Desolation (Dragonlands Book 4) (11 page)

Connor waited at the table by the light of a low-burning candle. Hazel slept, though she had made him promise he'd wake her when Bastian was ready to talk.

Two quiet raps on the door punctuated the silence. The door creaked open, and Bastian slipped in. He sat down at the table. "I can't stay long. They'll be sending a replacement for me soon."

"I still can't believe you're alive," Connor said. He touched Bastian's shoulder.

"Don't be. I'm not the first it's happened to." Bastian's wry smile didn't lighten the mood. "I'll tell you more about it when there's time."

"Have they told you their crazy story?" Connor asked. He looked over at Hazel. She appeared so peaceful, and after the day she'd had Connor didn't want to disturb her. He chose her wrath over waking her. "They think there's some epic battle coming. They want to turn everyone into dragons before it happens."

"Yes, they told me. Blythe and two other men searched the battlefield on the Isle of Repose, looking for men to turn into dragons. I was the only one who survived." Bastian leaned back on the two rear legs of his chair. "I haven't attempted an escape because I knew I wouldn't make it. I'd be dead again before I could even try to fight back. Hell, I haven't even figured out how to fly yet. I can turn, but all I can do is hop around like a baby bunny."

Connor held back a laugh. He remembered those first few days as a dragon, when everything had seemed so foreign. It was a rebirth, and like a child he’d had to learn how to do so much. "I think all three of us have needed time to adjust."

"Three?" Bastian asked. He looked over at Hazel. "I thought Hazel was still human."

Then Connor realized the truth. Bastian didn't know about Tressa. She'd never told either of them, choosing to keep it to herself. Connor only found out after the battle where Bastian had died.

"Connor?" Bastian asked. "Who is the third?"

"Maybe it's better she tells you herself," Connor said. He closed his eyes, knowing he'd done a terrible job of keeping Tressa’s secret. Though it wasn't as if she had asked him to keep the news from Bastian. They’d both thought he was dead.

Bastian ran his fingers through his ginger hair. "It's Tressa, isn't it?"

Connor nodded.

Bastian's chair slowly lowered to the ground. "When did it happen? Recently, like me?"

"Maybe you should talk to her about it," Connor repeated.

"No, tell me now. I want to know," Bastian said. "Did something happen in battle? Did she die? Did that bastard Jarrett kill her, too?"

Connor didn't want to have this conversation right now. No matter how much Bastian had insisted he'd moved on from Tressa, Connor knew it was a lie. Those two were deeply connected. If Bastian realized Tressa had been a dragon since the battle in Malum, that she'd withheld it from him, and that she still kept Jarrett alive in a coma in the Red castle, Bastian would get so angry he'd change into a dragon right then, splintering the inn around him. No, it was best if Tressa told him herself.

"Bastian, none of that matters if we're still trapped here. We need to find a way out of the Meadowlands before these lunatics force me to change Hazel into a monster. Focus." Connor didn't like talking to his best friend this way, but there was no choice. He didn't want to get into a long, angst-filled conversation about Tressa.

"You're right." Bastian sighed. "I don't have much time, either. If the guard who comes to relieve me finds me in here, we're all in trouble. Assuming they assign me to guard you again tomorrow night, we can escape then. Most of the village will be asleep, and hopefully a quiet night tonight will convince the Green you're considering their request."

"Perfect. Tomorrow we'll play along. I know Hazel won't like it, but she'll agree once I explain everything. Tomorrow night you can sneak us out of the inn, I'll change into my dragon, and I'll fly as fast as I can toward the Red."

"The Red?" Bastian said. "Are you crazy? That's just a different place to die."

"Not anymore." Connor clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Tressa holds the throne there. I think that's exactly where you'll want to go."

Bastian stood, a firm smile on his face. "Then we will head toward the Red. I'll see you again tomorrow night. Oh, and in the meantime, pretend like you don't know me."

"Good thought," Connor said.

Bastian quietly slipped back into the hallway. Connor pulled off his shirt and lay down in bed next to Hazel, his arm wrapped around her. The plan had to work. He wouldn't let them touch her.

***

The next morning Connor was jolted awake by a punch on the arm. "What was that for?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his sore arm.

"You didn't wake me up last night," Hazel hissed, her eyes flashing with anger.

"I thought you needed to sleep," Connor said. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better. Refreshed." Hazel leaned over and kissed him full on the lips, then broke away. "I'm a grown woman. I don't need a protector. What I need is a husband who makes decisions with me, not for me. Understand?"

Connor nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"Yes and no."

"Well, at least you're honest." Hazel pulled a dress out of her pack and shook it out.

Connor reached for her hand, pulling her back toward him. "Am I forgiven?" He kissed Hazel's neck.

