6
As she soughtan entrance into the tunnels beneath the castle, Syla passed two hallways blocked by rockfalls—rooffalls—and climbed over a pile of wood, tile, and stone higher than her head. She glanced through a hole in the ceiling, half-expecting to spot that dragon peering down at her. Every time a noise came from somewhere nearby, she spun in fear, certain its rider was after her.
Its very confusing rider.
Why had Captain Vorik claimed to have come to help her—toprotecther, he’d said—when his people had been responsible for the horrible attack? And he’d surely participated. He’dbeenthere, smashing a roof onto her head. Had he thought she wouldn’t recognize him?
True, she hadn’t in the dark, when she’d been in front of him on the dragon, but she would have eventually, even if Fel hadn’t warned her. When they had come face to face. And that dragon? In better light, she wouldn’t have missed recognizing the color of his green scales, the reptilian coldness of his eyes.
As she approached what had once been the royal theater, aplace the family had gathered to be entertained by traveling and local troupes, she feared it wouldn’t remain standing. Surprisingly, however, the arched ceiling had held up under the attack. The tall windows were broken, with shattered glass littering the flagstone floors and rugs, but the rows of seats and the stage remained intact, barely disturbed.
Athunksounded behind her, followed by softer clunks. A rock in the hallway she’d passed through shifting and falling off a rubble pile?
Syla jumped into the theater, putting her back to the wall near the door. Silence followed the noise, and she could hear and feel her heart hammering. Was it the rider following her?
After a moment of stillness, she heard something else. Boots on the floor, someone walking. Someone with a heavy, uneven gait.
“Fel?” she whispered.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Weariness and pain in his voice made her wince in sympathy.
When Fel stepped into the doorway and held her pack out to her, his sooty face was bruised, his shaven head spattered with blood, and he leaned right, favoring the other leg. Emotions constricted her throat, but she didn’t want him to think her weak by crying, nor did she believe the gruff bodyguard wanted a display of sympathy.
She swallowed and said, “I thought you didn’t useYour Highnesswith me because your upcoming retirement has made you worry less about pomp?”
Fel slumped against the doorjamb. “Something tells me I’m not going to get to retire for a while.”
“Maybe we can get the shielder repaired in the next… seventeen days, was it?”
“Even if we’re able to do that, there’ll be a lot of rebuilding to do.” Fel looked out into the theater. “And the succession and who’sgoing to be in charge… Someone’s going to have to figure that out.”
His gaze settled on her.
“It won’t be me. And I’m not deciding who it will be either. But the shielder… I can help figure that out. But first, are you all right? You need healing again. I can tell.”
“Not now. The captain and his dragon are loitering in the area, probably doing whatever they came to do.Spyingprobably.”
“I thought the rider might come inside after me.”
“The last I saw, they took to the air, but they didn’t head out to sea. Instead, they flew inland. Off to frolic over the countryside and steal food or raze villages or who knows what.”
“How did you escape from them in the courtyard?”
“The dragon wanted to kill me, but Captain Vorik seemed… I’m not sure. They tried to kill us earlier, so I don’t know why he didn’t finish me off. I can guess why they didn’t killyou.”
“Oh? Why?”
“You know where the shielders are. Vorik must have intended to take you back to his people to question. Tointerrogate.”
“I… Yes, that makes sense, but his people must alreadyknowwhere the Castle Island shielder is. Or was.” Since Fel didn’t want healing at that moment, Syla headed up the aisle toward the stage. It was time to see if the shielder remained under the castle and was repairable.
“Agreed.” Fel trailed after her, noticeably trying not to limp.
Oh, Sergeant.She wished she could send him to the temple for a comfortable bed in a quiet room looking out over the sea. But the temple was gone. Herlifewas gone.
Pushing the thought aside, Syla climbed the steps to the stage. She couldn’t feel sorry for herself. She was alive and others weren’t. Still, a small, self-pitying part of her wondered if they were luckier than she. Whatever her future held, it wouldn’t be a life of ease.
“One worry at a time.” Syla knelt by a large piece of equipment that could swing thespians around in the air so they appeared to the audience to fly. It had been years since her parents—yes, her father had still been alive then—had shown her the location of this entrance, and she had to pat all around before finding a button.
