Dagny: An Inheritance Cycle Fanfiction.

16. The Dead Man's Secret

This one is kind of dark. Especially towards the end. Hope everyone enjoys it! I feel like I should add a disclaimer here: Not appropriate for squeamish audiences, read at own risk!

Final Word Count: 3275 words

"You," Arne said, pinning the young prince with a hard glare, "will wait here, prince, while I renew my acquaintance with Madam Missarie."

While he broke her bones until the human gave him the information she was trying to hide from him, more like, but Arne edited, since Prince Tornac seemed to have delicate sensibilities. He would have learned the information he needed by now, this whole foul business would have been done, if the boy hadn't stopped him before. If he hadn't used his mother's exact words, the exact words Nasuada spoke to him in his dream.

You swore an oath to protect my crown! You swore it, and you have failed!

Arne gritted his teeth involuntarily. No. He hadn't failed, not yet, and he wouldn't. He would protect Nasuada's son, no matter how difficult the little prince made his task.

Laine! He called. She was flying overhead, almost directly overhead, though he couldn't make her out through the thick veils of mist. But she could still see him, with her sharper predator's sight, and the young prince beside him.

I'll watch him, she agreed. You go, and find out where Dagny is. This farce has dragged on long enough as is.

The genuine concern he felt from her belied her harsh words. She was worried about Sverrir, deeply worried. The young dragon was irrational, nearly insane with fear for his Rider and if they didn't get Dagny back soon -

If we don't get Dagny back soon, it's unlikely we'll get her back alive, Arne told himself. So move.

He turned to leave and Tornac grasped his arm.

"Leave it!" The prince snapped at him. "You won't get anything more out of that poor old woman! Find some other way to track down Dagny!"

Arne shook him off. "I don't have time."

The prince lunged for Arne again and grabbed him as he took a step away.

"What you don't have time for," the boy said furiously, "is figuring out a way to get past those guards."

He sounded vaguely smug, his voice filled with misplaced triumph. Arne spared a glance for the posturing thugs prowling at the door of the brothel. They glared out at the street, not noticing the elf or the prince hidden out of sight in the shadowed alley. Arne returned a cool gaze to the prince.

"I could get past those guards," he told the human. "Easily. But you're right, that it would cause a commotion. And I don't need to draw attention."

"Then we leave," the prince said confidently.

"No. You leave."

Arne twisted gracefully out of the human's grip and spun towards the building. Missarie's room was on the third floor, he remembered; the highest floor and windowless. He crouched, measuring the distance, gauging the jump. His ears caught the prince's low cry of alarm as he leapt, suddenly and with preternatural agility. The wind rushed past his face and the jutting edge of the slate roof rushed to meet him. He caught it easily, swinging himself upwards to land crouched on top of the building.

Down in the street, Tornac was still raising a fuss. Arne reached out with his mind and found the prince's mental barriers. The boy's tutors had done their work well; the defenses around Tornac's mind were strong and sturdy. But no defenses were impenetrable, not to a Rider, an elf who had studied magic for more than a hundred years. Arne found the weak spots in Tornac's mental walls and pushed. The prince's shouting cut off in a gasp of profound shock.