She murmured, nuzzling into him as his kisses ventured down her shoulder. "We can't do this now. Not here."

"The door is locked," he said, winding his arms around her waist.

Hazel laughed and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Connor. Really. I can't even consider it. Not with all the madness here. I can't let go like that."

"Then let me hold you, even if it's just for a short time," Connor said.

Hazel leaned into his chest, snaking her arms around his waist. "Now that's something I need."

A sharp knock at the door tore them apart. "Come down and break your fast."

"Be right there," Connor called as he reluctantly let go of his wife. "You were right."

"I usually am," Hazel said with a wink. She grabbed the dress and pulled it over her head, shimmying her arms into the sleeves. "Are you ready to head down?"

Connor stood and put his shirt and boots on. Another knock came at the door. "Good thing I slept in my pants. They really don't want us taking our time." The door flung open. A man Connor didn't recognize stood outside the door. Bastian's replacement.

"Now," the man said, a surly look on his face. He looked tired. If he'd been there most of the night, he was likely looking for his own bed soon.

"We're coming," Hazel said with a fake smile. "Thank you."

The man nodded gruffly. Connor and Hazel slipped passed him and made their way down the stairs. Connor hadn't liked being imprisoned below the castle in Ashoom, and he didn't like it now. His angry heart pounded in his chest. He would escape from this place tonight, but he would never forget how the Green treated him.

"Ah, good morning," Jakob said as they entered the common room.

The smell of potato soup wafted through the air, and Connor's stomach rumbled. He had to admit, it smelled good, and he was hungry after the chaos of the day before. He sat at a table, Hazel to his right, unable to turn down the soup that was set in front of him.

Both Connor and Hazel dug into their breakfast. A tankard of mead and a loaf of steaming bread accompanied the soup. When they were done, Connor looked up at Jakob, who had an enigmatic smile on his face.

"Did you enjoy?" Jakob asked.

Connor nodded.

"And you, my lady? How was your soup?" Jakob placed a hand on Hazel's shoulder.

"Good, thank you," she answered, as she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief.

"I'm so glad," Jakob said. "It will be your last as human. We poisoned it. Now it is up to you. Join the Green or become a Blue like your husband."

The color drained from Hazel's face. She leaned over the side of the table, shoving her finger down her throat and vomiting up her soup.

"No need for that." Jakob waved over one of the servants to clean up the mess. "It's too late. The poison is already circulating through your system. It will kill you before morning. The two of you will be escorted back to your room now. Make your choice before sundown."

Connor swept a weeping Hazel into his shaking arms. He'd kill them all. Every single one of them. They had no right to take her humanity from her. They ascended the rickety staircase to their room. Connor slammed the door behind them as Hazel collapsed onto the bed.

Tressa fell backward, landing solidly on her arse. Dazed, she looked up. Donovan stood in front of her, his hands on the blade of Kadrin’s sword. Fregar and Onva loomed behind Kadrin, their nostrils flaring and their chests heaving.

“We will not tolerate a dragon in our midst,” Hildie said. “She must die.”

“No. I have drained the dragon from her. She could not change even if she wanted to.” Donovan looked over his shoulder at Tressa. His arms shook from the stalemate with Kadrin’s sword.

Tressa had always wondered why Donovan wore gloves even when it wasn’t cold. This gave her an insight into how the man thought. He was always prepared.

Tressa stood shakily and moved from behind Donovan, her hands in the air. “I swear it to you. I cannot turn into a dragon anymore. It was hard for me to allow Donovan to drain the dragon blood from my body, but I did it for you.” She looked each of them in the eyes. “I did it to avoid offending anyone I might meet. I did it to help my people, and yours, defeat Decarian.”

Hildie rested a hand on Kadrin’s shoulder. “Put it down,” she commanded.

A few tense breaths passed, and Kadrin finally gave in, lowering his sword. He shrugged his shoulders, then sheathed his weapon.

Donovan didn’t budge. His legs were firmly planted on the ground.

“Accore,” Hildie said, casting a glare at the man who had recruited them. “Did you know?”

Accore shook his head. “I did not know. But I suspected. As you should have.” He stood and stalked over to the six of them, standing in between the two camps. “You know what we’re fighting against and what we have been waiting for. It was inevitable that one day we would stand united with dragons.”

“This is not what the prophecies foretold,” Fregar hissed. “It did not say the savior would be a dragon.”

“Savior?” Tressa asked.

“It is nothing,” Donovan said. “Just a possibility. All things in the future are unknown, though some spend all of their time guessing at them.”

“Yet you emerged from the Vulture’s Tower because prophetic events were unfolding,” Accore said. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I came because I was needed. That is all I care about,” Donovan said. “Now can the four of you leave Tressa’s past in the past?”

