An image of Reka flashed before Heath’s eyes, and he stilled. It had been weeks since he’d seen that vast reptilian face, bearded temples, yellow scales tinged with purple, penetrating, orb-like eyes. Reka’s head was cocked to one side, as though he was listening intently. In light of his grandmother’s speculation about his visions of Merletta, Heath didn’t immediately dismiss the picture as his imagination. Now he thought about it, it wasn’t even the first time he’d seen Reka’s face in his mind’s eye, when engaging in a one-sided conversation across a distance like this. It hadn’t occurred to him last time that it might be actual sight rather than just his fancy. He leaned forward in the saddle, trying to focus his mind on Reka’s face. The image sharpened, and Heath got a sense of Rekavidur’s surroundings. The dragon was perched on a rocky crag, gazing out to sea. Was Heath getting a glimpse of Wyvern Islands?
“Reka,” Heath said again. “We need to talk. I miss you.” He could see the lines of Reka’s face shift slightly. It probably wouldn’t be notable to the average human, but Heath knew Reka well, and he recognized the softening about the dragon’s eyes. Reka missed him, too, and the thought sent a pang through Heath’s heart. His grandmother was right. He’d been too harsh in his treatment of Reka, not even trying to understand the dragon’s actions, seeking blindly for someone to blame.
“I don’t like being estranged from you,” Heath went on. Honesty compelled him to add, “And I need to get back to Vazula, Reka. I need to know for certain whether she’s dead.”
At mention of Merletta, the dragon’s lids lowered so his eyes were half closed, and Heath’s heart sank. Rekavidur was retreating into the cryptic inaccessibility favored by most dragons. What was it about Merletta that made Reka so intractable? He hadn’t been like that when they’d first met the mermaid.
“I’ll never have peace otherwise,” Heath said pleadingly. “Can you understand that?”
In his mind’s eye, he saw Reka let out a long breath, the tiniest wisp of smoke curling from his mouth. The dragon didn’t speak aloud—he couldn’t know that Heath was actually seeing him. But there was sadness in his eyes, and sympathy. Whatever his behavior suggested, his heart wasn’t actually hard toward his human friend. Heath just had to figure out how to get Reka to confide in him. Surely they could then find a way to overcome whatever obstacle had arisen.
“If we just check, Reka,” he pressed, “then at least we’ll know for sure. I’m not asking you to go every week like before. Just to take me one more time.”
Reka shook his head sharply, as if flicking off a fly. Then he dove abruptly from the rocks where he was perched, his wings snapping out as he fell, and catching the wind. For a hopeful moment Heath thought the dragon was on his way. But Reka’s flight didn’t accelerate into the impossibly swift flight of a dragon seeking to cover a substantial distance. He wheeled slowly—sadly, Heath thought—back up and over the top of the rocks, heading further into Wyvern Islands.
The image suddenly cut off, and Heath let out a long, slow breath. Rekavidur wasn’t going to come, and he wasn’t going to take Heath to Vazula. That much was clear.
With no reason to remain on the hilltop, Heath urged his mount gently down the slope, back toward Bryford. He was frustrated with his friend, but he found that his anger was much less potent than before. It had only needed Heath to stop being so self-absorbed for one conversation for him to see clearly that Reka was carrying a heavy burden of his own. What it was, Heath didn’t know, but that it had something to do with Merletta seemed certain.
Still, no amount of sympathy for the dragon changed Heath’s predicament. He was so caught up in trying to figure out his next move, that he had almost reached Bryford before the full import of the interaction hit him. He definitely hadn’t been imagining Reka’s reaction to his call. He’d witnessed it from afar, in something astonishingly similar to Reka’s own farsight. Such a thing seemed impossible, but he didn’t know how else to explain what he’d seen.
The question of how to convince Reka to take him to Vazula was still occupying his mind when he met with Prince Lachlan the following day. It was with difficulty that he pulled his thoughts to the question of the loyalty ceremony. Prince Lachlan spent the first half hour of their conversation talking about practical details, and Heath struggled to restrain his impatience. He knew why he was really there, and he wished the prince would come to the point.
