The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) Read Free

older dragon’s eyes, and his hand trembled when he reached up to run it over his face.
“About five years ago, the first one, one of our youngest, went off to play—roamed the nine worlds. He was gone for a year, nothing unusual, but when he came back he was tired and stayed to himself. We left him alone, until we realized it was more than that. He had seemed normal at first, was able to shift, to fly, make fire, everything, but as time went on he grew weaker and weaker. He lost one ability after another until he was nothing but a shadow of himself. Our physicians could find nothing wrong with him, and we couldn’t tie what was happening to anything he’d encountered while gone. He’d been to all the worlds, been in fights, stolen treasure, done all the things the young do before settling down. We didn’t even know if it was connected to his travels. As he continued to fade, we tried all we could think of—potions, magic, even brought in witches—but in a few months, he was dead.”
“Was he poisoned?” Joarr asked.
Rike turned his head to look at him. “Does it matter? Does poison kill dragons?”
The answer was obvious. No, nothing killed dragons, nothing that fit this description.
Rike growled and turned back to the side. “Six months ago, another boy left and returned. Same story, same symptoms, same outcome.”
“He’s dead?” Joarr asked, his blood turning cold.
Rike nodded. There was tension in his neck and his jaw was tight. “He lasted a month. Again we tried everything. This time we sent scouts to all of the worlds, but it was like searching for a fleck of gold in a mountain of earth. He’d told us some of his travels before his illness became obvious, but after that…he got so weak…there was likely more he forgot than remembered.”
“Who was this dragon, Rike?” Joarr had to ask; the lieutenant’s emotion wasn’t normal—not for the Ormar.
Rike didn’t move, just kept staring at the dishes. “My son. My only son. And he wasn’t alone. His cousin was with him. Ari returned, but Brandt didn’t. Ari said they separated for a while, were supposed to join back up, but Brandt never showed. When Ari realized he was getting sick, he came home alone. I suspect whatever took Ari, took Brandt, too. He just never made it back to us.”
There was nothing for Joarr to say. He and Rike weren’t close, barely tolerated each other actually, and even if they were, dragons did not console one another in grief. Instead he did the kindest thing; he redirected the conversation. “And you think because of two mysterious deaths, and one disappearance, I’ve lost the chalice?”
The dragons believed the chalice kept them safe, that the chalice was what made and kept them the most undefeatable beings in the nine worlds. Joarr thought the idea ludicrous. Even more ludicrous in his mind was that he was stuck with the job of guarding it by lineage. Tradition said only the Keeper and his heirs could control its magic, could even handle the damn thing.
“Yesterday, I got this.” Rike stood and pulled an envelope from his back pocket. There was nothing ominous about the item, just a plain white envelope that could be found at any office-supply store in the human world.
Rike pulled a letter from the envelope and dropped it onto the table in front of him.
Again nothing special—white paper, black ink, printed by some type of computer printer.
I know where the chalice is. If you want it back, send one dragon to the portal. He will get more directions there.
Joarr’s lips twisted to the side. It smelled like a trap. “You believe this?” he asked.
Rike cocked a brow. “Tell me I shouldn’t. Tell me you have the chalice.”
When Joarr didn’t reply, the lieutenant shook his head. “We should have realized before. We’ve never been weak like this, been preyed on. No one has that ability. How could they? Not with the power of the chalice protecting us. We should have realized when the first dragon came back