The Dragon Heir (The Heir Chronicles #3)

The Dragon Heir (The Heir Chronicles #3) Page 25

He awoke to find himself lying on Madison's bed with Nick sitting next to him, hands pressed to Seph's chest, muttering a healing charm under his breath. When Seph opened his eyes, Snowbeard released a sigh of relief and hissed, “Let me do the talking,” in an odd, terse voice.

Seph struggled into a sitting position, and immediately vomited something black and nasty into a basin that Nick had at the ready. Nick wiped his face off with a washcloth.

“Nick,” Seph whispered. “What did Rachel…”

“Stay down,” Nick ordered, and went to dump the basin.

Rachel appeared in the doorway with a glass of water. “How's he doing?” Her usual cynical suspicion of Seph had been replaced with solicitous concern.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Nick called from the lavatory. “He's had a touch of flu these past few days. When I gave him your message, he insisted on rising from his sickbed and coming over.”

“I didn't know he was sick,” Rachel said, twisting her hair between her fingers. “You should have said.”

Snowbeard returned with the empty basin. Seph rinsed his mouth and spit into it. He felt awful, like the time he'd come down with mono at that prep school in Scotland and had ended up in the hospital. His entire body itched and burned like he was breaking out in hives. Hallucinations swam through his head.

“What did you do with the painting, Rachel?” the old man asked calmly.

“I put it down cellar,” she said, shrugging,“but I still don't see why…”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Snowbeard said. “It's probably just the flu, but perhaps something in the painting triggered a synaptic shock to the brain, much like strobe lights trigger seizures in susceptible people.”

Woozy as he was, Seph couldn't help thinking that Snowbeard was a remarkably good liar for one of the good guys.

“Would you like something to eat, honey?” Rachel asked. “I could whip you up an omelet, or some soup,” she offered. “There's chocolate cake, and burnt-sugar custard.”

Seph shuddered at the thought of confronting food. Snowbeard creakily rose to his feet and took Rachel's elbow. “Don't worry, my dear,” he said. “I know how very busy you are. I'll stay here with Seph and we'll let him rest a bit, then I'll take him on home. You're sure there are no more of Maddie's paintings in the inn?”

“That's the only one I found. Either she took them all back with her, or the burglar stole them.”

“Let's hope nothing was stolen.” Effortlessly, Snowbeard ushered Rachel from the room. Moments later, Seph heard her descending the stairs. Snowbeard shut the door behind her and pulled a chair over to sit beside Seph.

“How are you feeling?” The old man's face was set in hard, angry lines.

“Terrible.” And confused and embarrassed. “I don't know what I …”

“What did you see in the painting?” Snowbeard demanded, gripping his arm.

He's using Persuasion, Seph realized, feeling the hot flow of power. He immediately resisted, reverting to the habits of a lifetime. “The painting? I didn't get much of a look at it. I was kind of dizzy on the way over here, from the mindquest, I guess, and I just…why do you ask?”

Snowbeard studied him suspiciously. “You took one look at Madison's painting and collapsed. I want to know why.”

“I don't even remember.” Seph closed his eyes as if searching his brain, but mainly to avoid Snowbeard's keen gaze. What was the old man thinking, anyway? “What did it look like?”

“It was a painting of Trinity Harbor.”

Not the painting I saw, Seph thought. He opened his eyes. “Er. Right. Now I remember.”

Snowbeard's grip tightened. More Persuasion. “Don't lie to me. This is important for your own safety.”

“How could a painting make me pass out, anyway?”

“There are a multitude of possibilities, my boy. Sorcerers can embed spells in objects. Certainly a curse could be embedded in a painting.”

“So you think whoever broke in here cursed Madison's painting?” Seph asked carefully.

“Curses are generally embedded at the time the object is made. In this case, at the time the canvas was painted.”

“Well, Madison painted it. So that's impossible.” Seph looked Snowbeard in the eyes, daring the Old Bear to challenge him on it.

“Not only that,” Snowbeard continued as if he hadn't heard, “the curse, if that's what it was, was directed specifically at you. It didn't affect Rachel or me, even though I removed the painting from the room and she carried it down into the cellar. Whatever it was, it was meant to kill. Had you been on your own, it might have succeeded.”

“Curses and attack magic don't work in the sanctuary. We know that.”

