Chapter Seventy-Seven #2
My protectors all respectfully nod to those who will watch over me in their absence before we each take the stage and turn to face the Dragon dens.
Imperial Dragon Master Sonya demands our attention by slamming the end of her tall wooden staff to the ground before stalking in front of the line of soldiers and their assigned witches securing the edge of the forest.
A gust of wind lifts the end of her braid, carrying her deep gray hair in the air along with several stray tendrils framing her long face.
The very same wind ripples the fabric of her black cape with gold-embroidered dragon scales adorning the shoulders of her otherwise plain Imperial black dress.
Her deep gray eyes find mine as she nods in a modified bow—a rare exception afforded due to her age and title.
She drives the end of her staff into the dry earth as she comes to a stop and faces the dens, conjuring pounding footsteps from one of the taller cave openings.
I stifle a laugh when every one of us takes a step back—as if the Dragon might crush us where we stand.
His Majesty turns to me. “You must be grateful for a day spent outdoors.”
“Indeed—”
“Good,” he interrupts, turning to stare over at his enormous red Dragon, Kresmea.
Warmth rises along my skin before the Emperor grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me toward him. “You will prove your gratitude after behaving far too entitled lately. I will not tolerate this level of insolence from you going forward.”
Varic’s shield pulses over me as I swallow and say, “Yes, Your Majesty.” I bow when he releases his grip and storms off the stage and onto the field, where Kresmea’s deep red eyes stare back at me, as if in warning.
I flick my gaze away, shaking with unease from this Dragon’s knack at unsettling me when a familiar heat spreads from my chest, stalling my breath under Varic’s ardent attention.
His expression reads far stormier than usual after witnessing His Majesty’s treatment, and the leather over his chest tightens when he pulls in a deep breath, then holds it.
Our eyes lock together, and we become entrapped in each other’s gaze until Sutrea makes her appearance.
My Guards all nod to me as they follow in the Emperor’s footsteps to go and greet their Dragons.
Sutrea’s vibrant purple eyes cast over the lawn until her chest expands in excitement when Fray rushes closer to hug her neck while she nuzzles into him.
Roy and the rest of my interim Guards scan the area in silence until their attention, with the exception of Roy’s, falls on my form. I shudder when they do not relent, with the weight of so many eyes pointedly studying my being.
Lucrea’s ruby snout emerges from one of the smaller den openings, with his equally bright red eyes gleaming at Malin. He strides forward with a measured pace and proceeds to gently stroke the scales on his neck while it appears they are engaging in some telepathic message.
Imperial Dragon Master Sonya turns to observe each of the Dragons reunite with their bonded rider, and a smile tugs on my lips, mirroring her expression.
Varic rocks back on his heels as he stares over at the dens, then freezes in place when shuffling emits from one of the caves.
I clamp a hand over my mouth and fail to disguise a laugh when Minea comes barreling out and over the clearing.
Varic braces and sinks down on his knees, but it’s no use, because the second Minea is close enough, he juts the center of his snout into Varic’s stomach and knocks my Lead Guard back on his ass.
Deep, booming laughter sounds from Varic as he braces his arms over his face to try to stave off the inevitable Dragon tongue that swipes out and tries to lick him. A slight twinge of envy hits me as this is the kind of urge I understand far too well for anyone’s safety.
Dranea approaches Lars with much more subtle movement, her sable scales appearing more crimson in the dim light barely filtering down through the clouds. She greets him by nudging the soft center of her snout to his forehead, encouraging a chuckle to emit from him.
Brea, the blue beauty, is the last of my Guards’ blood-bound Dragons to make her way out onto the lawn.
She pauses to bend forward and stretch out her back, retracting the spines along it.
Then she raises her head and pins Cirrin’s gaze as she traipses over to him as gingerly as a Dragon is capable.
Cirrin meets her halfway, wrapping his arms around her neck as she curves her head around him in a tender embrace.
I stare at the scene with a wistful sort of feeling, with the rare occurrence of observing these displays of joy and affection.
Especially from the same beings who distracted our Emperor to keep him from forcing me to torture Varic the night before, while also working to convince His Majesty of the truth—that I had not slept with the Prince of Annovia.
