A light-haired figure appears, waving his arms and shouting as he leaps into the path of the two rompos.
Trysten?
“Get!” he bellows. “Scat! Scram!” He looks at me. “Just make a lot of noise. They’re only rompos. They’ll—”
The one nearest leaps…straight at him. The other yowls and charges. Both hit him at the same time, and I rush in, switching my sword for my dagger, lest I slice open Trysten instead. Well, considering his betrayal, maybe I shouldn’t be too worried about that. However, I need him to live so I can tell him exactly what I think of him.
The two rompos are on top of Trysten, snarling and snapping. He’s fighting but it’s punching and kicking, as if he’s forgotten he’s holding a dagger.
I sink my blade into the shoulder of one rompo and throw it aside. Then I slash at the other. That should be enough. The first has already fled, yipping in pain. This one, though, doesn’t even seem to notice its injury. It’s going for Trysten’s throat, and when its jaws sink in, I have no choice. One sure slice across its own throat. Then I shove the beast off Trysten and whirl around to make sure the other beasts are gone. They are, and Malric is behind me, snarling at the empty forest as Jacko yodels his victory cry.
“They—they don’t—” Trysten says as he pushes up. “They’re just rompos. They’re easy to scare off.”
“Not when they’re fleeing from a dragon.” I spin on him. “And what are you doing here?”
He flushes. “Uh, helping you? Which didn’t quite turn out the way I expected. See, knowing rompos, I figured I could run in, make a lot of noise and save the princess.” He rubs at the bloody gouges on his neck. “Instead, I was nearly killed by a rompo. That would have been really embarrassing.”
His lips curve in a wry smile, eyes meeting mine.
“She means why are you here,” Dain says as he tromps from the forest, Alianor and Wilmot following. “After you betrayed us.”
“What?” Trysten straightens, blinking. “When?”
Dain turns to me. “Did he get hit on the head when he fell?”
“Nah,” Alianor says as she walks up to Trysten. “It’s that twin brother you forgot to mention, right?”
“Twin…?”
“The identical twin brother, who is also a hostage with Geraint. He’s the one we saw this afternoon with them.”
“I don’t have a twin—” Trysten pauses. “That’s sarcasm, isn’t it?”
“We saw you with Geraint’s men,” I say. “Laughing and talking.”
“Because I went back willingly.”
“Exactly.”
He waves his hands. “Not like that. I was tricking them into thinking I went back willingly. While we were gathering berries, I spotted one of the men. They’d been watching you. So I ran over and pretended I’d made a horrible mistake and wanted to come back. Really, I just wanted to see what they were doing.”
“So you gave them the information about the dragons,” Alianor says. “You told them what Rowan found—the back entrance and the eggs and the babies. They used that and stole a baby—”
“An egg,” he says. “That’s what I came to tell you. They stole an egg and…” He swallows. “They broke one. They snuck in and grabbed two eggs while she was hunting, and they broke one to slow her down.”
“To slow her down?” Alianor says, horror on her face.
When I speak, my voice is eerily calm, my own horror pushed deep. “So she’d try to save the other baby. The one whose shell was cracked. They killed a dragon baby to give themselves time to get away.”
Alianor wheels on Trysten. “You did this. You told them—”
“Nothing!” He raises his hands. “I told them nothing. Well, nothing that helped them find the dragons. They were already tracking you. Someone got close enough to overhear us talking about how you found the tunnel and about the eggs. I pretended I’d been standing guard at the time, so I couldn’t confirm it. I said you guys didn’t trust me. Which apparently wasn’t a lie—”
Malric’s growl cuts him short. The warg and the jackalope had been standing guard with Doscach. Sunniva had been grazing, but she’s on alert now, her gaze fixed in the same direction as the others’.
As Malric lopes to me, Wilmot gets to his feet, bow out. We all draw our weapons.
“Come out,” Wilmot calls. “We know you’re there.”
“Because we want you to know,” Geraint’s voice calls back.
Malric growls as Geraint steps out. The man laughs, and there’s challenge in that laugh, as if almost hoping the warg will attack. Geraint holds a dagger, as do the two men flanking him, and I have no doubt that if Malric feinted in their direction, they’d fall on him.
I hate them for what they’ve done to monsters, and what they did to the dragon, but most of all, I hate them for this—that they’re hoping for an excuse to hurt or even kill a warg who has done nothing to them.
Malric only growls and settles in at my side.
“They warned us about you, boy,” he says to Trysten. “When your people brought you to us, they warned us not to be fooled by fancy words or airs. You might be book smart, but you’re as gullible as any noble who wants to buy a harpy chick. You don’t know your way around the world. We let you sneak off with the dropbear, so you’d lead us to the princess. Don’t ever take up spycraft, my lord. You’re as crafty as a toddler stealing a sweet from a market cart.”
Trysten’s eyes blaze with anger and humiliation. “I won’t go back with you. I won’t.”
“Good. We don’t want you. Your father was supposed to send for you this summer. Apparently, he doesn’t want you either.”
“All right, then,” Wilmot says slowly. “We’ll take the boy off your hands—”
“Oh no. He’s
