Chapter 4
Tynan
Surath and Saxon land midway between the dragon enclaves and camp, but Xendus continues to circle.
After telling me we were returning to the Light, my dragon shared little with me as we flew—and shared nothing after I expressed my displeasure that we didn’t follow Zogar and Rosomon.
It’s true that I may have expressed that displeasure with a few too many curse words—not to mention some empty threats—but Xendus didn’t need to punish me with silence. He even prevented me from communicating with Saxon while we flew.
Guards rush to surround Master Saxon. They shackle his wrists and ankles, and then drag him toward Roule and Treacher, standing with the camp’s Head Klerick and a few minor klericks I’ve not seen before.
Xendus lands and I try to dismount, but he holds me with his knot.
You cannot help him right now, Xendus says. Surath fears you’ll make matters worse.
I frown. I can talk my way out of anything, but to be honest, I’m not sure how to defend Saxon right now. Saxon has magic. Magic he kept a secret. It’s the most serious crime against Othrix. I’m no religious scholar and have no idea how to argue against those klericks.
Saxon’s shackles are excessively large and heavy, and the chain between his legs is far too short. As the guards drag him toward the dragon masters and klericks, I cringe as the proud, strong man is forced to rapidly shuffle, often stumbling as they drag him.
I’m still able to benefit from Xendus’s vision. Kaelus, the Head Klerick, is wearing a tunic that bears the crest of Khotor—my kingdom. So are the other klericks.
I can’t make sense of that, but the unmistakeable crest is affixed to all of the tunics and uniforms, just above the emblem of Othrix. I spot the same crest on Roule and Treacher too.
Was Khotor elevated amongst the Seven Kingdoms, while we were gone?
How long were we gone? I try to remember the calculations Zogar told us, but even if I could do that math, I’m not positive how much time passed in Lymbo.
We spent so much time fucking that my concept of time was blurred by pleasure.
Xendus releases me, and I quickly dismount, using the rope-free method Rosomon taught us.
On the ground, I stride toward the others.
Surath and Xendus remain nearby, pretending to be helpless, even though I know they could take flight if they chose to.
They could also shift into their human forms, but doing so would not help their own cause—never mind Saxon’s.
Seeing all the Khotori crests, confusing emotions swarm my mind and chest—pride for my kingdom and my family, alongside shame for whatever my grandfather must have done to achieve this.
But Saxon’s capture is my highest priority. I can only hope that I now have more power. I am a Khotori Prince.
“What’s going on?” I step up beside Saxon. “Why is Dragon Master Saxon in shackles?”
“Your Highness.” Kaelus bows toward me, and then each of the others follows suit. Even Treacher bows, although annoyance is plastered all over his scarred face.
I struggle to hide my pride. The only thing that matters is that I might be able to use this unexpected development to help Saxon.
“Welcome back, Your Highness,” Kaelus says. “The entire Kingdom of Light rejoices at your safe return.”
My chest swells, but I can’t be distracted by flattery. I assume my grandfather now has some sway over the klericks, but it’s none of my doing, nothing to take pride in. These men are only showing respect, because I’m related to an old man I hate.
Wait… Did Kaelus say, ‘Kingdom of Light?’ In the singular? I must have misheard.
“What’s the meaning of this?” I ask Master Treacher, but he just shakes his head.
“This heretic has magic.” Frowning and pointing, Master Roule nods toward Saxon. “Accessing Darkness is forbidden in the Light.”
“Blasphemous!” Kaelus adds. “Heresy.”
Now that the situation Saxon’s facing has been confirmed, possible solutions race through my mind.
While we were in Lymbo, we never discussed the implications of Saxon revealing his magic.
The one time I raised it, Saxon brushed it off, and so I lack guidance on how best to handle these accusations.
Accusations I know to be true. In fact, these klericks don’t know the half of what Saxon can do.
Saxon doesn’t know I saw him transform into a stag.
