12. Chapter 12

Chapter twelve

Tsaria stared at the dragon in utter awe. She was magnificent from her ruby eyes to her orange and flame-red scales. He assumed her mate, and the dragonet, were as astonishing, but he was in no hurry to meet the male dragon, especially if he was bigger.

She greeted Attiker with a small head-butt that sent him toppling over, and in the midst of such worry it was a welcome relief to feel even a sliver of amusement. It was only sheer force of will that made him able to stand on his own two feet. It was barely four bells since he had met the dowager queen. At least Kamir was used to this lifestyle.

“How’s your family?” Attiker crooned once he’d finished grumbling and picked himself up off the floor.

Attiker tilted his head and nodded at Eldara as if answering some question.

“Eldara communicates with him by sending images,” Kamir whispered. “Attiker told me this was how they saved each other.”

“Each other?” Tsaria whispered back. How could a mere man save a dragon?

Kamir smiled, clearly understanding the incredulity that colored Tsaria’s question. “Eldara saved Attiker from plunging to his certain death and helped him win a challenge that ultimately saved Raz’s life and their kingdom. Attiker sacrificed himself to rescue her baby. It’s why they became friends.” Kamir glanced at Tsaria, then hesitated. “Attiker and Raz were determined to keep her a secret because of the danger hunters pose, but that gotten blown all to seven hells when she made a dramatic appearance last year and saved Attiker’s life by turning him into a white wolf.”

Tsaria glanced at him and caught what Kamir wasn’t saying. The emphasis on the word secret , and resentment made him snap. “I didn’t reveal your secret to save my life, your Highness. What makes you think I would talk now?” Tsaria took a step to the side and watched the horror chase over Kamir’s face.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you would,” Kamir said, possibly too loudly because Tsaria felt the gust of warm air as Eldara turned her head to look at them both. Tsaria swallowed hard but stood tall.

She wasn’t as large as Kamir, he thought, picturing the amber eyes in his dragon that were now the same in Kamir’s human form. The body of the breathtaking creature Kamir had changed into, complete with the gleaming purple and blue scales that became almost black at their tips stood, he would guess, a good three feet taller. Eldara was beautiful, but she wasn’t as gorgeous as Kamir.

Eldara snorted and this time her breath was a shade too hot to be comfortable. Tsaria’s attention returned to her with a start, and Attiker chuckled. “She doesn’t like whatever comparison you just made.”

Tsaria felt the flush that nerves inspired. Better not make— Wait, he hadn’t said that aloud. “I didn’t say anything,” he protested.

Attiker glanced at Eldara, then back to them. “Kamir’s dragon is purple and blue with amber eyes.”

Kamir gaped and looked at them both. “I never even thought to ask what I looked like, but are you saying she can communicate with Tsaria?”

“She must be able to,” Attiker said. “Kamir, are you getting anything from her?”

Tsaria watched as Kamir stared at her, but then slowly shook his head, his shoulders dipping a little. Tsaria blinked as an image of Kamir touching her snout came into his mind. “She wants you to touch her.”

“I did before,” Kamir said, as if stealing himself for disappointment, and it was Tsaria’s turn to feel guilty, before he reminded himself that this man was the emir and had been raised in luxury. Their lives were as far apart as the worm and the eagle.

“No, she wants you both to,” Attiker said.

Tsaria received an image of them both then. Kamir stood next to him, their hands touching either side of her neck. Eldara extended her neck in invitation, and Tsaria didn’t hesitate to place his palm on her scales at the same time as Kamir.

He jerked as images flooded him. A little boy with brown eyes he recognized standing motionless as his open palms were smacked bloody with a wooden switch. The pain hit him as if it was his own, and he bit down the gasp. Then hunger. Tsaria recognized that instantly. The yawning gap inside you. You could taste hunger. The spoiled bread if you were lucky, or the memory of it on your tongue. You could smell hunger. The stench of a dead animal when for a fleeting second you almost wished you were the carrion that ripped the animal open and got to fill their bellies.

And loneliness —even more of a chasm than hunger. The constant shame of not being good enough, strong enough, worthy . He opened eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed and stared into ruby eyes.

What was that?

But he knew, and this time it was his turn to feel shame, and he looked away from her knowing stare. Eldara was showing him that people should never measure pain. It wasn’t something to be stacked in a pile and a yard stick applied to it. No two people’s suffering was the same. It was also more than communicating. Eldara wasn’t talking to him. She was showing him memories . Memories that weren’t hers. He felt the hot breath and heard the chuff that sounded more like a demand and raised his head.

Then Eldara lifted her head and roared. A plume of almost blue fire shot from her throat. He knew Attiker and Kamir had stumbled back from the intense heat, but Tsaria seemed to almost revel in it and didn’t let go. He imagined flames caressing his skin, the bite barely the same as a too-hot bath, and he reveled in the heat as it warmed his usually cold, dead heart.

