David

 

 

David cupped the back of his neck as the king and queen, escorted by their entourage of knights, filed into the small dining hall off the kitchen. His eyes shifted under the weight of their glances, the heat in his cheeks spreading faster than any flame. Who were they, and why did they look at him like he was a pimple on a donkey’s ass? He drummed his fingers against his thighs. Charlotte’s presence offered some comfort, but not enough to fill the hollowness spreading in his gut.

A look from Slavandria unhinged his thread of security from his side. Charlotte squeezed his hand, and whispered against his neck. “See you inside, Firefox.”

Tingles radiated up his spine, turning to heat as they scattered to his neck. She’d used his nickname. She hadn’t done that since—since they’d kissed in Chalisdawn.

The memory exploded like fireworks. They’d been so close, their clothes the only barrier between them, and even those had begun to fall away. He’d heard, even felt their heartbeats thrumming in time together, so strong, so erratic. Time slipped away. His insides caught fire. The ice prison he’d erected around his feelings had begun to thaw, and for that one moment, that one blink in time, nothing else mattered. The world could have blown up and he wouldn’t have known or cared. All he wanted was to get lost in her. To tell her he loved her. Those elusive three little words formed in his brain. They’d perched on his tongue, waiting, ready to leap.

But they collapsed beneath a cold, steel-plated pile of what the freak am I doing?

He remembered the way she’d stared at him, confused. The tear in the corner of her eye that never fell. Later, through a closed door, she told him she loved him, and his heart shattered. He could picture her face—soft, gentle, understanding, like the way she looked at him now.

He released her hand and stepped back, using the nearest column to steady himself. Distance. He needed distance to keep from scooping her in his arms, kissing her, holding her. After all, he had told her then, friends. Only friends. Yet her smile, her presence continued to torment him. If she only knew how she made his breathing uneven and heavy; how she made him ache everywhere, inside and out. How she glued his soul and skin together to keep him from going everywhere at once.

Maybe she did know. Maybe Trog was right when he said she should be allowed to make up her own mind.

No. This wasn’t her battle. She was in Fallhollow because of him. If she hadn’t tried to protect him, she’d be home where she would be safe from war and death. Dragons.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression almost sad, before disappearing through the heavy carved doors. His heart oozed into a puddle. He closed his eyes and pumped his fist against his forehead.

“You still haven’t told her?”

David lifted his chin and met with Trog’s piercing, soul-invading green eyes. Strands of hair, still wet from a quick wash, clung to the knight’s face; the shadowmorth wound well-concealed beneath a doublet of blue and gold brocade. He swallowed hard beneath the glare, his thoughts straying for but a second to a balcony in Gable when Trog gave him some fatherly advice. Advice David chose not to take.

“You know the answer to that,” David said, “so why ask?”

Trog scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “Oh, I don’t know. Just thought after everything the two of you have been through, you might have smartened up a bit, had a change of heart.”

David kicked at the tile as the knight’s gaze ate into his core. “Yeah, well.”

Trog curled a massive hand upon David’s shoulder. “Tell her, David, before it’s too late. You’re not the only boy around here with a charming smile. The last thing you want is to wake up and find your balls have been stolen by someone willing to use them.” The knight nodded to Slavandria, then trudged into the dining hall, the door creaking shut behind him.

David snorted and shook his head.

“He’s quite an enigma, isn’t he?” Slavandria asked, smiling.

“If that’s what you want to call it.” His eyes met hers. “So, what’s up? Why the private pow wow?”

“I made a promise to you and it is time I kept it. I thought after we ate, I would introduce you to your parents, provided that is still what you want.”

Her words split the seams of his existence. “M-my parents? They’re here?”

Breathe. Just breathe.

Slavandria nodded. “You seem surprised.”

“No.” He blinked. Ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe. Yes. I don’t know.”

He looked away, his heart mortified, stunned. He’d waited for this moment his entire life. He’d wanted nothing more. A family. A dog. A sense of belonging to something bigger than himself. But now? It took everything he had not to run. Scream. Hide. What if they didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like them? What if reality shattered the dream? He wrung his sweaty palms together. His parents’ faces flitted around in his mind, ethereal as ghosts drifting in and out of a heavy fog. His brain hurt. His insides squeezed. A thought skipped across his mind. What if he no longer needed them? What if he never did? Worse yet—what if they never wanted him?

