He waits for me to elaborate, and then a realization flashes onto his face like a bolt of lightning. “We heard about that blasphemous girl who mounted a dragon. You crossed the veil to expel her from the Light!” He’s so proud of his conclusion, so proud of me, that he doesn’t seek my confirmation. “You and your dragon master banished the heretic. Banished her to the Darkness where she belongs.”
I maintain my stance and expression, not wanting to confirm nor deny his theory. In fact, it’s one I wish I’d come up with on my own.
“Your actions were clever and brave, my son.” My father’s face shows pride now—or something close to pride—and that’s as unusual as his earlier hints of humanity. “For this act, you will be rewarded.”
Relief and hope spread in my chest, along with a big dose of pride. I knew I could do this.
“In that light,” I say, with the right combination of confidence and deference, “shouldn’t the allegations against Dragon Master Saxon be withdrawn? Surely his heroic actions earned him a royal pardon.”
Frowning, Father pushes back in his throne, gripping its arms again. “This man is accused of heresy.” His eyes narrow, then he shakes his head. “His crimes are against Othrix. The klericks will never allow a pardon.”
Seeing a possible opening, I take it. “Who rules the Kingdom of Light? You, or the klericks?”
Anger flashes in his eyes, and I fear for my own life as much as Saxon’s, but then he loosens his grip on the throne.
“We will consider your request. The Dragon Master’s tribunal will be postponed until We decide.”
I draw a deep breath, letting in some relief.
“Due to the tragic deaths of your older brothers, during the unification of the Light, I hereby name you my heir.”
I blink at this news, more pride swelling inside me. With seven older brothers, becoming heir to the throne is not something I coveted. I never even felt envy for the heir, seeing it as more of a burden than an aspiration. But now that it’s mine…
“A celebration will be held in your honor,” Father says. “As soon as arrangements can be made, We will celebrate your bravery, your return to the Light, and We will formally recognize your new title.”
I nod, too stunned to speak.
“Once you are officially crowned as my heir, We will consider the pardon you seek. The man’s life will be spared until then.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head. I didn’t exactly get what I came for, but at a minimum I’ve bought Saxon some time. Even if he’s confined to his chambers, he’ll be more comfortable at campthan he would be if he were brought to Catha to face the Prime Klerick.
Father’s eyes meet mine briefly, but he quickly lifts his gaze. I’ve been dismissed.
I back slowly away, head bowed to show due deference to his title. If this celebration isn’t soon, Xendus and Surath will surely fly back without me—if they haven’t already.
But I’ve won this round of negotiations. Not only am I now first in line for his throne, the King may well grant the Royal Pardon to save Saxon’s life. Until he does, I’ll just have to wait.
CHAPTER 26
Saxon
Sixty-seven days have passed since my capture. Sixty-seven days of pain and silence. Silence on my part. My interrogators have been excessively loquacious. They’ve repeated their questions and accusations so many times I know them by heart.
The best I can hope is to die soon. I trust no one, and there’s no chance I’ll put Rosomon, Tynan, or the dragons—any of them—in danger. It’s best if I’m gone.
These dungeons haven’t been used since this old castle on the outskirts of Verax was converted into the dragon camp. Perhaps they haven’t been used since the veil was completed. Based on what Zogar told us, I’m certain no dungeons or prisons were meant to exist in the Light, and even as a dragon master, I didn’t know this horrid place existed at camp.
Clearly the dungeon is controlled by the klericks. The guards blindfolded me while they dragged me across the final section of the field back to camp, but I know camp well enough to be certain I’m deep under the Chapel of Othrix.
The only other place I’ve seen a dungeon was when I was at the Seminary. But even there, we children were not chained to the walls and left for days, like I’ve been here.
Instead, we boys were taken down to the dungeons to be whipped or caned. And the targets for our punishments were either the palms of our hands, reminding us never to use them for magic, or our backs and buttocks, simply to remind us that the klericks were in charge.
I raise my chained hands to cover my nose as I draw in a breath. The air is damp and wretched, rank with mold and foul with sewage. The only sound is the near constant drip of water, falling through a grate across the room. The constant plops were comforting at first, providing company, but now each one echoes in my mind and threatens to steal my sanity.
The room has a second grate, this one in the floor near me, and its smell is particularly foul. It’s over a sewage tunnel, and I stand over it whenever I need to relieve myself—which is rare given how little I consume.
A thin line of light appears through the ceiling grate in the corner, my only indication that it’s morn. Throughout the day, I watch that thin line slide across the floor to mark the passage of time, but when the sun is down, I have no light. Not unless I have visitors. And while my visitors bring more light, they also bring agony and torment.
