Master of Dragons (23 page)

“It’s not the
plague, is it?” Evelina cried. Covering herself with a blanket, she crawled off
the bed.

Marcus groaned. “No,
I think it must have been the wine. I break out in these blotches sometimes if
I eat certain spices or herbs, but it’s never happened with wine.”

“Spices,” murmured
Evelina. “Oh, my God. You wretched man. You stupid, wretched man! Why can’t you
be normal?”

Suddenly,
strangely, Evelina turned into a dragon. The dragon’s eyes stared into his. The
dragon seemed nervous, afraid.

“I don’t know how
to talk to you.” The dragon’s colors were tenuous and wispy. “I . . . this is
so alien. Your mind is too . . . small. I feel squeezed in. Human, can you hear
me? I am a friend of Draconas. My name is Lysira. He sent me—”

And then all the
colors in Marcus’s mind exploded.

Evelina scrambled
backward off the mattress and crouched on the floor, staring in horror at the
prince.

Marcus lay on his
back. His eyes—gleaming wild in the firelight—rolled and roved, as if he were
following the erratic flight of an invisible flock of birds. His eyes darted
back and forth, up and down, back and forth. His body began to twitch. His
hands curled. She’d seen the effects of wormwood on people before and she’d
never seen anything like this.

“He’s having some
sort of fit,” Evelina wailed. “First blotches, then fits. Why can’t you be
normal?”

She shook him by
the shoulder and dug her nails into his flesh. No response. He was gasping, as
though he was finding it difficult to breathe, and watching the invisible
birds, not paying any attention to her. Not getting her with child.

“You’re a freak!”
Evelina cried. “As bad as your brother, even if you don’t have the legs of a
lizard.”

She punched him a
couple of times and then sat back on her heels and stared at him. She didn’t
know what to do. He was growing worse. He began to thrash about. Men died of
fits like this.

And if he died,
what would become of her?

“I should get
help!”

Evelina feverishly
threw on some clothes and, flinging open the door, she ran out into the
night—straight into the arms of Jorge.

“I heard a cry,”
he said, and his voice was calm and his arms were strong and comforting.

Quivering, Evelina
pressed against him.

“The prince,” she
gasped, “He’s . . . there’s something wrong . . . he’s having a fit. . . the
wine ... I have to find the patriarch—”

“No, you do not,”
said Jorge. “You found me. Come back inside. Keep quiet.”

“You don’t
understand! He might die!” Evelina struggled to free herself.

“You are the one
who doesn’t understand,” said Jorge coolly, his grip on her firm. “If His
Highness dies, they’ll discover that you put the wormwood in his wine.”

Evelina went cold
all over. “Poison! They’ll think I poisoned him! They’ll hang me!”

She felt faint.
Jorge put his arm around her and half-carried her back into the house. Shutting
the door, he bolted it.

“Maybe someone
else saw me go to the Widow’s . . .” she whimpered.

“Only me,” he
said, reassuring.

She looked over at
Marcus.

“Oh, Holy Mother
of God!” Evelina whispered, shrinking back against the wall. “He’s dead!”

Marcus’s head
lolled on the pillow. His arms hung over the sides of the mattress, hands
dangling limply.

Jorge knelt
swiftly beside the prince and felt for a pulse. He put his head close to Marcus’s
open mouth. He examined the blotches on his body and then looked at Evelina and
smiled.

“What?” she asked,
shivering so that her teeth chattered. She could already feel the noose closing
around her neck.

“He is not dead,”
said Jorge. “He is breathing easily. His pulse is strong. The blotches are
already starting to fade. They will probably be gone by morning. He is asleep.”

Evelina heaved a
shuddering sigh and closed her eyes.

“Thank you, God!”
she breathed. “Thank you!”

“He’s very deep in
sleep,” Jorge added. “I doubt if a cannon shot would waken him.”

Evelina opened her
eyes. She heard Huspeth’s words,
You must lie with him this night.

With him. With
some man.

Evelina was suddenly
all business. “How much will he remember when he wakes up?”

“Very little, I
should think,” Jorge said, shrugging. He moved near her, put his hands around
her waist, and jerked her close to him, so that her breasts pressed against his
chest. “Or, let’s say, he’ll remember what you tell him to remember.”

