Heath was aware of muttering servants on every side as he was dragged through the castle, and by the time his arms were tied to the post, a sizable crowd had gathered. A herald stepped forward immediately, reading the charge. Clearly King Matlock didn’t intend to give anyone time to intervene.
“Lord Heath, as a member of the power-wielding line approaching his twenty-first birthday, has refused to pledge his loyalty to king and country as the law requires. His disloyalty incurs his king’s deepest sanction. He will receive five lashes.”
“Heath.”
Heath had been watching the crowd in a daze, but the frantic voice brought his attention around. Lachlan stood as close as the guards would allow, his face twisted in distress.
“Heath, I’m so sorry.”
“Your father will be angry if you’re seen to be supporting me,” Heath told him.
“I don’t care about that,” Lachlan said, more upset than Heath had ever seen him. “I tried to convince him this is madness, but he won’t listen.”
Heath met his cousin’s eyes unflinchingly. “I will tell the truth about why I’m here,” he warned him. “I won’t make a secret of why I refused the pledge. If this saves Jacqueline and Germain from being treated like criminals from birth, it will be worth it.”
Whatever Lachlan might have responded, Heath would never know. The whip came down against his back at that moment, and his world exploded in pain. He’d thought he was braced for it, but it was so much more agonizing than he’d expected.
A second time it came down, and his vision darkened, fire exploding behind his eyes. He was back nearly two years ago, on a rain-drenched beach, watching his lifeblood drain from him as agony erupted in his side and his leg.
A third time he felt the lash, and this time he couldn’t stop himself from crying out. His clothing was ripped now, his bleeding back exposed to the cold air. He was too caught up in the pain to even know if the crowd was jeering at him. His magic flailed, out of his control, and he saw a sudden image of Merletta swimming. Was she underwater right now? He struggled to hold on to his surroundings, but his magic continued to roil.
A fourth lash. Again he cried out. Reka flashed before his sight, flame spurting from the dragon’s mouth. Strange, Heath thought, in a detached way. That was a rare sight from Reka. As pain lanced through him, Heath acknowledged to himself that he was partly to blame for all of this. He had allowed himself to discard his responsibilities like a used garment, to pretend none of it was his problem. He’d gotten so caught up in Merletta’s presence, he’d missed any chance to use his position to influence a decision which would be devastating for Laura and her family.
The fifth and final lash slashed across Heath’s already burning back. This time he made no sound, his back arching in before he let himself collapse. It was over. Pain still radiated across every part of his consciousness, but his defiance was undimmed. There was a time for diplomacy. But there was also a time to take a stand—Merletta knew that. How many times had he tried to rein in her quest for justice, out of fear for her safety? And she’d never allowed his caution to dissuade her from doing what was right. He would be ashamed to do less in the face of such obvious injustice.
Heath remained slumped on his knees for only a moment, before gentle hands helped him to his feet.
“Call the physician to the Duke of Bexley’s residence.” The familiar voice was sharp and furious.
“Great-Aunt Jocelyn.” Lachlan’s voice had a quaver that Heath had never heard there before. “I couldn’t talk him out of it…I didn’t know how to—”
“We can discuss all that later.” Heath’s grandmother’s voice was still as hard as steel. “Help me support him. He might do himself an injury if he tries to walk unaided.”
“I’m all right,” Heath mumbled, as he felt Lachlan grip his other arm.
“You’re not,” said his grandmother. “You’re a mess. This whole situation is a mess. How Matlock could possibly think that—”
Her words were cut off by a roar of pure fury. Heath’s vision had been blurry since the flogging, but he forced his eyes properly open in time to see a familiar yellow shape descending into the middle of the scattering, screaming crowd.
Reka took one look at Heath’s bleeding, sagging form, and let out another roar.
“Who did this?”
“Reka, it’s all right!” Heath shouted.
His mind sharpened, the pain momentarily forgotten in genuine fear. He’d never seen Reka riled up like this before. And while he might be done trying to prevent conflict between the crown and the power-wielders, he retained enough sense to know that war with the dragons was to be avoided at all costs.
“It is not all right!” Reka roared. “I saw your punishment, and I came at once to hold the perpetrator responsible. You are the best of these sniveling worms, and they think they can—”
The rest of the dragon’s outrage was lost to Heath. As magic surged out from the beast, Heath’s own magic responded. His awareness of Merletta, always present in his mind, burst suddenly into full image. She was swimming hard, not out toward open water, and not along the familiar shoreline near Heath’s home. He zoomed out with his farsight, and gasped in horror at the rocky islands emerging from the water up ahead of the mermaid. Surely it could only be one place. But why in dragon’s flame would she go there?
“Reka!” he cried, panic forcing every other consideration from his mind.
“I will not be silenced!” the dragon fumed. “You will not convince me this is a small matter of—”
“No, Reka, it’s Merletta!” Heath shouted over the top of him. “I have no idea why, but she’s going to Wyvern Islands! She’s almost there!”
He heard his grandmother gasp in horror beside him, and saw his own terror reflected in Reka’s eyes. At least the dragon had stopped roaring.