Gold Dragon Codex (17 page)

Camiel was quiet, measuring his son by some unknown ruler, his eyes taking in every brush of Sandon’s hair, the clothes he was wearing, even the way Sandon kept fidgeting in the second throne. Sandon didn’t know what to say or what his father wanted to talk to him about, so he stayed quiet. A hush fell over the throne room, broken by soft sounds of movement in the castle and the faint whispers of birdsong that echoed through the keep’s wide open doors a room away. Sandon kept his arms stiff at his side, glaring at his father. He had a thousand questions when he walked into the room, but now he only felt anger—anger and the first inklings of fear.

“There are many things I’ve kept from you, Son,” the baron said at last. “Many things I want to tell you, but haven’t been able to do so. I don’t even think I can tell you now, with the end of my life so close at hand. You’re a good boy, Sandon, and you’ve been a good son.
I think you’ll make a fine baron. But you’re still so young—too young, I think, for the responsibilities that are about to be laid at your feet. That’s why I’ve asked your uncle to help you.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you. It’s that I know how you would respond to some of the truths I’d like to tell. I can’t afford that reaction, Sandon, not now. Now, we have to be a family. We have to work together to save our barony from this threat. You know that I’m willing to give my life for Hartfall. I hope that if you were presented with the same option—with only one way to save the barony—you’d do nothing less.”

Sandon shifted on the throne, the scratchy feel of the cloak that covered the chair itching against his arms. “Yes, Father,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes anywhere but on Baron Camiel’s face. All he had to do was ask. Dad, did you do it? That’s all he had to say, and it would be out, and one way or the other, Sandon would have his answer. The boy gulped, feeling a lump rise in his scratchy throat. Why was it so hard?

“You’re going to have to be the one to lead this barony, Sandon. The people will trust Vilfrand, but they will believe in you. Never betray them. Never make them question their loyalty or their love for you.”

His preachy tone rankled Sandon’s nerves. Facing
his father at last, Sandon couldn’t help but snarl, “Like Mother questioned yours?”

The baron froze, shocked.

“Yes. I know all about it. I know how you had Vilfrand follow her, and I know that she was frightened of you. I know she didn’t trust you, Father, and so I’m asking: Why should I?” All the emotion that had been boiling up in Sandon overflowed, and he found himself shouting. “You lied to her, and you’re lying to me. I’ll never trust you!”

“Sandon!”

Clenching his fists, Sandon shoved off his mother’s throne, settling his feet solidly as he faced his father. He was tired of hiding it, tired of pretending ignorance. This might be the last time they talked. “I know what you’re doing. And I know what you’re asking me. I even know about the poison.”

All the blood drained out of Baron Camiel’s face in an instant. His hands tightened on the arms of his throne, and his body stiffened. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Fear was written all over him, from his rigid posture to the sweat beading at his temples. Whatever uncertainty Sandon felt about his father’s guilt was washed away.

“How … how did you find out about the poison?”

“You’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“Sandon … you weren’t supposed to find out. You shouldn’t know about the poison. Your mother’s death was traumatic enough without you needing to know the details about how it happened and exactly what killed her. .”

Sandon felt something inside his chest tighten, pushing him into his anger without regret or hesitation. The baron wasn’t his father anymore. He was nothing more than Sandon’s mother’s murderer. “Don’t blame Vilfrand. He’s been a very good pawn. He didn’t tell me anything. Mom did.”

The baron blanched, turning whiter still. “What do you mean?”

“No. I’m not telling you anything.” Sandon punched out his finger, pointing it in his father’s face. “You explain. Explain … the … poison.” With each word, he jabbed his finger like a sword.

“It was the only way to get the dragon.” Baron Camiel sank back in his chair, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were glassy and flat.

Get the dragon? So he knew and he was trying to get up to where the dragon construct was housed. Camiel knew about the construct, and he’d been trying to steal it from Sandon’s mother. Sandon was infuriated. “You
cruel, horrible man. Is that all you could think about? The dragon? Not anyone else in the kingdom? Not even me?”

“Sandon, please. I can’t discuss this with you.” The baron passed a hand in front of his eyes. “Not now.”

“Not now? Then when? After you’ve turned the valley and everyone in it over to Lazuli?”

“Vilfrand!” The baron rose to his feet, calling for his brother. The baron’s voice rang out, the timbre shaking with emotion. Camiel rose to his feet as the captain pushed the door to the throne room open with a hearty shove as he returned.

“Coward,” Sandon spat, snarling.

“Perhaps I am, Sandon.” Baron Camiel regarded his son soberly. “But I can die with that on my conscience so long as you are safe and alive.” He raised his voice and addressed Captain Vilfrand. “Remove Sandon from my presence. Take him to his room, and this time, lock the door. I don’t want him to be involved in the meeting tonight, so take pains to make sure he can’t get out.”

Vilfrand saluted nervously as he drew near. He turned away from the baron and gestured gently to the angry youth. “Sandon, come with me.”

Sandon stepped away from the thrones, kicking away the hem of the cloak that covered his mother’s chair. “Fine. I was done here anyway.”

He stomped across the room, past the bookshelves and wall hangings, turning his back on his father, the thrones, and the ancient horn that hung above them. Vilfrand was hard-pressed to keep up, trotting along at the boy’s heels as he’d been ordered. When Sandon reached the door, he spun on one heel and stared back at his father. The baron had sunk back into his throne, head in his hands, looking for all the world like a child too small for his high chair. For a moment, Sandon wanted to run back to him, take his father’s hand in his, and ask for forgiveness. He wanted to forget what he knew, ignore everything that the baron had confessed, and just go back to being father and son. His heart ached and tears welled up in his eyes, and without realizing it, Sandon took a half step back into the room.

