Seventeen

In which Dawncaster is leading the resistance and gets some help

A/N: I may give out cliffhangers, but I don't like leaving people hanging forever.  Thank you so much for sticking with me through November! Dragonhatched is panning out to be larger than I expected, so in this chapter, you'll see summaries of scenes that I will write later when I go back and edit. If all goes well, there will be a few more updates on this blog as a bring the novel to some kind of conclusion before I start revision.

[Bess and Jonathan return to Ebon Reach without Daystar and Emberlace. Dawncaster is shocked. They do not take the contract to Ravenglen.

Stage invasion the next day. Bandits reveal themselves to be part of a larger army unit. Ebon Reach unable to resist for lack of military forces in most of their baronies. Lord Baron of Northmarch a traitor. Dawncaster cuts the wires to the energy cubes and lets the rest of the energy drain out before anyone can get to the transmitting floor.

Leader of invasion wants information on the Drageklek. Bess and Jonathan realize it is the same person who kidnapped them. Dawncaster begins destroying information or hiding it.

With Nighthawk, they begin to organize a resistance.]

The halls of Ebon Reach were darker without energy lights. The torches threw sooty light over the stone as nobles and servants passed each other in silence. Dawncaster kept her head down, walking quickly, but not too quickly.

Too quickly might be seen as suspicious. Her hands twisted on her skirt again, and she purposefully relaxed them, trying not to let her tension seep into her posture. She’d been certain the dragons would not take Daystar. But Jonathan, Bess, and the young guard had returned to Ebon Reach alone, with a roll of parchment.

Daystar’s last gift to them, now nearly useless. The invasion had struck a mere day later, the roving bands of criminals across the kingdom suddenly coalescing into a single unit. The Lord Baron of Northmarch revealed himself as a traitor who had long turned a blind eye to the forces creeping across his border. Dawncaster had cut the wires and drained the energy cubes that night before hiding the contract Daystar negotiated with the dragons.

Better to keep their occupying enemy crippled.

Ravenglen still held the throne, now a frightened puppet of the Lord Baron of Northmarch, who got his orders from who knew where.

Whoever it was, they had planned this invasion for a long time and executed it perfectly. Ebon Reach had fallen in hours.

Dawncaster lifted her chin slightly, trying to shake off her despair. It had fallen one way quickly, certainly it could fall the other way. Whoever was controlling the barons was powerful, but absent, and therefore confident in his authority.

Confidence could be a weakness. Dawncaster glanced back at Bess, who smiled at her slightly. She’d kept the two sellswords near her, and they proved her most trusted allies. Jonathan was away drumming up resistance with Nighthawk, and Bess stayed here in guise as Dawncaster’s personal maid. Together, they were slowly draining the library of every shred of information on the Drageklek and hiding or destroying it. Today completed their work - nothing was left but a few useless myths, and the last of Daystar’s confiscated writersplates were tucked securely in Dawncaster’s pocket.

The doors of Far Haven tower closed behind them, and Dawncaster let herself relax a little.

“I should never have asked Daystar to go,” she whispered, looking down at the little rectangle of glass and silver in her hands. “If I could have kept him alive a little longer…”

“Then the Lord Baron of Northmarch might have killed him as soon as the invasion started. Or after it ended,” Bess finished briskly.

“He wouldn’t be dead.”

“Just as good as.” Bess’s voice was blunt. “You did what you thought to be best at the time, Dawncaster. There’s naught for us to do but sit quiet until the opportune time comes.”

“How was Jonathan when he left?”

“Excited. They’re gaining support with the people. Common folks are libel to live quiet unless someone won’t let them. Push ‘em too far and they start biting.”

Dawncaster nodded. Conditions in Upper Vale were worse than anyone could remember in a long time. The peasants only worked for the nobles now, gave everything they grew to them and received starving rations back. The guilds were locked under the control of the crown, their contracts negotiated by the crown, their earnings going directly to the royal treasury. And if Ravenglen proudly said the crown supported the guilds by paying entirely for their upkeep, the fact remained that it didn’t pay much, and the craftsmen, once revered for their skill, were little more than slaves.

This former middle class was their best recruiting ground. The people knew what it was to live free and govern their own affairs, and they disliked their guilds being confined by the ever more controlling King Ravenglen. Their fervor filtered down into the peasants below them, and from Jonathan’s reports, the people were ready to resist.

Jonathan and Nighthawk were waiting for them in Dawncaster’s study, expressions grim.

“What is it?” Dawncaster asked as Bess hugged Jonathan.

“We’ve received a message from someone who wants to help,” Jonathan explained carefully, showing her a piece of paper.

Dawncaster.

I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you before now, but there were extenuating circumstances. I’ve heard of what has happened in Upper Vale and want to help you reclaim the kingdom from Ravenglen and those controlling him. Come and meet me at the tower on the Cinderstrand Road, where we can plan without fear of being overheard.

Dawncaster stared at the note before turning it over to see if there was a signature and finding nothing.

“Who did it come from?”

Nighthawk shook his head. “We’ve no idea,” he rumbled “I almost fear it could be a trap for you.”

“Trap or no, we do need help,” Dawncaster admitted. “Nighthawk,” she said, coming quickly to a decision and keeping to it, “You remain here. If I do not return, the rebellion will be yours to lead as you wish. I will go and meet the sender of this note. Bess and Jonathan will come with me, if they will do so?”

The sell swords nodded.

[Dawncaster organizes her people; disagreement from Nighthawk, basic argument. Dawncaster leaves for the Cinderstrand with Bess and Jonathan; they travel undercover until…]

Dawncaster reined in her horse, tugging her cloak tightly around her against the bitingly cold air. Snow had been falling all day, and their horses struggled in the thick snow, stamping and blowing whenever they stopped.

Ahead, amid the thickly falling snowflakes, she could see a tower in the valley next to the frozen river. Lights glowed in the windows, beckoning. Her mount danced lightly on its hooves for a moment before Dawncaster pressed forward, trying to forget her nervousness. Humans didn’t live in the Cinderstrand. Who could be calling her here, and how would they know about Upper Vale’s plight? Her horse’s hooves clopped on the ice of the frozen river, and the animal heaved and slid a little as it fought its way up the steep slope to the tower.

She, Bess, and Jonathan left their horses in a sheltering stand of trees near the tower and turned cautiously to knock on the door. Dawncaster clenched her fists nervously as she waited for the thick wooden portal to open.

The door creaked back, and she stared in total shock.

“Daystar?”

He looked older, and inexplicably more like himself. He wore simple woolen clothes and fur boots wrapped with strips of leather.

“You came,” he said, relieved, pulling the door wider and drawing them into the room.

“But…how…?” Dawncaster spluttered, clumsily reaching out to touch Daystar’s face with her cold fingers.

“Long story,” Daystar replied, clasping her shoulder and looking past her to greet Bess and Jonathan. The sellswords were stiffly polite out of sheer shock, and Daystar brushed a hand through his hair before directing them to the other side of the room where a fire burned.

“You might as well warm up while I explain.” He leaned away from them as they moved towards the fire and yelled through a door and up another staircase. “Emberlace! They’re here!”

Emberlace joined them a moment later, beaming widely, and Bess emerged from her shocked stupor long enough to hug the princess back before sinking onto the couch, gripping at her waist.

“Daystar,” Dawncaster finally managed, laying her cloak back and letting the heat of the fire seep into her bones. “We were certain you were dead.”

“So was I, for a moment,” Daystar replied.

“Couldn’t you have contacted us sooner?”

“Our hatch-parents wouldn’t allow it; I only recently learned of the invasion and sent a message as soon as I knew there was resistance.”

Dawncaster stared at the two royals, her stunned companions, then into the fire. “Perhaps you should explain?”

----

Blackness edged its way slowly from Daystar’s vision as he shifted, disoriented. The last thing he could remember was long streams of fire engulfing him and Emberlace, then darkness. He lay on something lumpy but comfortable, the dark scent of pine in his nostrils.

