CHAPTER THREE #3
A loud laugh made me turn my head without thought.
A bunch of officiates were amused at the expense of another, who appeared to have gotten stew all over himself.
I idly swept my gaze along the bench of people as I was turning my attention back to the pair opposite me.
And my stomach hardened as my eyes clashed with Talon’s striking gaze.
He sat amongst a crowd of people, his body language screaming “power” and “authority.” He looked supremely relaxed yet somehow also coiled to strike.
There was nothing for me to read in that steady stare he pinned on me. He was careful to keep it neutral. But I would imagine he was still trying to figure out how a Sayer could be human.
Good luck with that.
Resettling my focus on Khalida, I asked, “Is it true that Talon never speaks?”
Chewing food again, she nodded. “He allegedly doesn’t even talk to Eva,” she added, referring to one of the first mortals that the gods created.
I picked up my tankard again, the reference tickling my memory. “So the tragic romance story about her and Talon is true?”
“Depends what version you’ve heard.” Nakoa leaned forward a little.
“The truth is that the gods offered her immortality as a reward for prewarning them about the Uprising. Though she was in a relationship with Talon, she said no to their offer. She wanted to be reborn as a mortal over and over like all human souls.”
“Each time she comes back, which is usually every sixty years or so—a short stretch of time for immortals like Talon—she remembers her first life; remembers him,” Layna elaborated.
“She turns up at Deimos as an adult, is welcomed by the Sovereigns, spends a few decades with Talon, and then ends her own life to be reborn again. She doesn’t want to grow old when he never will, or to leave him and build a life with another man. ”
“Huh.” I sipped at my mead and then rubbed at my cheek. “I know some might think it’s romantic that they repeatedly come together like that, but it sounds more like two people returning to a doomed relationship again and again.”
“That’s how I see it.” Khalida sighed. “Anyway, she should be back again in another year or so. Maybe things will be different for them that time and she’ll stick around.”
I looked at Layna. “You said he takes officiates to his bed, so I’m guessing he doesn’t remain celibate while she’s gone.”
It was Nakoa who responded. “He only scratches an itch every six months or so. Usually just for one night, though he’s never short of offers from officiates. People outside the Order would probably make themselves available, too. But none of us get involved with them. We’re an inclusive bunch.”
Feeling the weight of someone’s attention, I looked to my right. A few candidates were staring at me, their gazes assessing and finding me lacking.
“You’re going to need to be careful, Anara,” Khalida advised, pulling my focus back to her.
“It isn’t at all common for candidates to kill others, but it does happen occasionally—Xalbia is taxing on the mind; it causes arguments to break out and tempers to explode.
Plenty here might not like that a human was chosen to be a Sayer.
During a weak moment, they could easily end up making an issue out of it. ”
I raked my teeth over my lower lip. “I’d already thought of that. Atticus in particular might make himself a problem. Do you remember him?”
Khalida nodded. “He still a dick?”
“In every way that counts,” I told her. “Bevan and Seneca are also here. They’re all thrilled about it.”
She snorted. “I’m sure they are. They’ll want their abilities to surface. Can’t really blame them. I love mine. I can spout wings at will, chuck around balls of swirling frost, and heal very fast.”
I looked at Quillen. “What about Lykaons?”
“We’re stronger and faster than average godkin. And, of course, we can shift into a wolf. In that form, our skin is tough as scales, and our saliva is flammable.”
“Us Nemeans are pretty jealous about the last part,” Nakoa told me, “but we have our own strengths. Our lion-fur is impenetrable, and our claws are so sharp they can cut through anything—even Lykaon skin, which their kind doesn’t much like.”
“No, we don’t,” Quillen admitted.
I tilted my head as I glanced from Layna to Jelani. “And Delphiae? Can you really become trees?”
“Sort of,” said Jelani. “As part of being able to call on elemental energy, we can grow wooden armor. We can also heal.”
I hummed, setting down my tankard. “So, basically, you all kick ass.”
“We do,” Khalida boasted. “You know, you might have dormant abilities. Sayers could do all kinds of stuff once upon a time. Have prophetic visions, move things with their mind, heal people, even communicate with animals. They had to have such potential so that the gods could use them as vessels and act through them. That could apply to you, too.”
Doubtful, in my opinion.
“Talon can do far more than any of us can,” Khalida went on. “He is lightning fast—sometimes, you don’t even see him move. His strength is off the charts. He can conjure things. And he shoots golden sparks of power that are lethal.”
I forked my last piece of chicken. “Is it true that he can shift into a dragon?”
“Yes, but it’s not so much a preternatural ability.” Khalida paused. “Vitus didn’t actually create Talon. He … changed him.”
I felt my brow pinch. “Changed him?”
“Vitus took the soul of a baby dragon and trapped it in the form of a human infant, which he then immortalized.”
