The Dragonprince's Heir Read Online Free PDF

speak openly against Caleb, even in the privacy of my rooms—but she had spoken of my father's loyalty to the king. Of his legacy of peace. And there below me I saw evidence of Caleb's disastrous plan. The smoke spread in the hot, still air, until it hung like a stain over the town my father had built.
    I had to stop it. Perhaps Mother had not seen, or perhaps she lacked the nerve to defy Caleb. But I would not stand idly by and let him destroy everything. I rushed to my door and yanked it open.
    He was there. Big as a tree, black as a shadow, and totally unsurprised to see me. He was leaning against the far wall. He flicked his gaze up to my face for half a second, then dropped it again. Bored.
    I could have argued with him. I could have fought him or tried to sprint past him. But he had been my combat trainer all my life, so I knew how fast he could move. And I wore on my face a reminder how he would settle the argument.
    So I only gave a great sigh, stepped back, and closed my door with a slam. I stood for a long moment, staring at the wall and thinking. I should have known she would really post a guard, but still it caught me by surprise. I couldn't believe Caleb had agreed—not if it meant missing out on the meeting with the king.
    A grin crept across my face. Let him stand watch. It only served my ends. He could wait right there in the corridor and miss everything. Meanwhile, I could thwart his plan and show Mother just how clever her son was, all at once. I had another way out of the room.
    I'd never actually tried it, but I'd been building the plan for years. I went to the desk by my bed and withdrew a battered old court textbook on swordplay. I flipped to the center and retrieved a tarnished copper key, then put the book back where I'd gotten it.
    From my wardrobe I selected my finest outfit. It seemed plain compared to the dress Mother had worn, but I had never had need of anything so fine. Still, I pulled on doeskin breeches pale as snow and a long shirt of cotton stained a deep crimson. I wore only one ring, a twisted bit of obsidian that had been my father's, but it went well with the new belt I buckled around my waist.
    I went to my mirror again and winced at the ugly bruise on my face. There was nothing I could do for it; I would just have to wear it proudly. I had certainly survived worse blows than that. Otherwise, I cut a fine figure. I wished briefly for a sword to hang on my hip, to complete the picture, but it was a fleeting thought. I had long since given up the hope of ever owning one.
    I was ready then. I went to my window, and a sudden chill fear chased down my spine. I threw a glance back at the door, then I climbed up into the window ledge. It wasn't really large enough to hold me anymore, but I leaned close against the window's pane and looked down the face of the tower.
    The window's pane was not of glass. It was too clear and too strong by far. I fought an impulse to check the door again, to put off what I intended. Instead I leaned against the window's pane, and whispered, "Windspun glass, open."
    It moved, just as the outer gate had responded to commands. Too clear to see even from this close, I could feel the paper-thin pane of elemental air lift up and away, letting in a puff of the dry summer breeze.
    I twisted in my confines until my legs dangled over the drop. From nearly twenty paces up, the people bustling in the shops below looked small and indistinct, but I knew I would stand out clearly against the unbroken edges of the tower. I had to be swift.
    But as I scooted forward, as I cast my gaze down the sheer wall, a deep terror suddenly gripped me. I had a plan—I had a good plan—but I had never tested it. I fought for calming breaths, scooted another half inch toward the ledge, and looked down again.
    Directly below me was another window, one that let into a storage room on the fourth floor. I took in a slow breath. Then I pulled the tarnished key from my pocket, stretched out my arm