Slavandria touched his arm, and his skin erupted in a thousand goosebumps. He recoiled at the hint of magic.

“You seem distant, perplexed,” she said, “as if you’ve misplaced something.”

“I have.” He rubbed his arms and walked past her. “My nerve.”

“Understandable. Doubt is the greatest warmonger. Give into it, and it will kill your spirit, your heart, and soul.”

David hung his head. “I think it already has.”

“It hasn’t,” Slavandria continued. “Trust me. I see you, and I see within you a love for your parents and Charlotte that is so pure, so indestructible. It shines a light within your soul, a light that will always guide you through the darkest times.”

“Then why do I feel so afraid? Every inch of me is shivering to the point I feel as if I’m going to explode, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“David, you almost died. You’re now moments away from meeting your parents after almost seventeen years. Either alone would tangle anyone’s nerves. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She smiled, and it was warm.

David wandered to a window and stared out onto the hillside, his stomach a hollowed-out bucket. “Have you told them … about me?”

“No.” Soft footsteps sounded behind him. “I felt it best to not say anything until I spoke with you.”

David snorted, his rankling gnarling his gut. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

David turned. “Because everything you do or say has to have some freaking mystery attached to it. Don’t tell anyone this. Don’t tell anyone that. It’s irritating and it pisses me off. Why can’t you just say what needs to be said and be done with it?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Yeah? What are they this time?”

Slavandria steepled her fingers to her lips. “First, let’s extinguish the attitude. Second, I needed to confirm your desires. You’re not the same person you were a few weeks ago.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I also wanted to ask if you would consider staying in Fallhollow, until the war is over. Einar is not dead. He will attack again. In order for us to defeat him, you and Eric need to remain a team. With Mirith at your side, the three of you are unbeatable. It would also give you time to bond with your parents in their own environment.”

David stared at her for a moment as if she’d lost her mind. And then laughed. Loud.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” More laughter. “Oh my God, no. Just no. I made a deal with you. I’ve done my part.”

“David, please. I beg—”

“No!”

“But the prophesy. Your parents.”

“I don’t give a damn about your stupid prophesy, and you promised me my parents! This is not my war.” He returned her glare with all the confidence of a penguin conversing with an orca before mealtime. And he was the penguin.

“It is your war,” Slavandria continued. “It’s always been your war. To deny your destiny is to deny who you are. I’m begging you to stay and see it through to the end. Eric, Mirith, Trog, your parents, all of this will perish if you do not.”

David pointed his finger at her. “Don’t. Don’t you dare put that guilt trip on me! I may have started this stupid war by accident, but that doesn’t mean I have to end it. I’m done. Finished. I want to go home.”

“And what of your parents? What if they do not want to return with you when you go?”

The comment sucker punched David in the gut. Not go? The thought never crossed his mind. He just assumed they’d all leave together. Live as a family while trying to figure out the dynamics. But he also never thought about what would happen to them if they went back. His brain whirred. There would no doubt be an investigation by the cops. Insurance companies. Financial institutions, the Air Force, not to mention the press. Good god, the paparazzi would be all over them. He could hear the questions now. Why did you fake your deaths? Where have you been? Hell, his parents might even be arrested. And Charlotte. They would be ruthless with her. They’d harass her because of her friendship with him, and he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without a camera in his face, reporters scooping up the dirty laundry so they could air it all over the nightly news. He’d rather be chased by a freaking dragon.

His head pounded. When his mouth decided to move, all that came out was, “I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens.”

“David, please. I rarely beg, but—”

“No.” He glared. Worked his jaw.

Slavandria stared back, her eyes searching, pleading. She then sighed. “Very well. However, I need to let you know I cannot guarantee your safety once you return to Havendale.”

“You can’t guarantee my safety here.”

“I have a much better chance here,” she said.

“Yeah. I’ll remember that the next time I’m stuck in a tree and a dragon is about to eat me.”

