3. Drakonis
3
DRAKONIS
“ I cannot believe you accepted this ridiculous invitation!” Konstantin growled, a wrinkle growing deeper between his electric blue eyes. Opal-colored scales in his neck and cheekbones glowed brighter against his porcelain skin the closer he and his father got the throne room. His sharped tipped, bony fingers adjusted his deep purple kymu , bronzed wrist bangles clinging together with each flick.
“Father, it was a request from King Nordskov. I could not refuse.” Contrary to his emperor father, Drakonis stood straight as he walked a step behind, his fingers clasped behind his back.
Gargoyles could be treacherous beings. They were quick to turn on their own and would sooner kill someone who disagreed with them instead of acting civilized. At least that was the opinion of most. Drakonis held similar beliefs until he fought along Ragnar in the Great War. Back-to-back they swung their swords and defended each other like kin. In those moments it did not matter your species, only that your ally had the same motivation to defeat the evil magick ones.
The tips of Drakonis’s straight black braid brushed against his purple scaled fingers. On the outside he was smiles and amicable, but in his chest, his stomach felt as if it was turning. Ragnar’s letter and Gavril’s plan was forefront in his mind. This woman was not physically dangerous, but her connections were. She was an unknown, kin to a gargoyle queen, and princess of the seas; a kingdom known to only those that died beneath its depths.
And the Pythia, the highest priestess of the gods. A human that lived in between two worlds, and the one whom the gods looked through, who whispered to her when it was their will. When the gods meddled, it was never good. Had it not been for the betterment of the continent, both he and Ragnar would have her killed. Evidence pointed that she housed dark sorcerers and witches. For what, they did not know. Because of whom she was to the people, it would have been blasphemes for soldiers to ransack the Ancient Isle, or her temple. At the end of the day, she thought of all esseri as inferior. She was no better than the self-serving Olympians.
Did Ragnar truly know his new sister? Or was his fondness for his queen blinding him to the potential dangers?
“The treaty said nothing about bowing to that damn mad king’s demands. It would be one thing to meet with one of his deplorable kind, but he requests us to meet one of them . An oracle sent by the Pythia. The gods forsake our people millennia ago,” Konstantin spat.
A growl echoed in Drakonis’s head. His secret old friend. The one only his mother and Gavril knew of.
The Pythia, the highest authority of the gods, acted suspiciously when he, Ragnar, and Bastien stormed the Isle. When it was clear the dark sorceror Vespasian was losing the war, the elderly woman with no battle experience was able to produce him so easily. Vespasian, who had a strong connection with the human populace, now had no allies. Then questionably, accrued powers when Ragnar was ransacked on the Western border. Nero had wiped the land with his power, so no proof was left behind on who his backer was.
Was it truly the gods’ fortune they had captured and killed him, or did the Pythia give up a dark sorcerer who had become useless in her plans?
“We need only listen to what she has to say. If she offends us, we can send her away.” Drakonis answered. “She is a princess, and one with a potential message from the gods.”
That Pythia is a trickster, who follows the winged heels of Hermes. A voice growled in his mind. She claims to be a vessel of the gods but serves only the goddess Eris. Be on alert.
Drakonis’s dark plum scales hardened and raised from his wrists, torso, and neck. Since he was a babe, his inner dragon had helped him to survive by appearing at the most crucial times. The dragon was more than instinct. Whatever he said came to pass.
“Relax your scales Drakonis. We show no emotion. Especially to our enemies. You above all should know that,” Konstantin snapped. Drakonis took a deep breath, his scales feeling light as paper. Under Konstantin’s robes the opal light of his scales looked like stars. If Drakonis did not remain calm his father wouldn’t either.
Two guards stood erect as statues, their eyes cutting to the double doors. Curved swords hung on their waists, standing out against their black kymus and trousers. Golden breast plates gleamed on their wide chests, and they made not a sound as they bowed at the waist.
“I hold you responsible for this woman’s removal if she poses a threat.” Konstantin said.
“Of course, father.”
Honor, family, and country. Konstantin drilled it into him since he was a child. Drakonis had given his word to Ragnar but made no promise how long she could stay.
“To keep this as quiet as possible, there will be a small audience.” Konstantin walked, the sun glinting off his golden monomachaus crown and a string of jeweled medallions falling in a U from his shoulders.
None spoke as the doors were open. Heavy scarlet drapes darkened the normal, bright, octagon room. Candles and sconces with magical fire hung along the glittering bronzed walls, and the elaborate crystal chandelier hung from the high vaulted ceilings looking like a floating fire.
Konstantin took a seat in his wide throne next to his Empress. His mother sat straight, shoulders back, her eyes straight ahead. Her half up maple-colored hair showcased her straight nose and high cheekbones. The large purple jewels that hung from her pointed ears helped to distract from the purple scales raising behind her ears and along her graceful neck. Drakonis approached her side, standing alongside her, clawed hands clasped behind his back.
