explore. Treylen and Losina lounged with the dragons and nursed their own wounds.

He didn’t feel much like a predator. 

That monster was the predator. And it had gotten three of them before he’d taken it down. He should have been pleased with Chalys’s performance. He should have been proud of Rime. A dragon attempting a glyph, had such a thing been done before?

But the loss of Breg felt heavier than it should have. Breg had survived, but barely. They’d returned him to his family home to convalesce. He might walk again, but he wouldn’t train. 

One boy’s future wouldn’t have mattered in the old days, when the lives of trainees were expendable. Things were different here. Plus, he’d liked the boy. 

The success of the diplomatic mission was teetering. Breg’s family had filed a complaint with the king, and an official reprimand in the form of a letter bearing the seal of Vizier Staryno’s office had been delivered to the dock. Treylen was fairly certain he could ignore the family. The boy had known what he was signing up for.

Treylen had expected the harshest criticism to come from Sir Romora. But the knight had been uncharacteristically silent afterward and had disappeared shortly after they reached the surface.

Outwardly, everything was calm; even the weather remained mild and placid. But he suspected it would only be a matter of days before consequences caught up with them, and he kept an ear pricked for the sound of boots marching up the gangway. 

When Romora finally came, it was on the morning of the second day. The bluster that he’d expected wasn’t there. She’d come alone, except for Draka. She wore the formal armor again, still glittering in the morning sun, but it seemed to weigh heavier on her shoulders.

“You’ve been summoned again. You, too, the lot of you.” She pointed at Treylen, Losina, and Beetle, glancing around for Lem before sighing and giving up. “I’ll wait for you to dress appropriately. Perhaps… hmmm…” She pressed her knuckles to her lips as she looked Treylen over. “Wear your assassin’s garb. Wear your mask if you like. This is a public audience. It pertains to your…” It took a moment for her to recall the Iveran word, “… abilities as a warrior. The Princess suggests you wear the formal marking of the ambassador, above your—what do you call it—darks.”

“Wouldn’t that be a breach of protocol?” Losina asked, intrigued.

“It would look odd,” Treylen added. 

“This is what Her Highness suggests,” said Romora. The reasonableness of her tone was out of character. It made the hair stand up on Treylen’s neck. What in hellcaves was she trying at?

“Maybe I should bring both. We could stop and ask old Garian on the way.”

“No time for it.” Romora glanced toward the sun, which hung just over the roofs of the harbor. “This isn’t the vizier’s doing. We’ve been summoned by the king.”

We… So that was why the knight hadn’t brought any of her usual bluster. Whatever was happening, she was caught up in it, too. There was nothing Treylen could do but take her word and hurry off. 

He dressed in his cleanest darks, swapping out the cowl and cape for his ambassador’s colors: a cape of white and the purple stole Garian had given him. 

Losina wore a formal dress, plain but finely made. No darks. 

They walked in silence, Romora, Draka, Treylen, Losina, and Beetle. They left the hatchlings with Captain Purlo and Kinna. Rime was at the library again.

We’re going to the grand square, he said. Come quick. Find Lem if you can, and bring him with you.

I think I know where he’s been training, Rime responded.

So, the boy had been training anyway. Treylen was impressed. That explained why he had asked to take the hatchlings out for a stroll the night before. 

It was a short walk to the grand square. Where the castle met the city on the northwest end of the port, a lavish balcony overlooked the fountain where people gathered to listen to the king make proclamations. Except now the people crowded around the outer edge of the square, afraid to fill the center. The front portion of the giant insect lay curled around the fountain. Treylen hadn’t thought to bring the thing up after they killed it. His thoughts had been more preoccupied with Breg and the dead guards. Besides, they would’ve had to demolish several doors to drag it up from the cellar. 

But someone had gotten approval to do just that. They’d brought the upper portion, the smallest segment of the creature, out from the dungeons and put it on display. The princess waited beside their grim trophy, looking up at the balcony. This was probably the first time she had seen it from below.

When she noticed their arrival she waved meekly. Chalys wore the same mix of darks and uniform as Treylen, except where he wore the Iveran colors, and she had a tiara above the dragon mask and a mantle of starched lace bunched like snow on her shoulders. Her worst wounds were healed thanks to Losina’s glyph chains. Aside from a little arthritis and the solitary wrinkle, the rest of her body had not been prematurely aged by the magic. 

Questions abounded, but her stubborn, pensive expression as she stared up at her father’s empty balcony told him this was not the time. 

Treylen, Losina, Beetle, Romora, and Draka formed a line beside her with the millipede at their backs. The morning sun leeched a stink out of the swollen carapace. The crowd whispered and moved as more people arrived, shuffling slowly inward but keeping a timid distance from the corpse. If only they knew how much larger it had been before it was decapitated. 

A faint murmur from the back signaled Rime and Lem’s arrival. “Sorry I’m late, I was looking at the⁠—”

“Hush.” Losina pulled Lem into line while Rime passed in front of them all and settled beside Chalys. The princess ran a hand over the dragon’s flank, rubbing absentmindedly at the scales with her fingers. It was good that she was comfortable with dragons. Now if he could just get her friendly with the hatchlings.

A horn blared. 

The door opened.

Two barbican shieldbearers stepped onto the balcony, faced opposite directions, then marched to the outside rails. Two knights came behind them, their armor lighter than Romora’s, but they were dressed in similar heraldry. Two nobles came after, followed by two advisors—Vizier Staryno and one of her juniors. The balcony was filled, save one space at the center. The crowd fell silent. 

The horns shrieked again and the junior advisor raised a cone to her mouth, calling out.

“King Marcus Ketar III…” The rest was Ketaresk tongue, that same formal dialect that had given Treylen trouble before. Marcus looked like his daughter, save for forty years of lumps and creases, a blocky forehead, and a long mustache flecked with gray. He stepped out and spoke for himself, voice projecting over the square without the aid of a horn. Unfortunately, he spoke in the same unintelligible high-speak as the advisor. 

“Psst,” Treylen elbowed the princess. “What’s he saying?”

“Ceremonial garbage. He’s talking around the point.”

“What is the point?” 

She didn’t answer. The king drawled on. After a while, the tone shifted, and the language became somewhat less elevated. The king gestured toward the monstrous insect curled around the fountain.

“There, he’s mentioned it. It’s rotting on his doorstep, so he had to eventually. Now he’s thanking you. Thanking Katryn. He’s not thanking me, of course.” It was funny to Treylen when the princess used Romora’s given name. He watched the king’s face during the proclamation. He certainly didn’t look grateful. If anything the king was irritated at having to come out here.

“Draka Mora!” The shout rose from the crowd. The king continued speaking, but another shout cut him off. He fell silent and waited, irritated. “Draka Mora!” Another shout, followed by more. It rose to a chant. “Draka Mora! Draka Mora!” 

“What is that about dragons?” Treylen asked under his breath.

“They call you the Dragon Man,” Chalys whispered. “They see us run the roofs at night. And there is a rumor that you’re catching criminals.”

“Barely. Just the once.”

“Well, rumor says that’s what we all do. That we go out each night to protect the city. And you’ve earned something of a following.”

“I can see that.” Treylen rubbed his head as the chanting spread. It didn’t show any sign of slowing. Rime was relishing the attention. He stuck his chest out and let a curl of fire puff between his teeth. 

Chalys grinned and patted the dragon. “Father doesn’t like it.”

“I can see that, too.” He watched the king glower at him and felt his diplomatic prospects shrinking under the glare. “Why?”

“Ever since the war quieted down, the people have been troubled by crime at home. No trade, youths with no prospects.” The king was going on about something else but Chalys ignored her father for the moment. She was smiling ear to ear. “The king’s peace hasn’t earned him the goodwill that he hoped for. Today he’s getting a taste of that discontent. He hates this.”

“This is a disaster.” Treylen hissed through his teeth as he fought to hold a smile himself and to look attentive. “If he hates competition, why did he bring that thing up here and make a spectacle of it?” 

“He didn’t,” Chalys said, beaming. “I arranged for it.”

So that was why she looked so smug. 

The princess was getting back at her father for putting her under Romora’s supervision. Maybe she thought she was doing Treylen a favor, too. 

The king raised his hands to quiet the crowd. Gradually the chant abated. Treylen understood enough of what he said next that he didn’t need Chalys talking in his ear. “We thank our valorous guest for his brave deeds.”

This drew a frown from the princess. Her father was giving Treylen all of the praise. At least he wasn’t being punished for the deaths and injuries. But who would bear the consequences of the perceived insult that Chalys had engineered here?

Another round of chanting followed. “Draka Mora! Draka Mora!” The king grimaced and raised his hands again. 

“So deep is our gratitude,” he said with a benevolence so forced it almost dripped sarcasm. “Speak now what favor this kingdom will bestow upon you, Ambassador Corbel. Think carefully, and choose wisely before you speak.” 

That was a warning if Treylen had ever heard one.

The king’s voice was warm, but there was ice in his eyes when they met Treylen’s. It felt as if a crab were stuck in his throat. Treylen swallowed, looking left, then right. Losina was stone-faced and unreadable. Romora stared at a spot on the ground, looking pale. Lem grinned like a proud idiot. Treylen might have been doing the same if the princess hadn’t told him what was really happening here. She was silent now, clearly pleased with herself. 

He observed the crowd again. An eager hush had fallen as they awaited his request. He wondered, despite how angry he was at the princess, was this, perhaps, the opportunity he had been waiting for? An audience with the king? A chance to ask for Ketaresk’s aid to keep the pressure on the Jaul—to renew the war effort in the north?

He caught sight of Garian in the crowd. The old ambassador was clinging to the arm of one of his attendants, wild-eyed, breathing through clenched teeth. He noticed Treylen watching him and shook his head vigorously.

Was there any point in asking such a bold favor? Something that the king had already refused? But what was the alternative? Continue the princess’s training and hope that a dragon bond for his daughter would sway the king? No. Treylen could see that he was being used here. 

What he didn’t see was any clearer path forward.

It was in times like these he still asked himself what Marziel would have done. Treylen’s old mentor had known when to step back from the game and when to up the wager. Even when doing so put his own life on the table. 

Treylen leaned toward Chalys, whispering. “Well? You engineered this, tell me how do I get what I want?”

“How should I know?” she hissed back. “I only wanted to gall my father. And to put Romora in her place.” She said the last part so quietly he barely heard it. The crowd was silent, waiting. He rubbed his face. He could feel them all watching him. He held onto the dragonmind to boost his composure and struck a pose of respectful contemplation, to make clear to all watching that he appreciated the weight of what the king had asked him. 

Under his breath, he muttered. “Oxshit, I watched your little tea party. I’ve heard you say one thing and get another. What do I say to get what I want from him?” It was no secret that Iverna desperately needed Ketaresk in the war. He and Losina had sat up often on the deck of the Humble Guest talking of such things while the apprentices slept below. She’d have been a fool not to listen in.

“Well, I don’t think you’re bold enough to try it. But…” Chalys paused as if to weigh the size of the crowd, the mood of things. “Ask to resign your post. Announce that you’re going home to fight for your kingdom. Put him to shame in front of his people.”

“If I wanted to shame Ketaresk, I’d simply speak the truth.”

“No, it won’t do to shame Ketaresk.” She tutted. “You must shame him alone. And to do that, you must look the bigger man.”

“And that’ll work?” 

“Or he’ll put you to death. It will surely provoke a reaction.”

Treylen sat with the thought. The crowd had begun to murmur. The king tapped one hand, heavy with rings, against the wall of the balcony. The vizier wrung her hands. Romora swayed on her feet. Lem twiddled his thumbs. Losina had likely heard everything he and Chalys had whispered. She kept her eyes down, biting her lips to restrain a smirk.

Would Marziel have done what the princess was suggesting? He always did play strange angles to get what he wanted. He was never afraid to bet everything if he believed it was best for Iverna.

“Will you translate?” Treylen raised his voice again.

“Of course,” said Chalys. 

Treylen took a step forward and turned his face up to the balcony. He spoke proud and clear. The princess echoed his tone, repeating in the tongue of Ketaresk.

“I’m a warrior,” he said, “not a noble.” That got a cheer from the crowd. “I live to fight the Jaul.” The shieldbearers in the audience thumped their bucklers enthusiastically. “I thank my hosts for their generosity and their kind words. But I tire of talking.”

Through the bond he could feel Rime brimming with emotions—a little anxious, somewhat proud, but mostly amused.

“Have you no request then, Ambassador?” The king’s face was a mask of barely restrained anger. Good. Maybe anger would motivate him to do something for once. 

“What purpose do I serve here?” Treylen continued with Chalys’s help. She had her father’s talent for projecting to the audience. “What more have our great kingdoms to speak about? We know where we stand.” He was improvising. What else was there to say? “All that divides us is the enemy who lies between.”

“What is your request, Ambassador?” The king asked, unimpressed. Treylen hadn’t said much of anything, but the crowd was cheering anyhow. 

“Relieve me of my obligations here. Send me to your warfront. Allow me to prove Iverna’s commitment through my actions rather than my words.”

It was an idiotic request, and they both knew it. 

It wasn’t the king’s place to say who served as Iverna’s ambassador. Only Queen Apogee could relieve him of his post. And there was no fighting happening on the Ketaresk border. 

Treylen was effectively calling the king a coward and embarrassing his office by threatening to sever diplomatic relations unless the king agreed to reopen the northern front. He didn’t expect it to work. But when the game grew dull, one had to double down on a foolish play. If it backfired, there was a fair chance he could escape the consequences. If he ran quickly enough. 

Beetle crept into his thoughts. My master says that you’re a greater fool than she realized. But she will be happy to take your place after the execution. 

He stole a glance in Losina’s direction and found her sneering. Garian looked as if all the life had drained out of him. Incredulous silence slowly gave way to murmurs of approval from the crowd, then cheers, then the chanting again. “Draka Mora! Draka Mora!” It seemed the people of Ketaresk favored fools over cowards. 

The king stared open-mouthed, brows furrowed, before turning aside to speak with Vizier Staryno. It was a prolonged and heated discussion. When they returned to the balcony the king, smiling, leaned out over the square. There was such an air of smugness and self-satisfaction about him that Treylen didn’t need Chalys to translate to know he’d been outmaneuvered. He listened, numbly, not quite understanding the meaning of it except that he’d failed, that the words had consequence.

Chalys translated anyhow. 

“He says ‘Warrior’—he’s addressing you as a brother in arms—‘brave and noble, battle proven’—this goes on for a while. It has little meaning, but the shieldbearers are lapping it up. And the common folk still respect them somewhat. Next he commends your servitude and devotion to your own kingdom. This is meaningless, though it could be intended as a slight; there’s no special love for Iverna here. ‘Alas, I would not deign to insult the great queen of Iverna by countermanding her appointments. I can offer but small dispensation.’”

A lull from the crowd. No boos or hisses, but it wasn’t far off. The king seemed unbothered, confident in his speech.

“Ah, now he’s getting to it. ‘Such beasts rise from the very foundations of the seat of our great kingdom. I am told these caves may run far deeper, bare danger far greater, and that it would be in the best interest of this kingdom to fill them in with rock and mortar. But, in light of this request—’ he pauses here. He’s quite angry, my father. Alicca is going to speak for him.”

The king stepped back from the railing and Vizier Staryno took his place. One of the attendants rushed out hauling a large tome, almost too heavy to carry. With help from another, they spread the book open on the rail, and the vizier turned the pages until she found the passage she was looking for and read aloud. Chalys continued.

“She reads from the Book of Foundations. In the age before ours, pentearth was divided between the prime races. The elves held the forests, the elkbones the plains, the humans held their mountain lodges, the sea was the domain of the windfey, and the dwarves held the underground. The city now known as Port Maphera was the seat of King Borum Oracalamb. Do you know dwarven?” Treylen shook his head. Of course he didn’t. It was a dead language. “Roughly it translates to King Hauler of Great Ore, Smelter of Steel. He was foremost among dwarven kings for his metalworkers, but the ocean was fierce in those days, and the lands beyond his small peninsula rarely saw the fruits of his forges.

“Until the king received a gift from his cousin in the north. King Titrus Clastulaub—that name means Gemcutter with a Discerning Eye—crafted a crystal unlike any before it. It was mined from the caverns under the sea.” Chalys was speaking from memory now. It seemed she had studied this. “With the aid of the eyes of dragons and the lost knowledge of the wizards of the wind, they carved the Orb of Storms. This orb, gifted to King Borum Oracalamb, granted dominion over the southern seas and led to the ascension of the southern dwarves and greater trade with the elves who dwelt in the lands now known as Iverna. 

“Our predecessors and yours, Ambassador. She’s pointing at you. Nod like you know what she’s talking about.” Treylen nodded. “She’s talking more history now. The fall of the dwarves, it’s all very poetic and metaphorical, we don’t quite know myth from history here, but the legends say the orb was abandoned when dwarves fled the surface world and then lost when the old city collapsed into the earth. It was not until my family mastered the ocean that Ketaresk rose to greatness again. Oh good, she’s finished; maybe father will wrap this up.”

The vizier retreated to the rear of the balcony, and the servants closed the tome and hauled it back into the castle. The king returned to the rail and spoke again.

“He’s saying something about the histories and how much greater we could be with dominion over the sea. Stand tall, Treylen, he’s speaking to you. He says in light of this humble request, so boldly put, he will grant to you and your apprentices a fortnight’s leave to plumb the depths of this frontier and see what boons and omens it bears. Upon your return, if you are still unhappy in your position, we will take up the subject again, to the ambassador’s satisfaction.” Chalys, who’d been somewhat preoccupied with her interpretation, settled into an expression of pensive thoughtfulness. “They are waiting for your answer.”

“Does he really think we can find this orb?” Treylen whispered.

“There are many Dwarven Gates in the kingdom. Many have gone looking. Most do not return. But the one we’ve discovered is the first to have been found here, beneath the city where the orb was rumored to have been lost. We would be the first to explore these caves, mentor. But, no. I believe he thinks we will fail.”

“I take it your plan hasn’t gone how you thought it would,” Treylen said.

“I’d worried my father might put you to death. This… isn’t far off. I’ll save you the trouble of thinking it over. You haven’t a choice but to accept. And don’t forget to thank the man.”

FOURTEEN

The Preparations

The king’s gift might have been underhanded, but it had been received with more cheers and chanting from the crowd. The public clearly saw this dangerous, ill-conceived, and likely unprofitable quest as a fitting reward for their daring hero.

That afternoon, they prepared to face their sentence of two weeks in the caves, whether they liked it or not. Treylen took advantage of his popularity among the barbican shieldbearers to help keep his adoring crowds at bay while he geared up at the harborside market.

“You should thank the commander over there,” said Losina. “They’ve pulled two more from the warehouse district, I think.” Two more of the buckler-wielding peace officers shouldered through the press of onlookers to help keep the crowd off them. 

“They’ll do anything to say they served Draka Mora,” said Sir Romora, who’d joined them at the chandler’s stall. The knight’s duty to shadow Chalys meant she was effectively being punished alongside the rest of them. Without her regular underlings, she carried her own helm under one arm; her braid had come unwound, and her cape was tangled up on the pauldron of her armor. She looked positively crestfallen, trudging from shop to shop second-guessing Treylen’s preparations. “Oh don’t buy that rope, better stuff up that way.” 

“I wish they wouldn’t call me Draka Mora. It’s embarrassing.” Treylen hid behind a display of fishing nets. “What’s wrong with the rope?”

“It’s trash.” The merchant selling it looked as if she’d stabbed him in the heart. “Sorry, but it’s true. Oh, in Iverna this would be good enough, but you don’t have silken rope up there. Silk is lighter, stronger.”

“I know plenty about silk,” Treylen countered. “Silk will jerk your arm off if you belay with it. This has more flex. The sailors used this for the storm sails.” He ducked so the crowd couldn’t see him as he counted out lengths of rope.

“You should be grateful for the people’s admiration. It’s what protects you from the king’s anger. Though it is also why he is growing to hate you. You have their adoration. And that is power. Perhaps he’s hoping you won’t return.”

“What about Chalys?”

“Oh, he’s hoping she and I will return, but… he accepts the possibility we may not. These are dangerous times, and her insolence is a liability.”

Treylen nodded slowly. There was something terribly sad about a father who saw his daughter that way. Treylen fished out enough coin for the rope, then moved to the next booth and bought the silk. There was no time to argue. They had only one day to prepare. 

“Have you got any string?” he asked the merchant. The man pulled out a basket full and began to show it. “No need, I’ll take it all.” He ignored Romora questioning why, dumped the spools into his bag, and moved to the next booth. 

No amount of preparation could make up for what they lacked, but he had to try. The last time Treylen had gone underground, two lowsater had guided them—two leaders of the Oua Tuhaug, with two lifetimes of experience underground, who had lent their knowhow and their innate sense of direction to the expedition.

Rime’s voice came to him while he was sorting through a box of nails for something that could serve as climbing pitons. 

Do you think we could ask for more time in the caves? The dragon had left him again, gone back to the library to spend the day reading. His excuse was that the old histories might hold information on where the Orb of Storms was lost. Currently, somewhere below the city was all anyone could tell him.

No. Treylen pocketed a handful of nails and moved to the back of the shop to help Romora choose a set of lanterns.

That’s too bad, Rime said, we might need longer if we want to reach the hellcaves.

I don’t want to reach the hellcaves, Treylen said. In fact, I’m hoping that the caves don’t run that deep. 

I suspect they do, bondmate, said Rime. Did you know that according to the histories, Ketaresk was home to almost as many dwarven cities as the Stone Kingdom was?

No. But I’m glad that you’re reading. It means I don’t have to anymore. Treylen picked a smaller lantern from a shelf and tested the hood, handing it to Lem. It looked solid enough not to shatter if he dropped it. Rime kept talking, excited about something.

Did you know that some scholars believe the only reason there is no Dwarven Gate in Port Maphera is because they left this city in a hurry?

I didn’t. Treylen hated to admit it, but he missed the time they’d spent together before Rime took up reading. He also missed how much quieter his mind used to be. A pressure pushed on him through the dragonmind, like Rime was waiting on him to ask more.

So, what is it?

Don’t you want to know why the dwarves left in a hurry?

Not particularly. Treylen finished the transaction and left to look for Losina who had gone in search of travel rations. 

The old lore books say that an elder dragon feuded with the dwarves, banishing them from the peninsula. Before the dragon, there was no harbor here, but when he hunted them, he rooted them out like a badger tearing into a molehill. The water flowed into the hole he made and became the harbor. They say the dragon still sleeps somewhere deep under the city.

Can’t believe everything that you read in lore books. Treylen certainly hoped there was nothing so interesting as an elder dragon under the city. They’d gotten lucky that the last few elder dragons had chosen not to eat them. It would be safer to take their chances with another millipede. And yet… curiosity tickled like a loose thread.

The dry goods shop was closer to the docks. Most of these chandleries would have been closed at this time of day as the harbor wasn’t as busy as it used to be, and the bosuns who came to stock their galleys did all their shopping in the mornings, but word had spread that Draka Mora was preparing for his grand quest.

Thing is, Rime, we might not go down that deep.

But… why? He sounded crestfallen.

Because, he thought, Lem and Chalys aren’t fully recovered.

Weren’t we supposed to get the orb? Isn’t that where the orb would be? Rime had learned much in the short while he’d been reading, but he was still clueless as ever. 

They don’t really expect us to find an orb. They expect us to suffer. It’s all a punishment. Treylen found Losina haggling with some poor woman at the back of the building. Haggling wasn’t really necessary; they had plenty of coin to spare, and they were already getting the hero’s discount. He paid the woman what she was asking and helped Losina to load up a cart with a box of hardtack and packages of dried fruit, mindful that they would have to carry all of this on their backs later. 

So, Rime persisted, we don’t believe in the Orb of Storms. But why don’t we want to find an elder dragon? 

It’s not that I don’t want to. A lie. It was sheer luck that the last one hadn’t cooked and eaten them alive. We’re going deep enough to say we tried, then we’re setting up camp and staying put until the fortnight is out. I’ve already brought it up with Romora, and she agrees. All the better to keep her princess safe.

Chalys won’t like that, Rime said. She’ll say it’s a wasted opportunity.

Treylen understood the desire for some adventure. He yearned for another real mission. But could he really risk his trainees’ lives on something Rime had read in a book? He could feel Rime’s attention on his mind, and Rime could feel his boredom. He knew Treylen wanted a real adventure. 

I’m trying to be practical for once and not do anything foolish. He unfolded a list of supplies and checked another box. 

That’s too bad. Chalys and I had hoped an elder dragon could help her with her bond, like how we grew closer in the Dragon Lands…

So that was the cause of his trouble. 

He already blamed her overambitious meddling for their current predicament. But just how conniving was his new apprentice, and how far back did it go? Chalys had been playing him for a fool. Treylen cursed, severing the connection with Rime and shaking his head clear.

“What is the matter with you?” Losina jerked the handle of their cart to avoid crashing into one of the market stalls. 

“Nothing. Well, Rime’s conspiring against me.”

“That is nothing new,” Losina said, unsurprised.

“You go on ahead.” Crumpling the list in his hand, he shoved it into a pocket and went looking for the others. They were at the far end of the market, browsing hats and trinkets while the city guards worked to keep the citizens away from the princess.

“You!” Lem let out a little yelp as Treylen stomped toward them and fled along with the hatchlings, leaving Chalys alone with Sir Romora and Draka.

“What is the meaning of this?” Romora put herself between Treylen and her princess. 

“I need a word with her.”

“Only a word?” she pointed downward with her eyes. Treylen followed her gaze and saw his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger, knuckles white. 

“Oh… I didn’t… Here, I don’t care.” Treylen jerked his daggers from their sheathes, making her flinch. He turned them round and shoved the hilts toward her. Romora accepted them, then stepped aside. 

“Calm, now,” said the knight.

“Cut your tongue.” He slipped past her and grabbed the princess, leading her by the arm until they were half-hidden behind a rack of feathered hats. “You and Rime were plotting?”

“What’s this rash accusation?” Chalys crossed her arms and sighed deliberately. “I have been helping him with his writing if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“When?” he demanded. It hardly seemed possible that she’d have time for it. She trained harder than the other two.

“During the course of my royal duties. They do sometimes bring me to the library, you know. He’s quite talented. Amazing how quickly a dragon can learn. You should be impressed. He hoards knowledge the same as he hoards trinkets.”

“I don’t care about his hoarding. He’s been writing to you? You’ve had regular correspondence with my dragon?”

“Well he can’t speak, now can he?” She turned her nose up in that same arrogant way she had a few nights earlier. “Are you jealous?”

“Tell me what you plotted. When did you two find this myth in the history books?”

“Oh that. Rime said he’d found something he thought might help you with your… might help us apprentices to bond with the hatchlings.”

“Go on.” Treylen could see the others gathering to listen in, but he didn’t care.

“He told me what you found in the Dragon Lands. That you felt your bond to the dragonmind grow when you were in the presence of… what did he call them… the Keeper of the Veil and the remnants of the greatest dragon…”

“He wrote all this?” The idea of Rime putting such personal things down on parchment enraged him most of all.

“He said that ever since that day, you have been dreaming of elder dragons and of higher powers. We said, ‘wouldn’t it be grand if Lem and I could touch one, too, how much closer that would bring us to the dragonmind?’ Then we got to talking about the old legends, and the possibility of tunnels under the castle⁠—”

“Aha! There it is!” Treylen hardly noticed that he’d knocked a stack of hats from the rack.

 Losina leaned in behind him, propping her chin on his shoulder. “What’s the point of this?”

“She’s been planning this all along.” He shoved her off.

“Clever.” Losina leaned around the other side of the hat rack. “But unsurprising. You should never underestimate the talent of the nobility to manipulate. Especially when they want something.”

Chalys scoffed. “I thought he and Rime shared everything. I had no intention of acting in secret.”

“See? She’s clever.” Losina grinned, plucked a hat off the rack, and tried it on. “What have you done, apprentice?”

“It isn’t your business.” Treylen snatched the hat and hung it back, then hauled the girl out into the square toward the cart. He wasn’t sure how well-informed Losina was, but he would rather his dreams and nightmares be kept in the dark. “Whatever else Rime told you, keep it to yourself.”

“Of course,” said Chalys. “But you must admit it’s a good opportunity. You said yourself we’re running out of time. So why shouldn’t we push harder to get Lem and I bonded?”

“Perhaps.” Treylen considered it. “But I want you to admit what you’ve done. Rime told you there was something down there. And you wanted to see, so you convinced him to tell the vizier about the cellars. And when things fell apart, you used that to force us deeper.”

“Why would I do such a thing?” She sounded hurt, but her expression told him he was right. 

“Because you haven’t been satisfied with the pace of your training, and you’d rather manipulate someone than ask permission.”

Chalys gasped, a hand over her mouth, then dropped her arms. “Oh fine. But I’ve barely done anything. Rime had his mind set. As did my father. You’ve been as impatient as I have, but no one would have given us leave to go anywhere if you had simply asked for it, so yes, I put a finger on the scale. There. I’ve admitted it. You won’t hold me back just out of spite, will you?”

They were all staring at him now: Lem, Romora, and her dragon.

“Your mentor is only being stubborn,” said Losina, catching up to them. “He doesn’t like the scheme because it wasn’t his own. But it was his bondmate’s, so he’ll come around. Bondmates always do.” Her eyes were gleaming. It reminded Treylen of how the old, cruel spymaster Egin had looked when he was about to jam a dagger into one of his students. “Besides, I can think of no more fitting punishment for the apprentice’s scheming than to give her exactly what she wants. Let her see the hellcaves for herself. She might learn some humility.” 

Treylen had a rebuke to that, but the words abruptly eluded him, and his thoughts felt clumsy, a dull fuzz oozing over them through the dragonmind.

Rime must have left the library. He was nearby now. What was he up to? He rubbed at his eyes and followed the gentle pull of the dragonmind, searching for Rime. It was easy to find him, surrounded by a small mob at the far end of the market, too curious for the guards to keep the crowd at bay. Rime sat on his hind legs, tail curled under him like a cushion. His front legs rested on the counter of a tailor’s stall, a piece of parchment in one talon and a pen in the other. On the opposite side of the counter, a terrified seamstress was struggling to secure a length of twine around a parcel.

He watched as Rime carefully dipped the end of the quill into an inkwell and scrawled something onto the note. His long neck was bent, head tilted sideways, eye squinting like a nearsighted scholar. Treylen had almost guessed at what Rime was doing, but another dull pulse through the dragonmind made him forget. 

Was this how Rime felt when Treylen sapped his strength and speed? He didn’t much care for it.

“Ahem.” The crowd parted. Treylen stepped through, stopping behind Rime, peering at the letter. “Is that my signature?”

I hope it is close enough, said Rime. I don’t think the treasurer will honor a promissory note if the signature doesn’t match.

“I didn’t think the market took promissory notes.” Treylen scowled at the signature. The scoundrel had made a perfect forgery.

“For Draka Mora, promise is okay,” said the woman in broken Iveran.

“Thank you, I suppose.” He could feel his head clear as his bondmate finished writing and released the dragonmind. Rime blew a smokey breath to dry the ink. Treylen waited as the seamstress finished tying with shaky hands then Rime snatched the parcel away. “What is in here?”

I placed an order. Rime turned his snout up the same way Chalys did.

“You asked for something? When, how?”

Earlier. I sent a note through a courier, of course. Rime rested the pen in the inkwell and pushed it back to the woman.

“And what is it?” he asked, trying to peek inside. “Is it for me?”

Something for myself. Rime extended a talon and plucked the package from his hands. Just wait, bondmate. You’ll see.

FIFTEEN

The Sendoff

The cellars had been wrecked in the effort to get the head of the monster out. Walls were bashed open, while the trap door and wooden staircase were partially disassembled. But the Ferrick door was just as they had left it, yawning ominously, dark spots of blood dappling the stones and dead spiders hung in tangled cobwebs in the corners. Or were those just the shells they left behind when they molted? Treylen thought of the monstrous shell he’d seen last time he’d entered the hellcaves. 

Their party was three smaller than it had been a few days earlier and all heavily laden now, with enough food, water, and supplies. No guards had been granted to replace the others. Perhaps Romora really had fallen out of favor? Perhaps the king really did hope his daughter wouldn’t return. Perhaps he foolishly trusted Treylen could keep her safe. 

“Look who came to give us a sendoff,” Losina said cheerfully. She and the princess were in a fine mood, as was Rime, who’d just come out of the library again.

Treylen nearly stumbled down the broken stairs when he saw who was waiting for them. Former Ambassador Garian and Vizier Staryno were the last two people he’d expected to see all the way down here. Staryno shuffled around, poking at the edges of the Ferrick door and inspecting its construction along with one of her attendants, while Garian clung to the arm of his own servant. 

A tall, bony figure in a black cloak stood just inside the Ferrick door, back to the others, staring down the tunnel.

“Greetings, Ambassador.” Staryno’s servant helped her to stand straight. She smiled affectionately, nodding to Treylen, then the princess. She held her hand out to Rime who sniffed, then took a treat from her palm before stepping aside to make way for the others. With Rime and Beetle in the room, it felt crowded again.

“Vizier.” Treylen took the old woman’s hand when she offered it. “I had not expected to find you all the way down here.”

“If anyone asks, I wasn’t. But I couldn’t let you go without wishing you well. You’ve really got under your father’s skin now, haven’t you?” She glared at the princess before making a small, but respectful, bow. To Romora she said, “I’m sorry for your situation, Sir Knight.” She touched her attendant, who offered a small satchel to Treylen. “Tea. My special blend.” 

Treylen untied the string and tugged it open to smell the same flower mixture he’d pretended to drink in the vizier’s office. His mouth watered at the thought of actually drinking some again. All the same, he’d test it on Romora first. 

“Any parting advice for us?” Treylen asked. 

“I’m afraid not. We on the south of the peninsula have little knowledge of such things, but former ambassador Garian has brought someone who has spent time in northern Ketaresk where the Dwarven Gates lie. The search for the Orb of Storms is an old tradition, and Mister Bloomwater has assisted with exploring those caves. So he has agreed to accompany you on the kingdom’s behalf. Mister Bloomwater?”

The black-hooded figure turned and stepped out from the tunnel. He moved strangely, a smooth flowing motion, like the wind over the grasses of Seera. Long white hair and a wispy beard hung out from the shadows of his hood. When he drew near, his long bony fingers lowered the hood. More hair, like cornsilk, hung from the back of his hands, from his cheekbones, from the tips of his ears, and the ends of his eyebrows. A topknot kept the long, delicate strands on his head from floating around him in a halo. He was older, and his pale hair and creased skin didn’t have as much of the gold hue, but there was no mistaking a windfey.

“Ambassador Corbel, meet Mister Urchin Bloomwater of the Shellboat Flotilla.”

The man lowered his golden eyes as he bowed. 

“Treylen Corbel? You’re well-known in the Stone Kingdom.” He bowed with the same respect to Rime as he did to Treylen.

We’re known? How did that happen? 

We have not kept a low profile, said Rime. 

“Just Treylen is fine.” Treylen returned the bow, not quite understanding what the man was here for. “I don’t know what’s more surprising: to encounter a windfey underground or that I haven’t run into one sooner in a port like this.”

