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.”