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“Of course not!” Percival snapped. “Every power-wielder in Valoria is related to us, Heath. Do you really think any of them would attack me?”
Heath shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t. But maybe someone from Kyona? Someone we didn’t meet when we were there?”
“This is ridiculous. You’re no use to me,” Percival said angrily, apparently already forgetting that Heath and Reka had appeared out of nowhere and saved his life.
He stomped over to the side of the road, where his horse was grazing. Apparently he’d been dragged from the saddle by his attackers. A few travelers passed them, throwing curious looks at the visibly roughed up young lord.
“Where are you going?” Heath demanded, hurrying after his brother.
“To the capital,” said Percival grimly. “If I go home, Father will try to convince me to hush this up. You know how obsessed he is with not ruffling any royal feathers.”
“Percival,” said Heath warningly. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell people what happened!” Percival yelled.
“We don’t know what happened!” Heath said, shouting himself now. “You think you saw a royal guard uniform, but—”
“And you think you felt magic,” retorted Percival angrily. He’d swung himself into the saddle now, and he gestured down at himself. “Look at me, Heath! They were trying to kill me, and if I didn’t have extra strength, or if you two hadn’t showed up when you did, they would have succeeded! And everyone would have thought it was a bandit attack.”
“But you can’t just ride into the capital and accuse Lord Niel without proof,” Heath argued.
“Lord Niel?” There was a hysterical edge to Percival’s voice. “We both know Lord Niel doesn’t have the authority to order the royal guard to do anything. Only one person can do that.”
Heath stilled. “What are you saying, Percival?”
“You know what I’m saying,” Percival replied curtly, turning his horse’s head toward Bryford. “King Matlock wants me dead, he just doesn’t want anyone to know he was involved.”
“Percival!” Heath’s horrified reproach had no effect. Percival was already moving, urging his horse into a trot. Heath turned to Reka, his eyes wide. “He’s going to get himself killed. Or start a war or something. Do you realize what will happen if he bursts into the castle and accuses the king of trying to have him murdered?”
Reka’s scales clinked metallically as he did his rippling shrug. “I do not know, but if I’m honest, I am quite curious to see what will happen.”
“This isn’t a game,” Heath said sharply. “This is worse than everything else. I don’t see how we could come back from this.” He stared after his brother in rising panic. “Reka, will you take me to Bryford? Please?”
Reka let out a gusty sigh, but he evidently wasn’t agitated this time, because there was no hint of smoke on his breath. “All right. Even though I would have quite liked to see what would happen if you didn’t intervene.”
The dragon lifted Heath into the air, and they flew, more slowly than they ever had before. They caught up to Percival in moments. Percival glanced up as Reka’s shadow passed over him, and the anger that flashed across his face told Heath there was no point trying to convince his brother to stop. All he could do was follow Percival to Bryford.
When the horse and rider passed through the city gates, Reka flew over the wall, setting Heath down on the flagstones of the castle courtyard. By the time Percival appeared, the dragon had already attracted the attention of what felt like every resident of the capital.
“Maybe you’d better go, Reka,” Heath muttered. “I’m not sure your presence is going to help.”
“Very well,” said Reka amicably. “I will watch from a distance, if you prefer.”
And without another word, he took to the sky. Heath hurried forward to intercept Percival, who was striding toward the castle steps.
“This is a bad idea, Perce,” he started, but Percival just put on extra speed as he ran into the building.
“Lord Percival,” said a servant, hurrying up to him. “What’s—”
“Are Lord Brody and Lady Bianca in the castle?” Percival demanded.
“I believe so,” the servant said nervously.
“Ask them to join me,” said Percival, with the air of royalty. The castle steward had appeared by this point, obviously sensing a commotion in his territory.
“Is anything amiss, My Lord?” he asked with dignity, his eyes traveling over Percival’s extensive injuries.
“I wish to seek an audience with the king,” Percival said, his anger barely contained.
