Embrace the Fire Read online

  Erlane spoke again. “I wish to make you welcome in my castle, Dragon-Master.”

  Cedric couldn't help but notice the slight emphasis Nicholas Erlane placed on the word “my.” Obviously, thoughts of past friendships between Erlane and the Andrachen line were long gone. Of course, the dethroned King's son had returned and he would feel the necessity of drawing the lines of property. Let him. Cedric didn't want the throne anyway. He'd seen too much of what power did to those who wished for it.

  “It was most thoughtful of you to provide a party to accompany me to your palace to guard me against attack from any outside forces, as well, Your Grace.”

  The heavy irony of Cedric's statement was lost on the King. He fidgeted with his braids before glancing at his steward, who stood on the right side of his throne. “Have you heard when my niece will return?” he whispered to the man.

  Cedric's gaze narrowed on the nervous twitches that jerked the King's chin.

  “I have had no word, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas Erlane turned back to Cedric. “I am, of course, happy to provide protection for you while you are here, Dragon-Master.”

  “Oh.” Cedric's clipped word bit on the heels of the King's. “So I am free to leave when I wish, then?”

  “Well—er—N—no.” Erlane looked flustered.

  His steward quickly stepped forward. “You are to remain here until the Lady Lianna returns to the palace, Dragon-Master. We have need of you”

  “A prisoner, then.” Cedric's jaw cramped.

  The steward's gaze was hard. “We prefer that you think of yourself as ... a guest of honor and importance who must be ... protected. You will have a certain freedom within the walls of the Dragon keep, but you will not leave until His Grace sees fit.”

  “You mean until Lady Lianna sees fit.”

  The sentence echoed in the hall, and Erlane's indigo eyes widened. He glanced nervously at the steward, who didn't move. After a long moment, the steward gave a tight smile. “Of course, our gracious Lady Lianna will wish to see what you can do here in this castle as well, Dragon-Master.”

  Cedric bit back a sigh, swallowing the inevitability of the situation. He addressed the King again. “Your Grace, I have left your niece's handmaiden, Ashleen, in the care of a palace apothecary. Lady Lianna insisted that the maid has messages for you. May I be shown into the apothecary's chambers?”

  “Nay,” Erlane said. “We—I—should like you to visit our Dragons first, Dragon-Master. We have heard much of your talents, and I have taken great pains so I can watch your skills at play.” Erlane hopped off his throne; there was some little distance to the ground for the small man. The King walked down the steps to Cedric to stand before him. Cedric towered over the King.

  “Accompany me to the Dragon dens, Dragon-Master.”

  Nicholas Erlane turned for an archway in the darkened recesses of the hall to Cedric's right, and the guard motioned for Cedric to precede him.

  Cedric followed the King into the stony dampness of a corridor.

  Four guards surrounded them as they walked, and Erlane led Cedric into a twisting, turning maze of darkened, smoky tunnels lit by torchlight. The familiar smell of Dragon dung wafted across Cedric's nose, and a tingle ran up his spine. Somewhere, deep in the Dragon dens of ClarenVale, Ember had a den.

  Cedric wondered if the Dragon would feel his presence. They had been so close to psuche at The Crossings before the Tournament.

  Commander Jerrus had been the one to arrange the transfer of Ember to Nicholas Erlane's ranks; Cedric wondered how the Commander had found and captured the Dragon, and then he wondered what Jerrus had received in exchange for such a gift—and how he had convinced Sebastian to part with the valuable Dragon.

  Or perhaps Jerrus wasn't as loyal to Sebastian as he seemed.

  Deep rumbles shook the stone walls of the tunnels as the heat increased. Massive doors lined the hallway, and occasional flashes of flame lit the cracks beneath them. As Cedric passed, the Dragons seemed restless. Roars shuddered across the space, shivering the stone beneath his feet.

  Nicholas Erlane glanced at Cedric with awe and expectation written on his face. “It's the first time I've seen them do that. They're never this restless.” He surveyed Cedric from head to toe. “Even your father didn't have such command over the creatures.”

  Cedric said nothing. This all seemed too familiar, like he'd walked this same route with Sebastian when he'd arrived at The Crossings. Two kingdoms, seeking talents he hadn't known he had, each wanting to use him for his gifts. Rebellion bubbled inside of him. His jaw hardened.