Then the flames were cut off, and as if he was suddenly swathed in a wave of exhaustion, he fell to his knees.

“Tsaria!” Kamir almost stumbled in his hurry to get to him.

“Kamir,” Attiker said in a cautious tone and Tsaria forced his eyes open in time to hear Kamir’s gasp and looked at Eldara. She returned his gaze, but to his astonishment, as they watched, she lowered her head, almost as if she was bowing.

“What’s she doing?” Kamir whispered and Attiker gazed at her, not answering for a long minute.

“She just called you Dragoran,” Attiker said. “And I would guess that’s something important.”

Kamir shook his head. “I’m not important. I can’t even change—”

“No, Kamir. Sorry,” Attiker said, “I meant Tsaria. She’s bowing to him.”

Tsaria gaped, but before he had a chance to move, she lumbered forwards and extended her neck, clearly wanting him to touch her again.

“Tsaria,” Kamir warned, but Tsaria had the greatest urge to touch her, and with an arm that felt like it had a lead weight attached to it, he managed to reach out. She stretched out some more and touched the tip of his fingers.

Tsaria’s breath caught in his lungs and his body froze. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before raced up his fingers, down his arm, and across his chest like it was on fire and he was burning from the inside out. His whole body seemed to seize, and he managed to stay conscious for the second it took for Attiker to grab Kamir to stop him from getting to Tsaria. Good. He didn’t want him to die as well.

Tsaria remembered the pain before he even opened his eyes. The memory hurt nearly as much, but all he felt now was a pleasant warmth and someone rubbing the top of his hand gently. Because that occurrence was so unusual, he opened his eyes to be met with a pair of very worried amber ones.

“Healer,” Kamir almost shrieked, but thankfully didn’t let go, even when an older man hurried over to the bed. Tsaria would have recognized the almost universal healer robes even if Kamir hadn’t yelled.

The man bowed. “I am Laronne, Master Healer. “How do you feel?”

He honestly didn’t know, but he vaguely remembered Laronne. “Nothing hurts.”

Tsaria heard the long, relieved sigh from Kamir and turned his head to look at him. Took in the way he was clinging to his hand, the paleness of his cheeks. His normally warm brown skin seemed almost gray. “I’m sorry,” Tsaria said, hating that he’d scared him. Then he flushed at the presumption that he could have that effect on the emir.

Kamir reached out with his other hand and smoothed away Tsaria’s hair. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I have assured your Highness there seems to be no lasting damage, except, of course, the marks.”

Tsaria turned back to the healer just as Attiker walked in. “Marks?” he queried, then for the first time glanced down at his arm and gaped. Intricate black markings ran all the way from his fingers up his arm. He let go of Kamir and yanked down the plain shirt he wore, only to see the markings spread across his chest and all the way down his other arm to his wrist. That hand—his left—was clear.

“What in seven hells?” Tsaria whispered.

“Which is what we’d like to know,” Attiker said. “Eldara touched you and you seemed almost to go up in flames. You collapsed, and she flew off, and she hasn’t answered my call since.” He hesitated. “To be honest, I think she scared herself at your reaction.”

“But what are they?” Tsaria asked, looking at the marks again.

“She called him Dragoran,” Kamir reminded them.

“I can’t reach her since we came back to the palace, but I have another dragon expert of sorts waiting to talk to us if you feel up to it,” Attiker offered.

“Please, can you give us a moment’s privacy first?”

Tsaria glanced at Kamir in surprise, but then almost immediately everyone left, and it was just them. Kamir took both his hands in his. “We haven’t had a moment,” Kamir said, but smiled. “Not to talk, anyway. I just want to say I know you didn’t expect any of this.” His amber eyes darkened. “You have no reason to trust me, but I swear on the grave of my mother if you want to leave, no one will stop you.”

“And what will you do?” Tsaria was wavering. One minute he believed everything Kamir said, the next he heard his father’s voice telling him he was no good. Worthless.

“Whatever I can for my people,” he answered simply.

Tsaria thought about where they were, and not in the sense of geography, but with each other, and what he wanted. He glanced at his arm and knew he had to learn what it meant. “I think we should talk to their expert.” Which wasn’t what his heart wanted to say at all, but it was all that his mind trusted his mouth with.

Kamir stared at him for a long moment, then simply bent and kissed him. It was brief but felt meaningful. “When this is over, I want to take you to the ruins of Caheer and watch the sunset.”

He smiled because even though he’d never heard of them, they seemed important to Kamir, and they both readied themselves for whatever Attiker’s expert may say.

“Highnesses,” Attiker interrupted after Kamir rang the bell to indicate they were ready. “May I present Gerry Bentley.”

