The Dragon Heir Read online

  Madison walked toward Brice, forcing a smile onto her face. She was afraid her heart might burst right out of her chest, it was beating so hard. “So, Brice,” she said, “I hear you like to play with magic.”

  “What th-the hell?” The usually articulate Brice looked like he was in the middle of a very bad dream and hoped he’d wake up soon. “How are you doing that? You’re not a wizard. I . . . didn’t feel anything . . . when I touched you.”

  “You say the word, and I’m a witch,” Madison said, low in her throat. “Isn’t that right?”

  Brice backed away as Madison advanced, raising his hands to fend her off. “Stay away from me.” Meanwhile, Jason came at him from the side.

  “Spell me, why don’t you?” she taunted. “See if you can. I dare you.” Her shadow extended before her, tall and angular.

  He stretched out his hands, but then pulled them back, no doubt remembering what had happened in the studio. “Madison. Come on. Let’s talk about this.”

  She extended her hand toward Brice, mimicking a hex sign Min had used. Unnoticeable Jason swung the bat, smashing Brice in the face. Brice jerked backward, yelling, pressing his sleeve to his face to stem the flow of blood from a perfect nose that was now smashed off-center.

  “Ouch!” Madison said, shaking her head. “You’re really not all that good at this, are you? I guess you need a little more practice. Want to play again?”

  Brice spat out blood and a broken tooth. “I don’t get it,” he mumbled through his damaged mouth.

  “No. You don’t. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll make the same deal you offered me. I’ll give you five minutes to gather up anything you want to keep.” She glanced around—at Carl, who had sat up, blotting blood from his face with his shirt; at the other wizard who was still contemplating the wound in his midsection, looking like he might pass out. “Can’t be much worth saving,” she added.

  Brice slid his hands under Carl’s arms and hauled him to his feet, both of them beat up and bloody.

  “One more thing,” Madison said. “You better hope my life runs real smooth from here on. Anything happens to this place—fire, explosions, earthquakes, the well goes dry, bridge goes out, the apple trees get blossom-rot—I’ll know who to blame. And I’ll come after you. You ever set foot on my property again, I’ll incinerate you.”

  For once, Brice had nothing to say. He and Carl hustled off into the woods, heading for the road.

  Madison waited until the wizards had been out of sight for a good five minutes. Then she crouched next to the old chicken coop and vomited, heaving until she had nothing left. Jason squatted next to her, gathering her hair in his hands and pulling it back out of danger. Then he fetched her a mason jar of water from the spigot so she could rinse her mouth. He helped her back to the house, and they sat down on the porch steps. Madison was trembling, her teeth chattering. Jason put his arm around her and pulled her close, patting her back.

  “God, you’re good,” he said, shaking his head. He seemed stunned by her performance. “I couldn’t believe it. You’re so brave. You scared the hell out of them.”

  “Me?” Madison said, shuddering. “You.” Tears pooled in Madison’s eyes, escaped, and ran down her cheeks. “I’ve been . . . so stupid. I should have seen it coming. I know him. I know what he is. What would have happened if you hadn’t been here?”

  “You could’ve taken them,” Jason said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. “No problem. You’re like a ...a lioness, defending your den. I mean, juice ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, compared with that.” He rolled his eyes and she laughed, but there was something in his expression, like he’d had an epiphany.

  “I better go find the kids,” she said, wiping her tears away. “They must be scared to death.” She stood and turned toward the house, but just then she heard Grace’s voice from the woods back of the barn.

  “Madison? What’s happening? Can we come out?”

  “Come on,” Madison said, and Grace and J.R. emerged from the woods, Grace with a vicelike hold on her brother’s hand. Madison sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Grace had done just the right thing. She’d taken J.R. and hidden in the woods.

  Her little sister was growing up.

  “Where’d those men go?” Grace asked, glancing around the barnyard. “Those were the same ones who set fire to the shed.”

  “How much did you see?” Madison asked, exchanging glances with Jason.

  “We didn’t get to see anything!” J.R. complained. “Grace made me go in the woods.”

