Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [76]
“What do you know about that?”
Drego met her gaze, and his eyes gleamed like silver. “It’s not about me. It’s about what you know. But you don’t want to face it. You’re afraid that you have an aberrant dragonmark. That you belong with Daine. And maybe you do, mark or no.”
Thorn could feel her anger growing within her. The fire was burning in her blood, the heat she felt when the strength surged through her. But this wasn’t a swift burst. It was slowly building, threatening to burst through her skin. The air grew even colder. Or did it just feel that way because of her feverish heat?
“What do you know?” she asked.
Drego raised his palms. “I’m not your enemy. I can tell you this: you have no dragonmark, but you have been marked. Look around you. Tell me what you see.”
“A lot of skulls, and a Thrane asking for a bloody nose.”
“Not simply skulls,” Drego said. “Remains of the fallen. You remember Drulkalatar, don’t you?”
He ran his fingers along the enormous tiger’s skull, and now Thorn realized what the strange proportions reminded her of. The demon. Drulkalatar Atesh, the tiger-headed fiend she’d fought in Droaam.
“But he was … swallowed,” Thorn said. By a dragon.
“I imagine so,” Drego replied. “But look beyond the trappings and to the room itself. Where are we?”
A cave. She looked around, searching for anything unusual. The chamber was quite large, but now Thorn realized that there were no exits. They were sealed inside. Within walls of purple crystal. A giant—
“Khyber shard,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Drego said.
He reached back to scratch his neck, and that’s when Thorn realized that the pain was gone. The shard in the back of her neck was missing. The Khyber shard in the back of her neck.
“Yes,” Drego said, even though she hadn’t spoken. “Why do you think it hurts?”
Earlier, Thorn had thought that the skulls were glaring at her. Now she realized that they were. Every skull had shifted in its alcove, so the sockets were facing her. Drulkalatar’s eyes glowed with emerald flames, and she could feel his malevolent thoughts pressing against her mind. Now there were whispers, faint voices speaking just beyond the range of hearing.
“Prisoners yearning to be free,” Drego told her. “And quite a collection it is.”
The whispers were growing louder. She could hear pleas and promises, tormented cries and vows of vengeance. “But I didn’t kill all these people,” she said. “The shard was an accident.”
“Was it?” Drego said. And now his voice changed, becoming an echo of her own. “Come now, Thorn. What do you really know about what happened that night?”
“Who are you?” Thorn asked. The skulls were howling now, the chattering chorus hammering against her thoughts and threatening to drown out her words. “Who are you?”
“The answer lies below,” Drego said in Thorn’s voice. When he spoke again, it was with his words. “Are you hurt? Nyrielle?”
The words mingled with the cacophony around her, and the noise pulled at her, tugging her down. Dizzy and disoriented, she dropped to her knees. She couldn’t see Drego anymore, but his voice still sounded in her head.
“Thorn?”
She collapsed to the ground, giving in to the frenzy around her. As the darkness overtook her, Drego spoke a third name.
But the word was lost in the madness, and the world faded to black.
“Nyrielle? Are you hurt?”
Thorn was lying on the hard ground. She winced as consciousness returned. Her left arm was bruised but unbroken. It was the shard in her neck that caused her to gasp. It felt as if the shard were a burning dagger pressing into her spine. The words of the dream came back to her, and the memory of the screaming skulls. Prisoners yearning to be free.
“Thorn?” It was Drego, running a hand along her face. “Can you hear me?”
Thorn opened her eyes. The smell of burned flesh and hair were enough to tell her that she was back in Fallen. She was fully dressed, and she