"My uncle is just in here," Zheal said with a smile, holding the door open for Damara.
Rib was about to squeeze in after her, but Zheal held out his hand to stop him.
"No, not you," the Huskhn said and shut the door after himself.
But Damara! Rib stared at the door. Is she safe in there by herself?
He worried until he remembered her story of how she killed his father, remembered how quick Damara was to draw her knife. Of course she's safe. She'd sooner fight off an attacker than I would.
But still, what am I supposed to do out here?
He recalled how dogs often whined and scratched at doors to get their owners to let them in. He himself could easily break the door down, but figured that wouldn't make Damara too happy.
I'll just have to wait.
He turned around to face Memory, who met his eyes expectantly.
Sister.
Her scales looked especially purple in the morning light and the jewels on her saddle sparkled like colorful dew drops. She held herself cheerfully today, perked, with tail swishing slightly behind her.
I wonder?
Rib took a few bounds towards the barren hills. To his pleasure, she followed him readily. When he dashed for the nearest slope, she raced him there, skipping and leaping as though to celebrate when she beat him to the top.
She's just as she was when we were younger, Rib thought with an aching heart. But can't she speak?
Glancing back at the grand building Damara and Zheal had entered, he moved over the hill to where no one could see them. Memory frolicked down after him like a cheerful foal, but stilled and cocked her head when he turned to look at her directly.
"Sister," he spoke, a feeling of urgency suddenly coming upon him. "Talk to me. Please."
Memory's eyes softened at his voice.
Rib waited until it was clear she would not respond.
Maybe she only understands Huskhn tongue.
If only Jasper or Gavin were here. They could speak to her.
Rib gazed into his sister's eyes, surprised by how naturally she looked back at him, like a child untouched by awkwardness. He wanted to imagine that she was playing the same game he was, only pretending to want nothing more than to please her master.
But her innocence and simplicity were too glaring.
She isn't acting. This is how she is.
Zheal hasn't just made her his slave, he's made her think like one.
"Memory," Rib cried softly, bowing his head. "I want to help you."
It comforted him when she nosed him affectionately. Even if she couldn't understand his words, she at least seemed to understand his emotions.
Maybe I can get her to follow me when we escape. Even if she doesn't know why.
The idea brought him hope. He thought that if he could get her away from Zheal, then she could begin to think for herself and learn to speak.
Just then, Zheal's voice called out, "Tairg?"
Memory turned her head towards the direction, opening her wings.
"Here, Tairg!"
Rib watched how faithfully his sister left, dismay again weighing down on him before he went over the hill after her. As he did, he heard Damara call his name as well.
She and Zheal were standing outside of the grand building, both looking pleased. When Memory landed in front of the young man, he rubbed her under the chin, saying, "Romping in the hills, were you?"
Damara only gave Rib a warning look as he alighted, though he wasn't sure what for.
"Now will you take me to Jacinth?" the young woman asked Zheal. "We had better start crafting." As she spoke, she took a piece of bread from her sleeve and stuffed it into Rib's saddle.
The Chief agreed to Zheal's plan?
"Yes," Zheal agreed, mounting onto the base of Memory's neck. "She's in the port gaol." With a sporting grin, he leaned forward. "Fancy a race?"
No, Rib thought. I'm in no mood to race.
But to his dismay, he saw Damara smirk before she swung herself up onto his back.
"To the coast?" she said and Rib could feel her adjust her position. "On your word."
This isn't the time for games! We don't even have a plan of escape. Everything we need is about to be in one place, but too much could go wrong.
"Ready?" Zheal crouched low in the saddle. "Go!"
Reluctantly, Rib took off towards the port as Memory shot forward at Zheal's command.
He flew faster when Damara clapped her heels against his sides, all the while wondering what she could possibly be thinking. Ahead, his sister seemed to be enjoying herself, speeding through the air and dipping to fly through the tops of a few autumn colored trees. From her back, Zheal snatched a handful of red leaves to throw into the wind behind them.
How does it feel to be so lighthearted? Rib questioned himself. It felt like a while since he was as happy as the two in front of him looked right now.
He scorned the fact his sister could look that happy, the slave that she was.
