Chapter Twenty-Three

Darius shoved the last of the scrolls he'd been reading aside. The archives were quiet; he'd asked for privacy once again, and it had been immediately granted, the keepers of the scrolls ushering everyone else out from the area where legal texts were kept. He knew he'd have been able to accomplish this much faster if he'd been willing to enlist some help, but the answers he was seeking lent themselves entirely too easily to speculation about what was on his mind.

He'd been here daily for the past several weeks, exploring his options. The thought of the passage of time gave rise to a stirring of discontent; his slow progress meant that he had been forced to let secrets lurk between him and Tanitha for far too long. He had, however, come to some conclusions.

The first and most obvious solution was for him to simply tell Tanitha who he was, explain the strictures on his options, and propose that he keep her in comfort and luxury as a mistress. That idea, however, made acid rise in his throat. She deserved much better than a life as a sordid secret, even if he managed to do it in a way that didn't require her present level of isolation.

But being with her openly… well, there were obvious and inescapable problems with that. He'd debated for a time if his mother might be more accepting of a union if it didn't involve the prospect of Tanitha one day taking the throne. His readings had shown him that there were ways that could be done; sometimes marriages between demons of widely different statuses were performed with a contractual understanding that the lower-ranking demon would be granted a courtesy title, but few additional benefits of rank. He doubted that an arrangement like that would bother Tanitha, but it would bother him. He didn't want her to be forced to stand at his side while being subjected to constant reminders that she wasn't his equal. Again, she deserved better than that, and besides, he was extremely dubious that Naratha would agree to it in the first place.

If elevating Tanitha's status to truly match his wasn't possible, though, that left one more option, the one that had struck him with such force after the first night he'd shared with her. The memory of her body against his warmed his blood, but he gave his head a firm shake to refocus on the matter at hand.

Abdication. The legalities of renouncing titles and claims were complex, and there were mechanisms in place that seemed specifically designed to make it more difficult for him. He thought, however, that he'd found a way that would more or less force the ruling class to accept his decision. He'd have to talk it over with Kai first, obviously, since he was the one most impacted. He knew Kai was content in his current position, but that didn't mean he'd try to turn away from an opportunity to better it if it was handed to him. He'd tell Darius that he was insane and probably make a few token attempts to dissuade him, but ultimately, he'd accept.

Of course, before that, Darius would have to speak with Tanitha. The thought made his heart twist. He couldn't possibly propose that they start a life together without explaining the full situation to her, without telling her who he was. She had given herself to him utterly and completely, and she'd done it without any suspicion of who he was, without any aspirations toward rank or rulership. She hadn't given herself to the crown prince of the Shadowborn City, she'd given herself to him. And a part of him was extremely reluctant to change that.

Would she even want to be with him at all when she knew who he was?

He closed his eyes for a moment, carefully removing his hand from the scroll he'd been holding so that he wouldn't damage the parchment with the sudden tension that had come into him. He knew that they were long past the point where he should have told her who he was, and he didn't have any real reason to think that it would change her opinion of him. But it would still mark an irrevocable shift in the relationship, and it would lead to so many questions. Questions about why a prince had been ordered to harm her, for instance.

What if he mishandled that somehow, and it set off the chain of events he'd so desperately been trying to avoid?

And even if he sidestepped that danger, even if Tanitha was somehow willing to forgive Naratha's overzealousness in guarding demonkind's future here, what kind of life was he asking her to accept? A life with a prince-in-exile? What would that mean for her, for both of them? If he surrendered his status, could he give her the sort of life she deserved?

And that was all ignoring one very significant practical matter. Was he going to keep hiding his true form from her?

Leaving her side tore at him every night. There had been so many nights when they'd both taken and given to each other, alternating between fiery passion and an intense, desperate sort of tenderness. Every time, he lay at her side for hours after she'd fallen asleep, gently caressing her body, desperately unwilling to leave her side. It was often the early hours of the morning before he could force himself to do so. And every time he finally pulled away, he was gripped with a cold, formless fear, as if the depths of his mind wouldn't let him forget how fragile this all was. How quickly he could lose her if, in any one of a thousand ways, he misstepped.

And yet, she posed a very real danger to him. If she saw his true form, he'd be permanently under her power. It would be another matter entirely if she was a demon herself; the soul- bond would be mutual then. There was a way for humans to be soul-bound, but only to each other, and even that was unreliable; the factors that determined the success of the magical rituals involved were still only poorly understood. As for between a demon and a human…. He hadn't been able to find a single record of it being even attempted, probably because open unions between their kinds were so rare. Further, it would only be deemed necessary if the human was a soul-speaker, which was rarer still. He and Tanitha could well be the first such case, so he didn't even know if a mutual soul-binding between them would take.

