Page 15 of Caress of Fire
“It is priceless,” Henron answered, his voice steady and controlled, even though Fedryc knew this room, this very castle, was a dead ringer for the life Henron had lost. The life Henron had been cast out of, never to be contacted again. “My mother would have sold half her kingdom for this.”
“Lord Aymond loved books,” Fedryc stated, then turned away from the shelves. “Too bad the books didn’t love him back.”
Behind him, Nyra blew a cloud of warmth, signaling without a doubt that she shared his feelings. Lord Aymond Haal had loved these books, collected them over a period of more than two hundred years, cherished and cared for them. His hand dropped and Fedryc turned away from the precious volumes. He felt like an intruder in this room, one his father had obviously spent a lot of time in, but he also knew it was likely to have been one of the last places his father had been in. This room could contain clues as to who murdered him—and why.
With a heavy heart, Fedryc sat down at his father’s desk, a costly piece of furniture made of Eryan wood, a material that went extinct during the Civil Chasm, imported directly from Dagmar. The red and orange grain of the precious wood was smooth under his palm, speaking volumes about a time long past when Draekons ruled the world like Gods on the back of their dragons, while Delradons crawled in the face of their power. A time Lord Aymond may have been nostalgic for, but which repulsed Fedryc to the core.
Fedryc looked up to see Henron walking around, studying the books on the shelves, lost in his own past.
Nyra came closer, sniffing the priceless item then dismissing it as an object of little importance. The dragoness turned herself around twice, then settled in the large circle at the center of the room, where Nissar had probably slept countless hours as Lord Aymond worked on the affairs of the kingdom.
Looking away from the beast, Fedryc rummaged inside the first drawer. It was full of old scrolls and official-looking stamps. All the tools used by a High Lord to rule efficiently.
It was of no immediate interest.
Henron came to help him sort through the documents. Two more drawers contained the same kind of items. Ledgers, recordings of deeds and loans, lands sold and rented. Hours passed as Fedryc scanned the papers, read names after names of his citizens, glanced at official paperwork until nothing made sense anymore. Exhausted, he pushed the drawers closed, then sat back on the comfortable chair that was molded to his father’s back.
“We’re not going to find anything tonight.” Henron spoke as he closed an accounting ledger focused on agriculture. “We can start again in the morning. We should rest.”
Fedryc shook his head. “I don’t have the luxury of rest.”
He glanced at his wrist commu-link and saw that it was nearly three in the morning. He had been awake for too long, hadn’t slept since stepping inside the transport ship from Dagmar. Nyra’s vital energy flowed easily through the link, keeping him alert and strong, but his mind was tired.
Tired and mostly frustrated. He had been so sure he would find something, anything. Henron, for his part, was hanging on by a thread. Lacking the vital strength of the dragon link, he sorely needed a good night’s sleep. “You go and rest. I will continue.”
“One more hour, then,” Henron answered after a long yawn. “If I let you find something without me, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He smiled that grin that had cemented their friendship all those years ago. That grin that said he was up for anything, and screw the consequences.
“Let’s get to work then.”
There was only one drawer left and Fedryc bent over it, expecting to find the same useless papers as before. He pulled it open then frowned, finding it empty except for an envelope bearing the official seals of the Haal family and the Office of Human-Delradon relations. He extracted it delicately and lifted the broken seal to study the contents of the letter.
“It’s a genetic compatibility letter.”
The one that makes Marielle my father’s mate, when she should be mine.
Again, Fedryc shook his head against the intrusive thought.
What is happening to me? I shouldn’t be obsessing over a human woman. I should be obsessing over my father’s murder.
Fedryc kept reading, then he heard the chair fall down behind him as he stood up, unable to look away from the paper. Nyra moved, her sapphire eyes settling on him, lazy with sleep and annoyance at being awoken from her slumber.
Henron watched him with serious eyes, all traces of humor gone from his face.
“Lord Aymond had to have kept it,” Henron said, but got to his feet to look down at the paper. After a long, stunned silence, his friend spoke again. “But it’s not for your father.”
Fedryc met Henron’s stare, then Nyra’s eyes as the dragoness shed her sleepiness and stared at him with curiosity.
“It’s mine. Marielle was not compatible with my father, she was compatible with me.”
* * *
Marielle clutchedthe small pouch of water and the folded piece of linen containing the bread and dry sausage Silva had hastily pushed into her arms before closing the small servants’ door on her.
Her breath came in short puffs of condensation and a cold desert wind blew over her shoulders, easily getting inside the silk of her dress. She shivered, her teeth chattering so hard it hurt, and she clutched the meager supplies even harder.
I shouldn’t have left so hastily. I didn’t even ask Silva for a warm blanket.
But it was too late.
