21. Raengar
Raengar watched as Frostflight, his sister’s magnificent white dragon, aggressively whipped the dead, giant moose clamped in her jaws back and forth, like a dog shaking a squirrel to snap its neck. Blood dripped down the dragon’s snow-white scales, staining the creature’s long white neck with ribbons of red blood.
“We can’t choose her as House of Ice’s Contestar, Raengar.”
Raengar looked from Frostflight over to his sister, who stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Her blonde hair, the same pale shade as his own, flapped in the wind and whipped around her face. When Raengar had killed their father and taken the throne, Raengar wanted them both to rule together. The Guardian’s Law stated that whoever was the strongest in the ruling family would lead, but Isolde was clever, far better at the mundane ruling of a country and far more compassionate than he was. He was stronger, more ruthless, and had bonded to the biggest war dragon in the world. They were the dark and light side to the same family coin, so he had made the decision that they would rule Ice together. Most of the time—nearly all the time—it worked smoothly. Between the two of them, House of Ice was stronger than they had ever been.
In this moment, however, he wished he had taken the throne for only himself.
“What do you mean, we can’t choose her as our Contestar? It’s Rorax, Isolde. If we are banned from the Choosing by the Guardian’s Laws, then we need to send her our best people to protect her.”
Isolde blew out a long, heavy breath. “Do you remember how the Choosing works, Raengar?”
“Twelve Contestars, selected by the gods, fight in trials chosen and organized by the Guardian. The last one standing supplants them.”
“What about after they survive the trials?”
“What about after they survive?”
Isolde turned so she was completely facing Raengar and folded her arms across her chest. “They not only have to fight in those trials, Raengar; after nine of the Contestars die, the Council of Houses vote to approve the final three remaining. If the Council of Houses doesn’t approve a Contestar, she is executed.”
Raengar narrowed his eyes to his younger sister. “You don’t think she would be voted in?”
Isolde sighed and rubbed her fingers on her temples. “I don’t know. What I do know is that the House of Ice runs, protects, and has full control of the Elus River. We control the Azalea”s Islands and the Horns of Southwell. We have the biggest army, the only war dragons left in the Realms, the most education, and the most silversteel. To have someone who is Ice Born be the next Guardian . . . we might be asking too much. It will eventually get out that Rorax is a Heilstorm, and if you think M??r isn’t going to use that to push the votes away from her, you’re a fool.”
“So, you’re going to leave her there unprotected,” Raengar bit out, turning to face her completely so that they stood toe to toe.
“Unprotected? Of course not. We’ll send Tag as emissary, or Ye-Jun. I’m trying to do what’s best for her, Raengar.”
Raengar dropped his head back to look back up at the sky, his heart boiling, turmoil writhing under his skin.
If Rorax had told them she’d been chosen, they could have planned for this. They would have figured out how to protect her. If she’d just trusted him, everything would be different.
“Fuck,” Raengar clipped, running aggravated fingers over where his hair was shaved, where the blue head of a dragon was tattooed. “It has to be Kulltoug. We can’t send Tag, and Ye-Jun is still overseeing training the House of Death soldiers in Skavetsia. He won’t be done in time.” And Kiniera held the most magick out of all of them.
Isolde nodded her head. “Kiniera would protect her.”
Raengar turned back to their dragons and rested his hands on his hips, wishing he had a drink, or even better, a smoke rolled from Whitleherb. “When I see Ror next I am going to skin her alive.”
“Get in line,” Isolde said. She turned back to their dragons as well, and together they watched them under the setting sun.
“Do you love her?” Isolde asked.
Raengar knew the answer. He knew the answer in the marrow of his bones, but that was between him and Rorax. So instead, he asked, “Why do you think she didn’t tell us?”
“Darras. I bet it had to do with Darras. Did they hear anything about him?”
Raengar bit back a groan. Darras Greywood. Rorax’s only sibling and one of his father’s favorite pets. If Raengar never heard anything about Darras Greywood again he would die a happy man. “I don’t know. Nothing that got reported back to me.”
Frostflight crunched loudly on the moose’s skull.
“What are we going to do about Lyondrea?”
Raengar reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Between the Choosing and Lyondrea, a stress headache was starting to form behind his eyes.
Isolde gave him a concerned look and reached over and grabbed Raengar lightly by the wrist. “Raengar, if you think the Pits have opened then we go to war. We’ll send you the men and the dragons you need. You don’t have to fight them alone.”
“You know as well as I do the Guardian’s Law forbid the Realms from going to war unprompted—”
“Fuck the Guardian’s Law. How many men must lose their lives before it”s no longer ‘unprompted’?”
Raengar’s eyebrows shot up. Isolde lived her life by a very strict hierarchical system. Duty, family, honor, in that order. Every cell in Isolde”s body was proprietary, respectful, and composed, and she valued the rules and the laws—both Guardian and God’s Laws. The last time he had seen her willing to break those laws was when they’d overthrown their father together, after seeing injuries his father had left on him after a particularly brutal lashing.
“Our ancestors broke the Guardian’s Law when they went to war to claim both the Horns and Azalea”s Islands, and the Guardians didn’t lift a finger against them. I won’t sacrifice your life because the Council of Houses decides it wants to see with blind eyes that another Pit war is upon us. I will burn Valitlinn to the ground before that happens.”
A bloodthirsty smile crept across Raengar’s mouth. “I’ve always hated that city anyway.”