Opening his eyes slowly, he saw that he lay in the middle of a stone bowl lined carefully with smooth river rocks. Beyond the edges of the bowl were the walls and pillars of a vast cave, only dimly lit by warm yellow and blue lights above him. The bottom of the bowl where he lay was cushioned by small pine branches and dry grass that crackled as he sat up.

He wasn’t dead. Daystar was fairly certain of that, at least, though he didn’t know where he was, and he was wearing different clothes - a long woolen tunic tied with a strip of leather. He pinched himself, wondering if he were dreaming, and blinked slowly, opening them to the same strange scene.

“Emberlace?” he called, his voice echoing around the large cavern.

“She’s not here.”

Daystar started and turned towards the voice, and saw a dragon on the edge of the stone bowl. This was his first chance to see one of the creatures close up, and he saw easily why they were so feared. The dragon had powerful legs, a strong green-brown scaled body, and a sweeping tail. A long neck arched up to its head, a long snout with a powerful jaw and intelligent eyes with slit pupils. Two horns wound with copper rope twisted up on either side of the dragon’s head, and a long line of ridges traveled down its neck all the way to the end its tail. The wings were folded tightly by its side, though they flared as the dragon jumped lightly into the bowl with him. Daystar froze at the sight of the long talons on its feet and shrunk away fearfully.

The dragon’s face softened, and it cocked its head to look at him as it settled around the bowl, laying down and trailing its long tail around the rim. “You’ve nothing to fear from me,” the dragon told him in an unmistakably feminine voice.

“But the contract,” Daystar ventured nervously. “I put myself at the - at your mercy.”

“You humans are always so pessimistic,” the dragon sighed, lowering her head to look at him with a great hazel eye. “Must you always assume that putting yourself at someone else’s mercy means you will be hurt?”

“That’s what usually happens.”

The dragon sorted, and two columns of smoke rose from her nostrils. “No one here has any intention of hurting you, Daystar.”

“And Emberlace?”

“She is safe. But you may not see her yet.”

Daystar started to demand why before remembering his obligations and remaining silent. To his surprise, the dragon seemed amused by his reaction.

“You young mates, always loath to be separated from each other. All in good time.”

The dragon’s eyes became suddenly sorrowful, and she rested her head down on the pine next to him so that her snout was pressed up against his back. Daystar started at the unfamiliar touch, but to his own surprise, he didn’t feel the need to scramble away, even this close to the dragon’s maw.

“Tell me, what do you know of the Dragonhatched?” she asked.

“Very little,” Daystar replied. “Only that they were liaisons between the humans and the dragons.”

“You were told nothing else?”

“I could find nothing else. No one ever told me anything. Please,” he shifted a little to look into the dragon’s friendly, hazel eyes, “what is a Dragonhatched?”

“You are.”

Daystar stared at her, and the dragon laughed a little, a warm sound that comforted his tension.

“Something you should know about dragon eggs: not all of them have a hatchling inside. Those that do not are filled with nothing more than raw magical energy, and they do not hatch, they explode. Many long centuries ago, a use was discovered for these empty eggs. The energy within them is specifically sustaining and growing energy, and we found that we could teleport a human hatchling from its mother’s womb, into the egg, and into another womb.

“The egg could not only spare the life of both a child and a mother, the child would also siphon off the energy until the egg was weak enough to be disposed of without causing serious damage. And the humans gained yet another benefit - a child who came into contact with the sustaining energy inside a dragon’s egg could internalize and direct magical energy as they became an adult, something normally fatal for a human.

“From time to time, however, rather than transfer the child from the mother into another woman, or into the world itself, we would leave the child in the egg to hatch from it.”

“A Dragonhatched,” Daystar whispered.

The dragon nodded, her voice growing melancholy. “You were so tiny when your mother bore you. Far too tiny, your birth premature. Your poor father was beside himself; my mate had to wrap him up in his tail to keep him from flinging himself about the cottage in his distress. We were the closest dragons with an empty egg, and your parents were desperate. We barely made it in time to transfer you.” She lifted her head and nudged him gently. “Your parents wrapped up your egg and kept it warm and safe, and we left them with instructions of how to hatch you when the time came. But the Sickness came first, and when I returned to gather your egg, it was gone.”

“The Sickness? But that was nearly a century ago.”

The dragon nodded. “You were in suspended animation for a long time. How you got to Felstar I have no idea, but he must have hidden the circumstances of your birth very well. Imagine my surprise when you walked into that cave. I thought you lost for a terrible long count of years.”

“You’re saying I was hatched. From a dragon’s egg.”

“Yes.”

“Your dragon’s egg.” Daystar shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

“You stood the force of dragon’s fire,” the dragon replied placidly. At Daystar’s disbelieving look, she shook her head and plucked him up by the scruff of his neck, dropping him to sit on the edge of the bowl. “Now, dragon fire is deadly to a human, is it not?”

“Yes.”

The dragon nodded, then wheeled her head towards him, breathing a long stream of fire. It engulfed his body, the heat ruffling his hair, but he felt nothing besides a little extra warmth. The dragon shut off the stream, and Daystar stared at himself. A small singe along the edge of his tunic was the only damage.

“Your clothes didn’t manage it so well, I’m afraid, but we found some spares.”

Daystar blinked, his brain unequal to the task of grasping this information.

“You also instinctively understand the dragon language.”

“I do?”

“Listen to me, to yourself,” the dragon laughed. “Are we speaking any human language? Listen to my voice, really listen.”

His mouth dropped as he realized she was speaking in rumbles and low growls. “How is-” he cut himself off as he realized he was responding not in words, but with a distraught hiss. The sound was unnatural to his ears, but not to his tongue. “How do I know it?” he asked, listening in shock to his own troubled growl.

“You were Dragonhatched. The knowledge was already in you.”

“That’s why you would only speak with a Dragonhatched,” he realized out loud. “Because they were the only ones who could understand you.”

The dragon inclined her head. “Some of my people learn the tongues of humans, but the words are difficult for us to get our mouths around.”

----

“King Felstar was not your father, then?” Dawncaster demanded, interrupting.

“No.” Daystar glanced down into the fire. “Not by blood, at least. My parents were simple folk, farmers from Grimstone, though their rank went up when it was found they would have a Dragonhatched child.”

“What is a Dragonhatched, exactly, then?”

“It took me a long time to get used to the idea,” Daystar admitted, glancing at Emberlace, who smiled ruefully. “As near as I can tell, we’re human, but the time in the dragon egg and the release of extra energy while we were hatching made some sort of alteration to our…” he trailed off, gesturing weakly.

“We have no word for it in our language,” Emberlace explained.

“Core-of-the-creature?” Daystar finally suggested.

“Baseplan-of-the-creature would be a better translation,” Emberlace replied. “There are…things inside us, like little plans, that make up who we are, how we grow, what color our hair is. Each species Baseplans are different, and even in a species, each being’s Baseplan is different, if only by a little bit. It is the structure of a human’s plan that prevents them from internalizing magical energy and using it. From what I understand from my hatch-parents, time inside of a dragon’s egg changes a humans Baseplan, just slightly, so that they will accept magical energy. If they hatch from the egg, all the spare energy goes inside of them, and over time, it…” she trailed off, looking at Daystar, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It grows.”

“You have magical energy.”

Daystar nodded.

“Inside you.”

“It’s how I was able to command the clockwork guard,” Daystar explained. “Because it’s inside of me, I can sense external concentrations of it and manipulate them to my will. It’s why we weren’t allowed to contact you earlier. Normally a Dragonhatched would spend a great deal of time being fostered by their hatch-parents, learning about how to control and manipulate magical energy. Emberlace and I never had that opportunity, and the dragons refused to let us go anywhere until we had begun accessing and controlling our own powers.”

“Wait, Emberlace is hatched too?” Bess demanded.

“I am,” Emberlace replied, breaking into a smile. “I cannot tell you how much of a relief it is to know that Ravenglen is not really my father.”