“It is not a safe port, milord. The blockade is thinner on the western shore. But I’m an old man, as windfey go.” He flashed pointed teeth when he grinned. He couldn’t have been much past middle age, but perhaps windfey marked their age by storms endured and little else. “That makes me braver. What is the old saying about old sailors…”

“The longer one courts death the fairer he seems.” Garian finished it for him. “Hello, Treylen, may I have a word with you?”

“Well said. You put it more delicately than the windfey do.” Bloomwater’s laugh was like a stone skipping over a calm ocean, but it immediately put Treylen’s nerves on edge. What was the vizier playing at, sending this guide with them?

Maybe she’s just worried for us, Rime said.

Maybe. Treylen wondered when Rime had gotten so good at reading his unshared thoughts. Or was he just that obvious? But I wouldn’t trust your judgment on this—it’s clouded by meats.

Don’t be ridiculous, Rime said, even as the vizier surreptitiously palmed him another treat.

“I’m afraid there isn’t time for proper introductions or I’d have brought a kettle down,” said Staryno. “It’s best if I get back before anyone notices. You’ll take Garian’s man with you and bring him back safely?”

“Of course,” Treylen said.

“It’s settled then; you won’t regret it.” She released Treylen and reached a hand out to her servant to steady herself.

“I am well enough prepared.” The windfey clapped a hand on the pack slung over his shoulder. It was lighter than the rest of theirs. Rumor was that windfey lived on little else than saltwater and sunshine. They’d find neither in the caves.

“That’s good. I’ll take your word on it, then, and you will let me know if you’re lacking anything.” Treylen could see Garian waving to him from the darkened tunnel. “Wait here.”

He left the rest of them in the room and followed old Garian through the Ferrick door. He had left his attendant holding the lamp in the cellar and was alone, shuffling into the dark down the long tunnel.

“How do you know the windfey?” Treylen asked.

“We go back a ways,” said Garian in that tight-lipped way that let Treylen know he had no intention of divulging his hard-earned secrets.

“What are you doing down here?” 

“I wanted a word alone, Treylen.”

“So we are.” He put a hand out and stopped the man. “Tell me, what is it?” 

Treylen had thought the man would be angry. That had been his reaction most times Treylen did something wrong. Garian hesitated, as if the shadows might be listening. He leaned close and whispered. 

“I don’t know what you’ll find down there, but I would warn against letting your curiosity get the better of you. You can’t be late in returning. In fact, I think you would be forgiven for returning a day or two early. The king may be angry with his daughter now, but mark my words, he’ll be worried for her come this time tomorrow. It goes without saying her safety is paramount, now even more than before.”

“You worry too much.” Treylen took the old man’s hand and patted it reassuringly. “He wanted us gone for a fortnight. I plan on serving the full sentence.”

“It’s not just that.” Garian chewed on his lower lip and rubbed his hand worriedly over Treylen’s. “Something else is afoot. Do you remember the dance?”

“Oh…” In truth he’d forgotten. “What about it? I haven’t practiced any dancing yet if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well, yes—you must, or it’ll be disastrous—but no, it isn’t that. There’s something odd going on, Treylen. My sources aren’t telling me anything. Usually the lead-up to a dance at the castle is all gossip and petty intrigue. You know… who’s slighted whom, which heirs will be in brightest bloom and which have fallen out so to speak. And I’m accustomed to being at the center of it. Now everything is hush-hush. I had thought it was because of my retirement…”

“That seems likely.” Treylen looked over his shoulder to see that Staryno and her assistant had already gone. Bloomwater was talking cheerily with Losina and Romora. Treylen didn’t like that one bit. “Maybe you should accept that you’re retired.” He stopped short of telling Garian to mind his own business. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone minding the embassy while he was two weeks underground.

“I fear it is more than that. Even my back channels cannot tell me what it is, and that is most troubling.”

“What sort of back channels?” That Garian had sources of information he hadn’t mentioned was also troubling. Surely, a large part of politics was building personal relationships, but those relationships were in the service of Iverna, and shouldn’t Treylen be introduced to these same back channels?

“Old friends, acquaintances—if you ever dropped in to play stones or take tea with me, you might know some of them. Even Missus Rimkin, who takes tea with the heads of three different housekeeping staff, wasn’t able to get any information for me.” There was a meaningful pause after he mentioned the embassy’s bookkeeper. “If she couldn’t get any information, there is undoubtedly something afoot.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?” Treylen whispered.

“Make haste, my boy, get back to the upper caves as quickly as you can. I’ll send someone down for you if the king’s temper has subsided enough to end this foolishness. I hope by then I will have uncovered a little more of this mystery ball, and we can prepare. In the meantime, for queen’s sake get your apprentice and her guardian to teach you the dances. If you resurface with a good triple step and a half-decent partridge line in your repertoire then some good will have come from this folly.”

“I’ll try my best,” Treylen said. “I might be a little too busy dancing with whatever lives down there to practice my steps.”

“Right, best of luck to you, my boy.” He squeezed Treylen’s hand once more and left him, pausing to look at the pivot point on the Ferrick door. “Ingenious…” Garian said a rushed goodbye to the others. He always had a bright word for Losina; perhaps she reminded him of old Iverna. Then he left. 

“Are we ready?” Treylen returned to the others. 

“I’m prepared to accompany you,” said Bloomwater. 

Romora opened the pack on Lem’s back and got their spare lantern, offering it to him. “Windfey live in the sun. How are you with the dark? We’ll be keeping our lights low so as not to draw in more monsters than necessary.

He laughed and refused her offer, producing a lantern of his own. It was small, with a red lens under the hood. “We are sun-kissed, yes, but we sail day and night. Moreover, the inside of a ship is always dark. Therefore, you might say we live most of our lives in darkness. In this way, among other customs, we have more in common with the lowsater than most other landfolk.”

He lit the lamp, then raised the hood, casting a small window of red light on the ground. “The red will light the way without blinding one to darkness. And sea serpents cannot see it, so long as you keep your lanterns low and follow closely behind me.” He put a hand inside of his robe, resting it on the hilt of some weapon.

Just what sort of weapon would a windfey use? He’d compared his people to lowsater, so Treylen had imagined they’d have a similar disdain for violence. 

“Let’s hope there aren’t any serpents where we’re going,” said Romora.

“Anything is possible,” Losina said, gleeful at the idea. “But we won’t be needing your red lamp at the front of our expedition, Mister Bloomwater. As our guide, you’re most useful if kept alive, along with the trainees, of course. Sir Romora and Draka are more expendable and shall guard the back—no offense Sir Knight—and those of us who walk in darkness will take the front while the bondmates range ahead to see what there is to hunt. Agreed?” 

Treylen had no objection to that, nor to letting Losina take the lead underground. He nodded, and the dragons shot off, squeezing past him and racing down the tunnel into the dark.

SIXTEEN

The Sensitivity

The body of the millipede was rotting where they had left it. Great coils of insect draped the path, and it was easier to climb over than try to pick their way around. 

“Sorry for the mess.” Treylen stood atop a length of the dead creature and bent to help Bloomwater up. 

“I’ve smelled bilges worse.” He held a rag over his nose, his other hand waving Treylen’s away. “Please, do not dote on me. I will speak up quickly enough when in need.” 

Treylen watched him slide down the other side, holding his robes tight around himself. “That’s a strange thing to wear,” he said to Losina who climbed up next.

“They aren’t like us,” she said, then slipped into the shadows to get ahead of Bloomwater. 

When Treylen caught up with her, she was kneeling beside a small opening in the floor with Rime and Beetle crouched beside her.

“Tell me that isn’t it.”

There are many tunnels, but this one appears to be the most trafficked. Rime nosed at the droppings of some subterranean animal. There were scratch marks around the opening, and a couple of footprints that looked like they’d been made by a large rodent. 

“I don’t think that millipede could have fit down here, do you?” 

“Maybe it traveled up before it grew to its full size,” Losina said.

“Will you fit? Can we widen it?” he asked Rime.

Rime scratched at the edges and found they were stone. I’ll fit, but not Beetle.

Dragons, like lowsater, possessed an innate talent for squeezing through openings much narrower than expected. Dragons looked more natural doing it than the cowfolk did. Unlike lowsater, they had no skill with a pick or chisel for when the way was too narrow. Fortunately, Treylen had packed a mason’s hammer. It would make short work of the stones blocking the way. But if the whole tunnel proved to be narrow, they would be out of luck. He peered over the edge; the shaft widened just inside. It led straight down for fifty or sixty feet before twisting out of view.

“The trainees won’t like this,” he said as Bloomwater caught up to them again. He could hear the others making their way not far behind. 

“Is that why you look so bothered?” Losina asked.

“My concern is that this is a natural hole, but the cavern is clearly manmade.”

“Or dwarfmade,” Bloomwater corrected him. 

“But why are we choosing this tunnel over the others?” Treylen asked. “I think I’d like to see them for myself. Are there any that have been carved out better?”

This one smells right, said Beetle, Rime agrees, yes?

“Are you smelling an elder dragon?” Treylen had said it jokingly, but Beetle’s answer was serious.

Traces of dragon… or something similar. 

Rime had also smelled something odd just before the millipede had showed up. Treylen looked at the opening again, studying the scratch marks around the hole. “Not rodents then?”

Rodents would smell of fur oils.

“Some strange cave lizards?”

 Losina squinted down into the dark. “The monster must have been eating something large. Let’s hope we don’t find out.” The lights of more lanterns flickered over the nearby stalagmites, garish and distracting. 

Treylen blinked away his dragon sight and turned to greet the rest of the party. “Rime says this chamber is safe, you can let the little ones run while we open up this tunnel.”

Chalys dropped her hatchling, and it ran off to hunt for bugs, while Lem set his down gently, and it began sniffing around the perimeter of the lamplight. They’d switched partners since he last saw them, neither apprentice preferring one hatchling over another. That was concerning because it implied a lack of attachment. Then again, the hatchlings were nearly identical. Both seemed to cling to Lem, and both had sat still while attending tea with Chalys. Perhaps it was progress.

Romora cast her light down the hole, and Draka sniffed around it. “Difficult going already?” She checked her straps and pockets, tightening her boot laces before doing the same for the princess and Lem. “You’ll go first, yes?”

Treylen fetched the hammer from his pack and knelt over the opening, thinking how best to widen it then lower each of them one at a time into the unknown. He’d hoped the travel would not be so laborious this early. 

Bloomwater cleared his throat. “Ambassador…”

“Just Treylen while we’re underground.” 

The man seemed to consider the request before disregarding it and choosing a different title. “Perhaps I might be of service already.”

“Oh? How?”

“My talents. If I may?”

“By all means,” Losina said, draping an arm over one of Treylen’s shoulders and resting her scarred chin on the other, watching the man. “Let us see what he can do.” 

The windfey lifted the pack off his shoulder and handed it to Chalys. He took a step forward and untied the belt around his robe and pulled it open. 

He wore a scrap of cloth underneath; the bunched undergarments were little more than a loincloth. The same fine hairs that covered his face and neck also covered the rest of his body.

“Aren’t you cold in just a robe?” Treylen asked.

“We don’t feel the cold the same as you,” said Bloomwater. “I’ve little need for this robe either, but one must keep clean and safe from torch-fire when underground.” Slipping the robe off his shoulders, he folded it carefully and handed it to Lem before loosening the silk tie that held his hair. Even before he’d finished, the long hairs on his chest and shoulders were rising in the air, the faint static of the robe pulling them toward Lem—until he took a step away, then they relaxed, seeming to hover. Even the hairs on his head and legs seemed to float and shift with the faint movements of the air in the chamber. 

He took another step away from the party, closed his eyes and swayed softly from side to side, before going still.

What do you suppose he’s doing? Treylen asked Rime, who was still sniffing around the outside of the tunnel. Rime pulled his head out of the hole and sneezed.

Which one? I wasn’t paying attention.

Treylen gestured at the windfey. He now had his arms spread and was turning in a slow circle.

I don’t know, Rime said, and stuck his head back into the hole.

Bloomwater took a step toward them again. “If you could all not breathe for a moment.” The hairs on his body drifted as he walked, then hovered, motionless except for a faint ripple that moved with the air coming up from the chamber below. 

One of the hairs on his shoulder swayed, and he twitched, head turning in that direction. Bloomwater walked slowly away again. Treylen let out the breath he’d been holding as the nearly-naked man left to pace a wide circle around the perimeter of the room. 

“Suppose I should follow him,” he whispered.

“Not too close,” Losina said.

Treylen followed at a distance, watching the man.

 Urchin Bloomwater paced along the edge of the cavern, stepping over a pile of broken rock collapsed in the struggle. He stopped at a dark crevice Rime and Beetle had scouted but deemed uninteresting. He paused there, staring a while before looking at Treylen.

“My apologies. This will take some time.” On the left edge of the cave, he paused before a deep alcove Rime had wanted to explore earlier. The windfey stared as if he sensed the same thing Rime had. Then he turned away and moved on, stopping at another opening. 

Treylen smelled a dank breeze and could see the hairs on the man’s shoulders moving with it, but for some reason the man seemed disinterested in this opening. He moved on, walking a full circuit of the cavern. It took nearly an hour, while Treylen followed and watched in silent curiosity.

He didn’t mind. Where had they to be, anyway? Treylen had traveled with the lowsater long enough to know this was the way of caving—slow, deliberate decisions, often wasting a full day crawling down one passage before having to turn back. 

“Well,” said the princess when Treylen returned, “have you learned anything? Tell me I don’t have to go down there.”

“We’ll find out in a moment,” Treylen said, “He’s just finishing up.”

Lem and Chalys sat in a circle with the hatchlings. They seemed childish, playing a game of odds and evens while Rime looked on, curious. Losina sat on Beetle’s back, keeping eyes on the windfey. Sir Romora and her dragon stood alert and irritable, watching the darkness behind them. As much as Treylen had dreaded the idea of spending more time with the knight, there was some comfort in knowing at least one person took the danger of this journey as seriously as he did, and that she was watching their backs.

It brought to mind his old friend Oakwren, who doted over his cousin and had gotten her safely through the caves under the Dragon Lands. Not that Romora was anywhere near as pleasant of company. And her duty to the princess was more from obligation than affection. Treylen leaned against Beetle and rested. He felt Losina’s fingertips on his head.

“Do you know what it reminds me of?” she asked, watching the windfey as he traced the currents in the air. “The incense they used in Oara Valley, you remember… when we hunted together.”

Treylen swallowed, feeling a bit ill. “I would rather forget that hunt, wouldn’t you?” The image of his fellow assassins creeping through the nesting ground came to mind, along with the blood of innocent dragons dripping from their blades. She had been a part of that.

“I never forget a kill,” she said flatly. “Do you remember Wetherdin?” He didn’t know why she’d brought that up, but he felt another pinch of guilt thinking of the place. “We were ordered to forget what happened there. But I remember it, very clearly.”

“We can’t be blind to such things anymore,” he said, pretending not to notice the way her teeth glimmered in the lamplight.

Bloomwater stepped out of the dark, lowering his arms. He tied his hair up again then took his robe from Lem. He smoothed the hair down over his goosepimpled flesh before slipping the garment back over his shoulder again. 

“Have you peered at the entrails over there and read our future?” Losina gestured toward the part of the room where the half-torso still hung from a stalagmite—unless something had come along and eaten it.

“You will not have to go through there to go deeper,” Bloomwater nodded at the hole. “Come this way.” He led them to the center of the room again. On the side of the path lay a pile of boulders and stalactites broken in the fighting. “I believe this would be the most profitable point of ingress for our purposes.”

Beetle sniffed the air over the odd cairn. There is something. She wedged her nose beneath a boulder and rolled it away.

Rime crept up behind her, also sniffing. Here, bondmate. He helped Beetle to roll another. Treylen could see the outline of a block set into the floor beneath it. Something had indeed once stood here, and the faint runes on the stone suggested dwarven craftsmanship. 

Treylen saw Lem move to help them and caught the boy by the jacket. “You and Chalys stay back and keep your hatchlings from getting crushed.”

Chalys made a huffing noise. “Is this how it’s to be for the whole of the journey?” 

It was Romora who spoke up for him. “When you have your bond, you’ll be hefting boulders along with him. Until then, Your Highness, I think we’d best stay out of the ambassador’s way.”

“Listen to your knight.” Losina let her eyes flash brightly, then gripped a length of broken column as large as she was and hoisted it like it was nothing. Treylen didn’t bother with the show but joined them in digging.

Once they’d cleared the first layer of rubble, there was no mistaking it. The portal carved into the floor framed a rubble-clogged staircase.

“I’ve seen this before,” said Bloomwater.

“As have I,” Treylen said, ever more impressed with the windfey, “but tell our apprentices what they’re looking at.”

“The Dwarven Gates are built in pairs. One in the upper caves to mark their departure from the world of sky, and one below, to mark their entrance into the hellcaves. Typically they are more grand.” He bent and rubbed a hand over the markings, not on blocks as Treylen had initially thought, but carved directly into the floor. “This one is unfinished. Whoever made it must have been in a hurry.”

I told you, Rime said.

“This is the upper gate?” Chalys asked. “How far to reach the hellcaves then?”

“Very,” said Treylen.

“We aren’t really going into the hellcaves, are we?” Romora looked a little pale. Even Bloomwater seemed a bit shaken at the idea. 

“It depends if we find what we’re looking for.” Treylen didn’t really believe this Eye of Storms would be sitting down there for the taking. But an elder dragon sleeping for centuries on its treasure horde… it would not be the first time Treylen had encountered one of them. 

“You are sure we need to do this?” Romora said.

Now that they were here, on the precipice of a real mission again, albeit a foolish one, the plan to set camp and wait it out seemed intolerably dull by comparison.

 Treylen met the eyes of his apprentices. Lem was putting on a brave face, though it was obvious he didn’t care to be anywhere that put him out of sight of the sea, let alone underground. But Chalys seemed just as excited as Rime. So were the hatchlings. That was just the sort of hunter’s energy he and Rime had shared when they first forged their bond. Perhaps there was something to it.

“I’m sure.”

As they cleared the last of the rubble choking the stair, Treylen thought of the companions who’d been with him the last time he’d passed through a Dwarven Gate, how similar this party was, and yet how different. He missed his cousin Laureth—more spoiled than the princess Chalys, but far more dear to Treylen—she was more a second sister than a cousin. Oakwren, her protector and a better companion than Katryn Romora could ever hope to be for the princess. He even missed Halfindle—brooding and mysterious, but her loyalty to the Storm Den above all others made it clear where her loyalties lay. The same could not be said of Losina. 

 Finally, he missed the Tuhaug siblings of the Oua herd. What he wouldn’t give to have his dear friend Noulea at his side. Nobody had come closer to filling the void Aaron had left. He’d even have settled for her brother, Brome. Urchin Bloomwater seemed competent enough, but…

You have me, said Rime.

I know. He stopped working to pat Rime’s flank, embarrassed Rime had sensed what he was thinking. Why was it that the more their minds became connected through the bond, the more alone he felt?

I don’t know either, bondmate, said Rime. I’m sorry, I know that you didn’t mean to share that with me.

It’s okay. He bent on the stair, hoisted another boulder, and placed it on Rime’s back so he could carry it up and away.

As Treylen dug, he found himself wondering what Volanti was doing. Was she still working her way up the wizard’s tower? Her dream magic had slowly been fading the longer they were apart. Would it still be strong enough to reach him in the hellcaves? And if it did, what good was he to her so deep within the belly of the world?

A Dwarven Gate meant these stairs would take them very deep, very quickly. Going down would be fast and easy. Going up again would be another matter.

SEVENTEEN

The Split

The descent lasted minutes, not hours like some dwarven stairs. It ended in what looked to be an ancient coat room. Dust-covered alcoves held the remains of what had once been workwear. A shape that had been a jacket hung from a hook bolted to the rock. Treylen touched it, and the thing crumbled to the floor. 

Rime crowded in behind him, followed by Bloomwater. 

“A coat room?” The windfey tested the lid of an old chest; the latch fell away, and the rotten wood crumbled to reveal a pile of tools rusted together into a single mass. 

Treylen could just make out the shape of a hammer and chisel. There had once been a door to the room, but it, too, had rotted away. 

“You’re sure this is the way?” Treylen asked. 

“More now than before.” Bloomwater hiked his robe and stepped through the broken door, lifting the hood of the red lantern as he moved down the narrow hall.

“Don’t go far,” Treylen hissed. Rime’s tail brushed against him, and he rubbed a hand over the scales. “Will you get out ahead of him and make sure he doesn’t wander into trouble?”

Of course, bondmate. Rime squeezed out the door. A moment later Beetle entered from the staircase. She sniffed the room as she brushed past Treylen and followed Rime.

“Is this unexpected?” Losina entered, followed by the pair of hatchlings who darted round the room scratching at the debris. One flushed out a roach. The other snatched it with a crunch and swallowed it.

“A little disappointing it isn’t more grand down here.” Treylen caught one of the hatchlings and handed it to her. 

Losina cocked her head to the side, stroking the dragon’s wings. “Marziel never taught you to turn off feelings like disappointment?”

Treylen pretended he hadn’t heard. “Wait for the others. I’ll watch Bloomwater.” He hopped the remains of the door and jogged down the hall before she could recite another of her mentor’s twisted parables.

The short hallway led to a mess hall, angular tables arranged in perfect rows, untouched by time. The tables had the patterns of wood grain, but when he tapped a finger on the top of one, he felt solid stone. When he shoved it, it didn’t budge. All cut from the same stone as the room around them. Perhaps not grandeur, but his stone carver mother would’ve called these masterworks.

He followed the faint impressions of Rime’s feet in the dust through an archway on the far side and into a kitchen. A massive cauldron hung over a walk-in hearth, spits mounted on either side, large enough to roast a lowsater. He passed through another archway, this one draped on either side with curtains—these, too, were carved from stone. An eerie feeling crept up on him as he passed into a great sitting room, seemingly frozen in time. Stone birds perched on the edge of a dry fountain: stone trees, and people—dwarves, men and women, some young, most old, seated here and there. 

Rime and Beetle rooted around like monstrous rats, pawing, sniffing, gnawing, and inspecting the stone figures. Bloomwater stood at the center of it. The top half of his robe was off his shoulders, and his arms were out, feeling the air. 

Treylen approached silently from behind. Bloomwater sensed him coming. 

“No need to hold your breath, the air is easier to read here.” 

Treylen let his breath out, bent to lift the man’s lantern from the floor, and used it to light a wick; then, digging a lamp out of his own pack, he used that wick to light the lamp. Warm light bathed the room. Treylen blinked away his dragon sight, and the strangeness of the room seemed a little less eerie.

“This passage leads to the ocean or an underground stream, perhaps to the surface.” The windfey gestured to the doorway on the left, framed by a pair of stone flower bushes. He pointed ahead. “The center path leads surely down.” He motioned to the right. “This one leads to a large chamber. It could be a complex of mines, but from the feel of the air and my experience on the other shore, I suspect we will find an old dwarven city and another downward passage.” 

Soft footsteps came behind them as Lem, Chalys, and Romora approached.

“I would like to see this city,” said Romora.

“What we seek won’t be near the surface. Our mentor is taking us down as efficiently as possible,” Chalys said in that irksome tone she used when she knew she was right.

“If there’s a city, I think we should see it,” said Treylen. She may have been right, but he was not above wasting a few hours to spite her.

He chose the rightmost passage, letting Rime and Beetle scout ahead. Treylen raised the lantern and illuminated the passage, calling Lem and Chalys to the front. Losina and Romora agreed to stay back and guard their navigator while the apprentices did the exploration of the city. The hallway into the city was wide enough to drive an oxcart through. Treylen stopped to stare at the archway framing the entrance. 

“It is something, isn’t it?” Chalys touched the lettering of the runes that crept up the walls and over the ceiling. “There are many pieces like this in archives and galleries across Port Maphera. The builders uncovered pockets of dwarven ruins during the construction of the castle but never anything like this. And to think, we were so close.”

“Somebody knew what was down here,” Treylen said. “Or they wouldn’t have built a Ferrick door into the foundations.”

“You mean Iveran agents?” Chalys seemed unbothered by the idea.

“I do, indeed.” Treylen had often wondered if the Ketaresk kings and queens knew how deeply Iveran assassins had infiltrated their society in the past. There had been no surprise from Vizier Staryno over the list of vulnerabilities within the castle. Perhaps they had always known and had accepted such infiltration as the cost of doing business with the Iverans. “When you study spycraft, you’ll learn some unpleasant things about the old Iverna. I hope you won’t hold them against the new Iverna.”

She put a hand over her mouth and let out a demure little laugh. “We know more than you think.” Chalys put an arm through Lem’s and tugged him along; she nudged one of the hatchlings down the hall with her boot.

Treylen walked behind, watching them. Chalys moved with a fluid confidence that wasn’t quite an assassin’s stride but spoke of her early training with Romora. Lem didn’t have any of the stride yet, but there was time for that. Breg had been farther along. The other hatchling clung to Lem’s shoulder, and the boy whispered to it now and then the same as he did with Rime. That was encouraging. 

Treylen lifted his lantern, but the light didn’t quite reach the end. 

Behind him, the light of Bloomwater’s red lamp was falling on the entrance, and Treylen could hear faint conversation between Sir Romora and Losina.

He wondered if it was a mistake to be speaking the way they were and to be using anything more than the dim red lamp. But his trainees had to see. Besides, if there were more creatures stalking these caves, it was better to draw them out early than to let them strike at their convenience. 

What’s ahead? he asked Rime.

A fountain at the end, Rime said. And the remains of a city. No creatures, but plenty of room they could be hiding. You will see. All very interesting.

A sudden click sounded underfoot.

There was a grinding that seemed to come from all around and a flash of movement. Treylen summoned dragonmind, and he borrowed hard against Rime’s speed, just in time to dodge the sharpened edge of a slab of metal as it came crashing down. Mid-fall, he saw Lem, still looking down at the stone that had shifted under his foot. He hooked Lem’s neck and jerked him backward. Chalys at least had the intuition to look up, but the heavy plate fell faster than she could move; he struck out, kicking her forward and out of the way.

Lem toppled onto him as the metal crashed on the floor. Treylen’s lamp bounced away as a second metal wall clanged down behind him, sealing them in darkness.

Dragon sight showed Lem scrambling to stand while the hatchling raced back and forth in the narrow space. Treylen frantically scanned the walls for the next danger. Sure enough, a second trap followed the first. Another click, a thump, then a whiplike crack sounded as an object shot out from the wall.

Treylen seized Lem by the hair and jerked the poor boy’s head backward as the sharpened bar thrust out into the space where his head had been a moment earlier. He yelped and fought blindly, but Treylen kept a firm grip.

“Hold still.” 

Lem quieted, then drew a shaky breath. The small dragon raced up and down the chamber sniffing along the edge of the massive metal plate that had walled them in.

The spear hung above them in the dark. Nothing else moved.

What was that? Rime asked.

A trap. Hellcaves, why didn’t we teach them about traps yet?

I’m sorry, bondmate. I thought you would have seen the pressure plate.

What?

With a great grinding sound, the spear withdrew into the wall. The rumble grew, then a sliver of light from the fallen lamp shone under the wall.

“Do not move.” Losina’s voice carried down the hall as soon as the passage began to open again. Just ahead of him was Chalys, crouched tensely on the floor, her eyes darting wildly, taking in the scene as it was recalled by the lamplight. Treylen knelt so he could see into the next chamber and beyond. All down the hall, it seemed the same heavy plates had fallen, and for each plate, a spear had thrust out from either side of the hall. Now they were retracting.

Her face told Treylen that Chalys hadn’t dodged the spear on purpose. She had followed her instincts, kept tight and low to the ground. 

He released his grip on Lem and patted his shoulder. The boy looked a little panicked but controlled himself quickly and called the hatchlings to him. Looking over the hallway again, this time with dragon sight, Treylen understood why it hadn’t occurred to Rime to warn him of the trap. The way the typically calm sestus magic swirled in an almost constant vortex around the stone near Lem’s feet made it impossible not to see. 

If he hadn’t stopped using dragon sight back in the odd statuary garden, he would have spotted it. 

“Move this way.” Treylen gripped Lem and pulled him backward. Chalys was on her feet, wide-eyed but excited. Lem didn’t share her excitement, but Treylen had seen the boy face down storms at sea without complaint; in many ways, he was still a child, a whiner and complainer, but in the face of danger, he was placid as a rock.

They waited as Losina stepped carefully up the hall and stopped behind them.

“How did you miss that?” She didn’t wait for an answer, kneeling beside it and inspecting the edges of the stone without touching it. “If it weren’t for the magic flowing here, I would not have seen it either. Strange, don’t you think?”

Treylen removed his glove and touched the stone lightly, careful not to put pressure on it. He felt something. He reached into his toolkit, hands running over ingredients for spells: sulfur, sawdust, oil, and salt. He dipped his fingers into a pouch of powdered bone and sprinkled it, then ran his fingers over the stone. The shallow chisel marks of a nearly invisible glyph appeared. “There it is.”

“I’ve never seen glyphs last so long. Have you?”

“The tapestries in Ketch Isle,” Treylen said. 

“Those spells only continued to work because they were large enough the wizards who designed them could draw many variants to account for changes in place and time. But even those would not have lasted as long as these have, and this is a single glyph chain. Perhaps it is because the magic of the earth is more stable.” 

“It wouldn’t need to be a finished glyph,” Treylen said, remembering his adventures beneath the Dragon Lands a few years earlier, when he and the Oua twins had examined a dwarven waystone that still held some traces of magic. Lem and Chalys listened intently, so he went on—they’d remember the lesson all the better after a scare like that. “You two can’t see it yet, but the outline of a glyph would be enough to change the flow, even if it was too outdated to be functional.”

“So this trap shouldn’t work,” Chalys noted, “but it did?”

“I don’t suspect there’s anything magical about this mechanism. It’s all dwarven engineering. The partial glyph is just here as a marker, and it is still a marvel that it has lasted. I wonder…” Treylen pricked a finger and used the blood to complete the glyph, the same as he had once done with the waystone. “My blood doesn’t have a strong enough connection to the dwarves to make it work, but Sir Romora’s should. Wait, she was with you, is she okay?”

“She is unharmed. Hmm…” Losina pursed her lips, tapping a finger on them, seeming both vexed and strangely fascinated at the same time. 

“Queen’s shadow, you didn’t say anything. You two, don’t move, and keep the hatchlings still.” Treylen pinned his apprentices in place with a look. Lem held one dragon and handed the other to Chalys, who wrapped it in her arms. 

Treylen hurried back down the hall, dragon sight scanning for more triggers, while Losina paced leisurely after him. As glad as he was to have her on his side, the degree to which she seemed to be enjoying herself was worrying. 

They were lying on the floor when he reached them. Draka stood over three crumpled shapes and their travel packs: the knight, their guide, and… was that a second windfey lying beside the first? Treylen found Bloomwater’s lantern on the floor and raised it high, lifting the hood as he approached. The red light shone over a pool of water spreading outward from the scene. Not water… it only looked that way in the crimson of his lantern. 

He stepped into the blood, coming to stand over them. Romora knelt in the puddle, hand over the windfey’s eyes. Her head was bowed in a Ketaresk prayer. Draka watched over her, alert. Urchin Bloomwater was in two halves, one facing up, the other down. The blade had cut him perfectly down the middle. 

Losina stopped at the edge of the puddle. “A pity. I quite liked him.” Treylen nodded, not wanting to interrupt the prayer. “His pack is intact, that’s a good omen.” 

“Will you just go watch the trainees?” he muttered, then saw she’d already gone. She could be as silent as a shadow when she wanted to be.

Romora’s words all ran together, like the long-rehearsed devotionals the monks had taught him. But she wasn’t praying to her monarch like the Iverans did, nor was she praying to the Great Dragon, but something more distant and immaterial. 

The prayer went on until the trainees were complaining down the hall, and the blood had soaked halfway up the leg of her breeches. The gold of the windfey’s skin seemed to have drained away as the blood seeped out of him, leaving a bland gray behind. The robes had been sliced in half with the rest of him and still covered most of the body like a pall, but the hair on his face and hands swayed back and forth with the breath of her words.

Then she fell silent, made a final sign over the body, and stood. 

“We should move him to the larger room. I’d rather not have to see what’s become of him when we come back a fortnight from now.” She lifted Bloomwater’s pack and handed it to Treylen. Blood dripped from the severed ends of the straps.

“Did I hear you say that you needed blood?” She frowned down at her legs, wet with red, eyes glistening, but she drew breath and bent to drag one piece of their former guide back into the larger chamber. Treylen took the other half.

“I need it for a dwarven glyph. It may be a waystone,” Treylen whispered. “Unfortunately, I think we’ll need yours.”

“I see,” she pulled her portion of Bloomwater off to the side of the chamber and laid it down, frowning back at the trail of gore they’d left. “That’s no problem. We’ve spilled plenty today. What is a little more?”

EIGHTEEN

The Fountain

Once Sir Romora’s blood had been smeared and the power word spoken, a faint blue illuminated the stone’s glyph. Then a stone farther down lit up, then another, and another. Faint trails of light snaked along the seams in the floor until every trigger along the length of the hall glowed with the same soft blue.

It was a cold light, but reassuring, and pulsed like a slow heartbeat—a sign of welcome from the long-lost dwarves to their distant kin. 

The welcome was somewhat dampened by the fact that poor Bloomwater had been split down the middle.

Lem and Chalys hadn’t asked about Mister Bloomwater. They’d seen the pack with the severed straps and Romora’s legs soaked in ichor. They crept forward at a snail’s pace. As welcoming as the glow seemed, they couldn’t afford to trust the ancient lights. Treylen and Losina walked in front and used dragon sight to scan the stones. 

You can rest safely at the end of the hall. Rime had been quiet since Treylen told him of the death. Perhaps he felt as much guilt as Treylen did. Beetle had also failed to warn them, but she likely didn’t care.

At the end of the hall was a stone circle with a basin at the center that had once been a fountain. On the far side, a high archway opened into a cavern so massive that the light of their lamps faded into blackness. Rime and Beetle rested on either side of the archway looking out into space.

“Hold back.” Lem had been walking toward the dragons, but Treylen caught him and guided him back. He set his pack beside the dry fountain, then helped Losina to inspect their surroundings while the others set their own packs down and helped Romora to strip off her bloody clothing and change into something clean. 

Treylen returned to the arch that looked out into the hollow space. Rime rose, leaning into him as he ran a hand over the ridges of the dragon’s brow. 

“What’s that?” A small book lay on the floor. 

Something I found.

“Where?”

See for yourself, bondmate. They passed through the archway and onto a ledge overlooking the cavern.

Treylen looked over the edge and saw walkways above and below, floor after floor like the inside of a castle, doors and windows all dark, archways like one he had just passed through, and walkways and balconies looking out into the central chasm that extended downward and up as far as he could see. 

It was a scene of utter destruction. It wasn’t an atrium or airshaft. The void was not supposed to be here. This was a great collapse. 

Treylen looked again at the ledge on which he stood. Here and there, bits of rubble lace scattered. The ceiling above was hanging askew. 

When he looked out a second time, it was clear; the whole thing had collapsed from above. Entire structures of stone had crashed into the lower floors and now hung precariously on shattered ledges. Some resembled buildings of surface dwellers, but most were just scattered rubble. There was no end to it. Endless layers of shattered tunnels and rooms sat dim and empty like a dried-up hornet’s nest, stretching downward into the dark.

I told you it was something to see.

