Chapter 9

1385

Castle Draconis

Awinter wind whipped through Dravyn's tattered clothing, but he'd grown unaffected by such uncontrollable things. As ever, he was in the garden and guards were chortling nearby as he went about his tasks. The ground was nearly frozen, but he hacked away at dirt clods to prepare the land for seeds. Although he would plant nothing yet, staying busy was a necessity, and his tools were old and rusted, making his tasks difficult.

Dravyn could not remember the last time he'd spoken to another living soul. The guards no longer bothered him much. At the start, they were enamored with making him suffer. Dravyn had offered them little opportunity to find fault with him, and they had soon tired of their games. Now, they often arrived in cheerful moods but grew sour as the chilly air settled in their bones.

The guards would have preferred the warmth of fire, but it was only allowed at mealtimes to cook what meager things they brought for Dravyn to consume. It did not matter how old the meat was or how many rocks had found their way into the bread dough, Dravyn ate every bit to keep up his strength. To pass the hours, he allowed his mind to wander far from the pitiful garden he tended.

Sorcerers terrified Dravyn and his dragon, but he could not help but think about the handsome one who had smiled at him years ago. Was the druid still waiting for a letter from him? Perhaps one day Dravyn would find the bravery to dig up some of the paper beneath the bench and pen him something.

What would he write?

Please remember me.

Across the garden, the guards snapped to attention as Duke Zane Draconis stalked toward them. It was unheard of for a drakeling to carry such a title, but since His Grace's father had proclaimed himself ruler of the dragons, Bernal had granted his only child the honor. Dravyn had never spoken with Duke Zane, and he wondered what the man was doing outside.

Duke Zane wore a thick cloak heavily embroidered in gold, and the clothing beneath the heavy garment was no less opulent. Like his father, he wore a thin coronet, so no one would forget the titles the two men carried. From what brief whispers reached Dravyn's ears, he knew not every dragon King was loyal to the Imperial Duke.

Infighting happened regularly, and of course, Imperial Bernal often repeated his order that every sorcerer be cut down where they stood.

"Leave us," Duke Zane ordered.

Dravyn glanced up at the dismissal and wondered where he was supposed to go since his ankle was still raw and encircled with a manacle. But it was not him Duke Zane was addressing. Without a word, the guards rushed toward the castle and the warmth it provided.

Head bowed again, Dravyn returned to his task of breaking up the nearly frozen ground. He'd learned years ago that he was never to look a titled dragon in the eye. That precious and brief time when he'd served as a Duke to King Aleksander seemed a lifetime ago. An ache swept through his heart at the thought of his imprisoned cousin. What horrors had Aleksander experienced, and was he even now being coerced to submit to a beating?

Dravyn blew out an unsteady breath and forced himself to set the subject of the D'Vaires aside. It was awful to be so selfish and not think of them constantly, but the sadness was too great a burden for him to bear. He could do nothing about the hatred boiling through him. The Imperial Duke and his ilk were monsters who lacked any sense of honor.

The Imperial Duke's son grabbed some firewood from the paltry pile nearby and busied himself with building a fire. Irritation made Dravyn scowl. Already he had barely enough resources to cook with, and now Duke Zane was helping himself to Dravyn's firewood to fight off the chill. No one had invited him out of the castle, and Dravyn hated the thought of eating his tasteless food uncooked.

Once Zane had a fire roaring, he startled Dravyn by ignoring the finery of his clothing and sitting on the ground close to where Dravyn was squatting.

"Your Grace, I have dismissed the guards," Duke Zane said. "Have a rest, won't you?"

Confused, Dravyn's hands stilled, but he did not respond or switch positions.

"For what it is worth, I am sorry, Your Grace. My father…I know not what motivates him other than a lust for power. I am here to offer whatever aid I can."

Dravyn nearly scoffed. If Duke Zane was so intent on helping, why had he used so much of Dravyn's firewood?

As if reading his mind, Duke Zane said, "You have not enough wood, Your Grace. I can remedy that, and no one will question my orders. You have survived winter out here before, but I will argue that I fear the cold will kill you. Would you care for tidings about the other D'Vaires? I grew bold enough to meet you here after successfully getting a better chamber for Larissa. Yesterday, I snuck her out of the castle to visit her mate. They had not seen each other in years. I wish I could have brought Madeline back with us, but I will arrange another meeting for them. I must."

Daring to sneak a glance at Duke Zane, Dravyn wondered if the furrow of his brow was because he genuinely cared about the separation of the women or if he was luring him into some trap.

"You have no reason to trust me, Your Grace," Duke Zane remarked, shoving a lock of brown hair off the thick cloak likely sewn by Larissa's talented fingers. "I understand your reservation in speaking with me. My father does not know I am here. In fact, he is not at the castle just now. He is involved in another skirmish with a King unwilling to accept him as ruler of the dragons. Those Kings are growing in number. I have wished for an all-out rebellion, but it has yet to come to pass."

