Dareena nodded, snuggling against Alistair’s chest. She didn’t see where they were going, but the next thing she knew, Alistair was settling her atop what felt like a warm fur. Blearily, she noted that they were in a cave, and briefly wondered how they’d managed to find it. But when Lucyan and Alistair curled their bodies around her, sandwiching Dareena between them, she found she didn’t much care. Happily, she sank into their embrace and let their combined warmth and scents lull her tosleep.
31
Another day passedwith no sign of the warlock resurfacing from unconsciousness. Drystan worried that Taldren had permanently damaged him, but after a thorough inspection from the healers, the oracle imposter was pronouncedhealthy.
“He simply needs to sleep off the effects of the sleeping draught,” the healer said in a placating tone. “Giving him a double dose was not the wisest course of action, but warlocks have hardier constitutions than humans. He will survivethis.”
“He’d better,” Drystan muttered, leveling a death glare at Taldren, who was sitting in one of the visitor chairs in Drystan’s office. His cousin suddenly found the dirt under his fingernails to be of supreme interest. Drystan was tempted to strangle him—instead, he drew in a deep breath, counted to ten, then let itout.
“Thank you,” he said to the healer. “You aredismissed.”
The healer bowed. He opened the door, but before he could leave, the steward came in. “Your Highness,” he said, an uneasy note in his voice. “There is a messenger from Elvenhame here to seeyou.”
Drystan stiffened. “Bring himin.”
Tarius motioned with his hand, and an elven male with black hair entered the room. He stopped in front of Drystan’s desk, then turned to face him, his posture ramrod straight. Drystan narrowed his eyes as he noted the wooden chest the elf was carrying—there was a strong scent of blood and rot coming fromit.
“A gift, compliments of Prince Arolas,” the elf said, placing the chest on Drystan’s desk. His face betrayed no hint ofemotion.
Taldren was instantly at Drystan’s side. “Perhaps I should openthat—”
“No.” Drystan knocked his cousin’s hand away, his gaze fixated on the small chest. An awful feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, telling him to leave the chest be, to look away. Steeling himself, he lifted the latch, then openedit.
“Oh gods,” the healer choked, his face growing pale. Rage and disgust built in Drystan’s chest as he stared at the severed arm, lying neatly in the wooden chest on a blood-stained pillow. The skin had taken on a greenish hue, and had burst open in several places, oozing rot and maggots. The stench was overpowering, but beneath it, Drystan could still discern the scent of the man this arm belongedto.
“The prince has instructed me to inform you that he will be sending more pieces of your brother back every week you delay paying the ransom,” the elf said in that same emotionless tone while Tarius retched behind him. “And if that is not enough of an incentive,he—”
Drystan didn’t let him finish the sentence. He opened his mouth, unleashing a torrent of fire. The elf was incinerated in seconds, reduced to a pile of ash, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Drystan’s entire body trembled with effort as he locked down his jaw to keep from torching the room and everyone in it. He wanted to give himself over to the beast, to become a dragon and rage across the lands, raining hellfire down upon anyone who might opposehim.
But the horrified expressions of the others stayed him. He recognized the look on Taldren’s pale face—it was the same look he’d seen many courtiers give his father when he’d given in to one of his fits ofrage.
You are not your father. You are NOT. Your.Father.
“I’m sorry,” Drystan said, exhaling sharply. “I should not have destroyed theelf.”
“Like hell you shouldn’t have,” Tarius said. True, his voice sounded a bit shaky, but the conviction blazing in his eyes seemed very real. “The elves promised our prince and Dragon’s Gift protection, and this is how they repay us? For all we know, they’ve cut Prince Alistair to piecesalready!”
Drystan snarled at the horrific image that statement conjured. “We cannot allow such an insult to stand,” he said. “Tarius, bring my sisters here atonce.”
The steward bowed, then hurried out of the room. “What are you going to do?” Taldren demanded. “You said that you found Dragomir’s lair yesterday—are we going after thetreasure?”
“No,” Drystan said in a clipped voice. “The elves have broken their word. I shall not give them what they ask for just so they can stab us in the backagain.”
A few minutes later, the door burst open, and Tariana and Catriona rushed in. “What is that gods-awful smell?” Tariana exclaimed. She’d just come back that morning from the elven lands after checking in on the troops. His eldest sister’s amber eyes latched onto the open chest, and the blood drained out of her face. “Isthat…”
“An arm?” Catriona finished, sounding faint. Neither of them were the kind of women who had fits, but at that moment, Drystan was certain he could have knocked either sister over with afeather.
“Not just any arm,” Taldren said grimly. “Alistair’sarm.”
Dead silence descended upon theroom.
“What does this mean?” Tariana finally asked, meeting Drystan’seyes.
“It means,” Drystan said, his voice vibrating with anger, “no more stalling. No more waiting around for help or miracles. No more negotiating. I want you two to gather the Dragon Force and make them ready to march on Elvenhame. Tonight, we get our brothers and my mate back, no matter thecost.”
“Yes,sir.”
His sisters saluted, and under different circumstances, Drystan might have been taken aback, as it was the first time they had done so. But he was almost too angry tocare.