  Nicholas Erlane at last led him into a circular arena lined with high tiers of benches. In the center of the pit below them, a wide sandy floor was edged with heavy, long tether-chains, their manacles large enough to bind even a Poison-Quill, the largest of the Dragonkinds, to the earth.

  They had entered the top tier, and Erlane motioned to a guard, who removed a keyring from his belt and unlocked a gate, beyond which a long flight of stone steps led down to the sandy floor.

  “Enter, Dragon-Master,” Nicholas Erlane said.

  Cedric stared, fury welling inside of him. In his memory, he stood inside the keep at Sebastian's castle, the prey of two high-spirited and wild Dragons whom he did not wish to harm.

  “What is this?” he asked. He'd known he would likely be used for his way with Dragons if he came to ClarenVale, if he should meet Nicholas Erlane. He hadn't counted on it being right away. He'd hoped to be able to find Ember and possibly escape before Erlane forced his hand.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Nicholas Erlane glanced at the floor of the keep and then back at Cedric. “We—I wish you to see our training arena as it seems to be your area of expertise, to perhaps gain your opinion of it.”

  Cedric's jaw locked. The man's game was less than obscure. He pushed against Erlane's stuttering boundary. “Will you show me the arena yourself, Your Grace?”

  Nicholas Erlane sucked in a sharp breath and backed up a step.

  “No, no, I will allow you to explore the arena on your own and will wait for your return to hear your thoughts on the facility.”

  Cedric bit back a sigh. Clearly, Nicholas Erlane meant to have Cedric confront one Dragon or many once he reached the floor of the arena. He may as well get it over with.

  He passed through the gate, his mind racing as he took in the arena tiers, noting the arched tunnel doorways. If Dragons lived in each of those corridors, the King held even more Dragons in his palace here than Sebastian did in The Crossings. He wondered which den held Ember, and then he tried again to figure a way out from the palace with Ember ... and Ashleen.

  The soft moccasins Ashleen had made for him printed the sandy floor as he paced to the middle. As he expected, the heavy corridor doors immediately creaked open on opposite sides of the arena, and a flash of flame bit the tunnels' darkness as two great Dragons appeared.

  The huge brutes advanced into the open light of the arena. Dimn scurried from the darkness as well, fastening the heavy manacles to the Dragons' forelegs, their spiked maces striking the Dragons if they tried to swing their heads too close. Scale bits shattered across the sandy floor as the Dragons roared their displeasure.

  The Dimn disappeared after the Dragons—one Poison-Quill and one Nine-Tail—were shackled. A Poison-Quill's deep roar shook the arena, and a Nine-Tail stepped sideways into the sand on the other side. Cedric shook his head. Mirages were rare; he doubted the King had one of those in his dens, and Embers weren't much less rare than Mirages. Still, he'd seen Ember flying above the castle; he knew it had to be him. He wished Ember had been the Dragon to appear in the arena now.

  Cedric slowly folded his arms. He knew what the King wanted. Nicholas Erlane—or Lianna, likely—wished to test him to see if he was fit to hold the position of Dragon-Master in this castle. She had seen his work in The Crossings, but she may have attributed the Dragons' obedience to nationality. The beasts were notoriously territorial, and West Ashwynd Drag
ons often balked even at leaving their dens within their Clans.

  Cedric refused to play along.

  It might be a hot lesson, however.

  The Poison-Quill's ponderous head swung as he scented Cedric. The Nine-Tail hugged the wall, seemingly unsure of himself. This must be new ground for them both, Cedric thought. If they were familiar with the arena, they would immediately attack the intruder. He wondered again how many Dragons Erlane held captive—and where Ember’s assigned den was located.

  Testing the waters, the Nine-Tail raised his tails high, scraping their sharp points along the stone side of the arena, and the Poison-Quill immediately bristled, his quills adding bulk to his already-massive frame.

  Cedric kept his lips sealed. If he said anything, anything at all, the Dragons would react—worse, they would seek his approval or obey an accidental instruction, and that was what Nicholas Erlane was looking for—solid evidence of Cedric's Dragon gift, to use him for more power.