He opened the doors and stepped into a spacious dining hall, the nearby kitchen bustling with activity and low-pitched conversation. Copper pots shimmered in the morning sunlight flooding through the open windows. A plump cook wiped the sweat from her brow as she slid three loaves of dough into one of two open ovens in the stone walls. Servants plucked feathers from various fowl, and to his right, on the opposite side of the room, in the midst of tapestries and stained-glass windows, sat Charlotte at one of two trestle tables butted together, her elbows on the wood planks, her chin cupped in the heels of her palms. She smiled at him and his heart sank.

Slavandria said she couldn’t guarantee his safety in Havendale. That meant she couldn’t guarantee Charlotte’s either. If they stayed in Fallhollow, Slavandria could keep her tucked away, safe while he and Eric saved the world with his parents. Then they could go home. There would be no other reason to stay.

No! That’s exactly what Slavandria wanted. For him to remain a pawn in her game. He wasn’t falling for it. He was taking Charlotte home and putting her back with her ex-Black Ops dad. Yeah. He’d keep her safe. No doubt about it.

He swallowed hard and turned his attention on the three hulking men sitting at the table beside her, their log-sized arms folded before them as they conversed with Trog and the king and queen. He strained to listen to their conversation as Slavandria took her seat with them.

Two servants shuttled past him carrying platters of bread, bacon, and scrambled eggs. His stomach growled and begged him to follow, but a resonating voice inside his head cemented him to his spot.

I do wish you would hurry up and decide what to do. Your thoughts are holding mine hostage, and I do not care for being a victim of your emotional terrorism.

David spun around, so caught off guard from the verbal intrusion he forgot about the maelstrom swirling in his brain.

“Mirith!” The dragon, who towered no more than two feet above David, lowered his neck and purred.

David flung his arms around the beast’s neck, his face buried in the red and gold feathery mane.

“I thought you were dead,” David said, pushing off the dragon’s goat-like horns and looking into Mirith’s ruby eyes. “You stopped breathing. I felt you slip away. But then I saw you with Charlotte on the Field of Valnor. How? I don’t understand.”

I did, indeed, straddle the borders of the dead lands for a brief period of time—that is until your intended mate arrived.

My intended what? David followed Mirith’s gaze until his sights landed on Charlotte. He snapped back around. Oh, no. No. She’s not my—no, it’s not like that. At all.

Mirth snorted. You can say the sky is beneath you. It does not make it so.

David pressed his lips together and stared at the floor. How dare Mirith invade his thoughts, analyze his feelings. Who was he to assume? To judge? So, what if he wanted to torture himself for all eternity. Whose business was it but his own? He locked eyes with the beast.

That’s enough. I want you out of my head. Go on. Get out. Please.

Mirith swished his armored tail over the stone floor, the sound screeching up David’s spine. As you wish. Your constant indecision is wearing me thin anyway. The dragon nuzzled David’s cheek, a declaration of a truce. You should eat. Your belly is rumbling almost as loud as mine.

The dining hall door opened with a slight creak as Eric stepped inside.

Mirith grumbled. Ah, the brooding one.

David chuckled. Yeah, he is kind of a lot to take in at once. Still, he’s a bad ass with a sword. Maybe I just need to give him time to grow on me.

Fungi takes time to grow on you. That does not make its presence desirable.

David cocked an eyebrow at Mirith. Wow. That’s harsh.

He’s temperamental, impulsive, and has an eye for rare items of beauty. He glanced at the table where Charlotte and the others sat. Be careful what you discard.

What the hell does that mean?

Mirith walked away and plopped in a pool of sunshine on the floor. He curled his six-foot tail around his body, his scales glistening in every shade of autumn. Figure it out, he said, and the mental connection faded.

David waved off the dragon. Fine. Be that way. He sat beside Charlotte at the table.

“You know, that beast refused to leave your side while you were ill,” Eric said, sliding onto the bench across from Charlotte and David. He plucked a chunk of bread from a basket on the table and tore at it while he spoke. “Slavandria had to confine him to the pit because he zapped anyone who tried to get near you.”

“The pit?” David heaped two spoonfuls of eggs on his plate.

Eric nodded. “It’s an old arena just north of here. The former king of Braemar used to torture people there who rebelled against his autocracy.”

