Dragons son, p.5
Dragon's Son, page 5
I felt my blank expression slipping as I fought back a smile. I accepted the compliment because I deemed it to be truth.
“You look like your mother. You and Villian both.” There was a hint of displeasure in the king’s voice. He snorted. “She gave me the best of my brood. So, you are pleased with him, Antium? I’ll take your word for it. You will do well, Alexis, wherever you are sent. Now that I am back, I will decide again what to do with you. Perhaps you can join your brother as a soldier. Though with Villian’s blood running in your veins, I am not sure two butchers would be beneficial for foreign relations.”
He seemed to believe he could say anything without repercussions. It told me he would not take rebuttal lightly. Villian’s silence confirmed my surmise. As my father strode to meet me, I noticed Villian’s eyes narrow and his lips tighten.
Villian did not take rebuttals well, either.
The king seemed to think it necessary to memorize what I looked like. After a long, solemn stare at my face, he nodded and then continued to stare. I was growing weary of being examined like a bit of merchandise, and indulged immorally in my head about how ironic it would be for this self-important man to find himself dead in a few hours, when my father’s expression changed. For a second, he looked almost tenderly at me. His face drooped with sadness. He seemed to be seeking something, and whatever it was, he had not found it.
“Too much like your mother,” he murmured, almost to himself.
And then he dismissed me from the room and back into Antium’s care.
Amarea
The feast was hosted in the house of Lord Drinian, praefect of Gathport. Amarea had paid close attention to the details. Lord Drinian had been seated not far from the prince, on the opposite side of Sebastian, who occupied Alexis’s right. Amarea had been forewarned of Sebastian’s eminence, of his royal heritage and endowed authority.
As the prince’s wife, Amarea placed herself on Alexis’s left.
The dishes were lavish and tasty. The hall was filled to overflowing. Men and women from the court mingled with the conquering heroes of the borders. Wives and daughters of the homecoming soldiers had begged for a place in Amarea’s company. It was a splendid gathering, and Amarea was proud of it. Everyone she looked on seemed to be enjoying his or herself. There was not a sour face in the room.
Amarea glanced nervously at Alexis.
He had spoken scarcely two words since the meal began.
Was he ill? He did not look it. He had given the expected speech at the start of the supper, extolling Beotia’s virtues, speaking some honor to Lord Drinian, and remarking on Amarea’s grace in welcoming him home from a long and successful tour. But since taking a seat, he had closed his mouth and opened it only to eat.
Amarea was swiftly losing her appetite. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Was he ignoring her deliberately? Was he underwhelmed by her? Surely, he was even slightly pleased to see her?
She was trying to think of something pertinent to say to him when she heard a low mutter from Sebastian.
“Say something to your wife, you idiot.”
Alexis stiffened. Amarea kept her gaze averted so he wouldn’t know that she had heard. She sensed him glance at her, and then he leaned toward her.
“The feast is well ordered.”
Amarea’s heart raced. She looked up and gave a cordial smile. “I’ve had practice.”
Alexis’s eyes were gray. Where had his mother come from? Olive skin was not rare in Beotia, but Alexis certainly had not inherited his from the rosy-cheeked Pereas. Perhaps the woman had been a Beotian—maybe one of low birth. A low birth would explain why no one ever spoke of her. Though his curls were tighter than most, his dark hair looked Beotian enough.
“You control the household?” Alexis asked.
“Yes.” Amarea felt a bit like a servant reporting to his master. She added, “With a firm hand.”
“You organized this assembly?”
“Carefully, my lord.”
Alexis nodded thoughtfully and sipped his wine.
He was younger than she had imagined him. She knew his age, but his letters had made him seem older than twenty-two. She had unwittingly imagined a general of at least twenty-seven. Looking at his eyes and observing his grave manner, he could pass for twenty-seven.
“Are you happy to be home?” she asked, unwilling to let him lapse into silence again. “Or will you miss the borders?”
“Both,” Alexis responded, looking at her again. “But I’ve had enough of the latter, for a time.”
“Ready for ease, then?”
“You find life in Unimar easy?”
Amarea caught the subtle challenge in his tone. “Not at all,” she said. “Let’s say I was testing you.”
Alexis barked a surprised laugh, causing Sebastian to glance at them. “Testing me, were you? And did you decide that after or before you asked?”
“After. I was making small talk. It’s popular.”
“And dull.”
Well, that was impolite. Amarea hid her feelings behind a smile and reached for her cup.
“But yours was not small talk,” Alexis followed up.
“It was meant to be.”
Reaching out, Alexis took her left hand in his and examined her fingers. There, on her ring finger, was the traditional wide band. It was not the same one he had given her, of course, for in five years, she had outgrown it.
“Forgive me, then,” Alexis said simply. “Yours is not dull.”
He released her hand and looked out over the tables.
“Shall we leave for Unimar tomorrow?” Amarea asked. “Or shall you rest after your journey?”
“The journey is not finished until we reach the capital. Tomorrow, we leave—if it pleases you.”
“I live to please you, Your Highness,” Amarea said.
“Tomorrow, then.”
