The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [62]
“Enough!” she cried.
None of them listened. “We have suffered enough indignities at your hands!” Syraen roared at Tira. “If you think I will allow one more—”
She drew Steel. “You want to explain this?” she muttered.
It’s always possible they’ve all gone mad, he said.
“That was my conclusion,” she murmured.
But from what I’m gathering, they consider the kiss to be an act of grave risk and that they would somehow be indebted to you for taking this risk.
Thorn shook her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought about the sensations that flowed through her when the surge of unnatural strength imbued her muscles. She drew on that again, only it wasn’t strength she sought. She imagined the voice of a dragon, echoing across the plains.
“Enough!” Thorn roared.
For all that she’d known what she was trying to do, she hadn’t truly expected it to work. Her voice was a thunderbolt, reverberating through the room; even the proud fey clutched their heads. All eyes turned back to her.
Thorn strode over to Cadrel, still trapped in his frigid prison. Even his empty eyes were wide.
“You want a kiss,” Thorn said. She glanced at the others. “You don’t want me to do it. So it seems this discussion is all about me. You.” She looked at Cadrel. “What exactly are you offering?”
“Three questions I will give you, and the answers told truthfully.” Eyebrows raised innocently over hollow sockets. “All for a single kiss, one memory for an old man to take with him to his grave.”
The Lord of Emerald Lights began to speak again, and Thorn silenced him with a piercing glare. “Now,” she said, looking at Tira. “Setting aside the fact that this little tragedy isn’t my problem. Why are you so concerned about me giving my old friend here a last kiss before Lord Syraen freezes his toes off?”
“Because this tragedy isn’t your problem,” Syraen hissed.
“He’s told you what is in his heart, nonetheless,” Tira said. “And what we all fear. You are not sworn to us. You cannot take such a risk with no gain.”
“Such a risk?” Thorn said. “It’s not my first kiss.”
“Fool of a girl,” Tira hissed. Her voice was filled with exhaustion. “Have you learned nothing? Have you never heard the tale of the princess sent to slumber for a thousand years, of the maiden turned to glass by my father’s touch? You walk in the world of stories now. This one harvests nightmares. There’s no knowing what he truly has in store for you.”
Thorn glanced at the imprisoned spy. “Is that it, Cadrel? Are you a lady-killer?”
His shoulders were bound in ice, but he managed a convincing shrug with his eyebrows. “I cannot promise your safety, my dear. That’s what gives spice to the story, isn’t it? I will hold to my promise: one kiss before you or I leave this room, and you will have three answers. As to whether you will survive the experience … there’s only one way for either of us to find out.”
He craned his neck forward, pursing his lips. An instant later, the ice was all around him, his head completely encased in the frigid prison.
“I have lost enough today,” Syraen said. “No more.”
Thorn turned to face him. “You’re afraid, is that it?”
The eladrin rose to his full height, glaring down at her. “Beware, woman. In this moment I owe you nothing.”
It’s the stories, Steel whispered. But Thorn understood.
“That’s right. You owe me nothing. And you’re terrified that I’ll do you a favor.”
“You’re learning.” It was the gnome who sat across the way. “This is our world and our way. Weakened as we are, we cannot shoulder an unknown debt.”
“Fine,” Thorn said, thoughts racing. A part of her wanted to walk away. Her task had been to escort Drix to the Tree, and she’d done that. Stories of the Mourning, the theft of the stone—none of that affected Breland.
Still, there was the mystery of it. Cadrel had been advising Oargev for years, and yet Cadrel’s deception had been designed to make the fey blame Cyre for the assault. Cadrel