“Does he know you’re hatched?” Dawncaster asked.

Emberlace shrugged. “If he does, he doesn’t know what it means.”

Daystar watched Dawncaster sit back into her chair, amazement and disbelief in her face.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he apologized.

The noblewoman held up hand and turned to him. “Do something.” Her fingers were shaking. “Something that you wouldn’t be able to do if you weren’t a Dragonhatched.”

Daystar took a deep breath, then pushed the energy inside him out to wrap around the table on the other side of the room. He felt the tendrils of it trail underneath the tabletop and directed them up until the table hovered almost near the ceiling. He moved it over a few feet and set it back down again.

“Do you believe me now?”

Their three visitors nodded mutely.

“There’s no reason to be afraid,” Emberlace admonished. “We want to help you.”

Sixteen

In Which Daystar strikes a bargain

The dark crept in around them as they descended into the cave until Daystar could see nothing. He put his feet forward cautiously, feeling ahead before taking the next step onto the smooth, dry stone. The air was open around them in vast edgelessness and the deeply ringing quiet of a massive chamber. Emberlace walked behind him, holding tightly to his hand and the back of his cloak.

A movement startled them, and Daystar halted, feeling a breath of air on his face as something rustled loudly. Low rumbling purred through the room, and he felt briefly as if were on the transmitting floor again, though the taste of the energy here was wilder. Lights pierced the darkness, glowing in pairs, and Daystar drew back a step as he realized they were eyes.

Seven pairs of eyes glowed high above him in a semicircle, some further up than others, blazing green and blue, golden, purple. The eyes swayed to the scraping of scales and claws as the dragons shifted in the darkness, and Daystar and Emberlace drew close to each other.

The eyes shut off abruptly, and Daystar held his breath, his fingers unconsciously weaving through Emberlace’s. Great orange eyes opened in front of them, burning like embers, lifted high off the floor so that Daystar had to tilt his head back to see them. The other eyes opened again, now fixed on the two humans, and Daystar’s voice wilted in his throat.

Nothing he thought to say seemed to want to come out. The vibration of the dragon’s breathing and low growling rippled through the floor and into his gut until his stomach turned over and his heart fluttered uncomfortably. He knew nothing of dragon etiquette, but he did not doubt that this was a less than friendly reception. Daystar slowly detached himself from Emberlace and took step forward, trying to gather himself.

“Upper Vale has counted the dragons of the Cinderstrand as allies for nearly as long as our kingdom has existed.” There. Daystar could begin with something he knew, at least.

“It is to our disgrace that we have broken such a long-standing friendship between our two dominions. We never had any intention of doing so.” He shifted his feet, uncomfortable in the silence under the dragon’s glowing stares.

“That is not said to justify anything we have done to insult you, only to assure you of the truth of what I say when I tell you that we do not wish for war with the Cinderstrand. Which is why we have come.

“I am Daystar, Crown Prince of Upper Vale, and this is my wife, Princess Emberlace. We are here to speak with you in regard to the attacks on the Barony of Deepnight.”

The dragons shifted this time, the eyes looming closer and more intently.

“From my study of the laws which govern the relations between two dominions, the responsibility for alliances made by a kingdom falls upon the shoulders of its rulers.

“Therefore, the burden of guilt for the breaking of the compact between us does not lie with my people, since they are under the command of the barons. Yet you have driven them from their homes, burned their fields and livelihoods, and visited death and sorrow upon them even though they are helpless to make recompense to you for any misdeeds, real or perceived.

“Neither does the burden of guilt lie with my barons. They are answerable to me and may not act on their own to treat with a foreign power. Yet you have attacked them as well, destroying their strongholds and putting them to flight, though they, like my people, can do nothing to make amends and end this destruction.”

Daystar gathered his courage and took another step forward. “I can make only one demand of you. That you place the burden of guilt where it belongs: not with my people or the nobles, but upon me, and only me.”

He was shaking now, whether with fear or desperation he couldn’t tell. The listening silence pressed in around him as the eyes continued to pulse and glow, unblinking, emotionless. Daystar continued, his voice taking a pleading edge in spite of himself. “It was the responsibility of the royal family of Upper Vale to remember our alliances and keep them, and we have not done so. If someone must suffer or die to appease your anger, then let that fall upon the shoulders of those with whom the blame rests, but I beg of you - leave my people in peace.”

“Your desire for our energy is so desperate?” The scornful, amused voice came from somewhere close to the green eyes.

“The energy has nothing to do with my request.” Daystar replied, and the eyes finally blinked. “I do not ask for a reinstatement of the contract, or even a renewal of friendship between our two peoples. I only offer myself to do with as you wish in exchange for a cessation of hostilities.”

“And your wife?” a rumbling voice boomed from near the great orange eyes.

“Speaks for herself.”

Daystar felt Emberlace’s shoulder brush his and knew she had joined him. He groped for her hand, and she grabbed it strongly, her voice clear.

“I offer myself as well.”

The dragons snorted, and columns of smoke drifted up before the glowing eyes.

“It is a more fitting bargain than you know,” Orange-eyes hummed. “For that, we will accept it.”

Daystar breathed a huge sigh of relief and closed his eyes, feeling waves of tension draining out of him.

“We will send word to your king. And when we are finished with you, Upper Vale’s rulers may open a renegotiation of our former contract.”

Such conditions were more than they could have hoped for, and Daystar’s fear warred with his elation. A small globe of light flickered into existence close to his head, and a parchment and quill hovered beneath it. The parchment was blank, and Daystar realized it was left to him to inscribe the final wording of the agreement. He picked up the quill and began writing slowly, laying out the terms with exacting precision. Himself and Emberlace in exchange for a total cessation of hostilities between Upper Vale and the Cinderstrand. The dragons would inform the king of the outcome of Daystar’s mission. If either party continued to attack the other, the contract would be void. If the contract was honored by both parties, Upper Vale would be free to send emissaries to renegotiate the energy contract with the dragons.

Daystar stopped writing and glanced upward at Orange-eyes as the paper and light soared upwards, briefly illuminating the dragon’s snout. The dragon skimmed the paper, and the quill quivered across it before it sunk back down to Daystar. The prince saw an added stipulation: the contract would be considered honored only after he and Emberlace had fulfilled their promise completely. Daystar added his own stipulation: that a messenger must be dispatched to the king as soon as the contract was signed.

Orange-eyes nodded when he saw this, and the parchment sizzled faintly. It fluttered back down to Daystar again, and he saw the peculiar, twisting mark of the dragon smoking faintly below the wording. Gripping the quill harder than necessary, he signed his own name beside the mark and passed the quill to Emberlace, who lightly scrawled her name beneath his. The parchment shivered, then duplicated. Daystar had just enough time to determine the duplicate was indeed an exact copy before it rolled up and vanished as a loud rush of wind fluttered his clothing.

“The messenger, as required,” Orange-eyes explained, “to bear a copy of the contract to your king.”

The original rolled itself up as the light went out. Daystar’s heart pounded in his ears, and he could feel sweat on his palms. A faint voice in the back of his head that sounded vaguely like Dawncaster shrieked, What have you done?

With his negotiation, the kingdom would have energy again, he reassured the voice. Yes, there was an invasion coming, but they would be able to defend themselves, and their forces would no longer be split between two fronts.

Emberlace’s hand slipped into his, and his heart stopped pounding frantically, restoring itself to a more stable beat. The cavern was suddenly lit by eight flame-filled maws burning like mad jack ‘o lanterns below the glowing eyes. Daystar looked down into his wife’s face, her hair like red fire, her eyes without fear, and let go of her hand to cup her face and kiss her. She put her arms around his neck, and he tucked her head into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her as the room crackled with heat.

Ravenglen is still on the throne.

Dawncaster will not leave him there.

You’re at the mercy of the dragons.

And my people are not.

Daystar drank in the moment, Emberlace radiating peace, the sweet breath of air in his lungs, the satisfaction that he had done what he had set out to do. The dragons reared back, growling lowly, and Daystar breathed out.

