Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

Page 47



“The guest who pledges loyalty to me in the most tangible way will receive the key to these.” He gestures to the belt and the mask. “You will entertain that guest sweetly in your bed, without screams, struggles or tears. Do anything he asks of you. If I hear that you’ve been anything less than docile, Parma will join your friends in the razorfish pool. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Master,” I whisper.

As he turns away, I reach for him impulsively and grab his sleeve. “Please… choose someone kind.”

He looks back at me, his face still as stone, his expression unreadable. Then he jerks his arm away and continues down the hall.

A servant in Vohrainian livery pulls open the door to the room he indicated. I recognize the servant, but I’m careful to avoid his gaze, to show no sign of friendliness or connection. I can’t put anyone else in danger.

The room I step into is one I’ve visited many times, a space where the palace orchestra or visiting groups of musicians would prepare for a performance. I liked to slip in and watch them tune their instruments and practice warmups. Many times I thought about giving a piece of my music to the palace conductor and requesting that the orchestra perform it. But I knew the conductor would have to say yes, whether or not she thought the piece was truly good. She couldn’t refuse a royal request. And I couldn’t bear to have my music performed simply because of my title. It was too precious for that.

The familiar asynchronous sounds of instruments being tuned greets my ears, and I release a long breath, tension easing from my limbs. Some of the musicians are familiar, and they glance at me with expressions of surprise and alarm. “Princess,” someone murmurs nearby, but none of them speak to me any further, probably because of the ten armed Vohrainian guards lining the walls of the room.

Beyond the musicians, in an open area, about twenty young women stand in three rows. They’re practicing a series of dance moves under the guidance of a woman who looks familiar, though my weary mind can’t place her immediately. I think she performed at court once or twice.

Every girl in the group is dressed like me, with a filmy gown that parts in the front, revealing their stomachs and lacy undershorts. They wear lace stockings, heels, and ribbon garters, too. But their outfits are all jewel-toned, rich red, vivid green, luxurious purple, royal blue. My white dress was designed to stand out among all those enticing colors. And I’m the only one wearing a chastity belt and a mask.

“Princess.” The lead dancer turns and nods to me. “Please join us. You’ll be in the center as we enter the ballroom. Don’t worry, your moves are very simple.”

She keeps her voice light and casual, but her hooded eyes barely conceal the heaviness of the emotion within. I can’t tell if it’s fear, sorrow, sympathy, anger, or all of those at once. I remember her now. Her name is Avrix, and she’s a performer of fluid gender, sometimes appearing in her birth aspect as male, other times presenting as female. She likes her pronouns to match the gender she’s manifesting at the moment. No matter how she chooses to appear on a given day, she’s a magnificent dancer.

“Before we begin,” she says, low, “I think you could use a hug.” She looks at me, questioning, and my throat swells tight with tears as I nod.

Her arms fold around me, squeezing lightly, filling my nose with the scent of vanilla and sandalwood. Silk and hot skin and strength. I close my eyes and hitch a shaky breath, trying not to fracture. Trying not to cry.

“There.” With a final firm squeeze, Avrix lets me go. “Let’s do as the King commands. Make room for the Princess in the center, ladies. Hip, swish, step, belly swirl, arch the back, roll the shoulders, neck-whip, face. All together, one, two, three, and—”

15

The dinner is interminable. I’m seated near the King—not directly next to him, thank the Bone-Builder—but near enough. According to our forged papers, Meridian and Hinarax have noble titles, so they’re allowed to sit with me rather than dining at a secondary table or in the servants’ quarters. Apparently it’s quite common for human princes to have lords as their esquires or attendants.

The fork I must use is larger and heavier than the one I practiced with in the rebels’ hideout. I take bites slowly, giving myself time to adjust to the difference. The food tastes delicious, but I can barely swallow it with the fucking King of Vohrain sitting at the end of the table, a mere four chairs away from me. I try not to picture myself transforming into a great black dragon, crashing into the center of the table, and ripping him in half with my jaws.

If I keep imagining my own transformation, it will happen, and then all will be lost. So I attempt to focus on Meridian’s inane jabber. He’s engaged in lively conversation with the Vohrainian lord across from him. There’s a handful of Vohrainian nobility mixed in with the Elekstan nobles, easily distinguished by their pierced septums, each featuring a gold or silver ring, some set with tiny gems. Rahzien is the only one with a scarlet gem in a gold ring.

Meridian and Norril never mentioned the possibility of other Vohrainian nobles being in the palace. But I suppose it makes sense that some of them would be part of Vohrain’s army, and thus invited to such a feast. It’s odd that Meridian is being so conversational with one of the enemy. He’s so perfectly at ease, it’s unsettling.

“My brother used to dabble in potions,” he says cheerfully to the Vohrainian lord. “Usually with rather explosive results. Unintended, of course. Nearly blew himself up several times, truth be told. It’s a fascinating art, but both potion-making and spellcasting are skills far beyond my talents. We have some sorcerers in Zairos, but probably none that would rival the ones you have in Vohrain.”

“We have very few sorcerers in Vohrain,” replies the lord.

“Oh.” Meridian looks puzzled. “One of the servants mentioned a rumor about a magical link between the King and the conquered Princess, which sounds both sexy and fascinating. I just assumed—”

“Assumptions are for asses,” says the lord caustically.

“Of course, of course. It must be an Elekstan sorcerer who cast the spell for him, then. I’ve heard that Elekstan’s magic is astonishing! Perhaps that’s why it took so long for His Royal Majesty to conquer them.”

The lord bristles. “Vohrain excels in all things, and the conquest took place as planned, on schedule. We may not have many sorcerers in our land, but when it comes to subduing a wayward princess, all you need is one, as long as that one has a skillful hand and an eye for creative solutions.”

“Of course, of course,” says Meridian. “And it helps to have plenty of ingredients on hand, though they might be difficult to come by in a time of upheaval such as this.”

“The King keeps his poisoner well supplied, even here,” replies the lord. He seems as if he’s about to say more, but the fish course arrives. Platters are set down at intervals along the table so the guests can enjoy the presentation of the huge, whole fish, each one boasting a pair of glossy black eyes and a jutting jaw set with long, curved teeth.

“Razorfish from the palace’s own pool,” says Rahzien. “Freshly fattened this morning.” He grins as a servant carefully lays a flaky portion of fish on his plate.

I’ve never liked fish, though I’ve eaten them when game was scarce. I haven’t learned the human method for dining upon fish, so when a servant attempts to give me a portion, I shake my head. “No.”

“His Highness ate too much fish during our voyage,” interjects Meridian with a chuckle. “He’s weary of it.”


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