  Despite his silence, the Dragons seemed at least partially aware of him. They eyed each other over his head, their great snouts weaving, but neither made a move toward him. Cedric had just begun to plan his retreat back up the steps when a shuddering roar shook the floor of the arena.

  Cedric whirled in time to meet a flaming onslaught of scale and heat and smoke. Before he could recover, he lay on his back in the sand, trapped beneath an Ember's talons.

  “Ember!” The word escaped his throat involuntarily, and Ember lowered his snout over Cedric. A rush of flame bathed him, searing holes in his new tunic, but leaving his skin unscathed. He'd always been impervious to Dragonfire, but the durability of his skin had improved as he'd been in contact with the beasts.

  The massive Ember lowered his head, twisting to the side to regard Cedric more fully. Cedric lifted both hands and grasped two of the Dragon's long fangs, pulling the head even closer. He heard a shout from the balcony above and realized he'd given himself away with that one act.

  “Ember, psuche,” he murmured. This might be his one chance, and he wasn't about to lose it.

  As the Dragon huffed a breath outward, the warmth of the air from his nostrils mingled with a purposeful breath from Cedric's lungs, and rainbow colors refracted through the air around them both, shimmering amid the flaming Dragon's scales.

  Nicholas Erlane hung over his balcony with slackened jaw, his glistening braids dangling in the air, his eyes huge as he stared down at Cedric.

  Cedric shoved aside ire at the King as Ember's thoughts met his own.

  The Dragon was irritated because Cedric had failed to come with him after the Tournament. Flashes of the Dragon's history over the last months lit in Cedric's mind—the flight from the castle, sheltering in the Rockmonster Dwellings until his capture by Sebastian's Dimn, a dark imprisonment in a cavern of the Rockmonsters, and—ah, a visit from Commander Jerrus, who swung his mace and shattered his scales as freely as the most experienced Dimn. The thoughts swirled back into irritation at Cedric's failure to leave the Tournament.

  “I had a job to do, Ember.” Ember's talons loosened, and Cedric sat up, his hand rubbing the Dragon's snout gently. “I still have a job to do. And I need your help to do it.”

  The Poison-Quill resented the presence of an Ember in his personal territory. He bristled again. Poison-tipped quills shot from the Dragon's body toward Cedric. Ember lurched in between, taking the quills on his impenetrable scales. The quills burst into flame, falling into lines of dark ash on the sand.

  Ember roared and advanced on the Poison-Quill, and the two Dragons met with a clash of talons, teeth, and fire. The Poison-Quill's deadly tips brushed close to Ember's sensitive snout in the struggle.

  “Stop!” Cedric shouted, terrified for the new partner of his psuche.

  Both Dragons halted, slowly backing away from each other, smoke still roiling from their nostrils, but content, for the moment, to listen to Cedric.

  “Guards!” Nicholas Erlane's voice broke the tension from above, and guards swarmed the arena, pulling the larger Dragons to the darkened cave entrances. Guards approached Ember, maces swinging, their shields up. Ember hissed at them, backing away. His panic built in Cedric's mind.

  “Stop!” Cedric shouted. “Put your weapons down!”

  The guards paused, but didn't back away.

  “Do as the Dragon-Master says,” Nicholas Erlane commanded. The King's lips were curved into a satisfied smile. “Let him accompany the Ember back to his den.”

  The guards cleared the arena. At this moment, without a manacle on Ember, Cedric could have mounted the Dragon, winged toward the ceiling, broken through the beams, and tasted the freedom of the skies to become a star of fire in the darkening dusk. He had no doubts about the Dragon's strength.

  Only Ashleen stopped him. A vision of her pale, feverish forehead stilled his movements. He had to wait for her before he could escape. He couldn't leave her, not while she lay so close to death's door.

  He laid a hand on Ember's snout. “Soon,” he whispered. “All in good time.”

  He led the Dragon into the darkened corridors beneath Erlane's castle, and the light of freedom faded behind him.

  * * *

  Whether Nicholas Erlane admitted it or not, Cedric was a prisoner of the castle walls, and Erlane's steward had commanded him to review the Dragons one by one to familiarize himself with them. Cedric was under guard at all times in the arena, and the Dragons were heavily chained, so even if he had tried to escape, there was little likelihood of success. In the evenings, after he left the arena, he found his way to the apothecary's chambers, where he sat by Ashleen, his gaze on her pale, thin profile. On the seventh night, his exhausted eyelids had drooped and sealed themselves shut before a clatter in the adjoining room where the apothecary kept many of his potions woke him.

