18. Clara
18
CLARA
“ D isgusting,” Clara spat, balling up the parchment she had received. It blackened as she threw it in the fireplace, stray sparks flickering. Her second biggest regret was agreeing to work with the Pythia. The old woman had sent multiple messages, wanting to know every detail of what she was learning and how she was learning everything. “It’s like dragons are nothing but side shows.”
Clara rubbed her temples. She wanted powerful figures backing her so she could get into Ouroboros. The Pythia was the closest one to the gods. She could speak to them directly and she answered questions for all kings and beings. Ouroboros was the only country that did not seek her guidance, so when she heard Clara wanted to come, the Pythia jumped at the chance to get an in.
Something about her letters made her stomach churn.
The festival changed her. There she did not see pomp and prejudice, but merry children and proud dragons. She was not ignorant of their qualms and hard work, but they were so proud of their history. Of their prince. Drakonis…he had done nothing but consumer her every thought.
What if I do not want to be your friend?
Her heart raced. He looked every bit the powerful and handsome prince as he looked down at her. The setting sun tinted his pale skin and made his scales gleam. The closer he had gotten to her the more she saw the fiery passion in his ice blue eyes. Her lips burned, remembering his chaste kisses. They were softer than she had imagined. In his arms she felt cherished, and more alive than she ever remembered. Agreeing to go was the best decision she had made since arriving.
“Could he be the one?”
“Have you made headway?” A familiar gargoyle slipped into her room, leaning back in a chair.
“Lord Nero!” Clara exclaimed. She dropped in a curtsy. “I did not expect you.”
“Considering our last conversation, I figured a check in was needed.” He had helped her figure out one moral conundrum. Maybe he could help her with a second. Or he may have insight to the Pythia. “What do you have in your hand?”
Clara approached him, handing over the crumbled communication. “It is the Pythia. She wishes for information.”
Nero scoffed. “That woman was useless in the war. Never once did she try and track Vespasian’s movements, or at least warn us about the witches that were following us. I’m convinced all she did was sit in her tower and collect treasures.”
“Many hang on her every word,” Clara said. “She has been trying to recruit me for quite some time. But I always said no.” She had her suspicions that the Pythia could be a fake, or had destructive motives. The Pythia was kind in public, but she had seen things when she inadvertently touched her. She saw hooded men, torture devices, just pure violence. Things a holy one should never have part in.
“An oracle seeking a clairvoyant. It is laughable. A woman of the gods cannot have such an ability.”
“I only used her name for credibility, and I regret it. I see nothing but enthusiasm through these letters. She doesn’t care about the Heir. Nor for the dragons.” Nor Drakonis, whom had helped her in the war with King Nordskov. She cared about another goal. But what it was, Clara didn’t know.
“It’s good to see you are not totally na?ve,” Nero said. Nero looked at the fire, and it roared to life then died down. Black ash floated above the flames. “I would do anything to get my people inside that temple. She is not pious, and I worry she will try to attack Herrlof.”
“What would she want?” Nero smiled. He stretched his legs out and dropped his head back. No answer. “If you do not wish to share your intel, then why should I tell you if I have found the Heir?”
“You sister has placed her trust in me,” Nero said.
“To protect me,” Clara clarified.
Nero’s ruby eyes studied hers. He was a frightful man, but noble. If he was not at least a little good, Elly would have no business with him. Clara was told never to trust anyone. But now, Drakonis was becoming more important to her by the day. She would not allow Nero to exploit or hurt him.
“Something about you has changed,” Nero pondered aloud. He leaned back, his chin in his clawed, midnight colored, hand. “Has the snake finally charmed you?”
“Do not insult him!” Clara crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes.
“It must be Drakonis. Or that fireball that is always at his side. Alastair, I believe his name is?”
Clara kept her mouth shut. There was enough animosity between dragons and gargoyles. She did not want to be a reason that the flames intensified.
“There it is.” Nero chuckled. “The stubbornness I see in Romanus and my queen. You can relax, little one. I do not have my king’s blessing to destroy this place yet.” His smile grew, sharp teeth widening to a frightening degree. “Though, as soon as I do, it will be the most pleasant day of my existence. I tire of these bastards.”
“I don’t understand why you hate them so much?” Clara prodded.
