Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
After flying through half of the night, the dragons we’re riding bank right beneath us, their massive wings cutting through the air as we near Tír Ríoga.
My knuckles whiten against the ridges of Ryu’s neck, not from fear of flying—that’s become as natural to me as breathing—but from the knowledge that I’ll soon have to speak.
Not fight. Not strategize.
But engage in the delicate dance of diplomacy that twists my stomach like I’ve swallowed live eels.
The sunrise paints the snow-covered landscape below in watercolor grays and pinks.
Below, the countryside unfolds like a fever dream.
Prayer circles spiral outward instead of forming traditional rings, their stones arranged in patterns that hurt my eyes if I stare too long.
Weathervanes spin against the wind, twirling in defiant opposition to nature’s currents.
Sterling flies slightly ahead on Tanwen, the green male dragon that’s often his mount. His back is rigid, his eyes fixed on an ice-covered lake we’re passing. “That lake is grieving.”
The words permeate the air, senseless yet somehow chilling.
No one responds.
What do you say to that?
Agnar, who’s flying to my right, stops checking the pack strapped to Nailah, an orange and yellow female dragon, long enough to capture my attention. His eyebrows lift in a silent question.
I give a tiny shrug in response. What can I do?
Agnar forces a laugh. “You sound like Rose. She’s been saying the trees are hungry and the rocks are angry. Thought it was just a child’s fantasy.”
Sterling blinks a few times, like he’s coming up from underwater. “What? Sorry, I was…” He shakes his head. The momentary fog lifts from his eyes, replaced by the sharp intelligence I know so well. “We’re nearing the capital. Remember, we need to appear both respectful and formidable.”
“Yes, because bringing several dragons and a squadron of elite soldiers doesn’t already demand that.’” I run a hand over Ryu’s smooth scales.
Agnar snorts. “Diplomacy, Your Highness. It’s all about the silent threat packaged in pretty words.”
“That’s why I’m terrible at it.” I release a breathy sigh. “I prefer my threats loud and my actions straightforward.”
We crest a small set of hills, and my breath catches in my throat. The heart of Tír Ríoga, a kingdom forged among snowcapped mountains and expansive forests, spreads before us.
“Look there.” Rafe flies up to my left atop Kaida and points toward a massive black stone temple rising from a clearing.
Hundreds of people orbit it, their bodies flowing in unnaturally synchronized patterns. From this height, they’re reminiscent of insects swarming around spilled honey, but there’s something deeply unsettling about the precision of their movements. They rotate and shift in perfect, eerie unison.
“I’ve seen battle formations less precise.” Agnar shakes his head in wonder, his coppery hair rippling in the wind.
As we fly closer, Ryu banks hard to the right, nearly upsetting my balance. The other dragons follow, wings stiffening as they veer away from the temple.
Sterling, who’s lying low against Tanwen’s neck, tenses. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re spooked.” I send soothing thoughts and questions to Ryu and the rest of the dragons. None of them have a real answer other than a disturbed feeling about that place. “There’s something down there they don’t like.”
We watch as our entire formation arcs wide around the temple, not a single dragon willing to fly directly overhead. Even the alicorns carrying the small military unit behind us veer around.
“There are more of them.” Rafe points to another temple in the distance, where similar synchronized movements are taking place.
The dragons’ resistance is palpable, their muscles tensed beneath our legs. Ryu actually trembles when I try to guide him back on course, so I immediately relent. I trust his instincts more than my diplomatic timetable.
Ahead lies Emraldae Keep, Tír Ríoga’s capital city.
Unlike Aclaris with its rigid stone structures or Tirene with its sprawling, ancient architecture, Emraldae Keep was built in harmony with the landscape.
Buildings rise organically from black stone, their surfaces gleaming with inlaid precious metals that contrast with the bright white of the powdery snow-covered ground.
In the center stands the Great Keep, a structure that seems to spiral upward like the prayer circles we’ve witnessed on a more massive scale.
“Gods.” I momentarily forget my anxiety. “I forgot how beautiful it is here.”
We begin our descent, the dragons angling toward the enormous courtyard where swirling patterns on black stone gradually solidify into the shape of a giant eye.
I wrinkle my nose. “And creepy.”
Ryu lands with practiced grace despite his formidable size, folding his blue wings neatly against his sides.
