Chapter Three
Shaine couldn’t help but smile as the ground flew by beneath him. He’d traveled by dragon before, or so he’d been told, but it had been just after the death of Wytch Master Anxin, and he’d been deeply unconscious at the time.
Strapped safely onto the saddle worn by Brax in his brilliant green dragon form, Shaine grinned into the wind, enjoying the sensation of flight. With so many members of the nobility of the Northern Alliance wishing to attend the wedding ceremonies and so few dragons large enough to carry a man, Prince Jaire’s personal bodyguard had been pressed into service to ferry Shaine to Altan. Shaine had been relieved to see him, for Mikhyal and Tristin had gone a week ago, which meant he was traveling alone. At least Brax was familiar to him, and in dragon form, he couldn’t speak to Shaine, so Shaine was saved the chore of having to make awkward conversation.
That wouldn’t be the case once he arrived in Altan. Shaine was still torn about attending the ceremony. On the one hand, he loved his brother fiercely, and couldn’t bear the thought of Mikhyal having no family to witness his wedding. On the other, it meant mingling with the rest of the nobility of the Northern Alliance. By now, rumors of what he’d endured at Anxin’s hands would have spread to the farthest corners of the four kingdoms.
They’d have heard about Kirali’s father breaking off the engagement, too. Shaine cringed at the thought. The gossip would be far worse in Altan than it ever had been in Rhiva. At home, Wytch King Drannik had made it clear he would tolerate no rumor-mongering among the staff, which was rather decent of him, considering that Shaine wasn’t actually his son.
Shaine hadn’t known that for certain until Anxin had told him, and his father had later confirmed it when Shaine had begged him for the truth. Who his father really was, he had no idea. He’d dared not ask his mother; she would have been mortified. Even bringing it up with his father had been terribly awkward, though Drannik, when pressed, had said he bore a rather uncanny resemblance to a guard captain who had worked for him before Captain Rhu’s time.
A sudden, swooping turn shook Shaine out of his reverie. He scanned the area around him to see fenced fields dotted with grazing horses, and several stone structures, including a large house and a number of outbuildings. It took him a few moments to recognize it as the family estate at Brightwood, as he’d never seen it from the air before.
He patted Brax’s shoulder and smiled as the dragon circled the estate slowly before resuming his westward path.
As the journey progressed, Brax flew over each of the castles of the other three kingdoms of the Northern Alliance. Shaine saw the beautiful, glass-spired palace in the city of Mir, where Wytch King Edrun of Miraen ruled, and later, Castle Irila, the dark, forbidding fortress of stone where Wytch King Ord of Irilan held Court. Finally, when the sun hung low in the sky and evening stretched long, shadowy fingers across the land, Castle Altan came into view.
Similar to neighboring Irilan, Altan’s seat of power had been built during the years before the Wytch Council had brought peace to the kingdoms of Skanda. It was every bit as imposing as Castle Irila, with four towers jutting up into the sky, and a high, manned wall surrounding the castle and grounds.
Like Castle Rhivana, it was built in the foothills of the Iceshards. Shaine wouldn’t have minded an aerial view of the snow-capped peaks; it would have afforded him a chance to see the route he would take on his search for Stormshard. He dared not ask, though. Leaving clues as to his whereabouts wouldn’t help, not if the first thing Mikhyal did was send out a rescue party.
Brax landed lightly on the roof of Castle Altan’s northernmost tower. Shaine smiled to see his brother and his brother’s betrothed, Prince Tristin, standing beside Prince Jaire, all three of them apparently awaiting his arrival.
Mikhyal helped Shaine unbuckle the straps that kept him safely in the saddle, and once Shaine was on his feet, Mikhyal engulfed him in a warm hug. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
“I missed you, too, Mik,” Shaine whispered back, feeling almost guilty at the thought of how worried Mikhyal would be when he set off in search of Stormshard.
When Brax was free of the saddle, he shifted smoothly and stood before them grinning. Jaire stood on his toes to settle a warm cloak over Brax’s broad shoulders and handed him his weapons belt. A waiting servant came forward to take the saddlebags he’d carried, containing Shaine’s things.
“Thank you, Brax,” Shaine said shyly. “And thank you for showing me the castles and… and Brightwood. I almost didn’t recognize it from above, and I’ve spent so much time there in the summers.”
“Oh, he gave you the tour, did he?” Prince Jaire said, grinning. “I hoped he might, even though Garrik told him he was supposed to fly straight back.”
Brax’s grin widened and he gave Jaire a conspiratorial wink. “I couldn’t deprive His Highness of the chance to see his homeland from the air on his first flight.” He turned to Shaine and bowed. “It was my pleasure, Prince Shaine.”
“And mine.” Shaine returned Brax’s grin, then turned to Jaire. “I’ve brought a few books for you to look at, but they’re buried at the bottom of the saddlebags.”
Jaire’s eyes lit. “History books?”
“Six of them. From before the time of the Wytch Council. I thought they were just the sort of thing you’d be interested in.”
“You thought right! Vayne wants to see you as soon as you’re settled, so perhaps you could give them to him? I’ve another fitting with the royal seamstress, or I’d accompany you to your suite now.”
