Page 20 of A Matter of Destiny

I scream, but the sound is lost in the hissing crackle of magical fire.

Chapter11

Doshir

“Mother?” I ask before nudging the door open, even though this is my house and my mother is bedridden. It’s not like she could be up to anything embarrassing.

There’s no answer, so after a few moments of awkward silence I push the door open with my foot and walk in, the tray holding the teakettle raised in front of my chest like a shield. My mother is awake, just as Ailen had said, and her color looks a bit better this evening. Perhaps. I’d like to think.

“I brought you some tea,” I announce, although that’s quite obvious from the tray in my hands and the scent of strong black tea curling through the evening shadows that fill her room.

My mother turns her head slowly, and I get the impression even that small motion hurts. Her skin looks like it’s been pulled tight, so that I can see the contours of her bones beneath her human form. It’s rather unsettling. I distract myself by pouring a cup of tea, then holding it to her lips. She takes a sip, then closes her eyes.

“Doshir,” she whispers. “Why am I here?”

“This is my house,” I reply.

Her eyes narrow, and there it is. All the ferocity of the black dragon who’d been the Queen’s Champion comes through in her dark scowl. Mothers, for all I know she might still be the Queen’s Champion; I don’t exactly keep up with who is filling what role in the Council of the Iron Mountains. I don’t even know who’s serving as queen right now.

“It’s not safe,” she growls.

I take a deep breath. I am not going to have an argument with my badly injured mother. Not tonight, at any rate.

“It’s perfectly safe,” I reply. “This is the most secure neighborhood in Cairncliff. Plus, I’ve hired additional guards.”

Her eyes spit fire at me.

“We escaped Rensivar,” she snarls. “The only place that might be safe for us now is the Iron Mountains.”

“That’s not true,” I snap.

Her eyes widen slightly, and I force myself to take another deep breath. She’s not used to pushback, my mother. None of the members of the Council are.

“Your letter said the only one I could trust in the Iron Mountains was the Historian,” I say, keeping my voice level. “But the Historian is gone. Thus, there’s no one we can trust inside the Iron Mountains.”

Mother turns her head toward the window, where an evening breeze shakes the honeysuckle branches that spread lazily across that side of the house. I squash the momentary urge to point out the goldfinch nest tangled in the branches in the upper right corner of that window; now is not the time.

“They wouldn’t dare oppose me publicly,” Mother says.

Some of the fire has gone out of her voice. I find I miss it. I set the teacup down on the tray, lower myself to the edge of her bed, and reach for her hand. Stars above, how she must hate this. The mighty Champion of the Iron Mountains, trapped in her human form. Convalescing next to a honeysuckle bush.

“Unless they thought you were weak,” I say, as gently as I can manage.

Mother sighs, soft and low, like the fluttering of a bird’s wing.

“Why don’t you recover here?” I ask. “Wait until you’re stronger. Can you send a message to someone in the Iron Mountains—”

But my voice dies in my throat as she shakes her head.

“I don’t dare,” she replies, in a voice that’s scarcely more than a whisper. “The usual channels have been compromised. I had no idea he’d gotten so… far into… the Council.”

“Rensivar?” I guess.

Mother nods. A month ago, I would have laughed at the idea of Rensivar infiltrating the Council of the Iron Mountains. Rensivar the Wicked was a monster from history, a story everyone only half believed. Hells, nobody thought the Mad Dragon who’d build the barrier that trapped an entire elven in the Lands Below was still alive. The Council had banished him, after all. That was the entire reason for the Council’s existence.

“How?” I whisper.

But my mother has closed her eyes, and her head sinks back on the pillow. Her breath evens out as sleep claims her once again. And as I come to my feet, pick up the tray, and head for the door as quietly as possible, it occurs to me thathowis perhaps the wrong question. I would, of course, love to know how the legendary Wicked Dragon managed to infiltrate the very Council that was created to destroy him, but that’s not our most pressing concern.

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