Wyvern's Prince (The Dragons of Incendium Book 2) (10 page)

“How?”

“Urbanus has cast a spell over her. She didn’t deserve it. The antidote will be in the grotto.”

Celo sobered. “Who ever deserves what they get in this kingdom?” He sighed. “All right. I’ll help her, but don’t be surprised if I do it quickly.”

“I wouldn’t be.”

“And this is it. We’re even forever now.”

“Of course.”

“And if Urbanus catches me—or Mother does—I’ll say it was your fault.” Celo dropped his voice. “I’ll say you beguiled me into it. You admitted that your powers were back, after all.”

Venero felt a grim resolve. “Deal.”

Celo nodded and grabbed an armload of firewood. Venero hopped onto the top of the pile and his brother carried it to the hut. “That satchel,” Celo said with a nod at a leather bag hanging from a peg. Venero jumped off the firewood, and Celo dumped it by the fire. He then put the bag on a bench and opened the flap. Venero hopped in and sighed, content that he could rest for a while.

“What happened to your leg?”

“It’s cut and bruised. It hurts but it’ll heal.”

“How’d that happen?”

Venero grimaced. “She has a pavofel and it hunts.”

“A pavofel?”

“Big mean bastard.”

“A feline pet.” Celo shook his head. “Just your luck. I know how you hate them. She
must
be pretty.” Celo had taken down a crockery pot from the shelf above the table and crouched down beside the bench. He peeled back the protective covering and Venero smelled the pungent herbs in the unguent.

“She’ll smell it.”

“Chances are good she might need some, too. Or the pavofel.”

“You’re right. We jumped into the river to avoid spelldust. The pavofel wasn’t amused.”

Celo straightened as his expression turned to horror. “Spelldust? He loosed spelldust and you didn’t tell me?”

“An unfortunate oversight. I told you now.”

His brother exhaled and his lips tightened, but still he bent closer. “Let me see.” Celo applied the unguent with a fingertip, and Venero sighed in relief as he felt its healing power warm his skin. “Just how pretty is she?” Celo murmured. “Beautiful?”

“She’s a warrior princess from Incendium,” Venero said, ducking the question.

“Of course, she is, but is she beautiful too?”

Venero sighed. “Yes. But a dragon shifter.”

“You and your warrior women,” Celo teased. “Maybe this form is doing you a favor. How long would it take her to fall in love with you otherwise?”

Venero didn’t find the joke very funny. “I don’t think we have to worry about that. She hates toads.”

“Well, with any luck, you won’t be one forever.”

“Not luck, Celo. Planning.”

“Right. Strategy.” Celo met his gaze. “And using someone for your own purpose. Does she know where you’re going to lead her?”

“Of course not.”

“What would she think of your plan if you told her all of it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Venero insisted. “It’s reciprocal. She helps me and I help her. In the end, we both get what we want.”

“Really?”

“This will serve the greater purpose…”

“Your greater purpose.” Celo sighed and straightened. “Sometimes it’s not that hard to believe that you and Urbanus are twins.”

Venero was insulted, but he had to acknowledge the thread of truth in that. He wasn’t being entirely fair to Gemma. If she’d still been able to become a dragon, he could have felt justified, but her resilience and beauty as a woman made him feel manipulative.

Maybe even unfair.

Which was why he didn’t say anything more.

* * *

Gemma had lost track of time when she finally smelled the wood fire.

When she broke the surface of the stream under the shelter of a willow tree, its branches hanging over the stream like a bower, she smelled the fire. She was delighted at the sign that she might not be alone in this endless forest, but hesitated before emerging from the water.

Would the person who had lit the fire help or hinder her?

Would he (She? They?) just send her back to Urbanus, or somehow summon him to collect her?

Gemma paused, uncertain who to trust. This might be Urbanus’ county or realm, and the people might be obliged to support his will.

There might be repercussions if they didn’t.

Felice didn’t share her caution. The pavofel wriggled and escaped her grip to leap to the bank. Felice shook thoroughly, scattering water in every direction, then fastidiously sniffed the air. She marched off, her wet tail waving like a bedraggled banner, and was so much her usual self that Gemma couldn’t imagine the creature had been touched by spelldust. She hauled herself out of the river, wrung out the maid’s dress as well as she could, shivered, sneezed, and followed Felice.

Smoke was rising from a tidy little hut, one that blended so well with the forest that Gemma might not have discovered it without the scent of the fire. A young man stood outside of it, gutting some fish, and Felice hastened forward to invite herself to a feast. He was fair-haired and tanned, dressed simply, yet tall and trim. His beard was long and his clothing was rustic but clean.

He started at the appearance of the pavofel, then smiled. “You’re a long way from home, pavofel,” he said, his voice quiet and pleasant. He cast a whole fish at Felice, who pounced upon it and set to devouring it. He lifted his gaze to Gemma then, and she had the definite sense that he wasn’t surprised to see her. “Hungry?” he asked, and cleaned another fish.

“I am. Were you expecting company?” Gemma considered the number of fish he had caught and again imagined that her arrival had been anticipated.

“Your arrival is fortuitous,” he said, not really answering her question. “I had so much luck fishing this morning that I couldn’t stop.” He shrugged and turned to the hut. “You’ve saved me the task of smoking them.”

Was that an invitation?

If it was, should she accept?

The scent of the Seed teased Gemma’s nostrils. “Is Urbanus here?” she asked.

The man started, his alarm clear. “No!” He stared at her for a moment, then appeared to be both relieved and amused. He disappeared into the hut, chuckling quietly, but left the door ajar. Felice finished her fish, then strutted toward the door, obviously in pursuit of more. Gemma smelled the fish roasting and her belly growled.