“Ai, I’ll bring them to Vayne,” Shaine promised. “As soon as I’ve unpacked.”
Jaire smiled happily and headed toward the door with Brax right beside him.
Shaine turned to his brother, who said quietly, “You look tired, Shaine. You’re still having nightmares?”
“Sometimes.” He hadn’t been going to mention them, as it was just one more thing for Mikhyal to worry about. “But I’ve been very busy, too. I’ve spent most of the time since you left going through the books we salvaged from under the summer palace. You wouldn’t believe how old some of them are. Jaire asked me to let him know if I found anything interesting.”
“And did you?” Mikhyal asked.
Shaine hesitated, thinking of the journal, but managed to keep his tone even. “It’s mostly history, so far.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’ve still got quite a few to go through, but some of them date back to the years before the Wytch Council was formed. The Council rewrote quite a lot of our history in the years after they came to power, you know.”
“Ai, Prince Vayne has said as much,” Mikhyal said. “He’ll probably be just as interested as Jaire in what you’ve found. I’d like to hear all about it, too, but I’m afraid I won’t be available this evening. Garrik’s called another strategy meeting.”
“No dinner with the Court tonight, then?” Shaine didn’t even bother to hide his relief.
“No, not until tomorrow. Tristin’s offered to keep you company tonight, though.”
Tristin stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “And if you’d rather take supper in our suite while you’re here, I’d be very happy to join you. Formal dinners with the Court are far more bother than they’re worth.”
Shaine smiled. He liked Tristin a great deal. His brother’s betrothed understood him better than anyone else, having been the source of much gossip himself just lately. “Thank you, Tristin, but I think I had better make an effort to have dinner with the Court at the earliest opportunity. The Alliance doesn’t need suspicions about my loyalty causing discord, and I fear if I hide away in my room, it will only provide more fuel for the rumors.”
“Ai, sadly, that’s usually the way of it,” Tristin said. “Come, then, let’s get you unpacked, and then I’ll show you the way to Jaire and Vayne’s suite. We thought you might feel more comfortable with family about, so we had the guest room in our suite prepared for you. Will that do?”
Shaine’s heart sank. He’d hoped to be given his own guest suite, or at least use the family suite where Drannik stayed when he was here on business. Having Mikhyal and Tristin so near would make it much more difficult to disappear with no one noticing.
Instead of giving himself away with a look of disappointment, he pasted on a bright smile. “It will, thank you, Tristin. You always think of everything.”
He’d just have to leave when they were all busy with something else. Or slip away in the middle of the night. His Wytch power would assure that no one would follow him. He’d stay long enough to see his brother married, and then he’d be off to the mountains to find Stormshard and hopefully bring home a weapon that would bring the Wytch Council to its knees.
* * *
Shaine couldn’t decide where to look: at Vayne, whose eyes had that vague, unfocused look healers got when they were studying mythe-shadows; at Mikhyal, who was pacing back and forth, impatiently awaiting Vayne’s assessment; or at Tristin, who was sitting across from him in an armchair wringing his hands and looking worried and sympathetic, in turns.
He’d thought to visit Vayne on his own, but Mikhyal had insisted on accompanying him, wanting to hear the healer’s verdict for himself. Shaine hadn’t quite decided if that was just a manifestation of his brother’s concern, or if Mikhyal simply didn’t trust him to tell the truth.
The voice of doubt — which today, sounded exactly like Wytch Master Anxin — sneered that of course Mikhyal didn’t trust him. No one trusted him, which was rather the point of submitting to these periodic examinations.
Finally, Vayne stirred and sighed.
“Well?” Mikhyal stopped pacing and pinned Vayne with an intent stare. “What did you see?”
“He’s healing,” Vayne said.
“Excellent!” Mikhyal beamed, turning to Shaine. “You see, Shaine? I told you there was—”
“But he still has a long way to go,” Vayne interrupted. “He’s still vulnerable.”
“What?” Mikhyal’s dark eyes narrowed. “I thought you said he’d make a full recovery.”
“And I still hope he will,” Vayne said smoothly. “But the damage Anxin did was deep. We’ve spoken of this before. There are pathways carved into his mythe-shadow, hooks that make him vulnerable to being taken over again.”
Shaine swallowed as ripples of dread and grief pushed through him. Would this never be over? “How likely is that, Vayne?” His voice came out hoarse and shaky, making him sound like he was near tears. To tell the truth, Shaine wasn’t altogether certain he wasn’t near tears. All he wanted was for this part of his life to be over, to go back to not having to examine every stray thought in case it might be someone else’s.
“Not very, unless you meet a Wytch Master who knows how it’s done. It would be a simple matter for such a person to take you over again, using the remnants of the patterns Anxin left behind.”
“But his mythe-shadow will heal?” Mikhyal said insistently.
“It will.” Vayne gave Shaine an encouraging smile. “And it is healing, though not as quickly as I’d hoped. And nowhere near quickly enough for Shaine’s comfort, I’m sure.”
Shaine returned the smile with a very small one of his own. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“I’m sorry, Shaine,” Vayne said softly. “The best thing to do is to keep yourself well away from our enemies until you’re well and truly healed.”
