Embrace the Fire (23 page)

Cedric whirled in time to meet a flaming onslaught of scale and heat and smoke. Before he could recover, he lay on his back in the sand, trapped beneath an Ember's talons.

“Ember!” The word escaped his throat involuntarily, and Ember lowered his snout over Cedric. A rush of flame bathed him, searing holes in his new tunic, but leaving his skin unscathed. He'd always been impervious to Dragonfire, but the durability of his skin had improved as he'd been in contact with the beasts.

The massive Ember lowered his head, twisting to the side to regard Cedric more fully. Cedric lifted both hands and grasped two of the Dragon's long fangs, pulling the head even closer. He heard a shout from the balcony above and realized he'd given himself away with that one act.

“Ember,
psuche
,” he murmured. This might be his one chance, and he wasn't about to lose it.

As the Dragon huffed a breath outward, the warmth of the air from his nostrils mingled with a purposeful breath from Cedric's lungs, and rainbow colors refracted through the air around them both, shimmering amid the flaming Dragon's scales.

Nicholas Erlane hung over his balcony with slackened jaw, his glistening braids dangling in the air, his eyes huge as he stared down at Cedric.

Cedric shoved aside ire at the King as Ember's thoughts met his own.

The Dragon was irritated because Cedric had failed to come with him after the Tournament. Flashes of the Dragon's history over the last months lit in Cedric's mind—the flight from the castle, sheltering in the Rockmonster Dwellings until his capture by Sebastian's Dimn, a dark imprisonment in a cavern of the Rockmonsters, and—ah, a visit from Commander Jerrus, who swung his mace and shattered his scales as freely as the most experienced Dimn. The thoughts swirled back into irritation at Cedric's failure to leave the Tournament.

“I had a job to do, Ember.” Ember's talons loosened, and Cedric sat up, his hand rubbing the Dragon's snout gently. “I
still
have a job to do. And I need your help to do it.”

The Poison-Quill resented the presence of an Ember in his personal territory. He bristled again. Poison-tipped quills shot from the Dragon's body toward Cedric. Ember lurched in between, taking the quills on his impenetrable scales. The quills burst into flame, falling into lines of dark ash on the sand.

Ember roared and advanced on the Poison-Quill, and the two Dragons met with a clash of talons, teeth, and fire. The Poison-Quill's deadly tips brushed close to Ember's sensitive snout in the struggle.

“Stop!” Cedric shouted, terrified for the new partner of his
psuche.

Both Dragons halted, slowly backing away from each other, smoke still roiling from their nostrils, but content, for the moment, to listen to Cedric.

“Guards!” Nicholas Erlane's voice broke the tension from above, and guards swarmed the arena, pulling the larger Dragons to the darkened cave entrances. Guards approached Ember, maces swinging, their shields up. Ember hissed at them, backing away. His panic built in Cedric's mind.

“Stop!” Cedric shouted. “Put your weapons down!”

The guards paused, but didn't back away.

“Do as the Dragon-Master says,” Nicholas Erlane commanded. The King's lips were curved into a satisfied smile. “Let him accompany the Ember back to his den.”

The guards cleared the arena. At this moment, without a manacle on Ember, Cedric could have mounted the Dragon, winged toward the ceiling, broken through the beams, and tasted the freedom of the skies to become a star of fire in the darkening dusk. He had no doubts about the Dragon's strength.

Only Ashleen stopped him. A vision of her pale, feverish forehead stilled his movements. He had to wait for her before he could escape. He couldn't leave her, not while she lay so close to death's door.

He laid a hand on Ember's snout. “Soon,” he whispered. “All in good time.”

He led the Dragon into the darkened corridors beneath Erlane's castle, and the light of freedom faded behind him.

W
hether Nicholas Erlane
admitted it or not, Cedric was a prisoner of the castle walls, and Erlane's steward had commanded him to review the Dragons one by one to familiarize himself with them. Cedric was under guard at all times in the arena, and the Dragons were heavily chained, so even if he
had
tried to escape, there was little likelihood of success. In the evenings, after he left the arena, he found his way to the apothecary's chambers, where he sat by Ashleen, his gaze on her pale, thin profile. On the seventh night, his exhausted eyelids had drooped and sealed themselves shut before a clatter in the adjoining room where the apothecary kept many of his potions woke him.

