“Don’t fuss over me, girl,” she said as Tamri removed her dragonfly clasp and parted her steel-gray hair to look for blood.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Tamri said miserably. “I don’t know how he found us.”
“Men like that have their ways.”
Tamri gripped the pewter clasp hard, the edges poking her skin. “When I find out who told him where I live—”
“It was probably that scheming boy you think is your friend,” Gramma Teall said. “You have bigger things to fret about now. You’d best get packing.”
Tamri started to protest, but the mere thought of going back on the Oath made an icy chill tighten around her neck. She was going to obey Khrillin’s orders whether she liked it or not.
She brushed Gramma Teall’s hair with her fingers—she wasn’t bleeding after all—and replaced the dragonfly clasp. “Will you be all right?”
“Of course,” Gramma Teall said brusquely. “You go off to study in that . . . what’s the burning mountain called again?”
“Vertigon.”
“That’s right. You go to Vertigon. You do exactly what that salt adder of a Waterlord asks, and don’t even think about coming back to Pendark.”
“Of course I’ll come back.” Khrillin had said a valuable-enough piece of information could buy her freedom from the Watermight Oath. She wouldn’t be his spy forever.
“My memory is going, girl, not my common sense,” Gramma Teall said dryly. “Now that he has leverage, he won’t ever let you out of his clutches.”
Tamri wanted to argue, to lash out against her own powerlessness. But she would do anything to make sure Gramma Teall wasn’t harmed—and Khrillin knew it. But he had also given her just enough hope to keep her going. She would find that “jewel of information” no matter what it took.
She knelt at Gramma Teall’s side and took her hand. “I don’t care what he does to me,” she said fiercely. “I’ll come back for you.” That was an oath that didn’t require Watermight for her to keep.
“Nonsense.” Gramma Teall’s hands tightened on hers, as tough as old tree roots despite their tiny size. “You won’t get another opportunity like this, Tamri. Go see that world out there. Learn how to actually use your power.”
“But—”
Gramma Teall silenced her with a sharp look. “Didn’t I ever teach you not to interrupt, girl?” She tipped Tamri’s chin up, fixing her with an unyielding stare. “Go, and learn enough to make sure no one, not even me, can ever tell you what to do again.”
5
Princess Selivia Amintelle stood on a balcony at the top of the King’s Tower as daylight faded from the Pendarkan sky. Flashes of silver indicated Watermight being used in the city below, playing beautifully against the rich browns and greens of the delta.
She fanned her shirt briskly, attempting to alleviate the heat. She should have changed into one of her shorter Pendarkan-style dresses before going out to eat, but she’d been distracted by the incident with the young Watermight thief. Despite numerous visits to this muggy southern city, she’d never quite gotten used to the way the heat glued her clothes to her skin and made her hair frizz.
The meal had ended early so Khrillin could disappear on a mysterious errand. Selivia didn’t know what to make of his perfunctory treatment of her lately. She had visited Pendark several times a year since Vertigon began purchasing Watermight from Khrillin, and he had always been welcoming, even solicitous.
But this time, something was different. The smiles Khrillin and his supporters gave her were strained, their pleasantries less genuine than on her first visits here. It made her uneasy.
She scanned the purple clouds above the tower, just in case Mav was nearby this evening. He was supposed to return to his usual roost in the Darkwood after their departure was delayed. It was best for him not to spend long in Pendark itself. Too many people still screamed at the sight of his vast black wings and glittering cobalt eyes. They’d be even more scared if they realized Mav was not a benign Cindral dragon, like the ones who could carry Watermight in their bellies. He was the only Fire-breathing true dragon south of the Burnt Mountains.
He was also Selivia’s very best friend, and he got lonely and irritable without her.
He’d become agitated more often than usual on this trip, adding to her disquiet. Perhaps he was just jealous because they’d be spending a lot more time apart soon. Hopefully his behavior didn’t indicate trouble to come.
Selivia reached into her pocket to touch the last letter she had received from Latch Brach, the young Soolen lord she was to wed in just six months. It was an arranged marriage, one Selivia had negotiated herself in order to persuade Latch’s father to end his invasion of her mother’s home country of Trure. Selivia had felt positively heroic about it at the time. She’d been only fourteen years old, and her successful negotiations had helped ensure the peace the continent had enjoyed for the past five years. Fortunately, she ended up liking young Latch himself when they met for the first time on the dragon-ravaged slopes of Vertigon. She’d found him gallant and refined and terribly handsome, and he seemed to like her in return.
But that was five years ago. Now that Selivia was actually on her way to the southeastern land of Soole to prepare for their wedding, doubts had begun to assail her.
She and Latch had exchanged letters and gifts over the years, but she still didn’t really know him—and she feared they didn’t have much in common. Now a grown woman of nineteen, she’d been living a glorious life in the skies, flying Mav back and forth across the continent to ensure the safety of the Watermight-carrying Cindral dragons. She was instrumental in arranging the trade agreement with Khrillin, and the dragon riders hadn’t made a single trip to Pendark without her. She had gotten used to seeing the world from the air.
For his part, Latch had spent much of the last few years studying scholarly writing about the magical substances. He was an accomplished Watermight Wielder, and Selivia couldn’t understand why he enjoyed combing through musty archives and reading about magic when he could be Wielding it instead. She didn’t have the ability to use the magical substances, but if she did, she’d want to be out there actually doing it.
She took the letter from her pocket and traced the neat script on the outside. Latch was an eloquent writer, and she had savored his missives in the beginning. But they had become less frequent over time as he put more of his attention into his research. And she traveled so often that she didn’t always receive the letters or respond to them right away.
That was why she was going to Soole so far in advance of her wedding. In the spring, her royal family would travel from their respective domains for the celebration, where they would build relationships and solidify alliances all across the continent. Selivia desperately hoped that by the time they arrived, she and Latch would be properly in love.
The trouble was that she didn’t know if Latch would welcome her arrival. She opened the letter and read it for the hundredth time since leaving Vertigon a month ago.
My Dearest Selivia,
Forgive me for being so abrupt in my writing. I am not certain it is wise for you to come to Soole yet. I have learned something in my research, and I may need to investigate. I will send word to Fork Town to confirm if you should join me as planned. Watch out for our pen friends, and bring a copy of Brelling’s East Isles journal if you have one.