“And how long will that be?” Mikhyal demanded before Shaine could ask.
“At the rate of change I’m seeing, perhaps as long as a year.”
A year? Shaine gaped. The past weeks had been bad enough, but a whole year? He wasn’t sure he could bear it. He’d have to put off his excursion to Stormshard…
And it’s a perfect excuse for you to back out, isn’t it? You can tell yourself it’s for the protection of the Northern Alliance, but the truth is you’re not brave enough or strong enough…
Shaine curled his hands into fists until his nails dug into his palms. “Thank you, Vayne,” he said stiffly. He got slowly to his feet.
“I wish I had better news for you, Shaine.” Vayne’s dark eyes were full of sorrow. “I am sorry.”
“It’s… it’s not your fault,” Shaine managed to keep his voice steady this time. “You’ve already done so much, and I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. I just…” He closed his eyes. “I hoped it would be over soon.”
A hand squeezed his shoulder, and then someone was gently uncurling his fingers. He opened his eyes to see Tristin examining the tiny, blood-filled crescents on his palms.
Instead of making a horrified exclamation, or drawing the attention of Vayne and Mikhyal, Tristin simply said quietly, “Come on, Shaine. You must be tired from the flight. Let’s go back to the suite. Mikhyal and Vayne have a meeting this evening, but I’ve ordered a late supper just for the two of us.”
He guided Shaine out of Jaire and Vayne’s suite and down the long central hallway of the family wing to the suite he shared with Mikhyal.
“Thank you for not making a fuss,” Shaine whispered when they were safely in the suite with the door closed.
Tristin led Shaine to a comfortable armchair in the sitting room. When Shaine was settled, Tristin threw a log on the fire and stirred it up, then turned to face him. “You’re not as all right as you’d like everyone to believe. Are you, brother?”
Shaine smiled at that in spite of himself. Tristin might not be his brother by blood, but he seemed to care almost as much as Mikhyal did. “I’m… I’m trying, Tristin. Truly, I am. I just…” He tore his gaze from Tristin’s and stared into the fire. “I still hear his voice. In my head. And I know it’s just my own fear and doubt talking. Vayne and Ilya have both reassured me of that over and over again. But knowing someone else could just… come in and take up where Anxin left off…”
“It must be terribly unsettling,” Tristin murmured.
“It is.”
There was a long silence during which Tristin folded his lanky frame into the armchair opposite Shaine. “You know, I admire you for coming here like this.”
“You… you do?”
“I do. I know how hard it is for you, because it’s been that hard for me. The Court can be brutally vicious with the gossip. At least in Rhiva you’re under your father’s protection. Here…”
“Ai. Here, indeed.”
“Look, Shaine…” Tristin leaned forward, elbows on knees, and studied Shaine with serious dark eyes. “I’ve talked to Mikhyal. Neither of us wants you to put yourself into a situation you’re not comfortable with. If you should change your mind about staying here — even at the last minute — we won’t be hurt. I promise. So… you will say, won’t you?”
“I… I will. Thank you, Tristin.” A lump formed in Shaine’s throat. He only wished he deserved the concern he saw in his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s eyes.
* * *
Mikhyal hated to leave Shaine to his own devices on his first evening in Altan, but Tristin assured him his brother would be well looked after. And given the similarities in their experiences, Mikhyal couldn’t think of anyone better to help Shaine navigate his reintroduction to society. Dirit had also agreed — somewhat reluctantly — to keep an eye on Shaine, just for the evening, since Mikhyal couldn’t be there.
Prince Ferrin of Miraen had arrived the same day Mikhyal had, and Wytch King Ord of Irilan had already been present. The three of them, along with Jaire, Vayne, and Wytch Master Ilya, had been meeting with Garrik nearly every day for the past week, discussing how best to counter the Wytch Council’s random attacks via mythe-gate.
This evening’s meeting began with Prince Vayne’s report on the dragon-shifter transformations he’d been performing on the volunteer soldiers from all four of the kingdoms of the Northern Alliance.
“As of this morning, we have one hundred and two dragon-shifter soldiers at our disposal,” Vayne began. “And that’s working as fast as I can. The good news is that my apprentice, Liri, is a quick study, and I believe she’ll be ready to work on her own in another week or so.”
“That long?” Ord asked.
“I dare not rush her.” Vayne’s expression was grave, his voice, quiet. “The price of failure is too high. I’ve seen men die in the midst of a failed transformation, and it’s not something I ever wish to witness again.”
“What of the other matter you were looking into?” Garrik asked. “Ythlin’s communications network?”
“I’ve not had time. Between these strategy sessions, dragon-shifter transformations, and my work with Liri, I haven’t had a spare moment. Once Liri is confident enough to work alone, I will turn my mind to the matter.”
Garrik heaved a sigh. “I wish we had six of you, Vayne.”
“I don’t think I could manage six of him,” Jaire said with an impish grin. “One is quite enough!”
The men around the table laughed and smiled, but their expressions soon turned sober again when Prince Ferrin said, “In addition to more dragon soldiers and more people for the communications relays, we really ought to be addressing the matter of intelligence gathering. We need spies in Askarra.”