He felt the eyes of his brother, Kazimir, burning a hole in the side of his head. His tawny hair was slicked back and tied in a neat bun. Golden petals of the distant dracora trees were embroidered into his crimson kymu . Rubies and diamonds lined his bony clawed fingers, waist, and ears. Unlike Drakonis, who preferred to dress in simple silks and golden bands, Kazimir liked to flaunt his wealth and position. Would his father scold him? It was disrespectful to outshine the emperor, especially with important guests.
Aside from the royal family only guards and Gavril, were present. Gavril looked pristine and emotionless sitting on a shorter onyx throne at the foot of the dais. Simple black robes made him blend into the background in case he had to play assassin. Gods help him today would not be a day like that, and all would go according to plan.
“We will see the guest,” Konstantin commanded.
The dark room became darker as the doors opened.
A petite cloaked figure glided along the mosaic floors, soft footsteps making naught a sound. The woman’s hood cast a shadow over her nose. A golden chin and full brown lips painted with blue symbols was all he could see.
Humming filled his body as she stopped in the middle of the room, falling into a curtsy. A figure, hidden before, teased him. She was a tiny woman that showed more skin than any noblewoman in Ouroboros. The hand that she placed over her breast was decorated in colorful rings. Bangles clinked from the motion. Drakonis couldn’t help but follow the blue paint that traveled down her swan like neck and disappeared under the green sheathe dress. It fell from a thick necklace that cupped the base of her throat, but he saw peeks of her breast at each side. The blue marks on her arms moved like pictographs of a river as she lowered her arm.
Drakonis swallowed when she stood, her shapely leg peeking from the high slip of her emerald dress. He desired to see the face under the hood. Was it as exotic as her clothing? He told Alastair he received no portrait, and he was now regretting it.
Floating fire above swirled around her as if it was at her command, making the golden skin he could see glitter.
“Speak your name,” Konstantin commanded.
“I am Clara Katsaros, your eminence.”
“The Pythia sent you,” Konstantin boomed. Drakonis swallowed. He needed to focus.
“The Pythia has requested my help, but I am not her servant,” the woman said. Her voice was quiet, soothing even, echoing off the walls.
“Then you are here on behalf of the gargoyle king?” Konstantin questioned again.
“I am here selfishly your eminence. The gods have shown me a vision of what is coming, and I come to beg for your help in stopping the evil looming on the horizon.”
A dark chuckle came from Kazimir’s lips. “It is humorous that a human has come to us. Your kind have done nothing but bring chaos to the continent.”
The woman did not answer. Her hidden face stayed straight, looking at his father.
“The first prince,” Konstantin waived his clawed hand up towards Drakonis, “Was a huge part in bringing Ipeiros to peace. Now you claim that something else will come so soon?”
“The war his highness helped bring an end to was started by greed and men. The fates have shown me an impending apocalypse started by the gods themselves.”
A chill overcame the room.
“The gods forsake us millennia ago. We will have no part in their games. If that is all you have to say…” Konstantin began.
“Your people will be involved whether or not you choose to believe it. All but dragons and gargoyles are powerless against the gods, but there is one among you that will be key in defeating the evil that has already crept into the shadows,” the woman interrupted.
“And who would that be?” Drakonis could sense the anger seething beneath Konstantin’s words. If there was one thing his father hated most, it was being interrupted.
“The Heir of Phaedrus.”
Everything stilled in the room. The dragon within him perked up, his magick slithering through him like a snake, and watched the woman through his own cerulean eyes.
Is it she? his dragon whispered.
Phaedrus was the father of dragon kind. A gargoyle fool who, in exchange for freedom, stole an artifact from the Olympian Hades. Because of his failure, Hades caught him and cast he, and those he brought, into a river of hellfire. In their strength, they did not die, but harnessed the power of the Underworld becoming dragons. No one outside of Ouroboros knew the story, much less about an heir. How did this woman?
“This is foolishness,” his younger brother, Kazimir, interrupted. “The Heir is a myth.”
“There was once an oracle who predicted that the first dragon, Phaedrus, would select a destined one,” the woman answered in a calming voice. “If you do not believe me, then let me show you.”
The woman lifted her small, blue painted, hands. Golden light swirled around them, like silk, in an infinity symbol, whipping her cloak away from her body. Tendrils of long black hair flew across her face, still hiding her eyes. Her magical light formed two faceless horned creatures and the third with battle armor.
“In the darkest of days, the Great Triumvirate will bring peace to the continent Ipeiros, albeit temporary, it is but the calm before the storm.”
The three golden figures lifted their swords, raising them until the tips touched.
“The seed of enemies past will birth an age of destruction that will engulf all life.”
Figures of man, orc, dragon, and centaur had cartoonish expressions of fear as gigantic spider like creatures jumped on them.
“Kings will be suppressed, warriors cut down.”
A great horned creature with a sword lit up with veins of red, being forced to his knees. Drakonis swallowed. Could it be his comrade?
A being with wings was stripped, with a noiseless scream.