I should have pressed him harder to talk about his magic, how it could impact him when we returned, but I was far too consumed with seeking joy and pleasure, too engrossed in the carnal pleasures of Rosomon, and too engulfed with happiness at our growing bond and affection.
“What evidence do you possess?” I ask the Head Klerick. “Without proof, I demand you release him. This man is a Dragon Master.” This group is treating me with some level of reverence, so I’ll take what advantage I have.
“Others witnessed his crimes,” Roule touches the symbol of Othrix hanging around his neck, and I take note that he too is wearing the crest of Khotor, even though I am quite sure he hails from Sidonia. “Others stand ready to testify.”
Kaelus jabs his long, bony finger toward Saxon. “From the day this heretic arrived at camp, although he was just a boy, I felt certain he was harboring Darkness.” Anger and disdain drip from Kaelus’s voice.
“Saxon didn’t know the truth himself,” I tell Kaelus and the others, then clamp my mouth shut, realizing I’ve all but admitted that Saxon has magic. I glance toward him, trying to guess how he wants me to handle this.
Why isn’t Saxon defending himself? His expression remains frustratingly blank—stern, as it is often—but his jaw is tense, and the tendons of his neck are taut. Stoicism is the default state for Saxon, so it’s no help to guide me.
I turn back toward the others. “Until the day that Saxon saved my dragon from a painful hobbling, he had no idea he had access to magic.”
“Oh, he knew,” Kaelus says, then he turns toward Saxon. “Do you deny this charge?”
Saxon doesn’t move a muscle, as if he’s cast in stone. I wouldn’t be shocked if the collective glares of those present had turned him to stone.
My confidence that I can easily solve this problem is quickly draining. Wielding magic is the highest crime against Othrix, and if Saxon’s found guilty, he’ll be put to death. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. Rosomon would never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself, either.
Plus, what Saxon did should not be a crime. He shouldn’t be put to death for a silly religious law. Magic is amazing and shouldn’t be forbidden.
“Take him to the dungeon,” Kaelus says. “He will remain there until the Prime Klerick declares a time and place for his tribunal.”
The guards tug on Saxon’s chains. He falls to his knees, and they roughly pull him back to his feet before continuing forward, moving far too quickly given how little chain he has between his ankles.
I wish I could help him, but more resistance might implicate me too, and the man’s not even trying to help himself.
Roule turns toward Treacher. “Deal with these dragons,” he says, and Treacher nods tersely.
Roule and the klericks follow behind the guards who are dragging Saxon toward the enclaves.
Once they’re out of hearing distance, I turn toward Treacher. He’s always been stern, sometimes cruel, but he’s typically fair. And since I first bested the gauntlet record, I’ve been the gruff dragon master’s favorite.
“This isn’t right,” I say to him, “and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the kind.” Treacher squares his stance. All his unexpected deference to my royal title has evaporated. Treacher again regards me as simply a rider.
Actually, lower than a simple rider. Treacher looks at me like a new recruit. “Much has happened over the five and half moon cycles you were gone,” he says flatly.
“It’s been that long?”
His eyes narrow. “How could you not know that?”
I draw a breath. If Saxon taught me one thing, it’s to think before speaking.
Well, to think before exploding in anger, anyway, but his lessons apply here as well.
I won’t reveal the dragons’ big secret, not without their consent, but I can’t answer this question without revealing some part of the truth.
Also, didn’t Rosomon already tell him about how time passes in Lymbo?
“Time passes more slowly on the other side of the veil.”
Deep lines form between Treacher’s heavy eyebrows. “How can time move differently?”
“I’m not sure.” Again, I try to remember the number of days I spent, savoring nothing but bliss with Rosomon and Saxon in that magical castle. It was five, maybe six days, but my mind was consumed by priorities far more exciting and life changing than tracking time.
“Where are Rosomon and the behemoth?” Treacher asks.