He had no idea if he could ever truly be safe with her.

His wings twitched in agitation, and he stood up, beginning to pace from one end of the room to the other. It didn't matter, he decided. There were a dozen other issues that he had to address first. The matter of soul-binding could come later. Much later. He wasn't going to stroll in, tell her that she'd been with a prince these past weeks, express his intention to abdicate, then casually ask her if she was willing to attempt to magically and irrevocably entangle her soul with his. It was too much.

It was too much, and he wasn't ready.

He continued his pacing. He'd decided the best time to renounce his claim to the throne was at one of his rare annual public appearances, when he'd be presiding over one of the ceremonies involved with the upcoming Awakening. That was about two weeks away. So, in that time, he needed to tell Tanitha the truth about who he was and find out if, knowing that, her feelings changed. He didn't believe she was that faithless, but there were so many unknowns that the fear was there, regardless. But in any case, assuming that she still wanted to be with him, then he could worry about the practicalities of sharing a life with her.

He paused at the window, looking out over the city. His city, to be his one day to lead and to rule. It was beautiful, and he loved it. But… he loved Tanitha more. And he couldn't imagine trying to lead a life without her. He would have surrendered far more than a throne to be with her.

She'd put an enormous amount of trust in him with very little knowledge of her situation or assurance of what the future might hold. If he loved her enough to lose a throne… If he loved her that much, perhaps it was time to put some trust in her, too.

He turned away from the window. It was time, he decided, stifling the trill of anxiety that the thought brought with it. More than time. He had to tell her who he was, and let the consequences of that follow as they would.

But there was another matter he had to attend to first.

The wind whistled as it streamed over the taut leather of his wings, and far below, the surf of the ocean hissed. The night was unseasonably cool, and a fog was hanging in the air beneath him, though the visibility at his present altitude was clear. He could see the outline of Zharen, and if he looked back along the coast, he would have equally been able to see Karazhen gleaming in the very last of the sun's rays.

The night was quiet, almost eerily so, and he flapped his great dragon wings once, the sound breaking the silence with a sharp crack. Seconds later, the fog billowed with the shift in air. He let himself glide for several seconds, his wings angled very slightly upward. The silence was bothersome to him, almost like an itch, and he thought perhaps it was simply that he had experienced entirely too much of it of late. He'd spent many hours alone, studying the matter of abdication, sealed off in private study areas in the palace archives. Now that he could finally bring himself to act, the silence seemed strange, unnatural and at odds with his state of mind.

He refocused on Zharen's outline, which was steadily drawing nearer. The absence of the usual prevailing winds tonight meant this was taking longer than usual, a fact that grated on him; it wasn't as if he needed more time to dwell on his own thoughts, to think about the course of action he'd decided on. But the lingering anxiety of the most important variable in this situation still galled him, and that was the matter of how he could be with Tanitha, the matter of where they could safely go. He had an idea, one that could resolve all of this, but for it to work… for it to work, he needed the agreement of Alethia of Zharen.

Alethia. So much depended on gaining her cooperation and goodwill, and he was less than totally certain of his own ability to do so. He gave another sharp snap of his wings to propel himself forward. He'd have to handle this delicately; breaking off an engagement was a sensitive matter at the best of times, and a snide, self-deprecatory voice in the back of his head was asking if Alethia might not perhaps be halfway expecting it, given his history. Breaking off the engagement wasn't the tricky part though; he could soften that blow, if indeed she considered it to be one, with favorable trade agreements and the like.

No, the part of this that truly needed to be handled delicately was the fact that he needed to break off an engagement and then immediately beg assistance on behalf of another woman.

Tanitha would never be safe in Karazhen, let alone the palace. Kai had been right about that. He and Tanitha simply could not be together anywhere near Naratha. But Zharen… Zharen had considerably laxer attitudes about relationships between humans and demons, for one thing. Zharen's magistrate might be leery of the idea of sheltering a prince-in-exile from what was likely to be an infuriated Naratha, but ultimately, he'd likely come to see the advantages of having a powerful demon, a descendant of Diantha herself, lending his strength and influence to the protection and advancement of the city. At least, he would if a trusted and influential demon in his close circle made that case to him.

