A Shade of Dragon 2(29)

Lethe turned, sliding one hand away from my arm and into my hair. His emotions must have been intense, for his breath came at me in little clouds of frost.

“I’m in love with you, Penelope. And you will be my queen.”





Theon





As Michelle and I descended into the bowels of the dungeon, my nostrils flinched at the odors which rose to greet us. Waste. Decay. And mingled amongst these came moans and howls of hunger, of pain, of pleading. “Jesus,” Michelle muttered. Even in her peasant ensemble, she looked too regal to be surrounded by such mess. “Remind me again why Nell is worth all this effort?”

I paused only long enough to glare over my shoulder, and then we continued along the path.

The winding stone stairwell dumped us out into the greater dungeon area, filled with cells which I had seldom seen used in my time at the castle. Now they were brimming with prisoners. There were so many prisoners in our dungeon now that I could not see every face, for the crowd teemed with faces, and so many were dirty and beleaguered… Even if you had known someone once, would they look the same now?

As we stepped onto the ground floor, a great cry rose up from the barred rooms. It was the prisoners. The fire dragon prisoners.

They recognized me, even in the peasant’s garb, and they called out for help. Cruddy hands stretched through the bars, and my heart ached, knowing it would be impossible to save more than one or two. In fact, my own escape was questionable. Most if not all of these people would need to be left behind for the sake of the mission.

I hardened my heart to their pleas…

“Prince Theon! Oh, Prince Theon, you’ve come to save us!”

… and I scanned solely for the faces of family, or Penelope, to extract from this pit.

My jaw clenched at the thought of the skeleton key refusing to work even here, in a dungeon full of innocent people. Surely—surely Pythia was not so biased toward the ice dragons.

“Son,” a voice called. It came not from the cells… but from the wall of manacles on my left. And I would know that voice anywhere.

It was the voice of my father. The rightful king of The Hearthlands. Erisard.

He was bound to the stone wall, but his legs had given out on him, and it appeared that his shoulders had both dislocated from the strain of his weight. He’d wasted away in his time here—three weeks, dear gods—and his body was papered in cuts and bruises, welts in various stages of healing. Some were vivid red from fresh marks.

“Father.” I touched his face and brought it up to the light. His eyes could barely open. He would be dead soon if I did not take him to the shelter now. He must have lost twenty pounds in his time here. “Don’t worry… don’t worry.” For the first time since she’d been snatched away by Lethe, Nell actually faded from my mind. “We’re going to get you out of here. I have”—I dug in my satchel for the key and extracted it in a near fever—“a key.”

As I inserted and turned the key, Father sought my eyes. “You must go. They’ll kill you, Theon.”

The damn tumblers would not fall! Pythia had been a complete fraud! This key—what had it ever unlocked? Nothing!

Around us, the torches blazed.

“Let me go,” Father pleaded.

I didn’t even hesitate. I couldn’t look at him. His words were ridiculous. They weren’t even worthy of consideration. He was mad with hunger, and thirst, and sleep deprivation and pain. I would die before I left this place without him.

“I’m no threat to them, Theon,” he told me. “I’m old… They just use me… for a laugh.” The fire in my body had reached a peak I could no longer mediate. “But you, you’re young—strong—you’re too real a threat—”

With a roar of frustration, I gripped the chains which held him and discharged a stream of orange fire, as thick as magma, onto them. They turned orange to match the flame and then melted away, over my hands and onto the floor. I stepped back and stared, dazed, at what I had done. I had never before, not in human form, caused such damage with my fire. I had never melted metal until it flowed like water. And my hands…

I held my hands to my face, checking the palms and the backs. They were unscarred. They had withstood what should have burned even a fire dragon.

My father slumped to the ground, both arms hanging at odd angles. He would have cried out in pain, I was sure, if pain really existed for him anymore. I feared he had entered the state of numbness shortly before death.

Tender but resolute, I scooped him into my arms and stood.

“Well, crap,” Michelle commented. “I guess we don’t have any more space on this one-man rescue wagon for Nell, do we?”