Dragonshadow Read online

  Dedication

  For Leanna,

  Ahla-Na set Sorra-d’ei-Aliana

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter 1: The Silver Box

  Chapter 2: A Message from Lake Meera

  Chapter 3: Dust and Darkness

  Chapter 4: The Red and the Green

  Chapter 5: Broken Things

  Chapter 6: Hunter & Quarry

  Chapter 7: The Half City

  Chapter 8: Where Vultures Gather

  Chapter 9: Ghastradi

  Chapter 10: Troll Bridge

  Chapter 11: Widdermere Marsh Hall

  Chapter 12: The Many Uses of Heavy Objects

  Chapter 13: The Indifferent

  Chapter 14: Wolves of the Old Wilds

  Chapter 15: The House of Snow and Stone

  Chapter 16: Merfolk and Strange Magic

  Chapter 17: Deep Words, Dark Waters

  Chapter 18: A Reckoning

  Chapter 19: Martenmas

  Chapter 20: Ghosts of the Abbey

  Chapter 21: Old Wives’ Tales

  Chapter 22: The Lake Laments

  Chapter 23: Water and Blood

  Chapter 24: Fire and Ice

  Chapter 25: Long Shadows

  Chapter 26: The Colloquy of Castle Selwyn

  Chapter 27: The Ranger

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise for Heartstone

  By Elle Katharine White

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Map

  Chapter 1

  The Silver Box

  I woke to an animal growl in the predawn dark.

  Dreams lingered along the edge of perception, shapeless, terrible dreams of monsters and gaping earth and a pyre that would not go out. Blankets that had once comforted me turned suffocating; I clawed them aside and sat up, clutching handfuls of coverlet like an anchor against the horrors in my head.

  Breathe, I told myself. It isn’t real. Slowly, breath by breath, my heartbeat steadied and the tightness in my chest eased. You’re safe. He’s safe. We’re all safe. The words tumbled together in my mind in what had become my waking prayer. The Battle of North Fields was won, the War of the Worm was over, and we had nothing to be afraid of.

  The growling resumed just beyond the curtains surrounding our bed.

  Or . . . maybe we do. I reached for my husband’s side of the mattress, expecting the reassuring touch of warm skin and sleep-tousled hair. Smooth sheets, cool and unoccupied, met my fingers. I squinted in the dark. “Alastair?”

  No answer. He was gone, and I was alone with the creature.

  The drapes around the bed parted and I snatched up a pillow, holding it in front of me like a shield as something black and snarling leapt onto the bed, all furred fury and glowing yellow eyes.

  I yelped as four stone of angry stoorcat landed on my chest. “Ow! PAN! Get off!”

  Pan the stoorcat retracted his claws and glared at me. Stoorcats weren’t Shani, those ancient creatures of Arle who counted humans as allies, nor were they Tekari, our sworn enemies. Nor, as far as I could tell, were they Idar, those creatures indifferent to humans. Stoorcats were simply very large, very intelligent, and very vindictive house pets. Pan made a sound in his throat, half whine, half snarl, and pawed at the blankets.

  “Can’t you find someone else to torture?” I said. He meowed, and I shoved him toward my husband’s side of the bed. “He’s up. Go bother him.”

  His ears flicked toward the opposite side of the room. Muscles tensed beneath that glossy fur, black as a rat’s nightmare, as he made himself comfortable on my chest.

  “You—are—impossible!” I grunted, trying to dislodge him. It would’ve been easier to move the Dragonsmoor Mountains. He returned to glaring and I slumped back on my elbows. “You know, if it were up to me and Julienna, you’d be on the first boat back to the Garhad Islands,” I told him sternly.

  He looked smug.

  “Yes, well, you’re lucky Alastair likes—”

  At the name Alastair, Pan yowled.

  I sat up. Nightmare shadows crept back into the room. “Is he all right?”

  Pan stopped howling. Slowly, solemnly, he put his head to one side and meowed.