He felt neither pain nor fear as the flames engulfed him, only Emberlace, and then, nothing.

The fire was abruptly gone, and only ash remained. Orange-eyes turned away, rumbling deep in his chest with satisfaction, and carefully stored the solemnized contract in a locked box.

Fifteen

In Which Daystar and Emberlace depart for the Cinderstrand.

A/N: Normally, I write novels to some sort of soundtrack. I'll find a song or composer and listen to the music to give me musical context. Dragonhatched has been somewhat difficult to write because I can't quite find the right music for it. This song, The Wilder Sun by Jon Hopkins, is the only piece I've found yet that fits perfectly, and it acts as the soundtrack to Daystar and Emberlace's departure from Ebon Reach in this chapter.

Prince Daystar and Princess Emberlace set off from the castle of Ebon Reach with great pomp and fanfare. After some argument over clothing, Daystar finally managed to convince the barons that they should dress simply, and both he and Emberlace wore dark blue, Daystar with a long woolen robe over his usual clothes, and Emberlace once again in long, full skirts and ruffled sleeves. She braided her hair over her shoulder, and wore a single small diamond on her forehead. Daystar wore no sign of his rank except his father’s signet, and the Lord Baron of Deepnight had commented casually that they looked shabby for representatives of their kingdom. 

“I have not the patience to waste on frivolous extravagance when my people are dying,” Emberlace retorted to the baron’s comments, silencing him. Ravenglen dramatically hugged both of them as they left, tears streaming down his cheeks, and Daystar resisted the urge to be sick.

Both nights since they’d been captured were marked by ever more violent attacks by the dragons. Every major village or city in Deepnight was burning, and now peasants fled to the city of Ebon Reach for refuge as fire descended on their homes as well.

“Their plight is why I do this,” he told Emberlace the night before they departed as he stared out the window. The horizon was lit in places by burning fields, washing out the stars. “If it was merely Ravenglen and the nobles, I would tell them to go jump off a tower.”

“Do you think we will succeed?” Emberlace asked him quietly, hugging herself.

“I honestly have no idea. But for the sake of our people, we must try. If I do not return, it will fall to you to be queen.”

“I will never rule with Ravenglen.”

“I do not expect you to. Work with Dawncaster. Overthrow his reign.”

Now they turned away from Ravenglen’s false words of encouragement and blessing to join their escort: a young guard and another man and woman. Daystar broke into a wide smile as he saw Jonathan and Bess. The two bowed as the prince and princess approached, and Daystar clasped Jonathan’s arm as Emberlace threw her arms around Bess and greeted her happily.

“How did you end up here?” Daystar asked Jonathan under his breath.

“The person who hired us said you needed people you could trust,” Jonathan replied. “And they don’t trust the guards, apparently.”

“Just as well.”

Daystar mounted as Jonathan lifted Emberlace up onto her sidesaddle. The princess swayed a little as she caught her balance and hooked her knee around the saddlehorn.

No one spoke as they left the great castle gates and crossed the bridge over the Wanderstep River into the city. The people lined the streets in silence, backing away as Jonathan cleared the way ahead with a pale blue flag of parlay in his stirrup, and closing in after Bess and the young guard bearing their colors passed at the rear of the small procession. The weight of their silence was more than the sound of the customary cheering that usually accompanied a royal procession, and Daystar looked out among them, catching their worried eyes as he rode. The entire city lined their path out in reverent silence, and the whole city remained unnaturally still.

Caravans of refugees slipped to a halt as they took to the road beside the river, drawing aside to make room for them and watching them go in the same eerie silence that overcame Ebon Reach. Mediators and a few Fervents fell to their knees and turned their faces to the sky as the prince and princess passed, knowing what the flag of parley meant, and Daystar was grateful for their prayers.

The silence continued around them as they traveled on, extending even to the small inns where they stayed. Jonathan and Bess spoke to the innkeepers, who dealt with the party in gentle silence that pervaded even into the common room and the small houses clustered around the way houses.

“Why do they not speak?” Emberlace whispered to Daystar as the second day stretched on without a sound beyond the wind and the rush of the river.

“They know the flag of parley means that we are going to the dragons. Their silence is out of respect for the gravity of the task; they believe it will bring a blessing upon the mission.”

“It’s unnerving,” Emberlace commented.

Daystar couldn’t resist grinning at her. “Now you know how I felt.”

She smacked him gently on the arm.

***

They reached the Cinderstrand on the third day and followed the Wanderstep River up into the mountains. Snow already dusted the passes and the tops of the mountains, and they bundled themselves in cloaks against the cold, camping for the night at the crossroads between the Split Mountain Pass and the Cinderstrand Road. The road to the dragon hold was flanked by pillars of stone as high as those in the throne room of Ebon Reach, the road many times as wide as the pass and paved with layers of finely cracked stone. Pine trees grew out of the rocky slopes above the road, gangly and undeterred by the hostile stone.

Another flight of dragons passed over their camp before they lay down to sleep, and they watched the creatures go.

“What is your plan?” Jonathan asked Daystar as they sat staring into the fire.

“I’m going to sue for peace. We’ve spent too much time thinking about how to renew the contract rather than reestablish an alliance with the dragons.”

Daystar looked up at Jonathan. “I must go alone once we near the dragons. If I do not return, you must get back to Lady Dawncaster at all costs.”

“Your parties have never returned, then?”

“Not a man of them,” Daystar said soberly. “We don’t know why, but I intend to give you the best chance of bringing some kind of news back to Lady Dawncaster and her agents.”

“And if you are successful?”

“Then I’ll be in a position to ask for a lift back, or at least for a message to be taken to you.”

“What are you bargaining with that makes you think they’ll listen?” Bess asked shrewdly.

Daystar leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed at his hair, letting his hand slide over his face, and the others drew closer, expressions growing grim.

“Myself.”

Bess’s mouth dropped open. “Yourself? But you’re the heir apparent again; you’re too valuable.”

“That’s exactly it, Bess. I’m valuable. Second to the kingdom itself, I’m the most valuable thing I’ve got to bargain with.”

“And Emberlace?” Bess inquired, shifting closer to the other woman.

“As far as I am concerned, she is my heir. If I do not return, she will take my place on the throne of Upper Vale.”

Jonathan eyed him keenly. “You don’t expect to return.”

Daystar took a deep breath, looking up at Emberlace, relieved to see the understanding in her eyes. “I don’t. Someone needs to take responsibility for breaking our contract, and it might as well be me, since I am the heir of those who committed the infringement in the first place.”

“And if the kingdom falls apart without you?” Bess demanded. “I’ve heard the people speak of you, the way you hold the barons in check.”

“The kingdom is falling apart with me. The people can bear the foolishness of the barons, and it will eventually destroy itself. The dragons are an external threat that we cannot survive.”

Bess and Jonathan looked at each other. “If so…” Jonathan ruminated, “Perhaps we should part ways here. This is the edge of the dragon’s territory, and we can wait here until you return or we get some kind of word of you. Please try to bargain for a message of your fate to be sent back.”

Daystar nodded. “I will.”

They lay awake in silence for a long time that night, seeing the shadows of the returning dragons sweep across the stars as the wing beats faded into the distance. Daystar’s dreams were troubled, full of darkness punctuated by bright flashes of light, and he woke with a searing headache that subsided even as he sat up, gripping his head.

The campfire was burned down to embers, and the sun was just stretching its rays above the mountains. Daystar rose and shook out his clothes and bedroll with the others. All of them moved in silence; there was nothing particular to say, and beyond polite ‘good morning,’ conversation would have seemed forced.

Jonathan and Bess moved to cut branches and make a more permanent camp as Daystar packed his saddlebags to continue on alone. He heard a sharp grunt and turned to see Emberlace saddling her horse.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Coming with you,” she replied briskly, stepping to tighten the girth as the horse looked back at her in confusion before deciding that her clumsy work wasn’t hurting or uncomfortable and placidly waiting while she gently figured out the bridle.

