Then I notice our followers. I glance up and catch a shape as it darts above us. A moment later the same thing happens. Soon I realize there are guards tracking our movements through the city. I suppose with the situation the way it is, this is understandable, but we are only a party of four. On the surface we hardly pose much threat. What do they know of us already?
When we arrive at the palace, our welcome is cold. We climb the many steps from the courtyard to the entrance, and when the doors are opened, we are ushered into a small, sparsely furnished waiting area where we wait for a long time.
Aurelion will not sit still. Instead he paces the room, running a hand through his long hair. “I do not like it. This is a bad sign.”
“He has not declared war. That has to mean something. And he has allowed us entry. The rules of diplomacy should mean he cannot hold me here even if an outright war is his intention.”
“They should,” Aurelion says.
Just then the door is opened, and the guards give Aurelion a low bow and me a lesser one. “The king will see you now.”
I stand, brushing at my skirts, conscious of how I must look after our long journey and without being given time or a room to change. There is nothing for it. I must make the best of this situation and put my case to the king. Our nations have always been friendly in the past. Surely he is not about to throw away centuries of friendship.
We are taken deeper into the palace, down a long corridor where we wait outside a large metal door while the herald announces us. We enter the echoing throne room and pass across the smooth marble floor. The tiles are polished so well the torches in the sconces cast flickering light on their surfaces.
Tharael sits on a throne decorated with long curved claws. I cannot tell if they are real dragon claws—gruesome—or carved. I do not get close enough to see. He looks down imperiously from the dais, but the first person he addresses is Aurelion, not me. “What an unexpected pleasure, brother. I take it you were successful in your courtship.”
Aurelion looks aside at me, then back at his brother. “I was.”
Silence falls, and we stare at each other as I wonder why he does not greet me directly. Finally I step forward. “Your Majesty, we have never met, but there was a time when I counted Tarquenor as one of my allies. I believe our parents were often in contact. I hope my visit is not an imposition, especially now when we are to be so closely connected.”
He regards me cooly. “It is no imposition.”
His stern face is completely unreadable, but I push on, forcing myself to speak when courtesy would demand I wait for his lead. “I was not planning to make such a long journey, but circumstances insist that I do.”
At this his brow quirks, but before he can ask me to elaborate, a servant hurries in and whispers something to the king.
“Bring him in.” Tharael lifts a hand in a beckoning gesture.
To my complete astonishment, the man who enters the throne room is human. His thin shoulders bear no wings. But that is not what astonishes me. My watermaster is the last person on earth I expected to see here before me.
Master Vahn’s features are composed into a polite smile which does not falter when he sees me, though what he is doing in the Tarquenorian court I can hardly imagine. I have not yet recovered from my shock when he leans close to Tharael. “All of them were involved in the incident at the new dam, sire. Even your brother was seen attacking royal soldiers.”
My mouth falls open in bewilderment. How does Vahn know about the dam? Or the attack on the guards? I am still trying to form my spiraling thoughts into a question when Tharael speaks again.
“You have been most useful to me. But there is a problem.”
Vahn frowns. “What is it, sire?”
Tharael beckons him forward and he approaches the throne. All of a sudden, Tharael launches himself from his seat and grabs Vahn around the neck, lifting him clean off his feet. “She already knows about the dam. So you are of no further use to me.”
Vahn’s eyes bug out of his head, and he gasps for air. “No, no. I can still help you. I have information about the wind spirit Prince Noreth keeps.”
Tharael lifts him closer until he is staring right into his face. “Go on.”
Vahn is spluttering. I can’t make out half his words. “...trapped somehow. My spies tell me there’s a magical object.”
The dragon king lets out a huff of annoyance. “You should have brought me that and I might have spared you.”
He straightens. Vahn claws at the king’s hand around his throat, but it is useless. In one sickening motion, the king twistsand jerks the watermaster, snapping his neck with an awful crack. Then he drops Vahn’s lifeless body to the floor.
“Seize the Vathirans. Arrest my brother. And someone get me that magical object.”
A low growl from Aurelion sends a shiver up my spine a moment before rough hands grab me from behind. He snarls and throws off my attacker. Kaelun and Jah’ruud back toward us until we form a tight knot in the center of the throne room. More guards pour through the doors until we are completely surrounded.
“Little help, Jah’ruud,” Kaelun whispers.
“I can do nothing until you make another wish.”