“That’s barbaric,” Charlotte said. “Please tell me it isn’t used for that anymore.”

Eric shook his head. “No. It was abandoned at the end of the Great War.”

It is not abandoned, Mirith mumbled, intruding in David’s head again. The souls of the tortured dead live there.

Tingles crept up David’s spine and rushed out of him in a shiver. He dumped a fistful of bacon on his plate. “Wasn’t there anywhere else she could have put him? I mean, it sounds so morbid.”

Eric tipped a pitcher and poured apple cider into his goblet. “If that was her first resort, I might agree,” he said, gulping his drink, “but he blasted out of his suite, destroyed the antechamber in Slavandria’s quarters, and froze everything in the dungeon so he could be near you. Where else was she going to put him? Besides, he was only there for two days before Slavandria confined him here.”

“Here? To the dining room?”

“Why not? There’s food. Warmth.” Eric wiped his left hand on a cloth napkin and offered it to Charlotte. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we have been properly introduced. I’m Eric Hamden, Trog’s squire.”

“I know,” Charlotte said, ignoring the gesture. “We’ve spoken before, remember?”

Eric withdrew his hand. “Yes, but please forgive me if I found your words a bit dejecting.”

“How so?” Charlotte asked. “We hardly spoke.”

“And there lies the reasoning for my dismay. You rejected every effort I made to take the edge from your unhappiness. I was only trying to offer you solace in your time of need, and you all but called me a cad. Why,” he jabbed his fist into his chest, as if thrusting a dagger into his heart, “that wounded me to my core.”

David rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Charlotte laughed. Her cheeks pinked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Eric took a bite of eggs. “I mean, I can’t say I blame you for being so short, considering the circumstances. It must have been frightening to you, experiencing the death of your friend, not once, not twice, but three times.” He dropped his fork on his plate.

David’s heart plummeted to the floor. “What? What do you mean death?”

“Still,” Eric continued, ignoring him, “I couldn’t help but wonder who you were, are, so please, I must have a name. I can’t keep calling you the-girl-who-never-left-his-side.” He looked at David and winked.

All sorts of fury bubbled beneath David’s skin. Who did this jerk think he was, goading him like that in front of Charlotte?

He has an eye for rare items of beauty. Be careful what you discard.

David focused on his breathing—in through his nose, out through his mouth. Over and over. So that’s what Mirith meant. He clenched his jaw, not trusting himself to speak.

Charlotte pressed her foot against David’s as if reassuring him, and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Stine.” This time she stretched her hand out to Eric.

He rose to the invitation, and kissed the back of it. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.” Eric lowered his butt to the bench and grinned at David, his green eyes vibrant. Mischievous.

David curled his fingers into fists.

“Likewise.” Charlotte discretely wiped the kiss on David’s leg.

David crunched a slice of bacon between his teeth. Good. She’s not impressed.

“So, what brings you to Fallhollow, Lady Charlotte?” Eric asked. “Adventure? The breath-taking scenery? Love?”

Charlotte laughed. “No. Nothing like that. More like a series of unfortunate events.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“It’s a real humdinger, let me tell ya,” David said, “and someday you might hear all about it, but can we get back to my dying for a minute?”

“It happened three times in one night,” Charlotte said. “The first was after the battle ended and we brought you back here. You were in bed resting. Slavandria and I had just finished a lesson on how to heal bones when you started convulsing. Your heart stopped, and you turned this awful chalky blue.

“Slavandria brought you back, calmed Mirith down and put him in her room, but a few hours later, you stopped breathing again. Mirith freaked out. Slavandria knocked him out with some sort of spell and had him taken to the dungeons, but that still didn’t stop him from blasting his way into your room when you, you know, died again. He started doing that scorpion thing with his tail and zapping everyone including Slavandria and me. That’s when she made him disappear.” Her voice quieted. “I didn’t know she sent him to the pit.” She glanced over her shoulder at Mirith. “He must have been so scared.” Her gaze skipped to David. “I know I was.”

Her fingers tightened around his and for a moment David was paralyzed, his soul drowning in two dark pools of Caribbean-blue water. To think he had come so close to never seeing those eyes again. To never hearing her voice or basking in her smile. His heart squeezed to the point of pain, the thought almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I would never do anything to—”

A knock sounded at the door followed by the entrance of a royal guard. He strode with urgency to the king and queen and spoke to them in a low tone.