“You can’t,” Daystar protested. “I’m going to make peace, and someone is going to have to rule when I’m gone. It should be you.”

“I’m not a queen, Daystar,” Emberlace said darkly. “Dawncaster will do fine ruling; she can handle the barons.”

“Listen-”

“No.” She turned, holding her horse by the bridle. “You can’t just ask me to sit here and watch you ride away to die, and tell me to go on living without you because I’m not sure that I can.” Tears brimmed up in her eyes, and Emberlace fought them back, biting her lip ferociously. “You’re part of me, and I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t there.”

“You would go on,” Daystar reassured her.

Emberlace shook her head. “You saw me as a different person from anyone else, and I am a different person than I have ever been, and all of that is built around you, and I don’t think I can continue to be her if you’re not there.”

“I’m probably going to die. If you come with me, you’ll die too.”

“That’s a journey I’m willing to take.” Emberlace lifted her chin, and Daystar saw something like despair behind her eyes as the tears finally fell. “Don’t you remember who my father is? I have no one back in Ebon Reach. I’ve never remembered really having anyone besides my nurse who ever truly cared for me, and she’s dead. I don’t know. Maybe I love you because there’s never been anyone else for me to love. Do you remember what I told you, Daystar, why I didn’t kill you? I didn’t kill you because you were kind. That’s all it took because no one, no one has been good to me in a long time. Almost longer than I can even remember. If you walk away, you walk away and leave me without anyone at all in this world, completely bereft of the only person whoever possibly gave me anything good to hold onto, anything that I loved or looked forward to or felt any sort of protectiveness towards. If I watch you die, if I know you die, if I do not die with you, I will die soon after you because I will have absolutely nothing.”

Daystar stared at her, tears brimming in his own eyes as she trembled and cried, leaning on the horse for some sort of support. “I…just don’t want to bring you to your death, Emberlace. I don’t want to be the reason that you life is cut off.”

“My life was cut off a long time ago.”

“Only one person should have to die here.”

“And that person should be you? I can understand why you think that, but I have no intention of letting you go alone. If you think I’m going back to Ebon Reach, you’re mad, and if you forbid me from following you, well, I think you know how well that will go over with me.

“You’re not stopping me from coming with you.”

Daystar’s heart cracked a little as he looked at her, finally scooping her up into his arms and letting her cry wretchedly on her shoulder, burying his face in her hair as he began to cry with her, wondering what it must feel like to be more certain of death then life because death would at least leave you with the one person you cared for. He could hardly imagine life being a worse fate than death, but if that was how she felt, he certainly could not stop her.

“Come, then,” he told her, squeezing her slender waist. “But not to die, alright? We’re going to come out of this alive if we can.”

Jonathan and Bess stayed back to let them have their moments together, and only joined them again as they broke apart. Bess and Emberlace hugged each other tightly, swaying as they cried into each other’s shoulders and pulling away slowly, trying to laugh past their tears.

“You look awful,” Bess told Emberlace bluntly. “Maybe you can scare the dragons with those lovely red eyes of yours.”

Emberlace managed a laugh after that and reached out to hesitantly brush Jonathan’s shoulder with a hand. He caught her fingers and bowed over her hand a little gracelessly. “My lady. Best of luck to you.”

A cold wind blew in over the camp as they mounted and turned their horses onto the Cinderstrand Road. The pines bowed against the gusts, and Daystar bowed his head against the biting cold, his fingers growing numb on the pole of the parley flag braced in his stirrup. Emberlace carried their colors, and they grappled with the flags a little as the wind snapped them.

They saw no living thing besides a few birds and squirrels for the entire day, though Daystar felt as if something constantly watched them. Shadows that were not clouds fell across the road, stones tumbled from ledges, and they sometimes heard a far-off roar or the thud of wing beats. The country grew wilder as the road wound up through the mountains, following the Wanderstep as it wound down through the mountains. Late in the day, Daystar spotted a tower in the distance and reined in, staring at it. It towered in the midst of a high valley on a massive rock. A winding road cut into the rocks let up to it, and pine trees clustered around the base. An outcropping on the side of the rock hung over the river, and another small tower sat atop it. The building was obviously human sized, almost friendly-looking, with white marble and a red roof like the terracotta used in Far Haven.

“Do you think it might be safe to stop there for the night?” Emberlace asked, shuddering against the wind.

“We can at least shelter near it,” Daystar replied, urging his horse down the road.

They walked their horses up the steep incline, noting the grooves in the road for their mounts to hang onto. From time to time during the day, the horses had showed nervousness, rolling their eyes and side-stepping, but here they seemed calm, and Daystar took it as a good sign.

The tower seemed in good condition, with all the glass still in the windows and the door firmly closed. He knocked twice before gently pressing the latch, and it swung open under his touch. A musty smell drifted out, and he pressed cautiously into the dim room, wishing for a candle. A switch on the wall caught his eye, and he flipped it, blinking as energy lights hung into the ceiling came on.

The room was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it seemed to be some kind of parlor. A large fireplace sat on one side, flanked by rotted-out husks of chairs and couches. The door on the other side of the room was shut and locked. The side of the room without the fireplace looked bare and abandoned, and Daystar had the feeling that whoever had lived here moved away long ago. Nothing remained to bring a personal touch to the room.

“Looks safe enough,” Daystar said to Emberlace.

She swept the room once with her eyes and nodded, taking his horse’s reins from him. “I’ll rub them down while you start a fire.

Daystar tracked back out into the fading light to gather enough firewood to last them through the night, which promised to be cold. Returning with a large armload, he cleared the dusty grate and coaxed a blaze to life, slowly warming the stone room. They carefully pulled faded curtains over the windows and turned out the energy lights to keep their presence in the tower quiet.

“Do you think a Dragonhatched might have lived here?” Emberlace asked.

“Could be.” The tower was in between the crossroads and the dragon holds according to what maps they had of the Cinderstrand.

“I wonder why they left.”

“They wanted some human company?” Daystar shrugged. “Maybe the sickness took the last of them.”

Daystar and Emberlace ate in relative silence and bedded down next to the fire while the horses huddled on the other side of the dilapidated furniture.

“This could be the last night we’re alive,” Emberlace commented.

“Yeah.” Daystar stared up the thick beams in the ceiling, wondering vaguely what death felt like. “You can still stay here, or go back.”

“I’ve come this far.” Emberlace shifted, resting her head on his shoulder as they huddled for warmth. “Did you notice there were no tracks on the floor? I’d think the emissaries would have stopped here to shelter too.”

“Maybe they were too nervous.” Daystar replied.

“Seems strange, though.” She looked up at him. “Maybe the dragons wanted us to come here.”

“Why would they want that?”

Emberlace shrugged. “Maybe because they’re accepting our mission?”

“I suppose we can hope.”

***

The next day was dull and chilly, and the horses danced nervously along the trail. The feeling of being watched bored holes in Daystar’s back, and he had to stop himself from spinning around to check what was behind him. Emberlace fidgeted in her saddle, fussing with the reins and nearly losing her balance as she struggled to manage her horse. They finally left the animals as the dragon holds came into sight, leading them down into a small copse and tying them loosely enough to pull free. Upon some contemplation, they left both banners with the horses, suspecting their arrival was already known.

The dragon holds were a series of caves set into towering stone cliffs. The jagged land was burned out all around the area, scorch marks set into the cliff face. Not a dragon was to be seen on the ground or in the air, but Daystar and Emberlace could hear them rumbling inside their caves. The largest was a yawning hole in the ground, edges smoothed and carved, flanked with pillars like the ones on either side of the road.

Daystar and Emberlace gripped each other’s hands securely and made their way down into the cave mouth.

Fourteen

A/N -- Welcome to possibly my longest chapter yet.  From here on out, we're in real time posting, which means that I'll be posting stuff as I write, except - if all goes as planned - over Thanksgiving, during which I'll hopefully have posts queued to show up automatically.

