Page 32 of Killian
Something significant had happened in the castle. In the past few days, no guard had ventured out to the garden where Dravyn toiled. He was past due to go flying, and his dragon was antsy. Although Dravyn feared someone might be watching him through the slits that served as windows, he had discreetly tried to free himself from his restraints.
Thus far, it was proving an impossible task, but it was not as if Dravyn had other things to occupy his mind. Escape was a wonderful dream he clung to, and he easily imagined himself being reunited with the D’Vaires he had not seen in over a hundred and fifty years. There was no way he would leave them behind.
He had sworn an oath as a Duke, and Dravyn took his honor seriously. It was all he had to offer beyond his skills with vegetation. Despite being forced to spend his days and nights surrounded by dirt and leaves, Dravyn had not lost his love of gardening. He considered that a boon. Had his passion faded, he surely would have lost any hold on his sanity.
He checked—for perhaps the seventieth time since awakening that morning—under the bench where he kept the magical paper a druid from another lifetime had handed him. Dravyn slid his hand down and jiggled the thick chain attached to his manacle. Too many years of wearing it had left behind toughened calluses and deeply embedded scars on the fragile skin around his ankle.
A second later, he pulled his arm away and fixed his gaze on the sodden ground. Dravyn wasn’t sure what had alerted him to having company outside, but he dearly hoped they had not arrived as he fiddled with his restraint.
“Dravyn!” called out a voice he barely remembered.
Lifting his chin sharply, Dravyn’s mouth dropped open as he spotted a ragged Brogan running toward him. He was flanked by Duke Zane and a dragon Dravyn didn’t recognize. It was impossible to believe he’d seen the man before; he would have recalled a man with a beast in such a rich shade of dark aqua.
“Brogan?” Dravyn whispered.
“Yes, hurry now,” Brogan said. “Bernal is dead. We must be away.”
Duke Zane bent and growled as he tried to figure out which key on the thick ring he held would unlock the shackle on Dravyn’s ankle.
“Bernal is dead?” Dravyn echoed.
“Aye,” Duke Zane stated flatly. “His throat slit while he slept. I wish I could say I held the blade that ended his life, but he slept with guards posted outside his bedchamber, and they would not allow even his only son near him alone.”
“This is Marcus,” Brogan remarked, pointing at the stranger. “He is coming with us.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dravyn. Zane has told me much about you and your court,” Marcus offered kindly. “I must mention that, like Zane, my father was a traitor. Whoever wasintent on ending Bernal’s life reached my parents’ bedchamber too. They are dead.”
“Duke Zane has proven himself to be a kind man of his word. If he trusts you, I will do the same,” Dravyn offered. Although he did not know Duke Zane well, the man had visited him at least monthly. The drakeling who’d gained a dukedom too young had shifted into a black beast well-deserving of his title. Bernal had turned his son into a Duke, but he did not allow him to fulfill his promised role as advisor and guard. His coronet served as little more than decoration, according to Duke Zane.
“Have you anything to take with you?” Brogan asked, patting Dravyn kindly on the shoulder as Duke Zane cursed and continued his quest to unlock the manacle.
Dravyn’s gaze drifted to the spot where he’d hidden Killian the Dwyer’s paper. Did he dare? If he left it behind, how would he ever find his mate again?
“I buried something,” Dravyn muttered, shifting his body to dig it up with his bare hands.
Would magick have saved it from deteriorating? That question was answered swiftly as a corner of it became visible. With a small smile, Dravyn snagged the thin stack and hugged it to his chest. His fear of sorcery had not faded, but he’d lived far too much of his life alone. If he reached out, would Killian ever forgive him for his silence these many years?
“Finally,” Duke Zane snarled as he lifted the heavy iron from Dravyn’s limb.
Dravyn had been tethered so long that he hardly knew what to do or how to feel about being free. His dragon roared triumphantly in his head, and he promised himself he would take better care of his beast. If possible, he would fly for hours each time he spread his wings. Man and dragon would find accord again. There was no other option.
“Come, we must hurry. Madeline is easy to find. Her shop is close to here,” Duke Zane insisted as he and Brogan aided Dravyn in getting to his feet.
“Her swords are the finest weapons made,” Marcus commented as the trio raced out of the garden.
“And she was paid not a single coin for her work,” Duke Zane snarled.
As they approached a row of ramshackle stalls where people displayed what little they had to barter with, a woman with dark hair and a vivid blue gaze stuck her head out. When she laid eyes on Brogan and Dravyn, she lifted her hands as if in prayer. Then she plucked a thick leather bag off a hook and filled it with tools.
“I heard Bernal was dead,” Madeline said once they were in earshot. “I wondered what had become of everyone else in the castle. It is good to lay eyes on you four.”
Marcus smiled. “I was not sure you would remember me.”
“Who could forget a dragon of such color? You were often here, ordering weapons for your father and his fellow guards. I also recall your kindness. We need to get Larissa.”
“Of course,” Duke Zane said. “I would not dream of allowing you to be separated from her for another minute.”
“Go to the kitchen,” Madeline ordered. “I will meet you there with my mate.”