  Cedric twisted to see the little man, but to his surprise, spotted a maid with cornflower blue hair standing by the counter. More surprising still, she hummed softly, and bottles of potion raised from the walls and set themselves before her, some pouring into a small bowl, others presenting their labels to her before returning to the shelf. With her hands, she stirred the mixture with a spoon.

  Cedric approached the doorway, staring as the bottles all returned to their places, and herb boxes followed the same process.

  “Are you a Pixie?” he asked.

  The maid jumped. Her spoon clattered into the bowl, and she leaped back against the counter, her hand over her chest. “Stars above, you frightened me,” she whispered.

  “Truly, I'm sorry.” Cedric took in her petite form, her face. There was something familiar about her. “Do—do I know you?”

  The maid resumed stirring. Her cheeks were stained a brilliant red. “No.” Her voice was flat and decided.

  “You are an apprentice?” Cedric motioned to the herbs that had scattered when she'd jumped. She swiftly gathered them back into their boxes.

  “Aye, he allows me to practice creating his healing mixtures now and again. I come up here once a week to get the feel of it, like.”

  She stood on tiptoe to return the box to the shelf, and Cedric suddenly realized what was familiar. “You—you're no relation to a Pixie named Lincoln, are you, he that dwells in West Ashwynd, a Guardian to my sister, Kinna?”

  She stilled, her hand motionless on the herb box. Cedric moved into the room to better see her profile. She had gone stark white, her gaze on the bowl in front of her. “Nay. I don't know of whom you speak. The only one of that clan of whom I claim any knowledge is Helga, the great Seer Fey who has dwelt under Sebastian's rule for nearly two decades.”

  “Of that clan?”

  “Aye, of that family. The Pixie you asked about is her son.” She faltered, her cheeks once again coloring.

  “So you do know Lincoln.” To his utter surprise, two tears bloomed from her eyes and tracked down her cheeks.

  “He is my father,” she whispered at last. “He christened me Marigold, and then he left me when I was a mere babe
to follow a higher calling.” Bitterness tinged her voice. “A higher calling than raising his own daughter.” She swiped at her tears. “I'm sorry,” she said.

  Awkward silence reigned, and awe and consternation filled Cedric. Lincoln had a daughter who lived here? “Helga, the great Seer Fey, is your grandmother?”

  He was sorry he'd confirmed it. Marigold's face flooded a brilliant scarlet color. “I—I'm—yes, she's—I—have never—”

  She trailed off, tears of mortification on her cheeks. “I know nothing,” she managed at last. Abruptly, she ran out the door without a backward glance.

  Cedric stared at the exit, his thoughts churning before slowly returning to the cot where Ashleen lay. Softly, he touched her fingers, surprise filling him when her hand twisted to hold his.

  “Cedric.” Her voice sounded rusty, and she licked her chapped lips. “What are you doing here?”

  He smoothed the blanket where it covered her legs. “I couldn't sleep in the Dragon dens where they put me, so I came here.”

  “No,” she croaked. “What are you doing here?”

  Cedric squeezed her hand. “I—couldn't leave.”

  Ashleen blinked her wide, nearly-black eyes, and the conversation went far beyond the simple sentences they'd just exchanged. Ashleen shifted, wincing. “So now you're stuck playing nursemaid to me. I'll make you work for it, you know.”

  “Work for what?”

  “I'm a horrible patient. I'll dump all my food when they bring it to me, and I'll tear apart the poor apothecary every time he forces me to drink his herb gruel.”

  “I don't believe you've been sick a day in your life.”

  “That makes no difference. I hate lying abed when I should be up and around, so I'm prepared to make you suffer. Consider it punishment for not using your good sense to flee when you had the chance.”

  Cedric grinned, relieved to see her spunk back. He stood. “As much as I enjoy listening to your evisceration of my character, I must return to the Dragon dens. They've allowed me a few moments to check on you, but I'm missed if I don't come back soon.” He glanced behind him and lowered his voice. “Ashleen, how can we remove the Pixie magic that tracks you?”