“Oh yes.” Treylen held onto Rime and leaned out, peering toward the bottom. “How far does it go?”

Not sure yet. We looked, but it is a long way down.

“No more insects?”

I am certain they’re around. There is space enough for lurking.

“Plenty.” Treylen scanned the structures, trying to imagine what a maniac the builder would have to have been to plan such a place. 

His eyes roamed over every archway and pillar, every cracked buttress and tumbled-down wall, wondering what had caused it. Of course, it was never just one flaw that led to destruction like this, but it had to have started somewhere—one bad angle, one weakness at the top or the bottom to set off the cascade.

Some small part of him that still thought like an architect was both awed at the ambition of it and horrified at the terrible hubris. “I hope whoever lived here was gone before this happened.”

“It doesn’t really matter.” Losina crept out and perched on the broken edge of the ledge. “There won’t be much left that we can use. It’s all too ancient.” She held the book that Rime had found and turned the pages carefully. They were cracked and yellow, but he could just make out the faint outlines of dwarven runic lettering. “We have water, though.”

“Really?”

Back in the chamber, the red lantern shined on flowing water as the fountain issued forth a stream into the air. It splashed into the basin then trickled away through a gutter in the floor. Returning, Treylen found Lem washing the blood from Romora’s old clothing while the knight inspected some minor injury the princess had gotten when the trap was sprung. 

A faint glow emanated from around the edge of the fountain where Losina had activated a chain of aquos glyphs to draw the water up from some hidden well.

“We may as well settle in for the night,” she said. “The room is defensible, and we should take advantage of water while we have it.”

“They could use the rest,” Treylen said. “Is it safe to make a fire here?”

Losina licked a finger and felt the air. “The smoke will draft away. If something is hunting us, a fire could draw it in, but I’d rather fight now than fall prey later, wouldn’t you?”

Treylen thought of his and Losina’s expedition into the Mazewood. Their hunting party had thought the same thing, only for the beasts of the forest to quite literally get the drop on them.

They set up camp anyhow just inside of the archway where the smoke of a campfire could flow out into the chasm. Thin bedrolls did little to keep the chill of the stone from creeping up their backs, but the dragons went out into the ruined city and returned shortly with bits of old timber and furniture. Treylen shaved some down into kindling while Lem broke up the larger masses. With a puff from the dragons, they had a crackling fire. A bit of warmth started to return to Treylen’s toes. 

After they had stared into the fire for a while, the loss of Mister Bloomwater began to feel less immediate, if not less horrible. Lem and Chalys seemed to relax, and Romora’s hands were steady again.

“While we’re camping, I’d like for each of you to lend me your daggers,” Treylen said. Both apprentices laid their weapons in front of him as he unrolled a leather toolkit he’d bought from a local engraver. “Give me hers, too.” Chalys passed him Romora’s short swords, which lay by the fire. Then, using the technique of the Jaul glyph scribes, he began to etch a chain of glyphs into the metal.

Romora, in her long underclothes, scrubbed the blood from her outerwear and laid them out beside the fire. Draka watched her. Losina crouched in the archway, looking out. Beetle went to gather more firewood while Rime hung back, waiting for Chalys to dig something out of her pack.

Treylen looked up from his work to see her unwrapping the that Rime had purchased in the market. It was a scholar’s satchel with an additional longer strap that hung off the bottom. Rime lowered his head for the princess to slip it down his neck, then she ran the second strap under his foreleg and attached it at the bottom again, tightening it so it rested beneath one of his wings.

“That’s clever,” Treylen said, “why didn’t you wear it from the start?

“You’d have filled it up, and Rime has more interesting things to collect.” Chalys showed the book Rime had found and secured it inside.

She speaks the truth. Rime bowed his head to the princess again, then leaped through the arch, spreading his wings and soaring into the dark.

Romora knelt by the fire in her long underclothes and set a pot to boil for tea, watching Treylen as he finished the markings on her blade. “They’re petulant, aren’t they?”

Treylen scoffed. He fed a broken spindle into the fire and laid his head back onto his pack, watching Lem feed the hatchlings and struggle to keep them from eating more than their ration for the night. 

“But we tolerate it because that is where their strength comes from.” Romora lay her head back on Draka, who was restive but watchful of their backs. The dragon hadn’t taken his eyes off the hallway since they’d made camp. “To break them would defeat our purpose.”

“Seems you’ve broken him well enough.” Treylen set the etching point down. He used dragon sight to watch the movement of magic around the glyphs, then used a grease pencil to make the final markings that would let the magic into the spell. While the etchings could remain the same, those final shapes were the ones that changed over time, and grease would allow him to make adjustments as they traveled. 

“I’m not talking about Draka,” said Romora, “I mean the students. It does not serve our purpose to break them.”

They fell silent as Chalys came over to hand Romora a packet of tea. Once she’d gone back to Rime, Treylen said, “I haven’t heard you speak so casually about Her Majesty.”

“Do we not speak in confidence down here?” Romora dumped the packet into the pot, the same herbs Chalys had been drinking in the garden. The smell of it reminded him of a happier time: the princess in her fluffed dress, the hatchlings perched on their pillows in their silly costumes. 

Romora swirled it before putting it back over the fire, sneezing in the smoke that lingered in the chamber. Then she watched Treylen as he got a pinch of sulfur from his kit and sprinkled it over the markings, rubbing it into the grooves and dabbing it lightly over the grease markings.

“I always do,” Treylen said.

“Then I’ll call her how I wish.” She spoke low, so the princess couldn’t hear, and smiled a bit, watching as Chalys and Lem fussed over the hatchlings. Normally, by now the dragons and apprentices would have a preference for one another, but Treylen couldn’t see those bonds yet. 

“Don’t be soft with her for my sake,” Treylen said. “I’m still cross with her for engineering this mess. I haven’t decided what her punishment should be. Here. This blade is imbued with fire. Just don’t speak the power word until I’ve shown you how to use it safely. Now, your second blade will have the glyphs for speed. I’d have made one of these for the apprentices sooner, but they get in the way of training.”

“Why start now?” Romora traced it with her finger, then put the first blade carefully back into its sheath.

“To keep everyone alive.” He explained the power words and limitations of the spells as he engraved, then returned the second blade and started on Chalys’s and Lem’s weapons. Romora listened as she waited for the pot to boil, then passed cups around, returning to hand the last of the tea to Treylen. For once, poison was the least of his concerns. He drank, grateful for the warmth. 

“Perhaps this ordeal will be punishment enough. The princess is in danger already, you know, politically. It is a dangerous life.”

“How so? You mean—” He propped himself up on an elbow and leaned closer to speak low. Losina could listen in, but he was used to that. “You mean a political killing?”

“She is highly placed in a very short line of succession, and many near-relations with little to occupy them now that the war is at a pause.”

“The king doesn’t seem all too worried about the war or his daughter. Would he even care if she didn’t come back?”

“Care? Ambassador, think what you will, but it may be that the king sends his daughter belowground for her own safety. You’ve heard the murmurs of discontent, or maybe you haven’t— they only cheer for you, after all.”

Treylen thought of the crowd chanting Draka Mora and hoped the firelight would mask the heat rising in his cheeks.

“You think someone would harm her for political gain?”

“Is that not what you did as an assassin? You think Ketaresk nobility have no assassins of their own? Not dragon-bound, of course, but killers?”

Treylen strained to imagine it. The idea of varied nobility, each with their own spies and assassins. Such effrontery would have been quickly snuffed out in Iverna. In fact, he had seen it done in Wetherdin. Though, perhaps now with Queen Apogee’s grip loosening…

They didn’t speak of it further. There would be more time in the weeks to come, and they all needed the rest. They hadn’t gotten far in one evening, but next would be a full day of travel, and there was no telling what mysteries the shattered dwarven city would hold or what they would find beneath it.

NINETEEN

The Pit

Bondmate. You should come and see this.

Rime’s voice jolted him awake. It was midnight, probably. He’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. Treylen opened one eye and found Beetle sitting in the archway with Draka, watching over the camp while the others slept.

It had been an almost pleasant evening, Bloomwater aside, with Romora telling stories from her youth while the princess walked through exercises with her daggers. Lem had brought the carving he’d been whittling at in his free time. It was shaping up into the bust of a dragon, though he couldn’t say which dragon. Treylen and Losina picked over the contents of poor Bloomwater’s pack, taking a few useful items for themselves and burning the rest. Cook Kinna had sent them off with cabbage rolls that they boiled with a bit of hardtack, then fed what little fresh meat they had brought to the dragons. If the dragons had nothing more over the next fortnight, they might complain, but no harm would come of it. 

Draka and the hatchlings had played and rested around the fire while Beetle and Rime had gone back and forth from the ruins of the city retrieving firewood and old trinkets. Once Rime had amassed a pile of books, he pushed them into a dry corner. Then, finding two whose language he knew, placed them in his new satchel and sat in the archway to read long after the others had fallen asleep.

There was no sign of him now. 

Treylen rose quietly and stepped over the embers. Draka sniffed at his hand. 

Down there. Beetle didn’t get up but tilted her head toward the pit. He crept to the edge of the walkway and peered down. No sign of him. 

Dragon sight showed the shattered city and revealed a flutter of motion far, far below. Treylen eyed the cracked ledges and tumbled-down structures that balanced precariously. He took a moment to plot a course, then jumped down. The sense of scale deepened when he landed on a ledge below, and he felt the looming presence of vast chambers behind him. He jumped again, quickly lest he make himself an easy target for whatever wandered these caves. Again he landed on a new level of the city and again felt the voids of open caves behind him. Glancing back, he saw wide galleries and long avenues stretching down vast tunnels, lined on either side with the facades of stone houses.

He jumped down again and landed on another level to find more of these grand avenue tunnels stretching off in all directions. The stone facades lining stone streets reminded him of the city the lowsater were carving into the mountain at Dragon’s Gate. Except those were modest homes, made large by necessity to accommodate the full-grown cowfolk. These were the grand houses of proud dwarven families, each fit for a queen or king, but so numerous and close together he had to wonder if every dwarf lived as queen or king. 

Treylen kept moving, kept his focus on the pit and the speck far below that was Rime climbing up toward him. Here and there, he saw the remains of a railing or bridge. Maybe there had been an air shaft that ran through the center of this many-layered city, but there was still no doubt it had been widened by a great collapse. 

He slipped, landing on the next level, releasing a cascade of rocks, which struck a boulder, which triggered the collapse of a wall, which started a cascade. It all settled a few floors lower in the ruins of a great hall. The echoes trailed off into the vastness of it all. 

Be more careful, said Rime. It’s all very precarious farther down. 

Treylen stopped to catch his breath and plan a safer way down. Stone trees and humanoid figures populated the gardens in front of the homes in the chamber behind him. It made him shiver. He leaped down again, found a curving staircase, and jogged down until it ended abruptly in another cliff. Each jump had a jarring landing, even with dragon strength, and after a while, he began to ache. Stopping on an outcropping of rubble, he rubbed his knees, looking up at how far he’d come. 

It’ll take days for the others to climb down here.

 He could see Rime clearly now, scaling a cliff with his talons before leaping and gliding to another surface, then clawing his way up. It would be quicker to have the dragons ferry everyone down one or two at a time rather than try and climb. 

Come and see this first, said Rime.

Let me rest a moment. 

Stay where you are. I’ll bring you the rest of the way. 

Treylen sat on a plinth at the center of a collapsed amphitheater and waited for his bondmate. Rime greeted him with a nuzzle, then slipped his neck under Treylen’s arms, lifting him onto his back. He held tight, and Rime leaped out into the void, spreading his wings, and he wheeled around and around as they descended into the great atrium.

Look at that, Rime said as they passed a great chapel that leaned out from one of the walls. They drifted past the relief of a dwarf. It stood twice as tall as the statue that the lowsater were carving outside of Dragon’s Gate would be when it was finished. The carving’s face was twisted, almost melted away, and a row of slashes cut across the front, as if the dwarf had been wounded by a dragon’s talons. 

You think an elder dragon did that? Treylen wondered.

A dragon large enough to have done that could have done all of this. Rime shivered and Treylen held on more tightly. They passed another layer of the city, and Treylen looked more closely at the stone structures, finding that same pattern of slashes.

He’d never seen talons as large as that, even among ancient dragons. Except, maybe, for the bones he had touched in the Dragon Lands.

 The city thinned out, and the chambers grew—smaller, fewer, and farther between. The walls bore more of the same markings, and the stone had a soft undulating quality that reminded Treylen of water.

“Is the stone melted here?”

Best to be quiet here, bondmate. 

The walls abruptly opened into a larger chamber where an entire second city sprawled across the floor. A few of the buildings were intact, but most were crushed by rocks and rubble from above. At the center was another yawning, bottomless pit. Something black and wriggling filled the city, and a low scraping sound found his ears.

Rime pulled his wings in, landing atop of the one remaining tower that rose up from the rubble.

Quietly now, said Rime.

Treylen crawled forward and peered over the edge. The ground below was moving. At first, Treylen thought the city was flooded with oil, before he understood just how wide the streets were and how large the creatures were that crowded them.

They were shifting and moving, sluggish, but seeming to churn slowly through the rubble, as if turning over in their sleep. The sound was the scrape and drag of their innumerable legs raking across the black carapaces as slow writhing waves passed over the mass like a throbbing clump of worms. Each was at least as large as the one that had gotten Breg.

You could have told me it was millipedes. I’d have taken your word for it.

I didn’t think you would have believed me unless you saw for yourself. Rime backed slowly away from the edge, bristling like a cat.

Maybe not. Treylen tried to count them before giving up. There were too many, they were too undulating, too impossible to tell where one ended and another began. Was there a bottom to that pit or did the chasm he had been following continue?

I don’t think the king will have any choice but to seal off these caves, Treylen said. You looked around here, already. Could an elder dragon still be in here?

Not unless she’s very small, said Rime.

Then it’s gone.

No. Rime sounded certain. The histories said the dragon still slumbers. It must be deeper. 

Perhaps, Treylen said, peering over the edge again to look into the pit. But I think we’ll have to look for another way down. I’m not going in there.

That’s what I was hoping you would say. Rime spread his wings and lowered his haunches for Treylen.

He climbed on, and Rime launched them into the air. Beating his wings, Rime struggled up and out of the cavern, not as silently as he would’ve liked. Rasping, chittering noises drifted up. Treylen shivered. He kept his eyes on the cave below until they had reached the grand statue again. 

Rime landed and kept climbing on foot, bounding from one shattered walkway to the next as Treylen clung tight. He let Rime carry them both up to camp, resting his head on his bondmate. 

There wasn’t much to say, but a sense of comfort permeated the dragonmind between them. Rime bristled a little less with Treylen clinging to him, and Treylen found that dreary, lingering loneliness and the longing for his old traveling companions subsided. He wasn’t alone, after all. He still had Rime. 

Rime rested while Treylen roused the others. They smothered the coals quickly, arguing in hushed tones over the best way to go. In the end, they would go back to the place where they had left Bloomwater and take the other set of tunnels which their late guide had said would bring them deeper.

TWENTY

The Tridents

They passed carefully through the traps in the tunnel, returning to the place where the way had split. One direction led to the ruins of the city, one to nowhere, the other straight down, according to Bloomwater. 

They chose the latter. At first, it seemed no different than other tunnels he’d seen; stone streets lined with empty houses. Then the tunnels narrowed, and they passed through a series of workrooms, warehouses, great yards of rubble, carts, and pickaxes. The walls became rough and unfinished as they progressed into the mines.

“There will have been maps.” Losina dug into a pile of refuse that might have once been a table covered in parchment. It was all mold and dust now. “No matter. There’s a certain logic to mining. Once I’ve had a look at the seams, I should know better.”

They followed her in. Though Treylen didn’t recall any mines directly under the palace of Queenseat for her to have trained in, Losina charged forward with confidence.

“Is it always going to be this tight?” Chalys asked as she bent down to enter the mine. 

“Dwarves were famously short of stature,” Sir Romora said. She was the only one who didn’t have to stoop.

“For once, I’m truly envious of you,” Chalys said. 

“Be glad for the tight quarters. It’s too narrow for the monsters to follow us,” said Losina from up ahead. The tallest among them, she was nearly doubled over. “But keep vigilant. Everything in a cave must eat. And the prey of such large beasts may yet still see you as an easy meal.”

The hatchling kept a little closer after that, and Romora was more watchful than ever. The mines split every which way, but Losina, with Beetle scouting, seemed to know which path would lead them farther downward. Along the way, they passed more chambers. Some were empty, while others had been made into bunkhouses and storerooms. Picks, shovels, and half-full carts rested haphazardly as if they’d been hastily abandoned. There was something about those frozen tableaus that felt even more haunting than the ruined city. Thankfully, they didn’t stop, but pressed on. With Losina’s guidance, they made a day’s work of a maze that might have otherwise kept them busy for the whole fortnight.

Toward the end of the day, they climbed down a short mineshaft. Rime and Beetle ferried the others to spare them the trouble of ropes. They found a rough passage that spiraled downward, chasing a mineral seam that must have never quite bloomed wide enough to be worth excavating. The slope leveled out, and the walls became rough and natural looking. A faint blue glow made Treylen think they were coming up on another trap, but when they reached the chamber at the end of the tunnel, they found one wall covered in faintly glowing blue mushrooms. 

A couple of dwarven runes had been chipped into the wall, but they weren’t part of a glyph, and nobody knew their meaning.

“Does this mean we’re in the hellcaves?” Lem was holding tight to one of the hatchlings. He’d kept them near him all through the mines. 

“We aren’t nearly deep enough. But it means we’re going the right way,” Treylen said, “it’s a good sign.”

“What a joy it is to stand straight again.” Chalys stretched and rubbed her neck. On the walls, on either side of the markings were mounted two strange green tridents. “A dwarven weapon?” She reached out, but Treylen grabbed her hand.

“If you don’t need it, don’t touch it.”

“Tell that to Rime.” Chalys nudged the bulging pack on the dragon’s side. He’d been forced to leave most of his book hoard near the entrance, but he’d picked up the odd trinket in the mines, and it was full again.

Treylen inspected the bracket that held one trident. “What do you think they mean?”

“Why would anyone clearing a passage leave weapons behind?” Losina plucked one of the tridents from its bracket, ignoring Treylen’s warning. She lifted the sharpened fork, testing its weight, then put it back, frowning. “A better question is what were these meant to defend against? We should rest here and let the dragons scout ahead before we go any farther.” She eyed the exit, warily. “Set a camp, but light no fire; the air here is too choked, anyhow. We’ll sleep in shifts.”

Lem took one of the weapons, gauging its heft. “It isn’t well-balanced.” He offered it to Treylen, who spun it in a circle, then handed it back. 

“That’s correct.”

“I think I’ll keep it anyway. Will you show me how to fight with one?”

“You still need to work on your daggers. But it couldn’t hurt.” Treylen hadn’t used a trident, but he’d practiced with enough fire pokers and pitchforks to know the fundamentals. He drew a dagger. “What does your instinct tell you to do? How would you come at me?” He waved Lem forward, knocking the boy’s strike aside.

Lem yelped, and nearly dropped his weapon. A sharp ringing filled the air. The dragons whined and hid their heads under their claws.

“Ouch! Make that stop.” Chalys ran up to Lem and yanked the trident from his hand, clamped a fist over one of the prongs and silenced the ringing. “It’s not fit for fighting. It’s clearly ceremonial.”

“But for what ceremony?” Treylen sheathed his dagger and stepped up to the wall, squinting at the words. “Rime, you haven’t learned dwarven yet, have you?”

If the lowsater were here, I would learn from them, Rime replied.

“There are a few among my father’s court who could read it.”

“Copy it down. When we get back we’ll ask them.” He saw Lem was still gripping the trident, eager to learn. He’d never been a fast learner, but he was persistent. “I’d rather not ring the dinner bell for every monster in the caves. I’ll get you one from the armorer when we surface. In fact, I’ll get one of everything. My spymaster trained us in every weapon he could think of. We should do the same.”

“Spymaster Egin had a similar philosophy,” said Losina. “Did you know there are eight ways to kill a man with a hobnail?”

“I’ll keep this anyhow. It might be worth something,” Lem muttered to himself as he stuck it into his pack. It didn’t quite fit, and the prongs of the trident jutted out the top. Treylen wondered if the time was right for another lesson. Lem would have to learn to give up money and possessions if he were to become an assassin for the king of Ketaresk. But that was a lesson for another time.

Rime copied the dwarven writing onto a sheet of parchment while the others rolled out their mats beside the wall of softly glowing mushrooms. The dim, blue light did little to cheer anyone. Rime and Beetle scouted while the others rested before sleeping. Lem carved at his wooden dragon. Chalys and Romora bickered. Treylen paged through the old manuscripts that Rime had collected. The only one written in the Iveran language was an almanac predicting the harvest for some place he had never heard of on a date he couldn’t decipher. He put it away and, finding a lump of chalk in Rime’s pouch, sketched out another of the glyph chains he’d seen Volanti draw onto equipment. It wasn’t quite right, but there would be time to perfect it another night. 

Draka and Romora kept the first watch and caught the fledglings when they tried to wander off. The blue light was an ominous presence and gave no comfort. Only Losina slept easy.

They broke camp early after Rime and Beetle returned. Having found no dangers in the caves ahead, the party resumed their travel into the deep.

Caving brought with it an unfriendly kind of monotony.

It was tiring like sailing and repetitious in the same way: eat, sleep, move. There was tying ropes, raising and lowering to do, and the endless walking was not unlike the constant rocking ship. 

But where the ship provided some sanctuary against the hostile waves, a friendly thing to cling to, the crew of this caving expedition had no such comfort. The stone beneath their feet sapped them of warmth. The shadows that surrounded them weren’t the familiar shadows of a warm berth but new, and strange, and ever-changing.

In a way, it was like meditation: always traveling farther down, never seeking anything in particular except to go deeper. But meditation always ended where it began. Sometimes it dredged up the unexpected, sometimes one found themselves changed, but the return was always easy for Treylen. Caving was not that. The deeper they went, the farther they were from help and hope and light. 

Every time the tunnel narrowed, it brought the fear it might close up all together. Every time the passage grew wide, it brought the threat of more monsters. Each new branch in the tunnel meant hours wasted: testing then returning from two or three branches could waste an entire day before the right path down was found. 

“Where do you think we are?” Lem asked one day as they were walking. It was a good question. They weren’t only going down but traveling long distances wide.

“Under the sea, I suspect.” Romora shuddered as she peered at the rock above. 

Losina was quiet as she conversed with Beetle, then she corrected them. “We’ve traveled south a while, then west, but we’ve circled back a time or two.”

“Right where we started then,” said Chalys. “How do you know?”

“Beetle has a sense for these things. Your bondmate will, too. Some are better than others.” She gave Rime a condescending pat. He and Treylen had both lost count of their twists and turns over the last few days. 

* * *

Each night, they made a small fire, more for the comfort of keeping one than out of necessity. It still choked the air in the caves. Lem—who had worked many a ship’s stove—took the role of tending their meager flame. He fed it one precious chunk at a time, like a miser serving gruel by the grain.  

One night, while the others laid on their bed rolls to rub their aching feet, Treylen took out Bloomwater’s pack and divvied its contents amongst the group. It held a few personal items: a lump of soapstone and a whittling knife. Treylen gave them both to Lem. A bit of dried fruit he gave to Chalys and Romora. Hardtack and a bag of tea he dumped into his own pack. 

Two of the lightest shirts he had ever felt were no doubt meant to keep the delicate hair protected. He gave those to Lem as well.

Looking over the windfey’s blade, it seemed more of a sailor's tool than a weapon.

“It feels wrong to take his things like this,” said Chalys. The tears welling in her eyes were a welcome reassurance. She genuinely cared. Genuine emotions were too-often bled out of assassins early in their training, then twisted into a tool for deception. She’d come trained in deception already, but he was glad to see it hadn’t cost all of her humanity.

As he wound the strap around the sheath, Treylen admired the leather hilt, worn from decades of travel. The blade was dirty with grease and a bit dull from cutting ropes, but it had character, too.

“You know,” he mused, “when an assassin and their bondmate die, the replacements will take their daggers and bring them back to Iverna after they finish the job. They leave the bodies, but the daggers have a mission to do, and the assassins don’t own them—we’re just servants. Maybe he’d be glad his things went with us to the end.” He meant it when he said it. To his mind, there’d been nothing greedy in taking the pack. If anything, it was an act of respect.

“Bloomwater was not an assassin, though,” said Chalys. “He was a windfey who died very far from the ocean; I think that's the saddest part.”

“But he was a sailor.” Lem interrupted, not looking up from the fire. “Sailors talk the same way about boats. Boats can have keepers, but you never really own a boat, even if you paid for it.”

“See,” said Treylen. “He wouldn’t have minded.”

“It’s still very sad,” Chalys said, staring at the knife in Treylen’s hands. 

“Will you return yours,” Romora asked, eager to change the subject, “now that you’re not an assassin anymore?”

Losina sat up, interested. If Romora had meant to lighten the mood, she’d been mistaken. Treylen sighed and forced a lighter tone. “It’s never really been done before. Usually assassins stay assassins or become spymasters. They don’t retire.”

“Typically they die,” said Losina.

“True,” said Treylen, “but I hope things are changing. In any case, it doesn’t matter for me. Queen Apogee lets me do what I please.”

“Treylen gets the carrot,” Losina mused, “I get the stick. She was not half-so-generous when I swore my oath to her. It remains to be seen whether the new Iverna will be a better one. But to return to your question, Treylen can’t be rid of the Queen’s Fingers. There are few blades fine enough to survive the demands of our work.” She drew hers, lightning fast, scored a glyph into the stone beside her, then held the blade to the firelight. The edge still gleamed, unblemished and razor-sharp. “Forged in the Stone Kingdom, long ago. Our smithies cannot make them.” 

“I should have a pair of those,” said Chalys. Silence hung on her words. Treylen and Losina both knew that Queen Apogee wouldn’t let the blades go easily. Times may have changed, but the Queen’s Fingers were still priceless. However, they did have a small cache of them they’d collected while on Ketch Isle. 

“I would give up mine if the price was right. I would like to be rid of them,” said Treylen. “I had hoped to spend some time in the Stone Kingdom on the way here and find a blacksmith who could forge me something better.” 

Losina laughed to herself and lay back on her bedroll. “You are indeed free if you’re quibbling over the shape of your daggers.” She rolled over, and Beetle draped a wing across her like a blanket.

“What would it take to get a set of those blades for myself?” asked Chalys. “I will remind you my father is the king. I have the full resources of the kingdom of Ketaresk at my disposal…if I catch my father in the right mood.”

“Get Ketaresk back in the war, and you can have my daggers,” Treylen meant it. He didn’t want for riches or power. But the sort of power he wielded only went so far. 

“Well, I can't make him change his mind.” She huffed. “Have you met the man? What if I were to help you politically? The ball is coming; I shall teach you to dance.“

“Kingdom at your disposal and this is your offer?” Treylen had to laugh.

“One must start small in negotiations.” 

“I would pay not to dance.”

“Some things are worth more than money.” Chalys bowed mockingly. “My offer stands. And the sooner we begin, the more time you’ll have to practice.” She stood and struck a dancing posture, holding out a hand to Treylen. 

He didn’t take it. “Waste of time if we die in the hellcaves,” he joked. “Ask me again on the way up.”

“I’ll learn,” said Lem. 

That drew a laugh from Chalys. She took Lem’s hand and dragged him outside the circle of bedrolls, then began by correcting his posture before leading him through the basic steps of a Ketaresk waltz.

 Romora smiled and slid over to take Lem’s spot, minding the fire “You’ll take first watch or second?” She rested one arm on Draka’s back.

“First,” said Treylen. “I’m not ready to sleep.”

“Then I’ll take the second,” said Romora. “Shall I make you some tea? I warn you my tea will wake you up. We don't brew that flowery stuff up north.”

“Not tonight,” Treylen said. His mind was wandering, and he did not figure he would be sleeping much. He lay against Rime while Romora settled down to rest. Chalys and Lem loped awkwardly around the camp, hand in hand, counting out steps with their dragons chasing after.

* * *

The next day, they walked. And the day after that. Like a long sea voyage, the monotony continued. Interrupted only by brief, dwindling campfires and more attempts by Chalys to teach them to dance. Sleep grew scarcer, and a sense of unease settled in as the journey back grew longer and more monotonous with each step forward.

On the seventh day, they reached a staircase. 

“Douse the light.” Treylen pushed his way to the front and knelt beside Beetle and Losina. Lem lowered the hood of the lantern, and Treylen used dragon sight alone to scan the stairs. “I don’t see any traps.”

“There wouldn’t be,” said Losina. “Nothing to defend down here.”

“These were cut quickly.” He felt the edge of one step. It was as rocky and uneven as it looked. 

“They were in a hurry, then. It is rare to see dwarven work so shoddy.”

“Why make stairs at all, then?”

It was Chalys who answered. “Because it wasn’t just one traveler. It was opening the way for a… what is your word for many to flee?”

“Exodus?” said Chalys.

“Yes, is that not the reason your historians teach for why the Dwarven Gates exist?”

“Iverans aren’t much for history.” Losina started down the stairs. “Come along.”

Treylen was again reminded of his journey under the Dragon Lands and the stairs that had gone on for days. He started down, knees aching once more at the thought of it.

TWENTY-ONE

The Watercourse

The descent lasted hours, not days as he’d expected, but their knees suffered all the same. At last, the stairs ended on a sand pile at the edge of a great cavern, and the apprentices groaned and lay on the soft ground.

“Don’t just lie down before looking around!” Treylen hauled Lem and Chalys back to their feet, then lay down in their place. “That was nothing. It’ll take all day to go up again.”

He let Losina and Rime scout while he looked up at the high ceiling. Treylen listened to Romora huffing and puffing down the last of the stairs and heard the scrape of claws as her faithful Draka came behind her. He might not have had the intelligence of a bondmate, but he was loyal, never straying far from arm’s reach. Meanwhile, his own dragon was cozying up to Chalys in hopes of a treat. 

He’d not seen Beetle since they started out, but he’d trusted she was out there scouting ahead. He could hear the hatchlings chirping and sniffing the sand as the soft lapping of water echoed around them.

“What in hellcaves is that?” He sat up. “Oh. That bodes well.”

A lake stretched into the dark distance. The light of the lanterns danced over the surface and twinkled over columns of rock that reached up from the water to meet the roof of the cavern. 

“In what way?” Sir Romora dropped her pack and stretched, then rested beside him on the sand. Draka watched the shadows warily. 

“Water always leads somewhere. I don’t suppose there’s a boat handy?” 

Not this time. Rime waded in the water.

“Something is moving the water.” Losina climbed a nearby boulder, and squinted out across the cavern. “A slow current. Water enters that way, below the surface, and it drains away over there. There’s another staircase on the opposite side, though. We’ll swim it.”

“We may not have to.” Chalys pointed at Rime who was ten paces out into the lake. It still lapped at his ankles. Beetle followed him out, testing the bottom. They waited for the dragons to reach the far shore. 

The way is narrow, said Beetle. Hazards on either side.

“Did Beetle tell you?” Treylen asked Losina, who nodded. “We’ll walk in a line.” Treylen pulled Lem to his feet and caught both of the hatchlings, putting one on Lem’s shoulder and handing the other to Chalys. How many times did he have to do it before they learned to attend to their own dragons?

They removed their boots and waded in.

It wasn’t as narrow of a bridge as he’d first expected, but a little ways in, Treylen saw a hole in the rock to the right, his dragon sight revealing what was hidden beneath the flicker of lamp light on the surface. He shifted left and motioned for the others to follow. 

“Keep close.”

A steep drop off appeared on the left. He shifted to the right again. Halfway across, more deep patches appeared on either side of the path. The water was above his knees now. The current was strong enough he could feel it.

“Straight here, unless you’d like to go for a swim.” 

It grew deeper as they reached the middle, but the dragons had made it all the way without swimming, so he could, too. Rime and Beetle sat watching on the far shore.

A strange feeling pricked his senses. Something was familiar. He couldn’t place it. Treylen kept walking. There was a splash up ahead. Treylen saw the slowly expanding ripples over the water. 

“What was that?”

“I didn’t see,” Losina said.

Bondmate, Rime said warily, do you remember the otters?

“Hellcaves.” Treylen spun, just in time to see a pale shape break the water behind Chalys. A pair of claws wrapped her shoulder, and wide jaws with long, yellow teeth opened over the back of her neck. An ear-splitting trill escaped its mouth, then ceased abruptly as Sir Romora’s blade plunged through its neck. Chalys cried out, and the dragon in her arms hissed and chirped as the fleshy creature slumped off, leaving long gashes down each sleeve of her jacket. It bobbed in the water. Pink and pale, it had the webbed feet and long, muscular tail of a river otter with the star-shaped nose of a mole and the overgrown front teeth of a rat. Fleshy sockets gaped where the eyes should have been.

He’d barely glanced at it before another screech echoed high in the cavern. Then, the water around them came alive.

Pale shapes wriggled up from the depths and burst through the surface, shrieking and chittering. Treylen threw himself in front of Lem, kicking one creature on the side of its head. He plunged his daggers into the neck of a second. 

Lem drew one of his own blades, but his other held his lantern. Lem’s hatchling bristled and squawked as one of the naked otters splashed up behind them, then the hatchling ran down his shoulder and slashed the creature across the face before it could sink its teeth into Lem. The boy turned and fended it off. 

It opened its mouth wide, let out an air-vibrating shriek, then turned and lunged at Chalys. The hatchling leaped after it. Lem caught the dragon’s tail before it could swim after the otter, but in doing so he dropped his lantern. It fizzled and sank.

Chalys yelped, blind in the dark. 

Losina grunted and cut down an otter before it got her. She pulled the princess toward her, and the three put their backs together. Chalys had her blades out, but they’d do little good in the dark. 

Another volley of shrieks rose up. They were all around now, creeping out from every corner. They clung to the walls and pillars; most of the pack were bubbling up from holes under the water, sitting with their heads just above the surface, chittering and sniffing or wriggling beneath in a slowly tightening circle.

Rime splashed down from above, crashing onto one in the shallows. Seizing it in his foretalons, he pinned them to the bridge, reached down and tore with his jaws. Beetle landed on the opposite side and ripped into two more. 

The screeches reached a deafening pitch as the pack closed in. 

“Sestus!” Treylen spilled sand from his pouch and swirled a glyph in the water. The air grew hazy, but the waves broke the shape as soon as it flared to life, and the barrier he’d hoped for fell apart.

Romora had been fighting to get her lantern untied from her pack. She turned it up just in time to see the wave of creatures swimming at them.

“Aquos!” Losina swirled a glyph, and the water surged, knocking a cluster of them back. 

Chalys was quick and kept another at bay but struggled with her hatchling, who was half-panicked. She was slower in the knee-deep water, and the lack of anywhere to run put her evasive style at a great disadvantage. Treylen had been the same way before his mentor had taught him how to hold his ground. Rime tore into another mole otter, blood staining the water. It did little to deter the rest. They jumped onto him, got knocked away, then attacked again. 

Then it was Romora who spoke a power word. 

“Sestus.” The glyph chains that Treylen had chosen for her blade were the ones had first seen used by rangers outside of Tabron. They mingled earth magic with air, speeding the movement of the wearer. Suddenly, Romora’s parries were twice as swift.

