4. Clara
4
CLARA
I t was the first day of her temporary prison. Her heart was beating so fast that, surely, it would jump from her chest. She knew the vision would rattle them, but for a moment she wasn’t sure what would happen.
Clara touched her throat, swallowing. Nero told her that if she was even perceived as disrespectful, they would cut her neck. But they had not. The ship had been small, but Clara had disappeared to the front. Away from Nero’s eyes, she watched the ocean waves as she silently wept. Just as Elisora had said, she saw her youngest brother moving along the currents, looking up at her from the glassy surface. Once they crossed the border, he jumped on the deck, hugging her from behind.
Clara smiled as she remembered his boyish face, his messy short hair sticking to his skin and a smile that usually had meant he was being troublesome.
“You cannot be here,” Clara said.
“What do you expect me to do when my dearest sister is crying?” Caius asked. “What troubles you?”
With shaky hands, she laid hers over his. Romanus and Elisora were birds of the same feather. Caius was more like her. After Elisora, and their mother, had disappeared Caius clung to her, and she took on a motherly role. He was her comfort more times than she could count. Through silent tears, she explained it all. The pressures from the gods, Nero’s words, and fright about the dragons.
“People can tell when one is being deceitful. Be genuine and speak only from the heart.”
“People are frightened when I tell them the future.” It was why her own people did not speak to her if they could avoid it. Romanus, Elisora, and Caius were the only three that still treated her as normal. These dragons did not know her. If she acted as she normally did then would the treatment not be worse? They did not know her, nor would they wish to.
“Worry not Clara. Just as you were told, if you feel if you are in danger, you only need to yell. Just fulfill your mission the best way you can.”
Clara laughed. “Will you come save me?” Caius was the youngest but had grown much. He was no longer the child that she held as he cried himself to sleep. Sometimes she had to remind herself who was the oldest.
“Of course. Just as King Nordskov said, if anyone harms you then the dragons will suffer the wrath of the seas and skies. Although, Ouroboros may suffer Atlantis’s fate before the skies can rain fire.
Clara smiled. Once Caius had comforted her, much of her worry eased. She touched the earrings Romanus made sure she had. If things got too overwhelming, she would just enjoy the ocean. If Caius truly was there, then she would cave to him charms and comforting words.
She closed her eyes. After her visions it was plain to tell Dragons hated anyone that represented the gods. From her readings she gathered the dragons of the east felt like the gods betrayed them; used them as playthings for their amusement and watched them succumb to a wretched fate all in the name of entertainment. But could she deny their feelings? The emperor seemed calmer when speaking of her brother-in-law then he did the Pythia.
Her guard did not say a word as he guided her to a room. If the royal family, really did want her dead is this how they would do it? It was only the two of them in eerily empty halls. With every step, they got further away from common areas.
At least one of the family members did not want her dead. Prince Drakonis, who stood next to the empress, gazed at her the entire time. He neither panicked nor raised his voice. Something was different about him. From her studies, she had surmised he was a warrior much like his father, but he seemed more monstrous. There was an air around him that she could not place, and it was something only she could see. The third eye, buried in her forehead was itching to open as soon as she had seen him.
“We are here, my lady.” The guard said. He stood to the side after opening the door. She stopped her musings, and entered, holding her head high. Compared to the opulent throne room, the room was plainer, but more than she expected. Floors in a mosaic of yellow, white and blue, blended together in the shape of a curled dragon. Crimson silk swayed off her canopied bed against the breeze from the squared balcony window. Small gems lined the cherry wood headboard along the broad edges and a fluffy scarlet bedspread sat neatly next to decorative circular pillows. The grandest room in the Nordskov castle, or any room in Oceanus, did not hold a candle. Other than the bed and floors, someone sparsely decorated with only a simple cherry wood armoire and desk.
Simple paintings hung with ornate frames from the walls where a fireplace would normally be in her room in Herrlof. The artist depicted the dragons more block-like then realistic which portrayed simple stories. With time she would learn what the tales meant and if they were linked with Phaedrus. She had to. Only through the genuine histories would she find the Heir that would protect her siblings.
Clara resented touching Elisora’s arm. Before she could be happy that her sister had returned. Was she happy that she was pulled from blissful ignorance? Could she be happy that she now had a purpose? The vision was quick yet impactful on her heart. Elisora had suffered so much when Romanus forcibly brought her back home. Her face, that looked so much like Clara’s, was black with golden runes etched into her skin. The bastard Axel was behind her tormenting her with ghostly dark magick and weapons meant only for enemies of war.
Regret ate at her heart every day as she thought of her birth home: Xenakis. The moment Clara laid eyes on Axel; she knew he was evil. Darkness followed him with every step. Yes, she had told her father and brothers, but she took no action aside from that trusting they would take care of it. Xenakis was a virtual paradise. Who would really want to destroy a haven for so many? Who would implode a land where all were accepted, no matter their background?
Clara groaned. This damn gift made her only see the bad parts of people. Why could she not be more like Elisora? She could see the good in all.
Not trusting her gut haunted her every thought and dream. Her father’s death, Romanus’s constant attempt at rebuilding, and Elisora becoming a husk of the beautiful woman she remembered, added layers of despair in her broken heart.
