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  Cedric shivered with tension. “Are you sure, Kinna? It will be dangerous.” His voice was rough.

  “Aye.” Her green eyes gleamed with determination. “It will be soon after the guard change. Be waiting; it might take us a little while to get past the perimeter soldiers. Chennuh will carry us away.”

  Kinna stood, her hands sliding up the bars. Cedric touched her fingers. “Kinna,” he paused, “thank you.” His voice clogged, and he fought back emotion.

  Kinna squeezed his hands. “You're my twin, Cedric. I won't give up on you.”

  The voices of his guards reached his ears, their leather armor creaking as they climbed to the gaol tent. “Go!” he whispered.

  In another second, she was gone, disappeared behind the canvas, and Cedric was alone again. More voices joined the guards', and Cedric could see the soldiers' feet as they lined the tent. Ten guards, stretching around the front, the sides, and even the back.

  He hoped fervently that Kinna had found a way to disappear.

  More rustling outside the canvas pulled Cedric's attention back to the door. The material slid aside, and Commander Jerrus peered through the bars. He nodded once and then dropped the canvas back in place.

  His murmur outside the tent was barely discernible, but Cedric could hear the soft-spoken words: “A message has arrived from The Crossings instructing us to question the prisoner tomorrow about the Amulet of the Ancients.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  The Amulet of the Ancients? Cedric didn't know much of the Amulet, having been raised far from civilization, but he'd heard mention of it when he'd served as the Dragon-Master in Sebastian's palace. Ayden had bestowed a powerful Amulet on Sebastian to break the Ash-Touch curse Sebastian had laid on him as a boy. If this was the same Amulet, there was even more to the story than he'd been aware.

  The Commander's voice broke through his thoughts. “Also, see to the Ember's transfer.”

  “The Ember, Commander?”

  Cedric's heart stilled in his chest. He didn't dare breathe.

  “Aye, the Dragon-Master's Ember—the one that escaped The Crossings at the Tournament. Some of my men captured him in the middle of the Rues. He's a fine specimen of Dragon, and Erlane has been looking for an Ember.”

  “Surely Nicholas Erlane, as an enemy to our King—”

  “It's a part of an oral agreement between myself and one of Erlane's Officers who has come for the parley. It is in the interest of peace. The Ember is to go to ClarenVale with Erlane's Dragondimn Officer. If anyone questions you about it, send them to me.”

  “I didn't realize that you had clearance—”

  “Are you questioning me, soldier?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then do as I said. Run.”

  Scurrying footsteps scurried away followed by the slower, steadier footsteps of Commander Jerrus.

  The Ember. The Dragon-Master's Ember—who had escaped The Crossings after the Tournament! His Ember? He and the Dragon had been so close to psuche—if only they had managed to make the connection, Cedric would be able to feel the Dragon's thoughts if he passed close enough. But ClarenVale! Ember was going to Nicholas Erlane's capital? The arrangement was odd, even given Jerrus's explanation.

  Cedric blew out his breath and sank to the ground, leaning against the cold bars. Hours passed. Darkness encompassed the tent save for a solitary lantern that hung from the corner of the cage. Outside, the guards were quiet, and the entire camp settled into the rhythm of quiet and temporary peace.

  Cedric shook out his stiff limbs as he paced, restless. His chains chafed his wrists, and he waited for Kinna, who would surely be returning soon, as promised.

  He rested his head against the bars. A narrow slit opened between two canvas flaps, and he could see the tents that lay beyond the gaol and huge cages that wavered in the torchlight.

  A flash of flame caught his attention; a roar erupted almost immediately after it. Cedric strained to see what had caused it, and his jaw slackened.

  Ember!

  Brilliant flames burst from one of the creature cages on the edges of Sebastian's army camp, a quarter fieldspan distant. In the piercing, orange light, the bronzy outlines of an Ember thrashed inside a cage, the bars orange with heat. Cedric recognized the shape of the head, the peculiar slant of the topmost fin where it flickered in the darkening sky.

  “Ember?” He felt the powerful draw of their connection. They had yet to achieve psuche, but they'd been so close over the last winter. If he hadn't had to flee after the Tournament, he was sure it would have happened soon.