Around us, our entire diplomatic party follows suit.
Four dragons with their riders, plus additional soldiers who dismount from the alicorns.
We take up the entire landing area, the dragons crowding nearly half of it by themselves.
We’re an imposing force by any measure. The display is meant to demonstrate both respect, in that we sent our best, and power.
The dragons, clearly enjoying the attention they’re getting, arch their necks and preen slightly.
Kaida huffs a small flame, showing off for the gathered Tír Ríogan guards who stand at attention around the courtyard periphery.
Tanwen watches everyone, his agile mind checking for any show of disrespect among these unknown humans.
After the four of us dismount and unload our gear, the dragons take off. They’ll search for a remote area to hunt while remaining close enough to still feel our connection.
From the ground, the grandeur of the city is even more overwhelming.
Buildings tower above us, their glass-like black surfaces reflecting sunlight in prismatic bursts.
Everything comes across as both ancient and foreign, familiar elements arranged in ways my mind struggles to process. My hands grow clammy inside my gloves.
I’m so out of my depth here, it’s not even funny.
The keep’s expansive doors swing open, and the king and queen of Tír Ríoga stroll down the steps.
King Mihel Lennox walks with deliberate strides, rows of golden blond braids swinging and his tall, lean frame draped in garments that shift colors with every motion, like oil on water.
Though the eclectic ensemble screams court jester rather than royalty at first glance, he’s rocking the look like he’s dressed this way all his life.
Damn. That’s the kind of confidence I need.
Beside him, Queen Maeve oozes dignity and poise. She glides with fluid grace, her dark hair cascading down her back in loose waves. A velvety black cape covers the upper half of her long-sleeved crimson gown, smooth ebony skin peeking out of the high collar.
This is it.
The moment I’ve been dreading. I step forward, feeling every eye on me.
“Beannachtaí Tír Ríoga.” I attempt the formal greeting I’ve spent weeks memorizing. “Nílim…nílimid…” The words tangle on my tongue. My brain knows them, but my mouth rebels. Heat rises to my cheeks.
Mihel’s eyes crinkle at the corners. With amusement? Contempt? I have no idea.
I shift gears into the easier protocol I’ve studied from books. “Your Majesties, we bring greetings from Tirene. We are honored by your welcome and hope that our nations may find common purpose in these challenging times.”
My voice sounds stiff even to my own ears, like I’m reciting a script rather than speaking. Which I am, so I guess that tracks. Sterling comes forward, adding a natural warmth to the exchange that I couldn’t manage.
I watch everyone closely. Nothing can move forward until every delegate is introduced.
Rafe keeps his responses tempered, thoughtful, and void of the barbed quality his voice often carries in council meetings.
He stands with his feet apart, hands relaxed but visible.
A stance that projects both confidence and openness.
I try to mimic the guild master’s measured manner, keeping my face composed as the first part of the formalities concludes and we’re welcomed to join the king and queen inside.
As we follow our hosts up the black stone steps, Sterling takes my hand and leans close. “You’re not Rafe. Stop trying to be.”
I nearly stumble on the steps. How did he—
“Why are you so anxious?”
My jaw drops. “Why? Oh, I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe because I’m pretending to be a queen? Or because these people probably blame us for destroying their magic? Or because I have the diplomatic skills of a hammer?”
“Just be your fiery, clever, engaging self, Lark. Not some standoffish parrot.” His eyes soften. “A parrot of Rafe, for the gods’ sake.”
I clamp my mouth shut, anger building in response to the insult. Then I note the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth and the spark in his eyes. That was his intention. To shock me out of my rigid formality. “You’re an ass.”
That earns me a wink as Sterling’s lips curve in a conspiratorial half-smile.
Agnar catches up, popping his head between us. “Just imagine them all naked. Works for public speaking.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Do you think the king is as well-endowed as the Tirenese? Or is this fancy city his way of overcompensating?”
“Not helping, Agnar.” I groan as I picture the king and queen stripped of their finery and standing before us nude. That’s an image I’ll never be able to scrub from my mind.
“Okaaay,” Agnar draws out the word, “then imagine they’re all Rose asking you about your dragon for the hundredth time.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me at the memory of little Rose’s persistent questions about Dame. “Does she sleep upside down? Can she breathe underwater? Will she make more eggs filled with baby dragons soon?”