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Last of all he turned to Merletta, pulling her in for a quick embrace. He was aware of his family watching with interest, so he lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry to leave you on your own like this. I’ll come back as quickly as I can.”
“I’ll be fine, Heath,” Merletta assured him. She lowered her voice. “I think I might swim a little way with the others, get them started. I don’t know when I’ll next see them.”
Heath frowned. There was something behind her words, some extra layer. He sent his magic out tentatively, wanting to understand, but not wanting to pry.
“You’re not leaving with them after all, without telling me, are you?” he asked.
“Of course not!” Merletta’s protest was genuine. “I wouldn’t sneak off like that.”
Heath nodded, not entirely satisfied, but trying to respect that whatever else she was thinking, she didn’t want to tell him about it.
“Be careful, all right?”
“I will,” she told him. “I’ll see you soon.”
Within minutes, Heath was on the road, the manor disappearing behind him as he turned his horse’s head toward Bryford. He couldn’t shake his unease over the farewell with Merletta, not liking the feeling there was something he was missing. His thoughts flew to the dragons, and their alarming reaction to her and August at the Winter Solstice Festival.
His conscience squirmed as he tried to deny what he knew deep down—that he should have told Merletta all about that reaction, and his guess as to its reasons. But after all, he’d warned her that dragons weren’t all as safe as Reka, hadn’t he? He’d told her of the need for caution with the beasts, more than once. And it wasn’t as though he actually knew what they were upset about. They’d seemed to be offended by Merletta and August’s presence, but he didn’t know why that would be. And it was all just conjecture, after all. It was possible he was wrong.
Besides, he argued with himself, there was no reason to think Merletta was in danger from them right now. What he’d said to his grandmother was true—time worked differently for the immortal beasts. If they hadn’t responded immediately—and there had been no sign from them for months—then they would probably take a long time to act, at least in human terms. He would only be gone for a few days. Surely Merletta would be safe enough at Bexley Manor for that short span of time.
When he reached Bryford, he and his horse were both exhausted from many hours on the road, and he went to his family’s city manor to freshen up before proceeding to the castle. By the time he walked around, dusk had fallen. He was received by the king’s steward, and told that he would need to return the following day.
Grumbling to himself about the waste of his time, Heath retraced his steps. He sobered when he passed the place where the chimney had collapsed, however. The debris had long since been cleaned up, but the mystery remained unsolved. In spite of himself, Heath found his mind emerging a little from his self-imposed bubble, engaging once again with the matters that had consumed his focus before Merletta arrived so unexpectedly.
Who stood to gain from killing him? Or—a slightly different but perhaps more telling question—who was at risk from him remaining alive? He couldn’t see how he was that great a threat to anyone. Certainly not to the same someone who might see Percival as a threat. Unless someone just wanted to wipe out all the power-wielding line. But no one else had come under attack.
For once, his dreams that night were not about Merletta. He dreamed that Lachlan and Percival were locked in combat. Lachlan held a shield above his head, emblazoned with the Valorian royal crest, while Percival pummeled it mercilessly, with the full force of his legendary strength. Heath hovered on the sidelines, terrified that one would hurt the other, not knowing whom to help, or how. Then, abruptly, Lachlan turned his shield sideways, and Heath saw that its edge was sharper than any blade. So sharp that as Percival brought another blow to bear, it sliced his arm clean off.
Heath awoke with a cry on his lips, tangled in his bedsheets, and wet with sweat.
He was chastened as he once again made his way to the castle, and when he was shown to Lachlan’s study, he was in a more receptive frame of mind than he had been the night before.
“Heath.”
Lachlan stood to greet him, looking worn. Heath felt a flash of guilt. While he’d intentionally put his head in the sand, Lachlan had continued to carry the burden of the kingdom’s tensions.
“I’m glad to speak with you before you see my father,” Lachlan continued. “Thank you for returning to the capital at short notice. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient.”
Heath stared at his cousin. It was unusual for the crown prince to offer anything akin to an apology, especially as related to what he would certainly have seen as Heath’s duty. Why was Lachlan concerned about keeping Heath in an amiable frame of mind?
“It was overdue,” Heath said simply. “Why did you wish to speak to me first? Have you found anything further regarding the attacks?”
Lachlan shook his head. “Not really. I discovered one more death which could have been poison. From a village to the south. It can’t be confirmed, though, so it doesn’t especially help us.”
“That would make seven in total,” Heath mused. “There were around ten attackers. And it’s quite possible the mastermind was present, in which case we have to assume that he at least wasn’t poisoned.”
Lachlan nodded, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. “Listen, Heath,” he said. “I’m sure you remember that Lord Percival’s loyalty ceremony wasn’t entirely a success, and I know you were as grieved by that situation as I was. I realize things have become even more complicated since then. But I hope you will still wish to make your own ceremony—”
“My ceremony?” Heath interrupted. “I’m turning twenty-one in two weeks, aren’t I?”
He’d completely forgotten what that meant—that he would be the next member of the power-wielding branch of the family to face the requirement of a public declaration of his loyalty to King Matlock upon reaching twenty-one years of age.
“Is that what the king wants to speak with me about?” he demanded.
Lachlan nodded, watching his face carefully. “Primarily. It’s a little bit…uncertain, given no one is entirely sure of the extent of your magic.”