“Ragnar has tried to make peace many times. Drakonis is the only one that will give him the time of day. Ridiculous, considering they would never survive him if my king were to pull his sword.” The chair fell with a thud. “We are a constant reminder of their ancestors. The late King Ulrich did not help an alliance by going to war with the emperor over meager trifles and reminding them they were only bastardized versions of gargoyles. It has made insecurities here higher.”
“There is a lot of art that depicts your kind dying.”
“I have seen.” Nero rolled his eyes. It surprised her when she saw the play. Even when she sees murals of dead gargoyles, it brought dread to her heart. These esseri were her family now. “Have you ever wondered why dragons were so isolationist?”
Clara shook her head. She had to admit it was weird that she saw no other here but, after the stories she had heard, she assumed it was for protection.
“Drakonis has been shielding you, it seems,” Nero said. “It started with their precious creator, Phaedrus. The bastard did not want to be seen as a fool, so he manipulated all that had followed him to the Underworld. He figured if they created an identity and showed an immense strength that everything he had done would be for something.”
Clara gasped. It was the first time she had ever heard anything bad about him.
“The True Dragon that Kazimir brings up is laughable. It is why Ragnar and I wish for Drakonis to win the title of Crown Prince. Out of them, he seems to be the only one with sense,” Nero continued.
“But it is written here that gargoyles turned their backs on dragons?”
“Scaeva, Phaedrus’s brother, was busy forming an alliance with Gaea to keep our kind protected from the Olympians,” Nero countered. “When Gaea offered protection to us in exchange for us to be guardians of ungrateful humans, Scaeva went to Phaedrus. These snake bastards think they’re better than the gods, yet they turned their backs on us, their own families, in their time of need. Had Phaedrus helped our kind, then we wouldn’t still be enslaved to a goddess.” He lifted his arm, red runes glowing brightly. “Those dimwitted dragons followed Phaedrus’s every word, and that bastard was so drunk on power from Hades he wanted to play on our weakness. All dragons truly want is to erase gargoyles because we are the only ones who understand what cowards they really are.”
It was a history that she had never heard. Did Drakonis know this? Or was this just the world from a procession of a gargoyle?
“I think Drakonis may be the Heir.” The words left her lips as she turned her head. “Gavril had a dream. He told me about it before he died. Something suspicious happened to him when he went to the ancient ruins.”
Nero threw his head back in laughter. “What a joy that will be. Kazimir will be so ashamed to not be a “true dragon” after all. Konstantin will have no choice but to make Drakonis Crown Prince.” Clara nodded absentmindedly. “What other proof do you have?”
She bit her lip. She had sworn to Drakonis she would tell no one of his inner dragon, but what could she do?
“I found it odd that some dragons here were different mixes of humanoid and monster. But what Drakonis has is something even deeper. There is an essence around him. An inner servant with gray eyes that talks to him and has appeared before me. And… when Drakonis took me to the emperor’s library, I heard sirens, voices. No. Drakaina.” She placed her fingertips on her temple. Even now, their song brought visions to her mind.
“What did they say?” Nero pressed.
“They sang,” Clara clarified.
“ From hellfire we’re born
And through greed, he contains us
Hear our voices
Hear our song
May our hero come along
Peace will come
From our chosen one
Trust in Phaedrus as he guides you
But do not fall in his trap
For Rebirth is what he craves
While your soul is wrapt”
Nero jumped from his chair and began pacing.
“I worry about what this will do to Drakonis if he is the Heir?” Clara said.
“What’s to worry about? He will be the most influential dragon in the land and future emperor.” Nero answered.
“He will also be a target. Kazimir’s wrath will destroy their family, and figures like the Pythia will try to use Drakonis’s power.”
Nero spoke of gargoyles being slaves to Gaea, but Drakonis would be a true one. His power could be forced from him by sorcerers, or he could be physically forced to fight someone’s battles. Even mercenaries got paid. She imagined him chained to a stone wall howling in pain.
She would rather give up the possible awakening then make him go through that.
“It is a burden he will have to learn to handle. If he is the Heir, it will push him into the Emperor's seat, which means this continent will have a better chance of peace.”
“But what about Drakonis’s peace?” Clara exclaimed. Her arms extended from her sides, her eyes wide. “He has already sacrificed so much and now I must thrust him into this? He did not ask for it!”
“Your mission is to find the Heir,” Nero said.
