I want to protest. Go home? But we just found the problem! And Geraint’s men are upsetting the dragon more each day. We must act now!
That’s how it feels, but it’s not the truth. Geraint’s troop has been trying to get a juvenile or an egg for months now. Yes, the mother dragon’s angry. Yes, she’s getting angrier. But this isn’t a volcano ready to erupt. It’s an ongoing situation.
This isn’t a fight or even a negotiation. We can’t get Geraint to agree to stop hunting dragons and walk away. The moment we were gone, he’d continue.
He must realize that enraging the dragon may be causing the migration. He doesn’t care. The migration means more frightened monsters for him to catch, and when he gets a dragon, he’ll be rich. That’s what matters to people like him—what he’ll get out of it.
We need to return home as fast as we can, and then get my mother to send a troop of law enforcers. Arrest Geraint and his troop, imprison them until the dragon calms down, and then exile them back to their own land.
“It feels like dumping the hard work on someone else,” I grumble as we head back to camp, a brace of game birds over our shoulders.
“Yes,” Dain says. “You sat in your comfy castle room and ordered other people to solve this problem. You didn’t walk to Mount Gaetal yourself—nearly getting killed several times—and then stumble on dragons and narrowly escape with your life. Nothing like that.”
I glare at him.
“Is the problem that you don’t like telling others to take over?” Wilmot asks. “Or that you don’t like not seeing this through yourself?”
“Both, I guess.”
As we walk a little farther, Jacko and Dez zoom back from wherever they’ve been hunting. Jacko climbs up onto my head, and Dez settles in, clinging to Dain’s chest.
“We need to make you a sling,” I say. “While a jackalope on my head and shoulders might look ridiculous, it doesn’t hamper me much. You need a support sling for her. Like parents use for babies.”
Now I’m the one getting a glare.
“What?” I say, throwing up my hands. “You—”
A crashing through the bush has Malric grabbing the hem of my tunic. He lets go when Alianor bursts through.
“Have you seen Trysten?” she says.
We shake our heads. “Isn’t he with you?”
“He was, but we were working separate berry patches, and then I spotted a new one, and I called to him, and he didn’t answer. I went to where I’d left him, and he wasn’t there. I ran back to camp, searching for him. He’s gone.”
“He must be nearby,” I say. “I hope he didn’t wander too far, but we’ll find him.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she says. “His things aren’t in the camp. He took them—and all of our remaining food. He’s gone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I want an alternate explanation. While I don’t know Trysten well, he’s been nothing but helpful from the start, when he tried to warn us away from his camp. He brought Dez back to Dain. He’s tramped along for two days without complaint. He’s the first person to offer to fetch water or firewood.
“We should have known he was setting us up,” Dain says as he stalks through our camp, checking to see what else is missing. “He’s no prince. How did we fall for that? His story was ridiculous.”
“It would be in Tamarel,” Alianor says. “But it makes perfect sense for other countries.”
“But a prince? He’s too nice to be a prince.”
“Uh…” I say.
Alianor squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t mind him. The only prince he knows is your brother, who is kind. Dain’s grumbling because he wanted a reason not to like him, and he couldn’t find one.”
“Shouldn’t this make him happy, then?” I say.
“He is happy. Dain is never more joyful than when he’s grumbling and scowling and stalking around.”
“Is it…” I begin carefully. “Is it possible there’s another explanation?”
“You too?” Dain says.
Wilmot cuts in. “The princess is asking a fair question, Dain. We cannot abandon the boy if there’s a chance he didn’t walk away.” He looks at me. “What are your thoughts, Rowan?”
I walk around the camp. “What’s missing? Food? Anything else?”
“Wilmot’s dagger,” Dain says. “And my shoes.”
“Which he had on him. Did he take anything except food?”
Everyone shakes their heads.
“There’s not much else to take,” I admit. “Besides dirty clothing. Is it possible he overheard us talking about heading home?” I say. “That’s in the opposite direction of his home. Maybe he decided to set out on his own. We haven’t encountered many monsters, so he’ll think it’s safe enough.”
“Not many monsters here,” Dain says. “That’ll change once he gets away from the dragon den.”
“True, but would he realize that? We’re two days closer to his home here. As for the food, he knew we were already hunting for more. Our priority is getting home. But should we devote some time to looking for him? At least have Malric search for a trail? He can’t have gone far.”
Wilmot squints up at the noonday sun. “Take Malric and Alianor, Rowan. Dain and I will get these game birds ready to go. We’ll set out by midafternoon. That’s as long as we can afford to search for Trysten.”
This is not what I expected. Definitely not what I wanted.
Finding Trysten proved harder than we’d hoped. Malric located the trail, but it was obvious that Trysten had expected that and tried to thwart the warg’s tracking abilities, wading in a stream to hide his scent. It took a long time to find his trail after that…and then he did it again, in another creek. By the time we’ve caught up, it’s already midafternoon. Wilmot will not be pleased. If we’d hit another body of water, we’d have stopped there. Instead…
Alianor, Jacko and I are in a tree, with Malric standing guard below. We’re looking out on a camp. Not our camp. Geraint’s.
Geraint himself is there. He’d apparently been following us, staying