“Much is possible that is beyond our knowledge,” Snowbeard said gravely. “You were the one maintaining the boundary. You might be vulnerable to a powerful curse directed at you or packaged in a different way.”

Seph knew where this was going. He set his lips tightly together and waited for the punchline.

“Who knows what an elicitor is capable of? No one. Madison has declined to join this war on our side. Is it possible she has joined it on the other side?”

“No.” Seph said it louder than he intended.

But why would she paint that particular scene? She'd seemed totally traumatized at the time, and it sure wasn't something he wanted to remember.

“She suddenly leaves town in the middle of the school term …”

“She had to.”

“It appears you are not getting along as you once did…”

“Now, hold on.” Seph propped himself on his elbows, fighting another wave of nausea. “Like I keep telling you, and my father, and my mother, and every other person—Madison wants nothing to do with this war. Nothing. She's not in this. Maybe she won't help us, but she wouldn't hurt us.”

“Iris mentioned that Madison seems to be … in financial difficulties.”

Seph blinked at Nick. “I know she's never had a lot of money, but … I could've helped her. All she had to do was ask.”

“Maybe she preferred not to. She's proud. The Roses have deep pockets. Any of our enemies could make her rich.”

“No. I don't believe it.” Seph rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Madison wouldn't hurt him. He knew she wouldn't. “I passed out. That's all. Maybe I do have the flu. Try the simplest explanation for once. I'm sick of conspiracy theories.”

Nick shook his head, agreeing to disagree. “Regardless of the source of the attack, I fear you are injured more grievously than you know. You lost hold of the boundary when you went down. Try to pick it up again.”

“Right.” Seph took a deep breath and extended himself into the sanctuary. Black spots swam before his eyes, coalescing into a smothering darkness that threatened to swallow him. He broke into a cold sweat, and let go, lying absolutely still until the dizziness eased. It had been hard enough before. Now it was impossible. “Sorry,” he said, feeling a little panicked. What if it didn't get better? “I just need to rest a little.”

“Maybe,” Snowbeard said, sounding unconvinced. “I'll take it for now. But we need to determine exactly where Madison is and what she is up to. Perhaps that's something Jason can do.”

Chapter Twelve A Babe in the Woods

Snow sifted down from the treetops, glittering in the cold winter sunlight as Leesha stumbled down the icy trail. She kept a tight hold of unnoticeable Jason's hand, both to keep from falling and because he was the one with the sefa, after all.

“Where are we going?” she hissed. “And who are we sneaking up on?” Possibilities swirled through her mind. Assassins. Spies. Some kind of magical weapon being built in the sanctuary.

“You'll see,” he whispered back mysteriously.

“This better be good,” she muttered. As far as Leesha was concerned, winter was nature's way of telling you to stay indoors. All around, the snow was inscribed with animal tracks. Who knew what was out and about? “Are there bears around here?”

“Just little ones.”

Would bears notice an unnoticeable person?

They clambered down into a half-frozen creek, up the other side, circled a ravine, and pushed into a thick stand of snowy pine trees. By then, she was gasping for breath. “Will you slow down? My legs aren't as long as yours.”

“We're there. Wait till you see. This is really cool.”

They paused under a pine tree whose boughs swept close to the ground. The air was filled with a clean, sharp scent, like room freshener. Stepping behind her, Jason gripped Leesha around the waist and lifted her up.

Right in front of her face was the teeniest owl she'd ever seen, no bigger than a robin. It was a brownish color with white streaks radiating from its eyes and white splotches. Its tiny feet were wrapped securely around a branch. It seemed to be sound asleep, but as she watched, it opened its yellow eyes and blinked sleepily at her, then closed them again.

Cautiously, she extended her finger and brushed the ruff around its feet, holding her breath. It opened its eyes, swiveled its head, then fluffed out its feathers and settled down again.

Jason lowered Leesha gently to the ground, then leaned in for a look himself. They took turns watching the owl for about ten minutes. Then Jason took Leesha's hand and led her out of the pine grove.

When they were a safe distance away, Jason disabled the unnoticeable charm and reappeared, grinning at her.

“What…what was that?” Leesha asked. “I never saw an owl that little!”

“It's called a Saw-whet owl,” Jason said, looking pleased at her reaction. “I guess they winter around here. I saw it here the other day and looked it up online. Supposedly their call sounds like somebody sharpening a saw.”