The Lost Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 3), Dan Michaelson [books to read now TXT] 📗

“I don’t want anyone harmed,” I said.

“We won’t be.”

“I’m not worried about the Vard,” I said.

“We aren’t going to harm any of the citizens of Berestal.”

“Can you speak on behalf of the Vard? Are you so well connected that you know?” She didn’t answer, and I shook my head again. “I’ve seen how willing they are to harm, and I’ve seen the dangers of Vard-controlled lands.”

“You said that before, but what do you really know, Ashan?”

“I know about Affellah,” I said.

I watched her, gauging her response. There was hardly any.

Which meant that she didn’t know about Affellah.

I grunted. “As I figured.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Before you support a movement, you should understand it. Know what you have supported. I can tell you that if you don’t know anything about Affellah, then you know nothing about Vard.”

“What is Affellah?”

“Ask your Vard leaders,” I said.

The door to the kitchen opened, and their mother stepped out. She had bright red hair and a pale complexion, her skin heavily pigmented by freckles all along her face and open arms. She frowned at me.

Tara looked back at her mother. “What is Affellah?”

Her mother’s eyes widened, and she dropped the tray she was holding.

“Mother?”

“Where did you hear that?”

Tara nodded to me. “From Ashan.”

She looked over to me. “How do you know of that?”

“Because I’ve seen it.”

She knew about Affellah, which meant she knew about the dangers it would pose.

How much more did she know about the Vard? If she knew about Affellah, then I suspected she knew about the Servants—which might mean that I had been wrong all along about their connection to the Vard, about how well connected they were.

So many things I thought I knew about my friend and his family started to make me doubt what I knew of their family.

I wanted nothing more than to keep them safe. They were friends, practically family.

But it was more challenging than that. I didn’t fully know. There was a Vard presence in Berestal that made things difficult. If the king decided to attack . . .

I knew what would happen.

Worse, having seen the Servant, I understood that the king might have to attack. How could he not when they were so dangerous?

“I think it’s time for you to go, Ashan,” Tara’s mother said.

I frowned for a moment, looking over to Tara, but then realized she was watching her mother with the same curiosity in her eyes.

I got to my feet. “Make sure you know what you’re serving,” I said to Tara. “I can assure you it’s not what you think.”

“It’s time for you to go,” she said again.

I shook my head. “Is Bernt a part of this, as well?” I asked, standing and facing her.

“Ashan?” Joran asked, standing in the doorway behind his mother.

I didn’t think Joran was a part of it. If he were, then it meant he had deceived me even more than I realized. I didn’t want him to have been a part of it. Maybe that was what it was, not so much that he wasn’t.

I watched his mother, studying her. I couldn’t tell from the way she watched me whether or not Bernt was a part of their service of the Vard, but I could tell she was far more tightly bound to them than I had believed at first.

“Is he?” I asked again.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then shook her head.

“If you’re going to bring your children into it, they should know what they are serving.”

“It’s time for you to go.”

“Don’t draw them here,” I said. “Berestal does not need to suffer the same fate as Elarth and Yilin.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she knew.

I tipped my head to Joran. “It seems as if I need to be going.”

I turned toward the door and stepped outside, feeling the cool morning air around me. The sun shone down, bright and with increasing warmth. Humidity had already dampened the air, and storm clouds in the distance promised rain. This would be the wet season. I took the hard-packed path away from their home, and when I had traveled about a hundred paces or so, I heard Joran calling out after me.

I paused, looking back at him.

He jogged up to me. “What was that about? What did you say to my mother?”

“It has to do with the Vard,” I said. “And how well connected she is.”

“I don’t think my mother is all that well connected. My sister is trying to be more connected, but even with that . . .” He shrugged, shaking his head. “Like I said, I don’t think either of them are all that bound to the Vard. Besides, didn’t you say the attacks weren’t from the Vard?”

I glanced back at the house, and I could see his mother standing in the window, watching. “They weren’t. At least, I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what the king believes—and he thinks it was the Vard. Given what I know of the Vard in Berestal, I’m worried. If the king decides to attack . . .” I couldn’t finish that line of thought. “Joran, regardless of what you believe, your mother is far better connected to the Vard than you know.”

“I don’t think they could be,” he said.

I forced a smile at him, clasping his shoulder. “Keep an eye on my sister and my mother for me, would you?”

“Of course. I told you I would.”

“And talk to your sister. Your mother is too far involved to be persuaded otherwise, I suspect.” If she was that bound up with the Vard, and knew about Affellah, then it was possible—and probable—that she was beyond redemption when it came to the Vard. Which made me even more concerned that they would attempt to draw the Vard into Berestal. If there was a camp in the Southern Reach . . . I needed to get to Thomas. I needed to return to the capital, regardless of the time of