Chapter 1 #3
A scoff dripping with disgust preceded him as Chrysanthe turned to continue up the Pinnacle.
Attalus followed behind—at a safe distance, of course.
Of all his half-sisters, Chrysanthe was the most dangerous.
Nearly as strong as Araxos and as vicious as her scheming mother, it was little wonder Chrysanthe Principida had been passed over for a senior position in the army.
Araxos would’ve been mad to give her such power, and Chrysanthe was at best na?ve to have thought she’d ever be given it.
She’d been insufferably cranky ever since.
If it were up to Attalus, he’d have given their half-sister some other position; one that’d take her far, far away and keep her busy for a few decades.
Particularly one that separated her from that snake of a mother of hers, Clymestra.
So long as Chrysanthe and her twin sisters stayed in the orbit of their mother, who not only nursed her own grudge but fostered one in her strongest daughter as well, there was little hope for harmony between the mad king’s progeny.
Of course, that was mostly the fault of Diometrios Anax himself. Having two or three diadochos was trouble enough, but ten? As well as five illegitimate brats? Unthinkable. Unheard of. It was as if Diometrios conspired to cause as much chaos and suffering from beyond the grave as he had in life.
Really, such a large royal family was nothing but a curse.
That only two of them had been slain so far was nothing short of miraculous.
Attalus had barely cleared the impossibly tall silver-tooled glass doors into the great hall before a delicate throat clearing caught his ear. Quick hands then fluttered about his waist, tying a simple kilt around him.
He chuckled as Anamache pouted up at him. “You’re incorrigible,” she scolded.
Her twin Eudora elbowed her in the side, winking up at him. “Told you. Pay up.”
Two gold coins exchanged hands, a charming ritual Attalus knew the twins to keep between themselves. He suspected they were the same handful of coins traded back and forth in little bets, taken since the time they were small.
It was a little way of minimizing the horrors of life under their father.
Without a twin of his own, Attalus had to settle for fucking and drinking his way through it.
He had Theron, his elder brother, of course. At least, he assumed Theron was still alive. Attalus hadn’t seen him since he took their halfling sister Briseis and fled north before the mad king’s wrath could catch up with them.
Not that Theron had much patience for Attalus’s jokes, either, but being full-brothers, they had to stick together.
At least, they did.
Forcing a smile, Attalus turned his thoughts away from Theron. Thinking of him would only put Attalus in a bad mood.
“It always brightens my day to see such flowers in bloom as you, sisters.” Chucking both their chins with a knuckle, Attalus asked, “Do we know yet why we’ve been summoned?”
Eudora rolled her eyes. “Of course not. And don’t sweet-talk me, baby brother, I know your tricks.”
Attalus’s smile warmed. Being the youngest of the diadochos came with a few rare perks.
Everyone generally liked him—or at least humored him.
They were tolerant if not charmed by his lackadaisical existence.
The stalla princeps was barely better than a jester, nothing to worry about.
The royal family’s pet that could occasionally say something amusing.
“But you, sister, are as sweet as—”
“Why do you indulge him?” grumped Chrysanthe, taking up position at her sister’s side.
“He’s amusing,” said Eudora.
“He’s in my way.”
The four of them nearly jumped and hurried to sidestep out of the way of a former queen. Attalus nearly shivered under the frosty stare of Clymestra, and her daughters fell quiet.
“My lady,” Attalus managed through gritted fangs, “a pleasure.”
“I doubt it,” quipped the dragoness before turning her attention away. He was hardly enough of a threat to warrant more than a glance, surrounded as she was by her loyal daughters. “I see truly everyone was summoned. How unusual.”
The observation was made at Attalus’s expense, of course. “I’d never miss a chance to see our illustrious anax, dear brother as he is.”
“Don’t be glib, boy. What would your mother think?”
His mouth was more snarl than smile, but he couldn’t stop it. Of everyone in Highhome, he hated Clymestra most of all—even more than his father.
While Clymestra’s position as former analeia was pitiable, she’d been petty to take her vengeance out on her replacement.
Attalus’s mother Damaris hadn’t wanted to be taken as queen—every dragoness knew the danger of keeping intimate company with the anax after Diometrios killed his first queen, his own true mate.
Why Clymestra had wanted to take the place of a murdered mate, Attalus couldn’t fathom.
She was either brave or stupid. Or perhaps blinded by her own ambition.
It was no surprise rumors abounded that the second queen had helped the first into the afterworld.
Although it was widely known that the anax had killed Xanthe, the first queen, the details were unclear.
Her four sons had loathed each new queen and their growing broods, all of them an insult to their beloved mother.
The story went that it was in a fit of madness that the anax struck out and killed his mate.
It was because of that madness that he didn’t follow her into the afterworld, as mates so often did.
While Diometrios had apparently always exhibited bouts of madness, his true mate had kept his mind as sound as possible.
Without her, his mind was almost always clouded with rage.
Attalus had never known a family or court that wasn’t in chaos. His father lucid was often more terrifying than him raving mad. Even his eldest offspring lived in terror of what he might do.
Clever and cunning as she might be, even Clymestra couldn’t tame that beast. Attalus would’ve thought it a relief to be pushed aside for another.
It wasn’t as though she and Diometrios were true mates—they didn’t even like each other.
Perhaps no female liked being discarded for another, especially one much younger, but still.
When Damaris had been forced onto the dais and into the king’s bed, she’d had no allies.
The king was a threat, as was Clymestra and her four daughters, Xanthe’s four sons, as well as the illegitimate offspring beget by other unfortunate noble dragonesses.
Her only solace had been her two sons. Together, the three of them sheltered deep within the palace, seeking some semblance of safety from all that would harm them outside.
It was only when he and Theron were big enough to fly and defend themselves that they strayed from the Pinnacle. Taking to the winds, they’d found some modicum of freedom.
To this day, Attalus couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that, during one of those flights, they’d spotted a certain fishing boat.
The time stolen with Karik had been happy for Damaris, and even Theron and Attalus had come to see him as something of a father. All four were joyous at the birth of Briseis. But their mother had been a fool to think she could keep such secrets forever.
He didn’t know it for sure, but he had good reason to think it’d been Clymestra who found out about Karik and Briseis—and then told the anax.
What followed was a bloodbath—days filled with snatching claws and biting teeth.
Diometrios wasn’t satisfied filling his belly with Karik’s head and Damaris’s throat; his rage was total and complete. Whatever shreds of reason had lingered within him burned away in those dark days.
Araxos had had no choice but to finally make his move. The whole court had known he would be the one to challenge for the dais, and that he was the only one strong enough to succeed.
It was a long few years of constant fighting, but once the blood finally coagulated, the mad king was dead, Theron and Briseis had disappeared, and the world Attalus knew had shattered entirely.
He heard there were families, even Savrakae families, that liked each other, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. They were too ornery, too conceited. His kind knew nothing but blood and fire, and that was why he tried to get away from them as often as he could.