6. Wing and Talon #2
Several figures stepped into the archway all at once.
The reflected light from the dome cast them all in shadow where they tarried beneath the gallery, but their identities were evident, nonetheless.
The Hersir barring the aisle with their spears stepped aside, allowing the group to proceed into the throne room. My grip on the skulls tightened.
An unmistakable rustling filled the air, rising on a crescendo as the figures stepped from beneath the far curve of the gallery and into blinding light.
Wings.
Six dragons of AEldin, all of them in half-Shift, strolled steadily across the throne room.
Their wings—proportionate to their humanesque forms—spread out from their backs in a dazzling array of colors.
Now I understood the need for the open back of Corbyn’s shirt.
His ruby red wings protruded up over his shoulders like glittering mountains, and trailed all the way down to his ankles, folded carefully to avoid dragging on the ground.
My breath caught in my throat at the sight.
The scar on my face thrummed painfully.
Steady now, the Shadow whispered.
My fingers longed to touch the thin, jagged line of puckered skin, if only to banish the uncomfortable sensation, and the accompanying memory.
Which one do you think it is? I asked her.
The Shadow rumbled, a distant roll of thunder. We’ll know soon enough.
As they continued forward, I studied each in turn.
Two men with sky blue wings and identical faces, clothed in robes of white and gold.
The scintillating sun stitched into the breast of their robes marked them as Curates.
I’d seen their kind a few times before at official meetings between our two nations, but I doubted the new Talon was either of them.
Next to the two Curates walked a fearsome woman with wings the color of spring grass and shorn copper hair.
As was custom, the dragons had been relieved of their weapons before entering the Citadel, but the short leather sheaths crisscrossed on her chest remained.
I glimpsed two more empty knife sheaths strapped to either thigh, and I suspected she had a few more hidden somewhere.
She certainly seemed a viable candidate, though it’d been many decades since a female Talon had been named.
Walking a few paces in front of the rest was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.
Her wings and her lengthy hair were the same shade of shimmering gold, as was her beaded gown.
It was as if the sun incarnate had strolled into the room, blinding in her radiance.
By the way she carried herself and her position in the lead of the group, she had to be someone of great importance.
Could she be the dragon of noble birth mentioned in the reports from Reynar’s informants?
Or was she the governor overseeing these proceedings?
My blood turned to ice in my veins as I focused on the final dragon in the group.
He was taller than Corbyn, though perhaps not as towering as Lenn.
It was hard to tell from my position on the dais and the imposing height his wings afforded him.
His collar-length hair was the same shade as his wings, and he had a short beard covering his square jaw.
Thick, black brows pulled low over startling gray eyes as I watched him.
His gaze never flinched away from my silent evaluation.
Handsome.
The word clanged through me, completely unbidden. The darkthread shuddered. A sharp, brutal pain in my chest that drew a grimace to my face.
He’s the one, the Shadow rasped, shuddering lightly. Was it her apprehension or my own that had me trembling? The line between my thoughts and feelings and the Shadow’s became blurrier every day.
They finally came to the dais, stopping in front of the Hersir standing guard. In my chest, the darkthread grew taut and began vibrating rapidly, as if plucked by some invisible finger.
How can you be sure?
I just am, she said simply.
My arms began to shake as I appraised the dragonman with the jet-black wings, glittering like the diamonds in my crown. His eyes raked over me in their own evaluation, sending a shiver over my body. The darkthread quivered even faster.
What are you doing? I asked the Shadow.
It isn’t me, Asvoria.
Her admission sent a spike of fear through my heart. The black-winged man’s gaze narrowed, like he could see that fear written plainly on my face. I released a shuddering breath, willing my pulse to slow down.
With great effort, I looked away, settling my gaze on the golden woman standing there with a wide smile on her angelic face.
This woman was chief among them, that much was clear.
Every eye in the room stared expectantly, waiting for me to break the tense silence.
My bone-breaking grip on the skulls relaxed slightly when a gentle warmth seeped through my chest. Thank the gods for Lenn and his intuition.
“Welcome, dragons of AEldin,” I said. My voice echoed back to me from the dome, sounding stronger than I felt.
“Your Majesty,” the golden dragoness replied with arms spread wide.
“We thank you for your hospitality.” Her voice was deep and sweet as honey.
And though she didn’t look much older than myself, I got the unshakable feeling that I was speaking with an ancient being.
She stepped forward into the gap the Hersir had left directly in front of the throne but paid no mind to the women, or their spears.
“I trust your journey was… uneventful?” I frowned slightly at the strain in my voice, but the niceties had to be gotten through, however false they may have been.