In which Daystar becomes a prince again and Dawncaster is surprising

Daystar woke slowly, gripping his ringing head in his hands and turning painfully on the stone floor. The world spun when he tried to sit up, and he lay back, waiting for the squirming in his stomach to settle as he tried to get his bearings.

He recognized the stone of the castle of Ebon Reach and turned his head slowly to see where he was. A small stone room with a barred door. The cells.

Emberlace.

Daystar sat up, ignoring the rushing noise and the pain throbbing behind his ears as he looked around. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Emberlace laying on the floor nearby, red hair spilled around her where she had been dropped. He crawled quickly to her side and brushed the hair away from her face, checking to see if the blow to her head had caused any damage. No skin was broken, though there was a lump on the side of her head, and he guessed she wouldn’t feel much better than him when she woke. He lifted her head into his lap and leaned back, bracing his arms against he floor and letting his head fall back in frustration.

This was just perfect. He’d hoped to escape the barons entirely, but now it seemed that they were looking for them again, and that couldn’t mean anything good. Perhaps they’d decided he was a threat after all and were preparing to finish the job and making sure he was dead. And Emberlace would go back to Ravenglen’s tender care. That stung the most. He could bear whatever the barons intended for him, but Emberlace should not be brought into it. Even if she was strong enough to make it through Ravenglen’s wroth, she shouldn’t have to be.

Emberlace woke slowly, shifting slightly on the floor and brining a hand to her head with a moan. Daystar stroked her hair and gently helped her sit up, whereupon she slumped onto his shoulder with another groan, still holding her head.

“Where are we?” she asked blearily.

“Dungeons of Ebon Reach.”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

Daystar shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Emberlace hugged her knees and rested her chin on them, rocking back and forth slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Daystar whispered. “You should go. I’m sure your training included how to escape from a dungeon. You should run, it’s me the barons want.”

She stood and walked to the door, reaching around the bars to feel of the lock, running her hand up and down the metal in deep thought.

“No.”

“What?”

“I…” she took a deep breath and turned. “I’m staying. If it comes to it, I can escape later, but I’m staying.”

“It’s dangerous for you.”

“It’s dangerous for you, Daystar. The lord baron of Deepnight let you go, and he has influence, yes? They’ve brought you back for a reason, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had to do with those dragon attacks three nights ago.”

***

The guards came for them a few hours later, shackling Daystar’s wrists and roughly hustling him up through the castle. Emberlace trailed behind, hissing in pain as she was manhandled up the flights of stairs. The great throne room opened up in front of them, and Daystar stared up at the tall pillars and the glaring clockwork guards, and at last to the silver throne where Ravenglen sat.

The Damantian baron looked somehow completely out of place. The wide-shouldered king’s robe only served to make him look smaller, and the throne swallowed him until he looked like a befuddled dwarf in a giant’s hall. Daystar lifted his chin as the guards pushed him to his knees, staring Ravenglen in the eye with all the belligerence he could summon. Emberlace’s shoulder touched his, and he shifted, letting her lean up against him and trying to feed some strength into her as she trembled slightly.

“Welcome back to Ebon Reach, Lucian,” Ravenglen simpered. “I suppose you’ve missed the city.”

Daystar did not reply, setting his lips in a thin line and glaring at the impostor king.

“I believe it is polite to answer your ruler.”

Make me, Daystar dared with his gaze.

Ravenglen frowned angrily. “If you are determined to be disrespectful, maybe I won’t tell you why I brought you here.”

Daystar searched Ravenglen’s eyes, then smirked just slightly. If they needed him, he had everything to gain and could push the boundaries. If they didn’t need him, they would dispose of him easily, and no amount of groveling would spare his life. He might as well keep his pride.

The new king shifted uncomfortably on his throne, grimacing at Daystar and attempting to return his glare with one equally intimidating. Unsuccessful, he turned his attention to Emberlace instead.

“You know what happens when you refuse to speak to me, Talia.”

Emberlace shuddered violently, but she gathered herself and raised her head, looking back defiantly and pressing her lips together. Daystar felt a surge of affection for his wife and nudged his shoulder imperceptibly against hers. Ravenglen was nearly pouting, like a child who couldn’t get what they wanted, but he was also growing angry. Daystar braced himself for Ravenglen’s coming attempt at some kind of petty revenge.

“Pick him up,” Ravenglen snapped, waving a hand at one of the clockwork guards. The huge automaton bent with ponderous grace and scooped Daystar up off the ground in a huge hand, sweeping his arm up to hold Daystar in his fist almost at the ceiling of the hall. Emberlace shrieked in surprise and fear, pushing against the guards who keep her down on her knees, and Daystar felt his stomach drop uncomfortably. The automaton’s blue gem eyes stared up at him, flickering with the light of the energy that powered it, and Daystar stared back, suddenly growing calm.

“Would you mind setting me down?” he asked lightly. “I’m a bit dizzy up here.”

The eyes flickered, then flared warmly, and the automaton leaned its spear up against a pillar and scooped its other hand under Daystar, setting the former prince in its palm. Daystar swayed a little as the clockwork guard knelt again to gently set him back on the floor. The court grew silent with shock, and even Daystar was amazed that the guard controlling the automaton had listened to him.

Ravenglen was just as startled. “What is the meaning of this,” he screeched over his shoulder, and the nervous controller guard came out from his hiding place, frightened eyes on Daystar.

“It won’t respond to me,” he stammered, staring at the clockwork guard that still knelt just behind Daystar. He waved his arms to demonstrate, then shrunk away under the king’s glare.

Daystar avoided the urge to look over his shoulder in shock at the automaton and instead tilted his chin up again to look down his nose at Ravenglen, as if the guard’s response were merely a built in safety feature.

“Perhaps we should cut to the chase, your majesty?”

Daystar whirled to see Dawncaster strolling up to the throne. She was decked in shimmering red, her hair swept up in graceful piles laced with glittering energy lights. She spared him a brief glance before inclining her head graciously to the king.

“Yes, yes, perhaps we should.” He tried looking down his nose at Daystar and failed miserably. “You are a threat, Lucian, and we are going to kill you.”

“Very to the point, your majesty,” Dawncaster purred. “But certainly he should know how he is to die?” Her eyes glinted with triumph, and Daystar couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“Beheading,” Ravenglen said triumphantly, smirking at Daystar.

He should be feeling intimidated or desperate, Daystar thought. Instead he felt nothing - even the word of his impending death raised no response in him.

Dawncaster’s eyes flickered. “Your majesty, are you certain the people would take it well?”

“What should we care what the people think?” Ravenglen demanded.

“Nothing at all,” Dawncaster said lightly. “But Lucian here was a powerful and recognizable political figure. His death should serve as the means to secure your position in every way possible. Killing him as a criminal would remove his threat to your throne, your majesty, but killing him as a martyr for your cause would make the people adore you.”

Ravenglen licked his lips eagerly at the thought of adoration. “Continue, Lady Dawncaster.”

“Send him to the dragons,” Dawncaster declared viciously, wheeling on Daystar with fury in her eyes. “It’s what he always wanted, to go and beg the dragons for mercy.” She stalked in on him, and Daystar only just managed to stand his ground past the rough punch of her betrayal. “Send him as the last emissary, the last great attempt at peace. That will satisfy the people that war is inevitable. And when they hear of his murder, then they will grow angry, and you, your majesty, will sorrowfully avenge his tragic death.”

Dawncaster was close enough to touch him now, and she grabbed the front of Daystar’s shirt, pulling him close and staring at him in disgust. “I hope you’re happy in the life you’ve chosen, Lucian. You could have had me for your queen and ruled in glory, but now I’m disgusted I ever looked at you. I only regret that I will not get to watch the dragons tear you apart.”

She dropped him almost thoughtlessly, turning away, and Daystar stumbled back, staring at her in shock.

“I thought we were friends, Dawncaster,” he said softly. “We strove for the some goals for many years together.”

“Friends?” she scoffed. “We were useful to each other for a time, nothing more.”

