As Kandler brought his head back around, his gaze flicked toward Burch. The shifter had reloaded his crossbow, and he stood with the weapon aimed at Greffykor’s teeth.
Kandler opened his mouth to say, “No,” one more time. He’d keep repeating it to Esprë for as long as it took to sink in.
No matter how hardheaded she insisted on being about it, he would never allow her to sacrifice herself for him. That was the role of the parent, not the child.
Before he could explain all this, though, Sallah screamed in the chamber above.
“We don’t have time to argue about this now,” Kandler told Esprë.
The girl reached out to put a hand on Kandler, but seeing the black glow still on her fingers he pulled his arm away. “If you leave to help her, I’ll surrender myself to Greffykor,” she said.
Kandler hesitated. He couldn’t let Esprë give herself up to the silver dragon. To do so would be certain death for her, but he couldn’t just wait and listen while the red dragon made Sallah the first victim of a murderous rampage.
Something rumbled in Greffykor’s chest, and it sounded like the thunder of an approaching storm. “You should listen to the girl,” he said.
Kandler spun on the dragon. “You’re just worried about your damned observatory.” He raised his sword to strike. He refused to give Esprë up without a fight.
Burch’s crossbow twanged, and a bolt whizzed past Kandler’s shoulder. The dragon raised its snout, and the bolt glanced off his teeth. Then the creature pursed his lips and blew.
A blast of arctic air burst between the dragon’s teeth. Kandler dodged to the side to avoid it, and it passed straight over his head in a white cone of wind.
The air above the justicar froze. Snowflakes crystallized out of nowhere and cascaded down onto his face. The dragon’s breath missed him, though, and the snowflakes melted as they touched down on his skin.
Kandler rolled to his feet and glanced behind him. He saw that he hadn’t been the dragon’s target after all.
A frost-rimed Burch knelt on the floor, curled around his knees, his empty crossbow on the floor beside him. The frozen weapon had broken when it struck the hard, stone floor, its bow snapped in half.
At first, Kandler thought his friend might be dead. Then he heard the chattering of the shifter’s teeth and saw him shivering as his body fought the dreadful cold.
Kandler took a half step back and prepared to launch himself at the dragon. It was a hopeless fight, he knew, but he hoped that he might be able to at least give the beast some sort of scar to remember him by.
Then something icy seized the justicar’s sword arm. He yelped in surprise, and that emotion turned to horror as he saw Esprë’s slim fingers there on his forearm, her hands glowing black.
Kandler tried to pull away from the girl, but his limbs refused to respond. The power of Esprë’s dragonmark had paralyzed him. There was nothing he could do now but wait for his daughter to end his life.
From somewhere above, Kandler heard Sallah scream again.
54
Te’oma peeked around the edge of the doorway leading into the observatory and saw Sallah and Xalt standing behind the red dragon. In the air, the creature had seemed large enough to swallow the sun. Here, squatting inside a building—even one so massive as this—she seemed even bigger, as if the walls bent away from her to avoid her touch.
When Sallah raised her sword to strike at the dragon, the changeling considered shouting out a warning to the queen. She knew it would be a betrayal of those she had accompanied here, but there was little love lost between her and Sallah or Xalt. To alert the queen to the danger would put the dragon in her debt.
Te’oma doubted, though, that the dragon would see it that way. She’d probably kill the changeling right after she finished incinerating the warforged and the knight. The best that Te’oma could hope for from such a betrayal would be a quicker death.
She had to admit, though, that this was not the only reason she opted to let the lady knight strike. Te’oma wanted nothing more than to see these dragons hurt—killed if possible—and if she couldn’t muster the courage to attack them again herself, she at least wouldn’t stand in anyone else’s way.
Te’oma winced when Sallah’s first blow glanced off the dragon’s scales. Then she cheered silently when the lady knight’s blade cut deep into the dragon queen’s tail— although she slipped back behind the edge of the portal and out of the creature’s sight, just in case.
As the changeling waited for the furor inside to die down, she felt like a fly on an open table. She knew that the dragon-man aboard the Phoenix with Monja could kill her in an instant. She lived only at the creature’s whim. Fortunately, he seemed happy to ignore her for now, if only because Monja would be happily chatting his ears off.
Te’oma peeked back into the observatory in time to see Kandler—off to the right—disappearing down the hole in the floor. To the left, Xalt dragged Sallah away from the angry dragon and toward the monstrous crystal that towered against the chamber’s wall.
The changeling didn’t see Esprë anywhere, nor Burch. She assumed the young elf was in the shifter’s capable hands, and she guessed that was where Kandler was headed too. For a moment, she considered following the justicar down the hole, to wherever it might lead, but she couldn’t bring herself to risk the dragon queen spotting her.
Te’oma cursed herself. Then she cursed the Lich Queen, Tan Du, Ibrido, Majeeda, and Nithkorrh to boot. She wanted to curse her long-dead daughter, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She cursed the girl’s father instead.
He’d been so slick and sweet, the kind of male that she’d dreamed about her whole life. For one, he’d been a changeling, which meant he knew what her life had been like. She hadn’t met too many of her own kind at that point, and few of them had been kind enough to spare her more than a few words, probably out of fear that their true identities might be exposed to those who lived around them.
Mondaro, though, he’d swept her into his arms and given her the first hint of love she’d ever tasted. For months, nothing could separate them. They’d taken the city of Sharn and made it their own, using their shapeshifting powers to sneak into the finest restaurants and stay in the best inns, all without ever spilling a copper from their pockets.
They’d even talked of marriage, of settling down and starting up legitimate careers, perhaps as actors in one of the local troupes. For the first time that Te’oma could remember, she’d felt happy.
Then she’d gotten pregnant.
The night she told Mondaro, he sat there in shock, unable to digest the news. The next morning when she awoke, she could not find him. She would never see him again.
Te’oma considered getting rid of the baby. She knew of an apothecary that would sell her the potion to make that happen, but she couldn’t bring herself to visit his shop. She carried her little girl to term and cradled her in her arms.
Every time she looked at her daughter, though, she couldn’t help but think of the girl’s father. This drove her deeper and deeper into despair, and soon she couldn’t bear the sight of her child’s blank, cherubic face. She left her with those she thought could care for her, then she left Sharn far behind.
Te’oma had never regretted anything in her life more than that.
That is, until she agreed to find the bearer of the Mark of Death.
More than anything else, now, Te’oma needed to make up for what she’d done to Esprë. The fact that it would put a thumb in the Lich Queen’s empty eye socket only added to the changeling’s determination. She saw no other way to redeem herself—in the judgment of both herself and her daughter, whom she felt watching over her from beyond.