Chapter Two
Indulf
How was a girl able to just appear in his throne room?
Indulf paced his chambers, going from the bed to the hearth and back to the bed. When the girl had appeared, he had thought he must be dreaming. The first thing about her that he had noticed wasn’t the sword, ironically. It was the wide-eyed look on her face. Awe and fear both. He hadn’t noticed the way her skin, too pale to be natural, turned pink when their eyes met. Or the darkening of her eyes, the way her gaze trailed down his body, as though they were the only two in the room.
The way he’d frozen up at the sight of her was almost as dangerous as the fact that she had been able to get in without any detections. His fires flickered at the thought of her standing there, that ridiculous sword in her hands. It was a lousy assassination attempt, that was certain. She would have done much better if she had crept up behind him with a small dagger…
After she had fainted (or at least, pretended to) he had had his mages come in. There was a strong magical signature where she was standing, but that was it. None of them had answers as to how she got in or what strain of magic she used to make herself invisible until that moment.
The door opened and he gripped the pommel of his sword, a warning growl in his throat. The guard he’d stationed outside his room, Volcant, bowed toward him and stepped aside. “Your son to see you, sir.”
Indulf let out a soft sigh and nodded. “Let him in.”
Warmund appeared in the doorway. He bowed deeply to Indulf, then straightened. “I would like to request an audience, Father.”
“Come in,” Indulf said impatiently. “This isn’t a formal location, you don’t have to stand on ceremony. Leave us,” he ordered Volcant
He turned his back to select a bottle of ale from his store. He poured himself a glass and then handed one to his son. Warmund, as usual, looked grumpy and angry. He was so young still, just barely a full-grown man. Hardly even twenty centuries. Indulf took a sip of his ale, considering his son. They had never shared a close relationship; it wasn’t either of their faults, just one of those things that happened. Indulf had been only sixteen centuries old when a spring fling had conceived Warmund. His mother had abandoned him the moment he was born, and Indulf had been freshly coronated as king. He had no idea how to take care of an infant.
Still, he remembered his little boy starting to walk, starting to talk, and the happiness that had once been on his face. The happiness that slowly burned away year by year, starting when Indulf had sat him down and explained that, since Warmund’s mother was not the king’s mate, Warmund was not eligible to be king. Indulf had faced severe backlash just giving him a title as prince.
“Drink,” Indulf encouraged. “There is plenty to get drunk about today.”
Warmund turned the goblet in his hands then set it down. “I heard that a woman appeared in the courtroom today with unknown magic.”
Indulf nodded once.
“Were you not going to tell me?”
“There was no need.”
Warmund’s anger flared in his eyes. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me? What if this has to do with Wildref’s disappearance?”
Indulf flinched at the mention of his daughter. His heir, stolen from him as a baby when assassins murdered his mate. He knew that Wildref was murdered, too. There had never been ransom demands, no mention of where she had been taken.
“She may be involved with the assassins who killed my wife and daughter.”
Warmund flinched. “Father, I don’t believe that—”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Indulf took a gulp of his ale and snorted, shaking his head. “It’s been ten centuries, Warmund. I know you adored your sister, but she’s gone. There is no getting her back. She was murdered with her mother, and we were denied the ability to mourn her. It is time that you let her go.”
Warmund’s nostrils flared. “Father, why would they take her just to kill her? You’re right when you say she’s gone, but she wasn’t murdered. They took her and hid her away. And those assassins? They were able to appear and disappear just the same as this woman did. I spoke with the mages; they think that she carries the same magical signature as—”
“Warmund. I have already said that I believe she is associated with them. But was this an assassination attempt? Or just a clumsy girl playing with something she didn’t understand?”
“She had a sword.”
Indulf snorted. He picked up the ‘sword’ and presented it to Warmund. The thing was the worst-made blade he had ever seen. It was bulky, heavy, terribly balanced and clearly made to be impressive rather than useful. The blade was utterly dull, and the ‘gems’ in the hilt and pommel would not only cause a bad grip, but were also just colored glass.
“What is this?” Warmund’s face twisted with disgust as he inspected the sword. “Whatever blacksmith made this ought to be flogged.”