"Your Grace, why do you speak to me as if I still have a title?" Dravyn whispered without looking up.

"Because a King gave you that title, Your Grace," Duke Zane growled. "His Highness has become a scapegoat for my father, and all blame is put on King Aleksander's shoulders. Not even King Ethelin will vouch for his son. My father has developed a great friendship with your former King. Both dishonorable whoresons. Your title is your own, and my father lacks the right to take it from you, though he would argue otherwise."

Anger had deepened Duke Zane's voice, and Dravyn desperately wanted to trust someone, but only a fool would take the word of a man whose father had forced him into chains.

"Your Grace, all I ask for is the wood that you have already used," Dravyn dared to say. "It is a comfort I doubt I deserve, but while my dragon is fond of raw meat, I am not."

"Then wood you shall have, Your Grace. Think about what else would aid you. I will return and offer what I can to you."

The mysterious Duke Zane stood, and Dravyn was left alone in the garden. He moved to a section of the garden closer to the roaring fire to steal some of its heat. Returning to his task, Dravyn wondered if Duke Zane was a man of his word. A mere minute later, the guards returned, and each carried a large stack of wood.

"His Grace doesn't want you to freeze to death," one of the guards bit out. "Get closer to the damn fire so I don't get punished for your stupidity in courting a chill likely to kill you."

Creeping closer to the lovely warmth emanating from the crackling wood, Dravyn focused on the merry thought of Larissa and Madeline having a moment together after sixteen long years apart. Had it truly been that long since Dravyn had stood in this very garden and met the leader of the druids?

His life was so uneventful that if it were not for the changing of the seasons, he doubted he would even know how much time he'd lost. As he often did, Dravyn's attention went to the bench, hiding the magical paper beneath. Did Killian crave a reunion? Both Dravyn and his dragon could not contain their fear or curiosity about such a simple query.

◆◆◆

Killian strode into the Great Hall of Castle Leolinnia and found only one person already there.

"Good day, Arch Lich," Killian said with a smile as he nabbed a seat next to Chander. "Where are your sentinels?"

"Emptying the Leolinnia food stores," Chander mused. "Are you worried about me?"

The cocky teenager who'd dared suggest they steal two bodies from Castle Draconis was long gone thanks to the multiple attempts on Chander's life. But it was not fear that dominated his pewter gaze; it was fury and determination. In his hand, he twirled a black dagger. He'd taken to training with his sentinels the day he'd awoken from his first poisoning and was never unarmed.

That did not stop the former elders and the cultists who followed them from preying upon the hybrid Arch Lich. Half of those elders were dead thanks to the Reverent Knights and their diligent work to protect Chander. The others were careful enough to keep their hands clean, but Killian did not trust them.

Dragons were ever eager to aid in the death of sorcerers and were easily recruited to chase the dream of ending Chander's life. But each day it grew harder to harm Chander. Not only did he diligently train as if his life depended on it, but he was proud of his giant wings and strange dark magick. He was learning to combine the art of his undetermined side and necromancy.

A thick magical shield cocooned his body, and the sword that had nearly pierced his heart two months ago was the last weapon that would ever penetrate his skin. The magick protecting Chander was tested by his sentinels, and not even the poison flowing around their daggers could harm him. But Chander remained vulnerable to toxins in his food and drink.

Chander refused to risk the life of another by demanding a taster consume things. Instead, he rarely supped at home. Chander barely stepped foot in his own hall. It was likely why he breathed still. His people were ever his concern, and he walked through their towns when his face was not buried in a book, or he wasn't in a field somewhere, clashing blades with sentinels or fallen knights.

"How do you fare, Chand?" Killian asked, not liking the bitterness on Chander's face.

"Worried I might die if I step a foot away from Bax or Ben?"

"Chand, I know you can take care of yourself."

Chander's lip flared up in disgust. "Yet I could not until recently, could I? If it was not for your magick and that of the Leolinnias, I would be riddled with scars. Has it really only been three years since the first attempt upon my life? It feels as if a century or two should have passed."

"We are grateful that you continue to breathe."

"I know it, and I am rotten for acting so foul. My dear friends are forced to drop whatever they are doing to aid me. I am grateful. You know this. But I detest watching over my shoulder. I hate the guilt that preys on my sentinels. They are not infallible, and I never expected them to be. My pursuers are crafty and place no value on life."

"Your sentinels love you, Chand. We all do. Come stay with Aloisa and I. We so enjoy the company of you, Bax, and Ben."

"Are you still sleeping outside in a tree?"

Killian laughed. "Yes, I find it relaxing. The vines that first appeared upon my skin three years past now reach almost to my shoulders. I have them on my legs now too…up to my knee."

"That is because you are never out of your garden. Your love of plants disguises the loss of something we never discuss."

Closing his eyes, Killian easily recalled the gently freckled face of the dragon tied to his soul. "There is nothing to discuss."

"It has been sixteen years."