“Sestus!” Chalys did the same, following it up with her second blade. “Flavus!” A plume of fire flew into the face of an otter. The blind creature heard the air crackle, but it couldn’t have known what was coming until the flesh melted from its face.

 She managed to drop two more with her speed before stumbling, cursing, and nearly dropping the weapon. The problem was the water. Their upper halves were surrounded by the channels of aeris and sestus, but it left their feet, still slow in the water, feeling as if they were mired in mud. Every movement was strange and jerky, and every attack threw them off balance. 

The magic didn’t quite fizzle out, but it stalled and stuttered. Treylen blamed himself for not thinking through the consequences of using it in water.

An otter swam at the knight’s back, but Draka pounced on it and wrestled it down. It was nearly as large as Draka but not half as dangerous. No sooner were they thrashing in the water than the fleshy creature was drifting limply away, and Draka returned to his master’s side.

More came under the surface. Treylen repelled the first two with jabs of his blade, while Lem was little help. He saw the boy glancing down at the glyphs on his blade. If Chalys struggled to use that, Lem certainly wouldn’t be able to get it right at the moment.

Treylen grabbed the trident from Lem’s pack, yanking it free and pushing it into the boy’s arms. “Here! Keep some distance.”

Lem dropped his dagger, grabbed the trident, turned it around and stabbed into the water. He missed, and the otter bit his ankle. He toppled over and struggled to his knees. The hatchling on his shoulder leaped on the otter and sank its teeth into the pale flesh. Then two more piled on Lem.

Treylen’s daggers cut a red plume from one, pierced through a second, and Lem shoved them off, but not before two more joined them. Lem’s head broke the surface long enough to cry out before they pulled him under and into one of the holes in the rock, the hatchling still clinging fiercely to the first otter. 

“Damn! Rime!” Treylen looked for help but found his bondmate being swarmed, barely holding his own.

The hatchling that had been perched on Chalys saw Lem go under, roared as mightily as a small thing could, and a flash lit its eyes. It dove into the water, eyes still shining bright, and swam after him.

“Queen’s shadow. Beetle!” Treylen slashed another two and pulled them off of Rime’s back. 

I saw it. He felt the spray of her wings and heard her growl as she tossed otters aside, took to the air, dove, and squeezed through the hole where the otters had dragged Lem. Beetle moved like a ferret after a mouse.

He could hear Chalys and Romora cursing, too, but another pack of the long, fleshy creatures were bounding toward Rime along the bridge. He had to trust Losina would handle whatever was happening behind him. 

The thick scales of Rime’s back resisted their claws, but they went for the wings and neck. They tried to swarm Treylen, too, but he kept moving, leaping onto Rime’s shoulders to cut at one, then over their heads, landing behind them and cutting down another. 

He was sluggish. The water made everything more difficult. 

“Get to the others.” He shoved Rime, and the dragon fought his way to Chalys, Losina, Draka, and Romora. They were all bleeding, but they’d kept on their feet. 

Losina cut another aquos glyph and cleared the way for him.

They had bloodied dozens of the creatures, though how many of them had died was difficult to say. As the water had grown cloudy with blood, even dragon sight struggled to pierce it.

“I can’t see them anymore,” said Losina. “We need to get out of here.”

“What about Lem?” asked Chalys, panting.

“Only Beetle can help him now. Go. Rime, help these two.” Losina cut down another, then made Chalys and Romora grab hold of Rime as he moved toward the stairs. The otters couldn’t drag them under if they held onto the dragon.

 Treylen guarded one side while Losina stabbed at the water on the other. Draka raged madly at anything that got near his master.

Another chorus of screeches filled the air, and a second pack poured into the room from a hole in the far wall. The sounds set Treylen’s teeth on edge. 

“That scream.” Chalys covered her ears.

“It’s how they see…” Losina grunted as she ran one through, then pried its jaws from around her arm. She gave Rime another shove to keep them moving, then looked up when he didn’t. The otters were blocking the stair now, too. 

How they see, bondmate…

Treylen was watching the water as the second pack drew close. Abruptly, Rime spun around, knocking Romora and Chalys aside. He swam back to where they had made their first stand, head below the water as if fishing for something. Another otter pounced on him and sank its teeth into his back, but there was nothing Treylen could do to help him. Rime looked left, then right, then, seeing something under the water, he leaped off the path and into the depths. 

An otter swam up behind Chalys, and Treylen dove to spear it with his dagger. When he stood again, there was another in its place. He cut it down. 

Losina shouted another power word and sent a wave to clear the way to the stair. 

Bondmate! 

Rime emerged from the water behind him with the trident in his teeth. Before Treylen could ask why, he was swinging it toward him. 

Out of instinct Treylen blocked with his daggers. The clang rang out so loud the vibration of the tines drowned even the cries of the blind mole otters. His ears felt they might bleed—but the creatures felt it worse. They screeched as they recoiled. Rime held the trident high, its tines reverberating a long, pure note that seemed to never end. The creatures dove beneath the water and splashed away, bashing themselves against the walls and rocks as they fled blindly. 

The ringing persisted as Treylen and the others gathered themselves together and caught their breath. The ringing in his ears continued even after Rime wrapped a claw around the tines and muted the sound.

“Is it over?” Chalys clung to Romora, who steadied herself against Losina. She’d somehow managed to keep the lantern aloft while fighting off two and three at a time. Draka alternated between writhing, rubbing at his ears, and snapping angrily at the water.

“Best ring that again, Rime.” He clanged his blade against the tines and gritted his teeth as the sound filled his ears again. Staring at the weapon, Treylen remembered his apprentice. “Lem!”

He was about to dive in when a surge of bubbles rose from the water, and Beetle crawled onto the bridge. Lem clung to the dragon’s back, bloodied but only half drowned. He fell onto Rime, who curled his neck around the boy and pulled him in. Both hatchlings surfaced and climbed onto Lem’s back, chirping gleefully. 

Chalys rushed forward to help him stand.

Between gasps for air, rubbing at his ears, and clutching the overjoyed hatchlings, Lem managed to choke out a question. “What happened?”

Rime chortled and rubbed his head against the boy. Treylen caught Losina smiling. A genuine expression for once. Even Beetle seemed pleased. It was clear why. Lem’s eyes still glimmered with the traces of the same sort of flash they he had seen in the eyes of the hatchling.

“I think you know,” Treylen laughed.

Lem flinched like someone had just whispered into his ear, was confused a moment, then locked eyes with his hatchling.

“Oh. Yes. I’ll tell them…” he nodded, listening, then looked back at Treylen. “He thinks we might have caught the dragonmind.”

TWENTY-TWO

The Treat

The hatchling’s name was Nitpick—not the sort of name that Lem would have conceived of on his own. It was a good omen. When a dragon differed from their bondmate in a way that was complementary, they made for a stronger pair. 

Beetle was that way. So was Queen Apogee’s bondmate, Snarefoot. 

Kestrel and Marziel had been a weaker pair. Too similar in early life, they’d been unprepared for later disagreements.

Treylen wasn’t sure which category he and Rime fell into. Rime was changing in ways he didn’t understand, but hadn’t they always been at odds?

Will you tell him that I’m happy for them?

“Rime says congratulations.” Treylen clapped Lem on the back and gave Nitpick a scratch on the chin. “Can I call you Nit?”

They had crossed the water and were huddled in the chamber just through the tunnel on the far side, smearing salve and bandaging wounds while Beetle waded in the pool and fished around for everyone’s boots. They had hoped to keep them dry, but they’d all been dropped when the fighting broke out. Though shaken and cold, Lem’s breakthrough buoyed their spirits. 

Romora built a small fire with what kindling they had left and wrung her socks out before doing the same for Chalys and warming her feet over the flame. “The kingdom will no doubt be grateful you’ve delivered Ketaresk its first assassin, though whether the king admits it will depend on his pride.”

“My father trusts Alicca implicitly. If she is pleased, then he will come around. That is… if you can play the part, Lem.” Again, only Chalys dared call the vizier by her given name. Chalys had been all smiles since Lem was rescued, though Treylen thought he detected a note of disappointment in her voice. She had always been the most competent of the apprentices and, according to Romora, had excelled at most everything she put her mind to. Yet Lem had bonded, and she still had not. 

“He pledged himself to the king,” said Romora, “he’ll do what he must.”

“Pledging to a monarch is no different than being bound to a ship,” said Losina, “or a bondmate, for that matter. Isn’t that right Lem?”

Lem nodded obediently. The poor boy. Treylen couldn’t help but pity him sometimes. Romora undressed first and wrung out her clothing. There was no point in hanging them over the small fire. It wouldn’t last long anyhow. She dressed in a dry shirt but had changed into her spare breeches already, having left the blood-soaked ones beside the old fountain when they had been forced to break camp in a hurry. 

Treylen and Losina worked to stitch and salve the largest of Rime’s injuries. He had taken the worst of it, but dragons healed quickly and shook off infection. The cut Chalys had given him that night at the tavern was little more than a faint line now. 

Lem was the wettest, including his pack, so Treylen lent him a change of clothing. They would all be wearing filthy clothes by the end of it. Lem hardly cared. He couldn’t stop smiling, and Treylen was happy for him.

“We should keep walking until we’re dry,” Treylen said.

“I don’t suppose any of you are ready to turn back.” Romora filled her lamp, then shouldered her pack and waited for the apprentices to pack up.

Losina went first, holding the trident to ward off any mole otters who might try them again. There was no visible sign of the creatures, but every so often, they could hear their chirping in the distance and would ring the trident until the chirps disappeared. It was a long and winding cave, but always leading downward. They passed through sandstone chambers and smooth-walled tunnels that looked as if they’d been carved by the flow of old water. 

It wasn’t until they reached the first six-way intersection that Treylen saw the beginnings of a problem. There were five new tunnels, five humans with their five dragons, but only one trident. Normally, they would split into pairs, each pair exploring one of the tunnels before reconvening and choosing which one to follow together.

Normally, they weren’t being hunted by hordes of pale, hairless, eyeless mole otters. 

They decided to go together, one path at a time. The first branched into three more tunnels. Choosing one, they found that it branched again. They backed up and tried another. They had only gone a short way when it split off in three different directions.

“We can’t just go blindly.” Treylen tried to puzzle it out. “If I go with Nit, he can speak to Lem can’t he? Then Lem goes with Losina, Rime with Chalys and her hatchling, and Beetle with Romora and Draka. Beetle can speak with me… then I speak to Rime, who writes on parchment if he needs to say anything.”

“Who keeps the trident?” asked Lem.

“The princess, of course,” said Losina. “Treylen and I can take care of ourselves.”

“I would rather not leave Her Highness alone,” said Romora.

“I trust Rime implicitly,” said Chalys. “He’s a true gentleman.”

In the end, there was argument, but the knight was overruled. The more they divided, the faster they would find the path down. Losina and Lem took the tunnels on the left, while Treylen and Nit took the right. The others chose one central tunnel, planning to split farther down. Treylen was more worried for Lem’s safety than anyone else’s. Rime and Beetle would look after the others just fine. In these narrow tunnels, they could hold off the otters regardless of how many came at them. But there was always the danger Losina would take the opportunity to teach Lem one of Spymaster Egin’s cruel lessons. 

“You’ll give me a signal if she makes trouble for him?” 

Nit chirped twice, perching alertly on Treylen’s shoulder. Already, the bond had made an improvement to the dragon’s development. 

Treylen held a roll of thread as he walked and let it unspool. When they were purchasing supplies, he had been insistent each traveler have at least one in their pack, as well as a lump of chalk. 

Treylen paid out the thread as he passed from one intersection to the next. He was kneeling at the junction of two tunnels when the faint sounds of the otters found his ears. The small dragon nuzzled Treylen’s neck, and he loosened the cowl of his jacket so it could crawl inside.

Rime, do you hear them?

We don’t hear anything yet. I can warn her. Treylen could feel Rime tugging on his end of the dragonmind already. The more his dragon focused on writing, the more it clouded his own mind. 

Let me warn the others first. He pushed Rime away.

“Can you still hear Lem?” He stroked the hatchling’s wings. Nit chirped, tentatively. Their bond was new; it would be weak over such a distance. “Will you tell him to warn Losina?”

There was a delay as Nit spoke to Lem, who spoke to Losina, who spoke to Beetle. Beetle couldn’t speak to Romora, but she would alert her, somehow. 

Yes, we, too, hear something. Beetle’s voice came to Treylen. She spoke again a moment later. I’ve frightened the boy. She must have spoken to Lem for the first time. There was a note of amusement to the thought, the closest Beetle had ever come to humor. 

Ready, Rime. Treylen waited. The distant ring of the trident tickled his ear. The noises ceased as the mole otters retreated again. They’re gone.

We’ll ring it every half hour, just in case. 

That would be a good idea. 

Treylen told Nit, who told Lem. He also warned the newly-minted bondmates of the separation they would feel as they moved farther apart.

“Don’t worry. I’ll look after you, and Losina will look after Lem.” He wasn’t sure about that last part, but the dragon settled, lying across the back of his neck with its head and tail draped over his shoulders. Treylen continued down the narrowing tunnel.

Finding a dead end, he wound his thread in as he backtracked and used a lump of chalk to make an X on the floor in front of that opening before taking a different way. Three times he backtracked before he came upon a longer passage. When the string ran out, he pinned the end under the rock. Treylen dropped his pack, then settled onto the floor, back against the rough wall. 

“Should we rest?” Treylen asked. Nit chirped and hopped down, perching on his knee.

Sitting on the floor in the dark, he smiled at the nascent bondmate, scratching him on the chin again. He looked so much like Rime had, so long ago. 

“Let’s hope you grow a little faster than Rime did.” Of course he would. Rime had stayed small because Treylen had drawn too much power from the dragonmind, using it even when he didn’t need to. Rime hadn’t minded—he’d liked the constant connection. 

Treylen released his connection to Rime, and his vision of the tunnel faded. He was blind again in the dark. Of course, there were other ways to feel connected.

“How about a little cheer?”

Nit made a happy rumbling sound.

Treylen felt in his pouch until he found the stump of a candle and used the wax to draw a small flavus glyph against the floor, touching the wick to it as it flared up. The warm light chased the gloom away for the moment. Treylen set the stump between two stones and balanced a cup over them, sprinkling a bit of Staryno’s herbs and a splash of water. It wouldn’t get warm enough, but Nit liked the smell of it. The hatchling perched on his leg and put his face beside the flame, clicking his teeth and tilting his head toward Treylen.

“I do have something.” Treylen unwrapped a packet of dried meat and offered a piece to Nit, who swallowed it down whole, then choked it up again and gnawed on it. Treylen palmed another bit for the hatchling, stuffed a hunk into his own cheek and wrapped the rest. Leaning his head back and letting his eyelids droop, he chewed and watched the shadows from the candle dance on the walls of the tunnel.

When the water started to steam he sipped at it, relishing the warmth of the cup on his hand and warming the fingers of his other hand over the candle. He gave Nit the last piece of meat, and the dragon perched on his knee, watching and chewing.

“I think you and Lem will have a very different life than Rime and I did.” Nit cocked his head, not so much interested as amused. It would be a little longer before he could reason as humans did, but the beginnings were there, accelerated by the act of bonding. “People will still want to use you. But you’ll serve this king. If he’s anything like his daughter, then maybe he’s a good man after all—maybe more clever than what I’ve given him credit for. Maybe…” Treylen stared into the flame, head feeling fuzzy. “Maybe it won’t be so different… but I liked the life. Who am I to say if it suits you?”

The trident rang. He sighed. Nit swallowed the meat whole, and a lump sat in his throat where it settled in his craw.

“We should keep moving before I fall asleep.” He snuffed the candle and packed his things, summoning dragon sight and setting Nitpick back on his shoulder. They were at the end of the string. Three more spools cluttered his pack, but the tunnel ahead looked long and straight. String was better suited for twisting caves. He pulled out more chalk instead. 

At the next intersection he made two arrows. One showed where he had come from, another showed where he was going. When the way ended abruptly, he backtracked, made an X over the arrow and tried the second path. This tunnel opened into a cave with many entrances. Treylen chose the widest, found it collapsed, then backtracked to try another. The ringing caught his ear again, fainter than before, almost beyond hearing. An otter bite on his ankle throbbed. His head ached.

“Can you still reach him?”

Nit made a low, mournful sound and nuzzled his collarbone.

“Don’t worry.” He tried Rime. What have you found?

Burrows, I think. They’ve been nesting here. We aren’t worried. The trident keeps them at bay, but my ears are ringing.

Don’t let the hatchling run off. Treylen fought the urge to order Rime and Chalys back. They wouldn’t listen to him anyhow; both Rime and Chalys had the habit of doing the opposite of whatever Treylen said. He wondered again if it was a mistake leaving them alone together. 

They passed another long hall, another rocky chamber with nooks and alcoves that opened into new tunnels and watery caves.

“What do you think a burrow looks like, Nitpick?”

Treylen rubbed his head. They chose the largest passage and kept moving through more intersections, choosing the way at random, marking it, and eventually finding themselves in a branching cavern—not tunnels so much as wide caves that led in different directions, a grotto of standing stones, and a floor that sloped upward into a cave of ledges and narrow crawls. 

“I don’t like that we’re going up.”

It also worried him to be so exposed. It was harder to get swarmed by otters in the narrow tunnels. They slid back down the slope through the standing stones, eyes sharp for monstrous insects as well as otters. When the way opened further into yet another expansive cavern, he made an X mark on the floor. It wasn’t so easy to mark intersections when the caves were amorphous chambers.

“I think I prefer the maze. Let’s try down there a little longer.”

Nit made a worried chirp. 

“I haven’t heard the ringing in a while. Will try Lem again?” 

He waited for the time it would take for a message to travel from Nit to Lem, to Losina, to Beetle, and back to him. The hatchling made a jabbering sound and tossed its head before burrowing into Treylen’s cowl again. 

Rime, can you hear me?

As clear as ever, said Rime. No surprise there—even Marziel had been impressed at the strength of their connection and the distance it could travel. 

Is everyone okay? 

We are. Not sure of the others.

Have you been ringing the trident?

As often as we can remember to. Can you hear it now?

He waited. Listened. Nothing. Nit’s getting worried. He can’t hear Lem. I think I’ve lost touch with Beetle, too. And I’ve got a headache. Let’s back up and find the others. Don’t forget to mark your path as you’re spooling your line. 

We’ve marked it in advance, Rime said, just to be certain. Have you found anything your way, bondmate? It all looks the same.

I’m not sure. It all looks different here. No stairs, no markings, nothing leading toward the hellcaves yet. We’ll tell Losina what we’ve found, and she can decide which way is most promising. Promise me you’ll head back now and be careful. 

No response. Rime was always learning, but he still had his annoying qualities. Nit whimpered. 

Treylen sighed again. “Rime and Chalys working together make me nervous. We’re turning back. I’m not sure anyone’s found the way yet. Maybe we can sleep on it.”

They backtracked again through the wide cavern, back into the maze of caves and tunnels. They were nearly out when he saw something strange on the floor.

What was that? A strange shape on the ground. Not a glyph, but a coil, or a cord. Treylen sharpened his sight and watched the room. There was nothing in there. As he eased into the chamber, he thought he heard the faint chirping of the blind otters somewhere in the next cave, but nothing lurked in the openings that lined the space. He crept forward, knelt, and picked the piece of string from the floor holding it between his fingers—a short length, slightly damp and frayed on both ends as if it had been gnawed.

Nit sniffed at it.

“It looks like ours. But we’ve been using chalk since… wait.” Treylen dropped the string and dashed back to the opening from which they’d just emerged. “Where is it?” He turned in circles, eyeing the floor, when he saw something. He fell to his knees and put his face up close. A wet blot and a few scratches—tooth marks—where the ground had been gnawed. The chalk was licked away.

He stood shakily and ran a hand over the dragon’s wings. Nit was groaning and burbling again. They stood in the center of the room, turning. Similar blots of moisture dampened the floor of the tunnels behind him.

“It’ll be fine.” He stroked the dragon again. As his worry grew, he wondered, were the otters far smarter than he’d given them credit for, or did they simply like the taste of chalk and string?

Either way, it was very much not fine.

TWENTY-THREE

The Circle

For once, Rime and Chalys had listened. 

Rime reported they’d followed their thread back to the starting point to find Beetle, Draka, and Romora camped and waiting for them. Lem and Losina had encountered the same trouble as Treylen. Their string had been chewed up, chalk marks licked away, and any footprints or lingering traces that might have been picked up by dragon sight had been hopelessly muddled by the movements of the dozens of otters that stalked them just out of sight. 

Which was no problem for Losina. Rime said she had walked them back from memory without incident. Rime told Treylen not to worry, the others were safe and comfortable. By the time Rime returned, the others had made a small fire from scavenged fuel they had brought from above. Then, Rime and Chalys had unrolled a sheet of parchment on the floor and were endeavoring to map the network of tunnels they had explored while Romora butchered one of the fallen otters. Lem had taken up the chore of ringing the trident while Losina and Beetle ventured into the caves again.

It was some small comfort to hear Rime’s updates and know the others were safe. Lem wasn’t, of course. His fate was now bound up with Nitpick who, along with Treylen, was growing more lost with each hour.

“I just don’t see it. Do you see anything? Chalk? A bit of mud from the water we walked through? Do you smell anything?” Treylen knelt at one of the entrances, squinting at the scratches that covered the stone floor.

Nit sniffed at the rock, sneezed, then scampered to the next opening.

It wasn’t that there was no trace of where he had walked or where the chalk had been removed. The problem was the opposite. He had paced this chamber too many times. Too many generations of naked mole otters had lived down here, and the soft stone was crisscrossed with old markings, and old scents were all muddled with otter urine. Newer footprints often left disturbances in the flows of magic, but here, even those were impossible to discern, and his headache had only gotten worse. His eyes ached. His mouth was dry. He blinked away dragon sight and lit a candle again, looking at the chamber a second time with his own vision.

“Where did we come from, here? Over there? What good does a map do if I can’t remember?” 

Treylen crumpled the rudimentary map he had been sketching, closed his eyes, and breathed out, then in, massaging his temples. He shivered, but he was starting to sweat. The bite on his ankle throbbed. Treylen felt the hatchling brush up against his hand. 

“It’s okay. We’ll draw a new one. We just need to be more diligent when we write things down.” He uncrumpled the map and looked at it again. “It’s worse than a labyrinth. These caves are all misshapen. See, I think this room had two exits, but there were four. I think I’m taking the second tunnel from the left, and it’s the third.” Nit huffed sympathetically. “Thanks.”

Treylen fumbled in his pack for the cup and tea leaves. Some of the contents were still wet, but the leaves had kept dry. He splashed a bit of water in the cup, sprinkled Staryno’s herbs in, and sipped, not waiting for it to heat. It tasted of lukewarm twigs. 

Treylen drained the cup and tapped it out on the stone. He snuffed the candle, then ran a hand over the dragon’s crest, closing his eyes, trying to focus on his meditations.

The sounds of scratching and chittering reached his ears again. His eyes felt puffy, but he forced them to stay closed. The otters hadn’t come at him yet. He’d killed enough of them the first time that they knew better. Besides, they didn’t need to. If they got him good and lost, then time, and perhaps infection, would do their work for them.

Treylen squeezed his eyes tighter. He found himself reaching out to Rime again.

Any word on Losina? It had been several hours since she set out looking for him. 

Beetle has gone to look for her. You can’t hear Beetle yet? You must have gone a long way, bondmate.

We may have wandered farther still.

You should stay where you are now.

I’ll think about it.

He bolted to his feet, startling the hatchling, stumbled, then caught himself. “This way.” Treylen stalked to the nearest tunnel. “Wait. Let’s back up.” He used the end of the candle to scratch a small glyph of wax high up on the wall. “Flavus!” It flared instantly to light, flamed for a few moments, then guttered out as the wax was consumed and the magic trailed away, leaving a burned section on the wall. “Let’s see them try and hide that.” He pulled the chalk out and made a row of rough arrows, each bigger than the last. “Or that.”

They marched down the tunnel, parchment in hand. He’d start mapping all over again. If they could be methodical enough, sooner or later they’d find their way back to where they started.

* * *

Some hours later, they emerged wet, muddy, pale, and sweating and found themselves in the same chamber, staring at the same marking. 

“At least we know we’re going in circles.” He chalked the tunnel with an X, then burned the wall like he had with the first, staggering over to stand before the next opening. 

Nit whimpered. 

“Yes, we can stop awhile.”

He sat again, back resting against the boulder, and shared a half-cup of water with the hatchling. 

I can feel you’re getting discouraged, Rime said, softly.

Progress is slow, Treylen replied. I’ve ruled out a few passages. What’s happening there?

They haven’t returned yet. Should we be concerned? 

No. I wouldn’t expect Losina to hurry on my account. Nit and I are going to rest a while. He said then to Nit, “I’m tired. Do you know how to keep watch?”

Nit whimpered again. 

“Keep your eyes open, wake me if something’s coming.” 

Nit sat higher on his shoulder and seemed to be looking out at the tunnels. His vision in the dark would be just as sharp as a grown dragon’s. 

“Bite me if you need to.”

Nit tugged on Treylen’s ear with his teeth, and Treylen batted him away.

“Yeah, like that.” He pulled his hood over his eyes and let sleep find him, not expecting the otters would let him sleep for long. So Treylen was surprised to be awakened not by Nitpick, but by Rime. 

Wake up, bondmate.

He shot up, jolted out of a heavy sleep. His hand went to his shoulder and bumped Nit, still sitting watch. “How long was I out?” 

Nit grumbled unintelligibly.

How long was I out?

All of the night, bondmate. 

“I was out all night?” he said aloud, and Nit grumbled again. “Well, thank you. You can rest now.” Nit crawled into the lining of Treylen’s jacket and settled there. Do you remember when you could fit in my jacket, Rime?

Yes, bondmate. I said so the other day. Are you feeling well?

No. But I’ve been worse.

Losina and Beetle haven’t returned. So that was why Rime sounded so worried. 

Treylen stood, limped off the pins and needles in his legs as he paced the room, thinking. It’s not like her to get lost.

Not like either of them. I’m coming to look for you, bondmate.

You should stay with the others. 

They have the trident, Rime said firmly. He was rarely so serious. And I’ll mark my path. Those things won’t be able to claw it away.

Will you at least take the time to tell the others what you’re doing? Write another of your love letters to Chalys.

We have spoken, and we’re all in agreement. Stay put, bondmate.

Treylen would do no such thing. 

He’d slept. 

He’d eaten. 

He would spend the whole of the next day walking, limping, crawling if he had to. And he would make damn sure that his markings were too large to be wiped away.

TWENTY-FOUR

The Familiar Face

The leg felt better.

The day came and went—so Rime claimed. He had a better sense for time. Treylen ventured extensively in the caves that surrounded him. He set flames to mark each intersection they came to. 

In the end, he exhausted his supply of sulfur and resorted to chalk again, hoping that more and higher marks would be enough. By evening, he was bruised and battered, wet and tired, staring at the same chamber he’d woken to that morning. 

“Hellcaves.” Treylen placed an X high up on the wall on either side of the tunnel, limped over to the boulder again, and slumped to the ground. 

I’m back where I started. Treylen closed his eyes and listened to the ever-present scuffling of claws against rock. The blind otters still followed him, just out of sight. 

That is for the best, bondmate, I told you to stay put. Rime had been searching all day, too. He’d mapped a good portion of the maze that spread out from the underwater river, but the more he traveled, the more there was to explore with branching tunnels and sprawling caves as far as he ventured.

Any word from Losina?

I haven’t gone back to see. Have you still not heard from Beetle?

If I do, you’ll be the first to know.

Nit circled the room, sniffing at the floor while Treylen rested his legs and stared at the ceiling. His knees ached from walking, and his elbows burned from crawling. The room spun. Treylen sipped his water. He was nearly out of what he’d brought. When it ran out, he would have to resort to puddles. His insides cramped at the thought.

You may as well rest, bondmate. No point in wasting energy. Lately, it seemed Rime was the one who lectured him instead of the other way round. 

It’s not a waste if it gets us out of here, Treylen replied. He shook himself awake and pulled out the map he had been working on, then lit a candle atop the boulder. The tangled web of passages reminded him of the churning mass of insects beneath the ruins. The passages spread out every which way, endlessly splitting or turning back on themselves. 

For each path he’d taken the time to follow, a dozen unexplored caves branched off. Each new survey yielded countless more, each with their own hazards and pitfalls.

He almost wished the otters would come for him. They would be meat for the fire… if he could find something to burn. He recalled what Losina had said about their hunting trip. The time Apogee had burned a powder whose smoke was drawn toward the presence of dragons and led them through the Mazewood. He had no such magical incense here, but if he were to burn something, enough to smoke up the caves, it might just lead the others toward him.

A crunch echoed down the hall. The sound of footsteps followed. Treylen hopped up and drew his blade, calling Nit back to him. Perhaps he was getting what had wished for. 

But the footfalls grew louder as they came closer. Another thud, followed by the sound of tumbling rock. These weren’t otters. 

It wasn’t Losina, either. Treylen listened for the direction of the sound. They were coming from a narrow crevice, one he hadn’t yet marked. 

A smash, a clatter, then a shuffling sound. Something big was forcing its way through the small passage, knocking rocks out of the way as it squeezed through. 

“Queen’s shadow. Are you with me Nit?”

The hatchling leaped onto him, perching on Treylen’s shoulder. 

There was another crash, then a cloud of dust drifted into the cave.

Here he’d thought the insects couldn’t reach him, that they were too large, but he should have known. If the largest were as broad as a caravan and long as a wagon train, their bear-sized offspring surely roamed these tunnels. He fished for a handful of sulfur to keep it at bay, but it was all used up. 

Which of the marked tunnels was best to flee down? Was it better to get lost in the twisting maze or try his luck with a straighter path and hope to outrun it? 

As he backed away, Treylen weighed the pack in his hand, a little lighter than when he’d set out. He tossed it aside. Grabbing his map, he shoved it into his pocket. He could come back for the supplies if he survived. 

He backed away, choosing a tunnel, but waited there, peering around the corner to catch a glimpse of it before he fled. Another crash, then movement. Something impacted the ridge of rock that hemmed in the narrow opening. It shattered, making way for the creature to push through. 

It emerged just as the candle burning on the boulder guttered out.

Treylen tripped over his own feet.

He fell, landed on his behind, and scrambled backward. His eyes flashed with dragonmind, and he could see the outline of a lowsater emerging from the opening. 

It stepped out, crossed the cave, and bent to offer a hand.

“Liberator?”

Treylen blinked. “Uberetus?”

He had heard that the souls of lowsater went to live below the earth. But he’d never thought he would go deep enough to actually meet one.

“Cut your tongue, Iveran.” She put her hands around his shoulders, lifting him like a feather duster and settling him on his feet. He knew that voice.

“Noulea?”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Noulea!” He threw his arms around her as best he could. It was like hugging a garden shed. “How is this possible?” 

“It is possible because I sought you out, my friend.” The room brightened and Treylen leaned around her to see more figures coming down the tunnel, human and carrying lanterns. 

Relief shattered into sudden panic when he saw their Jaul uniforms. Treylen scrambled out of Noulea’s hand and pulled his second dagger, backing into the tunnel.

“Peace, Liberator.” She waved her large palm. Treylen eased the weapons down but didn’t sheathe them.

“Noulea, what is happening here?”

Six soldiers trudged out from the tunnel. Their helms and armor had been left at the surface, but the color of their capes and shape of their swords marked them as Jaul legionnaires. Last in line came a heavyset man with a moon face, rounded shoulders, and a belly held in by a red silk sash that matched the feather in his hunting cap and his crimson hiking boots. 

The shape of the cap frightened Treylen, but this was no ranger, just an avid hunter whose station meant that he dressed however he pleased.

“Have we found him?” His voice was high and lit with optimism as he passed the others. Mopping the sweat from his brow, he smiled warmly and thrust his hand out with no regard for the blades pointed his way. “My goodness. Fair Noulea has told me much about you, and I’m happy to have found you whole.”

Noulea cleared her throat. “Ambassador Treylen Corbel, Liberator of the Oua, I present Jorsa of the outer court, Vicar to Jaul.”

“Vicar…” Treylen dropped the blade as the man clasped both hands around his, shaking vigorously. 

“Aye, yes, you don’t have vicars in Iverna? It is… how did you describe it, Noulea?”

“One who lives for another?” Noulea said.

“One who lives on behalf of another,” he kept shaking Treylen’s hand. “I do have great affection for my emperor, therefore I seek grand adventure, so that he might live vicariously through my retelling. In fact—” He choked, eyes widened. He let Treylen’s hand slip away and staggered back, gaze moving up and down. “Now, occasionally I forget a face, within the many circles of the court, but never one with which I’ve shared hearth or hardship… Noulea, I know this man.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. 

His eyes locked with Treylen’s. 

Treylen saw it too; he knew Jorsa. He also knew he shouldn’t. Every instinct told him this was deeply troubling. 

Treylen mopped his brow. Both of them were sweating now, despite the chill of the cavern. His stomach had already been cramped, now it was bound in iron. Then the face broke into a grin, so earnest there was nothing Treylen could do to stop his own. 

“It is a familiar face, and yet it isn’t. Am I mad, Noulea? You were not always Ambassador Corbel. You had another name?”

“Treylen?” Noulea tossed her bovine head, uncertain. Jorsa’s smile faltered—a sad vision, like a dying flower. Treylen almost denied it, but what was the point, he’d been recognized. 

“You aren’t mad. And you’ve a better eye than you give yourself credit for.” Treylen let his eyes slip closed as he summoned a bit of stealth to aid him. He hadn’t played this character for a very long time, so it took a moment. He let his posture slump, let the muscles of his face shift until it was almost not his own. He let his voice drop into a lower register and a bit of woodsman’s gravel creep into his tone. “You would know me as Trogan the Hunter, guide to Oara Valley.” He let the facade slip away and returned to himself. “A pleasure to meet you again, Lord Jorsa.” 

“Not a lord, alas,” said Jorsa, “my station does not permit me a title, nor does it permit a surname. Those who know the emperor so closely must forego such ties.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t see my family anymore either.” Treylen wondered if he’d misspoken.

“It is the honor of my life, and it pleases me greatly to serve my emperor.” 

Treylen fought to stop his teeth grinding at the mention of the emperor whose war had killed countless Iverans. Old grievances died hard. He let go of the hand and stepped back, still shaken. “I see. But what’s happening? Why are you both here? Am I the one who’s mad?”

“Yes, you must be quite surprised. Noulea, will you put our friend at ease?”

A voice broke into his thoughts. Bondmate, are you in trouble?

No, Treylen thought. Or, maybe. I’ll tell you once I’ve figured it out for myself.

The lowsater put a comforting hand over Treylen’s shoulders. “You recall my intentions at our last parting? My desire was to go my own way and to speak on behalf of my people.”

“She has spoken well, your friend, and for some time now has been a welcome guest of Jaul as we seek,” Jorsa’s eyes closed as he spoke, “compromise between our people. My word. What a strange meeting. I had braced myself to meet the dreaded Rak’corbel, the man who smashed down the dome of Queenseat. Only to discover that I know him already.”

“It was Shellrend, son of Shade-eye who broke the dome,” said Treylen. He nodded to Noulea. “And your father who rode him. Besides, they don’t call me Rak’corbel. In Iverna, Rak is a title for heroes.”