“Sandon,” Vilfrand cautioned.

Steeling his heart, Sandon turned away again, pushing through the throne room’s doorway and marching toward his room.

ong after the key had turned in the lock, Sandon sat in the chair by the door, head bowed, thoughts exploding in his mind so fast that he couldn’t keep track of them. The one thing he couldn’t reconcile was his father’s tribute. Now that he knew Sandon was aware of his plan, would the baron still go through with this charade?

Was it a charade?

“Gah!” Sandon pounded his fist on the little reading table beside the chair. “Why do I keep going over this? It’s obvious that my father is guilty! He admitted it!” But for all of that, Sandon couldn’t keep his mind from reliving the last few hours again and again.

The sun was only an hour from the horizon, and time was running out. If Sandon was going to do anything, he’d better do it now. He stood up and reached for the sword belt that he’d left hanging from his bedpost
and buckled the weapon around his waist. This morning, he’d been stuck in his depression, unwilling to believe the worst, hiding from danger. If Vilfrand had locked the door then, on that Sandon, he might have been content to stay in his room and hope that his father, Kine, or some other hero would save them all.

Now he knew that if the barony was going to be saved, he’d have to be the one to do it.

The very thought lightened his heart. Sandon wondered if this was how his mother felt the first time she took flight in her wonderful golden contraption—light as a feather and strong, in charge of his own destiny.

Sandon rose and propped the back of the oak chair under the door handle, making sure it caught sturdily beneath the soft bronze of the knob. He climbed onto his bed, steadying himself against the bedpost. If I’m going to be killed by a big blue dragon, I’m going to live the last hours of my life feeling the same way my mother did when she flew that machine.

Free.

Sandon leaped and landed as hard as he could on the seat of the chair. There was a horrible wrenching sound and a ringing
crack
, followed by the doorknob hurtling up toward the ceiling and the chair crashing to all fours, dumping Sandon unceremoniously to the
ground. The lock shattered under the blow and fell out of the door. He grinned triumphantly as the door swung lightly open, the other half of the knob rolling in crazy circles on the hallway floor.

Clapping his hand over the hilt of his sword, Sandon burst out of the room and strode down the hallway, glaring left and right, daring anyone to stop him. Of course, there were no guards in the hallway to witness his ferocity—a pity—but even if there had been, he’d have stared them down. He was pretty sure of it. Everyone was downstairs or in the front courtyard, drilling and preparing for the blue dragon’s arrival. There would be no pulling of bell cords this time.

I’m the baron now. Regardless of the dragon and the tribute, the moment my father killed my mother, he gave up his right to the throne.

Sandon reached the door to the dungeon and threw it open, tromping down the stone stairs purposefully. He heard a guard at the bottom of the stairs rise and stepped toward the passageway. As Sandon walked into the small watch room, the boy smiled in relief. Two would have been a problem.

“Is there something I can do for you, Sandon?” Jonas stood at the bottom of the stairs, a half smile on his long face. He was wearing his chain mail shirt, but
his polearm was leaned against the wall behind the small card table. On the table was a small eating dagger, along with a bowl of snacks. Behind the table, Sandon could see Kine sitting in his cell. He looked half-asleep again, hands folded and feet kicked up against the bars, but the prisoner perked up when Sandon marched into the room.

“Let him out.” Sandon didn’t let his voice shake or show any sign of the nervousness he felt. “The prisoner. I want him released.” Jonas wasn’t that much older, having joined the guard only this year. Still, the young guard had the advantage of two inches of height and about twenty-five pounds of muscle. All Sandon had on his side was surprise and a really good bluff.

Jonas let out a whistling breath. “Your father—”

“I’m the baron now, Jonas. Do as I say.”

The guard hesitated, unconvinced. “Shouldn’t Vilfrand be here? I mean, wasn’t he going to be regent … until you’re eighteen?”

Sandon took a cue from his belligerent uncle and stepped right up to Jonas, shoving his nose in the young man’s face. He wasn’t as tall as the guard, but the movement was unexpected, and Jonas was taken off guard. “Are you disobeying a direct order from the baronial lineage?” Sandon kept his hands down, afraid that the
guard would see the sweat gathering on his palms. “I’m not asking you a favor. I’m giving you a command.”

Jonas fumbled backward, eyes widening. “I … I can’t! Not without Vilfrand’s order.”

“He outranks me?”

“Regent, sir! He was very explicit … you’re not to give orders, sir, unless he backs them. You’re to be respected, but we’re to check everything you do through him.” Jonas wavered, hand twisting on the key ring at his belt.

“What else did he tell you?”

“That you were to be kept locked in your room today. And … probably tomorrow too. Also, that … the prisoner …”—Jonas’s voice failed, and he cleared his throat nervously—“is to be executed tonight, after the baron is taken by the dragon. Killed without honor, sir, as painfully as possible—on the back grounds of the keep.”

“Swords afire! You will not!” Kine sprang forward, lunging through the bars. Jonas cried out in surprise and fell back against the cell’s bars. Kine managed to wedge his forearm through the bars and hooked it around Jonas’s neck until he was choking the guard in the crook of his elbow. “Sandon!” Kine gasped. “Get … key!”