Ravenglen smirked at Emberlace, and Daystar’s stunned disbelief was lost in anger at the way the king glared down at his daughter. “And you will remain here,” he declared. “Where you ought to be.”

“Why?” Dawncaster asked loudly. “You don’t need her to establish your claim to the throne. Do you intend to make her your heir? I thought not, your majesty. Send them together. Get them out of your way entirely.”

“But I have no other heir,” Ravenglen admitted.

“What good is she?” Dawncaster inquired, tossing her head. “You have no heir now, but I can certainly fix that.”

Daystar went sick to his stomach at the look Dawncaster gave Ravenglen and the way the king returned it. Emberlace went pale with horror, and the court itself muttered a little. Dawncaster appeared entirely unaffected, and Daystar watched her in confusion. She was ambitious, certainly, but this was cold, even for her.

“Very well, Lady Dawncaster,” Ravenglen declared. “I believe that your council is sound. We will send them both to the dragons as the last emissaries.”

Dawncaster bowed her head elegantly, as if the entire thing were the king’s idea in the first place. “Your majesty is cunning and wise,” she smiled. “I will promptly see to it that their titles and nobility are restored.”

Ravenglen jumped. “What?”

“We cannot possibly send two disinherited commoners to the dragons as our emissaries, can we?” Dawncaster said in surprise. “Certainly a wise ruler such as yourself knows that for our plan to work, we must give it every apparent chance of success. Lucian and Talia must die in the service of the kingdom as Prince Daystar and Princess Emberlace if the people are ever to feel their loss keenly enough to be provoked to war. I fear that it would not work any other way.”

“Certainly we can send them as is. It’s only for show, after all.”

“I’m not certain, your majesty.” Dawncaster shook her head. “They must come into the presence of the dragons for our plan to work, and the creatures might not even let the enter the Cinderstrand if they don’t think them to be legitimate."

“Very well,” Ravenglen conceded. “Their titles and nobility are herewith restored.”

It took all of Daystar’s self control to keep his face impassive. He felt simply sick, furious with Ravenglen, disappointed in Dawncaster, fearful for what would happen to himself and to Emberlace. To have his rank tossed back into his face merely as a means to further Ravenglen’s place of prominence in the kingdom was an insult worse than having it taken away.

“I refuse to accept it,” he objected, folding his arms.

“Do you now?” Dawncaster cocked her head. “Well, in that case, I’m certain we can just rid ourselves of Talia now, since she is not truly important to our mission.”

“No!” Daystar started forward, and the clockwork guard behind him leaped to its feet, shaking the floor as it landed in a battle stance. The court backed away with a gasp, and Daystar moved away from the automaton, uncertain what had gone wrong with it and not wanting to be anywhere close if something happened.

“No what?” Dawncaster’s eyes gleamed.

“No, don’t hurt her,” Daystar ground out, lowering his eyes. “We will accept the reinstatement."

“Excellent!” the noblewoman smiled widely at him and clapped her hands for the servants. “With your majesty’s permission, the heir apparent and his wife should be restored to their quarters and made presentable for the announcement?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Ravenglen waved his hand and slouched back on his throne, his eyes uncomprehending of what had happened. Daystar glanced back at the king as he was led away by the guards and saw Dawncaster sitting on the arm of his chair, whispering in his ear. As if there was any doubt where the real power lay; he was surprised the powerful baronies tolerated Ravenglen at all. The clockwork guard tilted its head to look at him, then picked up its spear and started to follow Daystar out of the hall. The nobles scattered to the sides away from its giant feet, and Daystar stared up at the automaton, befuddled by its behavior.

“Stay here,” he told it.

It stood still, looking at him in an expression frighteningly close to disappointment, and a chill ran down Daystar’s spine. The clockwork guards were far too animate. He pointed back towards the king. “Go back to your post.”

The automaton knelt, bowing its head in acknowledgment of the order and then rose, backing away a few steps before turning to stride back down the hall and take up is place on the left side of the dais. Daystar ignored the strange looks sent his way by the gaping nobles and let the guards escort him out of the hall.

Being led as a prisoner through the familiar halls struck an odd chord in Daystar. He’d thought himself resigned to exile, but here in his former home, old instincts were rising, his mind working unconsciously at ways to manipulate the court to his advantage. Ravenglen was a weak king, and open to flattery and the manipulation that came with it. A few well placed words, hints suggestions of things he knew that no one else did, and Daystar thought he could convince Ravenglen to spare his life. Emberlace was a different problem, he realized, glancing back at his wife, but he was convinced she could escape the castle easily. He could cover her absence long enough for her to get a head start, and he suspected her skill would allow her to vanish into the back lands of Upper Vale. Without Emberlace as a leverage against him, he could figure out the nobles, perhaps stall long enough to reclaim some of his power and former influences. They could turn the kingdom to looking for the Dragonhatched and deploying them to parley with the dragons.

His chamber was cold, dark, and no one had bothered picking up the mess after he and Emberlace left. Spots of blood trailed across the floor where the assassins fell and were dragged away later, the bed sheets lay awry, and his wardrobe doors swung open, a few pieces of discarded clothing laying in front of it with his bloody nightshirt. The guards unlocked his shackles and left. Daystar paced slowly around the room, amazed that his belongings remained exactly where he left them. Emberlace stood just inside the door, a blank, lost expression on her face. They stood awkwardly for a time before Daystar padded over to the fireplace and started laying logs on the cold grate. Emberlace left her post by the door to sit down awkwardly in one of the chairs, watching him.

Two sharp raps on the door announced Dawncaster’s entrance. She swept into the room, shutting the door briskly behind her, then, strangely, leaned on it for a moment, as if listening, before cracking it open and peering out into the hallway. Satisfied, she shut the door firmly, barred it from the inside, and turned to them, her expression one more gentle than Daystar had seen earlier in the throne room. Emberlace rose and turned in a lithe movement, and the two women surveyed each other like rival cats each on the edge of the other’s territory.

“Come to gloat, Dawncaster?” Daystar asked dryly, striking flint and steel against a small bundle of tinder until it sparked, then coaxing the flame to life with a long, steady breath. The tinder flared in his hands, and he tucked it carefully into the wood, kneeling low over the fire to blow it to life and sitting back on his heels to watch the flames as they grew stronger. Satisfied that the fire wouldn’t go out, Daystar lit a long stick and turned, scanning the room for candles. Dawncaster looked at him for a long moment, then deliberately switched on the energy lighting. The overhead lamps flared to life as the currents reached them, and Daystar tossed the stick back into the fire, running his hand through his hair as he sunk down in a chair next to Emberlace.

“I understand why you think of me less than kindly now,” Dawncaster admitted, sweeping around the chairs to stand in front of them.

“That’s an understatement,” Daystar told her.

“Ravenglen is not a strong king, and he is open to suggestion. He is also blind to the troubles of the country. When you left, only two castles in Deepnight had been attacked. From the direction you were coming from when the riders apprehended you, I guess that you saw the second wave of attacks on eastern Deepnight. Two nights ago, there was a third wave of attacks - the worst yet. Two villages and all of their inhabitants were completely destroyed in a matter of minutes.” Dawncaster twisted her hands, wrapping her arms around her waist in distress.

“Ravenglen wants a war with the dragons, and the Lord Baron of Deepnight is only urging him towards it, indeed most of the barons are, as they have in the past.”

“Including yourself?” Daystar asked.

“No. War with the dragons is a foolhardy endeavor. Our armies have no tactics for fighting dragons. We would be completely subjugated at the best, utterly destroyed at worst.”

“You seemed eager enough for it earlier.”

“To retain my influence with the barons. They wouldn’t mind seeing you dead, Daystar.”

“You hardly seem different,” Emberlace ground out.

Dawncaster started as the other woman spoke, then inclined her head, recovering. “I knew of Ravenglen’s intention to assassinate Daystar.” She looked him in the eye. “I came to warn you and arrived mere minutes after you fled. Ravenglen was furious, but willing to let you go. I opposed the coup, as have others, but we dare not take action. Forgive me for my harsh words; I feared only the anger of jilted lover would convince the other barons that I had finally come over to their side.”