  Footsteps approached the gaol tent, and Cedric's heart hammered. But the steps were heavy and loud, not light, as Kinna's would have been. He held his breath, tension and pain tightening his neck and skull.

  The canvas flapped back, and a guard slid a key into the lock.

  Cedric wrapped his hands around the iron bars, his grip tightening. If he were to be tortured, he would withstand it. No amount of suffering would make him serve Sebastian ever again. The sick maniac had killed his parents and attempted to kill him and his sister as well.

  The guard nodded to Cedric. “A visitor to see you.”

  Cedric's brow furrowed. He stepped back as the canvas lifted again, and two hooded figures stepped inside the cage.

  “You have until the watch bell tolls,” the guard said, closing the door behind them and locking it again. He retreated behind the canvas flap.

  One of the figures raised a white hand and pulled the cowl from her face.

  “Lianna.” Cedric's lungs emptied of air as he saw the woman he'd begun to love despite her failed betrothal to King Sebastian. His mouth went dry.

  “Hello, Cedric.”

  Cedric cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? I set you safe passage to Lismaria four months ago.” He glanced at the other figure, who had also pulled back her cowl. He didn't know her; her face, with skin the color of fire-roasted almonds, was framed with thick, nearly black curls; her head cocked to the side as she studied him boldly, her finely-shaped eyebrow arching upward in a derisive smirk.

  Lianna's voice jerked his attention back to her again. “I suppose it's a good thing I came back for you, then. I certainly didn't expect to find you in this situation.” She waved toward the bars that surrounded them.

  Cedric blinked at her antagonistic tone. “Why not, my lady? The last you saw of me, I had fled Sebastian's lengthy arm after snatching his betrothed, two of his Dragons, and his niece from under his nose. You knew the risks I undertook, in large part to help you escape a lifetime of marriage to a despot. I did it to—to keep you safe!”

  Lianna sighed, a soft sound that sent shivers up Cedric's spine. “Aye, I know everything you undertook, Cedric, for my safety, and I'm thankful. As is my uncle. That's why he sent me and my slave,” she motioned to the dark-haired girl who still watched Cedric with brilliant black eyes, “here for the real business of victory, here to this tent, and here to you. He wishes to show you his gratitude; he's offering you shelter in Lismaria—a home under his protection, away from Sebastian.”

  Cedric glanced at the doorway, at the guards who stood close enough to hear the soft words that spilled from her lips. She glanced at them, too. “Nay, my charms have woven a spell across their hearing. They don't know what I'm saying.”

  Thoughts swirled through Cedric's head. Kinna should arrive at any moment to help him escape, but even if they were successful, they would still remain on the run. If they fled to Lismaria under the offer of asylum from Nicholas Erlane, would that not be better? “It is a generous offer, my lady. I wish to discuss it with my sister before agreeing. She will arrive soon to aid in my escape.” He glanced at the door behind him. “Perhaps your charms will help her slip past the guards? How were you planning to set me free?”

  Lianna's blue eyes flickered in the dim torchlight that filtered beneath the tent canvas. She turned to the other girl. “Stay here,” she commanded. She laid a hand briefly on Cedric's ar
m. “I will take care of it.” A moment later, she moved to the door and motioned to the jailer, who approached the door and unlocked it, freeing her from Cedric's cage.

  As soon as she passed, the jailer locked the door again. Cedric grasped the bars as he watched her walk toward the commander's tent a fieldspan away.

  “I expected you to be taller.”

  Cedric whirled to face the girl, Lianna's slave. “What?”

  “You know, larger than life. Huge muscles or something.”

  Cedric shook his head. “Why under the Stars would you think that?”

  “I've heard nothing but Cedric this and Cedric that for the last month of travel. Her ladyship speaks often of you.” She slid a knife from her knee-high moccasin boot, flipped it in her hand, and approached him. Cedric backed up a step. The girl made him nervous.

  An amused smile crossed her full lips. “I'm not going to hurt you.” She squatted at his feet where she inserted the dagger into the lock that shackled his ankle. Three deft twists, and the chain fell free.

  “Thank you,” Cedric said as she stood and slid the knife back into her boot. “I'm surprised the guards didn't search you when you entered.”