Cedric twisted to see the little man, but to his surprise, spotted a maid with cornflower blue hair standing by the counter. More surprising still, she hummed softly, and bottles of potion raised from the walls and set themselves before her, some pouring into a small bowl, others presenting their labels to her before returning to the shelf. With her hands, she stirred the mixture with a spoon.

Cedric approached the doorway, staring as the bottles all returned to their places, and herb boxes followed the same process.

“Are you a Pixie?” he asked.

The maid jumped. Her spoon clattered into the bowl, and she leaped back against the counter, her hand over her chest. “Stars above, you frightened me,” she whispered.

“Truly, I'm sorry.” Cedric took in her petite form, her face. There was something familiar about her. “Do—do I know you?”

The maid resumed stirring. Her cheeks were stained a brilliant red. “No.” Her voice was flat and decided.

“You are an apprentice?” Cedric motioned to the herbs that had scattered when she'd jumped. She swiftly gathered them back into their boxes.

“Aye, he allows me to practice creating his healing mixtures now and again. I come up here once a week to get the feel of it, like.”

She stood on tiptoe to return the box to the shelf, and Cedric suddenly realized what was familiar. “You—you're no relation to a Pixie named Lincoln, are you, he that dwells in West Ashwynd, a Guardian to my sister, Kinna?”

She stilled, her hand motionless on the herb box. Cedric moved into the room to better see her profile. She had gone stark white, her gaze on the bowl in front of her. “Nay. I don't know of whom you speak. The only one of that clan of whom I claim any knowledge is Helga, the great Seer Fey who has dwelt under Sebastian's rule for nearly two decades.”

“Of that clan?”

“Aye, of that family. The Pixie you asked about is her son.” She faltered, her cheeks once again coloring.

“So you
do
know Lincoln.” To his utter surprise, two tears bloomed from her eyes and tracked down her cheeks.

“He is my father,” she whispered at last. “He christened me Marigold, and then he left me when I was a mere babe to follow a higher calling.” Bitterness tinged her voice. “A higher calling than raising his own daughter.” She swiped at her tears. “I'm sorry,” she said.

Awkward silence reigned, and awe and consternation filled Cedric. Lincoln had a daughter who lived here? “Helga, the great Seer Fey, is your grandmother?”

He was sorry he'd confirmed it. Marigold's face flooded a brilliant scarlet color. “I—I'm—yes, she's—I—have never—”

She trailed off, tears of mortification on her cheeks. “I know nothing,” she managed at last. Abruptly, she ran out the door without a backward glance.

Cedric stared at the exit, his thoughts churning before slowly returning to the cot where Ashleen lay. Softly, he touched her fingers, surprise filling him when her hand twisted to hold his.

“Cedric.” Her voice sounded rusty, and she licked her chapped lips. “What are you doing here?”

He smoothed the blanket where it covered her legs. “I couldn't sleep in the Dragon dens where they put me, so I came here.”

“No,” she croaked. “What are you doing
here
?”

Cedric squeezed her hand. “I—couldn't leave.”

Ashleen blinked her wide, nearly-black eyes, and the conversation went far beyond the simple sentences they'd just exchanged. Ashleen shifted, wincing. “So now you're stuck playing nursemaid to me. I'll make you work for it, you know.”

“Work for what?”

“I'm a horrible patient. I'll dump all my food when they bring it to me, and I'll tear apart the poor apothecary every time he forces me to drink his herb gruel.”

“I don't believe you've been sick a day in your life.”

“That makes no difference. I hate lying abed when I should be up and around, so I'm prepared to make you suffer. Consider it punishment for not using your good sense to flee when you had the chance.”

Cedric grinned, relieved to see her spunk back. He stood. “As much as I enjoy listening to your evisceration of my character, I must return to the Dragon dens. They've allowed me a few moments to check on you, but I'm missed if I don't come back soon.” He glanced behind him and lowered his voice. “Ashleen, how can we remove the Pixie magic that tracks you?”

Her dark eyes widened, and she shook her head. “It's no use. It was placed on me by one of the Seer Fey at the command of Liam himself. The only one who can remove it is another Seer Fey.”

“Not just a Pixie? It must be Seer Fey
taibe
?”

“Aye, from what I understand.”

