The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Her stomach dropped a little.

”Of course,” she said.

”Not as an inquisition.” Thorne’s voice gentled almost imperceptibly. ”As a courtesy. You’ve had a hard day.”

”I’ve had a good day.” Morgana countered.

Something flickered in his face. It was gone before she could read it. ”That,” he said, ”is also true.”

He stepped back and made a small gesture toward the gate.

”Go, Morgana. Eat. Rest. We will be waiting.”

She looked at both of them, nodded her head and then started walking towards the gate.

At the arch she glanced back. Garrick was standing in the yard with his hand on Shadowmere’s neck, watching her go, with an expression of such bewildered tenderness that her throat tightened. She lifted a hand to him. He raised his own in return, and the stallion lowered his head and nudged the old man’s shoulder.

She was still smiling when she turned the corner.

***

Behind her, in the yard, the two brothers stood without speaking.

”He rode her home,” Kaelen said, very low.

”Yes.” Thorne replied.

”On the same horse.”

”Yes.”

”His arms were around her.”

”I saw.”

”And you,” Kaelen said, ”felt it.”

Thorne did not answer at once. He was watching the arch where she had gone.

”The moment he found her,” he said at last. ”Something woke. In the bond.” He turned his head slowly. ”I think you felt it too.”

Kaelen’s jaw worked.

”Like a door opening in a house you thought was empty,” he said.

”Yes.”

They stood side by side in the thin autumn sun.

”Good,” Kaelen said finally. His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. ”That is good. That is...what we needed.”

”It is.” Thorne replied.

”I hate it.” Kaelen said.

”I know.”

”I’m also glad.”

”I know that as well.”

Kaelen exhaled, long and ragged. He raked a hand through his hair.

”Come,” Thorne said. ”He will want us in the study.”

***

*DRAEVEN’S STUDY*

The east study had been set to rights.

The cracked glass was gone from the sideboard. Someone had swept the floor and straightened the maps and set fresh logs in the hearth, and the afternoon light fell through the tall windows in long gold bars. Three chairs stood in a loose half circle before the desk. Across from them, alone, stood a fourth.

Morgana sat in it with her hands in her lap.

She was dry. She was clean. Rowan had scrubbed the mud from her hair and dressed her in the soft grey wool, and for once had asked no questions at all. A full meal sat warm inside her. She was wholly rested and entirely unready.

The three kings sat opposite.

Draeven was at the center, one elbow on the armrest. Kaelen sat to his left, with one booted ankle on his knee. Thorne sat to his right. The firelight moved across their faces, and not one of them was smiling.

”Thank you for coming,” Draeven said.

”You asked.” Morgana replied.

”I did.” His eyes were steady. ”We asked you here to hear about lady Astraea. We have not spoken with her, and she has not come to us. She came to you.”

”She asked to see me.”

”Why?”

Morgana took a breath.

She had rehearsed this in the bath. She had turned it over in the quiet while Rowan pinned her hair. Tell them everything, Astraea had said. You don’t belong to them. You belong to yourself. And another voice, older and lower and dearer, from a dark kitchen years ago: Never show them, Morgana. Never. Not even if they beg.

She could not tell them everything.

She could tell them something.

”She told me she isn’t the Mother of Dragons.”

The words fell into the quiet.

Nobody moved. She watched their faces carefully and saw, with a strange sinking in her stomach, that none of them looked surprised.

”Go on,” Draeven said.

”She said it plainly. That she isn’t who Carrick claims. That she was....” Morgana searched for the word. ”Put forward. Presented. She said Carrick is using her to make noise.”

”Noise,” Thorne repeated.

”A distraction. He wants the council and the noble houses looking at her. He wants everyone watching a girl with white hair, so no one looks at what he’s really after.” She kept her eyes on the fire. ”She said it’s a bigger game than a rumor. That he wants something larger out of this.”

”What?” Kaelen asked.

”She didn’t say.”

”Did she say who he works for?”

Morgana hesitated.

”She said he doesn’t work alone,” she answered. ”That there is someone behind him. Someone far more powerful than Carrick. Someone who’s been waiting a long time.”

A log shifted in the grate.

Kaelen’s boot came down off his knee. Thorne’s hand, resting on the arm of his chair, closed slowly.

”A name?” Draeven asked.

”No.”

”A description? A place? A house?”

”She said only what I’ve told you.” Morgana held his gaze. ”I asked. She would not say more.”

It was true. It was all true, and every word was only a part of what she knew, and the missing parts sat in her chest like stones.

”What else?” Draeven said, gently.

”She said the council is fractured.” She lifted her chin. ”That there are those who want to use the Mother of Dragons for their own ends. Those who want to seize her. Those who would rather she were never found at all.”

”Cedric has said as much.”

”Then she was telling the truth.”

”Yes.” His eyes lingered on her face. ”She appears to have been.”

Silence settled over the room.

It was not hostile. It was thoughtful and heavy, and she could feel the three of them weighing her words against something she could not see. She kept her hands still in her lap and did not look at any of them.

Thorne leaned forward.

He did it slowly, his elbows on his knees, his fingers loosely laced. The shadows had gathered around his chair, and she saw them stir. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.

”Morgana.”

”Yes?”

”Do you have anything you want to talk to us about?”