Ilya shook his head. “You’re talking about spying on the most powerful mythe-weavers in Skanda. You’d never get anyone close enough to do any good.”
“What about Prince Shaine?” Prince Ferrin asked, dark eyes shifting to Mikhyal. “His Wytch power lets him move about undetected, does it not? The Wytch Council used him to spy on you and your father when he was under Anxin’s control. I say we turn the tables on them and send him to spy on them.”
“No,” Mikhyal said flatly. “After all he’s suffered at Anxin’s hands, Shaine is not ready to take on such a dangerous task.”
Ord gave Mikhyal a measuring look. “Surely he’d like to have a chance at taking his vengeance on those who condoned Anxin’s actions.”
“Whether he would or not,” Mikhyal said, “the answer is still no.”
“Perhaps Shaine should be the one to answer that,” Ferrin suggested. “He’s of age, is he not?”
Mikhyal clenched his jaw and said tightly, “He is, but that’s not the point.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Mikhyal,” Vayne said. “I examined Shaine not two hours ago, and Mikhyal has the right of it. He is far too emotionally fragile to be given such a task. Even if he weren’t, he’s the worst candidate for sending into danger. After what Anxin did to him, he’s extremely vulnerable to being taken over again.”
“I thought you said he was well on the way to recovery,” Garrik commented.
“He is,” Vayne said. “I’m pleased with the progress he’s made, but it is a slow process. Anxin burned the patterns of control deep into Shaine’s mythe-shadow. While it has reverted somewhat to its original state, there are still hooks and pathways remaining from Anxin’s tampering. Those pathways make him vulnerable. Another Wytch Master who knows how could easily take him over using the remnants of Anxin’s patterns.”
“What if we covered those patterns with something else?” Garrik asked. “Like the dragon-shifter patterns?”
Vayne nodded slowly. “That is a possibility I considered when I first worked with Shaine. He was far too fragile to risk the transformation at the time, and I still have reservations on that count. But yes, it would indeed be possible to remove all trace of Anxin’s meddling by burning the shifter patterns into Shaine’s mythe-shadow.”
“How long would it take?” Ferrin asked.
Mikhyal opened his mouth to protest, but Ord beat him to it. “Regardless of whether it’s possible or how long it takes, more importantly, can the boy be trusted with that kind of power? Vayne’s already said he’s emotionally fragile. The last thing we need is an out-of-control dragon.”
“I find myself in agreement with Mikhyal,” Wytch Master Ilya said in an even tone. “Shaine should not be sent on a mission like this.”
“I, too, have reservations,” Garrik said. “Some regarding Shaine’s stability, and others regarding his loyalty.”
They moved on to other matters after that, but the whole conversation had left a bad taste in Mikhyal’s mouth. When the meeting finally broke up, Mikhyal couldn’t get out of Garrik’s study fast enough. He was still fuming when he returned to his suite.
Tristin was sitting at the table sketching out various arrangements for flower beds when Mikhyal walked in. One look at Mikhyal’s face was enough to have him on his feet and moving toward his husband-to-be. “Is everything all right?” he asked quickly.
“Where’s Shaine?”
“Asleep.” Tristin nodded toward the guest suite. “He wanted to wait up for you, but he kept nodding off. I sent him to bed half an hour ago. Dirit popped in about ten minutes ago to report that Shaine was sleeping soundly, and he was off to do his evening rounds to make sure the palace is secure enough to ensure the safety of the line of Rhiva.”
“Excellent. I’ll have a few moments of peace, then. Bloody Ferrin. Thinks we should send Shaine to spy on the Wytch Council. And when Vayne told him Anxin had left hooks and pathways in Shaine’s mythe-shadow that make him vulnerable, Ferrin had the nerve to suggest Vayne burn the shifter patterns into Shaine’s mythe-shadow and send him anyway.”
“Aio’s teeth and tail.” Tristin looked horrified at the thought. “Even if he wasn’t vulnerable, he’s not nearly ready for something like that. I’m surprised anyone would think he was. He still wakes up screaming sometimes, and he’s always looking over his shoulder.” He glanced toward the door of the guest room and lowered his voice a fraction. “You heard him earlier. He still hears Anxin’s voice in his head.” Tristin raised eyes full of appeal to Mikhyal. “You can’t let them do that to him, Mikhyal, you can’t!”
Seeing his betrothed so upset, and well aware that Tristin, too, had suffered abuse at the hands of the Wytch Council, Mikhyal put a hand on Tristin’s arm and made a conscious effort to calm himself. “Don’t worry, I won’t. It’s off the table for now, anyway. Ord doesn’t trust him with the kind of power he’d have as a dragon shifter. And he and Garrik both called Shaine’s loyalty into question.”
“There’s no reason to question that,” Tristin said vehemently. “Ever since Anxin’s death, it’s been very clear to me that Shaine worships you. He’d never do anything to betray you.”
“Try telling that to Ord.” Mikhyal threw himself down in one of the armchairs and stared into the fire. “The worst part of it is, they’re probably not the only ones who think that way. Anxin may be dead, but I fear it will take years to repair the damage he did to Shaine. And his reputation.”