Amarea could have sworn she saw Sebastian roll his eyes.
Alexis
Blossom Month, 7th day
You are a very sound sleeper, Princess Amarea. I rather envy that.
I paced the carpet of my chamber, studies neglected. My hands were wringing themselves behind my back.
It was so quiet. The silence in my room tortured me. I could feel the minutes passing. Time seemed audible.
I felt cold. Sweat dampened my hair and shirt, but within me was a profound chill, a freezing that began to consume me. In my mind, I saw my father’s face, saw his crown. I saw the lust in my brother’s eyes, the murder, the delight, his anticipation of a bloody act. It sickened me.
An hour had passed. Perhaps longer. At any time today, my father could be killed.
What can I do? I thought.
There was no one to tell. There was no plot to hatch. My father would die.
Beotia would be taken.
It was then that my heart froze over and thawed, and my blood heated to a raging boil.
Not while I yet lived.
I tore from my chamber. I ran, shoving past servants and courtiers. Back down to the throne room, I charged. I had to stop it. I had to try.
The king was no longer present. Frustrated, I looked about me, forcing my mind to calm. It seemed as though the room spun. I delved deep inside myself, working to devise a scheme. I was going to commit suicide. I knew it.
It must, therefore, be done well.
“Guards! Where is the king?” I demanded, lashing out in my anger at the two footmen by the great doors.
They both started and exchanged glances. One spoke. “We were not informed, Your Highness.”
I spied my guardian by a marble column, chatting with another lord. “Antium!” I shouted. “The king! Where is the king?”
Antium stopped. To this day, I feel relief that he did not trifle with me at that moment. “In the south garden, Your Highness, with Prince Villian.”
The south garden does not exist today, having been built over in a palace expansion, but it was still there when we married. You may remember its appearance, with its towers overlooking the orchard and flowerbeds.
I left Antium and ran to the south garden. With speed and stealth, I slipped from the shadowy door of the palace into the shelter of the orchard. I remember I drew a dagger, not knowing whether I would kill Villian or the assassin. I knew I was betraying my brother, but I knew I could not betray my king. I knew I could not serve a dragon, that I could not let the stranger who was my father perish by an assassin’s blow.
I stole parallel with the gravel pathways, keeping on the grass to muffle my steps. I stayed low, hiding behind the tangles of brush and shrubbery, using the dappled shadows of the trees to hide me. I glanced ever upwards at the windows of the garden towers.
Do you remember the towers? They were not very tall; two stories only, and while I’m sure they were added for mere aesthetic, it struck me then what ridiculously convenient cover they made for assassins. I’m surprised it took us so long to rip them down. Each tower had four windows on the top floor. A killer could shoot from any direction.
At length, I found them.
My father and Villian, strolling along.
Neither had seen me, and I shrank lower to keep it that way. Their gesturing hands indicated conversation, but I was too far to overhear them. A handful of nobles and a scattering of attendants followed.
I looked up at the surrounding towers—there were three within sight—but saw no one. Perhaps the time was not yet. Perhaps Villian would not kill him here.
With so many potential witnesses, however, and such advantageous cover for his assassins, what better place could there be?
It was difficult to keep my breath quiet. I hesitated, not trusting that the king was yet safe.
And that is when I saw him.
I caught his movement from the corner of my eye. Within the tower to my left, someone had moved past the window facing me and now crouched at the window facing the king.
He was foreign. I had never seen a Pelizian before, but his golden skin and black hair fit the description I had been given of your people. I could not see much more than his profile. His attention seemed rapt on his quarry, but one movement from me would be all it took to attract his gaze.
My body nearly froze. I wrenched my nerves back under control. Should I yell? Should I dash for the tower, gambling that I would escape his range before he readjusted his aim?
Pereas and Villian must have moved, then, for the assassin suddenly shifted, turning his profile away.
Darting forward, I made it to the foot of the tower and slipped up the inner staircase.
The moment I entered the top level, he spotted me.
His arrow shot at me. I was expecting it and dropped against the stairs. The arrow rebounded against the stone wall.
I threw myself at him with a cry to alert the others below. The assassin defended mutely, bringing out weapon after weapon. I was fifteen, but Lord Turnus and Antium had trained me well.
It was long ago, and I will not fabricate details. I was not afraid. Anger swelled my courage, and I grappled with my father’s intended assassin. He stabbed my shoulder and gave me the scar I bear to this day. Filled with strength newfound from the pain of my wound and the wrath of my purpose, I flung my enemy from the tower window onto the paved stone below.
“Alexis!”
I heard my name, but I could not place the voice. My shoulder seared, but before I could capitulate to its sting, I remembered my brother had said there would be more than one killer.
“Treachery!” I screamed.
Inside the tower directly across from mine, a shadow ducked for cover.
“The king!” I scrambled to snatch up my opponent’s fallen bow, but shouts outside told me others had spied the man as well. I straightened, bow and arrow at the ready, and saw that the second assassin had vanished. Villian and the king stood with only the servants about them. The nobles had rushed the second tower with swords drawn.
Villian, looking bewildered and angry, protectively stood before the king, arms spread theatrically.
