Page 104 of Kingdom of Dance

“Oh, well, I have a more sympathetic reaction to lowlife scum since my secret activities as a street rat,” she said cheerfully.

Obsidian raised an eyebrow. “Lowlife scum, did you call me?” he growled, stepping toward her meaningfully. She held up a hand, and he stopped dead.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing slightly in the light of the crystals. “I know I started it. But I don’t know if I can handle…” She swallowed. “It’s not you I’m unsure about,” she assured him. “If we both survive whatever’s coming, if I’m finally free of Idric…” She shrugged helplessly.

“It’s all right,” Obsidian told her quietly. “I understand.”

And he did. Who knew better than a soldier the exquisite pain of planning a future you knew might never come? He stepped close to Zinnia, putting a hand behind her head and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She leaned into him for a brief moment, then pulled back, her eyes not entirely dry.

“Let’s go,” she said gruffly, and he followed her up the stairs without further comment.

Zinnia left two days later, in company with the rest of the delegation. Obsidian could feel Princess Lilac’s eyes on him as he joined the group bidding the travelers farewell. He made no attempt to speak with her, but he also didn’t approach Zinnia. She would have to read in his eyes all the things he couldn’t say aloud.

A couple of hours after the fanfare of that departure, Obsidian slipped quietly from the castle on a borrowed mare, his rucksack over his shoulder and Prince Amell’s traveling cloak on his back.

The journey to his own home was uneventful, and he rode into the familiar yard just before sunset. He smiled to himself as he pictured his mother’s reaction. He’d sent no warning of his arrival, and he took a wicked delight in catching her off guard. She didn’t emerge as he rode up, meaning she was probably engrossed in preparing her evening meal, or something like that. Obsidian took his borrowed horse to the barn, making quick work of rubbing her down and settling her for the night.

He half expected his mother to appear at any moment, but no figure darkened the barn’s doorway. A little surprised that she hadn’t noticed any of his activities, he made his way to the back door of the house, pushing it open without ceremony.

“Evening! Didn’t expect me, did—”

He broke off abruptly, his eyes widening with horror.

There was no sign of his mother in the small room. Instead, leaning on the scrubbed wooden table, clearly quite at ease, was a figure he’d only seen once before, but had no difficulty recognizing.

Lorne, the fugitive enchanter who’d escaped Fernedell’s magic prison. His hands were lifted before him, power visibly shimmering as he twined it between his fingers like a blurry-edged, glowing thread.

“Actually, Iwasexpecting you,” he said calmly. “But I think maybe you weren’t expecting me.”

“Where’s my mother?” Obsidian snarled, pulling magic to his own fingertips without even thinking about it.

“Oh, she had to go.” Lorne said lazily. “She didn’t seem terribly happy to have me visit again, but she’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

Obsidian frowned as he tried to make sense of the enchanter’s words. “Again?” He drew in a breath. “Youwere the enchanter who came here while I was in Fernedell, masquerading as a guild member.” His eyes narrowed. “If you’ve hurt her—”

The fugitive cut him off with a cold laugh.

“Save the dramatics, Soldier.” His eyes lingered on Obsidian’s hands, clearly sensing the power building there. “She hasn’t been harmed. If you want her to remain that way, I suggest you settle down with that.”

“What do you want with me?” Obsidian growled.

“Personally, nothing at all,” said Lorne, sounding almost bored. “I’d much rather leave you out of the equation. But my, ah, employer is particularly interested in you for some reason.”

Obsidian stilled as understanding washed over him. “You found him,” he said quietly. “You found Idric.” The very fact that he was able to say the name confirmed his guess—Lorne had been brought into the dragon’s circle of secret-bound humans.

The fugitive raised an eyebrow. “Not your standard dumb brute of a soldier, I see. But it would be more accurate to say that he found me. He heard a rumor that I was looking for him, you see.”

He drew one hand up slowly, stretching the strand of intensely potent magic between that hand and the one still resting on his thigh. The power was so overwhelming it seared Obsidian’s awareness like a brand.

“He was very glad to make my acquaintance,” Lorne continued. “But it seems my power—though considerable—was not enough to satisfy him. He wants yours…especially after I helped him acquire a sample of it.”

Obsidian glared at the other man. Clearly Lorne had somehow gotten his hands on some of the crystals he’d unintentionally poured power into the first time Zinnia took him to the caverns. He didn’t know how that had happened, but it wasn’t important.

“Well, he can’t have it,” Obsidian said bluntly. “I want no part of his plans. I’d rather let myself be destroyed, my magic along with me, than use it for that kind of purpose.”

“Very noble,” said Lorne dryly. “But it doesn’t sound quite as admirable when you rephrase it like so—would you truly rather kill your mother than use your power to help our scaled friend?”

Obsidian froze. “If you touch her, I will hunt you down like the animal you are,” he breathed.

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