“What do you think is going on?” Charlotte whispered.

Eric wiped his mouth and heaped his napkin in a bunch on the table. His brow pinched. “Whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

Gildore nodded, said something to the guard who bowed and retreated in haste. The king stood.

“An unexpected guest has arrived. Eric, you and your friends will join us in the briefing room. Bring the dragon with you.”

Chairs scraped across the floor as everyone filed from the room.

David grumbled to Charlotte as they followed. “I guess that means I’m not meeting my parents any time soon.” Any idea what’s going on? he asked Mirith as they turned a corner and headed past the grand staircase.

Servants and courtiers bowed, curtsied, and stared in stunned disbelief as they passed.

I do not, Mirith said.

Okaay, David said, patting the dragon’s side. Thanks for that plethora of information there, buddy.

They turned left into a wide room, the walls swathed in panels of earthen-toned leather. Colossal oiled paintings hung above two fireplaces. Grandiose maps, swords, and shields adorned the other walls, and with a gentle flourish of Slavandria’s wrist, table and floor lamps sprang to light. Gildore closed the door and gestured for everyone to have a seat around an impressive oval table. David pulled out a plush wingback chair and froze, his gaze transfixed on the carving in the center of the table: a bull raised on its hind legs, an eagle poised on its head, wings displayed, all surrounded by a Celtic braid. He touched his fingertips to the identical tattoo on his chest, and glanced at the silver ring on his finger. The one from his father. The one with the same symbol engraved in the lapis stone. What did it all mean? How did he fit into the puzzle? He had to find out. If only anyone would talk.

Charlotte tugged on his sleeve and he sat down. She caressed his arm, her touch like a summer breeze rippling over a river of warm butterscotch. He squeezed her hand, thankful for her presence.

“Bring him in,” Gildore said to the guard at the door.

A middle-aged man with mangled, reddish-gray hair and a face in terrible need of a shave entered the room. He wore weathered black trousers tucked into leather boots, a moth-eaten purple shirt, and a black and purple brocade jacket with faded brass buttons and frayed gold braids with tassels at the shoulders. Despite the odd appearance, there was no mistaking those brown, laughing wereman eyes.

Groote!

David breathed in one quick, sharp breath, his lips parted in disbelief.

“Dragon’s breath!” Trog rounded the end of the table and embraced the man in a hearty hug. “Stephen Kavenaugh! Look at you, back to normal again. When did this happen?”

“A week ago, maybe two. I don’t rightly remember. One minute I was gnawing flesh off a bone, the next I woke on the floor curled up like a baby and naked as a plucked chicken. Thankfully, I had these two around to take care of me.” He beckoned toward the door and two creatures stepped inside, their human faces stoic, their dragon wings pressed back.

Charlotte gasped. “It’s them! Agimesh and Tacarr! They’re all right!”

“You know these creatures?” Eric asked. “How? And who is Stephen Kavenaugh?”

“The captain of the Fauscherian army,” David said. “We met him on our way here, but he looked a lot different, trust me.”

Groote looked past Trog’s shoulder at Slavandria. “Your Grace, I am returning these two shime to your service.”

“Thank you for their safe return,” Slavandria said, “and you can thank David here for your freedom. He is the one who put an arrow through Avida’s heart, thus breaking her spell on you.”

David gulped as all eyes turned on him. Yeah, that’s right. Everyone look at the murderer.

Murderer. That’s what he was. It didn’t matter why he did it. Killing was killing. Maybe Trog could rationalize it, justify it, but there would never be a base strong enough to neutralize the acid of guilt that ate at his conscience.

Never.

The man formerly known as Groote nodded in David’s direction. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, young man. What you did not only saved me but an entire realm. Your courage is most appreciated.”

David stared the man in the eye. “I killed someone. It doesn’t matter the reason. It’s still murder either way you look at it. I don’t find anything courageous about that.”

Kavenaugh shook his head. “I disagree. You did not go up to someone and kill them for sport. It was survival. Kill or be killed. You’ve done nothing wrong. Think of it as nothing more than cutting off the head of a venomous snake.”