  “Don’t worry. Jason and I ran them off,” Madison said. “I don’t think they’ll come back.”

  After the kids had gone to bed, Madison invited Jason into the house for his belated dinner. They sat at the kitchen table, and the dogs laid practically on their feet.

  Things had changed, though Jason couldn’t quite say why. For one thing, he’d stake his life—and Seph’s, too—on the fact that Madison Moss was not in league with Warren Barber. Or the Roses. Jason didn’t know how to explain the painting, and he knew it would freak her out if he asked about it. But, somehow, he no longer needed to.

  “So. What are you going to do?” Madison asked Jason. So she, too, sensed they’d reached a turning point.

  “Maybe I better stick around in case Brice and his friends come back,” Jason suggested.

  “You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m guessing Brice won’t want to tangle with me any time soon.”

  Okay, Jason thought, I’m expendible again. But this time he felt it was more like he had options. “Well. I’d wanted to go back to England. Hastings is planning an attack on the ghyll, and I wanted to get in on it.” He shrugged “It’s probably already happened, by now.”

  “So you’ve changed your mind?”

  He nodded. “I could go back to Trinity, I guess. But, I never felt that useful when I was there. I felt like, next to Seph, I was . . .” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t quite believe he was confessing all this to anybody. “I couldn’t stand that, doing nothing. When I left to come here, Seph told me he needed me to come back, that he could use my help. But I figured he was just saying that, because we’re friends.”

  Madison put her hand on his arm. “Since you’re friends, I think you ought to believe him.” She hesitated, then rushed ahead. “Me—I’m a mess. I miss Seph so much. I want to be with him, but I can’t. And the Dragonheart—it’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”

  Jason stared at her. That was it exactly. They both lusted after the stone, but it couldn’t be for the same reason. Jason looked on it as some kind of tonic. He could feel the flow of power to his Weirstone, every minute of the day. But Madison didn’t have a Weirstone.

  Just then Ophelia raised her head and looked toward the door. A car rattled into the yard and stopped.

  What now? Jason thought. I mean, this is getting kind of relentless. He held up a finger, signaling for Madison to stay put, and crossed to the door, peering through the screen.

  Two people were climbing out of an old Jeep that he instantly recognized. Breathing a long sigh of relief, he walked out onto the porch.

  “Jason!” Harmon Fitch crowed, a smile spreading across his face. He turned to Will Childers and slapped hands. “The dude’s alive! That’s the first good news we’ve had in a while.”

  They sat around the kitchen table. Jason seemed nervous and distracted, like he was trying to think up answers to the questions he knew were coming. Madison delayed the interrogation as long as she could, making small talk, rooting in the refrigerator for drinks, pounding ice cube trays on the counter, and dumping chips into a basket.

  Finally, twitchy Fitch could stand it no longer. “In case you’re wondering why we’re here,” he said, “everybody’s been worried because we haven’t heard from you.”

  “What have you guys been doing?” Will asked. “Why didn’t you call?”

  Well, Madison thought, because Jason begged me not to
tell, and threatened to tell about Grace being an elicitor, if I did. She looked at Jason pointedly, waiting for him to speak, while he looked like he kind of hoped she’d handle it.

  “I did e-mail Seph,” she said finally. “And wrote a lot of letters.”

  “But you said Jason never showed,” Will said.

  “Well. Um. I guess so,” Madison stammered. “But ...”

  “It was my fault,” Jason broke in. “I was an idiot. I wouldn’t let her call. I didn’t want anyone to know I was here.”

  Will lifted an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t let her? Did you tie her hand-and-foot or what?”

  “Something like that.” Color stained Jason’s cheeks.

  He’s actually blushing, Madison thought. That’s a first.

  “That’s messed up,” Fitch said. “What’s the matter with you? Everybody was going crazy. Some people said you took off.” Fitch removed his glasses and polished them on his shirttail. “But Seph wouldn’t believe it. He was convinced something happened to you.”

