Daybreak (2 page)

Ulric’s voice disappeared with a
whoosh
. He must’ve pulled out of the spell to speak to His Majesty. Devin knew he would only have a precious few moments before Ulric’s voice returned — and he planned to make the most of it.

He climbed one jagged edge of the tower, the highest point he could reach. The thick fall of snow made things more difficult. But if he focused his gaze, he could see quite a ways down the mountain. Had it not been for the clouds, he bet he could’ve seen into the Kingdom.

There was a whole world beyond the fortress in Midlan: miles of land, thousands of faces, realms upon realms of sights. He remembered watching them drift through the Seer’s scrying bowl. He’d longed to see them for himself.
 

But Devin would never get to walk among these lands. No, the King would keep him tethered to the skies and only bring him down when it suited his task.
Perhaps, if he had enough little moments like these, he might be able to piece them together someday and pretend he’d seen it all …

But he doubted it.

Devin was about to climb down when a spot of blue drew his eyes to the south. He thought it was only a crop of that strange stone, at first. But then it moved.

His eyes sharpened onto the creature’s graceful, serpentine body — tracing its blue scales from its wide nostrils to the tip of its stout tail. Spines grew down its back. They didn’t stand straight, but curved in arches. They sprouted from a line of white fur that started at its horns and stopped just short of its tail. Other mats of white curled from its chest and the bottom of its proud snout. But what surprised Devin most about the creature were its eyes.

They cut through the curtain of snow and fell upon him. The creature’s black, slitted pupils widened as they roved across his face — and froze when they touched his stare.  

It was like gazing into a pool of water, except the reflection he saw wasn’t warped by the ripples or darkened by the earth. The eyes that met his were a pure unfettered blue. They were …
Devin’s
eyes …

His mother’s eyes …

The creature’s furry chest swelled and Devin nearly fell off his perch when a ghostly hum rose from its throat:

Welcome, flyer
, it sang. Its song pierced the clouds, rode across the frozen wastes upon a wind of its own.
Welcome home
.

Winter’s grip had begun to tighten. Snow lay thickly beneath the Grandforest’s trees, the mark of an unreasonably cold and dreary turn. The lake had disappeared beneath a shield of ice. It would be ages before the wind could stir the water to ripple and wave once more. But though its hold was strong, the winter would eventually fade.
 

Countess D’Mere feared that the storm breaking upon her now might never end.

An impenetrable night draped over her castle: its face was torn of stars and the moon sulked behind it. The lake, usually alive and glittering at this hour, was nothing more than a sunken pit — a shadow so dark that it stood out from the rest.

But though the sky didn’t offer so much as a ray of ghostly light, the world had lights of its own.

D’Mere glared at the fires that glowed in the village across the lake. There were enough to hem the water in an arch of flame. Tents packed Lakeshore’s narrow streets and lined its dock. Cook fires flickered between the tops of the tents, winking from a distance.

Taunting her.

D’Mere drew the curtains tightly and paced to a second window. From here, she could see the courtyard and the castle’s wide front gate. Her soldiers paced uncertainly across the ramparts — their helmets shining against the lights of other cook fires glowing just outside the walls.

Laughter rose in a swell to drift through the window. D’Mere clenched the ledge tightly as the noise reached her ears, grounding her palms against the stone until her arms began to shake.

Midlan patrols often camped at Lakeshore in the spring — but it was far from spring, and this was no patrol.

D’Mere’s spies warned her a week ago that Midlan’s army had begun to spill from its gates. She thought it odd that the King hadn’t summoned her. Surely if Crevan meant to go to war with Titus, he would’ve called upon the forest for aid. In fact, she’d been counting on it.

Now that the other rulers were slain and the seas had … refused, an offer of treaty, Crevan had nowhere else to turn. He would
have
to call upon D’Mere — and she would see to it that his army fell into Titus’s trap.

But she discovered too late that she’d been fooled.
 

Her plan hadn’t worked. She’d wagered far too much on Crevan’s fury. She’d been certain that Titus’s betrayal would drive him to the summit, where the elements and the wilds would devour his army. But Midlan wasn’t going to the mountains at all.