He sat down in the
chair. Hiking up her skirt, he pulled her onto his lap and ran his hands up her
bare thighs. Evelina’s mouth closed over his and she moaned as his tongue
flicked against hers. Relaxing, her worries over, she gave herself to pleasure.

Pleasure with a
normal man. Not a freak.

This was all
working out for the best. At least now a freak wouldn’t be the father of her
child.

Marcus would only
think he was the father.

THE ABBEY WAS DARK
AT THIS HOUR OF THE NIGHT, THE DEEPEST hour, the end of one day and the start
of the next. At first, when Ven entered, he could not see Grald, not even with
his dragon vision. He knew Grald was here—he could hear the man’s heavy
breathing—but he could not locate him. Ven was not about to call out to him,
like a lost child afraid of the dark. He assumed Grald was hiding deliberately,
to try to intimidate him. Ven followed the sounds of the breathing and came to
the thronelike chair that Grald used for his audiences.

The chair was
empty. The sounds of the breathing came from the back, behind the chair.

Light flared
suddenly, a torch ignited. Ven was momentarily blinded, and he squinted into
the brilliance. The dragon crouched outside the cavern of his mind and, for
once, Grald was not trying to scrabble or claw his way inside.

“I understand that
you paid a visit to your siblings,” his father said.

Grald was a
monstrous mound of flesh and shadow in the torchlight, a grotesque figure.

“Splendid, aren’t
they? Like you, my son. You are the oldest, you know,” Grald continued, the
eyes beneath the overhanging brow consumed in shadow. Not even a glint or gleam
was visible. “There were others before you, but you were the first to survive.
Finally I came upon the right combination. This might surprise you, but I’d
never used a woman like your mother in our previous breeding trials. I deemed
such human females, who were strong in the dragon-magic, too valuable. They
protected Seth from invasion and, here in Dragonkeep, they help maintain the
illusion that hides this city and bear those children who have grown up to
become my soldiers. You saw the army, as well, I think. Draconas was most
thorough.”

Ven remained
silent. No need to speak, when all his questions were being answered.

“Draconas was the
one who gave Anora the idea; ironic, isn’t it? I decided to experiment on
Melisande, and you were the result, turning out far better than my
expectations. I decided to see if I could emulate my success, and I mated with
several females who were strong in the magic. One child out of that first group
of ten survived to adulthood—your sister, Sorrow The next year, several more
survived, as the holy sisters learned how to care for the infants. They are
magnificent, aren’t they? Your brothers and sisters?”

“For monsters,”
Ven returned.

He hadn’t meant to
say that. The words slipped out before he was aware of them. He was ashamed the
moment he’d spoken. He didn’t want to feel that way. He didn’t want to hate
them, as he hated himself.

Grald took a step
nearer, moving into the light, so that his eyes seemed to kindle and catch
fire. Ven didn’t like anyone coming that close to him, and he almost took a
step backward. He then realized that this would look like weakness, and he held
his ground.

Grald’s mouth
twisted. He glowered down at Ven.

“I raised your
siblings to be proud of who and what they are. They are the future of mankind.
The future of dragonkind.”

“How can they be
the future of both when they are neither?” Ven asked. “And neither dragons nor
men will have anything to do with them.”

He couldn’t
understand why he was saying such things. He had not come here intending to
insult his father. He’d come here to talk to him. The reason was Grald.
Something about the man made Ven nervous. Perhaps it was the way the dragon lay
so still outside Ven’s cave, no longer trying to force his way in. Almost as if
he knew it was just a matter of time . . .

“You should know
the answer to that,” Grald stated. “You are stronger, smarter than any human
born. What’s more, you have the ability to live in the human world
and
in the dragon world. You can communicate mind-to-mind, a feat no human can
perform. You have the ability to wield the dragon-magic.”

“No, I don’t,”
said Ven perversely.

“You do,” Grald
reiterated. The eyes in the shadow of the brow were laughing at him. Grald was
baiting him, and that further irritated Ven. “You choose not to. But that will
change.”

