Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The king is gone all of the next day.
I’m beginning to think he's avoiding me on purpose.
For better or worse, Commander Gareth is missing as well, even after he insisted I arrive with the rising sun. It seems unlike him to miss an opportunity to torture me, but I try not to dwell on it—to just be grateful for a break.
I’m still expected to spend time in the coliseum, maintaining some semblance of my training routine, so I help the servants feed and groom Blight.
After that, I remain close to her for most of the morning.
I sit on the edge of her platform while I work on practicing knots with a piece of rope I found, keeping my hands busy and my mind occupied.
She occasionally stretches her neck over to sniff at my work, her breath warm against my hands.
I let her investigate without pulling away, even when her curiosity makes it more difficult to focus, but we don't interact much beyond that. There’s less tension in the air than usual, though, which feels like progress.
After leaving her side, I keep to myself as much as possible.
I pass several hours in the library, sorting through books and scrolls about dragon lore and the history of the Kaldran Empire.
I'm newly determined to make myself less ignorant about the things that have shaped this world, both dragons and otherwise.
And though I know most of the materials in here will carry a bias toward Mouren's perspective, there's still useful information to be gleaned.
The library's keeper, an elderly woman with ink-stained fingers and hands that shake slightly when she shelves books, is one of the nicer inhabitants of the palace.
She doesn't allow me to enter the restricted sections, and she bites her tongue when I try to ask her opinion on things, but she brings me food, occasionally, and happily supplies me with plenty of materials to bring back to my room.
I’ve just returned to the relative privacy of that room—and I’m considering settling in for a long evening of studying by my fireplace—when the gift I made for Arlo catches my eye.
After a brief debate, I decide to wrap it up in a fancy, delicate handkerchief and bring it to him.
The hall that leads to his quarters is eerily quiet. As I walk down it, an uneasy feeling crawls up my spine, though I can’t pinpoint any exact reason for it.
The door to his room opens before I can knock. His sister emerges, mumbling to herself, so caught up in whatever she’s brooding over that she nearly bumps into me.
Her eyes flash to mine. “What do you want?”
“I came to see Arlo.”
“He's sick.” Her tone is blunt, as usual, but it's missing some of her usual venom. It sounds…tired. Worried.
“Oh…well, could you give this to him, please?” I hold out the wrapped figurine.
She stares at the gift for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face.
Slowly, she takes it and gives a single, terse nod.
I want to go in and see the young prince for myself, but I know she won't allow it. So, despite the pit of worry forming in my stomach, I turn to leave.
As I'm walking away, she calls after me: “I was hoping I'd run into you, actually.”
Tensing, I stop and glance back at her. “Were you? Really?”
“Yes. I wanted to give you a word of advice, if you care to hear it.”
Curiosity roots me to the spot.
She takes a few steps toward me, her posture as proud and haughty as usual, but her expression oddly uncertain.
“…My brother will be meeting with his high council later tonight,” she tells me.
“You will be the main topic of discussion.
Several courtiers are pushing for you to be…
dismissed. There are rumors that you've made no real progress with the dragon—that the bond is a farce.”
So it seems I haven't been imagining all the hostile stares and whispered conversations that stop the moment I enter a room.
“Show progress, or your friend is doomed.”
“I'm trying to, I just—”
“Try harder.” Her expression is cold, uncompromising.
“If ever there was a time to dig deep, this is it.
The king put forth an expectation when you arrived here, and every person of every rank in this palace now knows about the bargain the two of you made.
And Reave doesn't make idle threats—he can't. Not without risking his authority.
Not when there are always rival nobles and foreign powers all looking for a reason to call him weak.
Don't give them a reason. When Commander Gareth returns tomorrow morning, you will step into that arena as though you have always belonged there. You will embrace whatever the dragon offers you—and you will prove all the doubters wrong.”
As if it’s that simple.
I start to shake my head, irritation and doubt simmering, building into a firestorm in my chest.
“Look at me,” she says, and I do, because there's a desperate edge to her voice that makes her hard to ignore. She exhales a shaky breath. “You can do this.”