Tsaria gazed at the servant… groundskeeper? He was a huge man, probably nearing seventy summers, and wore a tan apron that generally demonstrated his specialty. He had dirt on his cheeks and carried a bag on his shoulder. He ripped his cloth cap off his head and bowed.

“Sire, pleasure to meet pals of ‘is ‘ighness.”

Tsaria loved him on sight. The fact that he beamed at Attiker and didn’t put on airs and graces. The word sire was even more ancient than caliph but reserved for trusted servants to use. He liked that this man called Kamir so.

Attiker grinned. “Gerry is head gardener for the estate and specializes in growing certain strains of flowers.”

Kamir shook his hand and assured him it was a pleasure to meet him, even sharing that their gardeners were struggling with flowering octopi, which Tsaria had never heard of. Gerry scratched his chin and said he’d had a little success with tea leaves to help the octopi. But only after they’d been properly steeped, mind you. He suggested the maids keep the tea after the pots had been drunk.

Kamir’s eyebrows rose and said he hoped at some point that the Rajpuran gardeners could come for a visit to be tutored. Gerry agreed, then said he s’posed it would be up to the “lad.”

“He means Raz,” Attiker translated.

“Excellent,” Kamir enthused and Tsaria met Attiker’s amused gaze. Neither the fact that the gardener had referred to the King of Cadmeera as a “lad” or that Kamir hadn’t so much as blinked but enthusiastically joined in the conversation seemed to bother anyone.

Cadmeera was certainly not what he was used to.

But neither is Kamir.

Attiker finally took charge of the conversation when Kamir and Gerry started discussing the proper care of ginger leaf for herbal tea, and briefed Gerry on what had happened with Eldara, even showing Gerry Tsaria’s arm. “Did you bring what we needed?”

Kamir cocked his head. “What is it?” he asked when Gerry pulled on two huge gloves and reached into a pouch he had slung over one shoulder.

“Aye,” Gerry confirmed and brought out something that looked like an egg, but much bigger.

Kamir gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

Gerry beamed. Tsaria looked at Attiker for any sort of explanation. “This is a dragon lily pod,” Attiker said.

Nope, he was no wiser.

Kamir seemed to sense his confusion. “Dragon lilies are one of the rarest and most sought-after plants. People will pay fortunes to get them. They can only be grown in red rock and at such extremely high temperatures, it’s nearly impossible.”

“Which is great,” Tsaria said, running out of patience and sick of feeling ignorant. “But what has that to do with me?”

“I’d like you to take the pod,” Gerry said and reached over. Kamir gasped.

“Gloves!” But it was in his hands before he’d registered what Kamir and Attiker both shouted. Tsaria turned the pod over in his hands and then absorbed the silence in the room. Hastening to reassure Kamir, he smiled.

“It’s just warm.”

“No, it really isn’t,” Attiker said and shot Gerry an exasperated look. He had no idea why that was significant, but Tsaria balanced the pod on his outstretched palm because it seemed to tremble slightly.

As they were watching, the pod cracked like an egg and a root poked out. Tsaria gazed in stunned fascination as more roots followed and grew. Small buds formed on the end of two stems and then seemed to explode into bloom. “They’re beautiful,” Tsaria said in awe and glanced at Gerry.

Gerry grunted, a smile peeking out, and he looked at Attiker in triumph. “You were right.”

Attiker’s answering smile was apologetic and, carefully with the use of the gloves, Gerry retrieved the plant and then bid his goodbyes, almost begging Tsaria to visit his greenhouses as soon as he could.

He glanced at both Kamir and Attiker, then sighed. “Would anyone like to tell me what is going on?”

Attiker chuckled then sat and poured himself some wine. Kamir took some, but Tsaria refused when offered.

“So, there’s a legend Gerry told me,” Attiker started. “It could be ridiculous, but it explains a lot.”

Tsaria waited and didn’t object when Kamir took his hand.

“Eldara called you Dragoran . According to what I have been able to find out, Dragor was the name of the legendary King of Dragons when they were all-powerful. Dragoran actually means of Dragor’s blood.”

Tsaria laughed, because he wished for whatever Attiker was drinking, and it surely wasn’t just wine. But Attiker clutched his other arm, ignoring the growl from Kamir, which was startling in itself. “She bowed to you. You wear her sigils. And you touched a pod that would ordinarily give you barely treatable burns.”

“But I’m no dragon,” he protested.

“No,” Attiker agreed. “But apparently you have the ability to change another into one. Eldara said that was why she couldn’t sense an animal in Kamir before.” He looked at Kamir. “We’ve come further in understanding even if not in actions. Whatever Tsaria is doesn’t change the fact that you need to change on the dark of the moon, or a lot of children will die.”

And it was only nine days away.

What in seven hells was he supposed to do?