Now Elisora was finally happy. Love sparkled in her eyes and Clara saw nothing but devotion and protection from King Nordskov. He sacrificed everything to take Elisora back to Herrlof from Oceanus and even dealt with her, somewhat unruly, brother Romanus. If anyone deserved happiness in the world, it was Elisora.
Clara looked into the gilded mirror. Her black hair flowed to her small chest, with baby curls lifting from her crown. The clavicles on her torso pushed against her golden skin while her high cheekbones sunk in a little. The blue paint across her eyes and chin was a little smudged but reminded her why she took the arduous journey.
She was not a fighter like Romanus and Elisora, but she had gifts that even the Pythia coveted. The citizens and esseri of the continent were important, but no one was as important as her siblings. Romanus would no longer struggle. Elisora would not die a second time. And Caius, her beloved youngest, would be able to live a comfortable life as he wished. If she had to manipulate the dragons to make sure her family would be protected, she would play any game she needed to. The Fates had a plan and, if she did not like it, she would change it.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. Clara adjusted the golden necklace holding the emerald cloth that fell down her lithe body. Her exposed shoulders straightened, and the cloth of the golden leaf belted dress extended to her sides, below her breasts, to the bangles at her elbows.
“You may enter,” Clara answered.
The door to her room opened. A short, and plump, dragon with cropped fire red hair, and golden scales edging the sides of his eyes entered. He looked like the nobles of Oceanus with narrowed calculating eyes and pristine clothes meant to add to his charm. His smile was beguiling, and he bowed with elegance, his meaty hand cupping his chest over his heart.
“Good morn lady Oracle.”
Dim crimson scales etched themselves in his honey ivory skin; along his cheekbones, wide neck, and hands. Everywhere a human would have veins. Like the gargoyles she knew his nails were long and tipped.
“You may call me Clara,” she said.
The dragon relaxed his posture and smiled with blunted white teeth. Dragons could shape shift. That she knew, but so many questions ran through her mind. What was the norm for the regular dragon? Why did all of them have different color scales? What would make the heir so different?
Clara jumped as the dragon took her hand, kissing the back of it.
“Forgive me Clara. I heard this is how humans greet each other. Was I wrong?”
Clara pulled her hand away.
Beware all but Drakonis. Her brother-in-law had told her. And if you need help, you only need to yell.
“While I live here, I will greet in the way of your kind. That is only proper.” Clara discreetly ran the top of her hand against her dress. The dragon’s eyes darkened for a moment, but then went wide as before. “What is the way to do that, if you do not mind me asking.”
“A fine question. When addressing those of equal rank, men will shake hands and women a kiss on the cheek. When greeting those of higher rank one will bow at the waist, until you are allowed to raise your head.”
“And those of opposite gender?” Clara asked further.
“If a woman steps forward towards a man, she gives permission for the man to kiss her cheek. Otherwise offer a slight bow.”
Clara filed the information in her mind. Society here differed from Herrlof or Oceanus. Just as Nero had said, a simple slip up could lead to international conflict. She nodded in understanding.
“And you, Clara,” the dragon continued. “Would be on the levels of our dukes. Considering your…current family situation. However, uncouth it may be.”
Clara fought to not show her disdain. This dragon was trying to get a rise out of her, and she would not allow his insult to her sister’s husband to outwardly bother her.
“Your name kind sir.”
“Valen, my lady. Valen Zenos. Grand Marquis of Lav and Minister of Revenue for Ouroboros.”
A Marquis. If this was the same caste society of Oceanus, the royal family and a duke would supersede him in court.
“I thank you, Lord Valen, for educating me on your ways of greeting. May I ask why you have come?” Clara kept her voice steady. Her senses were tingling. Maybe it was paranoia.
“Yes, lady. His highness Prince Kazimir received word that you requested access to the library. He sent me to escort you, however regretfully.”
Regretfully? She doubted that. The overdressed trout was vocal about her vision, unlike Prince Drakonis. She could tell in that one interaction why King Nordskov told her to stay away from Prince Kazimir and close to Prince Drakonis.
“I am ecstatic to hear the prince found time to think of me. I will accept your help.” Her eyes did not crinkle and her toothless smile. She bowed with the grace that Caspian would be proud of.
Valen reached out an arm to escort her, but she glided past him. While touching him would reveal information about who he really was, she had to conserve her power. There was only so much that she could do without wearing herself out. The chief priority was to find all she could about the heir.
The chuckle behind her made her spine stiffen. It was so like Axel’s. The laugh of a dark sorcerer with a vile plan.
Once passed the doorframe, Lord Valen walked a step behind her, too close for comfort, but frustratingly far enough to not violate protocol.
“Prince Kazimir has decreed that you can go to the library anytime you wish, with access to all documents and scrolls. If you get lost, we have many that can help you find your way.”
Pressure was building against her skull. It was suspicious how the rude prince was suddenly being so gracious. If the royal family expected her report to have any tangibility at all she had to have access to everything. But dragons were notoriously protective of their belongings. For now, she must appear grateful. It is only through building trust with them that she could see the true historic treasures they hid.