  The girl shrugged. “Her ladyship wields a powerful Pixie charm. The guards don't know I'm here.” She unabashedly perused him, from his shaggy auburn hair clear down to his dusty boots. “She wasn't wrong.”

  “About what?”

  She didn't deign to answer, but her bold gaze raised a furious blush in Cedric's cheeks. He turned back to the door, searching for Lianna.

  “Don't worry,” the girl continued. “If she wants you, she can have you. I prefer blonds.”

  Something about the girl charmed and irritated Cedric at the same time. “I'm nearly blond,” he blurted and then flushed. It sounded as if he'd issued a challenge he hadn't intended.

  He saw the acceptance of that challenge in the flash of playfulness that lit her dark eyes. “All right, then. Blond and free from prison.”

  “If all goes well with my lady, that will soon not be an issue, either.” He rubbed his palm over the bristles that covered his chin. The guards hadn't brought him a razor for the last two days. “What is your name?”

  Cedric wished he could read her thoughts, but her eyes were hooded. After a moment, she answered, “Ashleen.”

  “Ashleen,” Cedric repeated. “It means Dream Weaver in the old language.”

  Pain lit her expression, and she dropped her gaze. “Aye, well,” she paused, “I am no one's dream.”

  Cedric opened his mouth to respond, but stopped at the sound of booted feet approaching. Lianna drew near with the jailer. The jailer unlocked the door with a rattle. Lianna didn't enter. As soon as the door was open, she motioned Cedric into the freedom beyond the exit. “This way,” she said quietly.

  Cedric glanced at the jailer's eyes as he passed him. They stared beyond him, void, blank, unaware. Lianna closed the door after Ashleen had exited. The jailer carefully locked the door again and turned toward the Commanders' tent.

  Lianna pointed toward the edge of the camp. “Hurry. Quickly.” Her voice was low and intense.

  “What of Kinna?” Cedric asked, but Lianna gripped his arm, pulling him along.

  Through the darkness, they ran, avoiding lanterns and torches, careful to stay within the deeper shadows. At last, they reached the edge of the camp, surging into the quiet foothills of the Rues that edged the Plains.

  Lianna halted them. Cedric glanced back at the flickering lights of the army that spread across the Forgotten Plains. Relief flooded him, followed by urgency. “I must find Kinna, now. She was to come release me from the gaol.” He searched the darkness, seeing nothing. Anxiety sprouted inside of him.

  “Have you no thanks for me?” Lianna asked, her pout obvious.

  Cedric blinked, confused. “My apologies, my lady. I owe you a great debt. Thank you.”

  “Fulfill it, then, Cedric. Return with me to Lismaria.”

  Cedric nodded. “I plan to. But first, I must find my sister. I wish to take her with me if she desires it.”

  Lianna approached him, and Cedric's lungs emptied as the Stars shone across her face. She was stunning. “It's been so long, Cedric.” Slowly, her hands touched his chest, sliding down his tunic, tracing his arms. She walked in a circle around him. Her touch lingered on his shoulders, his neck, his spine. He blushed, wondering what Ashleen thought of all this.

  Suddenly, shackles surrounded Cedric's wrists, tight cold metal. The steel chafed his skin where they bound his hands together in front of him.

  Cedric sucked in his breath, jerking and struggling, but the shackles held fast. “Lianna!” he cried.

  “I'm sorry, Cedric.” Her voice came from lengths away. “I would have preferred that you come of your own free will. But I am determined to leave without hindrances.” A cruel edge sharpened her voice.

  “Lianna, let me go!” He twisted to see her pale, gold hair white in the moonlight, her face closed and expressionless. “Please!”

  She only nodded to Ashleen. “Bring him.” She walked into the darkness, and Ashleen moved close, lightly grasping Cedric's straining upper arm.

  Cedric stared, panicked, at Lianna before he glanced down into Ashleen's eyes. Pity darkened her expression. “I'm sorry,” she whispered as she nudged him forward. “I didn't know what she planned to do.”

  Cedric stumbled over his own booted feet. “Free me,” he rasped to her.

  “I can't. My dagger can make no dent on the work of Nicholas Erlane's ore-smiths. They are well-known for their skills.”

