Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(105)

“I think they will, eventually. Unless something happens to stop it.”

Ash finally turned around to face her, leaning on his pitchfork. “What do you care? There’s money to be made either way. Dragon harnesses, specialized clothing for dragon riders, dog collars for Carthian mages—the possibilities are endless.”

“The last thing we need is another army mixing in,” Lila said. “The situation is bad enough as it is.”

“We? I don’t know whose side you’re on, but I’m pretty sure it’s not mine. How do you think all those collars, talismans, and amulets are going to be used?” Ash’s voice rose. “I’m not interested in getting involved with any of your schemes.”

“Shhh,” Lila said, looking around. “I don’t think you want to share that with the entire stable yard.”

“We’re done here, anyway,” Ash said, resuming his forking. “Now why don’t you just go about your business, and I’ll go about mine. That was our agreement, remember?”

“You’re wrong about me,” Lila said. “I’ve not been straight with you, and that’s why we need to talk—someplace we won’t be overheard.”

Something about the way Lila said this caught Ash’s ear—and made him turn around again. She looked and sounded serious as plague. It was like the smooth-talking, hard-drinking, unscrupulous slacker he knew had been swapped out for somebody else.

“All right,” he said. “We can go into the tack room. Nobody will be in there this time of day. But I’m warning you—you’d better not be wasting my time.”

As Ash had expected, the tack room was deserted. Rolley would be at dinner, and it was too dark to be out riding this late at night at this time of year. Ash hung the lantern from one of the saddle racks and sat down on a trunk, arms folded, prepared for smoke and mirrors.

Lila settled onto the bench that centered the room, raked her hand through her cap of curls, and squared her shoulders. “First off,” she said, “my name is not Lila Barrowhill. It’s Lila Byrne. Amon Byrne is my father.”

As usual, Lila’s first move set Ash reeling like he’d been clubbed over the head. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. Amon Byrne was the captain of the queen’s Gray Wolf guard. The queen of the Fells, that is. His mother.

“Close your mouth, sul’Han,” Lila said, sounding more like herself. “You look like a beached fish.”

He scrambled for something to say. “I know Byrne’s a widower, but I don’t recall any children except for Simon.”

“Simon was the oldest, then my brother Silva,” Lila said. “My mother died in childbirth with me. Simon stayed on with our da, and me and Silva went to live with my mother’s relatives in the Southern Islands.”

When Ash took a closer look, he could see that it was possible. Captain Byrne’s wife had been a Southern Islander, with dark skin and curly hair. Lila had inherited that, but her eyes were gray like her father’s. Ash had guessed she was a mixed blood, but it had never occurred to him that it was this particular mix.

“I guess you could say that this apple fell pretty far from the tree,” Lila said with a crooked smile. “I never saw much of my da until I went to live with some cousins in Baston Bay when I was ten. They were smugglers, though they called themselves traders, and they had ships that ran up and down the coast. My da would visit my aunt Lydia in Chalk Cliffs sometimes, and I’d take a ship up and see him. Not often; I was kind of mad at him, to tell you the truth.”

“How come you were mad at him?”

“My mother was dead and he was busy saving the queendom, so he never paid too much attention to me until Simon died. Then he couldn’t figure out how to fit a square peg like me into the plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was like this massive joke played on my father. I’m not good with stupid military rules, and I had no head for schooling. The things I was good at—like smuggling and role-playing and sailing and deal-making—he had no use for. Still—one thing you can say about Captain Byrne—he is persistent. He just kept calling in his markers, sending me back to Oden’s Ford, trying to hone this bit of bad metal into a sword. I was damned tired of it.”

Much as Ash hated to admit it, his and Lila’s lives had parallels. They’d been war orphans from the start.

“Then you ran off to Oden’s Ford. Well, at first they thought you were dead or captured, but your friend Taliesin ratted you out.”

“Taliesin told them?” Just one more club to the head.

“You think you know a person, right? She wanted your mother to know you were still alive, but she talked her into letting you stay at Oden’s Ford.”

“So the queen knew I was there all along.” A couple of minutes into this conversation, and Ash already felt beat up. Questions swirled through his mind. “Why didn’t she—why didn’t she ever . . . reach out to me? Or drag me home?”

“The queen doesn’t confide in me,” Lila said. “But I think she was worried that any contact with you might put you at risk. Ardenine spies are everywhere.” She glanced around again, as if to make sure none had slipped into the room. “Except for a few key people, everyone in the Fells thinks you’re dead.”