“I fail to see how you are on our side. You appear to have convinced Ravenglen to send us to die in a political maneuver that will raise widespread support for a war against the dragons.”

“If you die.” Dawncaster lifted her chin and looked meaningfully at Daystar.

“Everyone who has gone to the dragons dies.”

“And if you survive? I have forced Ravenglen to give you your title. I think you are clever enough in negotiation to ensure that the treaty between Upper Vale and the dragons is reinstated in your name, not Ravenglen’s. You would return from the Cinderstrand a hero, with the alliance of the dragons and sufficient power to dethrone Ravenglen and reclaim your proper place.”

“That is a lot to gamble on my survival, Dawncaster.”

“No one knows more of the dragons than you. As I have said, we cannot risk a war with them, and I think you have the best chance to stop it. I have been working with the old Kingsguard. They have been sending agents through the kingdom, and we are working to quietly raise an army to help you fight off the northern invasion and retake the throne from Ravenglen and the other barons. By the time your return from the Cinderstrand, they will be ready to gather and fight for you.”

“Is this merely a ploy to make me go quietly?” Daystar inquired icily. “If it is, you can save the trouble; I’m fully aware of what you will stoop to to make certain that I leave and never return.”

“No!” Dawncaster bit her lip, looking hurt. “I really believe that you can survive this, Daystar. Will you at least take the risk of believing me? If they do listen, send word to me. I am still your ally, I swear it. Why else would I have talked Ravenglen into letting you take Emberlace with you?”

“Because it’s clear that you want to be rid of me,” Emberlace snapped.

“Would you rather stay here, then, princess?” Dawncaster asked. “Since they found Houndwalker dead, your father has been far less than pleased with you.”

“Houndwalker, dead?” Emberlace whispered in shock. “How hard did you hit him, Daystar?”

“Not hard enough to kill,” Daystar replied.

“He was found with the assassins,” Dawncaster told them, looking between the two, brows furrowed. “No sign of any outward injury. Just dead. The physicians finally said it was heart failure, though they saw no reason for it. Ravenglen assumes that Emberlace killed him.”

“I wish I had.” Emberlace gripped the arms of her chair. “If my father has released that piece of information, then I assume you know what I am?”

Dawncaster blanched a little and drew back a step as Emberlace stood.

“I can take care of myself, Dawncaster. And if I wanted the throne back for my husband, I would have no problem ridding the kingdom of the lot of you. So you should never assume that I am Daystar’s weakness, or a bargaining tool.” She prowled slowly towards the other noblewoman, and Dawncaster backed away until she hit the wall. “I’m half of a mind to simply eliminate Daystar’s competition and perhaps start the nobility over afresh, from people we can trust.”

“You’ll still have to deal with the dragons.” Dawncaster’s voice was strained but steady. “It doesn’t matter if Daystar is king or not, they will still attack, and what will you do, now that they are killing your people?”
Emberlace stepped closer until she was nose to nose with Dawncaster. The noblewoman held her nerve well, even as Emberlace slid a dagger from her belt and held it up.
“Carry this with you,” Emberlace said, nearly touching Dawncaster’s nose with the flat of the blade. “In the side of your dress, like so.” She gestured, and Dawncaster’s eyes flicked nervously to follow her movements. “And when you get Ravenglen close enough to you, put it between his ribs, between here,” she touched spot on Dawncaster’s side, “and here,” she touched another point further up. “Push him back so he doesn’t fall against you and leave too much blood on your clothing, and make sure and pull the blade out so the wound will bleed.”
Emberlace twirled the dagger around and set the hilt in Dawncaster’s hand. The noblewoman gripped it weakly, staring at her former rival, and Daystar felt a chill run down his spine, wondering how long Emberlace had carried a dagger hidden in her dress to put between his ribs.
“Does this mean you trust me?” Dawncaster whispered, unable to keep a tremble from her voice.
“I don’t believe you want Ravenglen to be king. And that is enough.” Emberlace turned away, and Dawncaster glanced at Daystar behind her back, eyes wide with shock and more than a little fear.
“Who is helping you organize this army?” Daystar asked.
“Nighthawk Kingsguard has been my closest ally since you fled the castle,” Dawncaster told him, regaining herself and sheathing the dagger into her dress pocket. “He has organized most of the operations. Nothing is in place as of yet besides a plan; your journey to the Cinderstrand is the linchpin.”
“How were you planning to dramatize it?” Daystar asked. Emberlace looked at him sharply, and he gave her an appeasing gesture. “We’ve everything to gain and nothing to lose,” he explained to his wife. She eyed him before nodded sharply and throwing herself to lounge elegantly in a nearby chair.
Dawncaster spread her slightly trembling hands and carefully joined them, perching on the edge of a chair after Daystar sat down. “I think for our plan to work, it should be done almost desperately. Ravenglen needn’t know it, but I would advise you to make the deal high-stakes, something the dragons cannot refuse.”
“The stakes being…”
“You.” Dawncaster winced slightly, and Emberlace narrowed her eyes. “You in exchange for peace. Ravenglen would certainly accept such terms, it would make you a hero martyr in the eyes of the people, and it is a plea I think the dragons would listen to.”
Daystar leaned back in his chair. “Why do you think they would listen?”
“All our previous emissaries have gone as one kingdom to another to reinstate a treaty and demand terms from the dragons. They are proud creatures - both the emissaries and the dragons - and I have a feeling they did not return because they clashed.” Dawncaster smoothed her dress, fidgeting the fabric between her fingers, and Daystar began to relax. Dawncaster always held herself to graceful perfection when she was trying to manipulate someone - her nervousness meant that in this, at least, she was being honest.
He hoped.
“The dragons are the wronged party in this case. We broke a contract with them, and I do not feel it is right for us to demand it back.”
“You think the approach has been wrong this whole time? That’s the only problem?”
Dawncaster inclined her head. “That is my theory. It is we who must make amends, not them, and I think, from my reading, that though they love a riddle, they also value honesty and nobility. To offer you in exchange for peace with your people - only peace, not a renewed energy contract - shows that we understand the gravity of what has happened between us.”
“As you have said, dragons are proud creatures.” Daystar rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They could just as easily interpret humility as weakness.”
“Only if you portray it weakly. I don’t suggest you go before them as a servile supplicant, but rather as a king who is willing to do anything to ensure that his people will live in safety, at whatever cost to yourself.”
“And if they take me in exchange for peace, and the attacks end but I do not return, then what?”
“Then we do the best we can. Ravenglen will not rule, I assure you. But I do not think they will take you.”
“You stake my husband’s life on an assumption?” Emberlace asked the other woman coldly.
“We have dealt with dragons in the past,” Dawncaster reassured her, “and we have the records of that. They may be proud, but I do not think them unreasonable.”
Emberlace looked less than convinced, and she settled back in her chair with her arms folded. The energy lights in the room flickered and slowly turned purple, casting a strange glow across the room.
“I suppose we will have to place candles and torches again,” Dawncaster commented.
Daystar rose from his seat and found a large writersplate. The energy pack was low, and he slipped it out, transferred the remaining power in it to a new pack by pressing them together and tilting, and snapped the new pack into the writersplate before activating it.
“You should take this,” he said, handing the device to Dawncaster. “It has my estimations of energy rationing and a plan for transferring the kingdom off of energy dependence. You’ll have trouble with the nobles, but the people and the guilds have already transitioned or are in the process of it. That should make the shift easier.”
Dawncaster skimmed the spirals of platescript. The curling writing was meant to be read after it had been wrapped around itself, not right to left like the common hand, and acted more of a shorthand note taking method than an actual record of information. Daystar hoped that his notation would make sense to Dawncaster, and she eventually nodded after confirming the meaning of a few spirals with him.

“You’ll leave day after tomorrow. I’ll make the arrangements and ensure that all who accompany you are allies.”