Flicking my wrist, I dismissed the gargoyles.
Frode turned and took flight, hurrying toward the barracks where the other two gargoyles slept while Tyrin lingered. His muscles tensed, and his jaw ticked as he watched me, but he wisely refrained from offering further assistance. Finally, he turned and flew after his mate. I waited until they were out of sight before collecting myself and reaching for my magic.
The trickle of power through my veins was an insult. Dragon lords did not scrape by on dregs. It had been a long time since my reserves had felt this depleted, a testament to the damage the thief had inflicted. Unable to summon sufficient power to transport myself, I gritted my teeth and took my first tentative step. Partially healed muscles protested, but I refused to heed my body’s complaints and painstakingly traversed the property to the ivy-covered stone pillars marking the manor’s main entrance.
My grandsire had built the manor in the early 1900s when Washington was a newly formed state. Three levels and approximately twelve thousand square feet, it had been modeled after the European Gothic castle keeps of the late 1800s, containing the irreplaceable art, furniture, and antiques that were my birthright. As my steps dragged and my muscles complained, I reassured myself that I simply needed to keep to a measured pace. My strength would return, and my magic stores would refill.
Sensing its master’s presence, the twenty-foot-tall double doors, built to accommodate a full-grown draconic form, swung open at my approach. I stepped inside and leaned against the wall, steadying my breath. Warmth brushed across my skin, and the sticky blood coating much of me vanished as the house magic cleansed me.
Why did you let her in?I snapped.
No answer.
I forced back a growl and focused on my hoard.
This time, when I took a step, the manor transported me immediately, depositing me in the center of the crime scene. The room appeared remarkably undisturbed, save for two crossbow bolts stretching a taut rope from the front of the room to the back wall.
You should have alerted me the moment she breached your walls. Why did you wait? Better yet, why not simply lock the door and deny her entry?
No response.
Perplexed, I crossed the room to better study the bolt near the pedestal.She damaged you.
In answer, the walls ejected the bolts. They clattered against the floor, the rope collapsing my treasure piles as it fell. Gold coins and gems rolled in every direction on waves of wealth, upsetting my entire system of organization.
I sighed. The manor had never given my mother or grandsire this sort of trouble.
Exhausted and only partially healed, with a crime scene to investigate and a thief to hunt, I had neither the energy nor the patience to solve the disconnect between myself and my home, so I focused on the priority.
The wooden box lay open, revealing a bed of golden satin. I flipped the lid, caught a hint of blood in the air, and felt grooves beneath my fingertips. Dipping my head, I studied the peculiar design that most certainly had not been there before, even as it faded before my eyes. Between one blink and the next, the carvings vanished completely, leaving only the smooth wooden surface.
How did she open the box?
When the manor remained silent, frustration ripped a growl from my throat. How was I supposed to learn anything about my enemies with no answers?
She had left no scent trail. Only powerful magic could so completely hide a person’s scent. Was she some sort of caster?Could wolves wield magic? I needed information and verification of her nature posthaste.
Ziara.
That was what the other wolf had called her.
Her unexpected presence had caused a lapse in judgment that I still could not fathom. Had she bewitched me somehow?
With no viable path to the answer, I turned my attention to a nearby pile of unused gems. An emerald, the same shocking green as Ziara’s eyes, called to me, so I scooped it up. Closing my hand around it, I brought recent events to the forefront of my mind and focused my will, meticulously duplicating every moment of my interaction with the little thief and pushing the memory into the emerald for safekeeping.
Finished, I closed my eyes and observed our interaction anew, once more marveling at her beauty and swiftness. She was a fascinating creature. A pity I would have to end her life. I stored the emerald among my treasures.
I felt like a loose kite in a storm. Needing to find my tether, I sought my first memory of the artifact. Claiming the diamond that stored it from its perch upon a bookshelf, I closed my eyes once more, focusing upon the scene unfolding within my mind.
Ieshim stood before me in battle armor, mindful of the sword strapped to his side as he crouched to meet my gaze.
“You found her,” I said.
A tempest raged within bloodshot silver eyes that reflected my own, save for the rounded pupils. “I did.”
Ignoring his expression, I looked around expectantly. “Where is she?”
He shook his head. “I have burned her remains, as is custom for your?—”
