Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

“It sounds as if your journey has been harrowing indeed.” Rahzien’s eyes rove over me, and I have the sense that he’s collecting details, like a dragon collects treasure.

“Never fear, the lack of a gift does not offend me,” he continues. “Though truthfully I was hoping to claim the support of Zairos in a tangible way. No matter—we can discuss it when you are not so exhausted from traveling. Perhaps we can cheer your hearts this evening—I’m hosting a feast here in the palace, with dancing to follow. I’ve invited many of the Elekstan nobles to join the fun.”

“My father will be pleased to hear that the Elekstan nobility are acclimating so swiftly to your rule,” I say.

“The nobles are adjusting,” replies Rahzien, with a broad smile that does not reach his eyes. “After tonight, I think they will be even more eager to embrace the future. The guests for this dinner are solely male, you see—an exclusive group. And I’ve arranged for a number of the finest pleasure escorts from the Capital and the surrounding cities to be our dance partners. My guests can enjoy a spirited dance and an equally spirited tryst afterward, if they so desire. And each man will also get the chance to taste a previously forbidden, but most delectable fruit.”

“What kind of fruit?”

“You wouldn’t ask me to give away the surprise, would you, Your Highness?” Rahzien smiles, and for a moment I spot the serpent beneath his leonine exterior. There’s a duality to him—the brawling warrior and the slithering strategist.

“Of course not.” I give him a curt nod. “I will be pleased to join you this evening. May I have your leave to bring my herald and my esquire? This one is rather amusing at parties.” I gesture to Meridian.

“By all means,” says Rahzien, with a generous wave of his hand. “My servants will show you to your quarters, where you may rest and refresh yourselves before the festivities. We will revel tonight, and do business tomorrow.”

“Very well.” I repeat the Southern bow, and the King rises to return it. It’s a mark of honor, one I might appreciate if we were not mortal enemies.

Servants and guards come forward to escort us from the throne room. As we accompany them, the members of my “retinue” converse quietly in the Eventongue about the perils of our fictitious journey.

After traversing a reception room and a short hallway, we arrive at a staircase. With a cold blast of shock, I realize that neither Hinarax nor I have ever climbed steps.

When I glance back at Meridian, I know he’s thinking the same thing. Steps are commonplace for humans—I’m sure it never entered his mind that dragons never use them.

“You’re weary from your journey, my lord,” he says to me. “Hold onto the banister as you go.” And he grasps a long, slim piece of polished wood that follows the upward slant of the stairway.

Following his cue, I grip the banister and begin climbing the steps. It’s simple enough, like stepping onto a rock, except I have to keep stepping upward at a uniform height and distance. Ahead of me, Meridian’s breathing becomes labored, and I realize that with his injury, raising his right leg high enough for each step must be a difficult task, perhaps even painful. Yet he persists.

Reaching the second floor is a triumph, and I allow myself to absorb my surroundings, to picture Serylla running through these halls, first as a child, then as a young princess. I’m not as intrigued by the human lifestyle as Hinarax, but even I can barely refrain from commenting on the intricate crystalline lamps, the lush patterned carpets, and the paintings of somber people and cloudy landscapes. It’s all so delicate, so easily destroyed. Why waste so much time on beautiful things that could be ruined in seconds?

But perhaps humans are fascinated with frail luxuries because they themselves are so delicate, so easily broken. I remember how Serylla’s slender frame felt in my claws, the way the dainty bones shifted beneath her skin when I held her wrist. So brittle, so beautiful.

We’re guided into a suite of large rooms, the biggest of which is mine, according to the servants, who abandon our group as soon as we’re safely ensconced in our quarters. My chamber is sparsely furnished and nearly as big as my cave back on Ouroskelle. In fact, it’s so large my dragon form could fit in here if I pinned my wings to my sides and curled my body around the bed. A dragon as bulky as Fortunix or Ashvelon wouldn’t fit, but my form is sleeker than theirs.

Meridian enters behind me, leaning on his stick. “This room should work for your dragon form if we move aside the chairs and tables in the sitting area. Not sure what we’ll do for Hinarax when he’s a dragon. He could probably fit in the bathing room.”

I glance sharply toward him, alarmed that he’s speaking so openly, but he waves away my concern. “Oh, we can talk freely. The servants left. We’re alone.”

“What is the bathing room?” I ask.

“It’s one of those places that reeks sickeningly of the luxurious privilege of the rich,” he says. “Come with me.”

The bathing room resembles a cave of pale green marble threaded with veins of black and gold. When Meridian wrenches a copper handle, hot water gushes into a huge, rectangular pool, also cut from marble. The bathtub, he calls it. He points out three smaller bowls with more handles and water pipes, each standing about waist height.

“These are sinks,” explains Meridian. “I told you about them, remember?”

I have no recollection of such a thing, but Hinarax, who has appeared beside me, nods enthusiastically. “I remember.”

“And is that also a sink?” I point to a low bowl-shaped object connected to more pipes.

“That’s a toilet,” says Meridian. “You sit on it or stand over it to relieve yourself, then you pull the chain when you’re done, and everything goes away.”

“Goes where?” Hinarax inquires.

“Through the pipes to an underground stream, which empties into a subterranean river,” explains Meri. “It will be good to use a bathroom again, instead of the woods or a pit in the caves.”

Hinarax approaches the toilet, takes out his cock, and points it at the bowl. “Like this?”

“Usually when you’re alone,” says Meridian with a wry laugh. “But yes.”