Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

21

I get lost trying to catch up with Meridian and Kehanal. Thankfully they noticed my absence and Kehanal finds me before I wander too far.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

“Exploring,” I say vaguely, tugging at the hem of my vest.

“Well, come on. We’re late.”

When we were allies, Rahzien and I always met out in the open air. Today we’re meeting in a huge room, its walls painted a deep charcoal, almost black. Bronze tasseled curtains frame the windows along the north wall, and the opposite wall is plastered with dozens of maps, all different sizes. My gaze lingers on those maps, with their promise of distant lands my clan has never heard of. Dragons can only fly so far without rest, and our oral histories only deal with the nearest continent and its denizens. Humans, with their ships, have journeyed farther than is possible for us, across unknown seas to new continents.

Varex lit up at the thought of incorporating human skills and crafting into our way of life, and Hinarax enjoys human fashions, foods, and entertainment. But as I survey that wall of maps, I realize something about myself—that my interests are broader than a quiet life in a cave on Ouroskelle. That I would like to travel, to explore.

Perhaps meeting Serylla stimulated my taste for adventure and discovery. I’ve certainly never felt such a wild, sweeping excitement before… as if I might have a life after this nightmare. As if Serylla and I might live to see brilliant, wonderful things together. We could bring the little ones along, undertake a voyage by ship, pause at islands along the way. In dragon form, I could fly above the ship for a full day without tiring, then land for a rest. It could work.

“Your Highness.” Meridian clears his throat.

His voice breaks the enchantment of the maps, and when I turn, I see that everyone is seated, looking at me expectantly. Half a dozen human males, seated around the table, watching me. Expecting me to behave as one of them, when I’m far more at home soaring over mountain peaks and whirling in the bright air, high above the earth.

Yes, this is a nightmare. And what makes it worse is that I must speak civilly to the wretch who just hours ago had my darling beaten within an inch of her life. I’m furious at him, and furious at myself for knowing nothing of the incident until it was over.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of transforming into my true shape and blasting them all with avenging fire.

No, not yet. The time will come. Have patience. I hear the admonitions in my brother’s voice. My brother, who might be dying from a sinister poison because of the wicked king at the head of the table—the King whose eyes are beginning to narrow with displeasure at my behavior.

I must be strong enough for this. For Serylla’s sake.

“My apologies.” I walk to the chair Meridian is holding out for me, and I seat myself as smoothly as I can. “My head is aching today.”

“We’ll make this quick then,” says Rahzien.

“I would be grateful, Your Majesty. My esquire is also feeling poorly and remained in our chambers, so by your leave, my herald will attend me today. I trust him in all things, and so does my royal father.”

“Does he indeed?” Rahzien lifts his reddish brows. “I’d heard that the King of Zairos is a cautious man.”

“His trust is not easily gained, it’s true,” I reply. “But my herald has saved not only my life, but the life of the Crown Prince, my eldest brother.”

Rahzien nods. “Understood. Your herald is welcome to a seat at your side.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Meridian bows and sits to my left, propping his walking stick against the table. With a respectful bow, Kehanal withdraws and leaves the room.

“Allow me to introduce some of the lords of Vohrain, my comrades in arms throughout these long weeks of war.” Rahzien tells me the name, rank, and home city of each man at the table. I’ve met a few of them before, during the course of my clan’s dealings with Vohrain. But two of them are new to me, including a young, dark-haired man whose right eye is brown while the other is bright green. The green eye has a vertical slitted pupil.

The one who doesn’t fit in, the one with the viper’s eye. That’s what the healer told Serylla. Is this the Royal Poisoner? Rahzien calls him Lord Jaskar, but doesn’t say where he’s from.

“Now that we’re all friends—” Rahzien claps his hands, and servants approach with trays of silver goblets. “Let’s drink to the healthy alliance of my empire with your father’s kingdom.”

It’s a calculated move on his part. Celebrating the alliance before we’ve settled on terms. Comparing his “empire” to my supposed kingdom—a hint of his dominance, a subtle threat. Varex would be better equipped for a diplomatic comeback, whereas all I can do is nod and drink. In reality I have no kingdom, no army, and no resources, so any alliance we forge today is nothing but lies. A fantasy to lull Rahzien into believing his empire has been recognized by at least one nation.

I drain all the liquor in the goblet, despite the warning nudge of Meridian’s boot against mine. He’s too late to stop me from drinking, but his nudge does remind me of the words he told me to say.

Setting down the goblet, I address Rahzien. “You mentioned gifts, certain things you would appreciate receiving from my father.”

“Straight to the point.” Rahzien chuckles. “Very well, young prince, we’ll speak plainly. I have certain ambitions for my life and my future empire. An early understanding between myself and your family could ensure that Zairos remains an ally of mine, one which enjoys the certain benefits and protections in exchange for…support.”

“What kind of support?”

“What are you prepared to offer?”