  “Well.” Jason looked at Madison, then back at Fitch. “Something did.”

  So they told Will and Fitch about Barber, and Jason’s injury, and Brice Roper.

  “You should’ve told us,” Will said, a betrayed look on his face. “Nick or Mercedes or somebody could have helped you.”

  “I was going to run off, okay?” Jason’s voice rose. “And I would’ve if I hadn’t been hurt. I wanted to get away from the whole Trinity scene. And then, after, I was ...um ...out of my head.” He stared down at the table. “I’m better now.”

  Fitch eyed him, then nodded grudgingly. “Well,” he said, “seems like things are almost as dangerous down here as at home.”

  Madison’s mouth went dry as cotton. “Why? What’s going on in Trinity?”

  “Well, for one thing, Barber’s been sighted up our way,” Will said. “Jack and Ellen and Seph got into this big battle with him in some old warehouse in Cleveland and practically burned the place down.”

  “What?” Madison looked from Will to Fitch. “How did that happen? Are they all right?”

  “They’re okay,” Will said, rearing back under the onslaught of questions. “Just some scrapes and burns,” he said. “Routine for them.”

  “And?” Jason demanded. “What about Barber?”

  “He got away.” Will hesitated. “Leesha Middleton told us that he was after you.”

  Jason’s face seemed to drain of its usual animation, and his blue eyes went narrow and hard. “Did she?” he said, in a cold, disinterested voice.

  “She was the one that led them to Barber,” Fitch added, frowning at Jason.

  “That was Barber’s mistake,” Jason said lightly. “Trusting Leesha.” Hamlet nudged him, whining, and he scratched the dog behind the ears.

  What’s going on? Madison wondered. Did Jason think Leesha had something to do with . . .

  “Anyway,” Fitch persisted. “Leesha’s really helped out, and I wanted you to know. I know some of us haven’t exactly . . . welcomed her back, but . . .”

  “So what else is going on?” Jason broke in, still focusing on the dog.

  Will shrugged. “Mercedes is building a magical wall around Trinity. Well, with a lot of help, I guess. Not that we’ve actually seen it, or anything.”

  “They’re building a wall?” Jason looked from Will to Fitch. “Are you talking about the boundary?”

  Will shrugged his shoulders in a how should I know way. “Guess it’s different. Like a real wall. Real for the Weir, anyway.”

  “See, the thing is, Jason, they could really use your help,” Fitch said. “I don’t know much about it, but seems there’s a real shortage of wizards. Mr. Hastings is still gone, and it’s just Seph and Nick and Iris, and a few other wizards, doing it all. Jack’s helping some, but once the warriors start manning the gate, he won’t be around much. It takes a lot of magic, I guess, to prop up the wall.”

  “You need to come back with us,” Fitch said. He smiled crookedly. “I’ll tell you one thing—I don’t want to be the one to tell Aunt Linda about her car.”

  Jason hesitated. Madison touched his hand and smiled at him encouragingly. “Seems like Barber’s left, anyway,” she said. “It’s your call, but I think you should go.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I think so, too.” He actually looked relieved, like he’d been carrying around something heavy and just set it down.

  “Seph wants you to come back, too, Madison,” Fitch said.

  Madison shook her head, feeling even lonelier than before Jason came. She was going to have to settle things once and for all with Brice Roper. And her mother. Somehow. “I can’t leave. If Brice finds out I’m gone, he might have another go at the house. But tell Seph . . . I really miss him.”

  It was so lame. So inadequate. But it was all she had.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Strange Bedfellows

  Spring was usually a golden time at Raven’s Ghyll. The bitter winter winds that roared down out of Scotland departed in favor of soft, spring breezes laden with the scent of high country flowers. Clear streams fed by melting snow tumbled out of the heights. Best of all, the tourists who plagued the rest of the Lake District in fine weather came nowhere near.