There was a long silence before Tristin said quietly, “I wish with all my heart we could fix this for him.”
“As do I,” Mikhyal said grimly. “He’s been through enough as it is.”
* * *
Shaine eased the bedroom door shut and leaned heavily against it. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Mikhyal and Tristin, but his brother had sounded so upset. His father’s influence might have protected him from gossip and speculation at home, but it was clear that no one here trusted him, not even his father’s allies. The stares and whispers following him every time he set foot outside Tristin’s suite were bad enough; dinner with the Court tomorrow night would be unbearable.
What did you expect? You’ve spent the last year undermining their efforts. Regardless of what Vayne tells them, they’ve no reason to trust you, and every reason to question your loyalty.
Shaine squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. His family might trust him, but after all he’d been forced to do, no one else was going to. He was going to have to prove his loyalty.
And what better way than to bring the Northern Alliance a weapon they could use to destroy the Wytch Council?
Steeling himself, he locked the bedroom door, then crossed the room to the chest at the foot of the bed where he’d stowed his cold-weather gear and the journal. The two saddlebags he’d been limited to for his baggage hadn’t held nearly enough equipment for an expedition into the mountains, but Shaine lay out the things he had been able to fit: a fur-lined, hooded winter cloak, a heavy coat, fur-lined boots, and the journal. He’d also brought a water skin, a leather pack, a length of rope, a set of firestones, his hunting knife, and some of the trail rations Rhiva’s army depended on.
Of course, there were at least a dozen more things he ought to have, but they were all things he could acquire in the villages along the way.
He’d just begun filling his pack when Dirit materialized on the bed in front of him. The little dragon wrinkled his snout and lifted each of his delicate, clawed feet gingerly before settling himself down on his haunches.
“And what have we here?” Dirit craned his neck to inspect each of the items Shaine had laid out in readiness. He sniffed at the trail rations. “Going on a late night picnic, are we, Your Highness?”
“No! I was just—”
“Or perhaps an adventure?” Dirit pressed, regarding the rope and the firestones with narrowed eyes.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” Shaine protested. “I was just unpacking. So you can stop your spying.”
Dirit drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “I’ll have you know I am here at your brother’s request. He’s asked me to keep an eye on you. You’re very important to him, you know.”
Shaine stared down at the bed. Dirit clearly didn’t believe he was just unpacking, and if Mikhyal had asked him to keep an eye on Shaine, it was likely that Dirit already knew a lot more than he was letting on. “I know that, Dirit. But—”
“Have you even considered the fact that you’re still vulnerable?” Dirit’s gleaming black eyes fixed on Shaine. “Do you want another Wytch Master moving in and setting up house in your head again?”
“There won’t be any Wytch Masters where I’m going,” Shaine said defensively. He’d already considered that risk, and decided it was minimal. If Stormshard had been located anywhere else but in the desolate far north, he’d never have dared seek it out by himself; the thought of being taken over again was simply too terrifying. “Do you think I’m stupid? It’s not like I’m planning to walk into the Council chambers in Askarra and invite them all into my head.”
Dirit regarded him with gleaming black eyes. “So you are going somewhere.”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “I am going somewhere, and you can probably stop me just by telling Mikhyal, but I’m asking you not to. This is something I have to do for myself. To prove to myself that I can. And… and if I’m successful, it might even help things. Do you understand?”
Dirit opened his little jaws to speak, then snapped them shut, frowning and cocking his head as if listening. His ears went back, his whiskers drooped, and finally, he said reluctantly, “Very well. I shall keep your secrets, Prince Shaine of Rhiva. But know this: your brother will be beside himself with worry if you leave here without a word.”
“If I tell him where I’m going or what I’m doing, he’ll stop me,” Shaine countered. “So he’s just going to have to be worried. If I’m successful, it will all be worth it. And if I’m not… well.” His shoulders hitched in a small shrug. “If I’m not, they won’t have to worry about what everyone thinks of me anymore, will they?”
Dirit’s whiskers drooped even more. “I suppose you’re right.”
“If you know Mikhyal, you know I am. And if he does figure it out… tell him I promise to be careful.”
Dirit nodded, and, apparently satisfied with that, faded from sight. Shaine let out a sigh of relief. He waited for a few breaths, and when Dirit didn’t reappear, quickly stuffed his things into the pack. Then he moved back to the door and pressed his ear against it. Mikhyal and Tristin spoke in low voices, but it wasn’t long before he heard them moving across the suite toward their bedroom. Once their door had closed, he waited a little longer, then used his Wytch power to cloak himself in the mythe, and slipped out.
* * *
Mikhyal tucked his shirt into his breeches and shrugged on the sapphire-blue morning jacket Tristin had given him as a betrothal gift. Tristin said it matched the color of his dragon scales perfectly. He glanced toward the dressing table mirror to check his reflection before heading to breakfast, only to see Dirit perched on the dressing table.
“Good morning, Dirit.”
“Good morning, Your Most Gracious Royal Highness,” Dirit said, rearing up on his hind legs long enough to execute a precise formal bow.
“All right, out with it, Dirit. What have you done? The only time you ever greet me without insult is when you’ve done something wrong.”
