CHAPTER ONE
Vana
A lone dreamhawk wheels across the silver sky. From this distance, her wings appear pure black, her silhouette stark against the heavy clouds. Her circling is leisurely but purposeful, her focus on the long-grass glade below.
Vana Dire watches the hawk’s flight from the edge of the glade. In his pocket is a featherglass, a feather preserved in a polished case. With the glass, a falconer can sometimes catch visions of their dreamhawk’s sight. Vana lacks a natural talent for it, and right now, he simply wants this moment of wistful peace.
The glade’s seclusion is an illusion. Just a few rows of dark trees and a bend in the path hide the bulk of Sabora, Vana’s estate outside Nirava. Vana’s personal effects and entourage have all been readied for today’s journey, and Sabora’s seneschal has been given her usual instructions to manage everything in Vana’s absence. Vana leaves for the capital as soon as he finishes flying Stanza—and handling one last local problem.
The problem’s name is Fleury Bartome, and he kneels under Daromir’s watchful eyes. The threat of Daromir’s ice magic keeps Fleury quiet while Vana flies Stanza. Daromir’s presence at his back is more familiar than Vana’s shadow. It’s the only reason Vana feels safe enough to lose himself in a peaceful moment.
Cold wind caresses Vana’s throat. His long hair is bound tightly back, and his coat and gloves should keep him warm. But the change in pressure has chilled him all day. The journey to Ostomar will be heralded by storms.
Vana has only been in Sabora for two months this time, and he’d expected a longer reprieve from court life. A rare, self-indulgent retreat. It’s probably best that Vana’s royal father has called him back early. Vana’s presence is far more effective at court. Sabora’s seneschal can manage the region just fine, but Vana’s alliances and enmities at court need a more personal touch.
House Dire’s succession is still up for grabs, after all. King Imrik has implied he intends to pass his crown to Vana, but for all Vana knows, Imrik has made those same half-promises to Marek as well. Maybe even to Kazia, though only a madman would give more power to that brat. He’s trouble enough already.
High above, Stanza draws to attention. She dives as quick and deadly as an arrow, skimming the long grasses before she lands.
Perched on a rock, she rips into the vole in her talons. Vana relaxes and waits while she eats, reassured she didn’t catch a larger creature that could injure her. When Stanza finishes, Vana lifts his leather-gloved arm to shoulder height and whistles.
Stanza launches into the air on a few strong wingbeats, then glides to Vana’s glove. Despite her size, nearly two feet from beak to tail tip, Stanza weighs only a couple of pounds. This close, her true colors are clear. Not pure black, each feather shifting like a dark rainbow. Falconers say dreamhawks were once kin with more common wolf hawks, but long exposure to scalestone changed them like it’s changed so much of Draskora. Dreamhawks evolved to be immune to magic, and they can sight-share in a limited fashion.
There are plenty of practical reasons to raise them. Vana just thinks Stanza is beautiful.
Turning, Vana finds Daromir watching him, green eyes intent and unreadable. Daromir’s posture is always relaxed and ready for combat. His black and emerald coat, reminiscent of the uniforms Vana’s drasgard wear, has always suited him better than it should.
Anything would probably suit Daromir, though. With his Kaiskaran coloring and strong features, he’s easily the most handsome man Vana has ever met. Even with their years of familiarity, just the sight of Daromir sometimes takes Vana’s breath away.
If they weren’t ward and bloodguard, falling for Daromir would be easy. But they are, so instead Vana just has fourteen years’ experience ignoring how damned attractive his closest friend is.
At Daromir’s feet, Fleury Bartome is red-faced and trembling with the effort of keeping his mouth shut. Time to end his waiting.
“Thank you for your patience, Master Fleury.” Vana approaches with Stanza settled on his arm. “Drasgard Indra has told me about the hidden compartments in your tinker’s wagon. Explain the matter using three sentences or fewer. If I want more information, I’ll ask for it.”
Fleury puffs up, a wealth of excuses clearly piling up inside him. But he exhales just as noisily and takes the time to organize his answer. “I use those compartments to hide my best bottles of zalvin. If there was any sign of scalestone, I didn’t put it there. Lastly, I have a dearly beloved family depending on my unworthy self.”
“Well done,” Vana says.
Fleury beams. “Thanks, Your Highness.”
The dearly beloved family is news to Vana but may well be true. This isn’t the first time Vana has passed judgment on Fleury Bartome. The man is a prolific petty criminal in and around Nirava. Effusively talkative, with a broad, friendly face, he never actually hurts anyone. He pays the fines he owes when he’s caught, and he’s the Nirava jailer’s favorite prisoner.
But this time, Fleury is tangled in something far more serious.
Vana’s drasgard caught a mage using illegal scalestone last week. The mage died in the confrontation, which would have ended the matter had Fleury’s wagon not been nearby. That alone wouldn’t have been a problem without Fleury’s too-full coffers and too-empty secret compartments.
Scalestone is Draskora’s greatest resource. The shimmering purple stone augments magic, sometimes unpredictably, and it’s essential for nesting dragons. House Dire controls scalestone distribution with brutal laws against smuggling.
If Vana found actual scalestone in Fleury’s wagon, he would have no choice but to send the man to Ostomar for execution. The circumstantial evidence leaves room for mercy—but a stern warning is still in order.
“Have you paid taxes on your fine bottles of zalvin?” Vana asks.
Fleury’s shoulders slump in relief. “You see, Your Highness, I was going to. In fact, I was on my way to do just that, because I’m always happy to pay my taxes. The officials in Nirava are dear friends of mine. It just so happens that your amazing, gentle drasgard locked me up while I was en route.”
“What a terrible coincidence,” Vana says. “Unfortunately, even if you arrived last month, the taxes still would have been late. You’ll spend a week in jail for that, plus pay the usual fine for taxes owed. And Fleury?”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
