The Dragon Heir (The Heir Chronicles #3)

The Dragon Heir (The Heir Chronicles #3) Page 37

“You looking for me?”

Leesha turned to see Ellen on the other end of a very long sword that pressed into the base of Leesha's collarbone.

“Hey!” she said, taking a step back. “Careful. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of silk?”

“Won't be a problem if you're dead,” Ellen replied, then looked up, over Leesha's head, and smiled. Not reassuring. Leesha carefully turned, and there was Jack, packing his own big sword and wearing a nasty expression.

“Oh!” Leesha said. “Well. Excuse me. I didn't mean to intrude on your woodland rendezvous.”

“You're not intruding,” Jack said. “In fact, you're the guest of honor.”

Leesha felt the first pricklings of panic, but tried to keep it off her face.

“I was thinking of hunting renegade wizards.” Ellen shrugged. “You up for it, Jack?”

“I'm game.” Leesha couldn't help noticing that he had a surprisingly wicked smile. And he used to be so nice.

“We want to know what happened to Jason,” Ellen said. “And what part you played in it.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't seen Jason for days.”

“Jason's disappeared,” Jack said.

“Well, that's a shame. But why ask me about it?”

Jack glared at her. “You two have been hanging out.”

“Have not.”

Ellen's blade pressed into her throat again.

“OK, fine. I hang out with a lot of people.” She conjured up her most patronizing expression. “I mean, it's nice of you warriors to be worried about Jason and all, but I think he can take care of himself.”

“Jason's our friend,” Ellen said. “And we're wondering who you're working for.”

“What makes you think I'm working for someone?”

“You're a trader. Traders are always in it for the cash.” Ellen looked down her long nose at Leesha. “Still, it's hard to believe anyone our age would be such a mercenary.”

That's what she was. A mercenary. She'd sold Jason out. No matter how many times she told herself she'd had no choice. Still. It wouldn't do Jason any good if she got kicked out of the sanctuary, and Barber ended her pathetic life.

Leesha drew herself up to her full height, which, to be honest, wasn't that impressive. The warriors still towered over her. “I don't answer to you. Now, why don't you run along and hone your weapons or rattle your swords or whatever warriors do in their spare time.”

“Whoa,” Ellen said. “Good thing we're here in the sanctuary, where attack magic doesn't work. Otherwise, I'd be wetting myself.” Sliding her giant sword into its case, she reached for Leesha.

From force of habit, Leesha spoke her immobilization charm, knowing as she did so it was useless. And it was. Crap.

Ellen gripped her wrists, bending her arms painfully behind her back. Jack lifted the tip of his sword so it rested at the base of her throat.

Jack smiled. “One thing you can say for magical swords. Even in the absence of magic, they retain a certain functionality.”

Which couldn't be argued with, really.

“So what's up, Leesha?” Jack said. “Why are you still here?”

“You wouldn't hurt me,” Leesha said. Which ordinarily would be true. Jack was so the heroic type. Unless he was angry. Angry warriors could lose control. Who knew Jack and Jason were so tight?

Then there was Ellen, who was twisting her arms, practically yanking them out of their sockets. Ellen wouldn't hesitate to hurt her. She still held a grudge about Leesha and Jack.

No attack magic. It was unfair.

She couldn't help Jason. Wherever he was, he was beyond reach. And if Jack and Ellen knew she'd played a role in his betrayal…But she could give up Warren Barber. She hated Warren Barber's guts. And all his other parts.

Besides, traders were not known for giving their lives for their employers.

“Okay,” she said. “Ease up. What would you like to know?”

In answer, Ellen pushed Leesha down to her knees in the tall weeds, still keeping hold of her wrists. “Tell us about Jason,” she said.

“I'm not sure what happened to him, but I can tell you that Warren Barber was involved.” That was perfectly true.

“Warren Barber?” Jack looked totally blindsided. “I thought he was dead or something.”

Leesha shook her head. “Nope. Unfortunately.”

“Why would he go after Jason?” Ellen asked from behind.

Leesha knew she should choose her words carefully, but it was hard to think. “Barber knew that Jason stole some things from Raven's Ghyll. He wanted to get them back.”

“How did he … What gave him that idea?” Ellen demanded, releasing Leesha and circling around in front.

Because Leesha had told him, of course. “D'Orsay must've told him,” Leesha said, rubbing her arms and rotating her shoulders.

Jack squatted in front of Leesha. “Why does D'Orsay think it was Jason that snuck into the ghyll?”

