Page 27 of Heart of Shadows

“Scouting the area. Why do you always make it sound like I’m lazing about?” Aedon complained, a hurt edge to his voice, but Harper saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that told her he was used to this jesting.

“Because you normally are,” Brand growled.

“Hey, I resent that. Whilst you two were playing war games, I was keeping you all safe. Can you two keep the racket down, by the way? I could hear you a mile off. Lucky there’s no one about.”

“We need to move on.” Authority filled Erika’s quiet voice. Brand and Ragnar nodded.

“Of course,” Aedon said. “It’s unwise to linger.”

“Then we’ll be off after breakfast.” Erika stared at Ragnar.

The dwarf waved his spoon, pausing from stirring the tea. “It’ll be done momentarily.”

Silence fell as they tucked into the hearty breakfast. The tender meat melted on Harper’s tongue. It was a strange feeling to eat fresh meat—not dried, salted strips of whatever she could get her hands on, or tough lean rabbit—with a sweet, rich taste she had not expected. She savoured it, not caring that juice dripped down her chin.

The tea had a tangy, surprisingly bitter yet refreshing taste, and she sipped at the pot as they passed it around. She enjoyed the sweetness of the glaze and the sourness of the tea as they mingled upon her tongue. As she took her turn sipping at the tea, she looked into the flickering tongues of the fire, her eyes glazed over in thought. There’s really no way home. Harper wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

It seemed like she found herself on some kind of exciting adventure. On the run with a Dragonheart and a rag-tag band of outlaws, who were each more curious than the last. She could tell they had secrets. From the shared glances, so laden with secrets, to the way they cut each other off mid-sentence and glared at her, as if she might unravel their mysteries.

Compared to this, it was hard to yearn for serving loud, ungrateful customers until the small hours of the night in a dark, oppressive, smelly inn. She glanced around. It was a beauty worlds apart from the woods she knew. Here, even the colours of late summer were so much brighter, the full beauty of the landscape undiminished. Not the faded, dull, grey woods she knew, where darkness and shadow ruled. It made a quiet piece of her heart sing. The tiny sliver that dreamed of more, the fragile thing that never truly dared to believe it would amount to anything. And yet now, she found herself on precisely the kind of wild path she had always dreamed of. When she locked away the fluttering panic that never seemed to leave her now—worries of Betta, and for herself amidst a storm of uncertainty—there was a thrill there. One she wanted more of like a thirst to slake.

Her mouth twitched into a small smile. Perhaps it had been the game of chatura the previous night that had persuaded her they were not so bad after all, or perhaps she was a fool. She had not quite decided. The more she thought, the more she realised how thrilling it was. It wasn’t as if she had left anything behind. Just her books, her small amount of coin, and an assortment of worthless treasures—pretty stones, carved sticks, nothing of note. And Betta, she thought with no small twinge of guilt, but she pushed it aside. Betta was a grown woman, who had survived long before she had come along. Betta would be pragmatic, Harper hoped, when the woman realised Harper was gone. She could take the coin and use it to feed herself if needed, Harper hoped. She would get by like she always had—and so would Harper.

“You all right, Harper?” asked Aedon, tugging the pot from her grasp to have some tea. “You look lost in thought.”

“I’m good.” Harper grinned, the first true smile she had in a good, long while. Aedon looked at her quizzically, but she only turned her smile back to the fire, savouring her full stomach and the buzz deep in her belly at the promise of the unknown adventure at her feet.

23

DIMITRI

Dimitri glided through the fabric of the world, easily keeping pace with the dragon-riders flying above him. They had offered him, albeit reluctantly, passage with them, but Dimitri had refused. He was not partial to heights, and his own means of travelling worked just as well. Sinking his being into the river of magical energy that flowed alongside the living world, he had slipped from one point to another as he wished upon shadow and wind.

It was a skill few were aware he had and even fewer could master. Not even the king knew of it. It was an elven art lost long ago that he had only discovered through extensive research and more than a little arcane instruction. The dragon-riders of the Winged Kingsguard had openly mocked him, but Dimitri shrugged it off. Let them, he thought. Let them wonder and be afraid when he arrived before them with not a hair on his head disturbed.

As they circled into a descent, he marked their destination—a craggy outcrop on a ridge of hills to the south of Tournai. He picked his own stopping point, the summit of the tallest rocky escarpment, and settled himself on a rock, the picture of relaxed and unspent calm. He wore no cloak, only his usual immaculate, tailored, dark suit, but a small charm warded off the biting wind that nipped at his cheeks. They did not need to see him shiver.

When the three-dozen dragon-riders landed to find him idly leaning on one hand and staring out over the valley before him, their surprise was evident. Yet, they did not ask him how it was possible. No, they would not show him they were curious. They would not admit they did not understand something he could do that lay outside their abilities.

“You found it all right, I see,” their leader called to him as he dismounted, an edge of annoyance in his tone.

“Of course, General,” Dimitri said. He met his gaze and gave him a sly smile, but offered him no more explanation. It would aid him to unnerve them and their egos.

“Well, don’t get in our way. What are you even here for, Spymaster?” General Raedon was far older and wiser than Dimitri, and far outranked him. His long, dark golden hair was braided neatly under his helm, and royal blue surcoat and shining silver armour covered a muscled, heroic figure. Raedon was everything Dimitri was not. Everything he had once sought to be.

Dimitri shoved off the rock and strolled toward him, his hands in his pockets. “I’m here at the orders of the king, not yours. I shall go where I please, do what I please, and see what I please, Raedon Lindhir Riel of House Felrian.” His use of Raedon’s formal title—above his own in rank—was a warning, not a mark of respect.

Raedon knew it, and his jaw clenched. Dimitri could see the infuriation at such insubordination—and overrule by the king. Dimitri smiled casually with a flicker of smugness, just enough to annoy Raedon even further. “The king will be most pleased to hear you offer me every assistance.”

Raedon was forced to defer. “The Winged Kingsguard are at your service, Dimitrius Vaeri Mortris of House Ellarian.” Every word was forced through clenched teeth.

Dimitri knew Raedon would sooner see him shredded by dragon talons than help, but luckily, they were all still bound by the king’s orders—for now. Raedon did not bow, and Dimitri did not expect him to. He could have forced the issue, but there was more than one way to get what he desired.

“Excellent. You will tell me your exact movements that have been planned in advance, and unplanned movements as soon after the fact as is possible. I will conduct my own searches. You need not be concerned with me treading on your claws.” He threw a look of disdain at the closest dragon, who rumbled in warning at him.

Raedon nodded, his jaw clenched. Dimitri sauntered off without another word, as if he were out for a walk in the fragrant palace gardens on a summer’s eve, not standing on an increasingly blustery peak without a cloak on.

“Lyros. Caren.” Raedon summoned his deputies with a snap in his tone, to Dimitri’s great satisfaction. “Gather everyone.”

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