“They call you this in Jaul, my friend,” said Jorsa. Treylen wasn’t sure how to answer that. He’d never felt there was anything heroic about his coup. “But, let us not speak of things that happened above. We are headed below.”

“But why are you here?” Treylen asked.

“Why underground? Yes, well, when my emperor received the invitation, he was cautious to say the least, but as they say, any dew in the desert is as good as a draught. That is, my king is not one to pass on a peace offering until he’s heard it out. Of course, he can’t come on his own, and so he sent representatives in his stead. 

“And knowing what good relations the Oua have with the new queen of Iverna, and myself having spoken at length with the fair Noulea, and knowing she had a dear friend in the ambassador to Ketaresk, I could not but beg her to come along, to aide your Jaul counterpart in smoothing over what differences might arise.”

“It is the truth,” Noulea said, watching behind her. The legionnaires were taking their packs off and settling on the ground. “When the Jaul received the invitation, we were still in the beginning of our negotiations to recognize the sovereignty of Dragon’s Gate, but when I was asked to accompany Jorsa as his guest, I could do little to refuse.”

“Yes!” Jorsa clapped Noulea’s arm excitedly. “Imagine Noulea’s surprise to learn her dear friend had been sent on such a harrowing hunt. She, of course, was too polite to say so, but I could see her worry and pushed the Jaul ambassador to beg King Ketar’s leave to follow after. My emperor loves a hunt, after all, and it has always been a dream of ours that I should see the hellcaves. What better guide than the leader of the lowsater herself?”

“The Oua herd…” Noulea gently corrected him.

“The leader of the only free kingdom of lowsater left upon pentearth.”

“Co-leader.”

“Yes, I forgot your brother. Tell me, Treylen, is the brother as much a curmudgeon as she makes him out to be?”

“Wait.” Treylen put his hands on his head, it still felt like it was spinning. “One more time. You just happened to be in Ketaresk by coincidence?”

“By invite, as you know.” Jorsa’s patience was seemingly infinite.

“Right, you came for the ball.” Vaguely, Treylen remembered Volanti’s warning that Jaul were coming. And what had Garian said? He was also worried about who might be coming to the ball. “And then… you,” he gestured to Noulea, “just happened to be with them?”

“Not happenstance, my friend. I came with the knowledge you would be there. And, not finding you, I have delved deep, with the knowledge and the intention that I should find you here.”

“I don’t know what to say…” Treylen coughed.

“It is good to be underground again.” She breathed deeply, nose flaring in the cool air.

“How did you find me?” 

“Your party was easy enough to track.” Her head drifted slowly from side to side. “A pity, what happened to your guide. I found Her Highness and the others encamped beside the river, and they told me of your plight. The rest was calf’s play.” 

So she had tracked him. Treylen blushed. Leave it to a lowsater to find the way where even dragons had failed.

“When?” Treylen asked. “It can’t have been long ago, Rime would have told me. He was just with them.”

“Shortly after your bondmate set off to find you,” Noulea said. “I’m afraid our friend Losina and her bondmate have not returned either.”

There was a hiss and a yelp from the legionnaires, and Treylen saw them jump to their feet and draw their swords.

“Hold!” Treylen slipped past Jorsa and caught a legionnaire’s hand, his own blade at the ready, but she backed off. Nit lunged for her ankles, but Treylen snatched him up. The dragon climbed up to perch on his shoulder, wings spread, teeth bared at the interlopers. “Easy, Nit. They’re friendly, for now.” He returned to Noulea, keeping an eye on the swords. “Noulea, I’m still struggling to believe that you’re here, but I’ll always trust a lowsater to know the way back.”

“That I do, my friend. Come, we will have you reunited before the day is out.” 

He reached out to Rime as he gathered the things he had dropped. You can head back now. Meet me back at camp. 

You’re out? came the shocked reply.

 I’ll explain later.

I’m glad. Rime let out a mental sigh. I was beginning to worry. Oh, I have news, too. I’ve just come across Losina and Beetle. It seems they weren’t looking for you after all.

What in hellcaves were they doing, just wandering? Treylen eyed the Jaul warriors as he moved among them and gathered his blades, candle, and teacup. 

Yes, actually, said Rime. And they’ve found the way down.

TWENTY-FIVE

The Descent

“I knew the problem would solve itself, one way or another. We had little time to spare if we are to get down and back in time.” Losina’s justification for pressing ahead instead of helping to rescue Treylen was as he’d expected.

She had found the second Dwarven Gate, so after a brief introduction, the two teams agreed to complete the mission together. They finally began the long descent into the hellcaves. 

Treylen didn’t believe that Losina would truly have abandoned him. But Chalys seemed to have taken offense. She walked close behind Losina, badgering her with questions about her character.

“If Lem or I were to have gotten lost, would you have left us, too?” She crossed her arms and turned her nose up, only to stumble on a broken step and catch herself on Losina.

“Surely not.” Losina brushed her hand away. “Finding this Orb of Storms is a fool’s errand. Your punishment is the king’s true objective. That and your training. He does want you to succeed, I think. It wouldn’t do to surface without you.”

“What about Lem?” Chalys pressed. “Were you going to leave his bondmate behind? That would kill him, too.”

“Better Lem than you—” Losina threw a hand up, halting the line of travelers on the stair. She looked behind Chalys, ignoring Romora and Treylen, to address Jorsa. “Vicar, my dragon has reached the end of the stair. She reports no more resting places between here and the bottom. It will take several hours at the pace we’re walking.” 

Jorsa hummed to himself before answering. “Perhaps a rest then. What say you, dear Noulea?”

The lowsater loomed behind him. She barely fit down the stair, but turned with some difficulty to look back at Lem and the legionnaires behind. “They are quite tired, I think.”

“Then here is as good a place as any,” said Jorsa.

“Agreed,” Losina answered. At first Treylen had worried she might react violently when she saw the legionnaires. But from the moment they were reunited, she’d been as placid as a summer pond. Now, seeing the rapport between her and Jorsa raised other concerns.

 Noulea settled on the stair with a thud, wedging her back against one wall and her knees against the other. “I have seen many Dwarven Gates, but never one so hastily made that I struggle down it.” 

“Is that so?” Jorsa packed a pipe as he settled down.

Her nostrils flared as she snuffled the air. “Were it not for what I saw of the city I might question whether dwarves made this at all.”

Treylen smiled as he listened to his friend complain. 

Talk soon turned to Noulea’s travels through the continent. She’d returned to the Salt Crescent, bravely traveled the same roads where caravans had once carried her as a prisoner, then passed through Lome and over the plains of Seera before turning south to Jaul. She was often stopped by petty soldiers or suspicious rangers. Her newfound authority as leader of the Oua and the permission of the executor of Ketch Isle aided the journey, but without proof of her status it was her own silver tongue that ultimately assured safe passage.

Lem worked on his whittling again, filling out the details. It was clear now that it was Nitpick. Marziel had once carved a hatchling like that, and seeing it made Treylen happy—if somewhat melancholy. Though Marziel’s had been carved after he and Kestrel parted ways, both carvings were creations of longing. Of hope. Of desperation. Treylen hoped that Lem was luckier than Marziel had been, having taken his share of suffering at the start of life, not at the end of it. But only time would tell.

Treylen’s head still throbbed. He closed his eyes as he listened in quiet contemplation. 

Rime came back from scouting ahead and settled just below Treylen. Treylen moved to lay on his bondmate, one wing covering his body like a blanket. By the time Noulea’s tale reached Jaul City, he’d already drifted to sleep.

* * *

Treylen dreamt of the Mazewood, the night he’d spent shoulder to shoulder with Jorsa, huddling behind the rangers’ leafy barrier and keeping the volves at bay. But in the dream, the hunting party was very different. Aaron was there, as were Jargus and Brome, and Quintus Mondrain, the Executor from Ketch Isle. 

“Didn’t she kill you?” Treylen asked. Quintus only chuckled and fixed his hair.

“Who are these men anyhow?” Jorsa asked, wiping his brow in the heat of the forest. “Where are the women?” A howl split in the night. Jorsa’s soft eyes surveyed the forest, then returned to Treylen. 

A figure in a legionnaire’s helm hurried to kneel beside Jorsa—Losina in disguise. “The women are out there,” she said. “Do you worry for them?”

“Who?” Treylen asked. 

“Your cousin and sister,” said Losina. Her voice was disguised as it had been in Oara Valley. “Your friend Volanti is out there.”

“You must miss them,” said Jorsa.

We’re going to have to kill him, you know. Rime was speaking from somewhere far off.

“What did he say?” Jorsa asked, but something moved in the forest. “Arms up!” A pack of volves charged the hedge. Treylen and Jorsa jabbed with their wooden pikes.

I said, you know we’re going to have to kill him, bondmate.

“There, he said it again.” Jorsa narrowed his eyes at Treylen. “I thought I could trust you.”

Behind him, Losina had her arms around Quintus; she jerked with her blade, and he fell to the ground with a spurt of blood. The bodies of Jargus and Brome were already being gnawed by volves. She bent over Jorsa who, still focused on Treylen, didn’t notice as her arms slipped around, her knife coming up under his neck. 

* * *

Bondmate.

Pain shot through Treylen’s arm, and he jerked away. His eyes fluttered open as his face cracked on the edge of the stair. 

“Are you all right?” Jorsa knelt, already wearing his boots and pack again. He helped Treylen up. Treylen rubbed his face. It was wet with sweat. The marks of Rime’s teeth were pressed into the leather of his jacket. He glared at his dragon, then yawned. The others were already up and donning their packs. 

“Are you feverish?” Jorsa asked.

“I could’ve slept longer,” Treylen grumbled and shouldered his pack, struggling to keep his balance.

“Time is short,” said Losina, “and I’ve promised our guests we will have them back to the surface in time for the ball. I wouldn’t want the Jaul ambassador to be late for such an unprecedented occasion.”

“It may seem trivial,” said Jorsa, “but many a treaty has been negotiated over a dance. I am certain it took just as much discussion and resolve to send such an invitation as it did for Jaul to accept it.”

“Right.” Treylen smacked his lips, found his bottle and gulped the last of the water. “We’ll get back in time.”

“I do think this could be the first step toward peace between our people.” Jorsa placed a hand on Treylen’s shoulder. “And to come all this way and discover that the Iveran ambassador is none other than my old traveling companion. It can only bode well for our negotiations.” He helped Treylen to cinch his pack.

“I’m glad that you feel that way, Ambassador,” Treylen said. 

“Ready?” Noulea grunted. Behind the lowsater, the muffled voices of Lem and the Jaul legionnaires gave their affirmation. Losina was already going. Rime stood up, stretched as well as he could on the long stair, and they resumed the descent. 

“It’s invigorating to be walking where no person has stepped for generations. Yes, ah.” Jorsa sucked air in through his nose and let it out with a hearty sound. “I should correct you, the assassin, while I am one of but a few vicars to the emperor, and as such have an obligation to adventure on his behalf, my realm is not that of politics. I am not the ambassador. That would be Ambassador Kolling, with whom you will surely entreat; alas, she and her colleagues had duties to attend to before the ball. There was little interest in delving into the caves. Whereas, I have certain, oh how would you say it? An obligation to daring and vigor. But that is what comes with being a vicar.”

“Hmm…” Treylen watched his feet on the uneven stair. His knees ached though they’d only just begun again. “I’m not entirely sure that I understand. If you aren’t the ambassador, but you are some kind of representative of the emperor… what is it that you do?”

Jorsa’s light, serene laugh told Treylen he was asked that question all too often. “You were my guide through Oara valley, so you must know it is the emperor’s favorite hunting ground. Times were that Jaul himself hunted those lands. This was not my emperor but his forefathers. Imagine, an emperor full of spit and vigor. Imagine a person such as yourself. I have seen how you revel in the journey. I have shared meat and conversation over a campfire. I think I knew your soul, even if I did now know your name. 

“Now imagine that your name is on every blade, that every arrow has a bullseye marked upon your back. Imagine poisoners around every corner.” He paused, noting the look on Treylen’s face. “Perhaps you do not have to try quite so hard to imagine it. And I can see how such a spirit would help you to weather these hardships. But it was not the threats to life alone that caused the line of Jaul to go into seclusion. Imagine if the fate of your people rested upon your safety and yours only. Would you give up that spit and vigor and cloister yourself away for the sake of your people?”

“They taught us that Emperor Jaul hid in his palace,” Treylen said, “but I always thought it was a lie.” It felt strange to talk like this with a man of Jaul, even stranger to admit that he hadn’t trusted what he’d been taught in Iverna.

“No, it is all true. He’s seen the sunlight, but he’s never stepped out from under the roof of that palace. Can you imagine how a spirit like to your own could come up in such circumstances and still be a rich and admirable soul? No small feat, but truly an accomplishment.”

“I lived in the dark for years!” Losina shouted up from below. “Does he know that I was on the same hunt as you two?”

“It’s true,” Treylen offered a hand to help Jorsa over another broken step. He explained how Losina had disguised herself and had hidden amongst the hunters. 

“Oh, yes, I remember him, er… her quite well. That legionnaire and I also shared drink and cheer over the campfire. Extraordinary. I’m at a loss for words. It makes one wonder how many more assassins I’ve encountered and not known. You don’t think some of them are…” he gestured with one thumb over his shoulder, indicating the legionnaires who’d arrived with him.

“I’m sure your spycatchers would’ve spotted them.” Treylen had been curious about the possibility that some of those with him were more than mere legionnaires. What better time to bring it up than while Jorsa was being forthright with him?

“No spycatchers amongst us.” He laughed. “Neither have we brought any rangers.” He gestured again. “Try them if you like. The ambassador and I thought it best to leave subtlety at the border and approach the Ketaresk in earnest.”

“An earnest gesture,” Treylen said. “But, you haven’t finished. Tell me, what does your job have to do with your emperor being locked away?”

“Right, well. Put simply, I am not vested with authority in matters of negotiation or executive oversight. That is for the ambassador and his advisors who are, I’m sure, hard at work in the castle above.” 

The idea of Jaul and Ketaresk negotiating in his absence made Treylen grind his teeth, but he held his tongue. 

Jorsa continued.

“I am vested with the full power of his personage. That is, I am authorized to act in the expression of the emperor’s soul. I hunt vicariously. I talk vicariously. I dine and drink, and revel to the fullest.” He patted his belly. “As I said before, so that he might live vicariously through my retelling.” 

He grew quiet then, voice soft and low, as if this portion of the story was meant for Treylen alone.

“We were children together. I was born Jorsa Meijar in the outer court. You may count yourself among the very few who know this name, though such knowledge is of little consequence. I was one of but a few selected and brought to the inner court for an upbringing alongside the young prince. An honor and sacrifice. I was made to give up a part of myself,” he nodded meaningfully, “as well as my name. 

“No longer a man of the line of Meijar, I was simply Jorsa, Vicar to Jaul. He wasn’t emperor yet, of course, but cloistered all the same. We shared everything, myself and him. Though there are others like me, I fancy our bond was unique, our joys and fears, and aspirations, constrained as they were by fate and station. Until that fateful day when he ascended. 

“The old emperor passed, and my prince became King of Jaul and ruler of the Jaul empire. I returned to the outer ring. And my emperor remained. Now, we mostly exchange letters. Too many close calls with your kind have pushed my emperor into ever deeper seclusion. He longs for the outside world, but his duty to his people is to remain hidden away. So I write him letters.”

“That’s it?” Treylen laughed. “Your job is to go out hunting and carousing and write him letters about it?”

“You shouldn’t make light of it,” he said, softly.

Treylen halted. He turned to face his guest, bowing. “I apologize. I’m just surprised. I don’t know that I would want to live through someone else. Even if it meant I could be the emperor.” 

“He never wanted to be emperor. Perhaps you can find it within yourself to understand. If you had been lost a while longer in the dark, you would be surprised what scarce glitters of sunlight set your heart alight “

“Right…” Treylen felt himself blush. He turned back and continued on. It would still be a long walk before they reach the bottom. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for your part in my rescue.” 

“I would have found you on the way out!” Losina shouted. They had been speaking low, but she’d heard them anyway. 

“No thanks are necessary. We share a bond of the campfire, after all. I might not have made it safely out of the Mazewood if not for your steady hand and resolute guidance.” He put one hand on Treylen’s shoulder again, the other extended in a gesture of goodwill. “It is as I’ve said.”

Treylen took the man’s hand, met his watery eyes and held them in silent sincerity. Noulea, who’d been following quietly, blew out a breath. “An earnest venture, indeed,” she said. “May it bode well for all our peoples.”

“Right.” With a final shake, he released Jorsa’s hand, and they resumed their descent. 

It was a strange thing to accept. 

Before he might have equivocated, hidden his feelings behind false identities and the necessities of deception or told himself that such things were, by nature, murky and best not thought upon. To know true names and be true friends with the enemy was a contradiction to the core.

And yet, it felt right and filled him with a warm feeling. Like a tall ale beside a winter hearth. At least, for a short while he felt that way.

Then Rime spoke again. 

Did you hear me or were you sleeping? I said, you know, we are going to have to kill him.

TWENTY-SIX

The Glimmer

Have you got a sliver under your scales? A friend with the enemy is an asset. Are you just jealous? 

 Jealous you and him once went hunting without me? Rime made a chortling noise that startled the others. 

Treylen didn’t think there was anything funny about it. Potentially. These days I never know where your mind is at. 

My mind is with yours, bondmate, we are on the same page now more than ever. Rime pushed a feeling of reassurance through the dragonmind, and Treylen felt himself relaxing. Though, at the same time, Rime seemed to draw a bit of mental energy away from him. Soon they would have to establish some rules about that. He fought past it.

No, we aren’t on the same page. We aren’t even in the same book until you tell me what you’re getting at. And stop stealing my focus.

I was only thinking on the best way to break it to you, Rime said.

You don’t think he’s trustworthy? asked Treylen.

I wouldn’t know, bondmate. Humans all act much the same to me. 

Except for Chalys? You’re fond of her. It wasn’t a pertinent question, but Treylen couldn’t help it. 

The princess is different. We have exchanged letters.

And my mother, and my cousin, and Vizier Staryno? 

They can be trusted, said Rime. I have a sense for these things. 

You have a sense for your stomach. All of your favorites bribe you with treats. 

Bondmate, I love to bicker as much as you, but this time I am serious. And the sooner you listen, the sooner we can make a plan.

He had never heard Rime talk like this before.

Go on then. He held his proverbial tongue, waiting for the details that Rime was withholding. 

We have to kill him. We must do it for Volanti. 

Treylen stumbled on the stair. Jorsa caught him, and he thanked the man. 

So that was what had been bothering him. The sudden appearance of his out-of-place rescuers had been so unexpected and strange that in struggling to understand it, Treylen had overlooked the most damning part.

Volanti.

This man had more or less agreed to be Volanti’s sponsor to the wizard’s tower. And Treylen had handed her over to him gladly. Who better than a royal eunuch to put her on an inside track? And Trogan, the guide, Treylen’s alias in Oara Valley, had been the one to vouch for her. Hellcaves, what was the fake name they had given her? He couldn’t remember. 

It didn’t matter anyhow. It was all set to unravel. Of course Jorsa knew. It had probably occurred to him, the moment he recognized Treylen. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned it yet only meant that he was fully aware of how serious the trouble was. 

The irony was that even Treylen didn’t know what Volanti had planned. They had parted ways before the coup, and she had sworn no oath to Queen Apogee. For all he knew, she might have decided to settle down and make a life for herself in Jaul. He couldn’t blame her if she did. No chance of that now.

He knows that we have to kill him, Treylen thought. 

You think? Rime asked.

Maybe. Treylen knew what it felt like to be a dead man walking. Most people wouldn’t be able to hide their terror at such a thing. But then, Jorsa was always sweating. He always huffed and puffed. Perhaps he knows it but doesn’t realize how much danger he is in.

Or he believes he’s safe, Rime said, and Treylen could feel the mental tug of the dragonmind again. I am wondering, what if all of the humans with him are spycatchers? Rime meant the legionnaires behind them.

If they are, I could take them all myself. 

What if they’re rangers, bondmate? 

Then I’ll be glad for your help. 

Treylen laughed to himself. Jorsa must have heard him because he chuckled too. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, my friend?

“What is that?” Treylen asked.

“I was thinking that I may not make it back up these stairs.”

“What?” Treylen’s heart fluttered.

“My poor knees; they’re much abused already.”

“Oh, that. I’m sure we could carry you.”

“No, no, I won’t let myself be dead weight,” said Jorsa, huffing, puffing. He kept a steady pace. 

 You’re in agreement that we must do it? Rime asked. 

What happens if we don’t? Treylen was thinking to himself, but he felt that irritating new draw on his mind before Rime answered. 

He returns to Jaul. She is exposed. She is executed, or worse.

Can we stop it any other way? he wondered. Can we strike a deal with him? Can we hold him here in Ketaresk? No, I suppose not without angering the king. And we surely can’t trust any deal that is struck. It would be best if we make it look like an accident.

Agreed, Rime said. When? How? 

Treylen kept his eyes on his feet and listened to the boots trudging down… down… down… Rime waited for his answer. 

Agreed. Can we talk about this later? We can’t do it on the stairs, anyhow.

As you wish. Rime cut their connection and they walked in silence—three hours more, resting here and there.

Eventually, Losina announced that they had arrived. One by one, they emerged onto the shore of another underground lake.

“Are these the hellcaves?” Lem whispered.

“Not until we pass through a second gate,” Treylen said. “The dwarves wouldn’t have left the entrance unmarked.”

Would they? He thought of the rushed work of the first gate. How relieved they must have been to have finished the stair, so their loved ones could flee deeper. What exactly had been coming for them? Had a dragon really driven these dwarves from pentearth?

* * *

Something unclenched from around Treylen’s heart as he stepped out into the expanse.

This cavern, if it could even be called that, felt like a land to itself. The cave above was as high and dark as a night sky. Dragon sight cut through the dark to reveal a dome of rock stretching higher and higher until it reached a jagged chasm that stretched straight up and out of sight. The lake filled the chamber in its entirety. If he squinted, he could almost see the shore on the opposite side. 

No waves moved the calm surface, no ripples reflected the lights of their lanterns. Only a flat sheet of stale black water. There was a splash. Lem had picked one of the palm-sized rocks from the beach and heaved it in. One reverberating plunk shattered the silence, sending rings of ripples over the lake.

“That was rather stupid,” said Losina.

Treylen patted the poor boy on the back, scanning the water. 

“Is that something up there?” Lem pointed into the dark where something glimmered.

“Could be one of the millipedes. Best to keep your lamp down.” He didn’t have the heart to tell the boy what he really saw. 

It was a testament to the truly massive scale of the cavern; from so far below, the black-shelled insects looked miniscule. But it was just a trick of the eye. Each one was monstrously large. A dozen of them clung about the roof of the cavern, but up inside the high chasm, clinging to the walls, were more than he cared to count.

Soon, Lem would have to learn dragon sight. For now, it was best to keep him in the dark and preserve his courage. 

“Whatever is up there, it isn’t moving.” Treylen lowered the flame on Lem’s lantern. 

“They are ambush hunters,” said Losina. “You will not see them move until it is too late.”

Noulea grunted. “I have seen creatures like these. We may pass safely if we are swift. Unless they are hidden beneath the water. Then we may not.”

“Must we pass here?” Romora asked. 

“It’s this or turn back,” Treylen said.

Romora wrung her hands. “Perhaps it would be safer, with Her Highness, and our esteemed guest…”

“Do not shy from danger on my account,” said Jorsa “On the contrary⁠—” 

“Bah!” Chalys crossed her arms and raised her nose to the ceiling. “I won’t turn back until I’ve seen the hellcaves.”

“The decision is not yours to make,” said Romora. “Alas, it’s not mine either. Ambassador… I hope you will have more care for Her Highness than you did for our guide.” 

Treylen pretended he hadn’t heard that last part. “Did they tell either of you the story of the Orb of Storms when they sent you down here? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“They did, but I had not,” said Noulea. “If I am to be truthful, as custom dictates I must, then I see no evidence this orb ever existed, nor do I see reason to believe the dwarves would have left it behind if it did.”

“But what of venture for adventure’s sake?” said Jorsa. “Might we not pass safely through this place?” That earned him a scowl from Romora.

Noulea rubbed her shoulder, stretching in the open air. “As I said, perhaps. But I’ve brought this in case.” She removed a sack from her back and took out an axe so large it almost looked appropriate in her massive hands. “I borrowed it from the king’s executioner.”

“I’ve never seen you with a proper weapon,” Treylen said.

“My kind have no prohibition against defending ourselves from beasts.”

“And Beetle has scouted ahead?” he asked Losina, who nodded. “Let’s go in a little ways. If anything moves, we’ll turn back.”

All but Romora were satisfied with that. Lem and most of the legionnaires looked as if they would have liked to side with her but kept quiet. The knight was overruled. 

They proceeded carefully under the glistening eyes of the silent millipedes. 

No movement from the insects. 

No sounds but the soft crunch of pebbles underfoot.

They were only a little ways down the beach when they found a hand sticking up from the water.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The Treasure

Treylen shivered at the sight of the gray, clawed hand, frozen in the act of reaching up from the water. Losina must have seen it too, because she winked at him. 

She gave no warning, waiting silently for the others to get close enough to see it for themselves.

“What in the depths is that?” Lem’s whisper was drowned out by the clatter of pebbles as he stumbled. Daring to raise the flame of his lantern a little, he stepped toward the water. 

“Careful of the water’s edge,” said Jorsa. “I have had more than one hunting companion snatched from what was thought to be a safe distance.” He leaned forward to inspect the hand. “Exquisite work.” The head and shoulders of a statue sat just below the surface. “Out of place, don’t you think?”

“It is strange,” Treylen said. 

Romora was trailing Chalys, forcing herself between the princess and the water’s edge. “It is a dark omen. How much farther must we go?”

“We came all this way. There is nowhere else to go but through,” Treylen said, “unless you’d like to go back up already.”

“I am considering it.” She kept her eyes toward the glimmers on the ceiling.

“There is more room to fight in here…” Losina said, gauging the width of the beach. “Come along. Beetle has found something.”

He let her lead and walked beside Jorsa. Lem walked in front of Treylen, keeping close to Noulea. Perhaps the boy had spent more time around her on Ketch Isle than he remembered. The legionnaires clumped tightly together. Even Chalys didn’t seem to mind how close Romora was keeping. Everyone was frightened; perhaps it had been a mistake not to tell them just how many sleeping monsters he could see and where they were lurking. Perhaps it was worse not knowing.

Curious, Treylen released dragon sight and felt the darkness close in. 

The roof of the cave was a void. 

The water was a void. 

The darkness crowded on all sides like black wool.

 Low lantern light flickered over the strand like the tongues of snakes, while pebbles crunched and clacked underfoot. He saw the faintest glimmer from the eyes of the nearest millipede and the flicker of the last dying ripple from the stone Lem had thrown before they’d started walking. He shivered and embraced dragon sight again. Ahead, large shapes protruded from the lakeshore. 

As they drew closer to the shapes, they also drew closer to the hole in the roof. Treylen could see farther into it, and he was more sure than ever that it was an extension of the same chasm that had swallowed the ruined city.

More shapes sat low in the water. The first was a small portion of broken column with clean angles and delicate scrollwork. More stones littered the beach and the shallows, blocks and boulders, chunks of sculpture and other such fine work. Farther along, they grew larger, piles of blocks and whole chunks of buildings. 

“Nothing hiding up ahead,” Losina assured them. Like a cemetery procession, they passed between the fallen monuments in silence. 

“Oh,” Chalys put her hand to her heart. She’d aimed her lantern around a corner and found a massive stone face staring back. Three paces tall, it was a broken portion of a larger statue half-buried in the sand.

“Those are dwarven features if I ever saw them,” said Jorsa. “Not that I have.”

“I don’t see any solid foundations,” said Treylen, pointing at a pile on the water’s edge. “It’s all crumbled.” 

“It fell from above,” Noulea sniffed the air. “From there.”

Now, they were directly under the great chasm. It was as Treylen had suspected, a void as deep as a mountain was high stretching up endlessly out of view and dotted here and there with the black carapaces and glistening eyes of the millipedes. 

“What is she talking about?” Chalys raised her lantern toward the ceiling, but Treylen caught her arm and eased it back toward the beach. “Don’t draw them in. It’s best if you don’t know.” 

“Truly?” She looked to Noulea for an honest answer.

“On this point, I agree.” Noulea rested one hand over the girl’s shoulders. “Best focus on what is before us. Lo, I see an island ahead.” Down the beach and farther out in the water, one of the shapes sat larger and higher than the rest.

“Yes, an island,” said Losina. “Beetle’s there now. It’s quite interesting. I won’t spoil the surprise for you.”

“I think we’re all tired of surprises,” said Treylen. 

She walked off anyway, and they followed, past the wreck of a stone cottage half-submerged in the water, behind a pile of blocks that had once been a home. Farther down, the upper portion of a keep rested on its side. The fact some of the buildings hadn’t fallen to pieces meant they had been carved out of the stone before being knocked loose. The scattered ruins went on, some lying on the beach, most half-submerged. All had fallen from above. 

At last, the island came close enough the lamplight reached it. They stood at the water’s edge, looking out. It was a long way off, but the tumbled-down stone and buildings were so thick here the ruins formed a jetty leading out toward the island.

“I assume Beetle has scouted the island already?” he asked Losina.

“Somewhat,” Losina said. “It is interesting enough to warrant further investigation.”

“I don’t suppose she saw an elder dragon sleeping out there.”

“No, but she has found reason to believe there may once have been, and that we might look here for the orb. She leaned out to peer into the water. And just because we cannot see a dragon, doesn’t mean one isn’t here.”

“If it is dangerous, then perhaps all but the three of us should stay behind,” Jorsa suggested. Chalys grumbled. 

Losina glanced at the eyes watching from the chasm overhead. “If you value the lives of your people, you will keep them close. But it is all the same to me.”

They ventured out together, picking their way carefully over the mounded stones and broken structures, hopping from rock to rock. While the others watched the water, Treylen kept his focus on the opening above them. It would only take one, dropping down from above to crush the party and scatter the survivors into the water. 

“What’s that?” Lem stopped and stared into the water between two stones. Leaning over the edge, he bent down to reach a hand in. Treylen grabbed his collar and yanked him up.

“Are you mad?

“Look!” Lem opened his hand. A coin rested in the palm. He rubbed finger over the sludge coating and it came away. Gold sparkled underneath. Lem bit the coin and inspected the mark. “It’s pure. Do you know how much this is worth?” 

“Not as much as your life—stay away from the water.”

“It is, though. This is more than what the captain paid for me.”

“Oh.”

Lem’s story was sadder each time he told it. Treylen had to wonder if the boy truly wanted to be an assassin or if it had seemed the only way out of a life he hadn’t chosen.

Nitpick stretched down from Lem’s shoulder to blink at the coin. Nit was one bright spot. What the two of them now shared was real. Whether he had wished for it or not, there was no forcing a bond.

“Maybe I owe him a few coppers then,” Treylen said. He saw the other hatchling clinging to Lem’s back, snatched it up, and handed it to Chalys. “You, keep this one close.” When he turned back, Lem was in the same spot, still staring at the coin in his palm. “Go ahead. Pocket it. Can’t have you doing that again.”

Lem looked around as if afraid someone might call him a thief. Slowly, he closed his fingers around the coin and slipped it into his pocket.

TWENTY-EIGHT

The Opportunity

They stood at the end of the jetty. The shadow of the island waited beyond a gap of open water. It wasn’t that the rubble had ended, but the lake was deeper ahead. Beneath the surface, the shapes of tumbled-down buildings and civic structures disappeared into the depths.

Beetle glided silently over, wingtips playfully skimming the surface, and alighted on the last rock.

Rime and I shall ferry you.

“Are we sure about bringing everyone?” Treylen asked.

“The Jaul may do as they please,” said Losina, “but I do not like their chances if we are separated.”

“You and Jorsa go first,” Treylen said to Losina. “I’ll wait until everyone is across.”

“You want me to fly on that?” Jorsa wasn’t fooling anyone. All could see his barely restrained glee. “I suppose, but if you are waiting, so shall I. Can they carry our dear Noulea?”

“I don’t much like the sound of that,” Noulea said, “but if my father could fly, so can I.”

“They are up to the task. We can make it easier to fly quietly by splitting the weight.” Losina took Romora’s rope and tied a loop on each end. “Turn sideways and extend your arms.” She looped the rope around Noulea’s chest, a length extending from either side. The dragons took to the air, each one wrapping their talons around one of the loops. 

It wouldn’t have worked with her father, but young Noulea was not yet half his size. With some difficulty, the dragons beat their wings, and she rose into the air as they ferried her out over the water. 

Treylen held his breath and watched the creatures on the walls until the sound of wings faded. As the dragons glided back, he focused on the lonely shape of Noulea, waiting on the far shore. 

Jorsa stood close beside him. “I also worry for her,” he said, softly. “Tell me, friend, what do you think of what my people have done to the lowsater?”

“What they’ve done?” Treylen was shocked at the question. He took another step away from the others, to the water’s edge. Jorsa followed him. “Say that again,” he whispered.

“I asked about the lowsater,” said Jorsa, quietly. “What do you think of it?”

“Which part?” Treylen asked.

“You know the history. When we took the Stone Kingdom, they were prepared to hold out beneath their cities. The emperor—now this was not my emperor but his father, shortly before he passed—looked to the lessons of Iverna. He saw how the old queens sent their agents to weaken their enemies from the inside. And so we did, with the humans of the Stone Kingdom.

“We made peace, did good trade, and the kingdom grew in prosperity. Many of the fine silks and luxuries that are a part of the culture of the Stone Kingdom came into fashion in that time of prosperity. 

“And there grew a merchant class, more loyal to prosperity than to freedom. The lowsater were determined to resist us, and they would have defended their homes bravely. But the human citizens threw open the gates and welcomed the Jaul army in. It was an even cleaner coup than your own.”

“The Iverans never conquered our neighbors,” Treylen corrected him. 

“Of course not,” said Jorsa. “There was never any need to. They were already under your control. Or do you deny it?”

“I don’t deny it,” Treylen said. “But I don’t see the point you’re getting at.” If Jorsa was trying to win him over, he was doing a poor job of it. 

“Returning to the subject of lowsater, they could have stayed after the conquest and been a part of the empire. You should know, a great deal of freedom is allowed to his subjects. But, because Noulea’s people refuse to be a part of any kingdom that wages war, they chose to flee instead to the countryside, to the plains; some went the way of the dwarves and were never seen again.”

Treylen knew what happened next. “Then you hunted them down and rounded them up.”

“We did,” Jorsa said, firmly. “Nomadic or not, they were within our borders. It is the emperor’s belief that all living within our border are citizens of the Jaul empire—regardless of race or creed. And it is his generals’ decree that all eligible citizens serve their time in his army. I, too, have served.”

“You’re telling me what I already know,” Treylen said. “I just didn’t think it was polite to bring it up.”

“Perhaps not, but we are friends, yes? There is no nicety between friends, only honesty.”

“So you want my opinion of it? I don’t care for it, to put it lightly.” Treylen hadn’t been joking, but it made Jorsa chuckle.

“I would think not. A second question, then. What would you do, were you in my emperor’s position?” 

“I wouldn’t be in your emperor’s position.” Treylen wished the dragons would hurry up. He didn’t care for this talk.