Tressa felt four sets of eyes bearing down on her, measuring the weight of her soul. She kept her back straight. If she was to be judged, then she would face it with all of the pride she could muster. Fi’s life depended on it.

“Fine,” Hildie said. Her shoulders remained stiff and her eyes suspicious. “But if she turns into a dragon, she’s dead. I will gut her, roast her, and eat her for dinner.”

Tressa swallowed, grateful her ability was gone. She fully believed Hildie would follow through on her threat. She looked to the other three, who mumbled in agreement with Donovan. None of them would look at Tressa, and they all settled on the far side of the tent.

Donovan squatted next to Tressa. “Well, that went quite well.”

She gaped at him. “You could have warned me this is how they would react. Perhaps I would have held my tongue.”

“I already told you not to tell them,” Donovan said. “Multiple times.”

“But I had no idea—”

“Maybe you will listen to me from now on,” he said. “You know nothing of Desolation or its people. I do.”

“How?” Tressa asked. “You’ve been hiding for hundreds of years in the Vulture’s Tower. It may not be as you remember, either.”

“If it isn’t, then we have much to fear,” Donovan said. “It appears they have been preparing just as they were instructed.”

“Preparing for what?” Tressa asked, frustrated that she still knew so little.

“For the end of the world as we know it.” With that, Donovan left her, too.

His cryptic words annoyed her. With Donovan, it was always pieces. She wanted the whole story from beginning to end, but he was unwilling to share.

The others, including Accore who had drifted away from her, too, spoke quietly on the other side of the tent. Every so often, one of them would look at her, sigh, and turn away again. Instead of forcing herself on them, Tressa grudgingly gave them their privacy. She curled up in her bedroll, her back to them.

She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. The flickering of the candles and the muffled conversation kept her wide awake.

“She’s asleep, we can stop whispering,” Kadrin said. Irritation laced his words. “I want to go back to the village. I won’t risk my life for a dragon.”

“She’s not a dragon,” Donovan reminded him. “I drained it from her.”

“That only lasts until she drinks the blood of another dragon,” Hildie said. “None of us are stupid enough to believe she’s truly free of the dragon. What if she—”

“Shhh!” Fregar warned him. “You mustn’t speak of it.”

Tressa lay as still as she could. Normally she wasn’t one to eavesdrop. Anything they said in the tent was at their discretion. If they let something slip, Tressa wouldn’t plug her ears.

“Enough,” Donovan said. “We will attempt to rescue Fi. Either she will come back with us, alive and well, or Tressa will see for herself what the shades do to people. Either outcome will plant her firmly on our side. You know as well as I do that we need her to care for the people of Desolation as much as her own people.”

“Donovan speaks truth,” Accore said. “Every one of you knows this. What lies dormant inside Tressa is essential to the survival of us all. Otherwise Donovan would not have brought her here.”

“Maybe the stories aren’t true,” Onva said. “Maybe we’re all listening to the paranoid ramblings of people who existed a long time ago.”

“Decarian is real,” Donovan said. “The shades are real. You still live in magically cloaked villages, avoiding the wilds of Desolation. If these exist, then the stories are true. You know what they say…”

Tressa held her breath. Here it was. The part she did not know. The thing everyone had been hiding from her.

“We have heard the stories since we sat on our mothers’ knees,” Kadrin said. “They scared us into never wandering from the boundaries of the village. They frightened us into training for war. They gave us nightmares that crept into every moment of sleep. If the stories are true, and they are about to unravel, then yes, perhaps we must accept Tressa for what she is.”

What were the stories? She was dying to know. Tressa’s heart pounded as she listened, barely able to contemplate the harsh life these people had lived. Even trapped in the fog, Tressa hadn’t felt fear. It was her life. It was normal. But the wavering tone of Kadrin’s voice told her a terrified young boy hid inside him.

“Yes,” Donovan admitted, his voice surprisingly sad. “It is the beginning of the end for us all. Only Tressa holds the key to helping us defeat the prophesied warlord.”

“Do you think she can do it?” Accore asked.

“I hope so. Or all of us will perish.”

After Donovan’s final words, the tent fell silent. Someone put out the candles, and the rest of them settled in for the night’s sleep. Tressa stayed awake long after snores punctuated the quiet night. In spite of all she’d heard, she was left with far more questions than answers. The end of the world? A prophecy? A warlord? She couldn’t begin to make sense of it all, much less her role in it.

Tressa heard something snuffling outside the fabric walls. It stopped next to her, and she almost swore she could see its shadowy outline. It didn’t affect her as it had her first night in Desolation. No, this time sheer terror shot through her veins. What other horrors were coming this way and could she really stop them as Donovan believed?