Gavril stood from his short throne with widened dark gray eyes.
“From this death and destruction will come pieces of the ancient one cut down by Kronos. Pieces that will come together giving rebirth to the indestructible.”
The figures came together again forming a monster that Drakonis had only seen in his lore scrolls. A giant with flowing hair, crown, and a grand scythe filled the grand room.
“All will be enslaved or perish except the one that cannot die. One infused with the powers of death and life. The one creature that can cast Hades’s mighty hell fire with armor made of the cosmos themselves.”
A snake-like figure with wings and a powerful tail and talons snaked around the giant god absorbing the faux attacks in the vision.
“The Heir of Phaedrus.”
Right when the figures clashed the magick disappeared, swirling around the woman like a tornado then disappearing. Drakonis placed a firm hand on his mother, Yelena’s, shoulder. She was rigid and grabbing onto his father’s hand. Kazimir looked bewildered, but it was impossible to discern his feelings.
“The gods work in ways we cannot see them. It has already started in the North with the dark sorcerer Axel. It will soon spread, so I must find the Heir as soon as possible.” Her hood was pushed back, but still casted a shadow on her face. Golden eyes glowed from underneath, but he could not discern an expression.
“My dear, this is not something we can ignore.” Yelena’s voice shook. Konstantin did not glance in her direction as he stared at the seer.
“Father this has to be a ploy,” Kazimir exclaimed. “Woman, are you not the sister-in-law to the Gargoyle King Ragnar Nordskov?” The woman, Clara, did not answer. “You are here on his bidding to frighten us. The Heir is nothing but a tale, written by those that mourned the death of Phaedrus, hoping he would return.”
“Are you sure that Phaedrus perished?” Clara questioned. No one answered but Drakonis’s mouth went dry. His dragon hummed, and a picture of a smiling serpent came to mind.
When he was a child, he remembered a story of Phaedrus’s funeral, but texts had said Phaedrus’s body was lost. There was no discernable evidence of how he died either.
“My sister has indeed married King Nordskov, but I do not come at his behest. In fact, he and my family wished for me to remain with them.”
“Then why have you come? Why have you given such a prophecy? Are you here to steal from us? Mock us?” Konstantin asked.
Clara’s lips trembled. It was the first sign of emotion that Drakonis had seen.
“I only wish to protect my family.” Her answer was short, but Drakonis felt there was more to it. His father must have believed the same as he knit his brows together. “I beg of you to let me reside here temporarily to find the Heir. In my search, I will give you all new information I gather. My hope is that the gods assist me, and you, in defeating whatever is coming.”
“Gavril, what are your thoughts?” Konstantin questioned.
Gavril answered without looking away from the woman. “How do you intend to find him?”
“I plan to start with any written histories you have. I have gone through the libraries of the north and the information from the Ancient Isle, but all mentioned was vague.”
“That is why you have engaged us?” Gavril questioned further.
“One reason, yes my lord.” Her blatant honesty struck Drakonis.
She must remove her hood. His dragon hissed in his ear. Drakonis wanted to jump out of his skin. It was as if needles were blanketing him.
“Ouroboros is the only place I can find verifiable information on the Heir. There is nowhere else I can turn,” Clara said.
“Remove your hood. I take no word from a coward who will not show their face,” Gavril commanded, as if echoing the dragon. She hesitated at first then bent her head. Delicate hands grasped the cloak and pushed it back. Air stopped in Drakonis’s lungs. His dragon clutched his heart, digging his talons into the organ. The woman indeed had skin as gold as the desert sand. Thick black lashes and arched black brows framed light amber almond-shaped eyes. A bronzed band lay on the crown of her head with an evil eye dangling on her forehead, the iris onyx. The blue paint was not just on her chin and bottom lip, but also across her eyes.
Gavril’s eyes and scales glowed bright red as he stared her down. She did not flinch nor stand down. She held herself straight like a royal. Soon, red dimmed from Gavril’s skin as he bowed to Konstantin. “I sense no lies Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Very well.” Drakonis watched his father. Gavril was unique in his ability. Honor was the core of who he was. He was never wrong when studying someone, and it is one reason Konstantin had made him the Grand Chancellor, and most trusted advisor. “I will grant your temporary stay. My son, Drakonis, will be responsible to assist you. Should you break our laws he will also dowl out your punishment.”
“Father!” Kazimir contested. Konstantin silenced him. Yelena’s hand squeezed his on her shoulder.
“You will give a report on your findings at least twice a week.” The woman nodded then fell into a curtsy again.
“I thank you, Your Eminence, for your graciousness.
“The guards will show you to your room.”
Clara’s eyes met Drakonis’s. Fireworks went off in his mind. The world disappeared around him. Fear left him, replaced with an odd sense of possessiveness. It was as if he was in a desert and was his hydration. He had now seen her face, but it wasn’t enough.
With neither a smile nor a sneer, she nodded her head then walked away with the guards, her loose black hair swaying with the flickers of light. It took everything in him not to run after her.