“My mistake.” Dirit wrinkled his snout. “I meant to say Your Royal Suspiciousness.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll—”
“Mikhyal, have you seen Shaine this morning?” Tristin entered the room, smiling as he took in the sight of Mikhyal wearing the jacket he’d given him. “Oh, that looks very nice.”
“I was just admiring the color,” Mikhyal said. “Am I really this brilliant in dragon form?”
“Oh, ai,” Tristin said, a dreamy smile playing about his lips. “You’re beautiful in the sunlight. And in the clouds. And in the rain. And in the sitting room. And at the dinner table. And in bed. And…and… well, and anywhere else you’d care to go.” Mikhyal chuckled and stepped toward him, intending to kiss him, but Tristin continued, “So have you seen Shaine?”
“Not this morning. Why?”
“He’s not in his room, and it doesn’t look as if the bed’s even been slept in.” Tristin’s gaze went to the dressing table, and his brow wrinkled in a frown. “Dirit, why are you twitching like that?”
Dirit’s black eyes widened as they flicked from one to the other of them. “Goodness, gracious, is that the time?” He gave Tristin a weak, toothy grin before cringing and fading from sight.
With a muttered curse, Mikhyal moved past Tristin to inspect the guest room. A knot of dread formed in his belly when he saw the untouched bed. Worse, there was no sign of Shaine’s things except for a single set of formal clothing hanging forlornly in the dressing room.
“Did anything happen last night?” Mikhyal asked. “Anything that might have upset him?”
“Nothing,” Tristin said, shaking his head. “I was with him all evening. After Vayne examined his mythe-shadow and you went off to your meeting, we came back here and chatted. Melli sent dinner up, and after we’d eaten, Shaine said he was tired and went to bed.”
“But not to sleep, apparently.” Mikhyal gestured to the neatly made bed. “Do you think he decided to go back home?”
“You’d think he’d have said something, if that was the case,” Tristin said. “And asked for someone to fly him back.”
“I would think he’d say something, but maybe he didn’t want to bother anyone?”
“Oh,” Tristin’s eyes widened. “What if he overheard us talking last night? You told me Ord and Garrik had both questioned his loyalty. If he was listening…”
“Damn.” Mikhyal dragged a hand down his face. “We need to find him.”
“Jaire can find him easily enough,” Tristin said, putting a hand on Mikhyal’s shoulder and squeezing. “We’ve over half an hour until breakfast. Let’s go and see him, shall we? No sense in panicking until we know there’s something to panic about.”
Mikhyal nodded and reached up to cover Tristin’s hand with his own. “Ai, perhaps.” He had a sinking feeling they weren’t going to find any sign of Shaine within the walls or grounds of Castle Altan.
Jaire and Vayne were already dressed for breakfast, Jaire in dark blue, and Vayne in emerald green. Jaire was all too happy to help. It didn’t take long for him to determine that if Shaine was anywhere on the grounds, he’d cloaked himself in the mythe so as not to be found.
“Do you think he’s gone home?” Jaire asked.
“I’d like to think he’d have at least said goodbye if that was the case,” Mikhyal said.
“Perhaps not if someone said something to upset him,” Vayne suggested.
Mikhyal nodded. “Vayne, you said yesterday he was vulnerable. Is it possible someone’s taken him over?”
“There was no sign of anything like that when I examined him,” Vayne said.
“What if someone gated in last night and snatched him from his room?” Mikhyal asked.
“That close, I’d have sensed it,” Jaire told him.
“Even if you were asleep?”
“Ai, probably. And if not, I’d be able to feel the echoes of it in the mythe this morning. Opening a mythe-gate is noisy. You can’t hide it. Besides, why take Shaine again? Anxin’s tampering may have made it easier for someone else to try, but they must know we’re keeping a close eye on him.”
“I think we should ask Dirit,” Tristin said slowly. “He was acting rather strangely this morning. And Mikhyal did ask him to watch over Shaine yesterday evening. He might have noticed something.”
Jaire peered around the room. “Dirit?”
“Come on, Dirit,” Mikhyal called. When the little dragon didn’t appear, Mikhyal focused inward and gave the bond that joined him to Dirit a sharp tug. “Show yourself.”
“How very rude.” Dirit appeared perched on the table in Jaire and Vayne’s sitting room. “You don’t have to shout, you know. I’m perfectly well aware of when I’m needed.”
“Then you must also be aware of why I summoned you.”
Dirit laid his ears back, and his whiskers drooped. “You want to know where Shaine has gone,” he said sadly. “But I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t?” Mikhyal narrowed his eyes. “Or won’t?”
The little dragon stretched out on his belly and settled his head between his front feet, staring up at Mikhyal like a hound that knew it had done something wrong. “Can’t,” he said miserably.
“I thought I asked you to watch over him,” Mikhyal said sternly. “And to let me know if anything was amiss.”
“I did! I did watch over him!” Dirit insisted. “And then he wanted to leave, and I was going to try to stop him, but I was told Prince Shaine was off on a Very Important Mission, and ordered to keep my snout shut.”
“Who ordered you?” Jaire demanded.
