Kandler’s knees wobbled. Sallah put her arm around him, and he leaned on her a bit.
“Of course,” said Xalt. “You’ll be safe here.”
Monja stared up at the top of the tower. “Won’t the people who found Esprë before just find her here?”
Greffykor shook his head. “ My observatory is invisible to magical detection. As long as Esprë stays here with me, no one will be able to find her.”
“The dragon queen knew where we were because she followed us,” said Sallah.
Esprë craned her neck back and looked up at the silver dragon. “Is that an invitation?”
“I offered before to keep you here,” Greffykor said. “You may stay as long as you wish. My home will be your own.” Kandler grumbled. “How is this going to work? Where will she sleep? How are you going to feed her? What if other dragons come to visit?”
Esprë cut Kandler off with a hand laid across his lips. “Greffykor is a powerful sorcerer. He can care for me here.”
“Why?” Kandler said, eyeing the dragon. “Why would you do that for her?”
“It would give me a chance to study her dragonmark,” Greffykor said. “It is an unparalleled chance to research the effects of such a mark on the Prophecy. Perhaps I might even be able to determine if it is, in fact, the Mark of Death.”
“It’s not?” said Kandler. Hope warred with outrage in his head. “Then what’s all this been about? You can’t tell me we’ve gone through all this because of some sort of mystical case of mistaken identity.”
“The Voice of the Silver Flame herself sent me to Mardakine to find the Mark of Death,” said Sallah. “I do not believe that she would make such a mistake.”
“Did she say ‘the Mark of Death’?” Monja asked. “Those exact words?”
“I_”
“I remember Deothen saying you came looking for a ‘lost mark,’ ” said Burch.
“Only one mark has ever been lost,” Sallah said, struggling to keep her tone even.
“That you know of,” said Xalt.
Sallah opened her mouth to respond, but Greffykor cut her off. The dragon snorted puffs of icy air from his snout. “There are other dragonmarks beside the true marks. Sometimes these aberrations resemble the true marks. There is something unusual about the mark on this girl, but I am no expert on such matters. Whether or not it is the Mark of Death is not important. No one has seen that dragonmark for centuries, and most of those souls have long since passed on. While the memories of dragons are long, they are not always without fault. It may be impossible to tell for sure.”
“If it’s not the Mark of Death, then Esprë can come—” “If it is the Mark of Death, nothing changes, boss,” Burch said. “Even if it’s not, it’s still something everybody wants, and nothing changes again.”
Kandler closed his mouth. “Why do you always have to be right?” he asked.
“Force of habit.”
“I’ll be safe here,” Esprë said. “I can study sorcery under Greffykor. We can research my dragonmark together and learn how to harness every bit of its powers.”
“It may only be a century or two before we learn enough to set you free,” Greffykor said. “The time will pass swiftly.” “I’ll be lucky to live another forty years,” Kandler said softly.
The dragon stiffened then gave Kandler a woeful look. “I can barely imagine a life so short. Other than elves and dwarves, you people seemed doomed from your hatching.” “I’ll miss you,” Esprë said, reaching out and caressing her stepfather’s unshaven cheek.
Kandler refused to mourn losing the girl in front of her. “It’s all right, Esprë,” he said, his voice brimming with affection. “We both knew I’d end up leaving you sooner or later. I just always hoped for much, much later.”
He leaned down and kissed Esprë on the cheek then used his thumb to wipe away the single tear that rolled down her face. He smiled at her as his heart shattered inside him. “Your mother would be so proud of you,” he said.
62
As dawn rose over the Dragonreach, Kandler stood on the bridge of the Phoenix, staring toward the rising sun behind them as it chased the night away. The wind ruffled his hair and curled around him like an old friend that wanted to carry him away to show him all the new things it had discovered since he’d been gone.
Burch and Monja were sleeping in the hold. They’d been up for most of the night, letting the spent Kandler and the battered Sallah get some much-needed rest. Xalt had orchestrated the switch between shifts when he noticed Monja falling asleep on top of the wheel.
“You did the right thing,” Sallah said, curling an arm around him, keeping her other hand on the airship’s wheel.
With Esprë and Te’oma gone, only she and Monja were left as decent pilots. Kandler or Burch could handle the airship in a pinch, but they were rank amateurs when compared to the skill the two ladies showed with the Phoenix.
Xalt had no aptitude for flying the airship at all. The one time he tried, the craft bucked so hard that Monja had almost been sent flying off the ship to drown in the surf far below. The others never let him near the wheel again.
“I know,” Kandler said. “At least I think I do. Who can tell for sure?”
“Do you regret it already?”
“I regretted it the moment I agreed to it. I just didn’t see any other way.”
Sallah stared out at the fading stars toward which the airship ran. “Time will grant you the perspective you need.” “How do you know that?”
“I have my faith. It serves me well. You were not the only one to lose a loved one on this quest.”
“Was that what it was?” Kandler asked. “It seemed more like a chase to me.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“So am I. At least I know his troubles are over and that he has found rest in a better place.” She gave him a sidelong glance then pecked him on the lips. “Perhaps you could say the same of Esprë.”
Kandler nodded silently as he held the woman in his arms and tried to enjoy the moment. It would be at least two weeks before they would see the coast of Khorvaire. There was no need to bring up any burning issues now. It would be better to let them lie, to savor what he had right then instead.
He just couldn’t do it.
“She’s not quite as unreachable as your father, though,” he said, testing the waters.
“True enough,” Sallah said. “I don’t know how wise it would be for you to arrange a visit with her soon though. The less contact you have with her, the safer she’ll be.”
“Good point,” Kandler said. “That’s not exactly what I meant though.”
Sallah pursed her lips. “Speak plainly then. Please.”
Kandler took a step back from the knight. “I need to— What do you plan to tell your superiors back in Flamekeep?”
Sallah lowered her eyes. “I wondered when you might consider that question. Do you not trust me?”
Kandler searched for a hint of anger in her voice but found none. “I do. I would put my life in your hands, but this is Esprë’s life we re talking about, and keeping her location—or even the fact that she still lives—a secret means you would have to lie to your superiors in your order.”
Sallah grimaced. “Perhaps even to Jaela Daran herself.” “Can you bring yourself to do that?”
“Do you expect me to?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question stunned Kandler. “To keep Esprë alive. To save her from all the bastards out there who would like to use her for their own ends.”
“Do you think the Church of the Silver Flame is not to be trusted?”
Kandler groaned. “Do you really want to get into this with me?”