The Royals

Chapter 43

In its way, this episode was more bizarre than the attempted seduction. The simple truth was everything smacked of witch-work. Strange though it may have been, Tom found comfort in that one thought because witch-work could always undone.

Somehow.

Ginni would be back. Next time, he would be ready for her no matter who she seemed to be playing. In the meanwhile, he was hungry enough to eat the food, bewitched or not. He rolled to face the opposite wall where he couldn't see the tray.

Many minutes later, Revered Mother Caronn entered

without warning. She did not look as if feeding the

prisoners was her foremost concern. 'It was foolish of you to come here.' She paused but didn't seem to expect an answer, which was just as well with the gag in place.

“Ginni came of her own accord. According to our code, she is ours now. We will train her as we see fit. It is not for you, or any man, to interfere.' Doesn't appear to mind taking my seed, Tom thought.

Just like a woman, she only wants the useful bits and

throws out the rest.

Abruptly, she pulled a chair next to his, untied the ker chief, and began massaging his jaw. "But we may yet have a use for you. We have long been interested in dragon lore. You are the only man in living memory reported to have forged a relationship with a dragon. Your instruction as to how this came about would be invaluable to us.'

"I'll bet,' Tom said. Even if he could tell her anything

useful, he wouldn't betray his friend. 'It could mean your freedom.' "That's nothing without Ginni's as well."

She fidgeted with the heavy ring on her finger. "That

could be arranged."

'I want her whole, intact, body and brains back the way

they were."

The hag laughed. "I doubt even the Seven could man

age that."

"Then no deal,' said Tom.

"You misunderstand your options here. I do not make false bargains. We might be convinced to return her to you, but only she can restore the balance in her mind." Tom frowned. You've just been helping her find her way."

"Well, yes, to a degree.' She smiled. 'From a certain

point of view.

"Point of view,' he echoed. 'Right."

One way or another, we will discover what you know.' "Okay," Tom said. "I give. You want it so bad, it's

yours. A gentleman's show of good faith."

She snorted. I have known gentlemen. You, sir, are

no gentleman."

"Maybe not,' Tom said easily, as if he controlled the situation. Chances are a more reserved fellow wouldn't spend twenty years seeing the terrain from a dragon's back. Anyway, this is the entire secret. A sociable dragon and an unsocial human prefer each other's company to that of their own kind. History's full of such partnerships, from elves and their goats to men and their dogs. Just so happens my beast can talk."

Revered Mother roughly retied the gag and stood to

leave. I can get tavern wisdom from any barkeep. Let me know when you decide to be more forthcoming."

Yes, but sometimes barkeeps have more sense than witches, Tom thought, but he made no effort to speak around the kerchief. What could he tell her? How could he invent knowledge that would satisfy her when he'd never been able to puzzle it out himself?

Revered Mother stopped at the open doorway. *Some notion of where the dragon roosts at moment would be well received. Remember I speak true when I tell you I will find a way to learn what I wish to know. You can have your daughter or your dragon. You cannot have both. Think hard on your choice before you end up with neither.'

She slammed the door behind her without waiting for

a reply. Where was Grosik? Tom thought. I couldn't point to his whereabouts if she dosed me with all the serviceberry tea in the Ash Kingdom.

As it happened, Revered Mother's suggestion turned out to have a powerful effect. When the mercenary considered it, he realized maybe he did know where the dragon had gone. Home for Grosik was a cave not far from Tom's first battle.

Not far from the Tower of the Hags.

Maarcus retired to his private chambers after his humilia tion in front of the young prince. Harmon, ever-present

these days, sat with him in a discreet corner.

'Well,' the physician said when Abadan came to visit, 'come to laugh at the senile old man?'

'Certainly not,' Abadan snapped. 'If not for the grace

of the Sisters... Maarcus jumped out of his chair. 'So you do think I'm

slipping,' he accused, half afraid to hear it confirmed, half relieved to be able to stop pretending. The magician was not so easily cornered. You must admit you've not been acting yourself these last weeks."

Maarcus slumped back into his seat. 'No, I haven't and

I don't know what's come over me. Enough chitchat.

What brings you here?"

'You.'

'Me and what else?"

'I can't raise Wanton Tom.'

Why tell me?' Maarcus said bitterly. "Tell the prince."

'I thought you'd want to know.'

Maarcus shook his head. This will be our failure, and

after we've come so far-'

'We have not failed yet,' the magician interrupted. We still have the prince." 'How long do you except that to last? He won't be able to refrain from going himself to save Kate, now that he knows she's so close."

'We need to keep him busy with confronting Alvaria. She must be planning to bring the trolls here. Abadan spoke as if the choices were clear-cut. "Ignoring, of course, that our best sources of intelli

gence never came close to gathering anything useful." "No,' said the magician. 'Even now, as prisoners, they are being useful. They can't help but pick up information about Hadrian while they're there. It is simply that we would rather put them to a better and safer use."

Maarcus stared at his friend. 'No wonder magicians

never marry. What woman could bear children for such

uncaring beasts?'

'No need to get personal, Maarcus, especially since you've had such good fortune with women.' 'At least my wife bore me a son.'

'A man of fine character, too.'

*Of finer virtue than someone I-' The physician halted himself in mid-insult. They hadn't squabbled with such malicious intent since they'd been enemies vying for the king's ear. It was childish then, and it was ridiculous in men of their advanced age.

'We haven't really addressed the other problem,' Abadan said, as if the argument had never happened. "Yes, I know.'

But the magician wouldn't let it rest. As always, he had to voice it. 'We greatly underestimated Hadrian. He could easily decide this is the best chance he's had in years to claim the throne. Most of the pretenders have murdered each other, and the common people are too distracted by the elfwitch's coming onslaught to protest his rise to power."

'Yes, I said I knew,' Maarcus repeated. 'I am not deaf or daft. Abadan might as well have stabbed him between the ribs while he slept. Suddenly he realized that was just how he felt. Executioners had already slipped in and about the castle, searching for Henry or any who might be loyal to him. They hadn't succeeded in killing the prince yet, but they would ... eventually. 'So you think Hadrian is

behind the earlier assassination attempts?"

'I should hope so.' "You hope so!'

'If not, our problem is even bigger than it currently appears."

Grosik took the inconspicuous approach, flying high and with reserve.

The air stank of dragon dung, though not a one was in sight. Doubtless he reeked of the humans and likely their magic as well.

Dragons do not banish their kind outright. They are too few in number and breed too seldom. But like any community, however loosely tied, they have rules of behavior and means of enforcing them. So returning home felt odd to the outcast dragon not that he'd been gone such a long time. Thirty or forty human years measured only a few moments in the lives of his own kind. The strangeness was more a matter of the dragon's circumstance- his uncommon departure, and his extremely unusual use of time in the past fifteen years. It would be many more years before Grosik would be widely welcomed here.

Away for an eye-blink and no more sense than to arrive swathed with the stench of our lessers. Could you not take your punishment without disgracing yourself?' Each word flowed into his mind, sharpened with barbs

that were almost physically painful. There was no proper response, so Grosik did not offer one. Strictly speaking it was not even necessary to greet another dragon after an absence, but it was a courtesy granted to companions and nest-mates. 'Hello, Grosik spoke into the other's mind, casually,