Chapter Thirty
Ghreid
It’d happened so fast, the bells ringing through the streets, further along, criers calling out Fire! Fire! The sea is aflame! The docks are burning!
One by one, they’d left the estate, leaving their servants locked within the basement with the hatchlings, as even Asha joined the fray, asking something silly about the cement quarry for the masons.
Ghreid made his way to the parapet and the paddock, looking out at the docks and the teeming sea. Two Rammolian ghost ships floated into the harbor fully aflame as liquid fire raced across the top of the sea in an oily blaze.
It was done as a declaration of war, but something wasn’t right. The ships were ones he recognized from the stacks, ones barely fit to float. No Rammolian ships had been seen, and the flags flying were too new.
Ghreid shifted and flew without thinking, grabbing the wyverns’ water trough with his enormous talons.
He flew over the flaming sea in a great swoop, picking up water as he went before dumping it over the flaming sea to no avail. He wasn’t even certain why he thought it’d work.
From somewhere, Falustus flew with him, a tattered ship sail in his maw. He soaked it in water and flew to shore, flinging the wet canvas over the flaming docks, beating down the flames and smothering them.
Rath, who seemed more capable and levelheaded than the rest of them, by rights a true king in choice, billowed flames as hard as he could, coming at the sea from inland, the countering stronger flame burning off some of the floating oil, but the scale at which the oil had spread made the gesture futile.
How they’d amassed that much bog oil and managed to leak it, was beyond Ghreid’s understanding. Still, they fought.
Slath soared above, diving down to breathe streaks of icy wind over the fires, frost coating creaking docks and sagging rafters.
Humans ran through the streets below, like ants in their worried circles, as they brought bucket chains ashore to douse homes preemptively. They’d seen the fires before.
Draenvir, for his part, summoned magic he seldom used and flew skyward, the light glow amassing clouds around him, thunder rumbling gently so far above. They’d lose light, but a rain would help if the fates permitted.
Move! The thunder of wings streaked above as Asha, his opalescent scales glittering, streaked by with a cracked barrel in his talons, leaking white powder in a steady stream. And wherever the dust hit, the fire flared, popped, and fizzled out, smothered as if choked to death.
Gather the mortar ash from the quarry! Asha’s dragon roared as he swooped a circle over the sea and went back inland.
The biproduct of manufacturing mortar from limestone left an acrid white powder behind that they used to amend soil and clean. It made an effective laundering powder, but Asha rained it down upon the oil, and it smothered it so efficiently. And with a rain, it’d be gone.
They flew back and forth, quelling the fires until something unsettling clenched Ghreid’s throat.
His own fear and anxiety wasn’t alone, and his instincts screamed at him to find his mate at once.
The roars and screams, as tiny and distant as they were, met his ears or soul somehow, and Ghreid flew.
He flew toward his home, aiming toward the cliff face where their bedroom overlooked.
Over the acrid stench of smoke, he detected blood, not his mate’s. Human blood. Food. Raw meat. Death. And the moment his head penetrated the window and eyes settled on their nest, his entire world broke apart.
Smashed eggshells, strewn yolk, viscera… My young!
His dragon wailed inconsolably, and the only human left standing, marked by Varis’s claw, earned all the fire that Ghreid had left in him in a rush.
But even that wouldn’t abate his agony. He ate.
He tore apart a human and Falustus joined him, seething in realization that his own pet had taken the life of his nephews.
He snatched another body and flew off, met by one of his other brothers that joined him in filling their rapidly emptying bellies.
And until Varis broke the spell of his raw hatred and fury, led him to his eggs and promised him everything was okay, Ghreid swore he would die, end it himself, crush his own heart as punishment for allowing harm to come to his mate.
And in a moment of clarity, with Falustus leaving with the boy, Ghreid realized he’d struck at his mate and children’s savior. The sour taste of incense and smoke lingered sour on his tongue.
“I’m so sorry…” Ghreid, after dismissing Falustus, managed to croak out. His throat was raw and twisted from screaming.
Varis did all he knew to do and emptied the nest of debris and waste, taking the stained and sullied blankets to pile in the corner.
What was left, he brought their eggs to, and together, they surrounded them and wept.
Wept for what he might have done to the boy who saved his mate, wept for what might have happened, and wept for nothing.
His emotions crashed down, and all they could do was cry together.
And until stone-faced family returned, Falustus and the priest missing, they sat in misery. Naked, half clothed, wreathed in filthy blankets, they gathered with two whimpering pups. Humans outside stomped out the last of the fire.
“How did you know about the mortar ash?” Ghreid turned his attention to Asha who, despite having two shivering children in his lap, hugged one of the eggs tight to his belly.
“Grew up in Tippen Valley. The whitestone was ornamental until the latter part of the war when they were cooking it down for plaster and mortar. The ash leftover we cleaned with, but when fire touches it, it steals the breath from fire. If fire cannot breathe, it dies.” Asha, woefully uneducated in matters of science, seemed to have a layman’s grasp of it.