“And yet the girl was very concerned about it.”
“Perhaps it is the source of the magic?”
Indulf nodded. “That is what I thought as well. I had the mages take a look at it, but they can see no magic in it. I was about to go ask our guest about it myself.”
“You?” Warmund gave him a disgruntled look. “Father, if she was here to kill you, then don’t you think that going to her yourself would be unwise?”
“If she was here to kill me, she had her chance.”
Warmund dropped the sword to the low table in the center of the room. “It’s still unwise for you to give her a second chance. Father, please. Allow me to interrogate her. I have a lot of anger that could be worked out.”
He grinned, revealing sharpened teeth. Anger was right. Indulf narrowed his eyes at his son. It was times like this that he was actually glad that Warmund was removed from the line of inheritance. He was far too impulsive, with more interest in beating the world to fit his views, rather than negotiations and keeping the peace.
“We do not torture prisoners, Warmund. It rarely yields actionable results, you know this. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“How would you know that it yields nothing when you have never tried it?”
“Enough.” Indulf’s fires roared, flickering between his teeth. “I will not listen to this, boy. Understood?”
“I only meant to express concern—”
“And you have expressed it.” Indulf laid a hand on Warmund’s shoulder. “Listen. Your sister is gone. Allow yourself to mourn instead of continuing these fruitless hopes.”
Warmund didn’t respond. Indulf sighed, squeezing his shoulder lightly before leaving the room. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on his son as he headed for the dungeons and had a mask of indifference by the time he got there. The one that the woman had been put into was near the front. He found her huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself and terror in her eyes. It was only now that he realized what strange clothing she wore. Tight, blue trousers made from a thickly-woven material, a baggy tunic with the drawn image of a metal-looking man on it.
And once more, the sheer beauty of her took his breath away. He had never really considered himself attracted to pale-skinned women before, but with her large eyes and short hair, not to mention that curvaceous frame her tight pants accentuated, she looked… ethereal. Beautiful.
“What is your name?” he demanded.
She swallowed hard. “Anna.”
“Anna.” Even her name was exotic. He had a difficult time forming the vowels around his tongue. “You were confused when you appeared in my court. You mentioned that you were dreaming. Why would you think that?”
More likely, why did she want to trick them into thinking that was what she believed. He kept his face blank, watching her. She twisted her hands together, shivering every now and then. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“Because dragons aren’t real.”
Indulf stared at her. He opened his mouth to laugh, but the earnestness on her face stopped him. For a moment, he was uncertain how to respond to that. Then he took a step closer, bringing forward his flames. They flickered in his mouth, releasing smoke into the dungeon cell. Anna flinched and pressed herself back against the wall.
“Dragons aren’t real, girl? Have you lived in a shoebox your whole life, or is that what they train you to say if you’re captured? I know that you are in league with the assassins who killed my wife and daughter. Cooperate and you may one day see the sun again.”
“Assassins?” Her voice rose in pitch until it was nothing more than a squeak. “I’m not in league with any assassins. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Dragons aren’t real and now you’re here and you’re a dragon and I’m in a dungeon. Oh, God! This is a real-life dungeons and dragons! I only play it with my roommates and they’re only in it for the kinky elf sex and I have to go home. This is too crazy. Have you drugged me? Is this some game by those dude-nerds who are always complaining because I know more about Lord of the Rings than them? It’s not funny!”
The tears on her face increased, but the fear melted away to pure fury. She leapt to her feet and brandished her fists at his face, causing him to fall back a step. Not because he was afraid of her, but because he was afraid that she’d hurt herself trying to attack him.
“What are you talking about?” he snarled, trying to force down his confusion. “Is this what you were taught to do? Play such madness to escape suspicion?”
“My roommates are gonna call the cops, and you’re going to have SWAT on your ass if you don’t let me go home right now! And give me back that sword, it’s not yours!”
Indulf stared into her furious eyes for a moment longer before merely stepping out of the cell. Volcant locked it after him. Anna continued to shout at him as he walked away. Indulf shook his head as he tried to work through what she had said. Was she playing at madness? Or was she really just insane?