"He wants nothing to do with me. Be it because of magick or something else I know not. But I will not live my life in waiting."

"If you receive a letter tomorrow, what will you do?"

"I suppose that depends upon what the letter says," Killian mused, setting aside his disappointment and sadness regarding his lost matebond.

A furious Grand Warlock marched in with several other leaders and his familiar. At the rear of the group were Chander's sentinels, and they quickly dragged chairs to sit behind the Arch Lich. The Council had long ago given up the idea of suggesting Chander attend without guards. Instead of the small room up the stairs, Kaeden held their meetings in the Great Hall. He preferred the informality of the space and the proximity to the kitchen as the Grand Warlock had an endless appetite.

"Another village razed to the ground at the hands of dragons," Kaedan growled. "Families dead and their corpses still lit aflame. To think I used to idolize these beasts."

With a deep sigh, Killian begged Fate to care for the lost on their journey across the veil separating life and death. "How many dead?"

"Three dozen," Grand Warlock Familiar Renny Leolinnia replied, his blue gaze tortured. "A mixture of wizards, warlocks, and a single necromancer family living in a once-prosperous village."

Thanks to the cooperation and friendship of Council leaders, it was rare to find villages of a single race anymore, and the lives of everyone were better for it. Or they would be if the dragons didn't insist on seeking them out and destroying everything in their wake.

"We had a request from the village to search for druids willing to join them. Their past harvest was less than ideal, and they wanted a prosperous future," Saura lamented. After her sons had assumed their thrones, Kaedan had created new titles for his parents, and the Grand Sages remained as trusted Council leaders and advisors to everyone. "I had plans to discuss it with Aloisa later today. She is so wonderful at matching families to villages."

"She will take the loss hard," Killian said. "I am sorry for the destruction of the village."

"Dragon fire lighting up the sky while innocents slept," Kaedan snarled. "Oh, the magick I would use to end them if they were brave enough to own up to their evil. Instead, they skulk back into caves and castles, spreading their hatred of magickind, though they understand nothing of us."

"We will have a dance tonight," Egidius commented. "Light pyres, sing laments, and fill the air with magick."

"We must do more," Kaedan insisted. "I propose a monthly dance. Killian, I want no one to lack for food again."

"My magick is plentiful enough. Find me a spell or potion to make my fruits and vegetables last as long as they are needed; I can provide enough for everyone."

Saura clapped her hands together. "We can do better than that. Let us make it a monthly celebration of magick. To ensure it's plentiful enough that even the weakest among us can borrow a bit of power to cast what they will."

"Think you that is possible?" Renny asked.

"It will at least work enough for familiars like yourself," Kariston replied.

"If it aids a single person, it is reason enough to do it," Egidius said. "Jael and I will work on potions to aid with common complaints. Kaedan, can you find a spell to prolong Killian's labors?"

"With Renny's help, I can do anything," Kaedan responded. "Consider it done."

"What would you ask of us dark sorcerers?" Kariston asked. Like his father, Kariston had chosen the dark path of magick in the same week he'd taken over as Grand Summoner.

"Well, I can summon enough skeletons to distribute that food at the dance," Chander mused.

"Brilliant, it will allow everyone to focus on revelry instead of chores," T'Eirick replied.

"We will need to coordinate requests for certain foods," Renny said.

"Are you volunteering for the project?" Jurdann asked.

"I would be honored to do it," Renny answered.

"My mages will give you rain and gentle winds to aid you, Killian," Jurdann offered.

"Much obliged," Killian said, invigorated by the idea of stretching his magick far enough to feed an entire Council. He was eager to push himself to the very limits of what it meant to be a druid, and he welcomed any challenge.

"Your ignis mages can be useful for fires to keep us warm and cook meals if that is wanted," T'Eirick suggested.

"I welcome earth mages to flatten the land for my use," Killian said. "They can return it to its natural beauty after the dance."

"What of our dear dark warlocks?" Saura asked.

"Allow us to offer a gift not limited to dark magick," Kariston responded. "Scrying is a gift many wish for, and perhaps Fate will offer some clues to the future of those curious souls."

"Wonderful idea," T'Eirick told his son. "One I am happy to perform."

"Kolsten, could your phoenixes offer lessons in defense?" Saura asked.

"I am sure it will take little coaxing to convince my mother to teach her craft to anyone willing," the phoenix ruler replied. "My Masse can offer stones of protection as well."

"I meant to speak with him about that. What other things can we put in stones?" Saura asked. "Could we put healing spells in them? It could be very useful."

"You know my mate, he is ever willing to help," Kolsten said.

"Good, I will visit soon," Saura answered. "I should like our experiments to be fruitful before our first dance."

"I am sure it will be an occasion welcomed by all," Killian said, pleased by the efforts of The Council and the prosperous future they could offer their people despite the way they were preyed upon by dragons. As for the dragon who'd walked away from Killian sixteen years ago…well, he was never far from his thoughts.