  But this was a barren season. The tall grass that rippled across the ghyll withered and turned brown, beaten down by cold and unrelenting rains. Buds shriveled on the trees, reneging on their promise of flowers. Birds and wildlife disappeared. Most nights, the furnace in the cellar rattled into life, and the servants kindled the fire on the hearth in a vain effort to warm the sitting room. D’Orsay was forced to spell his servants to keep them from running off to friendlier climes. It would be risky to bring in new, who might be assassins working for the Roses. Wizard lights glittered on the surrounding hills, evidence that the Roses hadn’t lifted their siege.

  They’d heard nothing from Alicia Middleton and had consequently lost track of Warren Barber. Which might mean they were dead, the new Covenant taken or lost. As for the Dragonheart, D’Orsay had to assume it was still in the sanctuary. Unless the Roses held that also.

  He and Dev rattled around Raven’s Ghyll Castle, snapping at each other—they who had always got on so famously.

  Then, finally, they had a message from the Roses. Not a demand for surrender, as D’Orsay expected, but a request for a meeting.

  It took days to negotiate the terms. Would it be safer to hold it in Raven’s Ghyll, or would that open the ghyll to invasion? Could the D’Orsays feel secure in a meeting outside of the ghyll? Would it be necessary to hold the meeting in the nude in order to prevent the smuggling in of sefas?

  Finally, the terms were nailed down, mostly because both sides were eager to meet and resolve the impasse. They met in a high meadow that overlooked the ghyll, a site scoured clean by both sides prior to the event.

  It was usually a lovely spot in spring, starred with bluebells and buttercups. But now it was sere and silent, like the site of some horrible industrial accident.

  It was an intimate gathering—D’Orsay and Devereaux, Jessamine Longbranch of the White Rose, and Geoffrey Wylie of the Red Rose. The last time they’d all been together had been at Second Sister—when D’Orsay and Leicester’s coup against the Roses had nearly succeeded.

  It was a spare meeting, without ceremony or hospitality, since neither side trusted the other enough to break bread together. They met in a tentlike pavilion with a planked wood floor covered in wool rugs.

  “Jessamine. Pleasure.” D’Orsay gripped her gloved hands and kissed her cheek. He nodded curtly to Wylie. “Geoffrey. This is my son, Devereaux.”

  Poor Dev hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. As usual, he was awkward and tongue-tied in company.

  They settled into a circle of chairs. A grate at the center spilled welcome warmth into the chill.

  “I don’t ever remember it being this nasty up here in April,” Jessamine said, shivering, despite her layers of leather and fur. “Can
’t you do something about it?” As if the weather were a failure of his hospitality.

  “The weather is unusually cold,” D’Orsay admitted. “But then, as the poet says,‘April is the cruelest month.’ I assume you didn’t come up here to discuss the weather. Except as it relates to other events.”

  Jess jumped on that like a trout on a mayfly. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You first, my dear,” D’Orsay said graciously.

  “We know you have the Covenant,” Jessamine said bluntly. “But you’re unable to consecrate it.”

  D’Orsay tilted his head. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you would have already done so, if you could.”

  “All right,” D’Orsay said, with the air of a man who is humoring difficult guests. “So why are you here? Why not just let us dwindle away into obscurity?”

  “Because you hold the ghyll. The ghyll houses the Weirstone. And something’s gone wrong.”

  “Wrong?” D’Orsay felt ludicrous, like the captain of a sinking ship, still manipulating the wheel as the deck sloshed under the waves.

  Wylie lifted both hands, indicating their surroundings.

  “Please. You are presiding over a wasteland, Claude. When I think of what it used to be . . .”

  “Don’t be overdramatic, Geoffrey,” D’Orsay said. “This is merely the consequence of unusually foul weather and incompetent gardeners.”

  Longbranch pressed her fingers into her chest. “The Weirstone is dark. I can usually feel its presence, anywhere in Cumbria. And, now? Nothing.” She shivered. “It’s as if the source of our power has moved, as if it’s at a great distance.”

  In point of fact, D’Orsay had already made his decision. Politics made strange bedfellows, and he was definitely running out of options. He needed to get out of the ghyll, or he and Dev might just slit each other’s throats.