  I rolled out from underneath him, leapt out of bed, and threw on the first dressing gown I saw, playing out every explanation for the stoorcat’s behavior in my mind’s eye. Each grew more far-fetched than the last. Pan might hate me, but his affection for Alastair was unquestionable. Whatever had driven him to me must’ve been something terrible indeed: the Greater Lindworm’s army risen again, House Pendragon under siege, Tekari at the gates . . .

  I shook my head. If I valued my sanity, I couldn’t let myself think like that, and in any case, Alastair’s leather armor still hung in its place on the wooden manikin next to the wardrobe. He and his younger sister, Julienna, usually rose early for their morning exercises, but she had been away in Edonarle for the last few weeks. Whatever called him away wouldn’t be too dangerous, surely? The thought withered in my brain almost as soon as it flowered. My husband had once put the solitary tracking and slaying of mountain gryphons down as “casual exercise.” Please, please, don’t be hunting gryphons, Alastair, I thought as Pan bounded toward the opposite end of the room. Not on our honeymoon.

  Our bedchambers opened out onto a shuttered balcony with stairs leading down to the Sparring courtyard below. It was brighter outside where the first streaks of true daylight fell in silvery patches across the stone. Old fears crowded into my mind, staining memory with images of Alastair as he lay dying in the lodge at North Fields, his face bloodless, the whites of his eyes veined with black from the poison of the Greater Lindworm. Pan meowed again.

  I looked down—and breathed out a white-cloud sigh of relief. Alastair sat on the ground in the center of the courtyard, shirtless and unmoving but otherwise unharmed. I followed Pan down the stairs, feeling foolish for my panic and wishing all sorts of ills on my guide. Alastair was fine, House Pendragon still stood, and the stupid stoorcat had robbed me of three hours of sleep.

  At the bottom of the stairs I paused, much to Pan’s displeasure, which I ignored. Marriage had brought me many titles: Lady Daired, mistress of House Pendragon, and wife to the foremost Rider in the kingdom, but I was an artist first and forever, and Alastair Daired was worth a moment of silent admiration. He sat cross-legged on the pavement, head raised a little toward the mountain peaks beyond the high walls of the house. A breeze moved the Rider’s plait that hung over his shoulder, night-black against warm-brown. Shadows fell along his back where scars both new and old textured his skin, white lines and red burns and one yellowish crescent curving just under his shoulder blade. Memories of battles won and lost, they told the stories of years, each scar tied to an adventure and at least one dead Tekari. I’d already memorized the patterns. More than once since our marriage I’d woken in the middle of the night with a pounding heart and a scream in my throat, fighting off imaginary lamias as I waded through the ruins of Merybourne Manor, ankle-deep in blood. Almost two months now and the nightmares still plagued me, and though adjusting to the waking world had gotten easier I still found myself turning to Alastair on those nights. Odd as it was, his scars comforted me. I’d trace the patterns and contemplate the man sleeping next to me—warrior, dragonrider, hero of Arle—and marvel at the fact that, not only had he survived, but he was mine.

  And on the nights my stirring had woken him, Alastair lost no time in assuring me in gentle yet undisputable terms that such a conclusion was absolutely and entirely correct.

  My pulse quickened. I looked around the courtyard, pleased to see tha
t Alastair was the only one in sight. As if he’d read my thoughts, Pan head-butted me in the shin. I smiled. All was right in the world again.

  “Alastair, I’m sorely tempted to ship this cat of yours off to Nordenheath on the next available boat,” I said.

  “Mikla save us.” He didn’t turn around, but I heard the smile in his voice. “Is Aliza Daired awake before noon?”

  “Against my will, I promise. Your cat has a lot to answer for.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Pan, I told you to leave her alone.”

  Pan shrank under his master’s stern look and dashed off into the tangle of rhododendrons hedging the courtyard. The greenery in close proximity to our chambers had grown unruly in the weeks following our wedding, no doubt a result of Alastair’s instructions to the household staff regarding interruptions. They were simple: don’t.

  “What are you doing out here dressed like that?” I asked as he stood. He wore nothing save a pair of breeches and the heartstone I’d given him on a chain around his neck.

  “Finishing my morning exercises.”

  “In the freezing cold?”

