“The empress has put a sizable price on my head, and there are always those who would like to cash in. The only way I’ve been able to keep a crew that won’t betray me is through a blood bond. There’s a price to be paid for that.” Evan gathered pillows from the furniture and tossed them down, onto the rug. “Let’s sit, shall we, and have a civilized conversation. I’ve not much to offer in the way of refreshments, but I could brew up a fresh pot of tay. It’s a beverage popular in Carthis for bringing people—”
“No,” the healer said. Then added, “Thank you.”
Evan shrugged and sat down on one of the pillows. After a moment’s hesitation, the healer sat, his hands resting on his knees, the lamps behind him sending his long shadow across the floor.
“Now, then,” Evan said, figuring that he would get a question in first if he could. “I’m curious. What tipped you off to the magemark?”
“Your resistance to direct magic,” sul’Han said. “I had the same kind of sensation when I questioned Jenna.” He paused. “So, what can you tell me about magemarks?”
“Disappointingly little, I’m afraid,” Evan said. “For five years now, I’ve been looking for someone who can explain it to me. Someone besides the empress, I mean, who no doubt would be happy to fill me in.”
“So. Is she hunting you, too? Or are you working for her?” Sul’Han rolled his eyes. “I’m so confused.”
Evan laughed, a little amazed to find out that the healer had a sense of humor.
“One thing I’ve learned in the past five years is to trust no one with the truth. Lying about nearly everything has become a habit—it’s how I stay alive.”
“If you plan to keep lying, tell me now, and that will save us both some time,” the healer said, all traces of humor gone.
“I have no plans to lie to you,” Evan said, which was true enough. Then again, plans change.
“So. About magemarks,” the healer said.
“I’ve been marked for as long as I can remember,” Evan said. “My first memories date from when I was four or five, running the streets of Endru in Carthis, doing whatever I needed to do to stay alive.” Evan relayed the rest of the story—how he’d been plucked from the streets by Latham Strangward and added to his crew.
“Captain Strangward told me to keep the magemark hidden, that it would rile up the crew. It wasn’t until I met Celestine Nazari for the first time that I found out she was hunting the magemarked. So. When the empress learned that I was aboard Strangward’s ship, she demanded that he give me up. Strangward refused. In fact, he threatened to kill me rather than turn me over to her.” Evan paused, the old pain, the questions elbowing forward. “I’m still not sure who he was protecting—me, or everyone else. Whatever his motive, it didn’t work out well for him. He lost his ship, his crew, and his life. I escaped.”
The prince, head cocked, was studying him. He didn’t seem to be coiled quite as tightly as he had been. “We may have more in common than I thought,” he said.
Evan nodded, thinking it was ironic that he was having this heart-to-heart with sul’Han, of all people.
“So,” the healer said, with an air of getting down to the real business of the evening, “you say the empress is your enemy. Why, then, did you go to Ardenscourt pretending to be representing her?”
“As I told the council, I went to try to prevent the king of Arden from making an alliance with Celestine, and so acquiring a person with a magemark. That person turned out to be Jenna Bandelow.”
“Did you know Jenna before then?”
Evan shook his head. “I had not known there was another one of us hiding in the wetlands until I got the message that a deal was in the offing. I couldn’t offer an army, but there is a huge population of dragons in the mountains at home. I hoped that if I could persuade King Gerard to trade Jenna for the dragon, I could kill the deal. King Gerard wouldn’t have an army, and Celestine wouldn’t have Jenna.” Plus, the dragon might burn the capital to the ground.
“So Montaigne’s refusal to make a trade for the dragon ruined that plan,” the healer said.
Evan nodded, wishing he could leave it at that. But if Jenna told the healer about his visit to the tower room, the truce between them would be over.
“Then, I made a mistake,” Evan said, looking down at his hands.
“What do you mean?”
“After King Gerard declined my proposal, I went to Jenna’s room to find out what she knew. I thought—I hoped she would be able to tell me something that would reassure me.”
“Reassure you?”
“Something that would convince me that even if Montaigne sent her to the empress it would not end in disaster.”
“Was Jenna able to reassure you?”
Evan shook his head. “No. It turned out that she knows less than I do. So. Teza and I were—were talking about what to do when she took matters into her own hands. She smashed one of the lamps on the floor and set the room on fire.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She was trying to escape.”
“By setting fire to herself?” The healer snorted. “That makes sense. Did she blow a hole in the tower, too?”
“That happened after I left,” Evan said. “I have a theory, though.”
Sul’Han tilted his head back, his hands resting on his thighs. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Someone unchained the dragon in the hold of my ship,” Evan said, looking straight into the healer’s eyes. “Someone who left his wizard collar behind.”
Sul’Han’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted on his cushion. Message received. “Really?”
“Really. The dragon escaped, flew straight to the tower, and rescued Jenna.”
The healer’s wary interest dissolved into skepticism. “The dragon again. That’s your theory? That after spending weeks confined belowdecks, this Carthian dragon’s first