“A human being and a snake are two different things.”

“She wasn’t human,” Slavandria said, her fingers brushing the tops of the chairs as she walked by. “She was evil of the most malignant kind. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel some sort of guilt or experience a bit of self-condemnation. I’d have some serious concerns about your moral fiber if you didn’t. But I hope you will believe me when I say that guilt is misplaced. Had you not killed Avida, Charlotte and many others would be dead. Would you have been able to live with that, knowing you could have done something and didn’t?”

David stared at his lap. “No.”

“Everything in perspective, boy,” Kavenaugh said. “Remember that.”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Trog said, returning to his seat. “Stephen, I’m sure you remember Sirs Gowran, Crohn, and Farnsworth.” He gestured toward the three men sitting to his right.

“Yes, yes, I do,” Kavenaugh said, sitting to Trog’s left. “And might I add how it pleases me to see I am not the only one who has grown weathered, old, and beaten.”

“Speak for yourself, wereman,” said Crohn, combing his dark, scraggly hair from his eyes. “I could get me a fair lass if I wanted one.”

“Only in a world where an ogre looked like a rabbit and smelled like a rose,” quipped the red-haired Gowran. Hearty laughter floated around the room. Even David couldn’t keep the chuckle inside.

“So, Captain,” Queen Mysterie said, her melodic voice bringing temperance to the room. “What brings you to Gyllen Castle? I would think you would wish to return to Fauscher as soon as possible.”

Kavenaugh leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table. His smile faded, his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. “Since my recovery, Agimesh, Tacarr, and others have been keeping me abreast of the situation in Fallhollow. It is much more severe than anything you can imagine. Einar is amassing his armies. Dalvarian rebels are infiltrating Berg in large numbers. Other armies, some from as far away as Ochlen and the Mist Vales are moving in from the north and east, taking control of harbor towns between Gable and the Brindle Sea.”

“They’re annexing the trade routes.” Gildore said.

“That’s not good,” Eric said.

“They’ve also positioned their headquarters in Tulipakar at the Elthorian Manor in the name of the Dragon King.”

David swallowed the rock in this throat.

“No,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “They can’t do that! We can’t let them. We’ve got to do something. Twiller’s family is there.” She clasped David’s hand.

A thousand electrifying needles pricked David’s skin at her touch. “Ouch!” He jerked his hand away and shook it. “What the hell?”

“Don’t be such a baby. You’ve felt worse.” She looked back at Slavandria. “We have to send in a rescue party.”

“And do what, liberate an entire village of gnomes?” Kavenaugh asked. “It’s impossible. Shadowmorths, as thick as storm clouds, guard every inch of Tulipakar. An attempt to enter would result in death.”

“So, we’re going to do nothing?”

“Not necessarily,” David said, leaning forward. He glanced at Slavandria. “Why don’t we contact Garret and Gertie? I can blink my way in and out of the Inn of the Nesting Owls; tell them what we’ve learned. They can send Ravenhawk and that other shapeshifter, that fox … oh what’s his name … Rusty, into the wild. They do it all the time anyway. They can find out what’s going on.”

“I am afraid that is impossible,” Agimesh said. His voice rumbled through David like thunder on a hot summer night. He stepped forward and took a knee, tucking his webbed, lime-green wings tight to his back. The vibrant feathered tips brushed his calves. “Your Grace, if I may have your permission to speak.”

“Of course,” Slavandria said.

The shime soldier stepped forward, his usual bright, round amethyst eyes now dark in his translucent human-like face. Even his green scales seemed to have lost their glimmer and shine.

“The two humans of which you speak, Garret and Gertie of Gable, were taken prisoner within hours of our departing Gable. They are being held in the Elthorian manor in Tulipakar.”

Charlotte gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “No. That can’t be.”

“The shapeshifting fox, Rusty, of which you have referred, as well as a dozen other shapeshifters have been murdered in their attempts to rescue them.”

David’s insides went cold, his body trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t shake. A half hour ago he was entertaining the thought of meeting his parents and going home with Charlotte, living out as close to a normal life considering all that had happened. Why did something always have to get in the way and puncture holes in his plans?