“And what if I no longer wish to do so?” Clara pressed. “If I leave now, then things could go back to normal for him.”
Tears glazed her eyes. If Drakonis truly was the Heir, then his family would become more fractured. Unlike hers, there was a chance those bonds could never be repaired.
“It is small-minded of you to think so,” Nero said, stepping close to her. Nero looked frightening with his jaw clenched and the muscles of his neck showing. It was worse than when he was drilling her in Herrlof. “If Phaedrus has chosen Drakonis then it will be done. If it is anyone who has no talent in politics, or worse, if it is Kazimir, the power of Phaedrus will more than likely push the whole continent into another war. Because of foolish pride, innocents will lose their lives.”
Nero was right. Clara knew that. But her heart was breaking. If it was Drakonis, then his life would be a living hell. He would become more isolated than before. Would he even be able to smile and laugh like they had at the festival?
“Bring out this change in Drakonis, then we can use him,” Nero continued.
“I do not want to use him!” Clara yelled. Tears left her eyes. “He is not some tool! He is a living being with thoughts and feelings!”
“It is better that allies use him as a tool than by enemies.”
Clara wanted to scream. How Nero looked killed her. This was why she never took part in politics. How could anyone look at others as pawns?
“Right now, he is kind to you,” Nero continued. “You are fascinating to him, a new plaything who doesn’t follow the same etiquette as women here normally do. You are an object of desire from his brother. You have a gift of foresight. Something any leader desires. Dragons are selfish creatures and guard their treasures with their lives. You say do not want to use him as a tool, but he uses you every day.”
“No. Drakonis isn’t like that,” Clara said.
“He is a brilliant tactician and warrior. While I would wish you happiness like my queen and king, it is not safe for you here. Not as the climate currently is. Drakonis cannot protect you forever,” Nero argued.
Every word was a knife to her heart. She knew everything he was saying was the truth.
You saw me.
That was what Drakonis had told her when he presented his kill. Just as he had treated her as just Clara, he was just Drakonis. But was she really being so foolish to treat him so?
Why was she starting to realize her affections now? She should have never come here. But how could she have ignored that vision and betrayed her family again?
“Your time is getting short,” Nero said, breaking her thoughts. “I will get more information on the Pythia. For now, try to keep her at bay. Her appearing would cause more animosity towards you.” Nero placed his hand on her head, like Romanus and Caius had always done to soothe her. “Tensions are getting high outside the capital. If Drakonis must leave, go with him. Get him to take you to the ancient ruins. If you heard the Drakaina after touching a few artifacts, it is curious what you will find at the site.”
Clara nodded. She could not speak.
Knock! Knock!
“Lady Clara! It’s Alastair!”
Nero looked at the door, touching his amulet. Magick shimmered around him.
“Think about what I said,” Nero said. He stepped to the balcony.
“Wait!” Clara stopped him. Nero paused, the wind coming through the window and blowing his long black braid. “Can you get a message to my sister?”
“What is the message?” He was firm, his eyes studying her closely.
“I need information on defensive magick. I cannot ask anyone here.”
“I have told you; you only need to call my…”
“It’s important,” Clara interrupted. “Please.”
“Lady Clara? Are you in there?” She ignored the knocking on the door.
“Very well,” Nero relented. “Answer that snake before he breaks down your door.”
Clara never saw him leave. She collapsed on her knees and sobbed, holding her face in her hand.
She cared about Drakonis. She liked him more than she should have. During the festival, she imaged she was just a woman being courted. Drakonis had fed her, protected her, even kissed her as a man infatuated. But Nero was right. She was a princess who could never overcome the hostility here. If she remained at Drakonis’s side, he would destroy himself defending her, and that was if he felt the same. And if he was the Heir, then his life would change so drastically that he would be in danger at every turn. She was not strong enough to withstand that.
It was hopeless. Once more she could not protect someone she cared for. Someone she was sure she loved.
Alastair had opened the door. She felt his hands on her shoulders as she cried.
“M’lady?”
Clara did not think. She grabbed his tunic and sobbed.
What could she tell him? How could she even continue to getting close to him when she was destined to use him? Selfishness ate at her. Nero had said his one destiny could save many on the continent, but why did it have to be him? Why did he have to suffer?
The mission, she thought so simple, became heavier on her shoulders.