Cedric nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I'll work on it.”

“Cedric, you—”

“No arguments.” He squeezed her hand. “You may be stubborn, but I am, too, and I'll press the point all night if I have to.”

Ashleen's eyes darkened even more in the shadows of the apothecary's room. “Cedric, you must tell me everything that happened while I slept. Quickly, before the apothecary returns.”

Cedric stared at her. “The Elf.”

“The what?” Confusion raised a dark brow.

“The Elf in the woods as we trekked through the Rues. When Lianna freed me from the cage on the Forgotten Plains, and we passed through the Elven Ward in the dead of night, you slipped away and spoke with someone. It was an Elf, wasn't it?” He stared seriously at her. “You're part of the resistance, aren't you?”

“Shh!” Her fingers tightened on his. “If even a hint of that leaks to the wrong people, many deaths will result.” She leaned forward with a grimace of pain. “Yes, there is a resistance; yes, it has been forming for some time, but as yet, we are an underground group with no formation and no leader.”

“I see.” Cedric shot a glance at the door, closed against the drafty coolness of the open-air corridor. “I don't know much.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I am not privy to Erlane's Councils; I am his prisoner, though he treats me more as a guest because he hopes to make use of me. He may allow me into his Council chambers at some point as he wishes to use my skills with his Dragons to fight Sebastian; his steward told me as much only yesterday.”

“And will you? Fight Sebastian, I mean?” She pushed herself higher against her cushions, grunting in frustration at the pain.

Cedric sat on the hard, wooden chair. His fingers rubbed restlessly over the rough, woolen blanket. “No. I hate Sebastian, but I don't wish to take part in the war; I have no allegiance either to Sebastian or to Erlane. I wait only for your healing, and then, we'll escape.”

Ashleen stared at him incredulously. “You. You'll escape, Cedric. I can't. With the tracking spell, I would lead them directly to you.”

Cedric shifted uncomfortably. “I have a plan—of sorts. I just have to tweak a few things.”

Her eyebrows winged upward. “What is it?”

“You'll see.” He swallowed. “If I can work everything out, you'll be free from your tracking spell, and we'll both be free from the walls of ClarenVale. If it doesn't work, likely both of us will be dead. Does it still hold your interest?”

Ashleen's dark eyes seemed to swallow him up. “Of course it does. You gave your freedom to save my life. It's the least I can do.”

C
edric wandered
into the courtyard outside the kitchens that sprawled across an interior wall of ClarenVale. He had no idea how extensive the castle and surrounding city was. He'd gained a glimpse of a portion of the city
that slanted down a hill into the mountains behind the walls, but he wouldn't be able to visit it. He glanced behind him at the guards that watched him from various positions around the courtyard. Erlane hadn't given him much unguarded leave.

His father had ruled from the very throne where he'd seen Nicholas Erlane for the first time. Liam's hands had gripped the sides of the throne, his feet had paced the steps of the dais as he'd struggled to dispense wisdom and leadership to the people of Lismaria.

His father had set in place systems of justice, and Sebastian's coup had torn down those systems and imposed tyranny with the Dimn method.

Then
do
something
. Ashleen's challenge from weeks ago burned into his consciousness.

What
can
I do?

Cedric's stomach rumbled; it had been hours since he'd eaten, and he wondered if he could be fortunate enough to find any leftover meat in the kitchens. He motioned to the kitchen door, eyeing one of the guards. “I'm going to find food.”

The guard nodded, and Cedric stepped into the light of the moon, glancing around as he made his way to the open doorway. The clatter of wooden trenchers sounded inside, and a general hubbub of people as they worked. A kitchen boy stood near the door.

“Have you any bread?” Cedric asked.

The boy glanced over his shoulder at someone inside. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a roll at Cedric. “Be off with you,” he growled. “T'chef don't like beggars.”

Cedric deftly caught the roll and bit into it as he turned back to the courtyard, sinking to a crouch beneath the lone tree. His guards had lost interest in him. They leaned against the far walls. One snoozed. Another picked his teeth with a short knife.

“You look like your father.”

The voice arrested him. It was low and clear and came from beside him. The guards didn't react; they were too far away. Cedric glanced into the shadows beyond the tree. A lean figure lounged against the trunk, nearly blending in with it.