  “Cold is clarity.”

  “Cold is cold. And likely to give you one.”

  He smiled. It brought out the tiny dimple below the scar on his cheek, and it was devastating. “There are ways to remedy that, khera,” he said, using what I’d quickly discovered was my favorite Eth word. Beloved. He reached for my hand.

  From the edge of the courtyard, someone coughed. It was the cough of a well-trained servant who’d weighed his master’s orders to be left alone against some news that warranted an interruption, and decided it was in everyone’s best interests to be brave.

  Alastair closed his eyes. “What is it, Barton?”

  The steward of House Pendragon stepped out from the hidden archway. I avoided his gaze. “Begging your pardon, my lord. My lady. Sir, the lord general and several of his attendants have just arrived from Edonarle. I’ve settled them in the east parlor.”

  Alastair’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “The lord general and—”

  “Lord Camron came himself?” Alastair asked.

  “Indeed, sir. He’d like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

  There was a pause, and in those few seconds I saw the last of the sand trickle through our honeymoon hourglass, draining away along with the playful light in Alastair’s eyes. “Tell him I’ll be with him shortly,” he said.

  “Very good, sir.” Barton turned to me, seemed to think better of it, bowed, and went back into the house.

  Alastair rubbed the scar above his collarbone. Its white and knotted contours were the only remnant of the Greater Lindworm’s sting and the poison that had come so close to killing him.

  “It’s over, isn’t it?” I said quietly.

  “What?”

  “Our honeymoon.”

  His shoulders sank. “Soon, yes. I’m sorry, Aliza. Akarra and I have already gotten more contract offers than we know what to do with. If Lord Camron has a commission, we can’t put it off any longer.”

  “Aye, I understand. Tey iskaros.”

  “Tey iskaros.” He repeated the standard of House Daired with the solemnity of a prayer. We serve.

  I cast around for something to take our minds off the invisible cloud that had settled over the courtyard. “Does the lord general often visit?”

  “No. The last time he came to Pendragon was when my father was alive. I hear Camron’s been escorting ambassadors in the Garhad Islands for the past few years.” He looked out over the distant foothills and rubbed his shoulder again. Birds wheeled over the nearest mountain peak, their slow circle sealing the doom of some small creature below.

  “Do you think something’s wrong?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “If there were real trouble, Camron would’ve had his people battering down our doors, not sending messages through my manservant.”

  “Still. You shouldn’t keep him waiting.” I nudged him toward the stairs. “But please put some trousers on first.”

  “I will.” There was a pause. He didn’t move, only looked at me with a strange little smile.

  “You’re not going,” I said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Didn’t we just decide you shouldn’t keep the lord general waiting?”

  Alastair took my hand. “Camron was a newlywed once. He’ll understand.”

  It was unfair, his ability to disarm me with just a few words and a smile. I gave in and let him draw me closer, savoring his warmth as I laid my hand on his chest. My fingers came to rest on his scar on his shoulder.

  It was as if the sun slipped behind a cloudbank. Again I saw the smoking ruin of Cloven Cairn and the blood-soaked battleground so close to my old home. The Greater Lindworm and its army of Tekari had taken much from us, and the Battle of North Fields had left deep wounds in its wake, some more obvious than others, but all painful. The heartstone Alastair wore around his neck had crystallized from the last drop of lifeblood of the Worm, and every glimpse of it reminded me not only how fortunate we were to be alive, but also how close we’d come to losing each other. A breeze knifing down from the mountains set me shivering again and I closed my eyes. Blood for blood. Charis Brysney’s battle cry still echoed sometimes in my dreams. Her sacrifice had brought down the Worm and saved Arle, but it had also cost Alastair one of his dearest friends.

  “Aliza? Are you all right?”

  I opened my eyes. We had mourned, we had wept, we had grieved, and now the War of the Worm was behind us. It was time, as my sister Leyda had once said, to live. “Aye.”

