26. Clara
26
CLARA
T he world didn’t feel real. Her head was pounding, her wrists and neck ached, yet she felt she was on the border of the living and dead.
“Clara…”
Her eyelids twitched but she did not want to open them. She was a coward. One minute, she was in Drakonis’s arms, reveling in pleasure, and almost ready to give her whole self to him. But then she was attacked. She thought Nero would meet her in the wood and take her away back to Oceanus or Herrlof, but the others found her. Hooded figures surrounded her and bound her with magical chains. Nausea boiled in her belly at the restriction. She wanted to scream for help but was unable.
“Sister.”
When Clara opened her eyes, she was someplace she didn’t recognize. He was blurry but Caius was looking down at her with his messy brown hair under a hooded cloak. Wrinkles in his forehead made him look older than normal. Golden earrings clinked together as he tilted his head, caressing the side of her face.
“C-Caius? What are you…”
“Have you been harmed?”
Clara wanted to turn her head and look around, but something held it in place. Her body was frozen, the only part moving was her chest from breathing.
“The Pythia…I think…” Clara clasped her lips shut. This could be a trap. Caius seemed to be in front of her, but how could that be? Romanus had said Caius would be around Ouroboros in case she needed to escape. There would be no reason he should be in the castle.
“Sister, if you know the Heir then just tell her. You don’t deserve this,” Caius said.
No, she couldn’t. If she confirmed to the Pythia that Drakonis was the Heir, there was no telling what would happen to him. The detail of her previous vision was still crystal clear.
Drakonis was screaming in pain reaching towards her. Wings and horns exploded from his forehead and back. A fire consumed him like she had never seen before. The way he called for her made her spine tingle. He sounded broken, looked broken with the way he sat on his hands and knees looking towards the floor. Tears would stream down her proud dragon’s face.
If the Pythia saw him in such a state he would stand no chance against the priests.
“I must…save him…” Clara said.
“Save who?” Caius asked her.
Clara clutched her eyes shut. The tears that she had seen on Drakonis’s face were now flowing down her cheeks. Using the Pythia was a mistake she could not take back.
“You are right. You shouldn’t trust her.” Caius addressed her thought. Her head shot up. “You cannot trust anyone but your own Clara. Is that not what we have learned from Axel in Xenakis?”
Caius looked more mature. His smile was not one of those she had seen so many times in Oceanus. And his dark eyes did not sparkle but dimmed.
“We do not have much time until we are interrupted,” Caius said. “I’m sorry to do this sister, but you will understand in time. I need you to show me what you can.”
“W-what. Caius?”
Clara grit her teeth. Caius touched her forehead where her third eye lay. The warmth of his touch felt like a shock to her veins.
The world was colorless and the vision of Drakonis changing flickered in and out. In his weakness, she saw the hooded figures descend upon him, shackling him as they did her. Alastair, and dragon guards, tried to approach but Kazimir stopped them. He was smiling as Drakonis was being pulled away screaming her name.
The next scenes flickered fast. Kazimir had a crown upon his head and sat upon a throne. He waved his hand in the air and guards in red flooded lands. Just as in Zillah men, women, and children dragons were either grabbed or made prey for hunt.
The scene flickered again, and screams pierced her ears. Kazimir watched as the innocent, grey scaled, dragons were cast in a volcano. They were caged as animals and begged for mercy, their bodies broken, and half transformed. The guards laughed and attacked many thought the bars of their moveable prisons.
“No…” Clara gasped. She started gasping for breath. Her lungs felt on the brink of collapse. Drakonis would not allow this. This was not the world he wanted for his people. This was genocide. Kazimir spoke of purification, but to do this to one’s own people was unthought of. “Drakonis…” She whispered.
The Moirai showed her one more scene. Drakonis was chained to a wall. Metal holding his wrists and ankles in an X on a bricked wall. His head hung, white hair falling and grazing the dirt floor. His new wings were bound. He was almost naked and covered in bruises.
“Keep him alive. We will need him.” The Pythia came into view looked Drakonis over as if he was a piece of art. She touched his hair and Drakonis flinched, attempting to escape his bindings. “He is the only one that can survive his attacks when he’s resurrected. I will not allow failure like with Vespasian. The gargoyles will not step foot here again.”