Rage filled me. I knew what to do.
I aimed and shot.
Villian guessed my target and lunged to the side. Thankfully, my father did, too.
I was down the stairs and hunting him in the next moment. The king shouted something—probably he was calling the guards, because as you will see, they soon appeared.
Villian was running merely to avoid my arrows. He was disoriented by surprise, I believe, for I caught up to him easily. I chased him back the way he had come, using my dagger and the assassin’s short sword which I had snatched on my way out of the tower. Villian was armed, and he had drawn his sword, yet he retreated, parrying my attacks as he went.
It was then that the lords returned from the second tower. Villian started shouting something about restraining me, a madman. I was not restrained, probably because the lords were familiar to me and they were waiting for the king’s command. Keenly aware of how little time I had to cut Villian’s flesh and reveal the steaming dragon blood, I simultaneously realized how helpless Villian appeared against me. For the first time in our lives, he was struggling to contain me.
I smiled at him.
I learned something about dragons, then. Flattery turns them into putty. Humiliation makes them furious.
Villian saw my gloating smile, and a change came over him. He snarled and seemed possessed with a raging desire to kill me. We fought, but not for long. He was athletic, but I was better. I seized my chance when it came. I sliced his shoulder with the assassin’s blade and then shouted the word: “Dragon!”
Villian’s face went white with rage and panic. He gripped his shoulder and seemed to try to smother the steam with his sleeve fabric. “Rubbish!” he gnashed, but the anger in his voice outweighed the feigned bewilderment.
I knocked his sword from his slackened grip and sliced his bent arm.
“He told me, sire!” I cried. I’m sure I was trembling with loss of blood, for my own shoulder had been wounded in the tower. “He told me he would kill you today. See the proof of it! He is a dragon. A Pelizian assassin lies dead outside that tower. He hired them. He told me!”
I had no time to judge my audience’s reaction. Villian roared and transformed into a gigantic dragon. Screams filled the orchard, and then there was fire.
I dove aside and remember only that it ended with me atop my father in the ruins of the first assassin’s tower. Six soldiers—their arrival on the scene, I do not recall—were dead, and two lords lay dying. I believe I hit my head very hard, or Villian hit me, for even now, I remember nothing of the tower’s destruction or how I came to be near my father in the first place.
And Villian, my brother, was gone.
Amarea
The welcome at Unimar dwarfed the reception at Gathport. Crowds lined the walls and streets, cheering and shouting in a deafening roar, waving pennants and clapping their hands.
Alexis led the parade, clad in polished armor and caped in red. Amarea rode beside him, posture erect, smile broad. Alexis waved, but his smile seemed plastered.
Rose petals fell every time they passed beneath a gate. When at last the parade reached the palace, a final shower welcomed them, a rain of a hundred thousand roses sacrificed. Ribbons draped the two ballistas on the wall.
King Pereas was waiting for them, surrounded by his nobles. The scene was reminiscent of Amarea’s own welcome five years before. A red carpet had been rolled down the palace steps.
Alexis dismounted, and Amarea followed. Sebastian and the other men stayed in their saddles.
Taking Amarea’s hand, Alexis ascended with her to where his father stood. The nobles bowed their heads in reverence to the young but terrible prince. Halting before the king, Alexis and Amarea dropped to one knee.
“My son,” King Pereas crowed. “Arise.”
Alexis obeyed, and Amarea rose with him.
“Beotia’s hero! We welcome you home with proud hearts.”
“Father,” Alexis greeted.
“I see you have found your wife.”
“Kept safe and sound in your care, my king.”
“As the borders and the empire have been in yours,” King Pereas said. Reaching forward, he clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Such a prince! Such a captain!” Turning Alexis to face the crowd, he cried, “Behold, your prince!”
The people shrieked their cheers, waving their pennants furiously.
“Come!” King Pereas said. “Into the palace! Unimar will celebrate for seven days and seven nights your safe and victorious return!”
The king turned, and the nobles parted to let him pass.
Alexis signaled to Sebastian.
The Eldonian prince shouted an order for the men to disband.
“Your Highness?” Offering Amarea his hand again, Alexis led her inside.
Alexis
Blossom Month, 9th day
At least one of us enjoys parties. That will be good for public relations. When you are queen, I’ll make an appropriate appearance at all of them and then leave you to it.
You can only imagine the chaos of the next while. On the day of Villian’s flight, I was nursed by physicians. Nothing could be done for the dead soldiers, and the two wounded lords quickly succumbed. My father had been saved from serious injury, and what’s more, from death.
Yet Villian’s identity had been revealed, and that we were brothers was not forgotten. After a single night’s rest, I was taken and chained and brought before the king and his council.
I learned there what my head trauma had erased, but the details are unimportant. Suffice it to say that Antium had followed me into the south garden and been there to stop the king’s interference when I was attacking Villian. When Villian had transformed, Antium, a dragon slayer in his youth and never one to relinquish good weapons, had commenced battle. I was told that I fought also, but what matters most is that Villian soon fled, flying from Unimar and escaping the surprised ballista bolts of the wall guards.