“You speak like one who has had the luxury of choice.”

Lem had been edging closer while they waited, trying to hide the fact he was listening in. “What say you, apprentice? What would you do, were you in my emperor’s place?” 

Lem gasped like he’d been caught. “Oh. I don’t know,” he stammered. “What are the rules?”

“Ha, a wise lad. But you would do well to listen to your mentor. Together you have got the rub of it. To answer my own question, I’m not quite certain. I’ve heard dear Noulea’s story, and it is a monstrous thing that happened to them. But it is nothing that I haven’t heard before. And much has changed with the foundation of this new kingdom at Dragon’s Gate.”

“It’s not a kingdom,” Treylen corrected him again. “The herd follows who they follow.”

“Of course,” Jorsa bowed, “and they owe that freedom largely to you, or so I hear.”

I’m ready to talk about it, Treylen said to Rime. How do you want to get rid of him?

I could drop him in the water? Rime said, landing and taking another passenger across.

Let’s not do anything that would make too much noise while we are down here. And we can’t let Noulea find out. We both know she can’t keep a secret. Later, then.

Two by two, they ferried the others across until only Treylen and Jorsa remained, alone in the dark at the end of the jetty. 

Are you certain, bondmate? Now would be the time. 

 Jorsa was standing with his hands in his pocket, smiling and glancing around in amusement at the unnerving darkness. It reminded him of how Losina took joy in these situations. Except, where Losina took pleasure in seeing others frightened, Jorsa seemed amused at his own peril. He simply loved the thrill of it.

“I was hoping to get you alone,” Jorsa said, and Treylen tensed. “There is one thing I have been hesitant to speak of in front of the others. When you and the executor, Rak’kalimor, brought the young woman to me—you remember this?”

“Yes.” Treylen’s fingers tapped the hilt of his blade. Jorsa wrung his hands, looking troubled, for once.

“Sometime after we first parted ways, it was found that the executor had been killed. I won’t pretend to have known the man. We moved in different circles, and his duties kept him outside of Jaul City. But, on our hunt, I was rather impressed with his bearing. Were you?”

Impressed? Treylen hadn’t considered it. He’d been too worried about being found out. Then he’d discovered this executor was Apogee in disguise. Assassins didn’t seek to impress one another, they simply acted.

He had once been impressed by Rak’tsoro. She had been a legend, and Apogee had struck her down. It was hard to feel any other way about Apogee when so much of his time around her was spent working to forget the harm she had done.

“I guess I didn’t notice,” Treylen said. “He was a strong leader, I suppose.”

“Didn’t notice…” Jorsa chuckled darkly. “Well, perhaps you did not spend as much time with him as I did. But I know he brought you into his confidence in the end, and I know he was dead shortly after. So I must ask you, was it you who killed him?”

Treylen had to think about the question a moment.

Apogee had killed the man, but she’d done so long before she came to the valley. Whoever had found the real executor would have found him long-dead, evidence he’d been killed well before their time together. 

Perhaps Jorsa had only heard the news, not the details.

“No. It wasn’t me.”

“Good. Good. I know in my heart, I would not have held it against you. Orders are orders, and Iverna has since changed. But I had to know.”

He wondered, did Jorsa believe him? More importantly, had he truly missed the real implications of their connections and what it meant for the girl that Jorsa had agreed to sponsor for entry into the tower? 

He was a busy man. Perhaps he had thought little of it, simply handed her over to the first wizard he saw and wiped his hands of it. Had Jorsa and Volanti not traveled together first? Had they not shared a campfire too? This was a frivolous man, whose approach to life seemed far too unserious for his position. But to miss such an obvious connection… Treylen watched the dragons glide over the water. Waiting for Jorsa to say the inevitable.

Have you got any toxin? Rime flew in, low over the lake. You could prick him quickly, then I’ll drop him in the water. He is a heavy one, they couldn’t fault me. They will fish him out and find no injury, and his people will report back that he drowned.

Beetle glided in and alighted on the rocks. Rime landed just beside her, putting himself closer to Jorsa.

I have some, Treylen said. A vial in his kit held a few drops of the deadly ink that the queen’s accountants liked. With the small needle embedded under the stopper, he could do it quickly, one motion with no wasted movement. If he pricked just as Rime took to the air, Jorsa might be too distracted to even notice. 

Of course, he did save your life, Rime said.

What, in the caves?

Yes, bondmate. 

The dragons lowered themselves for the last two to climb on.

“After you, my friend,” Jorsa said.

“No, no, you first.”

He climbed on, 

He didn’t save my life. I’d have gotten out, eventually.

Perhaps, said Rime

If we don’t do it, Volanti is as good as dead. You said it first.

Perhaps…

Rime stood as Jorsa struggled to get a firm hold on his back. Rime’s head swung around toward Treylen. 

He waited. Treylen didn’t move. Rime stalled a moment longer, then got a running start, leaped into the air, beat his wings hard against the weight of the man, and brought him toward the island.

When he went to mount Beetle, Treylen found her watching him intensely,

My master would have found that exchange curious, she said as Treylen climbed on.

“It isn’t any of her business,” said Treylen.

I did not say that I intended to tell her. But you may wish that I had. She has a knack for solving problems.

“I am aware of her methods.” Treylen patted Beetle’s flank, and she took off.

Worry briefly unclenched from his heart again as they took to the air. With the feeling of cool wind on his face, he could almost forget the creatures looming. When he closed his eyes, it was like being in the sky.

Rime, on the other hand, was struggling to glide quietly with the added load of Jorsa. He looked like a chicken flapping his wings, and the soft echoes pulled Treylen out of his reverie.

Can you be a little more quiet?

This is the best I can manage. Unless you would like me to dump him.

No.

Treylen had been thinking of a harsher retort, but at that moment one of the legionnaires raised his lantern, and the shore of the island came into view. All else was quickly forgotten. 

“Bones of the King…”

It is magnificent, isn’t it? Beetle said, with the type of appreciation a dragon was only capable of feeling for food—or in this case, treasure.

TWENTY-NINE

The Dwelling

Beetle landed on the beach with a cascade of jangling sounds. Treylen dismounted to the sound of coins clinking underfoot. The others were stooping and sifting through it. Treylen bent to scoop a handful, brushing away layers of dust to find the shine of gold. 

The beach was covered with gold. There were coins and tablets, even bars of platinum, as well as goblets, chains, and jewelry of every sort. All of it was covered in a film of sooty mildew, but there was no doubt it was gold, sprinkled with the odd bit of tarnished silver and sparkling ruby. 

But it wasn’t just the beach. What Treylen had thought were boulders resting atop the island were just larger piles of treasure. One or two boulders protruded from the heap—there was an island somewhere under all of it.

Lem was on both knees beside him, scooping handfuls into a sack. Some of the Jaul picked though the coins more carefully, while others pawed at the piles or stacked bars in their own sacks. Jorsa sniffed and rolled his eyes, dismounting. He stepped lightly over the beach—the gold may as well have been offal. Losina and Chalys investigated their corner of the island, and Draka kept close to Romora, who kept her attention on her princess, though Treylen saw her pocket a string of diamonds when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Lem dragged another clinking handful into his sack.

“A little quieter, apprentice.” When Lem didn’t listen he said it again. Still not hearing, Treylen caught the boy’s arm. Lem looked up, startled. “Empty it. Quietly.”

“But it’s gold.”

“It’s worthless to you now.”

“I could buy a ship of my own—ten ships!”

Losina came up behind him and tousled his hair. “Yesterday, maybe. The king owns you today, as you have bonded with his dragon.”

“Right.” He stared at the fortune in his hands, and slowly tipped the sack over, dumping it out. 

Treylen put a small handful into Lem’s pocket. “A little couldn’t hurt. But let’s not lose focus.” Watching the insects high above, he took Lem’s lantern from the shore and swept it over the dunes of gold that bordered the beach. He joined Jorsa, who’d followed Noulea, Chalys, and Losina toward the center, walking over drifts of coins and fine cutlery. 

Beetle nosed around the backside of one of the piles. Rime was there, swallowing some jewel-encrusted bauble so he could cough it up later. When he saw Treylen he signaled with one of his wings.

“That isn’t the orb you’re choking on, is it?”

No, just a little something for myself. But look here, it seems that our elder dragon was here after all. Rime nudged the mound, and a cascade of gold slipped away to reveal an old, gray skull and the shoulder bones of an ox.

Beetle spoke. There is more. She swept the top of the mound off with her tail. More bones clattered to the ground. Each sound echoed, and Treylen eyed the ceiling. They were certainly moving up there, more than before. 

Chalys had come over, climbing until she felt the crunch of bone underfoot. She swept the coins and jewelry away and pulled something loose. She gasped and dropped it. The skull rolled and settled at Treylen’s feet. “Dwarven.” She pulled another from the pile and rolled it down, then another. 

“Perhaps the dead should be left to rest.” Noulea gently palmed the three skulls, and placed them back on the mound. She covered them with coins, then helped Chalys down. 

“We may be disturbing all of it soon,” said Treylen. “This is our best hope at finding the Orb of Storms.”

“But what is this place?” Chalys asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Losina spread her arms, turning slowly. Here at the center of the island they were enclosed on all sides by boulders and mounds of gold and bone.

“A dragon’s lair?” Chalys whispered.

“More like a nest,” answered Treylen. “Or a den.”

“Could it still be here?” Lem asked.

“Nothing has been here for ages.” Losina rubbed the soot from a coin before tossing it away.

“This hoard has been undisturbed for a very long time. But, that’s not to say she couldn’t be sleeping somewhere…”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have left my people on the beach…” Jorsa fretted. “They’re awfully quiet.” He left his lantern behind and ran off behind the mounds before returning. “They’ve weighed themselves down with gold. Now they’re resting. I think I’ll follow your example and have them leave it behind. But, for now, we’ll savor the quiet.”

Do you smell that? Rime had crossed to the other side and was sniffing around one of the piles.

Treylen sniffed the air, and a scent like coal smoke tickled his nose. I do. 

Do you see that?

Faint billows of smoke wafted from behind a pair of boulders, half-buried in coin. The others had seen it too. Making their way around, they discovered a stone cottage, half-buried amongst the gold.

Cut from a single chunk of rock, it had tumbled down like the others, landing askew and cracked down the middle. The crack, however, had since been patched over, leaving behind a seam of white plaster. Smoke issued from a small chimney cobbled onto the side.

“Am I seeing things?” Treylen put a hand to his forehead Perhaps the infection had returned. 

“No,” said Losina, “I see it too.”

“It could be that we all are mad,” said Jorsa. “All the same, I think we have little choice but to knock.”

Noulea sniffed at the air. “Were I to build a home down here, I would not care for visitors.”

“All the more reason you should be the one to knock,” said Jorsa, “as your kind are more likely to be welcomed. I fear the rest of us might give the homeowner a scare.”

“I’m not likely to frighten anyone,” said Chalys.

“You’ve not seen a mirror lately,” Losina wiped at the princess’s face with her sleeve. It only added to the dirt she’d accumulated.

Treylen didn’t look much better. He pulled his collar up and mopped at his face.

“Do not place the princess at the front,” Romora said. “The homeowner is just as likely to stick you in the gut as to greet you.”

“I have knocked upon many doors in my travels. I do not mind.” Coins clinked underfoot as she approached the cottage. “Perhaps some of you might go elsewhere. I do not believe that one who lives in such a place will welcome a crowd.”

“I’m staying with you,” Treylen said. “Nobody is stabbing you in the gut today. The others can get back.” 

Jorsa cleared his throat. “I trust the lowsater to make the best impression, but don’t hesitate to call me up should you need help to smooth things over.”

The others shuffled away, trying not to make noise while gold coins and old jewelry crunched and shifted underfoot. Once they were alone, they approached the door. Noulea bent down, sitting on her heels and rested one arm over her knees. This put her head at level with the top of the frame. With one hand resting on the edge of the roof, the other knocked on the door with furred knuckles—a muted, irregular thump distinct to lowsater.

It was a tad too polite for the circumstances. 

No one came, so Treylen stepped forward, rolled up his sleeve, and gave a hearty rap. “Sorry. Don’t have all day.”

There was a soft shuffling, and a light appeared around the door. With a scraping sound, a peephole drew open, and a large brown eye pressed against it.

Treylen held his lantern to the side so the light it cast would fall on himself and Noulea. 

“Hello.” He fixed a polite grin, nodding and putting his hand to his heart. Noulea lowered her head respectfully.

“Oboum?” The voice from inside was feminine but deep and somewhat impatient. 

“Guau? Auer mauo.” Noulea tossed her head. “Oboum, Iverna. Mou Draka oramound. Perhaps Iveran, gracious host?”

“Hmm, clantalk. Ulauboum, daym oureas.” The peephole slapped shut, and the light disappeared from around the door. 

“No good?” Treylen whispered.

“I am not certain,” said Noulea. “We do not speak the same tongue.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Treylen prodded at the door, but it was solidly built.

“Some old dwarven is echoed in lowsater tongue…”

Dwarven? That was a greater shock than the island had been. Before he could question it, the peephole opened, and a different eye pressed against it. The iris was a milky gray flecked with gold. 

“What would be your business?” said a new voice, harsher and more impatient than the first. The strange, rounded vowels reminded Treylen of the abbey monks when they recited mantras in the old tongue.

“No business, honored host. Only a social call. My name is Noulea Oua Tuhaug of Dragon’s Gate and this⁠—”

“We don’t take visitors!” the voice shouted—halfway between a croak and a croon. “If you’ve no business, then move along.” 

“Along,” Noulea glanced around, as if wondering where else she was expected to go. “Please, forgive our ignorance, but, in what manner of enterprise might you be engaged?”

“No business now. You knock at a restful dwelling.” The reply was clearly as irritated with the question as with having to answer in the Iveran tongue. “We are metalworkers by trade.”

“Goldsmiths?” Treylen ventured a guess.

“Child’s play. Trash.”

“I only assumed because…” he gestured broadly.

“Come to fill your pockets, have you?”

Noulea snorted. “Assuredly not.”

“Then be on your way, if you’ve no business.” The peephole snapped shut.

“It seems we’re unwelcome,” said Noulea.

“We have to get in,” said Treylen. “If these people don’t have the orb, it isn’t down here.” He rapped on the door again and the little hatch shot open, the second eye pressed into it once more.

“Either you need something or you do not.” The eye blinked.

“So, let us in.” Treylen said. “We didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed.”

“You’ve steel in need of mending?”

“Verily—” said Noulea. “That is…”

“I’m sure we can find something,” Treylen finished for her.

The eye narrowed. “And what have you to offer? I’ve coin enough, as you no doubt see.”

“Undoubtedly.” Treylen didn’t have any need for a smithy, nor any treasure to interest someone who lived under a dragon’s horde. “I’m sure we have something… Noulea?” 

“I know not what dwarves value.”

“Oh. Well. Hmm.” The eye laughed. “It has been so long, I do not either. Have you got any food that isn’t mushrooms or mold?”

“I’ve greener fare,” offered Noulea.

“Ah, well, that is something…” The eye blinked. “I’ve not seen greens for a time, but still… spring’s bounty is fleeting.”

“I’ve hardtack…” Treylen muttered. “Tea.”

“Tea…” The eye fluttered. “Oh, tea! Why didn’t you say so?”

THIRTY

The Steelsmith

The hatch snapped shut and muffled voices argued behind the door. It snapped open again. “We don’t often get visitors.” The voice was friendlier now. “How many of you are there?”

Treylen decided against lying. “Too many, but the others can wait outside.”

“No, that won’t do. Have you seen the critters up there? No place to be loitering. How many are you?” Treylen struggled to remember how many legionnaires were back on the beach. Noulea spoke first.

“We are fourteen humans, and myself. Five dragons. Two of those are negligible in stature.”

“Don’t trust dragons, but if they can fit through the door without dragging their bellies, I will allow it. Gather your people quickly. Then you will knock again. I don’t like to open the door for long. Never know what lingers out there.”

It shut again. 

Treylen and Noulea told the others. It was agreed that to trust such a strange host was no greater risk than to stay outside. Once they had gathered, Treylen knocked again. There came a clunk, a thump, then the door dragged open. The dwarf stood behind it and waved them in.

“Hurry up,” she said.

Treylen peered inside. The dwarven woman looked out from behind the door, holding the latch. The cozy home he had been expecting was empty. Instead, the shell of the cottage concealed a large stone staircase that led down into the rock. A blue glow illuminated the corner of a carpet in a room at the bottom.

“It’s safe,” Treylen waved the others past. One by one, they filed down under the gaze of the woman and entered a wide and shadowy parlor. Stone bookshelves held dusty volumes that looked as if they hadn’t been opened for decades beside cracked leather chairs and a darkened fireplace. A slab of polished rock sat atop feet of wrought iron, making a long table with stone benches on either side. Old tools and decrepit packages littered the table. A pile of worn-out brooms and cracked buckets occupied one corner. At the center, a threadbare but colorful carpet hosted two comfortable couches. A polished tree stump between them held a basket piled with handicrafts. Apart from an antique lamp resting on an end table, the whole space was lit in blue. Clusters of glowing scales clung to the sconces. At first, Treylen thought that they were mushrooms, but when he squinted, he could make out the distinct shape of dwarven glyph chains pulsing with magic. 

On the far side, an even wider stone staircase led down into the rock. The other woman peered at them from the stairs as they entered but disappeared down them before Treylen could get a proper look at her. 

Treylen stopped before the carpet, watching the rest of the group enter and waiting for the echoes of their chatter to subside. Noulea had to bend low so that her head didn’t touch the ceiling.

 Treylen heard the scrape and clank of latches followed by the click of a key in a lock, then the woman came down the stairs. The party stared in awed silence. They were the first living humans to have ever seen a dwarf. As fine as the chamber was, it felt far too humble of a setting for such a momentous occasion.

“My goodness.” Jorsa wiggled his fingers and clamped his hands together as if to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. “You are, indeed, a dwarf…”

“Do I look so strange to you?” She stepped close to Jorsa, scowling. “You look strange to me.”

She was aged, even for an elder race, and short as Romora, but easily twice her size. Her broad shoulders bent with age, with arms as wide around as casks of ale and a barrel chest, arms so long her hands hung to her knee. Her legs were hidden under the long skirt of her tunic, but they could not have been very long at all.

Her silver-gray hair was pulled up in a bonnet, and her furrowed nose and lips and face was framed with a thin but well-groomed beard.

“Is it I who look strange?”

“It is the whole lot of you,” the dwarf said.

“I dare say you’re right.” Jorsa clapped his hands on his sides. “They are an odd lot, aren’t they?”

“Aye. I had forgotten how dainty was humankind. Guoa dram!” she exclaimed in dwarven. “What happened to her?” She poked a finger toward Losina’s face, and Treylen got his first look at dwarven hands. He had thought she was wearing smithy’s mitts. She had large fingers and thick skin, nails neatly trimmed, and her fingers were adorned with knobby rings. 

“Oh dear,” Jorsa wrung his own fingers in dismay. “I have let excitement get the better of me and forgotten my manners. We must do introductions. I am Jorsa of the outer court, Vicar of Jaul, and may I present, Her Highness, Chalys Ketar, Princess of Ketaresk.”

Jorsa introduced them all: Noulea first, as she was the only ruler besides Chalys, then Treylen as ambassador, giving introduction to Rime as well. Then he introduced Romora and Draka as the ranking Ketaresk. 

A less observant speaker might have left Lem for last, but Jorsa seemed to grasp that the boy was a man of Ketaresk now, having bonded with his fledgling. Others might have left the enemy warriors for last, but Jorsa put no less honor on Losina and Beetle’s introduction before finally calling his own guards to the front and naming each in detail and from memory. How many of the princess’s guards had Treylen met since arriving but hadn’t bothered to learn one name, let alone the surname, place of origin, or some piece of personal trivia of each one?

Some portion of the resentment Treylen had been nursing toward Jorsa dwindled as he watched this odd and strangely generous performance. 

The old woman looked on, similarly enchanted, fluttering her long, curled eyelashes and nodding to each visitor, giving welcome. Tedious though it seemed, it must have mirrored dwarven manners. Or maybe these two women had been living in the bowels of pentearth for so long alone that such an unending parade of faces was nothing less than thrilling.

“And to whom do I owe my gratitude for such kind hospitality, dear lady?” Jorsa finished.

Their host’s hard expression softened, and for the first time, the dwarf offered a bow.

“Welcome, Princess, Vicar, Ambassador, Herd Leader, I am Buriska Oraclamb, Tioradun. In your tongue, I am Oresifter Steelsmith of the Stone Mirror Den, but you may call me Buriska, as you are in my home. My companion, Griya, is the one you met at the door. 

“Griya is in the kitchen and eager to cook for someone other than myself. Lucky you, to have caught us cooking already. May have to thin the broth to go round the table.” As they talked, she moved to the long table, clearing it and wiping years of soot away without apology for the clouds of dust it sent around the room.

“How delightful,” said Jorsa, “I am something of an epicurean, myself, and have eaten many dishes claiming dwarven origin. I should like to see how they compare to real dwarven fare.”

“Never had it? Well-traveled as you are? Are there none of us left in the upper world?” 

There was a time that Treylen might have taken Romora’s strength and stature as evidence that strong dwarven blood remained. But now, having seen one, it was clear the stocky Ketaresk were as far removed from the leathery boulder shape of true dwarves as the pointy-eared Iverans were from their ethereal elven ancestors.

“Not in my lifetime,” said Jorsa. 

“Then they have purged us all,” Buriska crushed the rag in her hand.

“Who is that?”

“The dragon-lover of the north. The queen of the mountain caves, the bird woman. Hey, you there.” She pointed at Beetle. “The hearth is set; will you light it please?”

Beetle bobbed her head, crossed the room, and breathed a gentle stream of fire into the hearth. Hard scale fungus, dried and stacked like logs, caught light, and soon the room was cast in a roaring warm glow. 

“I’m not familiar with this woman of birds,” said Noulea.

“I never cared for politics,” said Buriska. “Why should I care why there’s fire raining down on my home? But gossip was that the lady of birds was the human lover of the dragon and a cunning employer of spies. If I remember correctly, it was the elves of the Dragon Valley who first took umbrage with her meddling and so expelled the humans from their lands sending warning to my northern cousins. But the warning could not fly faster than her damned pigeons.”

“Pigeons brought the fall of the dwarves?” Jorsa asked. “I mean no insult, but I cannot fathom it. Do tell more, if you can remember.”

“Oh, t’was pigeons. Now, I understand pigeons—handsome birds, and to a dwarf, admirable for always returning home. But only a human could have conceived of them as agents of destruction. They use them as couriers, do you know this? Is it still done up there? You still have pigeons, yes?”

“Verily,” said Jorsa.

“I have always said if someone wants to speak to me they’ll come speak to me. Almost rude to send a letter to a dwarf—unless one intends to leave a note for one great grandchild, then maybe I carve it into stone, yes? But an elf, hah!

“And so our king went on campaign with his northern brethren, drove her into the mountains. She met her beloved dragon. And then we had bigger pests than pigeons to be worried about, and weapons much worse than words were flying about.”

Treylen looked toward Losina and found her eyes boring into his, her mouth twitching with suppressed amusement. He could feel the sweat beating on his brow with the realization who this pigeon woman was. 

The first Iveran queen, of course.

He had always known the line of queens enjoyed meddling and spies. But he’d never considered that her spies might have predated the founding of the kingdom itself. He had always thought the assassins were something that came later, hardly used before the war.

The idea that assassins like Treylen had been flying about, terrorizing all of pentearth was unheard of. The possibility that Iverna and the Dragon King had somehow driven the dwarves into the hellcaves sat like a stone in his stomach. And what was this about the elves? It was not so long ago that the elven kingdom of Oara Valley was destroyed by the Jaul. But a conflict with the first queen? Had the elves, too, been betrayed by Iverna?

“Are you going to tell her or should I?” Losina said. 

The woman stopped speaking. “Pardon?” She had exceptional hearing for someone so old. All eyes were on Treylen. Then a bell rang down below. “I must go help with dinner. I hope you’re all fond of mushrooms.”

THIRTY-ONE

The Queen’s Fingers

Buriska hadn’t exaggerated. 

Griya served mushroom salad, mushroom steaks in a sauce of reduced mushroom brine, a mushroom bread, mushroom ale, mushroom preserves, and a slime mold soup that clung to the spoon as if it were alive.

Griya was far younger than Buriska, though both were at least as old as the Kingdom of Ketaresk. Griya was taller, with slighter features, but still distinctly dwarven.

Treylen wondered if all dwarfs were born gnarled and wizened or if there was some age where, in the right light, from a distance, at the height of a rainstorm, one might be mistaken for a human.

He kept these questions to himself.

As they ate, Buriska explained the subtle differences in the courses. To call it all earthy mush would have been misleading. The soup was more a hearty glue, the steak was a rich if rubbery challenge, and the preserves were something ancient and disconcerting. 

The ale was, in fact, quite good.

Treylen waited until the others had finished before he tasted any of it.

Griya was a dwarf of many words, none of which anyone could understand. Noulea did her best to translate but failed. It was a pleasant burble, though. Treylen’s belly was full, and the hosts seemed to be immensely proud of the meal. 

“Amazing what one can do with only mushrooms,” said Jorsa, patting his stomach. “I wonder though, what of the beasts that live above? Why, only yesterday I dressed a blind otter and roasted its flesh.”

“Yes. Such succulent beasts up above, aren’t there?” Buriska said, whimsically. “But, our world is here.” She spread her arms toward the staircase. “These chambers are our world now, you see. Not for many ages have I ventured beyond the door. Certainly not beyond the isle. But, how have we endeavored to expand the tunnels below here. We have built a fair world down those stairs. We may not have variety, but there is much underneath, and all revealed by our own hands. There is good in that. And we are pleased with ourselves.”

“I should like to see it,” said Jorsa. Whether or not his prior comments were just flattery, in this he sounded genuine.

“That you would. But, some things are grander in privacy. Tell me, did you see the ruins of the city on your way down?”

“Oh yes,” said Jorsa, “a brief detour to see the sights.”

“Has much been done with it since the fall?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. Lost to time.”

That made her chuckle. “Nothing is lost to time, young man. Time returns all, in time.”

“Will you tell us how it happened?”

Buriska poured another ale for herself and drank it down before turning in her seat and staring into the hearth. “Time has no hold on that memory. I was in the mines when it happened. I felt the hot wind, smelled the smoke. But Griya saw it.” Her eyes welled with unshed tears as she looked to Griya, then tore her gaze away and focused on the flames. “We knew it was coming, but not when. The dragon ravaged the land, burned cities, one by one. Most of the others had left, but some of us stayed. Some did not believe it would come. Others thought the destruction was only to the surface cities, and we were safe underground. Others, like myself, had work to do. A master does not abandon their craft simply because it is inconvenient. And many a forgemaster was lost in the fire.”

“Was the city melted by dragon fire?” Treylen could not imagine it. Dragon fire was strong, but not that strong.

“Melted, yes. But not by the breath. This I know, from the stories of those who fled other cities that fell before us. It was terrible magic. You know the glyphs. I can see the shape of one here.” 

She tapped on the dagger on Chalys’s belt. Although it was hidden in the sheath and the glyph had been burned out, the etching that remained was enough to create subtle disturbances in the flow of magic around Chalys. Treylen could see it with dragon sight, but only just barely. That confirmed what he’d always expected, the elder races could sense things that humans simply could not. 

Silence pervaded as Buriska made the marking with her finger. “Imagine glyphs the size of a city, cut into the land over our heads by the talon of an elder dragon. The magic swirled the rock as if it were water, boiling it glowing red. It burned a hole through the heart of the city. This cavern once held a great subterranean forest. Then it was flooded with molten stone and the tumbled-down remnants of what remained.

“After the destruction, the dragon stayed. Ours was the last city to face his wrath, and he had gathered himself a sizable hoard, then settled in. But I waited him out. The draw of his mistress called him back. This isle is only the top of the ruin of the smote city. Down those stairs are the remnants. The others chose to start anew, but we remained in search of what was lost.”

“Like the Orb of Storms,” Treylen ventured.

“Many things once lost have been found.” She rested a hand over Griya’s and smiled. “Often, we have talked of leaving here. The path to the hellcaves was collapsed, but in time, we could have excavated and from the hellcaves, gone deeper, to Glitterhold.”

“What is Glitterhold?” Lem asked.

“It’s where the dwarves live now,” said Treylen.

“What your kind call hellcaves, in dwarven we call Endummat, the Entryway. Below that, near the core of pentearth, lies Titrunmoa, or Glitterhold. I was born there—as were many. I would make a poor pigeon, I suppose. When others fled home, I remained. I had left my forge and works while in the mine and was determined not to leave here until I had recovered them.

“But enough talk.” Buriska pushed away her plate, brushed her hands together and clapped them against the table. “Now, the time has come to talk of business.”

“What business is this?” asked Chalys.

“I haven’t a clue either,” Jorsa said. 

Noulea leaned over to Treylen. “Liberator, do not forget your need for services.”

“Right…” He hadn’t forgotten. At first he had thought they might ask if their excavations had unearthed the Orb of Storms. But that was too greedy a request to make so soon. In listening to the woman, believing in her confidence as a smithy among smithies, a different need had taken shape. Treylen hoped his request would not embarrass the smith. “Have you ever seen a blade like this? They were made a very long time ago.” He drew his daggers. 

The mood of the room shifted as he laid the Queen’s Fingers on the table. “I have,” she said, not touching them but frowning over the long daggers. “Why do you bring these accursed blades into my home?”

“These were given to me a long time ago,” he said. “The shape represents something that doesn’t apply to me anymore. I had hoped one day to find a lowsater smithy who could make me something different.” 

“No,” she draped a towel over the blades as if it pained her to look at them. “You won’t find a blade to equal these. This manner of work is not done anymore. And whoever said these were made by lowsater lied to you. This is dwarven work,” she lifted a corner of the cloth, tutted, then dropped it again, “regrettably. A sad history, these blades. Made for friends who would turn against us. We haven’t time for that tale, but it is a prelude to what I have told already.”

“Maybe we can do some other trade then.” Treylen moved to take the daggers away, but Buriska kept her hand over them.

“I did not say that. I have no steel here that can compare to this. But, if you like, I could reforge these for you, free them of this accursed shape. They would be different but no less strong than before. This work we could do quickly, and you could be on your way. As for payment…”

“We haven’t much,” said Treylen.

“Except the favor of a princess,” Chalys added. 

Buriska was unmoved. “If I believed every stranger who said they were a princess, you could string me by my chin and call me a spring hare. But we will do business. We are no fools, but we are simple creatures. Simple comforts bring us much delight. You say that you have tea and some provisions which we might swap for good mushroom stew.”

Treylen’s tongue recoiled at the thought of another bite of mushroom anything. But he nodded nonetheless.

Jorsa spoke up, “I have no qualms offering my provisions as well, if it pleases my hosts. That and the provisions of my people here.” The legionnaires at the far end of the table grumbled amongst themselves.

“Nor do we mind giving,” said Chalys. Losina and Lem agreed with her.

“Then let us clasp hands and call it a fair bargain.” She rose from her seat and extended a hand toward him. They all stood with their host, and Treylen shook on the deal.

“What shall it be then? A sword?”

“You could do that?” Treylen asked.

“Quite easily,” she said. Then, speaking to Griya, they argued in dwarven before coming to an agreement. Griya bowed to the guests and left down the stairs. “Griya agrees. To make this sword from nothing would be a monumental task. But, were I to lengthen these, join them side-by-side, not end to end, you see, for that would require a separate folding—but what do you care how it is done? I am the master, and I say that I can do it.”

“You are certain there is time for that?”

“With a good eye and the right technique, it can be done quickly. Griya goes now to stoke the coals. But I must ask one favor of you. Your dragon. These ancient blades were forged in dragon fire. If I am to join the two, I will need dragon fire again. Will you lend me yours? Before you answer, know it won’t be easy. The dragon’s breath must replace the bellows of my forge.”

“That is Rime’s decision,” Treylen said.

It would make me very happy to do this for you, bondmate, said Rime, coming to stand next to him.

“If you’re certain,” Treylen said. Rime bobbed his head. “Thank you. Then it is agreed.”

“Good, good.” Buriska rubbed her hands eagerly. “We must begin now to get it up to temperature.” She lifted the daggers, bundling them in the towel. “I’ll take these, if you are truly willing to part with them.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lost a pair. Nor the second.”

Losina cocked an eyebrow at that, and Treylen took satisfaction in knowing that he still kept some secrets from her.

“Take a last look then. I will take them for a short while, and they will come back changed.”

THIRTY-TWO

The Black-cap

The dwarves worked while the party made themselves comfortable, laying out bedrolls around the hearth and feeding the fire with more of that same woody fungus. It was a long evening of good cheer buoyed by the safety of the space and the earthy high of mushroom beer. Even the nervous legionnaires were a little less fearful with a few pints in them, and it did not hurt their spirits to know that one pair of assassin’s blades had gone away.

 That night, Beetle went down to join Rime in feeding the billows. The steady ring of hammers traveled up from the stairwell, along with the scents of the forge and dragon fire.

Buriska emerged from below after hours of work, silt-covered and sweating, and slumped into one of the old leather chairs beside the fire.

“We are halfway there,” she said, mopping at her brow with a rag. “The halves have been shaped, they have rested. Now they must be heated again, hotter than before, so the two might be joined successfully.”

“So we’re getting close?” asked Treylen.

“We’re nearing the crucial moment. Here, the greatest care and precision is required. If I have done the shaping right, and the heat is right, then they may join without destroying the edge.”

“There is a risk though?” He hated that he was worried about the damned blades.

“Not to the integrity of the steel, but should I fail it will be many weeks of careful work to mend the split and hone the edge. I would loathe to fold the steel myself. It will not come to that. We get it right the first time. This is why I must rest.” She leaned back in the chair, breathing heavily. “Perhaps we could partake of this tea, you promised.”

“Of course,” Treylen said, finding a kettle beside the hearth and setting it to boil. He found two cups on one of the bookshelves and brought out the tea the vizier had given him, sitting in the chair beside hers. “I won’t make a full pot, since the others are sleeping, just a little for us.” He sprinkled the tea into his cup, then into Buriska’s.

“Wait!” The dwarf caught Treylen’s wrist with her massive hand, before gently releasing him. “Into my hand.” She held her palm out. Treylen sprinkled out the herbs from the bag. The dwarf leaned over and sniffed, nose wrinkling. She pinched a blossom between her thumb and forefinger and squinted at it. “No, no this will not do it all.” Sheer disappointment drew into troubled furrows that stretched from her forehead down either side of her nose. “No, no, this is whittler’s wort, hidden amongst the chamomile—and here blackcap! Child, are you here to kill me?” Those dwarven-smithy hands closed into fists with a sound like leather tightening. “I always thought I’d die at the forge.” She spoke something more in dwarven and snaked one hand out to grab a spade from beside the hearth.

Noulea must have been awake and listening. She let out a sound from her throat, so low and startling that it stayed the dwarf’s hand and roused the others from their sleep. 

“Peace, friend,” said Noulea. “We have no ill intentions. I swear this upon my herd. That is, unless my companion harbors unseen motives. Liberator? Pray, explain yourself to our host.”

Treylen turned his cup out into his hand, staring at the mix of herbs. “Truly, I wasn’t trying anything.” 