“How do we get him to fight holy one? He will not react, and he is one of Hades.”
“Get the girl back.” This statement made Drakonis flinch. “We keep her alive long enough to use as leverage.”
This made Drakonis snap his head, baring his teeth. Ruins glowed ice blue against his white skin. The Pythia smirked and two others approached him with staffs, stabbing them into his sides. Lightning electrocuted his body and he screamed.
“No!” Clara gasped, shaking her head. No… she wouldn’t let that happen. Phaedrus had chosen Drakonis because he was strong. He could lead the dragons to a new era of prosperity. Whatever caused him to awaken would ruin him. It would give Kazimir the opportunity to destroy his own people, and the Pythia to take the only tool from the continent that could stand up to the danger that was coming.
Clara strained against the chains, to remove herself from this person disguised as Caius. Her youngest sibling would not do this to her. He would not subject her to this and force information out of her.
“This future is unacceptable,” Caius said. “I warned them…” He turned his back on her, the bottom of his cloak fluttering.
“You warned who?” Clara asked. Her brows were drawn in and she snarled. It didn’t matter if this Caius imposter saw this future. She would not allow it to happen. She would hide Drakonis. She would go against Hades, and the Fates, if she had to.
“We will protect him,” a voice whispered in her ear. It was faint and distant, but it brought her comfort.
Heavy footsteps were approaching beyond. The room was covered in smoke so she could not pinpoint exactly where she was. Caius pulled is hood down, approached her, and kissed her forehead. He maneuvered her hair to cover her eye.
“I will make sure you come to no harm. Be vague and duplicitous when you are asked questions.”
“Tell me who you really are!” She would take no advice from this person.
“Have they drugged you sister? How do you not recognize me?” Caius tilted his head with a brow quirked.
“My Caius would never do this to me.”
“Yes. I suppose the brother you know would not.” The Caius imposter looked over his shoulder and put a hand to her head. Then he disappeared. Clara wanted to scream. The smoke in the room dissipated. She was in her room. In the corner, near the hearth, the beautiful flowers Drakonis had gifted her were wilted and near death.
She looked down and saw the scaled gown had been ripped in places, exposing some of her thigh and parts of her breast. She felt cold metal where her necklace was, and around her wrists. The Pythia was constricting her magick. Had Caius not touched her forehead to draw out the vision she would not have been able to have one.
The heavy door flew open, nearly hitting the wall. Clara bit the inside of her cheek. She hated that a vision was forced from her but, now that she saw it, she would change it. If the Moirai punished her then so be it.
“You have cost me much time and resources,” the Pythia said as she entered. Not even so much as a pleasantry. “I have it on good authority that you have found the Heir.”
Clara straightened and looked at her from above her nose. When she escaped this place, she would make sure the Ancient Isle, and the prison hidden beneath it, would burn.
“It is interesting that you ask me such a question. Since you are the Pythia could you not just ask the gods? You are the only one on the continent that can.”
To a passerby, the Pythia would look like a sweet middle-aged woman with milky white eyes, straight gray hair, and dark brows. Lines were etched in the skin of her forehead and tips of her almond eyes. Her smile was soft yet deceiving. Her steps were soft and her veined, bony, hands were pale.
The words left her mouth before she had a chance to think, but it was true. The Pythia was eager to get to know her when she found out that someone outside her island had a gift of foresight. Clara paid it no mind since a gift like hers was rare. She had once considered the Pythia saw her as a threat, but Clara believed if she never brought attention to herself that whatever fear she had would disappear.
This damned woman never left her be, so Clara thought she might as well make her useful.
“Just as they do you, the gods only show me what they deem necessary.” It was an answer that Clara took at face value at the time, but the Fates showed her everything. It did not matter what the gods deemed necessary or unnecessary.
Now seeing what would happen to Drakonis, if he were to awaken, it explained why the Pythia was so eager to get into Ouroboros. She would be dead before she revealed who the Heir would was.
SLAP!
Clara’s cheek stung. The Pythia’s strength was deceiving. Clara smirked, spatting blood at the Pythia’s sandals. A hooded man yanked her up by the hair, another punching her in the stomach.
