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Not that Reka was here now, of course. The sudden breeze was just that, and not the unnatural wind that had so often heralded the dragon’s arrival.
No, he hadn’t seen Reka in more than three weeks, and he didn’t want to. His last memory of the dragon was of being carried in his talons, zooming at an impossible speed over storm-tossed waves, the dragon ignoring his pleas to turn around, to help the mermaid whose life was slowly draining from her on the beach of an abandoned, forgotten island…
Heath dragged his thoughts away from the image of Merletta’s unmoving form with an effort. It was much less painful to focus on his anger toward Reka. He stared moodily ahead as he urged his horse forward. Over the last few weeks, he had raged aloud at Reka many times—trusting in the dragon’s farsight to allow him to witness the tirades from afar—but he was done with such foolish outbursts.
The past was done. There was nothing more to say.
It seemed his friend felt the same way. Reka must know from the use of his farsight that Heath had mostly recovered from his wounds, but the dragon had shown no sign of reappearing, had made no attempt to communicate with Heath.
So much the better, Heath thought petulantly, glancing back at the dancing spray of the waterfall. He had no desire to talk to Reka.
But his friend’s absence gnawed at him, as corrosive as his guilt over Merletta’s fate. Much as he didn’t want to admit it, it felt wrong to be at odds with Reka.
He winced as he shifted in the saddle, a dull pain radiating from his side as well as his leg. Hopefully he hadn’t reopened either spear wound, or the castle physician would have his hide. The gashes from the coral had all but disappeared, but the injuries caused by the merguards’ weapons would take much longer to completely heal. He wasn’t really supposed to be going for unsanctioned rides—which was almost certainly why Percival had come after him—let alone attempting pointless and foolhardy feats of strength. He shuddered to think what either his father or the physician would say if they heard about the stunt.
But there wasn’t too much risk of that. Heath doubted the other archer would want to advertise the incident. And as much as Perce might rage at him, he wouldn’t rat him out. He never had before. And he would be an absolute toad to start now, considering all the countless times Heath had covered for him.
“Have you gone mad, Heath?”
Percival’s voice snapped Heath from his thoughts, alerting him to the fact that his brother had pulled his horse alongside Heath’s. The other man trailed behind, still looking shaken, and showing no inclination to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Relax,” said Heath mulishly. “It was just a friendly competition. We were shooting arrows with ropes attached into branches. The first one to haul one up onto the bridge wins.”
“What’s the point of that?” Percival stormed.
Heath shrugged. “Does there need to be a point?”
Percival glared at him from under lowered brows. “If we were talking about me, then no. I don’t need you to tell me I’ve done stupider things for the sake of competition. But this is you, Heath. You’re smarter than this.”
Heath just shrugged again. “Apparently not.”
“Heath.” Percival’s voice had changed, and Heath met his brother’s eyes in spite of himself. “Do you realize that you almost just died?”
“You distracted me.”
“I distra—” Percival’s eyes bulged, and for a moment he seemed incapable of speech. “Are you really trying to blame me for—”
“No, of course not,” Heath cut in quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s my own fault. I just…I know I was being dumb, all right? Can we just forget about it?”
Percival was silent for a long moment, his gaze uncomfortably searching. Heath kept his eyes ahead, wishing the path wasn’t wide enough for them to ride side by side.
“Heath, you’ve got to tell me what happened.”
“I can’t,” said Heath, his voice strangled. “I told you…I promised someone. I can’t explain.”
“Well, if not me, then someone,” Percival argued. “Honestly, I still can’t believe you managed to get away without properly answering Father’s questions. I think his heart almost failed when that dragon of yours carried you into the courtyard of the manor, bleeding everywhere, and looking more than half dead. And,” he added reflectively, “I think Mother’s heart actually did fail.”
Heath sighed, trying to ignore the guilt that gnawed at him over his parents’ ongoing concern. “Father may be able to magically detect deception, but even he can’t force me to speak.”
“Well, I almost wish he could,” Percival said frankly. “Whatever it is, it’s eating you up inside. You’re not yourself, and I’m worried.” He reached out an elbow to nudge Heath, attempting a light-hearted tone. “I mean, if I’m the one telling you to be more careful, something must be seriously wrong.”
Heath gave a half-hearted smile, and Percival’s expression became serious again.
“You’re still not fully recovered. You’ll make Father regret letting you come to Bryford so soon. You’re supposed to be exerting your influence to keep all the power-wielders in line, not risking your life on stupid pranks.”
Heath snorted. “As if I have any influence with any of you.” He gave his brother a look. “I think you know I wasn’t bursting with eagerness to take on an official role as the king’s liaison with the power-wielders. I just wanted to get away from Mother and Father’s fussing.” He dropped his voice to a mutter. “If I’d known the whole blasted family would follow me here like a bunch of flapping hens, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“I heard that,” said Percival dryly. “And I don’t appreciate being called a flapping hen.”
