Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

Reluctantly I give up the idea of bribery and return my focus to Meridian’s plan. Mad as it seems, I fear it’s our only option. With a respectful bow of my head, I settle my scaly bulk down onto the cave floor. “Teach us what we need to know.”

“Happily,” says Meridian, and for the next several hours he and Norril talk.

And talk.

And talk.

I try to grasp all the facts they’re sharing, but everything is so unfamiliar that the topics get jumbled up in my mind—modes of address tangled with dinner courses, maps of the Southern Kingdoms merged with hasty sketches of the palace’s layout. Norril is the type to forge ahead with blunt, stark explanations, while Meridian tries to fill in the gaps, defining and describing things Hinarax and I don’t know.

At last, weary from the overabundance of new information, we snatch a few hours of sleep, then rouse again and switch to human form, whereupon several of the rebels descend upon us with layers of human clothing, from tight undergarments and leggings to tunics, shirts, and vests. Hinarax and I each have to try on a few different outfits until the humans agree on which ones work best.

“We have enough to pack a small trunk for you,” says a woman named Kyteia, as she pins a sort of blanket to my left shoulder and drapes it artfully. “But we should have an explanation for why you don’t have more luggage. I’m sure Meri will think of something. Now the boots.”

“No boots,” I protest.

“Oh, but you must have boots, tall ones with turned-up toes. They’re the latest fashion.”

“Perhaps the Southern Kingdoms haven’t heard of boots,” I offer helpfully.

“I’m quite sure they have. Now lift your foot.”

Kyteia’s gray hair marks her as an elder among humans, and I’ve been taught to defer to the wisdom of elders, so I grudgingly obey. She covers my feet in something called socks, which make the boots a bit less uncomfortable. Still, my feet feel crushed and imprisoned, and I don’t like it.

“Try to look a bit less like you’re being tortured,” says Kyteia pleasantly. “You’re doing very well, Hinarax.”

He smiles at her, despite being fully encased in suffocating layers of leather and satin, including a puffy thing called a doublet.

“Now then, Kyreagan,” says Kyteia, a note of stern encouragement in her tone. “Try walking, would you?”

I walk stiffly forward, trying to shake the fold of heavy cloth off my left arm. “What is the purpose of this blanket on my back?”

“It’s a cloak, dear. This one is mostly ornamental, styled after the Southern fashion. The effect is usually rather dashing, but with you…” Her voice trails off and she grimaces as I stalk past her. “Relax your gait. You look as if you have fence-posts for legs.”

“Hey now,” says Meridian as he passes by, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Some of my best friends have wooden legs.”

“And I’ll wager they walk with more grace than his dragon Highness here,” says Kyteia. “Perhaps you could try a bit of a swagger, love?”

I stare at her. “Swagger?”

“Care to demonstrate, Meri?”

Meridian flourishes his walking stick and saunters for several steps. His limp is still noticeable, but there’s a flair to his gait nonetheless, an undeniable ease with every part of himself.

“It’s all in here.” He spins on his heel and taps his chest. “In the soul. Feel the swagger, and then let it out. Confidence, gentlemen. You’re already a prince, Kyreagan, so that’s not much of a stretch. But you must imagine that you’ve been raised in luxury—what humans call luxury, which means a wealth of shiny, beautiful things around you, all the most exquisite comforts, and lots of people to boss around. You have several brothers ahead of you, so you’ll never touch the throne. Your role is traveling to various kingdoms on diplomatic errands for your father, enjoying the best that each nation has to offer. Maybe one day you’ll resent your lack of power, but for now, you’re enjoying yourself. And you—” He gestures to Hinarax. “You’re the trusted servant of the Prince, his esquire, a highly regarded official. Your duties are many, but you handle them skillfully, and you’re pleased to be traveling at the Prince’s expense. You’re both young, good-looking, ready to be amused.”

“Amused?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Elekstan is still volatile. The war has barely ended. Isn’t it strange for a foreign prince to show up expecting to be entertained?”

“Perhaps,” admits Meridian. “But since Rahzien’s conquest is so new, he’s eager for any acknowledgement from nearby nations. A visit from Zairos’ royal family supports his claim to Elekstan. He’ll welcome you and do his best to provide suitable entertainment. Tell him you’ll stay for—how long do you think, Norril?”

“A week,” Norril replies. “Long enough, but not too lengthy an imposition. That will give you time to inquire about the Princess. All the royal guards either fled or died within a few days of the conquest, so I can’t direct you to any of my former friends for help, but I can give you the names and descriptions of a few servants to seek out, those with an ear to the ground and an eye for trouble. If the Princess is in the palace, they’ll be able to tell you where.”

“Enough strategizing for now,” Kyteia urges. “The Prince must practice walking with pride and confidence.”

I try to feel the swagger in my chest and stalk boldly across the cave, lifting my feet high with each step. Somehow the cloak wraps around my boot heel and I stumble, stagger, and manage to right myself with a few muttered fucks.

Kyteia cocks her head and purses her lips, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. “Would it help if you thought of the cloak as a big floppy wing?”

I raise an eyebrow. “No. That would not help at all.”