“I have no choice,” Lucyan whispered back. “There is no way to smuggle either of you out with the guards watching. I will see if there is a way to sneak you out from the outside, but if not, you must find a way on yourown.”
“I’m sure the two of us can manage something, now that Arolas is no longer a thorn in our side,” Alistair said. “We should set a rendezvouspoint.”
“I’ll be waiting at the Whistling Willow for you,” Lucyan said. “Go there and ask for Ramsey, the tinkerer’sapprentice.”
“Tinkerer’s apprentice?” Alistairfrowned.
Lucyan rolled his eyes. “It’s a long story. I’ll be waiting with provisions, and some fast horses.” It would be easier to avoid detection if they left on horseback—he could always shift later, once they were out of view. “Stay safe in the meantime,” hesaid.
“We will,” Alistair promised, giving Lucyan a fierce hug. Lucyan hugged him back, then gave Dareena a quick kiss to tide him over. She clung to him, clearly not wanting to let himgo.
“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, drying the tears falling from her lashes. His heart ached to see her so distraught, but he had to leave now before the guards grewsuspicious.
“I know you will.” She put on a brave smile for him, then pushed him toward the door. “Gonow.”
He did, and though his heart was heavy, for the first time in a long while, it was also filled withhope.
26
“What do you mean,he’s not awake yet?” Drystan growled. The fork bent in his clenched grip. He was half-tempted to wad it up into a ball and shove it down the warlock’s throat. Maybe that would bring him back toconsciousness.
Catriona scowled. “I meant exactly what I said. He’s not awake yet. The sleeping potion we doused him with must have been stronger than Ithought.”
“I may have given him an extra dose,” Taldren saidsheepishly.
“Youwhat?” Catriona twisted in her seat to face him. The three of them were gathered around the table in the royal suite, eating breakfast. “Are you daft, cousin? That much could have killedhim!”
“And so what if it did?” Taldren said defensively. “After what that bastard did, he deserves todie.”
Drystan groaned. “As much as I agree with that sentiment, we need him alive to question him,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his beard. “You’d better hope he wakes up soon, Taldren. If he dies, I’ll have you busted down to stableboy.”
“Great,” Taldren muttered. “Mucking out stalls again. Just what I was hopingfor.”
“Mucking out stalls will be the least of our worries if we don’t get to the bottom of this,” Catriona said. “We need to find out what the warlocks are up to, or we’ll never be free of their constantmeddling.”
Drystan scooped a forkful of sausage into his mouth, considering the situation. Would the oracle imposter tell them anything? Drystan had no idea what he was capable of—for all he knew, by the time they went down there the bastard could have melted off his shackles and escaped despite the twenty-four-hour watch Drystan had posted. He wished Lucyan were here—out of everyone in their family, he was the only one who dabbled with warlock-enchanted items and the like. It was quite likely he would know of a way to keep the warlock restrained. Luckily, Shadley was still around; he would seek out the spymaster after breakfast and ask him if anything could be done to secure the warlock’s cell against magicalmeddling.
“Your Highness!” A messenger bustled in, clutching a scroll. “A message has come from theelves.”
Drystan’s heart jumped in his chest. “Let’s see it,” he demanded, holding out his hand. Taldren and Catriona gathered around him as he unrolled the scroll, and Drystan clenched his jaw as he read it. The message was unsigned, but the snooty tone told him it was likely from Arolas—if he did not pay up in a week’s time, one of the hostages would beexecuted.
“Enough of this,” Drystan growled, slapping the scroll onto the table. “We cannot afford to wait for the scouts to find Father’slair.”
“What are you going to do?” Catriona asked as he shoved to his feet. For once, she actually looked alarmed. “You can’t be thinking about running off to the Black Mountains, canyou?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Drystan strode to the coat rack by the door and grabbed his cloak. “Catriona, you’re in charge while I’m gone, and Taldren, you’re second in command. I’ll be back by nightfall. Try not to let the place fall apart untilthen.”
Ignoring their sputtering protests, Drystan stalked out the door. Several nobles tried to waylay him, but he ignored them, stopping only to tell his steward that he would be out for the day. As soon as he was free of the castle walls, he shifted into dragon form, then launched himself off the cliffside and into theair.
He’d snatched an hour or two of free time here and there to practice flying, and to his relief, he had acclimated to his wings far faster than anticipated. Despite the dire circumstances spurring his flight, Drystan found his fears and worries dropping away as he soared higher—the feel of the wind on his face, the sight of the clouds around him and the ground so far below, all of it filled him with an exhilaration that could not be matched by any experience, not even riding a horse at full speed. He suddenly understood why his father had always been in a good mood after returning from a hunt. How could anyone not be afterthis?
He only hoped his father would be in a more agreeable mood if and when he ran into him in the forest. It was likely he was getting in quite a bit of flying now that he was on his own and forced to hunt on a regular basis. With any luck, he was hunting animals, not Dragon Force soldiers. Drystan felt bad enough about sending those soldiers into danger on a regular basis—he would feel terrible if his father had killedthem.
Even though Drystan was in his own territory, he made sure to stay above the clouds to draw as little attention as possible. Even so, about halfway to his destination, he spotted a caravan of traders being accosted by what looked like bandits. Part of him was tempted to keep flying—after all, from this distance they seemed like nothing more than insignificant ants—but the ruler in him could not abide the idea of bandits roaming free on hislands.
Angling his body toward the ground, he swooped down, then blasted a few of the bandits with fire, careful not to get too close to the caravan. Screams and the smell of roasting flesh filled the air, simultaneously exciting and horrific—his human and dragon halves were not reconciled on the issues. Three of the bandits were killed instantly, thrown by their horses and landing on their heads, and two more were merely singed badly. The rest took one look at him and bolted, running or riding as fast as they could manage. Drystan felt a bit sorry for the animals, which did not deserve to be scorched or frightened. But then again, the caravan did not deserve to berobbed.
The caravan’s horses were spooked, so he took off with another flap of his wings.Bloody bandits,he grumbled to himself. The fact they roamed freely was only more evidence that Dragonfell was slipping—he must do something about these outlaws as soon as he had a sparemoment.