Darius' plan was simple. He would explain the full situation to Alethia, leaning heavily on her likely sympathies for his desire to be with someone for reasons of affection rather than political expedience. He would ask for her intercession with the magistrate, for her support in giving a place to him and Tanitha in her home city. It would be easy enough for her to make a case that he be given a position of influence—a high-ranking senatorial position, perhaps. In exchange, she'd have his long-term support on any initiatives she might desire, moving forward. Not to mention his support on a more personal matter. He knew she wanted the freedom to seek a marriage of affection herself, outside of the needs of politics. Perhaps with a powerful ally within Zharen's borders, she could have it.

The wind he'd been riding was weakening further, and he gave a few more wingbeats to compensate before returning to his glide. It was perhaps a bit presumptuous to appear over Zharen's waters in his dragon form, but he wanted to be immediately recognizable, given that he hadn't sent advance warning of his intention to visit. Besides, he thought dryly, his memory returning to Alethia's choice to swim into Karazhen's harbor as a leviathan, perhaps this was a situation where turnabout was only fair play. He suspected Alethia would likely see it as such, at least.

He only hoped he could attain her agreement on more important matters as well.

The silence over the sea, how it left him to reflect on his own thoughts, irritated him once more and he let out a quiet grumble, the sound guttural and harsh from his draconic throat. He angled his wings to catch a stray current of wind, which was still unusually weak. All at once, however, he realized something. The quiet had been growing deeper as he flew, and not just in contrast to the tumult of his thoughts.

A suspicion leapt to his mind, and suddenly fully alert to his surroundings, he looked around quickly, checking his location. To his relief, he hadn't drifted over Sabrian waters, but he was only about a league to the south of what might be considered contested territory. He locked his wings into a glide, then closed his eyes for a moment as he reached out with his senses, feeling through the darkness for any use of elemental magic.

It took several heartbeats before he found it; whoever had raised the mist that hung heavy in the air to the north of him, slowly encroaching southward, was both very skilled and very subtle. His scaled lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, and he banked to the north. His sense of elemental energy, both of water and air, grew stronger. He kept his altitude, though his gaze swept over the thick mist below, and he glided as much as possible to keep the advantage of silence and surprise. It had been years since he'd seen something like this, and he didn't know why it might be happening now. Whatever the reason though, he wasn't interested in letting it progress.

He kept going, the utter silence the only true tell that something was amiss; even knowing it was there, he had to keep his mind specifically tuned to the magic that was being cast beneath him as he headed for its epicenter.

When he reached what he thought was likely the center, he pulled into a wide circle, rising yet higher above the ocean. He had little skill in manipulating water as an element, but air was well within his purview. As he completed another circuit, a massive dragon circling its prey, he summoned up a strong wind.

It was perhaps more of a display of strength than necessary, but it did the job. He watched intently as the mist scattered into faint tendrils in the onslaught of the air that buffeted it apart. And then, as he'd suspected, the ghostly outlines of three galley ships came into focus beneath him.

Darius summoned darkness, rendering himself effectively invisible against the night sky. He heard startled shouts at the dispersal of the mist; apparently he'd also disrupted the spell they'd woven with air to stop sound from traveling, the effects of which were what had initially alerted him. Carefully, he looked over the ships, taking in their details. Sabrian design, though the sails were plain and free of any woven ensigns. The ships hadn't yet crossed into Shadowborn waters, but they had obviously intended to.

Darius had no idea what three single-level galleys might have hoped to accomplish, but they were already turning away in a synchronized arc, clearly abandoning whatever the objective had been. Darius, still circling unseen, briefly considered letting them go; technically, this was Zharen's domain, not his. But the idea chafed at him, at his longstanding duties as a prince. He wasn't inclined to let a stealth incursion leave unscathed.

He dismissed the darkness and dove straight down.

The shouts quickly turned to screams as the oarsmen looked up to see the suddenly visible dragon descending on them, fire already streaming from its jaws. He let out an unearthly shriek as he pulled up, bare instants before he would have collided with one of the masts. His wings made a sharp snapping noise in the wind, and he veered, twisting his neck back to let loose a violent gout of flame.

The sails caught fire immediately, the flames eating dark, rapidly growing holes in their fabric. Darius angled his wings, shooting upward as the first arrows began to fly.

Darius wasn't interested in a pitched battle outside his own territory; he'd already made his point. He hadn't killed or injured anyone, but he'd made it very clear that he could have.

Swathing himself with darkness once more, he vanished from the Sabrians' sight, gliding away soundlessly over the waves. Behind him, the ships continued their retreat.