  Alastair tilted up my chin so our gazes met. There were stories behind his smiles, and like an apprentice bard I’d spent the last few months learning them hungrily. When required in polite company, he wore a tight-lipped smile that spoke of duty. With fellow Riders like Charis’s twin brother, Cedric, there was a wry grin, often hiding, as I’d learned, a surprisingly wicked sense of humor. But this smile was my favorite. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he was truly happy, and just for a moment the stern, steel-edged Lord Daired was lost in the unselfconscious joy of a child. I wondered if he knew how irresistible it made him.

  “We’ll finish this conversation later, yes?” he asked softly.

  There was only one sensible answer. I kissed him. For a minute or so we both forgot about Barton, the lord general, the kingdom, and indeed, about breathing as well. “Yes, we will,” I said and drew away. “Go. You’re needed.”

  He rested his forehead on mine. “Blast Camron, khera. I need you,” he said in a low voice that was nearly as irresistible as his smile.

  Nearly. I ducked beneath his kiss. “Later.”

  As one of the few people in Arle who could tease a Daired without consequence, I’d determined almost as soon as we were married not to let that opportunity go to waste. It had become my second-favorite pastime with him. His shoulders slumped in exaggerated disappointment as he backed toward the door. “Don’t forget, you promised,” he said.

  “Aye, I promised. Now go!”

  His grin returned as he hurried into the house.

  I didn’t follow right away. Beneath the empty sky the quietness of the courtyard without him seemed deeper, magnified somehow, and for no reason I could put to words I wished Alastair’s dragon was nearby. Akarra had left to visit her Nestmother in the Dragonsmoor eyries after the wedding festivities. “To give you privacy,” she’d said with a knowing smile, and until now I hadn’t realized how much I missed her. I glanced toward the Dragonsmoor Mountains. The sun’s light fell across the peaks beyond the western wall of the house, and above the mountains the last few stars winked out of sight.

  A shadow drifted across the courtyard. I shaded my eyes and looked east, prepared to wave hello, but it wasn’t Akarra or any other dragon I knew. Just another bird. This one flew apart from the rest, a buzzard by the wingspan, or some other kind of carrion eater. It widened its circle without
flapping its wings, a somber stain against the sky. The wind ruffling my hair carried with it the creature’s cry. I started toward the stairs, chased by queasiness I couldn’t explain, and wondered what had died.

  I didn’t make it far. With a yowl Pan sprang from the bushes and skittered across the stone between the stairs and me. “For the love of all—what do you want?” I cried.

  He crouched and twitched his tail, mouth open, claws extended.

  “Don’t make me call Alastair.”

  Canines showed against his lip, the fangs so white they were almost blue. He padded closer.

  “Pan, stop.”

  He bounded past me and disappeared beyond the curtain of chain mail that separated the Sparring courtyard from the rest of the house. A moment later his head reappeared and he meowed again, staring at me with an air of extreme vexation.

  I frowned. “Are you trying to show me something?”

  He let out a short, guttural yelp. With a sigh, I followed him inside.

  Despite having called it home for weeks, the majority of House Pendragon was still a mystery to me, which spoke more to its size and complexity than lack of curiosity on my part. I counted corners as Pan led me through corridors and vaulted galleries, skirting the reception halls and parlor where the lord general and his embassy waited. I heard voices as we passed and for a second I was tempted to peek inside and see for myself what news Lord Camron thought important enough to deliver to the lord of House Pendragon in person, but an impatient stoorcat guide, the possibility that Barton was hovering nearby, and the fact that I wore little more than a dressing gown made my decision. Alastair would tell me what they discussed later.

  Pan stopped halfway down the hall that led to the servants’ wing and clawed at the doorjamb of a plain wooden door, unremarkable save for the fact that, unlike most of the other wood furnishings within the house, this had no fireproof veneer of silver or tin. I knocked. There was no answer. Pan twined around my legs. I knocked again, louder this time.

  “Hello?” Nothing. I pushed the door open.

  For one fleeting instant I entertained the thought of making myself a cozy stoorcat stole for the winter. By the ledger on the side table and the general quality of stewardishness about the room I guessed it was Barton’s study, and Pan had led me right to it. Really, it was almost as if he knew the man had been looking for me.