A shocked gasp wisped out of me. “You’re joking.”
She shook her head, her face grim. “Cruel as hell, isn’t it? Talon might wear the skin of a man, but he has the soul of a beast. That’s where his uncivilized edge comes from. He can shift into a dragon, but he can’t keep that form for long periods.”
Minos’ earlier words about the primordials came back to me then … It would not be the first time they placed a soul in a body that was not intended to home it.
Ah, so he’d meant Talon.
I didn’t put any real stock in the idea that my soul was godkin.
It seemed more like the Sovereigns didn’t want to believe that the primordials would choose a human.
I’d never had the feeling that I didn’t belong in my body.
But I somehow doubted that Talon could claim the latter, and it was positively tragic.
I lowered my cutlery to my pewter. “I can’t imagine being stuck in a body that isn’t natural for me. Does he shift into his dragon form often?”
Soule shook his head. “Mostly only if there’s an emergency when we need his firepower.
In that form, he’s … different. When I shift into a lion, I become more savage and primitive.
But I’m still me, still a man. For Talon, it’s the other way around.
He doesn’t think or act like a person when he shifts, he thinks and acts like a beast.”
Khalida nodded. “It’s a whole other state of mind where he’d happily eat a person or set someone he doesn’t like on fire—enemy, officiate, whatever.
Dragons were only ever loyal to their horde and to the gods.
Talon would fight as a dragon to protect his territory, but he wouldn’t care about collateral damage.
Not even the Sovereigns would be safe.” She paused. “It’s worse on full moons.”
“Why?”
“He can’t physically shift on full moons, but he does mentally—and it’s something he has no control over. He’s basically rabid at such times. He’ll kill anyone, friend or foe. It’s why he isolates himself on full moons, though no one seems entirely sure where he goes.”
I absently rubbed my shoulder. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to hear any of that.”
“Only those at Deimos really know the truth about Talon,” Quillen told me. “I think the Sovereigns like for there to be an air of mystery around their Cardinal—it makes him even scarier than he already is.”
Or maybe they didn’t want people to know that there was in fact one last dragon in the world. A dragon trapped in a man’s body—something they had likely made no attempt to reverse, if they even could. “Wait, is this why he doesn’t talk? It’s a case that he actually can’t?”
Khalida’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I’m not sure if anyone in the Tapestry knows the truth of why. I doubt Minos really took his tongue, but the officiates who’ve been in Talon’s bed weren’t able to confirm it. Apparently, he doesn’t kiss.”
I felt my brows shoot up. “Oh. Okay.”
“Some think he’s purposefully mute,” Khalida continued.
“Even when he was young, the Sovereigns treated him as a weapon. They did all sorts of things—including subjecting him to various forms of torture in an effort to desensitize him from fear and pain. Some say that, because they ignored his screams and cries and pleas for them to stop, Talon stopped making any sounds at all.”
Following her train of thought, I asked, “You mean as an act of defiance? He couldn’t control what they did, but he could control what responses he gave them?”
“It’s the theory that some in the Tapestry believe. There’s lots that we don’t know about our Cardinal, so we can only speculate. Much as we can only speculate as to why the gods chose a Sayer for a human, for that matter.”
“Minos suggested that I might be an experiment; that the primordials took the soul of a godkin and shoved it into the body of a human.” And now that I knew what had been done to Talon … “It clearly wouldn’t be out of character for them.”
“No,” agreed Layna with a sigh. “No, it wouldn’t.”
◆◆◆
After leaving the food hall. Khalida and Quillen took me up the steps that led to the rise so that I could see beyond the walls of the garrison.
From there, I got a much better look at both the fortress and the uninhabited land.
There was a whole lot of water between the garrison and the fortress’s courtyard.
You could cross it by bridge or using rowing boats.
The godkin-couple then showed me around the garrison, giving me a better feel of the place than Jelani had done earlier.
Fed up with all the staring, I didn’t make eye-contact with anyone as I strolled around.
I simply kept my head held high and my attention on my companions or surroundings.
And I came to realize that though the garrison had that no-nonsense design, it also possessed a homey feel.
I asked them a few questions, learning several things—including that the crests on people’s wrists would be removed. Not by physical force, though. Apparently, the power of Deimos itself would cause the marks to fade away.
When it was eventually time to settle down for the night, I said my goodbyes to the two officiates and returned to the tent.
Silence fell as all eyes turned to me. A few predatory looks were tossed my way, along with many unwelcoming glances.
But it was the look of cold calculation and dark promise on Atticus’ face that concerned me.
To hell with this.
I swiped my bag from beneath the bunk and exited the tent. I could sleep somewhere else. Anywhere else. And as my gaze settled on the timber building that housed the horses and dogs, I felt the corner of my mouth kick up. Yeah, that would do.