The Betrayed Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 2) by Dan Michaelson (list of e readers .TXT) 📗

felt them, so I knew that there was a danger to them—to what they might be able to do. They certainly had power, though I didn't know what it was or what it meant. And then there was what Joran and his father had believed about them.

"If you see something, let me know," Manuel said.

"Are you going to be staying in the city?"

"Possibly," he said. "I don't know what else the king might ask of me, though if he fears the dragons have been missing, then he might ask other Hunters to continue their search."

"How many other Hunters are there?"

Manuel smiled. "Sometimes I forget just how little you know." It wasn't the first time I had heard that in the last few weeks. "Don't take that as a slight," he said.

It reminded me of what Thomas had said. "I'm having a hard time not taking comments like that as an insult.”

"Is it because you don't like being the oldest?"

"I didn't think I would," I said. "But lately . . ."

"You’re finding it more difficult?"

"I am."

"Do you think the . . .”—I almost said Vard, but didn’t think that was what had attacked before—“the kingdom will be attacked again?"

"Like Elaine?” He shook his head. “I doubt the Vard risks the city. They have made their attempt already, and it is unlikely that they will think to make another."

If it had been the Vard, they’d proven they could infiltrate the kingdom.

If it were something else . . .

Then we still didn’t know who or what it was.

Only that we might still be in danger.

Elaine might be dead—impaled by the dragon—but Barton had escaped.

I wondered if I would be asked to try to help. I had helped once before. Maybe Manuel would request me to help again.

Or maybe not.

I was only a student, after all, and one who struggled with having any connection to the dragons—at least, any meaningful connection. Maybe I had a connection, but so far, it had not proven to be the most effective for doing anything.

Manuel nodded to me. "Keep working," he said.

“Did you deliver the letter to me?”

Manuel frowned. “Letter?”

“From my friend Joran. He and his father are coming to visit. I thought . . .”

Maybe it hadn’t been Manuel.

There were other caravans that came from Berestal. I don’t know why I would’ve expected it to have been Manuel.

“You keep working. I need to get back to my search. Keep your eyes open.” He glanced over to the Academy. “You know better than most the dangers of the Vard.”

I wanted to say something to him about how I wasn’t convinced the Vard had attacked, but decided against it. Instead, I nodded. Manuel glanced to the sky, as if searching for the missing dragons, before whistling and jogging toward the trees, the mesahn loping after him.

I couldn’t help feeling as if something were taking place that I needed to know more about, but I knew that there wasn’t anything I could do. It was better that I focus on my studies and see if I could master some measure of control over the dragons—if I ever could.

9

I fingered the letter that my sister had sent and skimmed through it, working through the timing. I had no idea when Joran would arrive, but considering how long it would’ve taken Alison to have gotten word to me, I suspected that it would still be another week, maybe more.

I found myself wandering in the early morning. I was supposed to have met Thomas again, but he wasn’t there. Maybe I was early. I had been eager to meet up with him to learn more about how to control the power, which he had been trying to demonstrate, but it was more than just eagerness—it was a need.

I walked along the edge of the forest, looking back at the city. It looked like a massive clearing in the forest, as if the trees had granted permission to the city to grow within it. It left the impression that the forest tried to press inward, like it wanted to reclaim its space, but was blocked because of the city and its inhabitants.

Perhaps it was more about the dragons here and the power they possessed.

I reached a narrow road.

This was where I had come to the city in the first place. In the distance, I saw figures moving along the road. They were pushing a wagon out of the forest.

There weren’t many people who came out of the forest. Could it be the Djarn? They had been moving. I’d seen it. What I didn’t know was why.

They wouldn’t have a wagon—and they wouldn’t have revealed themselves coming out of the forest.

Which meant that it was somebody else. I doubted it was one of the Hunters. They traveled with the mesahn, and not with wagons like this.

Maybe it was Joran and his father. His father knew the Djarn, and might have been permitted to travel along the Djarn path. It would be strange to encounter them like this, but I remained hopeful.

I headed into the trees, ducking off to the side of the road, and watched. Waiting. It took a while, but the travelers made their way toward me, and as they did, my hope faded.

It wasn’t Joran or his father.

It was a couple, both of them a little older, the woman with some gray streaks in her brown hair and the man with close-cropped silver hair. Both of them had deep brown eyes, and I regarded them for a long moment, trying to decide if they looked like the Djarn, or if they were just people of the kingdom.

I backed into the trees, hiding near one of the trunks, and waited.

They moved past me, pushing the wagon as I stared at it. It was a simple wooden wagon, large enough to carry goods, but not much more than that, though I suspected they had been trading with the Djarn.

Interesting.

Out on the plains, only Joran’s father traded with the Djarn, though that was mostly because