Dirit snapped his little jaws shut and stared up at Mikhyal beseechingly.
“Was it Ashna?” asked Vayne.
Dirit’s whiskers drooped even more, and he gave the faintest of nods.
“Ashna?” Mikhyal scoured his mind, trying to recall where he’d heard that name before. “Isn’t he one of your dragon gods? The one who helped you when you were trapped in the mythe?”
“Ai,” Vayne said, glancing at Mikhyal and then back to Dirit. “If Ashna ordered Dirit to cover for Shaine, then whatever Shaine is up to, it is important.”
“Important to whom?” Mikhyal demanded.
“Good question.” Vayne looked at Dirit again. “Well?”
“Don’t know.” Dirit looked sulky. “He doesn’t share the details of his plans with me.”
“I thought you were important,” Mikhyal said. “You’ve certainly told me so enough times.”
“Well, really!” Dirit huffed as he sat up and turned his back on Mikhyal.
Mikhyal pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you tell us anything?”
“I think I’d prefer not to.” Dirit turned around slowly, fixing shiny black eyes on Mikhyal. “You haven’t asked nicely. But even if you did, it wouldn’t help. Even if he has gone to find Stormshard, he’s not stupid. He’ll be cloaked in the mythe. You could be standing right next to him and never see him.”
“Stormshard?” Mikhyal and Jaire said at the same moment.
“Where is that?” Tristin asked.
“It’s all I saw!” Dirit said quickly. “He was interested in an old journal that came from the vaults at the summer palace. I tried peeking over his shoulder, but all I saw was the name Stormshard.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like Stormshard,” Jaire said. “But I can have a look in the library. Before I do that, though, I think Brax and I will go and have a look around, check the road back toward Rhiva, as well as the area around the castle.” He glanced at his bodyguard, who stood near the door of the suite. “All right with you, Brax?”
“Ai, Highness.” Brax’s pale blue eyes brightened at the prospect. “I assume we’ll be going in dragon form?”
“Any excuse for an unscheduled flight,” Jaire said, returning his grin. “Tell Garrik where we’ve gone,” he said to Mikhyal. “We’ll check the area and then come straight back.”
“Haven’t we got a fitting after breakfast?” Vayne asked. “Mistress Nadhya was quite emphatic about reminding me when I passed her in the hall yesterday.”
“She already had me for an hour yesterday,” Jaire said. “She can wait. Shaine is much more important than the length of my sleeves.”
“Not to Mistress Nadhya, he’s not,” Vayne murmured. “I’ll deliver your most heartfelt apologies, of course, but I’m not coming with you when you have to face her next.”
“Coward,” Jaire said, poking his betrothed in the belly.
Vayne gave him an affectionate kiss. “No, just far too clever to put myself between a pincushion-wielding seamstress and her intended prey.”
Jaire kissed him back, then turned to Mikhyal. “If Brax and I don’t find any sign of him, I’ll dig into the library and see if I can find out anything about this Stormshard. Come on, Brax.”
When Jaire and Brax had left the suite, Mikhyal glared at Dirit. “Some help you are.”
Dirit, having recovered himself somewhat, drew himself up. “I’d remind Your Royal Peevishness that my mandate is to protect the line of Rhiva. That’s you. Not your brother. Not even remotely.”
There was nothing Mikhyal could say to that, for Dirit was right. Shaine wasn’t Drannik’s son, and if anyone should know, it was Dirit, who could only bond to one of the royal bloodline.
“I apologize, then, Dirit. I do understand it’s not your job to protect Shaine. But I also know how fragile my brother is, and I’m worried about him.”
Dirit winked out of sight and reappeared on Mikhyal’s shoulder, wrapping his tail affectionately around his bond-mate’s neck. “If it makes you feel any better, he did promise to be careful.”
Mikhyal swallowed. It didn’t make any difference at all. Shaine was out there alone somewhere, probably miserable, definitely cold, and possibly even hurt. This was his fault. He should never have encouraged Shaine to come to Altan.
* * *
Tristin eyed his formal attire unhappily. “This shirt doesn’t look at all comfortable,” he complained. “Are you sure we have to wear these things all day? Jaire’s wedding isn’t until this afternoon.”
Two days ago, Mikhyal might have smiled at Tristin’s discomfort, but Shaine was still missing, and Mikhyal was beyond worried. Dragon soldiers had scoured the area from above, and Jaire had spent several hours immersed in the mythe trying to find him, all to no avail.
“Mikhyal?”
“Sorry, Tristin. I just…”
“You’re worrying about Shaine,” Tristin said, putting a hand on his arm.
“I am. I can’t stop thinking about him. Where has he gone? And why would he go without telling anyone?” He ran a hand through his hair, then cursed as he realized he’d have to comb it again before it could be plaited. “It worries me that no one’s found any sign of him.”
Tristin’s hand tightened on his arm. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to be found,” he suggested gently.
“Or perhaps he’s dead,” Mikhyal said gloomily.
“Mik—” Tristin stopped short at the loud pounding coming from the suite’s outer door.
Mikhyal hurried to answer it and found Garrik standing in the hallway looking grim. “Mikhyal, I need you to come with me to Irilan.”
