Chapter 22 #2
“I suppose I am nothing if not bold,” I say, dryly.
“Let’s just hope this boldness doesn’t end in disaster.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time if it did.”
She looks entirely too amused at the sour expression spreading across my face. “Well, since it’s already happened, and there’s no going back, I’m going to need more details.”
“Do you really need them?”
“How was he?” she presses. “Wild? Gentle? Are the legends about his generous…endowment true?”
“I wouldn’t know. I was unconscious for most of the time I spent in his room, and when I wasn’t, we just…talked.”
Her lips form a little pout—the kind she always gets when she thinks I’m holding out on her about something.
“I’m serious. He didn’t touch me.”
Unless you count tending to all of my wounds.
I suppress a shiver as Briar continues to regard me with disappointment and skepticism.
“I just recuperated in the safety of his room, and then this morning…well, I guess something did happen this morning.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“He…he asked me to attend the Sun Harvest Feast at his side. He said it would inspire confidence and boost morale in the wake of the attacks this city has been enduring. Attacks that he thinks are being coordinated by other kingdoms because of me and the growing power of my bond with Blight.”
Her frown resurfaces. “It sounds more like he wants to flaunt his hold on you in front of any enemy insurgents who might be watching.”
“Yes…that’s what I thought, too.”
She gives me a long, searching look. “Is that what you thought?”
“I—yes.” My voice trembles a bit, though I’m not sure why. “What else would I think? I know I’m just a political piece on his board. Nothing more.”
She’s quiet for another long moment, and her tone is slightly more serious when she finally asks, “What really happened between you two in his room? It’s not like you to keep all the luscious details from me.”
“There are no luscious details to tell. Because nothing happened, aside from what I’ve told you.”
She still looks skeptical, but she moves on, guiding me toward a small bench in one of the gardens, which is relatively secluded and surrounded by flowering pear trees. After a quick, furtive glance around the space, she pulls a piece of paper from her coat pocket.
“Anyway,” she says, holding it out to me, “I found something interesting in the library yesterday evening, while you were…ahem…resting platonically in the king’s bedroom.”
“Nothing happened,” I say again, snatching the paper. “Let’s focus on this, please? Whatever it is.”
“It’s a passage I copied from an old text,” she informs me. “One that might explain the weird way your dragon seemed to be able to read Commander Gareth’s disposition. I even drew the diagram that was alongside that passage—feel free to marvel at my brilliant artistic abilities.”
Her brilliant art is a vaguely human-shaped figure with a flame where its heart would be, curved lines emanating from it and stretching toward a sad-looking, stick figure dragon.
“Did you flash the librarian in order to get access to this text?” I ask her, teasingly.
“No; the princess guided me to what I needed, as it were.”
“…Princess Kestrel helped you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure it was really her?”
“She’s really not that bad once you get to know her.”
“You’ve only known her for a few days,” I point out.
She shrugs. “We’ve bonded.”
“Over what? Your love of drinking and lack of artistic talent?” I hold up her crude drawing.
“And the fact that we’re both left-handed, too. What are the odds?”
I shoot her an unamused look. But truthfully, I know it’s not the worst thing if she’s actually getting closer to another member of the royal family. It’s also not all that surprising; Briar has always been better at winning people over than I am.
“Also, for the record, she’s very artistically talented,” Briar says, lifting up the beaded necklace she’s wearing. “She made this.”
“Only you could get that cold-hearted witch to give you gifts,” I say, wryly.
“I bet I can get her to give you one, too.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I grumble. “But, back to more important matters...”
Briar falls silent while I read over her notes several times.
Notes that discuss a talent that all divine dragons throughout history have been known to possess: fire-reading, it’s called.
In this case, the ‘fire’ in question refers to the soul of a living being.
Apparently, all divine dragons—even those without the full, magical ability to read minds—can tell at a glimpse what a creature’s primal, driving emotion or energy is.
They see them as flames of all different colors and intensities.
“Kind of similar to the flames that once burned in the different kingdoms, right?” Briar says. “Those fires were once an indication of the overall energy of the empire. This is like that, but on a smaller, individual scale.”
I look through a parting in the trees, where I can see a small corner of the arena where Blight is. It’s been nearly a full day since I’ve seen her. It feels like it’s been longer. Too long, maybe. So I don’t hesitate to say, “…I’ll speak with Blight about it later.”
“Do you think she’ll give you any answers?”
Weeks ago, it would have been the last thing that ever occurred to me—going to a dragon for answers. Trying to get it to cooperate with me.
Now, it seems like the only path forward.
And I’m surprised to realize it’s a path I’m not entirely reluctant to walk, even though I have no idea where it might lead.
I take a deep breath and give Briar a small smile, trying to appear much more confident than I actually feel. “I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”