She just doesn't understand.
The port soon appeared in the distance and, beyond it, the waiting sea serpent.
Memory alighted near the town well before him. As he too landed, Rib could see Zheal moving his long black hair out of his face, grinning at Damara.
"Not much of a racer, is he?" the Huskhn laughed as he dismounted.
Damara snorted, leaping down to the ground and flicking Rib on the snout. "I'll make him one and then we'll see."
She sounds serious, Rib thought, half irked, half worried. Could she be forgetting the danger we're in? Where is her mind at?
"Well, here's your firebreather," Zheal said and walked to a sturdy building with barred windows. Half a dozen guards stood outside it, heavily armed. "I've been told she nearly killed one of the men that drove her in here. Not to mention the dock she burnt down."
Jacinth? Rib crept closer to peer into one of the barred windows, disheartened by the sight of the firebreather curled up inside, eyes closed as she heaved sparks from slightly parted jaws. Her skeleton wings were kinked and twitching. The stone walls around her were scratched and scored by her claws, which now appeared broken and bleeding. How will we ever get her out? Is she even well enough to escape with us? She has to be!
Looking to Damara beside him, he saw that she too was worried.
"The firesap," she murmured and he peered through his inner eyelids to see.
The lively magic churned inside Jacinth's body like a caged animal, as though ready to flare up again at any moment. Rib drew away from the window, imagining the firebreather suddenly awakening and leaping at the metal grate that separated them from her.
Damara also turned away from the window, an upset expression plain on her face.
"Jacinth won't last," she uttered, letting herself fall against the wall of the gaol.
It surprised Rib that she would be so outspoken about the fear, but saw how Zheal was sympathetic. The Huskhn leaned next to her, his eyes clearly studying her form.
"It happens to every firebreather eventually," he said. "But we have her flame and that's what's important."
Damara's expression hardened. "Yes, you're right. Where can we start crafting the powder?"
Zheal smiled. "My servants should have everything ready by now. It's just this way."
Rib took one more glance in at Jacinth before following after them.
Damara has the firesap cure in my saddle, he thought. We could cure Jacinth?but then we couldn't help the Wystilians?
Or we might not be able to help either one.
Couldn't Damara craft the plague cure here? The idea suddenly struck him. The recipe's in our potion book. If she crafted it, then we could heal Jacinth and not have to worry about her going mad while we escape!
Rib wondered why he didn't think of this before. It was the perfect plan, he thought. He only had to tell Damara.
But how can I, with Zheal always so close?
. . .
"So you have this memorized?" Zheal
asked, unrolling a scroll. From the doorway, Rib glimpsed a drawing of the Royal Well on it.
That's what he stole from Damon years ago!
Damara touched the parchment as Zheal laid it face down on the table in front of her. "Yes."
Have what memorized?
Rib peered through his inner eyelids to see what had appeared to be a blank side was actually scrawled all over with magic.
Oh. The potion recipe.
A breeze blew in through a window and swept up the scroll, which Damara was quick to catch and place back down on the table.
Zheal watched with a sort of inquisitive smirk on his face.
"You can't read, can you?"
Damara furrowed her brow. "What makes you think that?"
The young man laughed and turned the scroll. "You put it upside down."
No, Rib thought, dismay weighing down on him as realization set in. If she can't read, she can't make the plague cure.
We really do have to take Jacinth to Wystil the way she is?
Damara grew sour. "What does it matter?" she asked. "I don't need it anyway."
Zheal leaned back, gazing at her. "You still haven't told me how you learned to make the powder," he mentioned. Turning to grab a handful of herbs, he tossed them into his boiling pot and gave it a stir. As Damara did the same, he grinned. "But I think I know."
He does? What does he think?
Damara cast him a questioning look before going for a strip of seal skin to add to her own pot.
Zheal pulled up beside her and also cut himself a sliver, saying, "You must have learned from the Wystilian wizard before you stole his dragon."
She did not answer, but cleared her throat and reached for another ingredient.
Rib found it hard not to be distracted as he felt Memory outside batting at his tail like a kitten.
Please, not now. With a glance, he saw her on her back happily squirming to get under him, wings sticking awkwardly out from beneath her. I can't play with you, I'm sorry.