“I don’t see how
we are going to be the future of dragonkind,” Ven said, ignoring the lure. “Dragons
must be as repulsed by us half-dragons as humans. Maybe more.”

“Some are,” Grald
admitted. “But they will come to see the logic behind your creation. By ruling
humans, you will ensure that our future is safe and secure. Because of you and
those like you, ordinary humans will come to worship us, hold us in reverence
and awe. They will abandon the God of their imagination, a God they cannot see,
and turn to dragons.”

“Your kind will be
the true rulers, then, not us?”

Grald made a
dismissive gesture. “Only in the larger matters. We dragons care nothing for
the day-to-day life of these worms. We might go for years without intervening.
So long as the humans remain harmless. And you and your kind will see to that.”

“I see. Your plan
to conquer humans starts with my brother’s kingdom.”

“And you will lead
the army against him,” said Grald.

“
I
will?”
Ven was incredulous. He gave a dismissive laugh. “I want no part of this.”

“I know,” said
Grald, and he sighed deeply, his voice laden with sorrow and regret. “I know.”

“Draconas did you
no favors by hiding you from me,” Grald continued. “He should have let me raise
you, as I raised the others, to be proud of what you are. If he had, then I
might not have been forced to . . .”

Grald raised his
heavy shoulders and let them drop. “I could have trusted you. But your mind is
tainted. You have turned against me. You have turned against your own family.”

Ven’s unease was
growing. He was alone with a dragon who, even in human form, was a formidable
opponent.

“There are none to
help you, Ven,” said Grald quietly, reading his son’s thoughts. “Not Draconas,
who has his own problems. Not your precious, magic-wielding brother. Ven. Short
for Vengeance. Yes, I know. I have known for a long time. You should have
killed me before now. You might have been able to do it—taken me by surprise.
Caught me unawares. Fear held you back. Fear that is inherent in the human part
of you. If I had raised you, you would not know fear. As it is, I will have to
work hard to eradicate that weak part of you when—”

Grald paused.

“When what?” Ven
was having trouble breathing. His chest was tight, his mouth dry, his throat
constricting. Grald was right. Fear’s poison coursed through Ven’s veins,
debilitating, weakening.

“Look behind me,”
said Grald. “See through the illusion. Others cannot, but your eyes can
penetrate the magical veil, can’t they, Dragon’s Son? Just like they penetrated
the wall, so that you could help your brother escape. There will be no such
escape for you.”

Ven saw a tomb. He
had no need for the dragon to tell him whose tomb it was. Vague and horrifying
memories came to him, memories of Bellona telling him about his mother and a
tomb and a bleeding body sealed inside darkness and agony for years on end . .
.

Ven bolted. His
dragon legs were strong. He could easily outrun Grald. Ven made a dash for it,
digging the clawed toes into the floor and leaping off them, the powerful thigh
muscles propelling him across the vast hall toward the door.

He could outrun
the lumbering human. But he could not outrun the dragon.

Grald had begun to
shed his human body even as he shifted Ven’s attention away from him and to the
tomb. Short human arms, with their soft and flabby flesh and grasping, stubby
fingers, began to elongate and grow strong and powerful. Scales ran over the
flesh like gleaming quicksilver, hardening and protecting. Sharp claws replaced
puny nails. The dragon’s clawed hand reached out and caught hold of Ven’s foot
and tripped him up, sent him crashing heavily onto his stomach.

Confident he was
free, Ven had not expected to be grabbed from behind, and the shock when he
felt himself yanked off his feet was paralyzing. He had no time to break his
fall, and he slammed into the floor hard. The impact knocked the breath from
his body. His chin hit the floor with brain-jarring force that drove his lower
jaw into his upper. His mouth filled with blood, either from biting his tongue
or from teeth knocked loose or both. His head throbbed with pain and there was
a buzzing in his ears. His vision blurred, tears sprang to his eyes.

Dazed, Ven tried
to scramble to his feet, only to be slammed down once more.

The dragon held
his prey pinned to the floor, pressing him to the stone, as Grald continued to
undergo his transformation, crawling and squirming his way out of the human
body like a maggot crawling out of diseased flesh. The emergence from the human
form required time, but Grald had time.