Chapter 10 #4
As Theron devised his plans, his heartache eased.
It didn’t matter if his wife had been driven mad through a combination of her horrifying past and her visions.
He was the greatest healer in all of Trisia.
In spite of everything, he still cared for her and would not countenance a life without her.
Eventually, the Viridians, along with Orithyia, would be driven from his lands.
Drakon would be dealt with. The cycle of chaos would end.
What felt like a crisis a few hours ago would eventually be resolved.
When Altanus became more than a smudge in the distance, Theron had regained his equilibrium and steeled himself for what was to come. Right now, his greatest test was to get his court back on his side. Everything else could wait.
“For what it’s worth, Drakon is an incredible creation, Batea. You’ve truly outdone yourself. I’m sorry that it needs to die.”
“As am I,” she said quietly. “At least I kept my promise. We really did soar through the sky on the back of a great serpent, like the kings and queens of legend.”
A promise she’d made the day they’d cowered in the temple of Passion, waiting for those who had tried to murder him during his parents’ funerals to put their swords away.
It was a promise she repeated whenever his courtiers sent assassins after him, or another of his poison tasters died.
It was what she’d told him when the blight had begun and his court began to show signs of restlessness.
He’d dreamed of this day often—the day he could finally rise above it all, safe in his power.
But as with all dreams, he had woken to find reality decidedly different.
“That we did.”
Batea’s hands tightened on the reins lashed to Drakon’s horns.
“One last show, then.”
“Yes, let’s terrify them into complete submission.” Theron grinned.
“Hold on!” Batea grinned back.
The Aureans riding along with them grabbed hold of the spikes protruding from the beast’s back.
Drakon plummeted down and down, faster than even the eagles, his dark cloud like an arrow painted in the sky, his fearsome visage the arrowhead.
Pointed with deadly precision, the beast sped for the main gate of the walled capital, the wind whistling past Theron’s ears as tears were ripped from his eyes.
He thought they would hit the ground at full speed, as did the soldiers who jumped out of the way.
At the last moment, Drakon’s pace slowed.
The beast coiled itself just outside the gates, lowering his head for both Theron and Batea to speak with the guards at the gate.
The guards were the first to shout Theron’s return.
As the gates opened to admit him atop Drakon’s head, the people of his city flocked to the main road leading up to the palace.
The beast’s head barely fit through the gate, its horns nearly scratching the wooden doors.
Jubilation ripped through the crowd. His people cried out his name as Drakon slithered through the air just a hair above the roofs, both Theron and Batea waving at his people below.
By the time he’d made it halfway to the palace, people had climbed atop the buildings to throw flowers at Theron and Batea, cheering his name and welcoming him home.
This was how a king was meant to be welcomed. After so long as the captive of Viridis, his heart swelled. He was a prisoner no more. Disadvantaged no more. Shamed no more. Altanus was the jewel of Trisia, his people a cut above even the noblest Viridian.
“You will kiss my ring at the top of the steps to the palace.”
“As you command.”
When they finally reached the palace, his attendants, guards, advisors, and courtiers were arrayed before the entrance.
Drakon lowered his head to allow Batea and Theron to descend gracefully from his scaled snout.
The remaining Aureans followed shortly after, Batea dismissing the beast with a silent command.
In the distant skies, the eagles—and his enraged wife—followed.
Theron kept his courtiers in the corner of his vision as Batea made a show of kneeling before Theron.
“Blessed is the sun of Aureum, King Theron. Welcome home, Your Majesty,” she said, taking his hand and kissing his seal ring.
Some of his people looked at each other with a measure of confusion, but both Polydorus and General Canthus were quick to rush over and make their pledges while welcoming him back to Altanus.
The rest followed, some with measurable reluctance.
Theron noted each and every one of the would-be traitors.
Show completed, he swept into his palace, taking all the congratulations and rejoicing as his due.
As he reached the throne room, he stepped up to the dais on which the sunstone throne sat.
Sunstone tesserae decorated his immaculate floors in warm hues and regal draconic imagery.
The stone pillars depicting the heroic deeds of his ancestors ensured the ceiling soared overhead and let in the light that bathed this room.
And on the dais, a throne sculpted from a single block of warm-hued sunstone and veined in gold, a dragon sculpted into it, its head pointed towards all who approached, its wings acting as the armrests.
His throne.
He turned and sat himself down. With his courtiers and advisors standing before him, he gave them his best ruthless grin, pinning each and every one of them with a deadly challenge in his golden eyes.
“Rejoice. Your king has returned.”