The Lost Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 3) by Dan Michaelson (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📕

“Should we have them go back to the dragon pens?” I asked.

“Possibly,” she said. “But we might need them still.”

I took a deep breath, focusing on the power within me, and I let it out slowly, connecting to the dragons, the cycle still flowing within me. At least I no longer felt the same attempt at a connection from the Vard that I had earlier. There was a bit of their energy still flowing from the dragons, though not nearly as much as before. It was there, faint and faded, enough that I was aware that the Vard were out there, but not so much that I feared they might come toward us. And it wasn’t so much that I feared they might latch on to my connection to the dragons. That, more than anything else, reassured me.

I let out a sigh as we hurried toward the palace itself. In the growing morning light, the sun gleamed off the garden path, illuminating the flowers and shrubs that lined it. Later in the morning, there would be gardeners here, but there was calm and quiet for now.

There was nothing else.

We reached the main entrance of the palace, and Natalie looked over to me before pushing open the door. She was far more comfortable here than I was, and she hurried inside, sweeping back to the side hall. The interior of the palace was all white marble that gleamed with lantern light. A mural of a dragon painted overhead seemed to look down upon us, and there was a rider on the dragon’s back, some ancient dragon mage, or possibly some old king, somebody of power who had once known this palace as their home. Natalie ignored all of it. She ignored the soldiers standing guard and everything else inside, motioning for me to follow her.

I had no choice but to do so. I didn’t want to linger. My experiences within the palace had been mixed, enough that I didn’t feel nearly as comfortable as she did. We reached a small door off of the main hallway. It was simple, darkly stained, and had a large iron knocker on it.

“This is your father’s office?”

“His office. His room. He has to be close enough to the king so he can respond if he needs him.” She shook her head. “The king likes to have my father as close by as possible. It’s like he wants to make sure he has his servant available if anything were to happen.”

“That makes a little bit of sense,” I said.

She arched a brow at me. “My father couldn’t do anything anyway.” She kept her voice low, barely more than a whisper so it didn’t reverberate off the palace’s walls.

“I’m sure that’s not quite true.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Considering your connection to the dragons, your father must have something similar.” I shrugged. “When I was younger, I never thought the Djarn had a connection to dragons, but then again, I didn’t know much about the Djarn then. I knew they were able to move through the forest unseen. They had pathways that allowed them to navigate quietly and quickly, and I believed they had magic.” Even that was hard for me to know for sure. It might be something of power, but I didn’t really know exactly what it was, or whether it was anything that would make much of a difference. “I guess I never really considered the idea that the Djarn had a connection to dragons.”

“Many do, but not all,” she said. She grabbed the knocker and smacked it hard.

The sound was a loud crack in the hallway, and at the end of the marble hall, a pair of soldiers started toward us before they seemed to recognize Natalie and turned away.

She glanced in their direction before slamming the knocker down on the door again.

“Maybe he’s sleeping,” I said.

“Of course he’s sleeping.”

“Do you think we should—”

I didn’t get the chance to ask her what I thought we should do. A voice behind us caught our attention.

“I’m not in there,” the deep voice said.

I spun and saw Natalie’s father standing there. The Sharath was an older man, with a balding head and a serious expression on his face. He had always struck me as powerful, even before I knew he was one of the Djarn. He was dressed in a gray robe, with the embroidery on his chest marking him as a servant of the king—as if the robe itself, or the long staff he carried, could mean anything else.

“Father,” Natalie said. “I’m glad to find you here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“We need to tell you something.”

The Sharath looked along the hall before turning his attention back to Natalie. “I imagine so; otherwise, you wouldn’t have come at such an early time.”

“The Vard are moving,” she said softly.

He stared at her for a long moment, and I couldn’t really read his expression. I could only see the seriousness in his eyes, as if he were irritated, angry, or perhaps disappointed. Maybe all of them.

“Moving?”

She nodded. “I felt something last night, Father. When I went to look—”

“What were you doing going to look?” he asked.

“I needed to know if I was feeling anything, or whether it was only my imagination,” she said.

“And what did you find?” he demanded.

“I found what I feared,” she said. “The Vard are moving. We found them.”

“We?”

She motioned to me. “Ashan came with me. I was going to go alone, but he detected them as well.”

Her father frowned. “He has been quite troublesome for the king.” He looked at me, and I tried again to read the expression in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell what was marked there. Was it irritation or merely concern? They were different, and given his role in serving the king, I wasn’t entirely sure which of them would win out. “We know you have been involved, and you should not be.” He frowned more deeply. “Wait. What do you mean ‘he detected them’?”

“He joined me in