The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [105]
They reached the strange pool of darkness, and she stepped into it. It was as she’d remembered—a massive patch of gloom that defied the light of the moons above. Looking at it with Harryn’s tale in mind, she could see it for what it was—the shadow of a vast, strange building, a structure that could not be seen. She studied it more closely, tracing the walls down to where its foundation should be. But there was a large plot of open ground, dark and wet, a patch of mire in the midst of the city—poor ground to build on, certainly. Ironweed and chunks of sharp stone rose up from the muddy surface. The swampy soil was reason enough for it to be left barren, but Thorn guessed there was another reason.
She made her way to Sheshka and Stormblade. The two had paused near a crumbling wall covered in goblin graffiti—scrawled words that might have been written in dried blood.
“I’ve found our shadow,” she said.
Neither of them responded. They were breathing, but aside from that, neither one had moved since she returned. Even Sheshka’s snakes were frozen in place. As this registered in her mind, Thorn caught a familiar scent in the air. She turned, placing her back against the ancient wall.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I think your answer to that question must be more interesting than mine, Lady Tam. I’m pursuing the interests of my people. You appear to be working with a medusa warlord. And a changeling with a disturbing fixation on Harryn Stormblade.”
The voice was as familiar as the scent—Drego Sarhain.
“You don’t know what’s going on here, Drego.” “So tell me. You know how much I enjoy our moonlit talks.”
“They’re not nearly as pleasant when I’m talking to the air.”
“True,” he said, and then he was beside her.
If he’d truly been there all along, his skills with concealment had improved considerably. Scent and sound told Thorn he was nearby, but she hadn’t been able to pinpoint his location. Yet everything else about him seemed the same. He was dressed in black and silver, his hair shone in the moonlight, and there was laughter in his eyes. But something about him was different. Like his scent, it had always been there, but she hadn’t been aware of it until then.
Familiarity.
It was something in his eyes, the way he spoke, his laughter … she’d seen him before Droaam. Spoken with him. But she couldn’t remember where; the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a dream. But she felt as if she knew him … and he seemed to feel the same way about her.
He smiled at her. “So what is this, Nyrielle?”
“The warlord Zaeurl is about to unleash chaos on the Five Nations. Zaeurl was the traitor all along.”
Drego laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know it seems that way, but it’s the truth. She’s a werewolf, Drego—”
He placed his hand over hers, gently brushing his fingers across her skin. “I know.”
Then she saw it all. Toli. The Aundairian. Steel flashed into her hand, and she let the point dig in just below his chin. “You’re one of them.”
He smiled and slowly raised his chin, just enough so he could open his mouth. “You’re wrong. And you should know.”
“And how’s that?”
“You have a stone at the base of your spine, a crystal shard.”
Thorn let the dagger touch his throat again. “How do you know that?”
He ignored the threat and the question. “When we were in the woods that night and the wolves approached—did you feel something in the stone? A chill, perhaps?”
She said nothing.
“And when you saw Zaeurl at the Great Crag?”
“I felt that same chill all day yesterday,” she said.
“Yes … when you were with your comrade Toli, I suspect. But do you feel it now?”
He was right. Thinking about it, she’d only felt that chill in the presence of Toli, and later at the Ossuary. Now, the stone was calm. “If the pain means something