“Yes, well. I’m asking again.”
“The answer is still no.”
“But that could be a lie. A trick to lull me into a false sense of security.”
“Yes.”
“Is it?”
“No.”
“But that could be a lie as well.”
Valtar uses a long stick to stir the burning embers. Smoke and sparks rise, singeing the tender rabbit flesh. “The day is already growing late,” he says at last in that low rumble of his. “We could sit here for what remains of it going round in circles. Or we could agree on the distinct possibility that I am lying and move on.”
I breathe out another sigh and simply watch the fire. Then, with a sudden vicious smile: “I used that trick you taught me. The knife flick. On Prince Taigan.”
He looks up, brows raised.
“I cut his tendons. Oh, and then I went for the triceps, just like you showed me.”
“What?”
Once more, I’ve managed to surprise him. My grin grows. “I might have a knack for this vicious knife work. And, well, it was oddly satisfying, seeing Taigan on the ground, groaning like that.” I clap a hand to my mouth, horrified at my own admission. “Gods, what does that say about me?”
Valtar doesn’t have an answer for that one. Rather than speak, he uses his knife to test the rabbits. They apparently aren’t ready for consumption, so he settles back once more, not quite looking at me. The snap and crackle of the fire fills the silence between us, punctuated now and then by the trill of birds in the not-too-distant forest and wind sighing through the grass.
“How close are the nearest dracori?” I ask after a time.
“They will be in this very spot within twenty-four hours.”
I swallow painfully. “Is this your meeting place then?”
“No. I was supposed to meet them at Hagmar Falls.” He points south, toward some destination I do not know and cannot imagine. “It is a three-day trek from here on foot. But Nyxia and her dracori will be riding dragon spawn. When she is near enough, she will read my mind and that of the boy and be drawn to our exact position. It won’t be long.”
That name again. I see once more the image of the woman whose specter haunts Rhyo’s mind. “Who is she?” I ask, uncertain I want to hear the answer. “This Nyxia. She is Mhoryga’s daughter too?”
“And right hand.”
“I thought…that is, I was told Mhoryga never let her daughters live to adulthood. Not after Heliar.”
“Ordinarily she does not. As soon as they come of age, she devours their hearts and feeds their blood to the Dracor Flame. It is all part of a great ritual to sustain her life and being in this world. But Nyxia…” Valtar pauses, his jaw working as though he’s struggling to find the right words. “Nyxia is different. She failed to manifest in dragon form, failed to conjure hellfire. Thus, she is no threat to the Dragon Queen’s rule. But she can enter and manipulate the minds of dracori and dragon spawn alike, making her useful to Mhoryga.”
I consider his words, mulling them over while he turns the spit. Another dragon princess. A potential dragon queen. And here I thought I was the only one! What must it be like to serve such a mother, knowing all the while what Mhoryga has done to her other daughters? What she will likely do to Nyxia as well inthe end. But perhaps Nyxia has no choice in the matter. Perhaps, like the dragon spawn, she is under Mhoryga’s thrall.
Or perhaps she has ambitions of her own.
“You should leave the boy.”
“What?” It’s my turn for surprise. I lift my head swiftly, catching Valtar’s hard gaze over the flames. “What did you say?”
“The boy. The dragon spawn. He will draw Nyxia to him, whether he wishes to or not. You would be wise to leave him.”
I shake my head. “I’m not abandoning him. You weren’t there. You didn’t see how his brothers died. Howmybrothers died.” I glare down at my own hands, clenched in my lap. “I can’t just…walk away from him.”
Valtar nods, as though he knew that was what I’d say. And he doesn’t argue, I’ll give him that credit. Though part of me wishes he would.
“We’ll just have to stay a few steps ahead of Nyxia,” I continue more firmly than I feel. I can tell from Valtar’s expression that will be easier said than done. Another long silence. Then, because I know I must, I ask the question that has been weighing on me for hours now. “Are you…are you coming with me?”