Trog pounded a fist on the table, rattling David’s bones. The knight rose from his chair and turned his back to everyone. He gripped the edge of the mantel, his face dipped toward the floor.

“This is not your fault, Trog,” said the knight sitting to the right of Trog’s vacant chair. “There is no way you could have known—”

“But I did know, Farnsworth!” Trog rounded on the man. Anger flashed in his eyes. “They knew who I was and I used them! I let them risk everything for us. I should have never allowed them to get involved.”

“They knew the chance they were taking and they took it anyway,” Farnsworth said.

“He’s right, Trog,” David said. “They would have done anything for you. We have to do the same for them.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Slavandria said.

“Not if I ferry in,” David said. “I’ve been inside once, I can get in again.

“And what of our discussion this morning?” Slavandria asked.

David drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t go home without trying to rescue them, not after all they did for us. But, I want an introduction with my parents before we set off on this rescue mission. Can we do that?”

Her eyes softened, as if a huge burden had been lifted. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Your Grace,” Agimesh said, “it would be unwise to ferry anyone into the manor. The shadowmorths will be upon him before you could have a chance to pull him out.”

“I have to try,” David said. “You’ve got to figure out a way to make me undetectable.”

Eric shifted in his chair. “If David is going on a rescue mission, I’d like to volunteer to join the reconnaissance.”

“Absolutely not!” King Gildore said, his tone final.

“Why not?” Eric asked, his jaw tense.

“Because I said so,” Gildore replied. “You will see to the weapons and bed rolls and prepare the rations.”

Eric’s bottom jaw moved from side to side. His fingers balled into fists. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, I feel my skills would be well suited to join them. I am agile, quick with a sword. My injuries are healed. Why not take advantage of that? Let me prove my mettle. Let me use the skills I’ve been taught.”

“Out of the question,” Gildore said. “You will do as you have been instructed. Trog, you and I will journey to the Floating Isles and do what we can to convince the Steward to drop its shield of neutrality and join our cause.”

“But I don’t want to stay here,” Eric said, bolting from his seat. “You have no right keeping me chained to these walls. I know what and who I am and I know what is at stake. I am willing to take the risks and I should be allowed to do so.” Infuriating desperation seeped from his eyes which had taken on a strange shade of green. Piercing in an alarming way.

Gildore shook his head. “I’m sorry, Eric, but my answer is no. I need you here.”

“But, Your Majesty.”

“Eric, your king has spoken,” Trog said, his brow furrowed. “That is the end of it.”

Eric’s gaze locked with Trog’s. His nostrils flared, his chest rose and fell in controlled breaths.

David shifted in his seat. His gaze met with Eric’s, and he saw the same irritation, the same disgust he’d felt with Slavandria and Lily. He had to fight for him. Stick with him. There was more power in numbers, even if the current number was two.

“Yeah, so I don’t know what the scoop is here,” David said, standing, his chair scraping across the floor, “and I don’t want to know, but I have to agree with Eric.”

“David,” Trog warned. “This is not your battle.”

“Yeah, well none of the battles I’ve fought in this place have been mine, so I don’t see how this is any different. I’ve seen Eric in action. I know for a fact I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for him, so maybe having him on your team might not be a bad thing.”

“You don’t understand the circumstances,” Trog said, “and you’re out of line. Take a seat.”

“With the utmost respect … no.”

David took a deep breath to calm the rattle in his nerves. He must be crazy. He had to be to challenge Trog.

“That wasn’t a request.”

“And you’re not listening.”

“I said sit. Down.”

David stared and seethed. His right eye twitched and the words he wanted to say warbled just below the surface of his lips. The man was so infuriating!

“Do I need to come over there and sit you down myself?”

David snatched his chair and sat down, his heart racing as if he’d run two miles

Trog flicked his gaze to Eric and motioned to him with a finger “Eric?”

“You can’t keep treating me like a child!”

“I can, and will do so as long as you continue to act like one. Now sit down.”

David took a deep breath. Man, Trog could be a real jerk. He wouldn’t even listen. It was his way or no way. Why is it that adults always think they’re right? It just burned him to no end.

Eric stared back at Trog. “As you command … Master.”