  Lianna, Cedric pleaded desperately in his mind, but the Pixie woman moved without a backward glance, and Cedric was led, once again, where he did not wish to go.

  Chapter Four

  Sebastian

  Sebastian's fingers itched to throttle his steward, Pomley. The man ducked and clucked and darted around him like a nervous squirrel, straightening his robe, drawing the train behind him. He'd met with Sebastian's valet that morning and insisted on high dress, stressing the importance of creating an impression.

  Sebastian's arch-enemy, the usurper of his plans and dreams for his kingdom of Lismaria, Nicholas Erlane, would arrive today to parley, to discuss the possibilities, however slim, of peace between their countries.

  Not that Sebastian would ever concede an orlach of West Ashwynd's soil to that treasonous snake. The man had gall to bring as large a delegation as he had into Sebastian’s domain, and his entire navy prowled the Channel of Lise as though Lismaria owned the waters already.” Fury nearly choked Sebastian along with the blasted clasp of his robe.

  Nicholas currently awaited Sebastian in the throne room. Pomley again fiddled with the clasp at Sebastian's throat.

  Sebastian shoved the steward aside and strode past him as the older man stumbled into an awkward bow. “Announce me, Pomley.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Pomley ducked ahead of him, diving through the double doors as the guards opened them.

  “His Grace, the King of West Ashwynd, Sebastian Andrachen.” His voice echoed in the throne room, and Sebastian took small pleasure in hearing the emphasis on Andrachen, the claiming of his kinship with Aarkan the Firebringer, Sebastian's ancient forefather.

  He stepped to the entryway. The red and gold banners of his kingdom decorated the throne room, and at the table of state that stretched the length of the room sat his Council, Commander-in-Chief Lanier, and Nicholas Erlane himself with his head commander and a contingent of Lismarian diplomats and guards he had brought with him.

  All of them stood as Sebastian stopped at the head of the table. Nicholas Erlane met his gaze, steel darkening the indigo of his irises. Sebastian flattened the fury that writhed inside and greeted him curtly, “Nicholas Erlane.” He refused to call him by his honorific.

  Sebastian's commanders tensed. It was a bad beginning for a parley.

  “Your Grace.” Nicholas Erlane inclined his head, and his ease with the situa
tion increased Sebastian's rage. The Lismarian usurper was shorter than Sebastian by nearly a head, his silvery hair pulled into a braid down his back to his waist. A neat goatee of the same color covered his chin. His slim fingers clasped together in front of him. If it weren't for the goatee, he would have looked feminine.

  Erlane sank into his chair, an eyebrow lifted as he waited for Sebastian to sit. Sebastian waited a moment longer than was necessary before settling into his own seat and picking up a goblet of mead.

  “So,” Sebastian drew out the word, “you've left your comfortable Lismarian throne, trekked across your Marron Mountains, clogged the Channel with an impressive show of your naval strength, all to sit in my chair and drink my mead and tell me how you never meant to take my rightful throne and drive me from my homeland.” He took a long drink and slammed the goblet onto the table.

  Stilted quiet settled across the room.

  Lanier cleared his throat: “Your Grace, we have here the treaty Nicholas Erlane has drawn up for your perusal.”

  Sebastian hurled the goblet at the stone wall ten lengths to his right. It shattered with a crash.

  Xander, his new head of Council after Sebastian had promoted Jerrus to Commander flinched backward at the noise. “Your Grace,” he whispered, shocked.

  Erlane's commander rose, anger blazing across his black-bearded face. “International parley demands courtesy, Sebastian.”

  “Greyham.” Erlane gripped the commander's arm. “Peace.”

  Greyham didn't take his gaze from Sebastian, his cheeks above his beard flushing red and then white. “Our countries sit on the brink of war and the only chance we have of resolving it is at this table.” He glanced at Erlane. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace, but I could not stand by and see lack of honor stir a war that we may yet avoid.”

  Audible gasps spread across the room. Fury gripped Sebastian; he leaned his weight on the table, his gaze locking again with Greyham. “Lack of honor, did you say? A lack,” he slammed his fist onto the hard wood, “of honor?”