“Please pass along my thanks,” Clara said.
This Lord Valen was giving her more information than he knew.
“You may pass your thanks along yourself. Prince Kazimir has requested your presence at dinner tonight.”
Clara wanted to scream. She didn’t want to offend a prince, but she knew that if this man made her suspicious, the prince would be danger. There would be no one that would be on her side if she needed to escape. How would Elisora handle this?
“I-“
“Ah, Princess, there you are.”
Clara stopped, Valen following suit. The two looked over their shoulders. A familiar face walked towards them, and he was much larger up close. The older prince, Drakonis, approached them with a pointed smile. His black hair was straight like hers and braided intricately down his back. A deep blue robe fit his warrior frame in all the right places. He was not as large as King Nordskov but could fill a room easily. Loose black trousers tucked into calf height leather black boots, and an ornate bronze and sapphire belt stressed his narrow waist. His purple scales were visible along his hands, neck, and cheeks but did not glow as they did in the throne room.
Valen bowed deeply and held it.
“I see you are with Lord Valen,” the Prince added, stopping before her. He tilted his head, the long bronze earrings in his pointed ears tinkling.
Clara blanked, mesmerized for a moment, then bowed at the waist as instructed.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, your highness,” she blurted.
“You may lift your head, princess.”
She did as she was told, glancing to her side. Lord Valen was still bowing.
“I heard you were looking for the library. Allow me to continue as your escort.” She relaxed. Barely. Up close, he was much more handsome. With a face like his, women in any court would flock around him doing anything for attention.
“I thank you for taking time out of your busy day to help me. I am most unworthy.”
Prince Drakonis extended his hand which she took immediately. A shot of electricity shot through her body. The mysterious air she had noticed before, changed. A scaled serpent wrapped around Drakonis’s entire body, starting at the legs, around his waist and over his shoulder, with shimmering wings that spanned across Drakonis’s shoulders, and branched horns that were grander than any gargoyle’s. The snake slithered down Drakonis’s to her arm, lifting its head to meet her eyes with its own gray ones.
It is you, the snake spoke. Clara cocked her head. How could such a creature know her? Drakonis squeezed her hand, cocking a brow at her. Did he not see it?
“Your highness, before you leave, I was waiting to hear the lady’s answer.” Clara jolted. The snake disappeared, and she was back in the palace hall. “Prince Kazimir has invited her to dinner.” Valen still bowed but she could hear that he was speaking through clenched teeth.
“Ah, yes. Tell my brother that his dinner invitation will have to wait. The lady has already agreed to dine with me.” Drakonis looked down at her. “I believe she was just about to tell you that as I approached.”
Clara wanted to breathe a side of relief. She nodded.
“I apologize Lord Valen. Please pass along my regrets to his highness. Had I known of his graciousness before, I would have joined him.”
Clara was astounded to see Valen still bowing at the waist, looking at the mosaic and red marble floor. She did not know if she felt sorry or not, but she was happy she was escaping her situation with him.
“I…see. It cannot be helped Clara. ”
She shuttered at how he said her name. He was angry. It was apparent in his drop of formalities.
“We will be on our way then.” Drakonis pulled her hand. His grip was firm, but not painful.
The library was more grandiose than anything she had ever seen. The vaulted ceiling was painted with a variety of sizes and colors of dragons. A perverted fresco of gray horned creatures, she assumed gargoyles, laid with decapitated heads and mutilated bodies. The dragons were clearly victorious. On the far wall, in between room sized windows was a grand painting of a horned man with white hair, pale horns, and opal scales. He sat on a throne with vibrant robes. Bronzed dragons, in their monster forms, hung on each corner where the ceiling and wall kissed. Clara could spot at least two fireplaces, one in the bottom room and another in the distance where the next level was. Bound books and scrolls neatly sat on high cherry wood cases which reached towards the fresco, as if it were part of the artwork. Crimson and gold carpets sat in strategic areas with couches, tassels extending from the edges like the sun's rays.
“I expected the sister-in-law of my comrade to be a lot more careful.” Drakonis’s voice was quiet and commanding.
“I beg your pardon?” Clara turned her body halfway, her eyes widened as she stared at him. He was leaning against a case, his arms crossed, and his brow raised.
“Did Ragnar not specifically give you instruction? Trust no one in this castle.”
“Except you.” She clarified. “I had it handled.”
“Clearly. Had I not shown up who knows what that bastard Valen would have done to you.” Drakonis grimaced as he said Valen’s name. “Just so you know, you should not fully trust me either. Trust no one in this castle. Think about yourself and what you need to accomplish. Then get out.”
Clara did not know what she was expecting, but it was not this. The prince seemed so charming before, now he was rude and spoke to her as if she was a child.
“Forgive me, your highness. I will hold you at my beck and call while I find what I need.”
Drakonis smirked. Clara placed her hands on her hips, turning her nose in the air.
“Merely tell me what you need my lady, and I will make sure you receive.” Sarcasm laced his words. “But I regret to inform you that the chosen one you seek exists only in mythology so it will be difficult.”