Page 63 of Kingdom of Dance

Zinnia’s heart was racing. She had to agree with the unknown informant that it sounded like this Lorne really did know something about the identity of the figure behind the overly powerful curses. Was the enchanter just talking big, or did he already know he was looking for a dragon? The woodworker had told her last time that he asked about the creatures.

She groaned internally. Overhearing this conversation did her no good. She already knew the answer to the fugitive’s question. She hadn’t expected him to be here—the most she’d expected was to pick up his trail, and to hope that the informants had sent him on a course that Basil would be able to follow. Butthisconversation was what Basil needed to overhear. If only she could have brought someone with her, someone unaffected by the restrictions that sealed her mouth. But she would never have been able to convince anyone to let her go, let alone come themselves.

Before she could decide what best to do, the enchanter below her stiffened.

“What’s that?” Lorne demanded.

“What’s what?” His companion sounded baffled.

“You think you can trap me?” Lorne turned furiously on the two men with whom he was speaking. “Did you really think I wouldn’t sense magic as soon as it came near?”

He lifted his hands, muttering darkly, and light began to glow from his palms.

The other men stepped back, looking wary. “Watch it, now! What are you doing?”

“Who have you brought here?” Lorne demanded. He threw an arm out, and with a cry, the two other men froze in place, clearly prevented from moving. “Tell me!” Lorne roared.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” one of them managed through gritted teeth.

Lorne ignored him. “It’s above us,” he muttered.

Before Zinnia could move, he looked sharply upward, his eyes widening at the sight of her half-covered face peering down at him. She had no time to react before his hand shot in her direction. Of course, it stopped far short of her elevated position, but it felt nonetheless as though his fingers had closed around her throat.

Coughing and gagging, she felt herself dragged down through the hole she’d made, the broken tiles scraping painfully on her sides as she toppled to the ground. Her landing was too slow to be natural—the whole experience was unnervingly bizarre, like the enchanter had simply reached up and grabbed her, pulling her down as easily as if she’d been at the height of his shoulders.

She scrambled to her feet, pulling out her knife, though she knew it was a feeble match for the man’s magic. She had no idea what had given her away. It wasn’t as though she was carrying an artifact—she didn’t even own such a thing. But that didn’t matter now. Clearly she’d been caught, and the only thing to do was deal with whatever was coming.

“Ah,” said Lorne, a glint in his eyes. “I believe I’ve heard of you from our mutual friend. Are you the little girl who fancies herself some kind of investigator? Been asking about me, I hear.”

Zinnia just scowled, not surprised enough to even feel angry at the absent woodworker for ratting her out.

“I did hope we’d meet,” Lorne went on. “I wonder,” his eyes dwelled on the small part of her face visible above the fabric, “do you know anything worth my while? Perhaps you’ve found some answers of your own that you might like to share?” He reached forward, his eyes still on the cloth. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

Zinnia slashed out with her dagger, aiming for his hand. With a laugh, the man raised the other arm, and the weapon collided with an invisible wall. Zinnia’s hand seized painfully, the knife clattering to the floor.

“I don’t think so, my dear,” Lorne said indulgently. “I don’t mind hurting you, if that’s what’s necessary. But it will certainly be much quicker and simpler if you just give me exactly what I want.”

Zinnia gave a bitter laugh, her fear swept away by the defiance racing powerfully through her. She’d spent a year and a half rebelling against Idric at every turn, and she fully believed her efforts were worthwhile, even though they cost her considerably and only minimally inconvenienced the dragon. Did this man really think he could cow her so easily? Compared to Idric, he was a gnat.

“I’m not especially inclined to make it quicker or simpler for you,” she informed him. “If you want to hurt me, you’ll do it no matter what I give you. And believe me, whatever you do to me, I’ve endured worse.”

Lorne’s eyes glinted appreciatively, but before he could respond, something seemed to once again catch his attention from above. His head flicked upward, his eyes narrowing as they searched the rafters.

Before Zinnia understood what was happening, a dark form crashed through a hole much bigger than the one she’d left. Something invisible seemed to sweep around the space, knocking the two still-frozen men onto their backs. Lorne’s arms moved frantically, only just getting his formless shield up in time.

Zinnia let out an involuntary cry as the newcomer grabbed her cloak from behind. But the man only yanked her backward, stepping in between her and Lorne. He started muttering words Zinnia didn’t recognize, raising his hands before him.

The fugitive stared back at him for a moment, then abruptly turned and sprinted for the door. Zinnia expected the black-clad figure to chase him, but instead he turned to the other two men. They were struggling to their feet, clearly freed from Lorne’s magic.

One of them ran at the figure, a blade appearing in his hand before Zinnia could blink. She assumed the unknown enchanter would use magic to fight him off, but again he surprised her. He pulled a short sword from his own side, deflecting the attack with expert speed.

Seeing the second informant attempting to circle behind her champion, she called a warning. But he clearly didn’t need it. He’d already begun to spin, and she could only watch astonished as he swiftly disarmed his attacker and knocked him to the ground with a well-aimed blow from the hilt of his short sword.

He spun back around to face the first man, his blade moving so quickly she didn’t comprehend that he’d slashed the other man’s arm until she heard his anguished cry. The informant staggered back, clutching his wound, and for a moment her rescuer hesitated, glancing from the two men to Zinnia.

Seeming to come to a decision, he sheathed his sword and reached for her hand. She didn’t even try to resist as he tugged her out into another room, where a workshop was in full operation despite the hour. Startled cries greeted their arrival, but they ignored them, running full tilt toward the door at the far end of the room, which led outside.

It was only as they burst into the night, the cold air fresh against the sweat on Zinnia’s forehead, that she suddenly realized why the hand in hers was vaguely familiar.

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