Page 92 of Dragon Fight

“What?” I asked, searching their faces. “What?”

“All have the same accent, these new lads do,” Marcus continued. “That was strange enough at the start. You lot try to mix people up from the different duchies to—”

“Facilitate cohesion.” Brom’s voice was little more than a whisper. “So that they fight for the king, not their duchy.”

“Except those ones don’t.” Marcus jerked his head to the barricade of sharpened logs running around the perimeter of the garrison. “And they all talk just like you,” he added, staring hard at Brom.

Brom. Harlstonians. That was what had become clear and I stared at the garrison with new eyes. All armed forces within the capital belonged to the king, but each duke kept a standing army, ready to be deployed at notice from the king.

Well, mostly.

We’d had blessedly few civil wars, because the might of dragons was usually enough to stifle individual ducal ambitions, but now? If the queen herself had ordered her brother’s troops inside the city to occupy garrisons that had been emptied of the king’s men…

“The wing commander is still right. Whoever’s inside there, we outrank them.” Soren buffed his knuckles across the gleaming insignias at his breast. “Even if they’re the duke’s men, I’m assuming she doesn’t want to show her cards by having her men block us from entering. We can demand entrance.”

“And that’s why I brought you here,” Marcus said with a grin, then held out his hand to Ged. “Ten gold coins, I think we agreed.”

“I owe you nine and you’ll get it the minute we ascertain whether or not the intel is good,” Ged replied.

“Well, off you go then.” Marcus shooed at us like we were children.

“Pippin needs to stay here,” Soren said. “We can't take her into a bloody enemy garrison.”

“Yes, leave the girl here,” Marcus purred. “I’d love a bit of company and you lot are a little too… brawny for my tastes.”

“Pippin—” Brom started to say.

“That sentence better end with ‘decides her own fate’, or I’ll take Marcus up on his generous offer to show me the sights of the dockland pubs,” I replied firmly.

“When did I offer…? Oh.”

Marcus grinned wickedly at me, then offered me his arm. I glided over and placed a hand on it to push my message home, and was rewarded by the sounds of my men’s growls as well as the muscular flex of Marcus’ arm under my grip. Apparently thieving worked a man hard. Of course, Marcus had to over-egg the custard and slide his arm around my waist, tucking me into his side.

Glimmer snickered inside my mind.Taunting your mates? You are more dragon than you think.

“Pippin should be with us, always.” Flynn’s words came out in a rush as his patience broke. He stormed over to pull me from Marcus' grip and over to where the rest of them stood. “We’ve always fought best together.” He glanced at the garrison gate. “We do the same now.”

“Stay close,” Brom instructed me seriously. “No wandering off or any hare-brained schemes.” I snorted at that. “We stay together. Now, we need to come up with a pretext for why we want access to the garrison at this hour, especially with Pippin dressed as she is and with a dragon in tow.”

We discussedpossible ideas as we walked up to the gate but, as we bickered over which one was the best, a familiar sound stopped us dead. My skirts were swept hither and thither by the massive gusts of wing that marked the approach of a dragon, then Darkspire landed on the road beside us.

“Draven.” Did Brom realise there was a small note of longing in his voice when he murmured the prince’s name; that it was always there? Perhaps I was the only one to hear it because I knew what to look for. But then, I also felt something similar, a wrenching inside me, as I watched Draven drop down from ‘Spire’s saddle, his casual elegance all the more devastating now. Because I knew exactly what kinds of pleasures that body could pull from mine. My husband recovered himself quickly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Whatever else the prince might have been about to say was paused as his gaze roamed over me. Those ice-blue eyes took in every inch of my dress and the body within it. Was there a thawing of his gaze or was I simply imagining it? No, there it was, that intense heat he’d lavished upon me only days ago. Rather than melt beneath it, as I had then, I straightened up, staring him down. In my mind I demanded answers, so many bloody answers, but my lips remained resolutely sealed. Draven frowned slightly, then met Brom’s gaze.

“An anonymous tipoff told me that the lads have been moved here. They’re not in the bloody castle, I know that for certain. I’ve become more acquainted with the dungeons than I would’ve thought possible.” He glanced up at the gates. “Somewhere like this makes sense. Far away enough that I wouldn’t find them, close enough that the cadets can be produced and used as an incentive to ensure my compliance.”

“And filled with Harlstonians. Always convenient,” Flynn snapped.

“What?” That was genuine surprise on Draven’s face, but before he could interrogate that further, a voice called out from a platform near the top of the wall.

“Who goes there?”

“Your prince,” was Draven’s dry reply, which was met with a series of excited mutterings. The gates opened moments later, flush-faced soldiers ushering us in.

“Your Highness.” One of the men attempted a bow but it was poorly executed, the other just gaped.

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