“I guess Jason ran into D'Orsay's son on his way out,” Leesha said.

Jack and Ellen looked at each other, then back at Leesha. “What was it that Jason supposedly stole?” Ellen asked.

“Magical stuff.”

“So Barber's working for D'Orsay?”

“He's working for himself.” She took a breath. “He has the Covenant, you know. The one that makes D'Orsay king for life.”

“What?” Jack swore under his breath. “Barber has it?”

Ellen sat back on her heels. “How'd he get it?”

“He took it from Second Sister in all the confusion.”

Jack squinted at her suspiciously. “What good does it do him? Does he really want to answer to Claude D'Orsay?”

“I think he sees himself as more of an equal partner.”

“So why haven't they consecrated the agreement, then?” Ellen asked.

Leesha shrugged. “I don't know. But Barber wanted to find Jason.”

“How do you know all this?” Jack asked.

“He wanted me to help, but I refused, of course.”

“Bright.” Ellen swept her hair off her forehead.

“He might've found out Jason was leaving the sanctuary and intercepted him. So if Jason was carrying the stuff, Barber has it. If not, he probably knows where it is by now. He can be very persuasive.” Leesha resisted the temptation to touch her collar.

“Any idea where Barber is?” Ellen asked.

“Nope.” Leesha stood, brushing at her clothes. “Don't say thanks or anything.”

Jack seized her by one arm, and Ellen by the other. “Where are you staying, Leesha?” Ellen asked.

“You know where. With my Aunt Milli. At Shrewsbury Commons. Why?”

“Let's go get your stuff.”

“Why? What do you mean?” Jack and Ellen said nothing, but began manhandling her back toward the parking lot. “Oh, no. I'm not leaving the sanctuary. I can't, not after what I've already told you. Barber will kill me.”

“Just make sure you're far away from here when he does it,” Jack suggested.

“Look, you can't kick me out of the sanctuary. It's open to everybody.”

“We're changing the rules,” Ellen said. “Too much riffraff coming in and ruining the small-town ambience.”

Leesha tried to dig her heels in, but the two warriors simply picked her up and carried her. It was humiliating. Leesha kicked and squirmed and swore. “I won't forget this. You'll be sorry.” She tried releasing Persuasion into them, but they dropped her to the ground, then picked her up again when she was done.

In no time they were back at the parking lot and maneuvering her toward the Jeep.

“Okay, fine!! You win!” Leesha said, in a voice that made heads turn across the street. She wrenched free of their grip and slumped against the side of the Jeep, breathing hard and scared to death. If she betrayed Barber, she'd be dead in a heartbeat. But she had no choice. Again.

“All right,” she said. “You let me stay in the sanctuary and I promise I'll give you Barber.”

Chapter Eighteen Mind-Burner

Dystrophe turned his collar up against the raw breath of the lake, knowing he must be getting close. He had no need to consult the scrap of paper in his pocket—he'd memorized the address and the description of the house.

Stone Cottage, it was called. He'd been told that the boy was likely to be alone. His natural wariness had been aroused, however, by the fact that Longbranch was offering an astoundingly generous stipend for a supposedly easy target.

The job had its challenges, of course. It was said that attack magic was forbidden within the sanctuary. But then, murder was likely forbidden, also.

He fingered the blades in his sleeves, and smiled. A scratch from any one of them would suffice to cut the thread of life that was often so strong in the young.

He turned up Lake Street. It was paved in brick, its wrought-iron gas lamps casting pallid pools of light into the darkness. As an assassin, he was fond of dim historical districts.

The houses to the right were waterfront, and some of them had little signposts labeled Land's End and Sunset House, Sailor's Rest, Dry Dock, and Snug Harbor. Excruciatingly cute. Dystrophe disapproved.

That must be it, up ahead. An actual stone cottage set amid a rather unkempt garden, overlooking the lake. The porch light was on.

Dystrophe walked around the house, securing the perimeter with magical barriers to prevent escape. Then he turned up the walk, negotiating the uneven pavement. Perhaps the boy would actually let him in.

But there was no answer when he rapped on the door. Ah, well. No need to delay their meeting. It was a thick oak door, but a precisely targeted charm slammed it off its hinges.

Would the boy be asleep? He thought not. Boys of that age liked to stay up late, didn't they, playing video games and what not? He secured the doors behind him, then began to search the rooms downstairs. The boy was not in the kitchen, the parlor, the dining room, the pantry, or the study.