Page 75 of Kingdom of Dance

Prince Amell ignored this last comment, his eyes fixed on Obsidian. “Lieutenant, could I have a word before you leave?”

Obsidian stood, following the prince from the dining hall and along the corridor. He could see what Princess Tora had meant. Prince Amell walked with an unnecessary bounce, his gait so quick that Obsidian had to hurry to keep up. He led the way up a staircase and along another corridor, before waving Obsidian into what appeared to be his own suite.

“Tora’s right, of course,” he informed a bewildered Obsidian cheerfully, as he strode over to a wooden chest and threw up the lid. “I don’t know what to do with myself while Aurelia’s visiting her family. I have to stop myself from riding to Allenton about five times a day. But she deserves some time with them, so I’m staying put, even if it kills me.”

He straightened, a thick crimson traveling cloak in his hands. Obsidian struggled to keep up with the prince’s words regarding his betrothed, distracted by the excessive amount of power emanating from the garment.

“I’m a little tempted to invite myself back to Tola with you. I’m guessing something big is going on for Basil to send such a message.”

That caught Obsidian’s attention. His eyes flew up to his companion’s, alarmed, but Prince Amell was already moving on.

“But I imagine I’d be in the way. Besides, it’s not long until Aurelia comes back now.” He beamed. “And then it’ll be the wedding at last. So I know it’s no time for me to go running off.”

Relieved, Obsidian let out a silent breath and allowed his attention to return to the cloak.

“Before I explain this,” Prince Amell said, seeing the direction of his gaze, “I want to ask you some questions. You didn’t give me much to work with last night.”

Obsidian watched warily, saying nothing.

“Is Zinnia under some kind of enchantment?”

Obsidian hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I can’t sense any magic on her, but I suspect something of that nature.”

The prince frowned thoughtfully. “Do you sometimes get the impression that she wants to say something, but can’t?”

Obsidian nodded slowly, and the prince gazed pensively out the window.

“If she’s under some kind of silencing magic, she has my sympathy,” he said. “I know the feeling, and it’s maddening.” He shook his head slightly, holding out the cloak. “I want you to have this. I don’t have any need for it at present, and it might be useful to you and Basil.”

Obsidian stared at it, trying to assess the nature of the magic that was woven into its every thread. It was potent, much more powerful than anything he’d ever produced.

“What is it?”

“It’s the help I received from the dragons,” said Prince Amell simply. “Rekavidur—the yellow one—breathed magic into it and turned it into a powerful artifact. It counteracts concealment magic. If you’re wearing it, and you come across something that’s been magically hidden, it should reveal it for you. But it has its limits,” he warned. “Although the silencing enchantments that have affected several royals seem to be concealment magic of a kind, the cloak doesn’t appear to help with those. So I doubt it will allow Zinnia to speak freely.”

Obsidian’s heart beat a little faster. A dragon artifact? It was a dangerous object—physical evidence of the secret Zinnia had told him, of the dragons who’d broken the agreement. But it was also a rare opportunity to get his hands on something so powerful. If he could just find a way to be present the next time the princesses did whatever they did in secret, he might have his answers at last.

“It’s a generous gift, Your Highness,” he said. “And I would never accept it on my own behalf. But I don’t think I should turn it down on King Basil’s.”

“Good man,” said Prince Amell, clapping him on the shoulder.

He held out the cloak, and Obsidian took it a little hesitantly. The crimson fabric pooled across his arm like blood, glinting with gold from the rich embroidery. He supposed the safest way to keep it close was to wear it, but he would feel foolish riding through the kingdom in that. A quick glance at Prince Amell showed the young man completely at ease in an orange tunic the color of a sunset. But Fernedellians were all like that. Obsidian felt much more comfortable in his inconspicuous black.

I’m told the maids find your grimly mysterious air quite dreamy.

Grimacing at the remembered teasing, Obsidian thanked the prince again and made his escape. Within an hour, he was riding out of Fernford, heading south.

Wishing to avoid notice as much as possible, he spent his first night on the road at a different inn from the one where he’d stayed on the way north. He got a bit more attention in his fine cloak—marking him inaccurately as a wealthy traveler—but no one hassled him. The second night, of course, he once again broke his journey at his own home. If anything, after his visit to yet another royal castle, it was even more surreal to ride up the lane to the sight of his mother carrying a squirming chicken in her arms.

“Don’t tell me the enchantment’s run out on the henhouse,” he said by way of greeting, dismounting beside her.

“No,” she said cheerfully. “The enchantment seems to be intact—nothing’s gettingin. But they’ve managed to make a hole in the side again. This one’s determined to be free.”

“Wise hen,” Obsidian commented dryly. “She can tell that she’s tomorrow night’s dinner.”

“Of course she’s not,” his mother scolded. She flashed him a grin. “I’m saving that feast for when you come home properly. I’ll need to put on a good spread to impress you after all your fine dining with royalty.”

Obsidian rolled his eyes, even as he reached out to give his mother a quick hug. She returned it, looking up at him in surprise.

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