We stand in the dim silence for a long moment, two women from completely different worlds, unwillingly thrust into one another’s paths.
I don’t trust her. I’m not sure I ever will. But an understanding feels like it's starting to break its way through the iciness between us, even if it still feels rough, sharp-edged, and potentially dangerous.
“…Thank you,” I mutter, mostly because I don't know what else to say.
Her eye twitches a bit, like this relatively cordial conversation is painful for her. But she manages to force out something that sounds like you're welcome before turning and heading back into her little brother's room.
I stare at the door she softly shuts behind her, trying to make sense of what just happened.
I know it's less about wanting me to succeed, and more about not wanting me to make her brother look foolish. And maybe because she knows Arlo has grown attached to me, too, and she doesn't want me to fail for his sake.
But whatever the reason, it's nice to know she isn't actively conspiring against me.
After this encounter, I feel too restless to retire to my room.
Instead, I go for a walk, making my way outside for some fresh air, and I end up in one of the palace gardens that sits high on a hilltop.
This spot has become a favorite haunt of mine; there’s a small pavilion in the center of the garden, its white stone columns wrapped in dormant wisteria.
After climbing up to sit on the bench between these columns, I can see a large portion of Lucindris sprawling out in the distance, stretching farther than my eye can see.
Some sort of festival is starting this week—I’ve heard the servants gossiping excitedly about it in the halls—and so the city is in the middle of a transformation.
Large, colorful ribbons flutter from every lamppost and archway.
There are stages being erected, lanterns being hung, and musicians already practicing their instruments on street corners.
But none of these things hold my gaze.
Instead, it’s the sky on the eastern edge of the city that catches my attention…
Because it’s filled with dragons.
Far more than I’ve seen, all in one place, since arriving in Lucindris. An entire swarm of them—no less than ten beasts are circling, diving and rising in patterns that seem almost coordinated, almost deliberate.
Mesmerized, I leave my hilltop sanctuary and start toward the palace gates, trying to get a better look, trying to properly count them.
I’m so focused on the distant dragons that I don’t notice one flying much closer—not until its shadow overtakes me.
Its flight is impossibly, unnaturally silent, its bat-like wings hardly rustling as it lands precisely on the edge of the palace’s outermost defensive wall, sending guards scrambling.
It's enormous. Five times the size of Blight, at least. Its body is as black as the night descending around it, its swishing tail a whip with a blade-like tip that looks sharp enough to cut me cleanly in two. Its eyes are fiery, twin coals glowing in the twilight…
And it’s looking directly at me.
My heart jumps into my throat. The dragon shifts its weight and adjusts its wings, its claws gripping the stone as it bunches its powerful haunches.
It launches itself at me.
At the last moment, it veers away, ascending toward the sky with a roar that shakes the air.
It all happens so quickly I don’t even think to scream.
Heart pounding, I turn and start to run back toward the palace—
Only to collide with someone hard enough that I go flying backward. A strong arm hooking around my waist, followed by a hand steadying my right hip, is the only thing that keeps me from hitting the ground.
Straightening, I find myself face to face with the king.
His hands shift uncertainly against me, but he doesn't immediately let me go. “…Ashwalker.”
I take a step back, pulling free of his grip. “Your Majesty.”
The night seems to close in around us, suddenly intimate despite the open space. The dragon is vanishing quickly against the darkening sky. Reave looks up, his gaze following it until the shimmer of its scales is no longer distinguishable from the shimmer of the stars.
Did it leave because he commanded it away?
“It's late,” the king says, his attention falling back to me. “You should be in your room, resting.” His gaze sweeps over my body, catching on the particularly impressive bruise that spans across my right jaw. “Don't you have training you need to be prepared for?”
“Don't you have a kingdom to run? Innocents to terrorize? Wasteful, hedonistic parties to throw?” I will myself not to shrink as his eyes narrow in warning. “All things you should probably be resting up for, too, as long as we're giving one another unsolicited counsel.”
“Luckily, I'm so talented at all these things that I can do them in my sleep. Particularly that last one.” His eyes are still narrowed, his tone walking a dangerous line between displeasure and dark amusement.