“Hurry up unless you like yours burned,” he said from within the hut.

Gemma approached with caution. Why could she smell the Seed? She stood on the threshold, surveying the interior of the hut, then cast a long glance over the small clearing outside of it. All was still and it appeared that the man was her only companion. He was trying to hide a smile as he fed another fish to Felice.

“Do I amuse you?” Gemma asked. Arousal unfurled in her belly and sent a welcome heat through her. She swallowed, wondering how the Seed could be in this place.

“No, you remind me of someone. I won’t harm you. Come in.”

Gemma entered the cabin, more than ready to defend herself. Her host was only a little taller than her and slim. She suspected that he had a wiry strength that could be a surprise. Still, she thought she could best him in a fair fight.

“The question is whether there is ever a fair fight in Regalia,” he said and she was startled. “Yes, I can read your thoughts, and yes, that’s why I live alone in the wilderness. It is comparatively quiet here and I can think my own thoughts in peace.”

“Comparatively?”

“The forests are full of creatures. Not all of them are spies.” He offered her a ceramic plate, graced by a slice of bread and a grilled fish fillet. “Come sit by the fire and eat.”

“Is that how you knew I was coming?”

He smiled and offered the plate again. She couldn’t smell any guile in him and her sense was that he had no skill with deception.

Then she realized something. “How did you know what a pavofel was?”

“You knew what it was and I read your thoughts.”

Gemma considered that as her belly grumbled. She chose to trust him, at least for the moment, and accepted his invitation. “Are you a prince of Regalia whose truth is hidden?”

He gave her a sharp glance. “If I was, I wouldn’t be the one you’re seeking.”

But the Seed…

“He
was
here.”

Her host said no more and Gemma ate before the fish got cold. Her thoughts churned all the while, her questions creating more questions, and the Seed making her yearn for satisfaction. The fire was warm and the fish was delicious. Gemma was certain she had never smelled or seen better fare at a feast.

Much less tasted it.

She ate three fish and felt much better. Felice was cleaning herself before the fire, her fur returning to its usual fluffy splendor.

Her host rose to his feet. “You should change your clothes and leave,” he said so abruptly that Gemma was surprised.

“Do you often have visitors who you help and send on their way?”

“Almost never, thank goodness. I would rather you left sooner rather than later.” His attention was snared by a bird call from outside the hut and his eyes narrowed as he listened. “You might be pursued.” His manner made Gemma want to hurry.

Not all of the creatures in the forest were spies, by his own admission, but she’d bet that bird was.

He gestured to a pile of clothes and a satchel already packed. Gemma could see bread within it and smelled some herbal mixture. There also appeared to be a change of clothing. “Hurry! We’ll talk as we go.” He left the cabin then and she heard him make a bird call. A conversation ensured, or at least she imagined as much, for each time he gave a cry or a whistle, the bird in the trees seemed to respond. What news did the creature bring him?

Gemma dressed quickly. To her relief, he’d given her simple men’s clothing: chausses, a chemise and vest, a belt and a pair of well-worn boots. She slung the satchel over her shoulder, wondering what to do with the maid’s garments.

“Give them to me,” he instructed, having reappeared in the doorway, and Gemma did. He doused the fire then and secured the door of the hut, then set off at a brisk pace. He walked in the same direction that the river flowed, but veered away from the water, taking a course that only he could discern through the forest.

“Where are we going?” Gemma asked.

“You’re going to steal a mount from Farmer Aro. I’m just showing you the way.” He spared her a glance. “I assume you can ride.”

“Of course. Do you have any advice as to my direction?”

“You must go to the Queen’s Grotto in the Citadel, in order to find the antidote you seek.”

Gemma halted. “How do you know this?”

“A toad told me.”

Gemma couldn’t stop her smile. “It’s alive, then? And you know it? Where is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. It told me to expect you and what you needed.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because I owe the toad a favor.” He spoke with such solemnity that it had to be true.

This was a most peculiar realm.

Unless he’d known the toad before it had been cursed.

“Did you know him before he was cursed?” she asked and her companion flicked a warning look at her. “Will you tell me about it?”

The man sighed. He held back a cane of some plant that would have snapped in Gemma’s face, then walked beside her instead of in front of her. “How much do you know about the royal family of Regalia?”

“Very little. The queen has twelve sons—well, eleven now.” It seemed tactless to speak of Drakina’s role in that, but her companion was unsurprised by the clarification.

He wasn’t very interested in it either.

“Actually, it’s commonly believed that the queen has ten surviving sons, for one is missing. One also has retreated from her court and no longer enjoys her favor.”

That would be Venero who was missing and assumed dead. Who was the son who had retreated?

Her companion winked at her.

Gemma smiled. It only seemed reasonable to her that sons of Queen Arcana might want to hide from their mother and her sorcery.

“Exactly,” her companion agreed.

“So, she’s down to nine.”

“You could look at it that way. Do you know much about them?”

“Urbanus is crown prince, now that Canto is no more.”

“And the missing prince?”

“Venero. He and Urbanus were twins. But not identical.”

“Not at all. Venero’s eyes were as gold as amber and it was said that his vision would burn through to the heart of any matter.”

Gemma thought it was probably prudent to disguise how much she did know.

“Very prudent,” agreed her companion. “But you know about the powers delegated to each son.”

“What was Venero’s power?”

“He was a DreamCaster. He could send dreams to others.”

Gemma grimaced. “Like a MindBender.”

“Similar but slightly different. Part of the distinction is nomenclature, but it’s more than that. A MindBender can manipulate the thoughts of others. That’s reliant upon the ability to read their minds. It’s an innate ability.”