No, Crevan planned to go to war with the
Kingdom
, to tighten the reins and bring every region back under his control. The battles would be bloody and quick. With the thrones of the Sovereign Five broken, there wasn’t an army left that could stand against the wrath of the King — and D’Mere’s army was no exception.

Crevan insisted that he’d sent his men into the Grandforest for her protection. The letter that’d arrived along with his army was dripping with concerns for her safety: what if the war spilled over into the Grandforest? What if militants marched upon his final ruler in revolt? Crevan wasn’t prepared to take that chance.

But D’Mere knew it was all a lie. The soldiers camped far too thickly in the village, far too boldly before her gates. They questioned anyone who left and inspected every ware the merchants brought inside. D’Mere had a feeling that if she tried to leave, she would be locked away. And if she so much as twitched to fight, there were enough soldiers gathered in Lakeshore to slaughter every man, woman, and child twice over — and they would move at Crevan’s nod.

She was being held prisoner, a captive in her own realm …

A calloused hand wrapped around one of D’Mere’s shaking arms. She knew its touch well enough to feel the question in its hold. “Crevan must’ve figured out about Titus’s monsters. By spy or bird, his eyes have somehow reached the mountains’ top. He knows that I’ve betrayed him. So he’s trapped me here and left Titus to rot at the summit. That’s all I can think of.”

The hand tightened.

“No.” D’Mere smirked, and her anger cooled. “No, Crevan won’t kill me. He
fears
me. He knows a battle with the Grandforest would leave him sore, and he’d much rather take me alive. He’ll trap me here until I give myself up.”

The hand fell away, and D’Mere turned to glare at the young man beside her: a forest man with short-cropped hair and a slightly crooked nose. When his dark eyes roved to the lights beyond the castle gates, D’Mere shook her head.

“You’d be killed before you could do me any good, Left. Our moment will come — I promise it will,” she said when his brows snapped low. “Just give me time.”

They stood silently for a moment before Left reached for her again. His head turned expectantly to the door. A moment later, it opened.

D’Mere wasn’t at all surprised when a second forest man stepped through — one who matched Left down to the angle of his crooked nose. The twins had always been connected strangely. They seemed able to sense each other’s presence, seemed to know when the other had come to harm. They’d never once spoken a word.

But she supposed they didn’t have to.

D’Mere frowned at Right. “What is it? You’re supposed to be watching the village.”

He stepped aside to let another man through.

Filth coated him so thickly that he left prints across the chamber floors. There was grime caked beneath his nails and in the creases of his arms. The hems of his trousers hung in tatters. His face was cloaked, but D’Mere knew from his plain black garb that he was one of her spies. There was a muted emblem in the clasp of his cloak — set so shallowly that only a certain angle of light would give its shape away.
 

When the man twisted to shut the door, the light caught it and she saw a burning sun upon the clasp. It seemed her agent from the desert had finally returned. She’d sent him away months ago to discover what had become of Baron Sahar — and for his sake, she hoped he’d discovered something useful.

“Well?” she snapped as he shuffled towards her.

The spy didn’t answer. He stopped a few paces short and froze. His body swayed and his hands hung limply at his sides.

He staggered backwards when D’Mere shoved him. “Are you
drunk
? Answer me!”

The spy stood, wavering for such a long moment that D’Mere was about to have him locked away. She would wait to execute him when he was sober. But just before she could give the order, a voice whispered from beneath the spy’s hood.

It gurgled inside his throat and came out in a strangled hiss: “I’m … coming for you … D’Mere.”

Her chest tightened; her throat went dry. “What do you mean?”

The spy laughed — or rather, he tried to. But the noise sounded as if he choked on blood. His hand inched toward the dagger in his belt. “D’Mere … D’Mere,” he
tsk
ed. “You knew what the boy was … didn’t you? Convinced me to spare him … left me to die.
Me
, your closest ally.”

Ice snaked through her veins, growing colder as the voice continued. Left pulled on her arm, but her legs were too frozen to move.