“What are you up to, Treylen?” Losina crept over, leaned across Treylen’s knee and sniffed at the herbs in his hand. “Poison, indeed.”

“What subterfuge is this?” Romora joined the growing cluster around the hearth. “Who was your intended target in this? My princess? Our Jaul guests?”

“No.” Treylen took the bag from Buriska, emptying it into his palm into it. “This wasn’t even my tea, it was—” his breath caught in his chest. “It was a gift to me from the vizier.”

“Oh, yes,” Losina sing-songed. “I always knew I liked her, but I never thought her capable of such… bold action.”

“Are you really going to blame it on her?” Romora was in a fighting stance, but stopped short of drawing her blades under the roof of their host. 

“You were there when she handed it to him,” Losina said. “And the market, where neither Treylen nor I made a purchase of tea leaves. If we’d intended a ruse, would we not have made a better show of it first?”

“It is highly suspect,” Romora said.

Buriska took in the argument watching the lowsater, who remained calm. “I’m not yet certain I believe it. A mistake you say?” Her hand slowly unclenched and she rested the spade on her knee.

“No mistake,” said Losina. “Someone intended this poisoning. Treylen, have you not been feeling unwell?” 

Treylen dumped the tea back into the bag, then pulled the leg of his breaches up to look at the injury he had blamed for his supposed fever. The bite had not yet begun to mend, but the flesh was clean and healthy. The salve had kept the swelling down. It was no less wicked than any of the bites and scrapes the others had gotten. 

“You have been drinking this?” Jorsa shuffled over in his bedclothes and took a turn with the bag, sniffing the contents gravely. “Since when?”

“Since I first got lost,” Treylen said, remembering the teacup warmed over the candle.

“I know much of poison.” Jorsa shuddered. “It is a part of my role to be on guard against such things. My friend, you should be dead by now. How much have you drunk?”

“Two… three cups? I don’t remember.”

“That isn’t possible,” said Jorsa. “If I were to drink this tea right now, I would not get up from where I sit, and I am twice the man as you.”

“I don’t know,” Treylen could feel his heart pounding. Was his throat closing up or was he just imagining it? His panic must have been showing because the dwarf had forgotten her own suspicion, and was watching open-mouthed.

“You were lost inside the caves,” said Losina, “you didn’t have a fire, did you?”

“I had a candle,” Treylen answered. 

Losina chuckled, pursed her lips, and drummed the pads of her fingers over them like a child with a secret. “Did your mentor never train you in decoctions?”

“Not extensively,” Treylen admitted, still struggling to catch his breath. “So, I haven’t poisoned myself?”

“You have indeed,” Jorsa said.

“When did you say that you drank it?” Losina asked. He struggled to recall, listing off the times that he had stopped to rest and made a cup. “But you didn’t boil the water.” 

“No, I suppose I didn’t.”

“Then, if you were going to die, I’d say you would have done it earlier. You may live yet, Treylen.”

He swallowed, closed his eyes, and rubbed a hand over his brow. Of all the times he’d spoiled an evening by pitching out a drink that had seemed just fine. All the offers he’d refused. All the times he had agonized over breaking his rule and accepting drinks. And the only person who’d ever poisoned him—apart from his old mentor—had been someone he trusted enough to let his guard down. “What a fool I am.”

“That is nothing new,” Losina said. “I wouldn’t let it bother you.”

“So… he was about to kill me,” said the dwarf, “entirely by chance.”

“Not accident,” Losina repeated, “as I said, someone intended that this fatal tea should be steeped. But, yes, it is safe to say you were not the intended target.”

“Hmm…” They watched as the dwarf’s face furrowed and shifted—thoughts warring against suspicions, before the old, begrudging hospitality returned. “I think I’ll have mushroom tea after all.” She stood and tossed the cup on the chair, digging through the shelves for something else.

“Perhaps the rest of you should check your teas,” Treylen said.

“I don’t drink chamomile, for the very reason that it looks and smells too similar to whittler’s wort. You were the only one who got a gift of it,” said Losina, checking in her pack and sniffing her provisions. The others did likewise, bringing their supply to Jorsa and Losina for reassurance. No more poison was found.

Buriska never made the tea but went down the stairs to help herself in the kitchen, then returned to work. Losina kept Treylen in his chair, interrogating him about his symptoms. 

“Is the room spinning now? Can you swallow? Good. Blink each eye for me, what’s the color of your tongue?”

“I’m fine now.” Treylen waved her away.

“You were staggering this morning.”

“I was tired.”

“You were dizzy. Hold still.” She pulled up his eyelids, peering at the underside of them, before checking his palms, then the rate of his heart. Chalys, Lem, and Jorsa looked on, worried. At least Losina and Romora had the decency to mind their own business.

“Will he live?” the princess asked.

“I’ve seen a number of poisonings,” said Jorsa. “He may not fully recover.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Treylen said. 

“He’ll recover quickly,” said Losina, still feeling his pulse. “He’s fortunate to have been exposed to some of these before. Marziel built your immunity, yes?”

“Something like that.”

Finally they let him rest. Before lying back down, the others sorted their provisions to leave behind a payment to the dwarves. It was a touching gesture, if strange, that even the Jaul should pitch in. While he watched, Treylen passed the news along to Rime.

I don’t believe it, Rime said. I had a sense for Staryno. I liked her.

You’re just lucky she didn’t poison your meats, Treylen said.

She would not do that to me, Rime insisted. What does the princess say?

I’m not certain, said Treylen. I’ll let you know once I’ve spoken to her. 

Best do it quickly, bondmate. If someone wanted you out of the way, it is likely because you stood in the way of bigger plans. Rime was right, of course. He had good instincts for these things, even when he didn’t fully understand them.

“We have to get back to the surface,” Treylen said aloud. “Something is wrong. And it might be too late already.”

“Tonight?” Losina chuckled. “You are desperate for answers.”

“It has been a long journey already,” said Jorsa. “I, too, see the need for haste, but if we go now I fear we will be sleeping on the stairs again.”

“Then we sleep on the stairs,” Treylen said. “We have to get moving. We don’t know how many more people are in danger.”

“Draka Mora!” Losina jeered. “Don’t be a foolish hero. You look like you’re about to keel over. Find a spot to curl up and get some rest. We’ll move faster in the morning. As for the greater danger—whatever plot was set into motion with our departure, it may already be too late anyhow.”

“I don’t believe that a few hours are meaningless.” Treylen went to pack his things, but the moment his knees touched the bedroll, fatigue hit him. Instinctively, he reached for the dragonmind to bolster his strength but stopped short of borrowing any. He could feel Rime laboring hard at the forge through their bond. He couldn’t bring himself to take from Rime when the dragon was already giving his all for him. Treylen lay back on the bedroll, closing his eyes a moment.

“Sleep, Treylen,” said Noulea. “We shall move faster for having rested.”

“Just a little while,” he said, already drifting off.

Treylen dreamt of hammering, of hot breath spilling fire into the forge. He dreamt of Griya speaking as she held the glowing blade steady under Buriska’s hammer, telling tales and histories in forgotten tongues long through the night.

THIRTY-THREE

Oathmender

The sounds of the forge rang on through the night. Rime and Beetle came up when the sound tapered off, exhausted, and curled up beside their bondmates and fell asleep. That morning, Treylen woke to the smell of quenched steel and the sounds of worried conversation. 

“Why would your father’s own advisor want you dead?” Jorsa rested in one of the armchairs, still wearing his nightclothes. “And why would she wait until you were down here?”

Chalys sat across from him, crossing one leg over the other and tapping the armrest. “Both good questions. If we can discern the latter, it may give us insight into the former.”

It never failed to amuse Treylen how easily she changed her mannerisms to match others and put them at ease.

Losina stood over the still-groggy Treylen and placed a warm mug into his hands. “Good morning, Treylen. The working theory is that Her Highness must have been the intended target of the poisoning. You simply aren’t important enough to merit such desperate measures.”

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Treylen sniffed the tea in the mug and set it aside.

“It would be quite funny, wouldn’t it?” She took his tea for herself, strolling to the hearth and leaned against the back of Chalys’s chair. “It is strange to me that the vizier would feel the need for secrecy. She is the most powerful individual in the kingdom, besides your father—could she not have poisoned you anywhere?”

“Perhaps she wanted to keep it from my father.” Chalys was shockingly calm for having just learned that she may have been the target of such utter betrayal. “But suppose I drink the tea and die, wouldn’t it only point back to her anyhow?”

“Not if nobody returns,” said Losina. “Tea is a social drink; she wouldn’t have expected Treylen to drink it alone.”

Treylen laughed at himself. All that time, Staryno had joked with him about his hesitancy to drink her tea, conditioning him to trust her hospitality so she might use it against him. He got up, bleary-eyed, and staggered over to lean on the back of Jorsa’s chair. 

“Good morning, Ambassador,” said Jorsa. “Can you think of any reason why the vizier might have wanted you removed?”

“You aren’t going to like my answer,” Treylen said, “but you already know that my kingdom’s position is that the war should continue. Maybe she wanted to make sure I failed to achieve that.”

“Nothing is set in stone between us, but I don’t begrudge your obligations,” said Jorsa. 

Chalys steepled her fingers, resting her chin on them like a strategist pondering a game of stones. “No, if that was the goal, it had already been achieved. Politics culminates at the ball, but I’ve no doubt that negotiations have been ongoing from the moment the Jaul arrived.”

“So, she knew the Jaul delegation was near,” Treylen considered. “And she sent me underground to get me out of the way. I should’ve seen it.” Volanti had warned him in the dream that someone was coming. And Garian had alluded to something strange afoot. He cursed himself for not putting the pieces together.

“Another loss for the tally,” Losina laughed. “At least your scales are weighted heavily on either side. But that only makes her a good politician. It does not explain the poisoning.”

“Bother.” Jorsa stretched in his chair, then snapped his fingers until Draka crawled over to rest her head in his lap, massaging the ridge of the dragon’s brow. “I must be honest, my friend, it is dismaying to learn that my presence is unwelcome here. That you should invite us here on a diplomatic mission when your only wish is for us to fail, does not feel like an act of good faith.”

Treylen dismissed it. “I didn’t invite you. If it makes you feel better, know that Ketaresk is wrong for scheming against her ally. I don’t blame you for accepting the king’s invitation.”

“Oh, but it wasn’t.” Jorsa stood. “Are you still ill, Treylen? It was you who sent the invitation. Brilliant move to send it via the windfey. Any other courier wouldn’t have passed our blockades.”

Treylen found the others staring at him again. He forced a laugh. “Truly, it is good to see you again, but I didn’t send any letter.”

“What is this then?” Jorsa got his pack and dug inside, producing a scholar’s box. Beneath the quills and ink pot was a packet of letters. He pulled an envelope from the bottom. “Is this not your seal?”

It bore the seal of the ambassador pressed in wax. Treylen opened the envelope and unfolded an invitation to the king’s ball. It extended the warm welcome to the Jaul emperor or his representative, offered with the blessing of the king of Ketaresk, and was signed by Treylen himself. At least, it did look like his handwriting.

“Did you do this?” He thrust the paper at Rime, pulling one of the dragon’s eyes open.

I did not. Rime rolled over and went back to sleep.

Treylen read it over again. “It’s a good forgery, but I didn’t write this.” 

“Before you ask, it wasn’t me either,” said Chalys. “You have my warm welcome, regardless. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Vicar Jorsa, and you will be welcome at my father’s ball.”

“My dear princess, don’t fret, while your father was equally taken aback by this letter—I now see why he had no knowledge that such an invitation had been made—you have been gracious hosts, and I’ve no doubt we will be well accommodated. But I’m also vexed.” He held one corner of the parchment, putting his head together alongside Treylen’s. “My friend, have we both been had? Could the vizier have sent the invitation under your name and attempted to poison us for the same reason?”

Chalys had gone silent, but Treylen could see her mind working. She spoke in a sudden outburst. “She wants my father gone!”

“How does poisoning us help?” Treylen just didn’t see it.

“Because she knows I’d figure it out, so she needed to get me out of the way, too. She’s counting on none of us coming back up and blaming it on the monsters. I would not be surprised if she’s stationed guards in the cellar.”

“It all seems out of character for her.” Rime had a sense for people, and he had trusted her. Treylen couldn’t overlook that.

“Oh, she’s a kind old woman, of course,” said Romora, coming to join them at the hearth. “But one does not get to her station without ambition. And you have seen the unrest in the city. How they cheer Draka Mora because the king’s power is slipping. She must see his weakness.”

“But why the invitation?” Chalys asked. “I still don’t understand it.”

“I do not mean to offend,” said Jorsa, “but it would not be the first time Jaul was made a scapegoat. Perhaps the invitation was sent in your name to avoid putting her own on it. Or perhaps it is more sinister. What better way to consolidate power than to implicate both Jaul and Iverna in a conspiracy? It would create the illusion of threats on all sides.”

“There are threats on all sides,” Treylen said. “The war is not over.” 

“Sadly not,” said Jorsa. “This must all be very troubling for Her Highness.”

“You saw my father?” Chalys asked “Was he well when you left?”

“I did indeed have that privilege,” said Jorsa. “He was alive and well when we left him.”

“Then maybe we aren’t too late. If we hurry. Will it take us many days longer to reach the surface than it took to descend?”

“Don’t worry too much,” said Treylen, “there are many other reasons someone might have wanted to hurt me.”

Chalys drew herself up in her chair, tightening the strap of her daggers and fixing her hair. “I’m not afraid. I’m angry. There’s a snake in my house, Iveran. Perhaps that doesn’t worry you because deceit is your kingdom’s greatest resource. Ketaresk is used to Iveran schemes. But this one isn’t one of yours. This one is something different.”

Of course she was angry. And certainly afraid. How selfish he was for making his apprentice wait through the night when each moment wasted could spell the doom of the ones she loved. “Then we’ll go. Rime, are they about finished?”

There was still the hilt to finish, he said, opening one eye.

“If it’s unfinished, I’ll take it as it is. Everyone, pack up. It’s a long way up, and we’re not wasting any more time.” Treylen started for the stairs.

Noulea had been sitting quietly in the corner, chewing her cud and listening to the room. Now she rose and lumbered into his way. 

“It is many days to the surface, Liberator. Let us not set off in haste only to make the journey more difficult.”

“You and the Jaul can do what you want. I will be going.” Treylen walked around her, ducking under the hand she’d meant to place on his shoulder. “Chalys, can you be ready? Losina, are you with me?”

“Always,” said Losina. “I like this side of you. But if haste is what you want, and caution to the wind, there is another way…” Losina raised her hand toward the roof, wriggling her fingers in imitation of the centipedes.

“You’re joking again.”

“Always.” She waited, fingers still wiggling.

Treylen took a breath to calm himself, and clasped Noulea’s hand. She would be the one to trust anywhere, but especially when it came to caverns. “Is what she’s suggesting possible?”

“It is possible that the opening overhead will bring you to the surface,” Noulea said. “If the dwarf’s tale is true, then the opening above us was created when the city melted into the earth.”

“One need only look around to see the evidence,” said Losina.

“How many days would it save?”

“If I’m to be honest…”

“Yes, Noulea, be honest,” he pressed. Noulea looked a little hurt.

“It is a long and winding path that we have taken, whereas this destruction swallowed it straight down into pentearth. You might forgo all of the winding and wandering to fly up and out in… minutes? Days? Much depends on the strength of your dragons and the swiftness of the monsters that await you… I have known their smaller ilk to snatch a swiftlet from the air. Quick birds, swiftlets.”

“Up and out? I am game if you are,” said Losina. 

“What about the rest of them?” Treylen asked

“The dragons will ferry them off the island. Surely, Noulea and Jorsa can look after them. But what of you and Rime? Are you feeling well enough since your poisoning? And Rime has been up all night, laboring for your blade.”

I will do what I must, bondmate, said Rime.

“Rime is ready,” he said. “And it doesn’t matter how I feel.”

“You aren’t going without me,” said Chalys. “Rime has room for two.”

She is light as a feather, bondmate. Rime rose from the bedroll and came to stand beside Chalys, putting his wing around her protectively.

“I’m coming too,” said Lem. Chalys put an arm around him and pulled him into the circle. 

“It will be a difficult flight,” said Losina, “but Beetle has no objection to it.”

“I have an objection,” said Romora. Draka was at her side, growling.

“I agree with the knight,” Treylen said. “It’s more important that you stay safe, and I don’t need your help to face an old vizier.” 

Chalys pounded the heel of her hand against her head. “You don’t need my help to fight her, fool. She’ll talk circles around you. Do you really believe you’ll convince anybody she’s guilty without my word to back yours? You are a dullard, and Losina has no standing.”

“It is true.” Losina grinned. “We must bring the child.”

“I am not a child,” Chalys pouted.

“You are close enough,” Romora said. “What say you, Vicar Jorsa? Am I to be overruled again?”

Jorsa held his hands up. “I can’t say one way or the other. It is not my place to rule in the affairs of other kingdoms.”

“So what good are you?” Treylen asked. He hadn’t quite forgiven the man for his earlier insults. “Very well, Rime is for it, and I assume Beetle is with him. So the princess comes with us. We go today. In fact, we go now. I’ll thank our host and tell them I can’t wait.”

Just then, a light appeared from the stair. The dwarves emerged from the lower chambers. 

Buriska had washed and dressed while, still dirty, Griya had finished the work on the hilt. Adorned in silks of gold-stitched blue, she stood on shoes of cut crystal, hair combed out and hung with jewels, her skin flush with the exertion of labor soft with scented oils. She was a strange and otherworldly vision, the like of he’d seen only in the presence of the elves and the oldest of dragons.

“Glory of Glitterhold,” Jorsa swore a breathless oath and dropped to one knee, and the others followed. “I needn’t wonder what beauty it holds, for I have seen more than any man of Jaul could dream.”

“What? This old thing?” Buriska clattered forward in her crystal slippers. In her arms was a sheet, draped over the shape of a sword. Griya followed, still smeared in sweat and grime but grinning at the work they had done. “Come now, and meet your blade. I have had a vision over the forge, and heard a name. Rak’Corbel, Bane of Shadows, now see your blades, forged in disharmony, made whole by the dragon’s breath. I name it Oathmender. Now, rise and receive your sword.”

THIRTY-FOUR

The Choke

Oathmender bore a scar up its center where the two blades had been joined as one. The blade was longer now but short enough for assassin’s work—simple, unadorned steel. The guard had been remade into a shape like dragon wings, and the tang bore a blackened hilt and a weighted pommel. The sword’s balance made it feel lighter than the sum of its parts, and the heft of it inspired a feeling of freedom so antithetical to the nagging curse of the Queen’s Fingers he wondered why he hadn’t simply tossed them long ago.

Losina helped to fit a scabbard Griya had made to Treylen’s back for the journey. “It does suit you. You’ll need to find a blade for your off hand, unless you plan to change your fighting style entirely.”

“You can have one of mine, I’m no good with them anyway,” Lem said, offering one of his practice daggers. 

Treylen refused. They looked too similar to the real thing. He opened his pack and found poor Mister Bloomwater’s sailing knife. He drew it out and inspected it again. It was thicker than a carving knife and hooked at the end, with scalloped serrations near the front of the hilt for sawing ropes and a sharpened notch on the back for gutting fish, slicing scales, and cutting fishing line.

“What a clever thing,” said Romora. “Shame we never got to know the windfey.”

“Aye, that’s a fine one,” said Lem.

Treylen tied it to his belt. “A bit greasy, but it’ll do the job.”

“Grease keeps the saltwater out,” Lem insisted. “He cared for his blade.” 

“It is a good choice, which honors the man who helped us find the way,” said Romora.

“They aren’t a matching pair…” Buriska began, genuinely troubled by the disparity between her grand sword and this fisherman’s tool. “I’ll take my payment now.” They had made a mound on the table out of the party’s provisions and anything else of value. “Yes, this payment is acceptable.”

It wasn’t a fraction of the worth of the sword, but it was the principle of the deal that mattered. Griya had replaced their rations with enough dwarven cooking and preserves to get them back to the surface. The thought of spending the next week with nothing but Griya’s mushroom cuisine made him more certain than ever that flying up and out was worth the risk.

“If our business is done, I will say goodbye and thank you for your hospitality.” Treylen bowed. The others took their turns exchanging farewells.

Rime lamented there wasn’t more time to stay and listen to the dwarves. So few knew the true history of the world. Before they’d left Iverna, Rime had made Treylen ask the elves in Apogee’s circle questions about the old days. Of the few willing to speak the Iveran tongue, none had been as old as these dwarves.

Once farewells had had finished, the dwarves escorted them to the door where, two by two, the dragons ferried them back to the stairs.

At last, the two groups stood apart on the beach. Romora and Draka were the only ones from the original party going back the long way with Jorsa, Noulea, and the legionnaires.

“I will hold you personally accountable for anything that happens to Her Highness.” Romora embraced him.

“I would bring you if I could,” Treylen said.

“Someday,” she stroked the top of Draka’s head, “we will fly on our own.”

“He’ll allow it,” said Treylen.

After Romora, they said goodbye to the rest.

Noulea’s goodbye was the saddest and reminded Treylen of their many partings before. “May the vaults of your will, hold back the mountain, friend.” She held her bow until after Treylen had risen.

Jorsa was last. He apologized for what he’d said when they were alone on the beach. “Had I known we would be parting so soon, and there would not be time to come to a fuller understanding, I would have held my tongue. But I wish you a safe journey.”

“And I, you,” said Treylen. “Maybe a little adventure if you’re lucky.”

Jorsa smiled at that. 

I think that I like him, said Rime. Maybe we don’t kill him after all. 

We can sort that out if we survive this, said Treylen. “If we don’t make it, it has been good traveling together.”

“Do you talk like this every time there’s a little danger?” Losina tossed her pack to Jorsa, then mounted Beetle and ordered Lem to climb on behind her. “You’re lighter, you’ll go on Rime,” she directed the princess. 

Treylen and the apprentices also left their packs behind, taking only what was essential. Rime kept his, of course, unwilling to give up his precious books.

Lem reluctantly surrendered the satchel with his gold to Noulea for safekeeping. “May I leave my blades and bring this?” He patted the trident, which he’d fitted with a strap and wore on his back. 

Treylen shook his head. “I think the others will need it for the return trip, don't you?”

“As a matter of fact, no," said Noulea. She opened her massive pack and produced the second trident. In her hand it almost looked like a dinner fork.

Treylen shrugged. “Bring it then. But you aren’t leaving the daggers. Never leave your daggers behind.” It pained him to say that, remembering the freedom he’d felt when he’d handed his daggers over to the dwarf. But, Treylen was leaving the assassin’s life behind. Lem was only just entering it.

Treylen mounted Rime, and Chalys climbed on behind him. 

With that, they took flight, gliding over the lake as the others filed up the stairs. Rime circled the cavern once, then let Beetle take the lead as they flew higher.

My master says you aren’t to hesitate if we are waylaid. She will endeavor to rejoin you. But your safety and that of the princess is our priority.

Treylen couldn’t refuse if he wanted to. She was already climbing.

 In the sky, they could have sought out warm currents to pull them upward, but the cave was dank and stale, and there would be no room to glide restfully. The only way up was by beating their wings, and the sounds of hard flapping—like bats fluttering upward through a chimney—echoed as they rose toward the chasm.

Chalys shuddered. “We’re not going to be able to see them coming, are we?”

“You won’t,” Treylen said, and her arms tightened around him. The hatchling resting inside of her jacket squirmed. 

“I’ll try not to think of what happens when they catch us.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Treylen said, “You’ll probably fall before they have a chance to eat you.”

“That is oddly reassuring,” said Chalys.

“I knew you were cut out for this.”

Beetle entered the chasm first, and the millipedes lining the entrance trained their eyes on her. With a rattling hiss, one leaned out from the wall to swipe at her. Beetle veered to the other side of the chasm, dodging another. More clicks and rattles echoed above, and the mass crowding the opening of them began to churn and pulsate as Rime approached. Treylen envied Chalys, wishing he couldn’t see it either. 

The one that had swung at Beetle now protruded toward them, swaying back and forth. Another leaned out tentatively. Rime flapped past, ducking under the clumsy swaying. Then its body coiled on them in a flash. Rime swerved and dipped to escape it, then glided up on his momentum, veering too close to the side. Another stretched out like an arm from the wall, the back half coiled around a rock, while the front batted the air. Rime banked, fell again, and beat his wings, shooting upward. 

They were deep inside now, walls closing in. 

“It gets tighter up ahead. Can’t always do that maneuver,” said Treylen. Rime was too focused to answer, but flapped harder, rising faster. The natural walls of the chasm were lost behind the crowd of hissing mouths and grasping mandibles. 

Beetle pushed higher, far ahead of them. She had been brave going in first, but now Treylen saw the danger in going second, as more and more millipedes awakened and leaned their hungry bodies out toward them.

Don’t let them get too far ahead, Treylen said through the dragonmind so Chalys couldn’t hear it.

I’m doing my best, bondmate. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought a second body. 

He flew higher.

“They’re everywhere!” Chalys buried her face in his back, fingers bruising his ribs. Treylen tried to think of something comforting to say. He gave up. Above, Beetle shrieked a warning as one of the monsters threw itself from the wall. Missing Beetle, it now tumbled toward Rime. Rime tucked his wings as it whooshed past, shot them out again, and flapped higher; the hungry mouths on the walls followed, straining toward them as they passed. 

More rattling sounded below as the falling millipede crashed into another, and they tumbled toward the bottom. They were high in the chasm now, the cavern below was almost out of view, and the sound of the beasts splashing into the lake was lost amongst the chitters and hissing. 

It narrows again, Rime said.

Treylen looked up. Far above, the distant shape of Beetle dodged and twisted, avoiding strikes between the quick, desperate beating of her wings as she passed the choke point so tight he lost sight of her amongst the twisting convergence of insectile bodies. 

As they neared the same place, another monster fell. Rime pulled his wings in, plummeted, twisted to avoid its mandibles, then caught the air. Wings spread tight, he wheeled in a small circle, drifting downward, panting for breath. Above, there was still no sign that Beetle had made it through, only tangled darkness and shrieking creatures.

Are you okay, Rime? Treylen asked.

I’m more tired from the forge than I anticipated, he said.

“Are we falling?” asked Chalys. Wide-eyed, she still couldn’t see the countless mouths straining for them, but she could hear it all.

“Resting,” Treylen said, though he, too, was alarmed at the speed they were falling. Then, Beetle spoke. 

There is no end in sight, she said. But if you pass the choke point, there may be a short rest.

THIRTY-FIVE

The Steeple

They approached the narrow point again. A tangle of millipedes spanned the gap like a living lattice.

It’s going to be very tight, bondmate. I can’t avoid them all. 

Beetle made it, Treylen reassured him, you can too.

It’s not me that I worry for, it is her. Rime really did care for the Princess. He hoped that would not get him killed.

I’ll take the two of us then, said Treylen. You get yourself through.

I’ll need my speed, said Rime.

I won’t use the dragonmind until you’re through. “Hold tight to me,” he said to Chalys. “We’re getting off.”

“We can’t,” she said, but wrapped her arms tight around him. 

“Legs too.”

The princess hooked her legs around Treylen’s waist. She nodded and tightened her arms. He could feel the hatchling squirming inside of her jacket as it let out a soft whimper.

“It will be all right.” She put a hand over the hatchling. “It will be all right.” She repeated it like a mantra.

“Hang on, or you’ll fall,” he shouted.

She put the hand back. She’d have to trust her hatchling to hang on, too. Rime beat his wings and drove upward again.

Treylen waited as they rose toward the opening. The monsters flailed madly in the dark, screeching and biting at one another, their cries drowning out the sound of Rime’s wings. When they saw Rime, they reached toward him, and a gap opened in the middle. 

“Hold tight now.”

Treylen waited for the first to lunge, then leaped from Rime’s back, toward it, his kick pushing Rime clear of it. Chalys yelped but held tight. Treylen caught it behind the head, threw his arms around the body, and held tight. It was like holding onto a flailing tree; his arms couldn’t wrap it, his fingers dug into the gap between its armor plates, and his heels threatened to lose purchase as the small legs scraped at them.

 From the corner of his eye, he saw Rime fly up. The dragon spun past another swipe, flapped and pulled his wings in, flapped and pulled them in again as one lunged, then another. A mandible caught his wing but tore free a flap of membrane, trailing as he shot the gap, then he beat hard to get above the snarl of bodies. Treylen lost sight of him.

The millipede screeched and flailed, and Treylen felt his fingers slipping, the weight of Chalys tugging with each movement.

“What are we doing?” Chalys cried.

“Nothing until Rime’s safe. Trust me.”

Chalys shouted some more; she didn’t understand. But Treylen held on, and she held onto him.

The monster flailed again. Treylen felt his fingers dragging. Another round of rattling legs and clacking mandibles sounded above. 

I’m through, Rime said. 

“Here we go!” Treylen seized dragonmind, released his hold, and sprang with a grasshopper leap. Still focused on Rime, most of them were turned upward. He caught one by its short legs, swung wildly, kicked off, and landed on another. A mandible grabbed at him, but he turned at the last moment, and it shattered against the carapace of another. 

Chalys yelped as the ichor sprayed them. Treylen pushed himself up and crawled along the back of it, leaping to another as he pulled hard on dragon speed and ran up. He ducked beneath another, then, seeing a lone rock protruding from the mass of them overhead…

“Hold tight!” he shouted, and Chalys squeezed her arms. One more dragon-aided leap, and he shot out from the tangle like a spark from a fire. 

“Oof,” Chalys grunted as they struck hard and the wind rushed from her lungs. She gasped to get her breath back, but her grip never failed. Treylen clung to the rock, looking around frantically. Below was the wild tangle they had just passed; all around the creatures clung to the walls, and, seeing Treylen, they crawled toward him. In a moment, the boulder would be enveloped. Above, the chasm widened. For the first time, there was a bit of open air and two dragons circling overhead. No time to wait for them to get him. Treylen poured all of his strength and Rime’s into one more leap. They sailed up into the open chamber. Rime caught Treylen on his back before climbing again to glide slow, tight circles behind Beetle.

“You can let go,” Treylen said. Chalys was still panting, sucking to get her breath back.

“Just a moment,” she gasped for air. Her hands were shaking.

Beetle veered playfully toward the walls, reaching out with her talons to bat at a millipede when it lunged at her. Losina had a feral look to her and howled exuberantly from the dragon’s back. Poor Lem, clinging for dear life, looked as if he had been sick on himself.

When they neared the bottom, Beetle flew up again and started a new spiral. She spoke to Treylen.

Better place to rest just above this, not far at all.

Treylen relayed that message to Rime and Chalys. Chalys slowly lowered her feet from around his waist, settling back onto Rime again. She opened her jacket to check that the hatchling was still safe inside the lining.

“I think I’d have preferred it if we’d taken the long way,” she said.

“Next time,” said Treylen. “I just hope we will make it in time to assure no one else is harmed. I may feud with my father, but I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.”

Chalys slumped forward and rested her head on his shoulder. Treylen held tight to Rime as they began to climb again.

They followed Beetle up, and the chasm widened into a cave, with the narrower passage above and below. The sloped edges of the space bore more clusters of millipedes lying on the rocks like basking seals; their mouths yawned as they swayed to follow the dragons.

How much farther to the surface? Rime asked.

She didn’t say.

Remnants of the city that had not tumbled all the way down to the bottom rested on the slopes of the chamber. These were the pieces that had not been melted but had fallen afterward as the molten rock was cooling and the hollowed-out city was collapsing into itself. 

He saw tumbled chunks of dwarven neighborhoods with open doors and windows, hollow chambers, and stone cottages that had split open and scattered. The largest chunk was a steepled tower that had snapped off and impaled itself into the wall rock so the bottom stuck out into the chasm like the end of a fish club.

Beetle landed inside of the open end so Lem and Losina could dismount. 

“We’ll get a few minutes rest before they’re swarming it,” said Treylen.

It will be enough, said Rime.

I just hope that was all worth it, Treylen replied, frowning at the flap of torn skin that hung, trailing Rime’s wing. He could feel the dragon’s exhaustion through the bond. But also, an unexpected surge of optimism.

Oh, it was worth it, said Rime. Look behind you.

Treylen craned his neck to glance over his shoulder. A sharp light seeped out from inside of Chalys’s jacket. She held the dragon in her arms, laughing softly, and when she lifted her head he could see her eyes lit fiercely with the glow of the dragonmind.

THIRTY-SIX

The Sentry

The way was clearer up above.

The odd straggler reached out toward them as they ascended, but they had left the greater swarm of creatures below. It was a hard flight up with no end in sight. Time and again, the dragons had to stop and rest, sometimes finding a perch that was free from the creatures. Other times, when the walls were steep, they clung to the rock and hung like bats until their strength returned. Gradually, the millipedes grew thick again. The way narrowed.

“I think we’re getting close!” Treylen shouted up to the others. 

Don’t stop flying when we get out, he said to Rime. Remember, that lower city was swarming with them. 

I remember.

He’d guessed right. Soon, the mouth of the crevasse appeared. Above it was the chamber he and Rime had seen on their first day underground—a city in a cavern, a crawling nightmare swarming with millipedes.

“Almost out,” he said to Chalys. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m past worrying,” she said. Her dragon whined and she patted the bulge in her jacket. “It will be all right, bondmate.”

They flew toward the mass of insects writhing in the opening. But this time, they flew closer to Beetle. The closer behind, the less warning the creatures would have.

Up and out. 

Millipedes lunged from the edges, but Beetle, and then Rime, threaded the eye of the needle. They burst into the cavern. Rime beat his wings higher, safe from the grasping mandibles, and landed on the top of the tower where, many days earlier, Treylen and Rime had knelt to scout the cave. Beetle landed beside him, and Lem fell off and lay panting on his back. More rattling and hissing filled the chamber. 

Losina peered over the edge, unconcerned. “That wasn’t so bad, do you think?” 

Lem made a sound like a dying goat.

“Rest well here,” she said. “We won’t be stopping again. If our suspicions are correct, then the vizier will have placed a sentry somewhere in the caverns or the cellar to ensure that we don’t return. Once we move, we’ll move swiftly, and we’ll strike these sentries without warning.”

“And without killing if we can help it,” said Chalys, laying back beside Lem. “These are my subjects. I won’t kill them for watching the cellar on orders.”

“Oh?” Losina glanced over the edge again. “We’ll see.”

They rested in the dark with Losina as lookout. Treylen closed his eyes and listened to the scrape of bodies through the stone streets of the dead city. 

“Hard to believe those dwarves wanted to stay here,” said Treylen. “I understand why the others left.”

“Is it so hard?” Losina asked. “We stay with Iverna, though the kingdom is but a shell of its former self.”

“Are you admitting fealty to Queen Apogee?” he asked, amused. “I suppose you did swear an oath.”

“I swore the oath to save my life,” she said. “It was not the first time. But you’re the only one who ever spared me and asked nothing in return. Are we ready to go?” She nudged Lem awake. Chalys was already sitting up.

They flew up and out of the chamber.

The ruined city took on a different meaning as they ascended through its ravaged core: the monument of a stone visage staring out at them, empty homes, fallen staircases, and melted galleries.

He was not entirely sure what to make of it.

One thing was clear. His bond was tied to it, somehow. 

It was not entirely surprising to have learned that the first in the line of Iveran queens had a hand in the destruction of the city. 