“Eric,” Gildore said, “one more disrespectful word and I will send you to the kitchens to wash every item of dinnerware in this castle with a rag the size of a lady’s handkerchief.”

“That’s kind of harsh,” David mumbled.

Charlotte kicked him.

“Would you like to join him, young man?” King Gildore asked, his gaze pinned on David.

David shook his head. “No sir.”

“Coward,” Eric said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Jerk,” David replied.

“Babies,” Charlotte said, smacking them both on the arm. “How old are you anyway? Geez.” She shook her head and looked at Slavandria. “I have a question. If we can’t go in above ground, why can’t we go underground? You’ve got the Eye of Kedge and the crystals, right? I mean, that’s what we all almost died for—getting you that stupid stone. All you have to do is wiggle your fingers, open the tunnels. Boom, we’re in and out before anyone knows. That’s doable, right?

The room quieted. All eyes on Charlotte for a change. Slavandria stood and paced “Yes, I can activate the tunnels, but doing so comes with a price. Seyekrad, Einar, and whatever demons gather around them will detect the magic in an instant. As we do not know exactly where Garret and Gertie are or what forces surround them, we will need time for reconnaissance once inside. That will take time. Time we do not have. Resistance will come almost instantly, above and below ground. A mage war will no doubt ensue. You must ask yourselves if you have the resources and the stamina to endure such a conflict. Hirth is wounded as is Gyllen Castle. You don’t have near enough men, and there is only so much I can do alone. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly have the assistance of the Mages High Council at my disposal.”

“We can’t sit here and do nothing,” David said.

“I think Charlotte’s idea is brilliant,” Trog said. “I say we take our chances and fight using the mage tunnels. If it’s planned well, if it’s planned right, we might be able to succeed. There are thousands of tunnels. I’m sure Slavandria can find a way to mask us for short periods of time to confuse those that might be watching.”

The room burst into loud discussion, and before David could blink twice, the knights and the king were strategizing, pulling out maps, spreading them over the tables. Talk over the collection of allied forces, battle routes, reconnaissance, tactical formations melded together into an overwhelming roar. Slavandria conjured an extensive map of the mage tunnels in the air and launched into a discussion over battle plans if met with resistance, escape routes, and ways to ambush the enemy without being discovered.

David’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t what he wanted, what he suggested. How did a rescue plan change to waging a full-scale battle? The muscles in his arms tightened and a burst of angry heat clawed through his stomach. He stood.

“Umm, hello? Excuse me?”

They continued on, their voices smothering his. He spoke a little louder, this time almost a shout. “Umm, hello? I think you misunderstood me.” The room fell quiet again as all eyes turned on him. “I’m not talking about waging an all-out war here. All I want is for Slavandria to get me into the Elthorian Manor, snatch up Gertie and Garrett, and return here. That’s it. Plain and simple.”

“There is nothing simple about this, David,” Slavandria said. “If you use the tunnels, you’re going to have to take soldiers with you. I can only mask the magic for maybe a few seconds at a time. That is nowhere near enough to get in and out like what you’re thinking.”

“But I thought the tunnels shaved time? I thought travel was instant.”

“They do, and it is, but as I said, I’m not the only one who can use the tunnels. I can assure you Seyekrad is waiting for me to activate them and when I do, no one inside of them will be safe.”

David clenched his fists. “So, you’re telling me that with all the magic you possess, there isn’t anything you can do to get me in there undetected.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No, there isn’t, not without risking your capture and possible murder.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“David, please,” Charlotte, said, taking his hand in hers.

He snatched it away and banged his chair against the table. “You’re the great sorceress to ever live,” he yelled, pointing at Slavandria. “You’re the daughter of Jared, the almighty poobah of all poobah’s. I don’t care how you do it, but figure out a way that doesn’t involve war to get me in there and get them out. Plain and simple. Come find me when you’ve figured it out.”

He stormed from the room, past the grand staircase and out the front door of the castle, ignoring Charlotte’s shouts to stop.

Charlotte.

His stomach coiled in a tight knot. He was supposed to protect her. Keep her safe. What a fine job he’d done there. And now he couldn’t rescue his other friends without starting World War III. What had he done? Good God, what had he done?