“I want him … need him for my army … you owe me that much. And I mean … to take what is owed. D’Mere … D’Mere …” The spy gripped the dagger’s hilt as his voice crept into an eerie, gloating song: “I’m coming for you … D’Mere.”

The spy ripped the dagger free and lunged for her throat.

Instead, he met the tip of Left’s sword.

Though the blade tore through his chest, the spy didn’t seem to notice. He shoved himself further, drove the steel deeper. Blood gushed upon the floor. His hood fell away as he threw himself into one final heave, and D’Mere couldn’t believe what she saw.

The dark was gone from his eyes, replaced by two deadened orbs of white. Wounds festered across his face — scratches and punctures that had never quite healed. She tried not to think about the brownish stains around his lips.

Left kicked the spy back and Right hurled him down by the cloak.

“Cut off the head,” D’Mere whispered.

She barely heard the spy’s gurgling screams or the swift fall of Right’s sword. What little fear she’d felt was gone, vanished. Her mind was already set upon the game ahead.

When Left grabbed her shoulder, she pushed his hand away. “I’m fine. In fact, I think we may be able to use this to our advantage.” D’Mere lifted the hems of her nightdress and stepped absently over the body upon the floor, careful not to dirty her slippers. “Come with me — both of you. There’s much to be done.”

*******

“You’ve done this to yourself. This is what happens to little beasts who don’t listen to their masters.”

The grand room shook with Devin’s anguished roar; the windows rattled. King Crevan stood with his back pressed against the door as the dragon rent the floor with his claws. Chips of stone sprayed up in a stinging wave behind him as he flailed.

Ulric stood a mere arm’s reach from the dragon’s monstrous snout. A length of silver chain was wrapped around his wrist. He pressed his thumb against one of its links, and it came to life with an angry red glow.
 

Devin flinched against every pulse of the chain’s light. His body shook as Ulric’s hand twisted, as he forced his great wings to shrink back inside his flesh. Human skin stretched over Devin’s scales. Blood trickled from its edges as it grew — the rim of foam ahead of the tide.

But though he roared, Devin never blinked.

His burning yellow eyes stayed locked upon Ulric — even as his horns shrank and the spines atop his head gave way to a dark crop of hair. Soon the dragon was gone and a young man lay upon the floor in his place. His clothes were torn to rags. Blackened ridges of scales burst through his skin in places, the flesh red and swollen around them.

But though he’d been twisted into a human shape, he kept the dragon’s eyes — and the hatred in his stare was enough to make Crevan’s blood freeze to the bottom of his veins.

Ulric didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he drank it in. “I think that’s enough for today … yes, you understand me now, don’t you? The next time I call, I wager you’ll come straight back.” He twisted to snap his fingers at a pair of guards who’d been assigned to the grand room. They’d started out at Ulric’s side — but wound up stuck very firmly against the back wall. “Lock him up with the others. I’ll send word when I’m ready to continue.”

The guards moved stiffly towards Devin. Neither seemed willing to touch him: they prodded him with the butts of their spears until he rose, and pushed him out by their points.

Crevan stepped aside to let them through, careful not to look Devin in the eyes as he passed. They reminded him of another gaze, another blazing hatred:

I’m going to teach you, Crevan. Let me show —

No. He shoved her voice aside and blinked hard against the memory, forcing it back. Even after her image faded, his skin crawled and his fists curled tightly. He told himself it was
anger
that burned in the pit of his stomach.

But it wasn’t.

Ulric kept his back turned as the guards marched away. The moment they closed the door, he collapsed on hand and knee.
 

Sweat beaded up across his neck and wept in lines to the collar of his robes — dulling the golden threads with damp. His ears had grown abnormally large from all the years he’d spent listening to the thoughts of Crevan’s beasts. Now they were stretched so thinly that they were almost transparent. The blue veins that webbed across their backs were clearly inflamed.

“That dragon’s going to kill me, Your Majesty. Sometimes he obeys, other times his will is strong … nearly too strong. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to control him,” Ulric rasped. He held his wrist out to the side, and the silver chains wrapped around it almost seemed to squirm in the torchlight. “The impetus has grown too heavy. I can’t bear it on my own.”