Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(102)

Strangward laughed. “To some people, maybe. To others, not so much.”

“Is this the first time the empress has gone looking for someone with the magemark? Or does she keep an entire stable of such people?”

Strangward looked away. “No. She does not keep a stable of such people.”

Lila couldn’t help thinking that the emissary’s words were carefully chosen.

Then again, he was an emissary.

They were coming up alongside the vessel. The sails slackened, and Von caught a line tossed down to them from above. A ladder followed, the iron rungs clanking against the side of the ship.

Here, in the main channel, the wind picked up, and the climb from the waterline to the lowest deck was terrifying. Botetort, especially, seemed relieved to reach the deck.

“This way.” Von and Strangward led the way aft, and Lila did her best to map out the layout of the ship in her mind.

“How many crew does it require to sail her?” she asked.

“With a good crew, six or eight’s enough to handle her,” Von said. “If you need gunners, boarding parties, and galley staff, it’ll be more. Here we are.”

By now they’d reached amidships. They gathered around, while Von and Strangward unlatched a hatch and wrestled it open. Strangward peered into the opening, then nodded, as if satisfied. “It’s down here,” he said. Grabbing up a lantern, he unrolled a rope ladder over the edge. Lila heard the plop as it hit bottom.

When he went to climb down, Von gripped his arm. “My lord,” he said in a low, worried voice. “Please. Let me go.”

“Nonsense,” Strangward said. “You’d likely get stuck in the hatch.” When Von didn’t release him he said, “Let go, Von. I’ll be fine.”

Von let go and the emissary disappeared down the ladder.

“Are you coming?” Strangward called up when he’d apparently reached bottom.

They looked at one another. Nobody seemed eager to be first. Lila peered over the edge, into the hold.

The emissary stood below, looking up at her, hands on hips. He’d set the lantern on a table, illuminating the entire space. And, next to him, on the floor, lay a dragon.

“Blood of the martyrs,” Lila breathed. Stepping over the edge of the hatch, she turned, gripped the ladder, and began to descend.

“This is the weapon we promised your king,” Strangward said when Lila stood beside him. “The most powerful predator of the natural world.”

It was smaller than Lila would have expected a dragon to be, armored with jeweled scales that glittered in the lamplight. Its eyes shown brilliantly, set on either side of a handsome face—eyes that seemed familiar, almost human. It had stubby horns on its head, and wicked claws on all four feet. One wing was folded tightly against its back, while the other drooped, like a tent with broken poles. It appeared to be torn in places.

Lila studied the beast with mingled fascination and fear. Razor-sharp spines marched down its back, all the way to the end of its tail. Its tail was coiled around it, occupying most of the floor space. Flame trickled from its nostrils. It wore a heavy collar around its neck, engraved with runes. It was connected to a heavy chain, bolted into the wall.

It looked up at Lila with a spark of interest, then seemed to dismiss her and rested its head on its claws again.

The space was entirely lined with brick and tile, which was blackened in spots, like the lining of a malfunctioning furnace. A pile of half-eaten rabbit carcasses lay in one corner, and the entire hold smelled of rum and sick and rotten meat.

Botetort was the next down the ladder, followed closely by Destin. When the thane spotted the dragon, he took a quick step back and gripped the hilt of his sword. “Is . . . is that what I think it is?”

“That depends on what you think it is,” Strangward said.

Lila couldn’t help liking the emissary’s style. Whether she’d keep liking him remained to be seen.

Destin stared at the beast with disbelief. “That—that’s a Carthian sun dragon,” he said, shooting a look at Strangward. “Isn’t it?”

Strangward nodded.

“But . . . it is my understanding that dragons are not real,” Botetort said.

Strangward looked from the dragon to Botetort. “I assure you, this dragon is absolutely real. Touch it if you like.”

Botetort made no move to do so. “It smells vile down here,” he said. “Like a piss-pot in a bawdy house. Do dragons always stink like that?”

“We were anchored crossways in the current and I think it’s a little seasick,” Strangward said. “It’s been closed up down here since we sailed.”

Botetort nudged a washtub with his foot. “It smells like rum. Is that what it drinks?”

“Rum keeps it calm,” Strangward said. “It seems to like it.”

“I suppose that would put a fire in its belly,” Botetort said. “Do dragons really breathe flame, like the legends say?”

Strangward rocked his hand. “Sometimes.”

Lila squatted in front of the dragon. Its eyes were glazed, its breath coming fast.

“I wouldn’t get too close,” Strangward said sharply.

“It’s not trained?”

“This one is not quite training size,” Strangward said. “But once you begin, they catch on quickly.”