To exist outside of the Palace with a genuine smile, and even laughter, is an impossible thing to reconcile—this never-ending sense of bewilderment at how life consists of the worst atrocities, so seldom bracketed by achingly beautiful moments like this.
A moment so abruptly interrupted by the harsh caw of a crow from the trees.
I cast my gaze over to seek out the menace until it caws again, drawing my attention to where it sits high atop a nearby tree.
I brace when it cries out, much louder this time, scraping my eardrums each time it emits the high-pitched squawk in my direction.
An ominous feeling casts over my being as it tilts its head to the side and looks at me, the sensation being as if hundreds of tiny bugs crawl up and over my skin.
“I’d feel envious, too,” Drusilla says, stepping closer than I’d prefer.
Her words pull my brows together as I follow her line of sight to where Fray playfully interacts with Sutrea. “Envious of my Guards and their Dragons?”
She nods, and my chest constricts from the way her expression mirrors his, stomach twisting when both of their eyes crinkle in the corners just before he lets out a peal of laughter.
Sutrea’s amethyst scales ripple down her sides as she chuffs and slowly lowers to the ground and lies on her stomach.
I clear my throat. “I understand His Majesty’s purpose in bonding my Guards with a Dragon, and I am perfectly capable of admiring their connection without coveting the same for myself.”
“How sad,” she says, and I stare back at her in bewilderment.
“Do you feel envious when watching others live a life you cannot?” Regret fills my stomach the moment the words tumble out of my mouth, wishing I could snatch them back and swallow them whole.
“At times. Though I am perfectly content serving the Empire as your attendant.”
The tension in my chest relents as she returns to her typical cold nature and stares ahead as the Dragons who are not bonded to a sorcerer exit the dens to sprawl over the dead grass.
Mirinea is the last to exit the dens, and I turn to look for Hendry without thinking.
My heart sinks as the realization washes over me, so used to him being there waiting in place for her, rather than rushing forward like the rest of my Guards.
I force myself to mimic my attendant in peering forward, needing to breathe through just one more instance of Hendry’s absence stinging like an injury I can never really heal from.
“Riders, take your positions.” Imperial Dragon Master Sonya projects, dragging me out from the fog of grief and loss.
Every Dragon and rider follows her directive as they move to the center of the field, where they line up according to rank.
The Emperor and Kresmea are the first, followed by his Guards and their Dragons, then Varic and Minea, Malin and Lucrea, Cirrin and Brea, Lars and Dranea, and Fray with Sutrea.
My brow furrows, and I look around for an explanation when Wyrth and his deep orange Dragon, Natrea, are missing, though his own Guards are all present with theirs.
Imperial Dragon Master Sonya taps her staff on the dry ground. “Prepare for flight.”
Imperial servants march in a line, carrying the gear required for our sorcerers to ride.
The first two assigned to each Dragon present the gold quilted blankets, while two more carry either side of the large black leather harnesses.
The Dragons stand to allow for the buckles to reach around their torsos as the servants work.
Emperor Aldritch is offered a small set of stairs to climb atop his crimson Dragon, leaning forward without assistance until he takes the proper position while the Imperial servants work around him in concert, adjusting the straps over the Emperor’s arms and legs positioned between each of the giant red wings.
Varic promptly secures himself while I study him with a wobbly smile. Concern and excitement riot inside my chest as Drusilla takes her place in the audience, while I prepare to witness Varic take to the skies.
The tension in my chest increases as Wyrth strides up the stairs. He pauses much closer than he would dare were the Emperor or Varic here to observe his behavior. My stomach sours as I can’t help but absorb his noxious energy and a deep breath of his burnt rubber and iodine scent.
“Shouldn’t you be practicing drills?” My voice is as cold as the stone walls we inhabit.
“Injury.” He points down to his left knee.
“One your healer is incapable of managing?” I glance over at his Guard in question.
“Even the most powerful healer cannot remove the pain of a severe sprain.” Wyrth follows my line of sight to Varic lying atop Minea’s back, and I swallow against the cloying sensation of being under the Philosopher’s pointed attention.
“Did one of the beings you experiment on fight back this time?” I ask, without attempting to hide my amusement.