“As always, the Tordun Mountains vex us, Your Majesty. Were it deeper into winter, the trek would have been far more perilous. Your Majesty’s kind inquiry is acknowledged and appreciated.”
I bristled slightly at her strange manner of speaking, unsure what exactly it was that unsettled me. There was something about her that was … off.
“May we introduce our companions,” she continued, turning to her right.
Corbyn stepped off to the side, bracing against a column.
The golden-haired woman gestured to the two men in white robes first. “Rikkar and Ruben, Curates belonging to the Order of Lightwing. They are twins, as you may have guessed.” She chuckled lightly, as if she’d imparted some great secret. Anyone with eyes could see that.
The two men shuffled their hands into the sleeve of the opposite arm, raising them up and lowering their heads.
Their wings stretched slightly to the sides, the sky-blue membranes shivering with the movement.
When they spoke, it was with one voice split between two bodies.
“We are humbled by the Nighteater’s provenance in allowing us to attend, High Queen of Humans. ”
One of my eyebrows raised involuntarily. ‘The Nighteater’s provenance’ ... As if the false sun god these Shifters worshiped had anything to do with why we were gathered.
The golden dragoness settled her eyes on me, a startling shade of orange I’d never seen before. Then she gestured to the woman at her left. “This is Yara Vendreth, Skymaster to His Majesty, King Adrym.”
Yara and her green wings stood straight as a board, arms crossed over her chest. She gave me a sharp nod, nothing more.
Lenn grumbled quietly behind me. Perhaps he was as unsettled by this lethal-looking woman as I was.
As a Skymaster, she was one of AEldin’s best and deadliest soldiers, easily on par with one of the clan Thanes. Maybe even with Lenn.
I mentally readied myself for the next introduction, drawing in a quiet breath.
At the gentle beckoning of the golden woman’s hand, he stepped forward. Scaled armor, eerily like Corbyn’s, clinked with the movement. His black wings fluttered softly, brushing against the golden ones beside him. My heartbeat thrummed in my ears.
Are here to replace Grantis then?”
The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. I hadn’t meant to speak at all yet, preferring to appear aloof and reserved. What the hell was I thinking? It was as if the entire conclave with the Jarlum had fled from my mind at the sight of these dragons.
Those disquieting orange eyes watched me curiously. Then a small smile came to the golden woman’s face. She inclined her head and clasped her hands at her waist. “If it pleases Her Majesty,” she said, “we would be honored if you accept the Council’s selection, as the Drakon Treaty dictates.”
A cold shiver snaked its way down my spine, and my grip tightened on the fireglass skulls once more. As if I could actually approve or disapprove of their choice. Those weren’t the terms of the arrangement.
The AEldinians provided the Erling queen with two dragon guards—to help protect against the myrkva —as a sign of good faith.
Our nations occasionally traded goods, and our fighting forces worked in tandem to combat the myrkva in the north.
In return, we promised to keep the peace.
We didn’t have to promise much else when it was my power capable of decimating an entire race.
But the way the golden woman said it… The underlying threat was as tangible as the sheen of sweat forming on my brow.
I looked at the black-winged man, fighting not to grit my teeth. “What is your name?” I asked, voice raspy despite my best efforts to appear calm.
She cut in before he could answer, rankling my nerves even further. “May we present His Lesser Highness Prince Bentein of House Dyvur.”
Prince.
My blood turned to ice. A hushed murmur broke out across the room, buzzing at this new information.
The Shadow buzzed along with them, as my heart seemed about to leap out of my throat.
I looked over at the four Jarlum, noting their alarmed expressions—Reynar’s most of all.
It seemed he hadn’t been lying about the limit to his information after all.
The golden-haired woman glanced around furtively, though it did not escape my notice. What game was she playing at?
“Perhaps Your Majesty would like?—?”
“Perhaps you would like to tell me who the hell you are?” I snapped. I’d had enough of her clandestine speech and avoidance of introducing herself. I wasn’t entirely sure at what point I’d risen out of my seat, but I found myself standing with my fists clenched at my sides.
She laughed, a hideously false sound. “A thousand apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. Her golden wings opened, stretching fully out to the side. “We are the Three, the Ancient Ones. This body before you is Rensif Lightwing, Herald of the Nighteater.”
The ice in my veins shattered. Now it made sense. I could hear it—the way her voice wavered, bouncing between different tones and colors, as though there was more than one voice altogether.
The Council of Ancients had come to Kjarra, as they never had before, to deliver a prince to be my new protector. All the conclaves in the world could not have prepared me for this.