Rasnake(15)

"A firestone," Milton said, sounding astonished. "I don't believe it. How did even know where precisely to look? It's not easy simply to hack into a dragon's throat and cut it out without doing damage to it, I remember that much."

Cecil set the firestone on the table. "Books," he said. "They're in the library. I went in there one day with Henry to see if we could find anything at all to help us combat the dragons, even though the castle registries listed no such books. They were sitting on the table plain as day. No idea where they came from. They gave suggestions for fighting the dragons, for what to do with the corpses, how to dig out the firestones, and a great deal more."

"I see," Milton said idly, but Tallant knew that slight undertone to his voice. He cast Milton a look, and got the barest nod in return—he would explain everything to Tallant later. Tallant turned his attention back to the firestone. It was handsome, and resembled nothing so much as solidified flame. In dragons, firestones were used to light the liquid in their fire sacks. Only the firestone, or some other form of extreme heat, could make the liquid flammable.

In a dragon, the stone was always warm, and could be heated to the necessary temperatures. Perversely enough, humans often used the firestones to ward against fire. They could be used in jewelry, to enhance magic or ward against flames. If anyone was fool enough to build a fire hot enough to melt the stone—something that required magic—the resultant glaze could be placed on a chosen surface that would then be repellant to fire.

Tallant itched to pick it up, examine it. He sensed, however, that doing so would only annoy Cecil. "So what do you plan to do with it?"

"I haven't decided yet," Cecil replied, and tucked the stone away again. Then he picked up his wine and drained it again.

"Cecil, haven't you had enough—" Milton broke off at the furious look Cecil shot him.

"Do not think," Cecil said in low, angry tones, "that civility is any indication that I've changed my mind where you are concerned. Twelve years does not mean you can simply show up and be a part of my life as easily as that."

Standing up, Cecil strode off, ignoring the sudden silence, then the whispers, that followed in his wake. Milton tossed back his own wine then, and Tallant had never wanted to smack someone as badly as he wanted to smack Cecil right then.

"He has missed you," one of the twins said. "He'd kill us for saying so, but neither he nor Lady Irene ever stopped hoping you'd come back. He just tries to pretend he stopped. But, even now, he's probably sneaking off to the apple tree."

Tallant frowned. "Apple tree? As in, something to do with the tattoo on his arm?"

"The very same. He and Lady Irene have never explained, but even a halfwit could figure out that the tree is somehow tied to Milton."

"Where is this tree?" Tallant asked, and wondered why Henry had not told him there was a real tree involved, not merely a figurative one. "What are your names?" he asked belatedly, realizing they never had gotten the names of any of the brigands.

The other twin quirked a brow, looking amused. "I'm Lory, my brother is Kory. Then you've got Dane, Miner, and Rusty. As to Lord Cecil," he said with a snigger, "you'll find him behind in the garden behind the chapel."

Rising, resting a hand on Milton's shoulder to indicate he should remain, Tallant went to go find Cecil.





Chapter Six





It took him a bit of exploring to find the chapel, but when he reached it the small space proved well worth the effort. The holy star was mounted over the altar, covered in gold and silver leaf. Candles were set on silk draped over the altar, waiting to be lit for night prayers.

A door at the back left was slightly ajar. Crossing the room, Tallant slipped through the door into a small storeroom. At the far end, he saw another door just barely open. Strange. Cecil didn't strike him as careless. Assuming he wasn't that careless, why would he simply leave two doors open and present such a vulnerability to possibly intruders?

The answer provided itself as he slipped through the second door—into a private garden, with high stone walls and, of all things, a ceiling made from high arching stone and panels of glass. It would have been expensive to put in place—obscenely expensive.

It was filled mostly with small flowers and plants, vegetables here and there, arranged in artful clusters and arrangements that were built around a stone walkway that wended its way through the long space. At the very back of the garden was a tree, and it looked distinctly out of place amongst all the much smaller plants. Dark had fallen, leaving only a single lantern at the base of the tree to offer light, but Tallant did not need light to know it was an apple tree.

He would be willing to be everything he owned that the tree was not more than twelve years old.

At the base of the tree, a figure sat slumped, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up, an arm draped around it. Cecil toyed with something in his other hand. His head jerked up as he heard Tallant approached. "Go away. I did not invite you here, I don't want you here. All I want is to be left alone."

"It seems to me that your problem is that you've been left alone too long. So why, now that Milton is back, are you rejecting him at every turn? As much as he loves you, as happily as he loves you, I cannot believe it is one-sided. Do you really resent him that much for being banished for twelve years on pain of your death?" In reply, Cecil said nothing. Tallant moved closer and sat nearby. When the silence stretched on, he changed subjects. "This is a beautiful garden. Has it been here as long as the castle?"