“Of course,” Prince Lachlan said at last, and something in the tone of his voice alerted Heath to a change in topic, “the ceremony will be most effective if the subject fully comprehends the significance of the gesture.”
“True,” Heath agreed dryly. “In fact, I would think the ceremony could do more harm than good if the subject doesn’t enter into the spirit of it.”
Prince Lachlan looked relieved that Heath had not only grasped his true meaning, but articulated what it would be awkward for him to say.
“I have had my concerns,” the prince admitted. “And I want to see this ceremony succeed.” He held Heath’s gaze. “I want to see this whole endeavor succeed. Integrating power-wielders into our society is essential to Valoria’s future.”
“I agree,” Heath said seriously.
Prince Lachlan was silent for a moment. “My father is the king, Lord Heath. And as such he deserves—and has—my absolute loyalty.” He drew a breath. “But it’s more than that. He’s a good man. And he’s trying to do what’s best for our kingdom, and our people. No one has navigated this particular challenge before.” He met Heath’s eye. “Not even the Kyonans. Their situation is quite different, you know.”
Heath took a moment to respond, feeling a little stunned by this speech. He’d never heard Prince Lachlan speak so plainly before, and he recognized the sign of trust.
“It is different,” he agreed at last. “King Eamon doesn’t have nearly as complex a situation on his hands. And I have no hesitation in believing that King Matlock wants what’s best for us all.” He regarded Prince Lachlan seriously. “I believe that you and I want the same thing, Your Highness.”
“So do I,” said Prince Lachlan, sounding gratified. “Which is why I’ve specifically requested Father to assign me to work with you, not just on this ceremony, but in general. I hope we can make real progress.” To Heath’s amazement, he gave a smile that was almost self-conscious. “I may not have magic in my blood, but after all, I’m as much your second cousin as King Eamon’s descendants.”
“If not more,” Heath said staunchly. “There’s more to family than just blood, isn’t there? And while I may have Kyonan heritage, I’m Valorian, you know.”
Prince Lachlan smiled with real warmth. The relaxed gesture made him look his real age for once, which was the same as Heath’s.
“And I realize that as the crown’s liaison to the power-wielders, it’s my role to be aware of any looming disasters,” Heath went on. “If I think the ceremony will be just such a disaster, you’ll know it before the information is too late to be of any use.”
“Thank you,” said Prince Lachlan, gathering up the papers he’d spread on the table before him. “That sets my mind at ease, I admit.” He gave Heath a straight look. “Please don’t be offended by my plain speaking. But I hope you realize what an asset your unusual situation is. As part of the power-wielding line, you have a natural understanding of their perspective. But as someone without, uh, an extravagant type of magic, you are also in a position to understand the emotions of those surrounded by people who have a power they cannot match.”
Aloud, Heath said everything that was proper. But on the inside, his heart was sinking. He was flattered by Prince Lachlan’s faith in him, and he’d just been celebrating the most open communication he’d ever had with a member of the royal family. Now he felt guilty, as though he was harboring a secret. A few short months ago, Heath had been unsure whether he had magic of any kind. And as little as he’d wanted the job, he’d agreed with Prince Lachlan, that his lack of power had made him the perfect candidate for the role King Matlock had given him.
But now, as soon as that view was actually expressed openly, he was just beginning to discover a power that was not only strong, but totally unique, as far as he knew. And one that seemed to have multiple aspects, each with potentially enormous ramifications. His superior physical eyesight might prove to be the very least of his abilities. The situation was becoming painfully complex.
“I know you wanted to return to your home,” Prince Lachlan was continuing. “But I hope you won’t mind delaying. You’ve been away some time in Kyona, and I know Father is eager to receive your report on your time there.”
“Of course,” said Heath.
“And I would also appreciate further assistance from you,” the prince continued. “Some of the members of Father’s court have matters they’d like to discuss with you. Then there’s the ceremony itself. We need to make some decisions soon regarding who to invite. If, for example, anyone is to attend from Kyona, they will need plenty of notice.” He hesitated. “There’s also been some discussion regarding whether a representative from the dragons should be invited. Some feel that to omit them would be offensive, while others feel that to invite them would be offensive.” He gave Heath a rueful look. “You can see why the matter needs some attention.”