The Pythia snarled, her body rigid.
“Something like the Heir is important, yes?” Clara pushed. “Have you come to me because Hades has forsaken you?”
“You dare spout such filth? I should have you killed.”
“But you cannot.” Clara felt emboldened. Drakonis loved her. If the Pythia wanted any chance at controlling him then her life had to be spared. “This disrespectful act that you have committed was for naught. Phaedrus has chosen his Heir, and he will reveal it when he wishes.”
“Understand where you are child.” The Pythia stepped closer. Clara could smell rotten breath fan over her face. “You may have been raised a princess but here you are nothing.”
“I am a princess,” Clara declared. “And one that is being watched by many. If anything happens to me, you have more than gargoyles approaching your island.”
“The Ancient Isle is a sacred place.” Clara narrowed her eyes. What sacred place had dungeons and weapons? “Any that desecrate it’s land will be punished by the gods.”
“Does that include the one they have let take charge?”
The Pythia’s eyes widened. The air thickened in the room. Only the wind hitting the glass panes could be heard.
“You will be punished for your wrongdoings in the past, and your plan will not succeed. I will make sure of it.”
The Pythia stood straight. She grabbed the chain attached to Clara’s neck cuff.
“And what do you know of my plans? I am here for the good of the continent. Another war is on the horizon, as you yourself have seen. The Heir will be the one that defends us all.”
“The Heir is meant to carry on Phaedrus’s legacy, and lead dragon kind to a new era.”
“Dragons are useless isolationist beings that exist because of a gargoyle’s folly. They will be honored to contribute something to this world other than grand ideals.”
Clara’s eyes flashed golden. Magick raised to the surface of her skin and burned as it met with the chains’ power. The hooded men holding her stepped back, their staffs at the ready.
She would plead with whatever god she needed to in order to see this woman dead. Dragons were proud creatures who wanted to at least be seen as equals to gargoyles. They had burned effigies and seemed ignorant of many things outside of their land, but what could they do when someone like Kazimir was in power misguiding them? She suddenly remembered a piece of her vision when she had arrived.
“You say such things when it was a dragon who helped save your aisle from the mad sorcerer Vespasian no? What would that hero do if I mentioned your feelings I wonder?”
The Pythia smirked. “He is chained by whoever is crowned emperor. Tell me, have you seen who that will be as well?”
The one she called the Heir would be the next emperor. It was a trick she would not fall into.
“You expect me to tell you anything when you have restricted my magick?” Clara said.
“I have ways of forcing a vision. It is foolish to keep answers from me when I can get them anyway,” the Pythia said.
“My visions are only as good as the circumstances I am in. Try to force a vision from me. If I do not wish it, I will change it.”
The Pythia laughed. “The Moirai spin all our fates from the moment we are conceived. There is no changing them.”
“Then release these chains and let me see your future, oh holy Pythia. Convince me that you are the true vessel of the gods, and I will give you the name of the Heir.”
Clara was bluffing. She didn’t need to be told to be vague and duplicitous. Not when Drakonis’s life was at stake. Not when the dragons of this land hung in the balance.
The Pythia’s eyes quivered. At one point, this old woman had to have gifts. She had to have desired to help the people in the world that approached her. She never would have become the Pythia in the first place. But now, Clara was convinced she had lost her gifts. No woman boasting of the gods’ favor would chain up an innocent and force him to do their bidding. Especially not one that would ultimately save their lives.
The vulnerability in her eyes disappeared. The Pythia took a staff from one of the hooded men and jammed it in Clara’s belly.
“Ah!” Clara screamed. The pain was indescribable. But she would bear it. Her tongue was her only weapon. As long as she had it, she would survive this. She was a Katsaros, and she was the one Drakonis loved. She would be worthy of his love. She would protect him.
“It seems you need some time to consider your options.” The Pythia pulled the staff away, glaring down at her. “Prince Kazimir will be granting us an audience with the emperor soon. You have until then to decide your loyalties.”
“I have already decided…my loyalties.” Clara used both bound hands to grasp her stomach. “And the world will know, whether I am alive or dead, who you truly are. A fake holy one who will die by those you mean to enslave.”