Page 87 of Heart of Shadows

“You’re forgetting something very important. She might be a traitor. You told us how she was with Dimitrius, how amicable they were, how she seemed ingratiated with his kind.” Erika’s suspicion was neverending, Aedon knew.

“I know. I cannot explain it. Perhaps she is doing whatever she needs to survive. Wouldn’t we all do the same?”

“Why is he trying to save her, though?” asked Ragnar. “I like to believe the best of people, but none of it makes any sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Aedon said with a huff of annoyance. “But she is our friend. And she is, at this moment, in the dungeons of King Toroth, where she does not belong. Moreover, he has her Dragonheart, and many others, tantalisingly close. Isn’t it tempting? We can rescue Harper and obtain a Dragonheart. Perhaps an unlimited supply!”

“You really think you can get us past the wards?” Brand was the voice of reason—as always.

“I am no ordinary elf.”

The Aerian dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Even so, you are not as powerful as once you were.”

Aedon’s face was a mask of stone, but he knew they realised the turmoil of hurt roiling beneath the exterior. “I can do it.”

“Let’s take a vote,” suggested Brand. “Who votes for rescuing Harper, despite the fact it’s probably an obvious trap?”

Aedon and Ragnar raised their hands.

“And who votes against?”

Brand and Erika raised theirs.

“Two versus two. We appear to have reached an impasse.”

“We don’t have time for impasses,” Aedon said, utterly exasperated. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll go after her myself. Trap or not, I have to try, for we owe her that. And, whilst I’m there, there’s got to be a way to obtain a Dragonheart.”

“Don’t be so bloody foolish!” growled Brand.

“Well, what else can we do?” he snapped. “Time is running out. This is our chance. What say you?”

65

HARPER

Commotion outside woke her, but this sounded different. Harried. Panicked. In the end that evening, she had fallen asleep slumped in a chair in the drawing room nearest to the entrance to Dimitri’s suites. Waiting for him, because she could not bear to know nothing for a moment longer than necessary about what was happening—and about the danger they were in.

The sounds were outside, in the main hallways of the palace. Harper’s ears pricked and she tensed, holding her breath as she strained to hear more. Their voices were muffled, echoing down the passage. The noise grew louder, closer. Most of it was in Pelenori, and her inability to translate only worsened the prickling dread clawing up her spine.

Now they were outside the door. She scrambled to it, pressing her face to the floor and trying with all her might to see under it, but the gap was too thin. The light flickered, winking in and out as bodies blocked the faint light. The tramp of booted feet shook the floor, rattling her head.

Harper jumped to her feet, clutching the dagger at her belt. Could they get in? Dimitrius had promised the door was secure—impenetrable—but she wasn’t about to place all her faith in his promises. The door looked like a door, and the noise on the other side of it sounded like more than enough to batter it down. They were coming for her. This was it. The inescapable thought gripped her, hard, and it did not let go. She gasped for breath.

But no one battered on the door. They continued on and the rabble faded into the distance, muffled once more. And her chest unclenched, the panic dissipating with their passage. What was all that? she wondered, rising from the floor and retreating back to the chair, to curl up in its plush depths. All too soon, there was nothing but silence and darkness again, but it took a long while until Harper drifted off to sleep once more.

Something woke Harper with a start. She listened, frowning. Scratching?

There was incessant scratching on the wood of the suite’s front door, as irritating as a fly buzzing around her head. She shuffled, gritting her teeth.

There it was again.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

What is that? Harper forced her frozen body into action. Holding her breath, she crept closer to the door, trying not to make even the slightest sound.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Mice? Rats? Maybe she did not want to find out what it was after all, but curiosity pulled her nonetheless. It was more interesting than sitting in the cold and the dark with all her senses blinded.

---