“What? Why? What’s happened?”
“One of the villages has been destroyed. Not just burned fields this time, but everyone dead.”
“But the wedding—”
“Will have to wait. Jaire’s the one who alerted us. He and Vayne flew out there before dawn. They just sent one of the soldiers back with a message for us, and one to Wytch King Ord at Castle Irila. Vayne suggests we might all want to see firsthand what was done before Irilan’s army begins tidying up. I thought to bring a representative of each of the four kingdoms. Danyel and Ferrin are going, too.”
Mikhyal’s heart was pounding, his thoughts racing. “Of course. Let me just… change into something more suitable, and I’ll join you.”
“Meet me by the stables in half an hour. We’ll depart from there.”
Two hours later, Mikhyal’s gut writhed as he studied the bloody tracks in the snow. He wasn’t ready to deal with this. Not with Shaine still missing and four royal weddings to get through in the coming week, one of them his own.
But the Wytch Council wasn’t going to wait until they were ready. They were going to strike in the night without warning and be gone before anyone could react, slowly but surely wearing their enemies down.
Feeling sick, he knelt to get a closer look. Dozens of large, clawed feet had trampled the snow. The tracks ended in a perfectly straight line, beyond which was an unbroken expanse of undisturbed snow. As if the creatures had simply run into a wall.
Or gone through a mythe-gate.
“Rhyx.” Vayne knelt at Mikhyal’s side. “And see here?” He traced the distinctive shape of a man’s boot with his finger. “There were men with them.”
“That’s… not possible,” Mikhyal said faintly. “Rhyx are far too savage and unpredictable to work with men.”
“Rhyx also generally hunt alone,” Vayne said grimly. “Though I’d say these tracks were made by at least half a dozen animals, perhaps more.”
“If the Wytch Council has found a way to control them…” Mikhyal trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought, but his gaze drifted back to the village behind them, where Irilan’s soldiers were still going from house to house in search of survivors.
Vayne rose and offered Mikhyal a hand up. “We need more dragon soldiers.”
“Ai.” Mikhyal nodded and accepted his hand. “And we need to be able to communicate faster. If we cannot solve those two problems quickly, then we will lose this war.”
“We’d best report this to Garrik.” Vayne gestured toward the other side of the village square, where Garrik, Ferrin, and Danyel were speaking with a captain of Irilan’s army.
Mikhyal tried not to look at the blood staining the trampled snow of the village streets. Thus far, not a single survivor had been found. And the pile of bodies — and torn parts of bodies — was growing with every house searched.
Danyel was still speaking with the captain as they approached. Garrik gave Vayne a tight, humorless smile and said in a low voice, “Not the way you were expecting to spend your wedding day, eh, Vayne?”
“Not at all,” Vayne said. “I’m just sorry Jaire had to see this. I’m glad you sent him home. I tried to get him to leave as soon as I realized what had happened here, but he insisted we begin searching for survivors immediately.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Garrik murmured, glancing up and nodding to Mikhyal.
The captain saluted Danyel and headed back the way he’d come. Danyel turned his attention to Mikhyal and Vayne. “Captain Harzik says it looks like a rhyx attack.”
“Ai, we found their tracks.” Mikhyal said. “At least half a dozen animals.”
“And soldiers with them,” Vayne added. “Gated in. You can see the line where the gate was set. The snow is churned and trampled on one side, and undisturbed on the other.”
“You think the Wytch Council set rhyx on the town?” Ferrin asked. “How? Those things are feral. Uncontrollable. And they don’t hunt in packs. Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“The Wytch Council must have come up with some way to control them,” Vayne said quietly.
“Bloody Wytch Council,” Garrik growled. “I will break them if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Not with our current resources, you won’t,” Ferrin said glumly.
“Ferrin’s right,” Vayne said. “And that means I should be getting back. I can’t do anything for the dead, but if I put my mind to it, I might be able to give you two more dragon soldiers by the end of the day.”
“And the wedding?” Garrik asked, arching one dark eyebrow.
“Do you really think a wedding celebration is in good taste at the moment?” Vayne said softly.
Garrik winced. “Not the celebration part, perhaps. But these weddings are an act of defiance and alliance, and should go forward. The celebrations can wait, but the documents should still be signed. We’ll have a small ceremony tonight and sign the papers — all of us — but we’ll postpone the public ceremonies and celebrations until… well. Until we’ve beaten these bastards into the ground.”
After Vayne had gone, Mikhyal murmured, “Do any of you really think that’s still possible?”
“Burning our crops is one thing,” Ferrin said in a thick voice, “but this… this is…”
“They strike in the night, with no warning, no pattern,” Mikhyal said grimly. “They’ll wear us down to nothing, and at the rate they’re going, it won’t take long.”
Danyel gave him a troubled look. “Sometimes I fear we may have bitten off more than we can chew. But we are committed now. We will see it through, to whatever end.”
Garrik’s hard black eyes met and held Danyel’s, then Ferrin’s, and finally Mikhyal’s. “If we believe in our cause, anything is possible.” His voice was like velvet-edged steel. “I have to believe that.”
Mikhyal nodded. He only hoped belief would be enough.