Chapter 42 #2
“This court is still rotting.” She spoke right over me, as if I had no power, was no king. To her, I supposed I was just another male, one who wielded slightly more power than others in this land. “It has been for many centuries. I am sure by now he is as hollow as every word he speaks.”
That stopped me from putting her in her place, reminding her that I was a very powerful king, and instead I asked, “Who?”
She did not look at me. Her pale blue eyes remained on her work as she wove yet another protective ward, one I did not recognise but could feel the power in.
“The male who would be heir.” Her fingers swirled with green, gold and teal magic, threading the ribbons of it together into something beautiful.
“Lorien?” I growled.
She chuckled, her whole face lighting up with it, and if she called me ‘silly king’ again I was going to slit her throat with my claws.
“Great gods, no.” She shook her head. “Lorien is but a puppet, dangling from his strings, so easily manipulated by the clever hands of another—of the male who would be heir.”
I snarled, “Sylvan.”
She smiled. “Wise unseelie.”
It was better than ‘silly king’ I supposed, but it did not improve my mood one bit.
“What do you know about Sylvan, and why did you not say anything before now?” The press of my claws against my palms was something akin to bliss as they emerged together with my fangs as my mood took a very dark turn, the thought that this dragon had allowed me to send Saphira back to the castle without saying a word about the danger she would be in stoking my anger.
“Why did you not tell Saphira about this?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Because she did not ask.”
I growled low in warning, not sure she would heed it. “How can she ask about things she does not know about?”
Arianell shrugged and tapped the ward, making it disappear.
“I am not to blame for her lack of knowledge.” She pursed her lips and angled her head. “But perhaps I am to blame for her presence in this court. I was feeling particularly… spiteful… that day.”
“What do you mean by that? I tire of your dancing about things. Speak plainly and I shall not kill you.” The air darkened around me and shadows poised to strike her down.
She had the audacity to laugh at me. “You will not kill me. I do not die by your hands, little king.”
So she had witnessed her own death. That did not help my cause. I could threaten her all I wanted, and she would only laugh in my face. It did not stop me from trying.
“Do not call me little king, or silly king, or anything like that,” I growled, letting her get a good look at my fangs. “You will address me as King Kaeleron.”
She waved me away, unbothered by my threat.
Because she knew I would not kill her.
But there was another way to force her compliance.
My shadows snatched the sticks she treated as her hoard before she could even notice them, wrapping around them and holding them in the air between us.
Horror flashed across her face. “Give them back.”
A cold grin stretched my lips as my shadows bent one and I savoured the panic that lit her eyes and the fear that tainted the air. “Address me as my rank and power deserves, and I will give them back to you.”
Her lips pursed.
“Very well. I will not call you those things, King Kaeleron. Now give them back.” She held her hands out to the shadows.
She had kept up her end of the bargain, and so I kept mine, gently lowering them into her hands.
As soon as she had them, she held them close to her chest and sneered at me. “Silly King Kaeleron.”
Shadows lashed at one of the sticks, severing the end of it that poked out from her grip.
She gasped and then flashed fangs at me. “Dare touch my hoard again and I will eat you. Worse, I shall not tell you what I know.”
Her words gained a kind of songful tune to them as she taunted me with the fact she had knowledge she knew I would want.
“Very well, silly dragon. Speak and I shall not break more of your sticks.” I regally waved my hand.
She huffed and clutched them to her. “They are not sticks. They are treasure, see.”
She held one up and it shimmered in hues of green, gold and teal.
“You are imbuing wards onto sticks?” I could not believe what I was seeing.
“Well, they have to go somewhere, since you told me not to directly implant them in you.” She patted her hoard. “As long as they remain unharmed, so will you.”
I had never heard of anything so ridiculous. I managed to keep that to myself, but she must have seen it on my face because she huffed again and muttered at her sticks.
“He does not deserve that wolf, nor you, little ones. I shall not waste another drop of magic on him. Comes in here… stomping around… ruining my home… showing no gratitude or respect. Well, I shall not tell him what I know. Let him fumble around blindly as I was forced to.”
Sensing I would not get that knowledge she was withholding—knowledge that might prove beneficial to Saphira, or both of us—I sighed and said, “My apologies, fair dragon. I shall compensate you for the damage to your home, and of course for your time.”
“I want the item in your pocket,” she quickly said, almost speaking over me.
I pressed my hand to it, feeling the pouch that contained the charm I had made for Saphira, and smiled tightly. “It does not belong to me and therefore I cannot give it to you.”
She pouted.
“Perhaps I can offer you something else?” I was willing to bargain with her, but wanted to see how steep her price would be before offering something I thought was of adequate value.
“Your heart. It is so very black. It would taste delicious.” She beamed at me, as if a heart was a perfectly normal and acceptable thing to ask for when negotiating with someone.
“I am rather in need of it.” I thought about what I could offer. “I am quite skilled at blacksmithing, and jewellery making. I made this ring.”
She did not even look at it. “I would take your castle.”
“Again… no. Nor my court. Nor Saphira. Nor anyone I care about. Nor my magic. Nor my armour. Nor my sword. Nothing of my personal possessions.”
“Who would want a sword?” She curled a lip at me.
“Your sister.”
“Little Neve always preferred the shiny things.” She gazed at her sticks, giving me the feeling she preferred the mundane. Her eyes lifted to mine. “I would accept a favour.”
Dangerous. It was dangerous to agree to something that could turn out to be anything.
“Only if you name what it is,” I countered.
She huffed again, giving me the feeling I had been right to be wary of her request. “I suppose I could take gold, as it would prove useful when I leave these lands, or something far more valuable. I wish to meet my sister.”
“That I am more than happy to agree to.”
She glanced at her sticks, grinning from ear to ear. “Little Neve will be so excited to meet you, but you are mine, are you not?”
Feeling I was going to lose her, I asked, “Why were you feeling spiteful that day?”
“Oh, that. Yes. That.” She carefully arranged her sticks as she said, “When Sylas was drawing his last breath, and Sylvan’s claws were itching to seize his crown, Sylas dealt him a wonderful blow by revealing before the court the existence of his secret heirs.”
I could well imagine how Sylvan had taken that.