Page 5 of Haunted

“It’s taken care of.”

I grunt. “Who?”

“Commander Meuric personally took him. As a token of thanks.”

No. What if she knows this is all my idea? He’ll kill Siarl.

I call to my dragon. Neifion. I need you to make sure Siarl’s safe.

I can’t. If I leave to check on him, it’ll look suspicious. I’m to wait until you’re well enough so I can fly you to court.

So it’s to be torment. A slow recovery, I say.

So she can assess your loyalty. Neifion huffs.

Never fear. She can’t see through me.

No one can.

Because I’m a master of deception.

4

In three days, I recover enough to fly on Neifion. I’m weak, but not enough that I’ll fall out of the saddle. My recovery wasn’t without fretting. My concern over Lord Siarl sticks with me, but my lord’s smart. He’ll do well in my absence and stay safe.

The empress left one little maiden to care for me, to make my meals. The rest of the empress’s entourage packed up and left for Caer, her stronghold. I don’t know if I should feel grateful or not to be left without her abrasive presence when I could have been healed and on my way.

I stretch outside the tent. My muscles are stiff, but the wound is mostly healed. A dragon rider, my sole guard, tears down the tent.

My dark gray dragon waits, lounging at the grotto’s edge. I touch the matching dragon stone around my neck and smile in his direction. Neifion has untold amounts of patience.

Bored much? I ask.

He blows out a tendril of smoke. I’m never bored when I’m scheming.

I chuckle to myself and then turn to the maiden, who’s folding some fabric to pack away. “Well, Meirion, are you ready?”

“Yes, my lord.” She’s human. Has she ever been on a dragon?

“Caedryn. I’m not a lord.” I’ve tried to get her to stop calling me that for the past few days.

I slide into the saddle on Neifion’s back, with the help of his leg lifting me. The movement pulls briefly at my wound, but I ignore it. I reach for Meirion, and she awkwardly slips into the saddle in front of me. She grips my arm tightly when I wrap them around her. She’s scared. It must be a first flight. I send a few calming emotions toward her so I don’t end up bruised by the end of the trip, which will be a few hours.

I shudder as I relax into my seat. Going to the stronghold of Caer, nestled between the volcanic ridges of Morvith, represents a finality. There’s no going back after this.

Lord Siarl told me to be bold as long as I’m not defying the empress’s authority. He told me she surrounds herself with confident lackeys. Her favor will fall on me if I assert myself properly.

After several hours of flight and one side trip to take Meirion to her home, I arrive in Caer. The place reeks of sulfur. The smell isn’t something I’ll ever grow used to. Neifion shuffles off, no doubt in search of a meal. He doesn’t need to hang around. I’m here for the long haul, at the empress’s command.

I argue with the guards in the great hall about my presence, assuring them the empress expects me. “I’m ambassador for Creiddylad. I’m reporting for duty to Her Highness’s court.”

One of the guards, dressed in black leather, grabs my doublet and pulls me close. His breath stinks of roasted pig and turnips, but I don’t flinch away. I stare into his eyes just as he stares into mine. This guard is a half-emrys with much light in his heart-center; he can sense my light as much as I can sense his.

After a pinched inhalation, he releases me, having discerned the truth inside me. “Her Highness is in the discussion room.” He gestures to a door down the hall.

I jerk my head in acknowledgment and straighten my doublet. I stride away from him and reach another set of guards at the doorway. Their jaws drop in objection, and I don’t blame them because their job is to stop me. The guards are unprepared when I lift my hands and release my heart-center’s dark energy, which shoves them aside. They nearly topple to the floor, but I ignore them as I thrust the doors open.

Ambassadors sit around the table, and their scribes and pages sit on the sidelines. The empress paces in the front of the room, spouting a sermon about loyalty. As she whips around to face me, her cloak swishing, I catch the vehemence in her expression. My entrance cut her off. No one interrupts the empress without regretting his foolishness.

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