Behind us, Surath breathes a long stream of fire that streaks across the field, scorching the grasses and flowers in its path. The flames miss us by less than twenty handspans. Smoke fills my nostrils, and ash rises from a line in the earth, but the flames quickly extinguish in the damp grasses.
“The dragon Rosomon rides is called Zogar,” I remind Treacher. “Don’t call him the…” I shake my head. “None of the dragons like that word.”
Treacher frowns. “Are you implying that Saxon’s dragon breathed fire because she heard me?” His face contorts with obvious skepticism. “Are you saying a dragon disapproved of my word choice?”
Scoffing, Treacher turns toward the dragons. “Dragons, if you can hear me, show me.” He puts his hands on his hips, in mock challenge.
Xendus and Surath breathe fire together, this time directing it up toward the Great Beyond. Their fiery streams combine midair, altering the color of the sky above us.
Treacher staggers back a few steps.
“Believe me,” I say flatly. “The dragons can hear and understand your every word.”
Treacher turns back to me, wonder in his eyes. “Can all of the dragons hear? Even when riderless? How is that possible?”
“There are many things about dragons you don’t know.” I love having knowledge he lacks.
“Then tell me.” Treacher frowns, and lines combine with his scars to create an intimidating image. But I’m the one with the power right now.
“All in good time.” My chest expands, every part of me loving this change in dynamic between me and the fierce dragon master. “First, tell me what happened in the Light, while I was gone.”
Treacher’s eyes narrow. “Answer my questions!”
Surath breathes another stream of fire, this time directing it toward the enclaves, drawing my attention that direction. Across the field, dragon handlers are heading toward us, several on a horse-drawn wagon carrying a Shadowdust cannon like the one Xendus destroyed.
My chest seizes. “What did Roule mean when he told you to handle the dragons.”
Treacher folds his arms over his chest. “Your Highness.” My title drips from his lips with thick sarcasm. “I believe you well know what he meant.”
He beckons the dragon handlers, urging them to hurry.
I race toward Xendus. He’s already prepared his wing for me, and I climb up.
Treacher cries out.
Casting his mounting rope, Treacher captured one of Surath spikes. But she takes flight, leaving him dangling from the rope, high about the ground.
I slide back onto Xendus’s pommel, and his knot quickly expands.
“Tell Surath—ask her not to kill him.” Treacher’s no ally, but if he dies right now, we’ll definitely gain enemies.
Xendus takes flight, his massive wings beating the air as we quickly rise. Surath continues to hover, still at a relatively safe distance should Treacher fall. But instead of letting go, the fool is climbing the rope, trying to get atop her.
“You idiot!” I shout. “Can you get me close enough to talk to him?”
Xendus growls.
“I wasn’t calling you an idiot,” I clarify.
Surath is restraining her desire to crush that man and spear his heart with her talons.
My chest tightens. “Will she do that?”
She might spare him, if the fool lets go of the rope.
Xendus swoops down. We glide so low I can smell the flowers in the field and the ash from the previous fires. As we pass them, Treacher turns toward me, determination in his expression.
“Let go.” I make the signal for him to drop to the ground. Xendus loops around, and we pass Treacher from the other direction. “Drop. Now,” I tell Treacher, making the signal again. “She will never let you mount her!”
Treacher frowns.
Time is up, Xendus says. My love is going to kill him.
“Give me one last try,” I plead with Xendus. The dragon handlers are almost in range. In only moments they’ll be preparing a weapon that will not only torture Xendus and Surath, it will keep both of them on the ground, foiling every single one of our objectives.
Xendus grunts but flies me close enough to make eye contact with my former champion, the one who urged me to mount Xendus in the first place.
“Master Treacher,” I call out. “If you don’t release Surath, she will kill you.”
Treacher glares at me but then releases the rope.
Striking the ground, from a height of at least twenty spans, he rolls, leaving a swath of crushed flowers and grass.
Xendus and Surath climb quickly into the sky, giving me no chance to know whether Treacher was injured.