“You need not spill blood,” Thorkel whispered. He slid out of the light, closer to me. “All change brings violence, but I can be the destroyer. Let me shed the blood, for my life is already tainted. When I am done, you can be the healer of a new world.”
Healer. Shamino streaked with blood, his hand on a dragon. Shamino refusing tears so not to upset his patients. Shamino half-dead from draining his Gift to lethal levels. “A healer never wants death.”
“False. Dragerian healers pick and choose death,” Thorkel said in a hard voice. “Had Krysta been allowed a healer when she was ill, you would still have a mother.”
I wished he was touching me, like a Jeweltongue, because his words echoed the thought I’d had a million times. Is this the vision? That I follow Thorkel into battle… against my own people?
“Do not let Krysta’s death be meaningless,” Thorkel urged. He held out a hand. “Join me.”
Join me.
A haze seemed to clear in my mind and a new sense of calm settled over me. I looked Thorkel in the eye. “Tell me this. Why did Mother choose to die as a peasant? Why didn’t she join you in Carthesia?”
Why did she write six years of letters to Merram?
Sadness blanketed Thorkel’s face as he spread his hands. On every finger on his right, ruby rings glittered with magic. “The desert is no place for a delicate flower.”
Wrong answer. Merram had deceived me, but Thorkel was trying the same. I’d watched my mother survive blistering heat and freezing cold. She’d gone without food. She’d lived in isolation. She’d lived in heartbreak. Yet always, always, she smiled for her daughter and faced the days with determination.
*Mettalise, I’m about to upset Thorkel.* No answer. In fact… Emotions as strong as my shock at Thorkel’s identity broke through partial blocks. Mettalise should have reacted.
I readied my Gift for a shield. “Thank you for the truth, Thorkel, but I do not want war.”
“You are choosing a life of hatred! Either you continue on as a false halfblood, or you become known as the traitor’s daughter. You cannot wish to return to that.”
“May we next meet in peace,” I said. Thorkel grabbed my shoulder as I passed. I dared to pull away. As I began the twenty or so paces to the door, I formed a clumsy shield of air behind me. My blood pounded in my ears so loudly I feared I wouldn’t be able to hear a spell.
“You are like Krysta.” Thorkel sounded on the verge of tears. Angry ones. “Krysta’s ideals destroyed her. Adara, don’t make me destroy you.”
I desperately tried to strengthen the shield, but growing panic made it difficult. “You don’t have to do anything to me. It’s a choice.”
He did not speak. The invisible shield behind me shuddered, shattered. Cards fluttered like birds through the room at the blast of air from the destroyed spell. I sucked in what Gift I could as I spun around.
Thorkel laughed. It was not my laugh. My skin crawled at the sound. A red, swirling globe formed next to his head.
“Thorkel,” I said, trying my best to stay calm. I threaded my Gift through the sapphire and renewed my shield, visible but strong fire this time. “You’re a red. I’m a blue.”
“You’re a child. Lower your defenses, and I promise no harm will come to you.”
“You’re not helping me like you,” I said. I edged backward. *Mettalise!*
No answer from my dragon.
“First lesson, daughter. Attacks don’t always come from the front.”
The globe stayed by his head as another spell formed behind me. I didn’t react in time. Even as I pivoted the shield, something struck me and I lost hold of the magic. Red sparks filled my vision.
“You are only stunned,” I heard as if from far away. Fingers snapped. “Take her to her room. Send word to Maolmuire that the trap is set. Prepare for departure.”
Hands, surprisingly gentle ones, lifted my body. Hot liquid flowed into my mouth. Someone held my nose and I gasped, sputtered, swallowed. The red sparks faded as I slept.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I struggled against blackness. I needed to escape, to rescue Mettalise—hilarious, the idea of a small human saving a dragon. As my mental laughter died, I noticed the scent of strange spices mixed with soap. Then noises: breathing, boots on wood. The scratch of a woolen blanket under my hand, a thin pillow under my head. Last came taste: a bitter, gummy flavor on my tongue.
Dragonsbeard. I had often taken the herb for the headaches leading up to my manifestation. Peasants used it in medicines to cause sleep, but the body grew resistant over time. I prayed the healer who’d given me the potion had been someone used to treating nobles. If so, the Carthesians would not expect me to wake for hours.
I cracked open an eye. Through scummy slits I made out a sword-bearing Carthesian. He sat in an armless chair beside the door. He paid absolutely no attention to me but cleaned his nails with a knife.
I reached with my thoughts. *Mettalise? Please say you’re safe.*
*Some trees dropped their Illusions and a bunch of dragons captured me, so technically, I’m embarrassed. That’s worse than being in danger,* came a grumpy Mettalise. *You’re hazy. Are you hurt?*
Her words drifted lazily around my mind like scum in a blocked stream. *Drugged.*
*Fun. I hope you didn’t drink some pungent tea or something while you chatted with our enemy. I’d like to think you more difficult to trick than me.*
It took effort to tell her what happened, especially when she flooded me with shock at Thorkel’s identity. By the time I finished, though, my head felt clearer. Clear enough to notice that someone approached the door. I quit talking to Mettalise and pretended to be asleep.
The door opened as my guard’s chair creaked. Thorkel’s voice: “How is she?”
“Hasn’t
