Page 105 of Deadly Maiden

I could stay warm for hours basking in his love. I rest my arms over his and feel my breathing slow, though the air frosts with mist on each exhalation.

We wait two hours, three, four, and by late afternoon Rorsyd is finally able to shift into dragon form.

The flight back is glorious, as always. The wind rushing, the fresh untainted air, the rolling landscape, the company of freaking eagles beside his vast wings. I understand why the loss of this world-expanding freedom carves such a ferocious hole into Rorsyd. Centuries of being able to fly among the clouds above the chaos on the surface of Arteos, and then to be anchored to the earth? It would be like slavery.

I feel a thousand times lighter. The weight of the secrets we carried has been lifted. The horse ride to Langordin is filled with laughter and stupid stories, and yes, some kissing.

Yet, as the gates come into view around a bend in the road, astride a tree-shrouded part of the road, Andacc and a small band of his men wait for us. They’re letting other travelers pass them and their gaze is fixed on us. He rides forward, raises his palm.

“News?” I venture.

“Yes. Bad news. I have caught a traitor. Thander Munk tipped us off. I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

“And obviously, you’ve been watching us.” Rorsyd leans on his saddle pommel.

Andacc shrugs. “You’re important people. I said I’d help keep you safe. The other news is that Landos is missing. My messenger birds have been going back and forth all day. It’s highly possible the king’s edgemaster has him. Kroll Krasten. He was trying to get you to come to him using faked messages.”

And that’s an end to this day I had not seen. A chill spreads down my backbone. Blossom shifts under me.

I lick my lips. “Where do we go to find him—Landos.”

“And who do we have to kill?” Rorsyd asks.

Chapter 33

KrollKrasten

“The food was excellent for a campfire meal, Ranald.” Compliments for a job well done. I like to hope such things inspire loyalty in the men. I rise from my camping chair and gesture at the meal. “I’m done.”

The cook bows and backs away with the plate, saying, “Thank you. I try my best, ser.”

Outside the tent, the moon bobs low above the tree canopy, casting spindly shadows. A predator bird shrieks; no doubt it’s caught some small animal. In the lower clearing, where the shambolic house stands, a man sobs. I left the girl’s father in dire straits. I should probably keep him alive until she takes the bait, but I’m itching to do more.

“Ser!” A rider canters in, dismounts, and flings the reins to one of my black-clad men.

Keeping ourselves well hidden in this forest is a must when a dragon might fly overhead.

He trots up to me, panting as if he was the one galloping.

“A message?” This one was stationed to the east. I recognize him. One of the many outposts created to observe for dragon activity. The previous sighting of the pair was weeks ago. From the message sent via Thander Munk, they are in the country.

“Yes, ser. Early yesterday a dragon was seen rising into the sky from a few miles north of Langordin. Someone was seated on its back, the observer thinks. It flew east over the Hogback Mountains toward Frenland. No sign of them returning since then.”

“That would explain the lack of contact from the girl.” Not a surprise. I expected a swift reply and have had nothing. “It seems she is not that attached to her foster father after all. A necromancer.” I bark a laugh. “Expected.”

It’s possible they’ve been hiding Langordin?

The man waits, knowing my words are not for him.

“Return to your post. Advise the captain as you pass him that he is to pull out most of the men, leave forty for my personal guard. We will go to Langordin in the morn. He is to reinforce the checkpoints at Slaedorth and the others where the pair might visit. The ironcaster…” I indicate the grotesque magetech invention that sits on wheels with its treadmill wound with chain and giant spear. The gheist-filled crystal glows dully. “He can take that.”

Might visit.Might is the word here. I’m grasping at straws again. Not knowing where they are is a nuisance. Another task—alerting our spies in Frenland. If they are found, we can drag them back across the border from there. If it annoys their prime minister, so be it.

“Yes, ser!” He runs off.

“Fuck.” I may as well send the father to prison…after some recreational use. In the morning will suffice. A few hours’ sleep might help me formulate a better plan. If they’ve been living inLangordin, or close to it, the pair may have purchased disguises from an illusionist.

Questioning all the illusionists residing between Bollingham and Langordin might yield results.

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