She was dressed as she’d been on the mission, and she hadn’t received Steel until afterward-when Lharen was dead and she was still recovering from her injuries.
“Amusing,” she said. “Very clever. I’ve dealt with changelings before, and I’m not in the mood for games now. I gave you what you asked. Now it’s time for answers.”
He was good; she had to give him that. For someone who’d never seen Lharen before, Cadrel managed his expressions perfectly. The look of concern was just as she remembered it. “There’s no time for talk,” he said. “I don’t expect to walk away from this. But I’ve beaten the odds before. Perhaps-”
Those were his final words, the last thing he’d told her before diving into the core. She wasn’t about to listen to it again. She hit him, swinging her fist forward and letting all rage flow into her arm. The strength of the dragon surged through her, and she felt bone snap beneath her fist. The false Lharen flew backward, falling into the storm of shards. The cry was choked off in an instant, and he was gone.
She was still in the hall. Still looking at the mystic core and the whirling crystals, flecks of blood scattered across the floor. She’d expected it all to fade. And yet… she was still there. What did it mean?
“How did that feel, beloved?”
The voice came from behind her, and Thorn could feel the familiar presence, a scent she’d come to know as well as his voice: Drego Sarhain.
She turned to face him. “I’m not your beloved, Drego.”
He wore the guise she’d seen at their first meeting, the black and silver doublet of a Thrane courtier. Lharen had been rough, scarred by fire and battle. Drego’s skin was perfect and unblemished, not a hair out of place. “You could be,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m not having this conversation. You’re no more real than Lharen was.”
“Which is to say, I’m just as real as he was,” Drego replied. “And it seems to me that you’ve little else to do. We can sit here in silence if you’d prefer.”
“What do you want?” Thorn said. “And you can stop pretending, Cadrel. I know this is you.”
“Oh, it is, on some level,” Drego said. “Your friend deals with nightmares. The death of your first real lover. And you and I… well, it seems we have unresolved issues. If I’d been in his place, I might have looked for something a little darker to work with, but perhaps it was all he could do with the opening you gave him. Love. Are you afraid of my love, Thorn?”
“You don’t love me,” Thorn said. “And you’re not here now.”
“A part of me is. I’m a memory. A fear,” he said. “I love the shadow within you. I love the dragon waiting to be reborn. You’re not Sarmondelaryx. You’re not the one I gave my heart to in ages past. But you will not last. In time, she will crush your spirit and take your life from you.”
“You sure know how to win a girl over.”
Drego shrugged with that easy grin she remembered so well. “I’m just telling you what you already know. This is your nightmare, after all. The more you use her power, the stronger she becomes. And yet when you struck that shadow a moment ago, the one you thought was this Cadrel, you drew on her strength.”
“I-” She didn’t have an answer. He was right. She was getting used to the power, beginning to rely on it.
Drego smiled. “Perhaps there is too little to hold on to in your life.”
“There is plenty good in my life,” she said.
“Oh?” Drego stepped toward her. “A brother you barely speak to. Father and mother gone. A country your only love, a country you don’t even know whether to trust. What really happened in this place, beloved?”
Thorn stepped back. Part of her wanted to throw him across the room, to banish the shadow as she’d banished the shade of Lharen. And yet… the doubt was a dagger in her heart.
So many things didn’t add up. The Citadel had given her a ring, told her it sharpened her senses and let her see in the dark, but she knew those were talents she drew from Sarmondelaryx. Someone in the Citadel had wanted to keep that knowledge hidden, to prevent her from noticing the change that had taken place, the change that had occurred when the stones were embedded in her spine. The eladrin claimed the stones were ancient treasures, ancient treasures that just happened to be thrown at her as shrapnel.
“I’d love to hear the answer,” she said.
“I wish I could give it to you,” Drego said. “I’m not really here. I’m only a shadow, conjured to do Cadrel’s bidding. But he doesn’t know what he’s called. I am far older than he, and there is a spark of me even in this shade. So I will tell you this: I gave my heart to the Angel of Flame long before you were born. And yet I told you the truth beneath Sharn. Flawed as you are, I love you as well. You are the flower I will treasure, even knowing it will fade. You may be doomed, but do not go easily, Nyrielle. Don’t fall to the likes of this one.”
He took another step toward her and she matched it. He looked at her, and she remembered that gleam in his eye from the first moment in a wagon in Droaam, remembered seeing it fade in the tunnels of Sharn. She leaned in and kissed him.
The ice was cold against her chest, her doublet wet with the melt. She released Cadrel’s head, staring into the shadowy pools of his eyes. He was surprisingly subdued, seemingly lost in thought. Then he blinked, finally focusing on her.
“I’ve paid your price,” she said. “Now I believe you owe me answers.”
He nodded. He looked at her again and found his voice. “Three questions. Three answers, told in truth.”
“The first is simple enough. Oargev. Cadrel… the real Cadrel. Dal. What part did they truly play in all this?”
The man in the ice smiled slightly. “Such a fine story we crafted for you, and all gone to waste now. You never met Cazalan Dal, my dear; he died in the Mournland months ago. The man you met in Sharn was a figment drawn from Prince Oargev, still tormented by guilt over his failure to his people. Having established Dal in your minds, it was easy enough to use him again. If all had gone as planned, my cousins would have blamed your five nations for their loss and gone to their graves believing that it was their own incompetency that had brought them to such an ignominious end.”
“So Dal was just your stalking horse,” Thorn murmured. “And Oargev had nothing to do with this.”
“The young prince had no hand in this matter, it’s true,” Cadrel said. “But he has many fascinating dreams for New Cyre, secrets your Citadel would just love to learn. Would you like to hear them? You have two more questions, my dear. I can tell you what these sad ghaele wish to know. Or I can share some of what I’ve learned in my service as Oargev’s spymaster… and some of the schemes I’ve set in motion.”
Thorn hadn’t even considered that. Whatever his true nature, it seemed that the creature before her had been posing as Essyn Cadrel for some time. And yet… it was part of the game. She could see it. He was torturing the eladrin again, and she wouldn’t serve as his pawn. She’d agreed to take their coin, and she’d see her promise through.
“I’m not letting you slip away so easily,” Thorn said. “My second question: Why did you steal the shards?”
“We have suffered torments you cannot imagine, spent an eternity in a realm of horrors. And all because our cousins left us to our fate. At first we wanted vengeance against the giants. We swore to find a way to escape and make the Titan Cul’sir pay for our pain. As lifetimes passed, we realized that wouldn’t be enough. The giants were the agents of our downfall, but it was our kin who set everything in motion. If they’d fought at our side, we could have defeated the giants then and there. We never would have suffered. And so they would suffer as we had suffered. They would see their world fall to nightmares. They would feel flesh twisting from within. Perhaps you’ll show us what lies beneath that veil, Lady Tira?”
“You’re just gloating,” Thorn said. “You promised me an answer. Why take the stones, specifically?”
“You’ve heard the reason. You’ve seen it already. The Tree cannot survive without them. And the spires cannot stand without the Tree and without the shards to protect them from their enemies. Even as they rot from within, our cousins will be crushed from without. They will see their dreams turn to horror.”
“Then my third and final question: Where has your master taken the shards?”
“Where you cannot follow, and that is the truth.” Cadrel laughed. “To Taer Lian Doresh, the Fortress of the Fading Dream. Even if you could find it, you could never reach it in time.” His eyes flickered over to the ghaele. “And no fey force will ever breach its walls. He has long prepared for your coming, Lords and Ladies. The walls of the fortress are girded against your powers. He has gathered your names and those of your followers. He will feel you