Zheal laughed, as though sure of his guess. "He's easy to steal from," he said. "And we aren't the only ones to have done it. I was there when King Griffith took a potion book from him. That old man could only holler in protest."
So that was Zheal and Memory! Rib remembered seeing the stranger on a dragon running along the ground that night. But then how didn't they see me?
"You mean you spied on the Wizard?" Damara faced Zheal, her eyebrows raised.
"Enough to know what had happened," the Huskhn replied casually. "There was a strange, magical fog that obstructed my vision, but I heard the old man shouting loud and clear. So, I'm right, aren't I?" Zheal gave a cocky smile. "You got him to teach you and then you stole Rib right out from under his nose."
Should she tell him he's right? Rib wondered. Is there any better story?
Damara only smirked at the young man and went on with her potion crafting.
"Tell me, Damara," Zheal said. "How many dragons are in Wystil? I've heard of at least a few. It's said that they live under the Dragon Knight's rule."
Does he mean my siblings? Rib felt his muscles tense involuntarily. And Tide? And Lynx?
Why does he care about them?!
Damara peered at Zheal with pale blue eyes. "I'm not sure how many dragons there are," she answered. "But you mustn't challenge the Dragon Knight. Not now. He's far too dangerous."
Yes, Rib encouraged her silently. Warn him away.
"Dangerous." The young man grinned and threw a couple more ingredients into his pot. "What do you know of him? All I've heard are doltish myths. Or is it true that he feasts on raw human flesh with his dragons?" Zheal laughed again.
People call Tyrone the Dragon Knight?They think he does that?!
"All I know is he's powerful," Damara answered.
"But so will we be," the Huskhn pointed out, stirring his pot with an arrogant flick of the wrist. "Give him three dragons, give him a dozen- the more he has, the more we take for ourselves. All we need is what we're making right now." As he said this, he slit open his palm and let it bleed into his pot.
No, no, no, Rib thought as Zheal tied a cloth around the wound. We have to ruin his magic! But how can we? He has the Eyes of Kings. He would know as soon as we did.
"All the same," Damara spoke evenly, "let's conquer the Island first." Taking her own knife, she too cut her hand without wincing and added blood to her potion. "Then, with a hundred or so dragons-"
"There'd be nothing we couldn't conquer," Zheal finished for her, pressing a bandage into her bleeding palm as he met her gaze.
He wants to take the whole world now?!
Damara narrowed her eyes with a sly smile. "I propose a competition," she told him.
"And what is that?" Zheal carefully wound the bandage around her hand.
"You and I go to the Island with the same amount of powder. Whoever bewitches the most dragons wins. Any that your troops catch count for neither of us."
What is she talking about? Rib worried, seeing how the two grinned at each other. Could she be serious?
"And for the winner of this competition?" Light danced on Zheal's perfect smile as he spoke. "What shall be the prize?"
Damara brushed a beetle off the Huskhn Heir's shoulder with a small frown. "Let the winner herself decide, once she has won."
Zheal laughed. "You're confident you will be the victor, then?"
"Oh, I will beat you." Damara sounded as though surprised he didn't know yet. "With dozens of dragons parading behind me, I'll have beaten you."
No. Rib hated to hear her speak that way. It was revolting.
Zheal, however, appeared much amused. He leaned closer to Damara, smirking, his mouth by her ear, and whispered, "Underestimate me as the dragons do, and you shall find yourself quite surprised."
This?this is appalling. Rib's hide crawled. They're making a game of dragons' lives!
At that moment, Memory startled him by squeezing her head in the doorway under his. Like an inquisitive cat, she swiveled her eyes around the room.
Zheal and Damara looked at the dragons peering in.
"What would they do without us humans?" the Huskhn said in amusement. "Look, they can't even entertain themselves. They have nothing better to do than watch us."
Damara dumped a load of tiny bones into her simmering potion. "We'll be doing dragonkind a favor, taking them all," she agreed.
Rib stared at her as she handed the rest of the bones to Zheal.
Was I wrong to trust her?
She looked so bold. So ambitious.
Who has she been fooling all this time?
Chapter 25