But to learn that the great Dragon King had wrought this, that same dragon whose bones Treylen had touched, whose transcendent power granted the bond he and Rime shared. 

How could such cruelty come from something so pure?

When Iverna had rejected the Dragon King and taught its monks to worship the queen instead, it had made the old, forgotten mountain shrines seem like something purer and untainted by the queens’ cruelty.

 But it was all muddy now in his head. 

Those venerated bones in the Dragon Lands had the shadow of something monstrous now, more akin to those scuttling millipedes than any human being.

It was enough to drive an assassin mad. Well, those who had any humanity left. Losina was untroubled, as always. 

At least Treylen had the urgency of their mission to think of. “Hold tight to Rime,” he said to Chalys, hopping off the dragon when they reached an upper ledge. 

Treylen bounded up on his own, the burning in his muscles helping to dull his spinning mind. For once, he wished Rime was reading so he might borrow Treylen’s focus and help to blunt his thoughts.

You should keep resting, bondmate, let me carry you now so you’re ready for what we find above.

I’ll carry my own weight from here, Rime. I needed to stretch my legs anyhow.

Losina jumped off Beetle as they neared the fountain. “I would put my sentries here if I were setting an ambush,” she said.

“I think you overestimate how well regular people can climb. They’ll be up there.” He pointed to the landing that led to the landing before the fountain.

“Then they’ve seen us.” She launched herself through the air, drawing her blades as she landed.

Treylen raced to catch up and found the landing was empty. 

The chamber was, too. Losina inspected the fountain. The glyph had long since faded, and the basin sat dry. She stopped at the entrance to the hallway, the glow of the ruins had faded. Treylen stopped beside her, and the dragons stood behind, each with an apprentice and a hatchling clinging to their back.

“I’m starting to get the hang of this,” Chalys said, blinking at the room. 

“I haven’t.” Lem stared blankly into the dark. The whole journey since leaving the dwarves had been darkness for him. But Lem had done his share of nighttime watches on the Humble Guest and weathered the horrors of the chasm as steadfast as any midnight squall—with his standard ration of whining, of course. 

“Stay on the dragons. We go one at a time.” Treylen stepped into the hall. The others waited until he had navigated the triggers. Then the dragons came, carrying the apprentices. 

The smell from Bloomwater’s remains filled the chamber, and the slumped shape stared at him from the corner. Treylen tried not to look at it as he waited. Perhaps they were wrong not to have turned back then and returned the body for a proper burial—for a windfey, that was to be set adrift at sea.

Losina came last through the tunnel. 

They left Bloomwater and retraced their steps through the hall of statues, then the work room, then the stairs, still not encountering any sentries.

“Perhaps the traitor didn’t have the resources to set a watch,” said Treylen. “No one that she could trust with her secret, I mean.”

“No,” said Chalys. “The vizier is more beloved than the king. There are many who would do whatever she asked.”

Through the coat room and up the stairs, the air was thick with rot in the cave where the first millipede had been killed. Treylen was most grateful to have left Jorsa and the others behind. Not having to help anyone climb over meant he and the dragons could simply bound over the corpse where it crossed the path. 

“No danger of an ambush here,” he said. “It stinks too much.”

I wish I could stay and nose around awhile, said Rime. Sometimes I like it when the meat softens.

Maybe you’ll find time for it later, Treylen said, fighting to keep his stomach down as they reached the entrance. They moved swiftly up the tunnel but stopped at the end.

“It’s closed,” Losina said.

“We can’t open it?” Chalys asked.

“We can, but it may have been set with a tripwire to an alarm. The two of you keep quiet a little longer. Your time is coming. Now step back.” Losina waited until the dragons had moved, then activated the hidden latch to open the Ferrick door. 

She and Treylen emerged into an empty room. 

“Nothing?” He hadn’t expected much resistance, but she’d convinced him there must be something.

“No sentry.” Losina lay on her stomach and squinted from the floor to the wall, then the ceiling. “No tripwire.”

“Guess you were wrong.”

“I do not think so. Quickly.” She ran up the rickety wooden stairs. 

“Do you think we might want to stop her?” asked Chalys as she and Rime emerged. “If we don’t have to rush in hot-headed, perhaps we shouldn’t.”

Losina stuck her head back down the hatch. “They will be waiting for us. I feel it. I won’t spare them a second.” She dashed off.

“So much for tact,” Treylen said to Chalys. “You’re overruled.”

They raced up, following Losina. At the top of the stairs, they saw a guard sleeping in his chair. Treylen covered the man’s mouth, while Losina bound and gagged him before he was fully awake.

“Oh, I know this one,” said Chalys. “Apologies, Kurieg, you aren’t in trouble… yet. Be quiet now, please.” 

The poor man nodded and lay still on the floor beside the basement door. 

“Not exactly the dangerous sentry we were expecting,” said Treylen.

“No but…” Losina raced off through the kitchens, then the servants’ quarters. They stopped in the hallway that served the diplomatic wing. 

“What is the rush?” said Chalys, blinking in the faint light of the hallway. Somewhere daylight crept in through a window.

“Someone knows we have returned,” said Losina. “We will just have to get to the vizier before she has time to cover her tracks.”

“I see no evidence of that,” said Chalys.

“And don’t you find that strange?” Losina asked.

“You are suspicious now that nothing is suspicious?” Suddenly, Chalys yelped, put her hand to her chest, and spun around to see Beetle entering behind her. “You speak?”

I told the princess she won’t be a true assassin unless she learns to trust instinct. When my master has an instinct, it must not be ignored.

“I don’t know about that,” said Treylen, patting Chalys on the back, “but you’ll soon learn to always listen to Beetle.”

“I wouldn’t,” Losina grinned. “Now, quickly, shall we go together or split our resources? What is the time of day, and where will the vizier be? Ah, Beetle says midday.”

The princess rubbed at her chin. “It’s near midday. She will be in her office.”

“We split ways,” said Losina. “We can’t lose our advantage. The dragons and I will nab the vizier. I understand she will be guarded, but I don’t think it will be any trouble for us. The princess must go to her father directly. We cannot wait on this. There are too many threats here, not to mention the Jaul. She will see to his safety and brief him on the danger.” 

“I’m going with her, then,” said Treylen.

“No, the boy will go with her. And the hatchlings. You must go to the embassy and bring the secretary back with you.”

“Secretary? Missus Rimkin?” Then he saw what she was getting at. “The accountant…”

“Yes,” said Losina, “How many times have you said she looks like a queen’s accountant and that we ought to do something about her?”

“I was only speculating,” said Treylen.

“Well, I believe it to be true. And I’d like her talent close at hand so we can interrogate the vizier before the king or anyone else can get in our way.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

The Quill

“We split up then.” Treylen didn’t like it, but hesitation had killed more assassins than anything. They parted ways on their separate tasks. Trusting Losina terrified him, but had rarely led him astray. What a fool he would be someday if she decided he was no longer a useful ally.

The embassy was on the opposite of the castle complex. No time to go through the interior, Treylen took the path he’d taken that fateful morning when the vizier had summoned him for tea.

Borrowing.

He vaulted onto the walkway that overlooked the harbor, shoved a startled guard out of the way, and raced along the parapet, leaping from there onto a balcony, then again to the watercourse, following the gutter and sliding down into the garden that abutted the ambassador’s building. As before, tea was set, the servants were tidying up the patio—the grounds were kept immaculate, perhaps to make up for the fact Garian wouldn’t let them touch his cluttered apartment. Treylen didn’t bother with the front door. He hopped the rail and crossed the patio toward the former ambassador’s rooms.

“Hold!” said one of the servants, but Treylen had no time for them.

“I need to speak with Garian. Urgently!”

“Garian isn’t here,” said the servant, not quite brave enough to block Treylen’s way.

“What about Missus Rimkin? Is she in the office today?”

“No, no, they’re both gone.”

Treylen halted at the door, looking in at the dusty space. “Where can I find them?

“I don’t know,” said the servant. “They were having tea at their usual time, then, all of a sudden, the ambassador says he must go, and quickly. He did not say why.”

“Who brought him the news?”

“That is the strange part,” said the servant. “Nobody. He was mid-tea, and then, I must go. Wouldn’t even let me get his cane.”

“That is strange,” Treylen said. Turning from the door, he observed the patio. On the table were two tea cups, still steaming. Treylen stepped forward as if drawn to them.

“Is this how Garian takes his tea?”

“Yes. He’s a creature of habit.”

“Does he always drink chamomile?” Treylen asked.

“Always. That is not how the locals take it, but it settles his stomach.”

“I’m sure it does.” Treylen lifted the pot to his nose and sniffed. There was nothing unusual about the tea. Except for the obvious. “Where is the king now?” he asked.

“Why, meeting with the Jaul ambassador, if I had to guess. They meet in the audience hall most every day. There’s much to do with the ball so near. Garian has done his best to replace you.”

“I’m certain that he has,” Treylen said. “Listen, there’s trouble. Go inside. Lock the doors and bar the windows. Lock the offices. No one is to enter or leave the embassy until I return. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand, Ambassador.”

“Do it anyway.” Treylen hopped the fence and scaled the castle again. He had no desire to explain himself to half a dozen guards and doormen just to reach King Marcus’s audience hall.

Forget the vizier, Rime. I need you at the audience hall, as quick as you can. Treylen scaled the facade, disarming a guard along the way. He hopped the parapets and rushed toward the central castle.

We have her already, said Rime, can you come to us?

I’m not going to you. I need to get to the audience hall. Is that the way Lem and Chalys went?

If that is where the king is, that is where they’ll have gone, said Rime. Bondmate, we’ve already worked to barricade the vizier’s offices. The guards in the halls are growing in number. I’m not certain we can leave here.

So take the window, Treylen said. Scaling the center castle, he climbed toward the central airshaft. If he was lucky, there would still be a hiding hole there that would let him enter unnoticed.

The window is barred, bondmate. It seems the vizier has taken our recommendations to heart and worked to improve security.

Find a way. And you can leave her behind. I don’t think she’s the traitor. I think it’s Garian.

Rime was silent, but Treylen knew he had listened because he felt the pull of the dragonmind—Rime siphoning a bit of his mental focus as he pondered the implications. Treylen fought through the mental haze and focused on the finger holds. Near the top of the central tower, barred openings let light in, and a breeze circulated through the central airshaft. In this way, the audience hall could be light and airy without leaving a courtyard open to intruders from the air.

Treylen felt the pull of dragonmind ease, and Rime responded.

I understand. We are coming. If we can. You know, bondmate, I always said the vizier could be trusted.

A little premature to be rubbing it in my face.

Treylen felt along the edge of the stone until he found the mechanism that opened the hiding hole. He breathed in relief when the stones swung aside. This hole had been on the list of vulnerabilities Rime had given to Vizier Staryno. Thankfully, her workers had become supper for a millipede before they could seal this one up.

He slipped into the narrow hole in the wall feet-first, closing the door behind him. He wriggled deeper into the hole, pushing aside a bundle of provisions that had been placed long ago. His feet touched the interior wall. A second hatch opened into the castle. Treylen hooked his boot around the latch, triggered the mechanism, and swung the stone aside.

Squeezing through, he found himself hanging high up in the central chamber, overlooking a grand audience hall. Far below were Chalys, Lem, and the hatchlings. The King sat on his throne, and two other men were beside him.

Lush curtains framed the space and tall hanging tapestries, depicting the sea voyages of the line of Ketar. Treylen grabbed a tapestry. Wrapping his arms and legs around the edge of it, he slid gracelessly down.

“There he is now,” Chalys said as Treylen landed.

She and Lem stood at the foot of the dais, troubled. Whatever she had been trying to communicate to her father, she was not making headway.

The king sat at the head of the chamber upon a gilded throne on a raised dais, a ledger on his lap. Garian knelt beside the king, one hand holding a quill poised over the book on the king’s lap. The other hand was hidden behind the back of a middle-aged man beside him. Treylen didn’t recognize the man, but his crimson robes and their gold embroidery set with rubies meant he was the Jaul ambassador.

Treylen braced himself for the king’s shieldbearers to rush and apprehend him, but nothing came. The audience hall was wide and empty.

“Treylen, my boy, I’ve been waiting for you. I was just telling the princess we haven’t time for wild theories. Quite busy with the run-up to the ball, isn’t that right Your Majesty?”

“Yes, yes,” the king said. “Go and take the princess with you. We’ll address the ambassador’s dramatic entrance after I’ve finished here.” 

He sounded more subdued than usual, from the little Treylen had seen of him in the past. Chalys didn’t seem to know what to make of it either. And Lem must have felt she was on edge; he watched nervously, stroking his dragon.

It looked, by all appearances, like the king was resting in his chair and reading some important ledger and simply didn’t have time for them. But the guards that should have been at his side weren’t there. 

And the ambassador should have been confined to the far side of the room—guest or not, a messenger of the enemy had to be kept a safe distance from the king. 

King Marcus wasn’t the type to let his own citizens stand over his throne, let alone foreign ambassadors. Garian’s groveling at the foot of his chair might have been accepted, since Garian had been around for so long that some had forgotten he was Iveran. 

But there was nothing right about this room.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The Worm

Treylen gave the shortest bow he dared, not taking his eyes off Garian. He stood firmly between his two apprentices and reached Rime through the dragonmind. Are you coming? I’ll need all of you.

We are having some difficulty, said Rime. The vizier is being uncooperative. And the passage is growing crowded.

Leave her. I need you and Losina.

I will try my best to communicate that, bondmate.

If they won’t go, come alone. 

“My father won’t listen to me,” Chalys said. “Have you brought the vizier? We have to make her talk.”

“I always listen to my daughter,” said the king. “That does not mean I believe everything you say. Now, leave. Take her, ambassador. I want her out of my sight.” The king raised his voice, but he didn’t move a muscle, except—was that a tremor Treylen saw in his hand?

“Just going over the plans for the ball?” asked Treylen.

“Just that,” Garian grinned. It was an awful ruse. Clearly he’d had little time to prepare for their swift return, rushing off and leaving his tea unfinished. 

The shadow of a shape, or many shapes, slumped on the floor behind the dais. Blood trickled out, running along the seam of the tile.

Are you coming, Rime? He listened for footsteps, any sounds in the passage outside, but it was silent. 

We are trying, bondmate, Rime sounded strained.

Try harder. He scanned the room for any sign of Missus Rimkin. But the old accountant wasn’t here. Perhaps she wasn’t a part of the scheme. But that was her book on the king’s lap. And her quill in the hand of the ambassador, a drop of black deadly ink hanging from the tip.

“Father.” Chalys stepped forward.

Treylen knew he had to stop her from getting any closer. “To hellcaves with it.” He was a poor liar anyhow, and bluffing only kept his allies in the dark. “Don’t get any closer to him, he’s the traitor.”

“Whatever do you mean, boy? Are you mad from the caves?”

“You can drop the ruse, Garian. You’re not the first old assassin I’ve caught in exile. And you’re not half as feeble as you pretend to be.”

“Bother,” Garian sighed. “I’d hoped if I was swift enough, I might stage it to look as if the Jaul ambassador had killed them all before being cut down himself. But the princess arrived before I’d finished.” He glanced at the blood spreading around the base of the dais. “I had little time to clean up.”

“You told me the old queen pulled her assassins out of Ketaresk, but you lied. She’d left you here.”

He laughed at that. “Our young queen didn’t know the half of her networks. She had only begun to learn how far her agents were spread. It was a great loss for Iverna that the queen’s shadow perished before he could teach her how to wield her assassins properly.”

“Run Chalys—” the king started to speak, but Garian put the pen to his throat.

“The ink is a toxin,” Treylen said to his apprentices. The king didn’t flinch. He’d already known. The Jaul ambassador squirmed, eyes going wide as Garian brought the dagger out from where he had been pressing it against his back and put it to his throat instead.

It was a Queen’s Finger.

“I thought I’d gotten lucky when Her Highness said the vizier was the poisoner. How did you sort it out?”

“I thought it was Vizier Staryno, too, until I saw your tea sitting out,” said Treylen. “Then I remembered something else strange.”

“Do tell, I’m curious. But quick now, my boy.” The Jaul ambassador yelped as Garian pressed the blade under his chin.

“It was Mister Bloomwater’s sailing knife. Lem thought it was greased. But it was poison.” 

“A backup plan,” said Garian, “in case the tea didn’t work.” 

“Your man is dead, by the way,” Treylen said. “There was an accident. We kept his things. I must have mistaken his tea for the pouch that Staryno gave me.” Treylen thought back to the night before, if he had taken the time to inspect his rations like the others had, he’d have found a second pouch in the bottom of his pack.

Garian huffed. “And here I’d thought you were clever, my boy. I thought you had found me out. I had hoped to do this at a more opportune time, but when you came charging up from below…”

We are coming, bondmate, can you stall a little longer?

“That’s the only thing I don’t understand,” Treylen said, slowly. “Why did you forge the invitation?”

“It isn’t complicated, my son.” Garian laughed, still speaking as if he thought himself a mentor to Treylen. “I simply invited them here to kill them. And to frame them, of course. The public was already inflamed thanks to your Draka Mora act. Once the king is dead at the hands of the Jaul, they might just remember why they hate them so. Now the crown will fall to one of his weaker sons, and the people will force the heir to resume the war. I’m doing your job for you.”

“But this is not the way, Garian,” said Treylen. “The queen would not want this.”

Now Garian’s tone shifted. No more sweetness left in it. “Apogee is no queen of mine, Treylen. My Queen Olysya yet lives. Oh, don’t pretend to be surprised, I know you met her on Ketch Isle. Did you think the windfey would keep your secrets for you?” 

“They told Bloomwater, and he worked for you?” Treylen guessed.

“He and many others. Did you really think windfey could move as freely as they do without our help? There is a reason they get away with violating the blockades, and it isn’t their speed. It’s because anytime a port official thinks to arrest one, we remove him.”

“And you think you know what Queen Olysya wants?” Treylen reached out to Rime as he talked. Are you coming already? I’m doing my best to keep him talking.

They called up the guard when we went for the vizier, said Rime. The castle is sealed. 

They’ve made a mistake. The danger is here, and they’ve sealed us in with him, Treylen said. Can you get to us or not?

Chalys said not to harm anyone. 

I think she’ll have changed her mind, said Treylen.

On the throne, the king was pale and sweating. The Jaul ambassador looked as if he might collapse if he stood still any longer, but he dared not move.

“You think you know better, what Queen Olysya wants? My contacts tell me you force bargains upon her, and would keep her diminished and hidden away.”

“Better diminished than dead, don’t you think?” Treylen said. “I’ve spoken to her, and I think she’s changed.”

“My queen shall not be diminished!” Garian shouted now, spittle flecking his lips. “And I will not allow some lackey of the usurper to hold my rightful post any longer.”

“Then stop hiding behind your poison,” Treylen said, “or are you afraid to fight me?”

Drawing Oathmender, he raised the sword to the light.

“What a blade. It almost calls to me…” Garian marveled at it as he lowered his dagger from the Ambassador’s neck and let his hand holding the quill drop. Back straightening, he untied the sash of his robe and let it fall away, standing in his underclothes, far fitter and better muscled than he’d ever let on. “You poor, dim lad. I was never hiding. I’ve simply been doing the same thing you are. Buying Wormtail a moment to arrive.”

There was a rumble.

The floor shifted as the tile split beneath him, as the back and shoulders of the dragon that had been lurking in the space beneath the floor burst forth. 

The dragon was pink and pale with a long fleshy tail. 

Its head shot out from the opening and caught Treylen’s sword hand. He kicked at its neck, but it moved like a snake, squirming out of the way. Teeth sunk into his flesh, twisting his arm, and Oathmender clattered to the floor.

Its tail snaked around Chalys and Lem, knocking them aside.

Treylen staggered back, trying to get a grip on the slippery snout to pry it away. He summoned dragon strength and kicked off, but its tail wrapped his leg, and it threw a loop of its body around him. The whole dragon looked like a scaly earthworm that had been stretched from each end. It blinked at the light with black eyes that looked as if they hadn’t seen the sun for ages.

The more its body coiled around him, the more lengths of it emerged from the cellar. It released his hand to seize his head instead. Treylen clamped his bloody hand on the dragon’s snout. He hooked it by the nostril and pushed it away as the coil of its body tightened.

Borrowing Rime’s strength, he broke its grasp, but two more coils wrapped him tight again. Then, Lem and Chalys were on their feet again. The tail lifted him from the floor, moving with a mind of its own, while the head turned and went after the apprentices.

Again, Treylen muscled it off. Again, two more coils looped around him. He reached for Bloomwater’s blade, but the end of the tail snapped around, caught his arms and stretched him like a rack.

Meanwhile, Chalys harried Wormtail, going slash-for-slash with the dragon’s talons, parrying and keeping her distance. Her hatchling clung to her back, out of its grasp. Lem tripped on the rubble as he drew his dagger.

“Flavus!” Lem triggered the glyph on his blade and it blossomed into a fireball.

The dragon screeched and buried its head in its coils as the flames washed over it, barely missing Treylen. Chalys covered her face and lunged blindly into the passing fire to sink her dagger. But it swung its head and struck her middle, sending her flying into Lem. Together, Lem and Chalys tumbled through the split in the floor and into the cellars below.

Wormtail tossed its head, then turned back to Treylen. He had freed his arm, and was groping for the dagger again, when its teeth clamped down on his hand. 

Garian watched him struggle. “Wormtail is cross with you. For spoiling our hiding place. Do you know how hard we worked to keep that Ferrick door a secret?”

It screeched in Treylen’s face as he held it back, and he smelled the pungent rot of the dead millipede on its breath and the unmistakable stale dankness of the caverns.

 So this was what Rime had smelled on that first day.

He had speculated it might be a dragon, and Treylen thought he’d just mistaken the strange reek of centipede. Now he knew who had spotted them on their way back through the caverns and how Garian had gotten the warning so quickly.

Two shriveled wings beat the air as it hulked over him, wrapping again and again. They had shrunk from disuse and long years hiding in the watery caves while its bondmate lived out his life as an ambassador. Left to itself, it had grown to resemble a pale worm just as the bondmates of Ketch Isle’s geriatric assassins had grown to resemble sea serpents.

What a stupidly clever way to keep an assassin hidden. Old Garian—the skinny, feeble, social climber and gossip, who did little else but take tea and lounge about his chambers. So that was why the man’s apartment was cluttered like a dragon’s hoard. Treylen’s would have looked the same if he and Rime ever stayed in one place long enough. Yet another old agent put into their position by the former queen’s mother or grandmother, still clinging to the old ways and continuing her scheming.

We’ve found a way in, bondmate. Rime said. He was too late, though. The coils tightened. Garian laughed as he watched from the dais.

Treylen’s arms shook, and he fought to keep the dragon from overpowering him. Slender as it was, it was twice the size of Rime, an elder dragon by bondmate standards. 

A hand reached up from the opening in the floor. A ringing filled the air as Lem hauled himself out, Trident held high. The dragon screeched like a mole otter and shook wildly, its coils vibrating. In Lem’s other hand, he held his dagger, now pulsing with the magic of Treylen’s glyphs. He surged forward with unnatural speed, plunging his trident into the dragon’s side, and the ringing cut out.

Treylen broke free with his arm, hand finding his dagger. He jerked it from the sheath and jabbed the blade into one of Wormtail’s coils. The dragon shrieked, seized Treylen’s wrist and shook. The blade flew free. It tightened on Treylen again. Catching Lem, it slammed him on the ground. Then, abruptly, the dragon cried out and tossed its head in pain before gnawing at the place where Bloomwater’s blade had stabbed it. Treylen shoved the coils loose and squeezed out. Wormtail howled, twitching and snapping at the air.

“What’ve you done?” Garian cried.

“That was Bloomwater’s blade,” Treylen gasped, catching his breath.

The dragon screeched. It might not die as easily as a human, but the toxin burned all the same. As it retreated back into its hole, Treylen had to wonder if all those years Garian had forced his bondmate to live under the cellars had eroded its loyalty. 

“Traitor!” Garian shoved the ambassador aside and flung the quill at the king, as he drew the second of his Queen’s Fingers and leaped from the dais.

Treylen danced backward, unarmed, eyes on his fallen sword. As he dodged a swipe, one foot slipped into a crack. He fell backward, leg pinned, and his head struck the tile.

Wormtail’s tail whipped out from the hole, wrapping him, and twining around his arms. Garian knelt over them, crossed his blades and pressed them down to lop the head from Treylen’s shoulders. Chalys leaped back out of the cellar, eyes blazing bright, and she caught Garian’s blades, locking them against hers. 

“So you’ve done it! Only a little too late. Pity, I could have done something with her.” He shoved her back with dragon strength as his own eyes flashed bright. Lem came at him from behind and got a boot to the face. Chalys held her own, deflecting another barrage of strikes. For once, she had the strength to hold her own, and she used it. But her training daggers shattered under the power of the dragon strength and the temper of Garian’s Queen’s Fingers. 

She fell back. He pursued her, but the hatchlings were there, teeth sinking into Garian’s tendon, scrambling up his back. Then, hoisting Oathmender, Lem plunged it through the traitor’s back. The dragon screamed as its bondmate fell. Chalys threw herself on Wormtail, jabbing the broken blade of her dagger into its eye. Treylen seized the mouth and pried its coils away. 

He helped her to beat it back, and the screeching thing slithered into the hole again, while Lem pulled his sword free from Garian’s back. Treylen went to him and took Oathmender. Standing over Garian, he struck the killing blow. When it was finished, he put a hand on Lem’s shoulder. 

“You aren’t ready for your first kill yet.” 

There was no objection from the apprentice. Chalys stood over the opening, jabbing down at the dragon until it slunk away. Without a bondmate, it would die somewhere in the bowels of the castle. Treylen ran to the king who had fallen from this throne.

“Your Majesty.” Treylen extended a hand toward him. The king accepted and allowed Treylen to help him to his feet and back to the throne, where he sat breathing hard and looking over the room. The only sounds were those of far footsteps down the hall.

It’s finished now, he said to Rime. Don’t hurt anyone trying to get in.

Lem knelt over the Jaul ambassador, unconscious on the floor. “He’s struck his head. I think he’ll live.” He tore a strip from his shirt for a bandage, packing a cut on the man’s neck.

Chalys rushed to her father, kneeling beside the throne. 

“Oh my. You really have done it. The dragon bond.” The king put his hands on either side of his daughter’s head and pulled her into an embrace. They exchanged words in Ketaresk tongue, then the king spoke to Treylen.

“All her life I have been so afraid for her. We push them to make them stronger. But nothing can protect them from Jaul’s power. So we look to Iverna for protection. When Iverna’s power slipped, we were exposed.” The king hugged Chalys, kissing her on the hair. “But no more.”

Treylen nodded. He knew the feeling all too well. And he knew just when the old queen’s power had slipped. When more assassins were killed in the war; when Treylen had lost his first mentor and no replacement came; when Jaul’s falconers began to intercept their pigeons, and the messengers they sent on dragonback stopped returning; when he and his allies had been cut off from one another. That had set the stage for Treylen’s first mission and every fateful mistake that would follow.

“Now you have a few assassins of your own,” said Treylen. “And ours is a new Iverna that makes its allies stronger instead of weakening them.”

“And now, my daughter, you might be strong enough to lead this kingdom yourself.” The king pulled his sleeve up to reveal a gash on his arm. Black ink seeped from the wound.

“No.” Chalys sounded like all the breath had gone out from her.

“Don’t quarrel with your siblings. There must always be a successor to the throne. I feel weak already.” He slumped forward, and Chalys caught him and helped him to hold up his head. Lem and the dragons were watching from a distance. Chalys’s hatchling climbed up and perched on her shoulder to look at him. The king coughed. “Does it have a name?” 

“Her name is Glimmer,” Chalys said, voice breaking, tears in her eyes.

“I sent you below to find a treasure. And you have done just that. My last gift to you. I hope it brings you more joy than struggle.” 

“Losina’s coming,” Treylen said. “She may have an antidote I don’t know of.” 

“She has no antidote to this venom,” said the king. “I have feared it all my life, but the Jaul ambassador will live at least. Chalys must deal with him in my place. They are sly and deceitful, but you are smarter, child.

“I had hoped to secure peace for you and our people. But,” he looked into her eyes, still glittering faintly with the dragonmind, “she is strong enough to make her own way. Set your mind and do not stray.” 

“I won’t.” The tears streamed down her cheeks.

The king slipped into their own tongue.

Chalys listened, nodding, mouth pressed into a firm line. Then, she turned to Treylen. “He tells me not to be swayed by any of them, least of all you.”

The king narrowed his eyes at Treylen. “The Jaul would have us roll over like a dog for peace,” he said. “Iverna would make us a dog for war.” The king coughed.

“Perhaps,” said Treylen. “But Iverna is still changing, Nothing is set in stone between us.” Kneeling at the foot of the throne, he bowed his head, and stayed by his apprentice’s side to bear witness to the king’s final moments.

THIRTY-NINE

The Exit

That night, while the princess wept, the vizier and her bureaucrats worked frantically in their offices, the masons worked to repair the damage to the castle, and the busybodies of the kingdom worked to alter their preparations for the royal ball. It would be a royal wake instead. Treylen had never learned the dances, anyway.

Missus Rimkin had been found at home, seemingly unaware of the plot, though she’d admitted to being a queen’s accountant. They had put her in a holding cell for the night, and could sort out what to do with her in the morning.

Treylen left the castle, cradling his bandaged hand, and walked down to the harbor where the others—apart from Chalys—were already resting on the deck of the Humble Guest. Captain Purlo had opened a cask of his best brandy, and the cook Kinna had emptied her pantry to prepare a hero’s dinner for the exhausted dragons and their ravenous human companions.

Treylen couldn’t bring himself to eat. He did not feel particularly deserving of the feast but sat on deck beside Rime anyhow.

It will be a week or so before they reach the surface. Rime sat nuzzling Kinna as she brought him a third plate of beef.

You’re thinking what to do with Jorsa? Treylen asked.

No, said Rime, I was only thinking that I left my satchel and books with him. I suppose we still have to kill him though, don’t we?

Would rather not, Treylen answered. I had hoped to leave killing behind.

Really? Then you are doing a poor job of it, Rime said. They both knew it wasn’t that simple. Jorsa’s knowledge would be the death of Volanti. He would have to be dealt with, somehow. Maybe the princess could help them find another way.

“Three cheers for Treylen,” said Losina. She was only saying it to harass him, but the others cheered anyway. There wasn’t much to celebrate, aside from having survived. A traitor had been thwarted. An apprentice had lost her father. It remained to be seen whether Ketaresk would make peace with Jaul or rejoin the war. At least their chances were no worse than before.

“I’ve had enough shouting, I think,” Treylen said, thanking Kinna and excusing himself. “I’m going to bed. Please don’t drink any tea while I’m gone. Oh, and Lem,” he raised a glass to the table, “well done. You and Nitpick are a good pair, and we’re glad to have you.” This time, Treylen led the cheer, draining his brandy before retiring alone to his bed in the bow.

He’d nearly dozed-off twice, but something amongst Rime’s small treasure hoard kept twinkling in the low light from the porthole. He reached out to cover it and found Rime’s satchel. Bulging with a huge lump, it didn’t feel like books. Treylen lifted the flap and was blinded by glittering reflection. He threw the flap down and blinked the light away.

Lifting the flap again, and shielding the object from the light, he saw a great glittering sphere, like a gem with ten thousand-facets, sparkled underneath.

Rime, do you care to tell me what you have in your pack? He asked through the dragonmind.

Oh, that. It’s the Orb of Storms. Rime said nothing more.

Care to tell me where it came from? Treylen glanced under the flap again, and had to look away before it made him dizzy.

Do you remember when Beetle came down to relieve me? Rime asked.

I do. What about it?

I didn’t tell you, Rime said, but Buriska had some other metalwork she wanted help with, so I lent my flames for some old work she’d never been able to finish.

That’s generous of you. It explains why you were so tired on the way up, said Treylen.

We hadn’t known we were flying up and out or I might have thought twice, said Rime. But, I had a little breath left, and it was very important to her.

Treylen sighed. I understand, bondmate. I wouldn’t have said this before, but I think you’re more generous than I am. Except with food, of course.

Of course not food, Rime said. But, it was not for nothing! She’d heard your question over dinner, and said she would tell me what became of the orb. She said the dwarves had no need to change the weather in Glitterhold, so they’d left it behind in the city, for the ones who stayed.

What happened to it? Treylen asked.

According to Buriska, it was lost with the rest of the city. But, after a few hundred years of digging, they found it again. 

He lifted the flap again, squinting at it with dragon sight. Each minuscule facet of the cut crystal bore nearly-imperceptible glyphs. All around the strange object flowed a subtle but incomprehensible swirl of magical energy. 

He blinked away his dragon sight.

Have you told anyone? Treylen asked.

Not yet. I thought we might surprise Chalys with it. But now I wonder if Vizier Staryno should have it, as an apology. She was very cross with us. She might feel better if she is the one who gives it to the new ruler.

Of course he wanted to give it to one of those two. Rime always played favorites.

Let’s not tell anyone about it just yet, Treylen said, closing the flap and moving the satchel to a safer place in the cabin before lying down again. It was a great discovery—a triumph even—but he was so very tired.

You want to wait? You don’t trust them with it, bondmate? asked Rime.

It’s not that, Treylen said. But I think everyone’s forgotten about it after today. Let’s keep it that way for now. Let’s see if Chalys takes the throne. If the Ketaresk need it, then we’ll make the trade. If they don’t…I know a certain captain who wouldn’t mind always sailing in fair weather.

* * *

Sleep came strangely once again, and no sooner had he laid his head on the pillow than he fell into a feverish dream of dragons’ wings, starry skies, and the night wind whipping past. In the dream, he was staring out of a tear in a sack, like his first dragon flight, when he’d been carried over the mountains in the clutches of Foxbane.

A voice called his name, and he opened his eyes.

He was in Volanti’s chambers again, floating in the center of a circle of glyphs made from powdered dragon bone.

“There you are.” Volanti’s hands were dirty, robe torn. A scratch beneath her eye was crusted with dried blood, and the hair over one eye was curled as if it had been singed in fire. “I have been trying to reach you for a while now. I was getting worried.”

Treylen reached out to her.

“No! Don’t move! Remember how this works. You’re asleep. Don’t try to talk, or you’ll spoil the spell. Just listen.” Her eyes darted around the room nervously. “Do you remember when I said I’d call for you?

“I do.” Treylen nodded.

“Things are getting out of hand here. I’m not sure I can control the situation much longer.”

“It’s okay.” Treylen was afraid to say more and risk breaking the spell. She couldn’t hear him anyhow.

“Can you come for me?” She breathed like a hunted hare, listening for something outside her door.

“I can.” Treylen nodded.

“Will you come for me?”

“I promise.” He nodded again.

“Soon?” She twitched like she’d heard something again. “That’s all we have time for. Find the redheaded fiddler in the outer court.” She knelt to snuff the candles. “May that I see you, next we meet.” The old parting words of an assassin.

“You will.” Treylen reached out as she bent down. Before his hand touched her curls she swept away the markings, and he fell back into the dream of stars.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for reading The Dragon’s Breath. We hope you enjoyed it. If you would be so kind as to take a moment to leave a review on Amazon or elsewhere, we would be very grateful. Review link HERE.

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Dustin Porta

D.K. Holmberg