“Genius.” Ghreid ran a hand through his filthy hair and blinked up, glancing about.
All of his brothers, save for Falustus, sat around him in his nest in varying states of undress, leaning against one another, huddled for family and fear.
Emotions were high. Rath leaned into his mate and Asha soothed the egg, which he understood had some degree of fear and anxiety eking off them.
Graylan, naked as well, sat off to the side as a hatchling approached him to nuzzle his ankle.
“Alright, I’ve seen enough penis for tonight!” Draenvir stood, blanket wrapped around himself.
Asha kept his gaze on the egg, firmly locked as his cheeks burned bright pink—such an innocent. Rath didn’t deserve him.
“I haven’t.” Varis cracked the first joke, earning confused glances as he gave a raised eyebrow to Slath, who assuredly would agree with him.
Slath’s upper lip curled. “I might agree, but five of these are my brothers’ penises.”
“You could look at mine if it makes you feel better?” Graylan tilted his head and earned a collective growl from protective brothers.
Slath glanced over in mock curiosity. “Eh.”
The growling stopped.
Galatan, who had been a silent, brooding force in the spectacle, spoke out. “You did good out there today, Graylan. You work well with Slath.”
Grumbles of agreement passed around.
“But you’re still a dirty old man.” Varis spoke this time, lacking much, if any of the details behind their union.
As Graylan ruffled with indignation, mouth open as if to say something, Slath nodded with feigned seriousness. “Indeed.”
“You asked me to come. You asked me into your quarters. I don’t do anything you don’t ask for, and wouldn’t it be a crime to disregard the whims of a prince?” Graylan deflated a little.
Still, it was what Slath wanted, even if their father had forbidden it.
Graylan, as the family’s healer, came around often, and each visit came with a stern warning to stay away from Slath, to keep his distance, a message from Kineer to all the brothers to never allow them alone.
And Graylan had, for his part, avoided Slath until he went to ground.
“Whatever it is going on between you two needs to wrap up, then.” Galatan huffed. “If Slath winds up with an unplanned clutch, I won’t hesitate to put my claws to your throat.”
Graylan held up his hands, mouth moving soundlessly as he searched for words. His eyes, two empty voids, were so hard to read, a reason he’d never be fit for Slath.
“What’s the big deal? Don’t we live forever? Until we aren’t needed? Why is being together such a sour spot?” Varis, asking the real questions, gestured about as Graylan tensed up and stood abruptly, stalking off with pain written all over his every feature.
They all sat quietly as Slath answered for them, gesturing at his eyes. “This means he—the eyes.”
Asha stared at him, head tilted. Varis reached for Slath’s hand as the brother searched for an answer with a gesticulating free hand.
“Not all dragons are capable of shifting to a human form. They’re wild dragons.
We guard the lands they live in and keep their populations down and low. Occasionally some reproduce.”
“Graylan was born from wild dragons. They found him as a kid half shifted trying to play with local village children. He’d picked up broken Elander but was a feral child and raised by our grandfather because his wild magic made him unusually suitable for healing.” Draenvir frowned.
“I was raised by humans. So was Varis. What’s the big deal?” Asha sat up a little straighter.
Uncomfortable silence spread about.
“Wild dragons do not have mates. They do not court. Wild dragons rape and pillage. No matter how civilized his human form becomes, his dragon will always be dangerous.” Galatan stood and stretched, his bulky, wide form obscuring the waning light from a hall sconce as he shuffled out. “Isn’t it, Slath?”
Slath’s face hardened, and he glanced away, eyes moving toward the busted-out windows. “I’ll measure those in the morning and do you a lovely new leaded stained glass to replace them. Perhaps each modeled after your lovely eggs.”
Question unanswered, Slath stood and walked out, stalking off the direction Graylan went, shoulder-bumping Galatan as he did so.
Varis frowned, an ache of frustration humming between them in the bond they shared. His dragon didn’t like the scorned love.
Lapryda sighed raggedly from his spot and leaned onto Draenvir. “Slath deserves so much better. Some ignoble beast.”
Asha, gaining a little courage, stood abruptly. “I’m getting some clothes and gathering the children. And considering what I came from, how I was raised, and the filth I’ve been adjacent to, I’d be ashamed to speak like that of another dragon.”
He passed the egg he held gently off to Varis, who nestled their clutch together. Varis, who said nothing, nodded to his ashen brother-in-law in solidarity, and an awkward silence spread.
There, Draenvir, Galatan, Rath, and Lapryda found quiet reason to leave with a muttered apology.
“It’s… It’s hard to explain, Varis.” Ghreid met his mate’s eyes and earned a quiet nod.
“I won’t pretend to understand dragon culture, but what those two have going on isn’t anything I’d be ashamed of. I know royalty does things differently, and regency is under different expectations…” Varis shook his head. “Nevermind. Let Slath be happy.”
Ghreid would, but he feared he’d have to pick up the pieces when it was all over, and Slath would be left alone and sad.